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jasontoddiefor · 3 years

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Summary: “Do you like it?” Obi-wan asked. Ahsoka looked up at him in confusion. What was he talking about- “The tea,” he added and raised his own cup like a sign.

Or, Anakin is injured and Ahsoka spends some time with her Grandmaster.

The tea Obi-Wan pressed into her hands smelled familiar, like the one Anakin made for them after late shifts when they had only recently left Coruscant. It was a sweet tea, so sweet that Ahsoka didn't even need to put any sugar in it. Their kitchen – an expression that still made Ahsoka grin with happiness because she had a Master now and she was a Padawan, even after these first months – didn't have anything but tea and some instant noodles stocked. For some reason, Ahsoka wasn't allowed to heat them up for lunch, so they had to go down to the cafeteria to eat. Obi-Wan had said something about the noodles being important to Anakin, and Ahsoka hadn't asked after that. She was too sure she'd start to cry like a youngling if she thought any more about her Master, who was currently unconscious in the halls of healing, being looked over by various healers.

The mission had been supposed to be easy. Nobody should have gotten hurt.

Ahsoka sunk further into her chair, buried herself in her Master's oversized coat. It had been handed to her when they'd brought Anakin in and Ahsoka had kept it on since. She knew it was stupid, that she looked ridiculous, but she kept it on anyway because it smelled like him and therefore like home and peace.

So here she was now with her Grandmaster in their kitchen in an apartment she didn't even really have a room in yet because they hadn't had time to clear it out, drinking tea.

"Do you like it?" Obi-wan asked.

Ahsoka looked up at him in confusion. What was he talking about-

"The tea," he added and raised his own cup like a sign.

"Oh, yes," she replied, feeling stupid for not having understood. She wanted Obi-Wan to like her and think she was a suitable addition to their lineage. "It smells familiar to the one Anakin always makes."

"It's the very same," Obi-Wan replied. "It's the only tea the two of us like equally well, so we always drink it together."

"Oh." Ahsoka hadn't known that. It felt like something she should know about her Master, like allergies. Frantically, Ahsoka tried to remember whether she could recall any of Anakin's allergies; he had to have at least one, right? Before she could get any more worked up and leave Obi-Wan in this awkward silence, she forced herself to ask another question. "What's in it?"

"A few red berries and some other indigenous fruit from Naboo. It was the only tea offered on Naboo that didn't taste like it had been dosed in perfume," Obi-Wan said and pulled a face as if the tea from Naboo had genuinely offended him.

Ahsoka giggled, then quickly clasped her hand over her mouth. She hadn't meant to laugh at her Grandmaster, but Obi-Wan only smiled good-naturedly.

"Why- when were you on Naboo together?"

She knew that Anakin enjoyed items coming from the planet and was quite knowledgeable about its culture. She had no idea why someone would have all theatre genre of Naboo's last century memorized, but as Anakin had proven on a long retcon mission, he could talk endlessly about them. At least all his cursing had made them more entertaining than her own literature classes at the Temple.

"Ah, that's a rather long story. You were…. Five when Anakin joined the Order, weren't you?"

Ahsoka wanted to protest, surely she had to have been younger, but she remembered the whispers and knew her Master's age. It was strange to think he was only a few years older than her. She thought it would have been more, it should have been more, but if she were any younger and he older, perhaps they wouldn't be Master and Padawan at all.

She nodded in confirmation and Obi-Wan continued on.

"Anakin and I spent a month together on Naboo before we returned to Coruscant and he officially became a part of the Order. The Naboo prefer their food to taste and smell a bit flowery, and neither of us was used to it. After a lot of bickering, we decided that it was the one brand we actually both enjoyed. It took us a while to figure out how to brew it correctly, but eventually, I learned and taught Anakin in turn."

That certainly sounded nice, domestic even, like a scene she had never seen before. She tried to imagine the two of them in their kitchen, Obi-Wan being younger without a beard and looking less exhausted while Anakin was even shorter than her, perhaps standing on a barstool of some kind so that he could reach the counter.

Obi-Wan brought his own cup to his lips and drunk from it, then he set the cup on the table again.

They didn't have a single matching set of teacups that they actually appeared to be using. There were a few tea sets in the cupboard, Ahsoka had seen those already, but they didn't look like they were actually in use. Instead, Anakin and Obi-Wan had a collection of cups with silly images, colorful prints, and sayings.

"Ahsoka, I know we didn't get to spend much time together yet, but if you'd like, and if you enjoy this tea, I would like to show you how to prepare it properly."

Hearing those words, Ahsoka perked up. "Really?"

Obi-Wan smiled kindly at her and set his cup on the table. "It's a bit of a tradition for us, figuring out how to make a particular tea and then going out to buy a new cup for it. I used to do it with my Master, and Anakin and I didn't collect so many different mugs for no reason. You don't have classes this afternoon, do you?"

Ahsoka shook her head. "No."

They had canceled her classes for the rest of the week. There was no need for her to go when she'd only worry about Anakin. She could, of course, but the healers had been very insistent that Ahsoka should figure out her own boundaries and act according to them.

She still kind of wanted to go to class, just to prove that something like her Master getting hurt didn't unsettle her too much, but she was also still glued to their kitchen chair, wrapped in his oversized coat.

"Then, if you want, we can go out in the city today and buy you a cup and a new brand of tea to try out."

It would do her good to go outside. "I'd like that."

The two of them finished their teapot, then Ahsoka returned to her room. They still hadn't finished setting it up and so was currently more the place she stuck her stuff as Anakin frantically tried to move his plants to another surface that was not already covered by them and miniaturize his droid workshop. Most of the time, she didn't even sleep in the bed that had been cramped in there. In the words of her Master, why should she sleep there when Obi-Wan's larger and more comfortable bed was right there. Or Anakin's when Anakin managed to drag himself only to the sofa or, already half-asleep, stumbled into Obi-Wan's room.

Once her Master was cleared from the halls, they were going to sort that out. Even if Obi-Wan didn't have any problems with her taking over his bed.

Ahsoka got dressed, changed into robes of her own size and slipped back into the main room. From there on it was a quick and easy trip to the shopping districts of Coruscant. Obi-Wan wistfully muttered something about "at least it's not the lower levels this time" that he didn't see fit to elaborate on and Ahsoka, therefore, chose to keep in mind for a later date.

The tea shop he led her to must be one he frequented more often because the owner greeted him with name and immediately showed him a selection he thought would be to Obi-Wan's liking. Ahsoka smelled the various fruity, spicy, and bitter tea selections and eventually picked one that Obi-Wan and she both agreed looked like the most interesting one. Apparently, the tea changed colors as it cooled down. They didn't stay long enough in the store to get a practical demonstration, but Ahsoka was still eager to see it. Mainly to see it in the new mug Obi-Wan had bought her. It was supposed to match the color of the liquid inside. It was ridiculous, but Ahsoka thought it was fun.

"We can make it for Anakin later," Obi-Wan said. "He is supposed to wake up this evening."

"Do you think he'd like that?"

"I think he would be very pleased to see how well his Padawan has conducted herself in his absence. And he always did like food that was a little extraordinary."

The rest of the afternoon passed quickly with the two walking through the smaller streets, visiting stores Ahsoka had never seen before, but who all apparently knew her quite well already. The number of times somebody addressed her with "Little Anakin's Padawan?" was quite astonishing.

By the time they returned to the Temple, it was already dark. Their first stop after deposing their new items in their rooms was the cafeteria. Dinner was, as always, a loud and cheerful affair. Groups of Initiates were running around the many tables, Padawans chatting to each other and Masters bragging about their students. She and Obi-Wan took a seat at a table a little closer to the edge where it was quieter, though even they weren't spared from the toddlers handing out sugary cupcakes that looked like somebody was trying to sell pure diabetes.

But how was Ahsoka supposed to resist when the tiny Nautolan with the huge eyes offered it to her? It wasn't like Obi-Wan could resist it either.

After they had finished dinner, they returned to their quarters, properly put away all they had bought, and set the new tea package on the kitchen table together with Ahsoka's mug.

"Alright," Obi-Wan said. "Let's see how hot the water needs to be and how long the tea needs to steep."

With gentle fingers, Obi-Wan began to put the tea leaves into filter bags and familiarized Ahsoka with it. He taught her how to properly pour tea and which brands were better with a little more or less sugar, which needed salt of all things, and about a hundred other different tidbits that she couldn't believe he just knew from the top of his head.

But all the work seemed to pay off as they had a teapot full of blue tea that was slowly turning violet.

"Well done," Obi-Wan praised her as he grabbed the teapot and a mug for himself.

Ahsoka took her own new one, though she had already decided that she'd let Anakin drink out of it this time, and took another for herself. Together they headed towards the halls of healing. They hadn't even entered them properly when Anakin's voice reached them.

"I am fine, Bant, I swear! I just want to see Ahsoka and Obi-Wan, promise I'll be back within twenty minutes- ten minutes!"

Just as Ahsoka and Obi-Wan waked around the corner, they saw Anakin attempting to climb out of his bed, bandages still wrapped around his head, and arguing with Bant. As soon as he saw them, his eyes lit up.

"Ahsoka! Obi-Wan, are you well?"

Ahsoka stared at Anakin, whole, healthy, and smiling, and reassured herself that he was real. Then in the fashion of a child, she threw herself at him, burying her head in his chest as she before had in his robes.

"Woah, woah, everything's alright, Ahsoka. I'm just fine, see?"

He patted her head almost a little awkwardly like he didn't know what to do with his hands, but Ahsoka didn't care.

He was fine, everything was alright.

"Anakin Skywalker, what are you doing? Get back into bed!"

Ahsoka slowly released Anakin from her embrace so that he could fall back on his bed. He crossed his arms in front of his chest and rolled his eyes at the Mon Calamari Jedi.

"Bant wants to keep me here overnight, even though I'm fine."

At this, he glared a little at Bant, though Ahsoka could tell his heart was not in it. If that were so, she knew Bant wouldn't be standing here much longer. As ridiculous as he looked right now, Ahsoka knew her Master could be quite terrifying if he wanted to.

"Don't act so much like a bratty Padawan, Anakin," Bant only commented. "Now sit down, rest, get well, and you can go back to your rooms tomorrow morning."

"Yes, yes," Anakin muttered and pulled the blanket back over his legs. Bant smiled at the three of them, then bid them good night as well.

"It's good to see you're causing trouble as always," Obi-Wan said and set the teapot on the table next to Anakin's bed so he could sit down on its edge. "Here I was worried it was something serious."

"Oh, you know me, Master. I always have to be a little dramatic. What tea is that?"

Anakin couldn't have changed the topic more obviously in favor of curiously examining the teapot.

"Master Obi-Wan and I went out shopping in the city today," Ahsoka spoke up and pushed her new mug into Anakin's hands before she saw down next to him. "We bought a new tea and it changes color and also a mug and-"

"Hey, Snips, slow down."

Ahsoka shut up as Anakin raised his hands. Then, with an expression Ahsoka could only describe as pouty, her Master turned to Obi-Wan.

"You took my Padawan on her first tea run without me?" Anakin asked accusingly, pointing his finger at Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan only sighed theatrically and poured some tea, by now a dark red color, into every cup. "Well, we can't all be heroes recovering from a deadly assault. I take it said hero doesn't want a cup then?"

Now Anakin was quick to hold out the cup Ahsoka had pressed into his hands. "No, I want to see what my Padawan picked out. Hurry up, Master."

Obi-Wan's following laughter was infectious. It was almost as loud and cheerful as Anakin's demands to be told everything of their trip in detail. Sitting next to him on the bed, covered by the heavy blanket and the warm tea in hand, Ahsoka could finally allow herself to relax fully.

#star wars #ahsoka tano #obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #tcw #fanfic #disaster lineage #i now want space tea

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celticcrossanon · 3 years

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Wow CC, how do you survive being in 35-40+ degree weather without aircon, nonetheless?! I already complained a lot if the degree goes over 30 haha…

Hi lacrimaomnis,

I can understand complaining if the weather goes over any temperature that you consider hot, and that will vary depending on your current climate and how adapted you are to that climate. Being hot is no fun at all.

My survival tips:

1. We have thermal curtains on every window. They stay closed during the day. The light can still come in - enough to see and work by - and the curtains help keep the heat out. If you have blinds, they work the same way. Keep them closed if at all possible to keep the heat out.

2. Keep your windows closed if at all possible during the day. Open windows let in more heat than closed windows. Put blinds or curtains on the windows inside the house, and/or outside blinds/awnings on your windows - you want to keep the sun off those windows and out of the house. Of course, if you have a strong breeze, you can open the windows to catch the breeze, but we rarely have enough breeze to make this worth the extra heat.

3. If you have rooms that face West, and catch the afternoon sun, if they are not living areas then shut the doors between those rooms and the rest of the house. This traps any heat in those rooms and prevents it spreading to the rest of the house. My bathrooms face West. They are sweatboxes in summer with the doors shut, but the rest of the house stays cool. I realise that this is only possible if the rooms are not in use all the time.

4. The temperature drops here at night, down to 25-20 degrees Celsius. I open the house at night, when it is cool, and keep the windows open for as long as I can. This lets the hot air in the house out and the cooler outside air in. Once the house has cooled down (this takes a few hours), I shut the windows again to keep the cooler air in and the hot air out.

5. During the day, the house will start off cool (due to my night time efforts) and heat up over the day. Once it is uncomfortably warm, I put the pedestal fan on. If you have ceiling fans, put them on. The fans won't cool the air, but having the air moving over your skin will help keep you cool, especially if you are sweating.

6. Sleep with a fan on. It helps so much.

7. If you have the room, hang your laundry up in your living areas. As the laundry dries, the water evaporating from the clothes will suck heat from the air around it, and the overall room temperature will drop. I leave the laundry up overnight and I can feel the difference when I walk into the living room the next day. Watch for mould on the ceiling if you do this.

8. Make a coolgardie cooler. Put a mat on the floor, place two chairs either side of the mat, drape a sheet over them like a tent (you can do this with a broomstick over a cot if you have to), wet the sheet (you want it very damp but not dripping), and let the sheet dry. The evaporation will cool the area under the sheet by several degrees. Lie on the mat and enjoy the coolness.

If you have a fan, turn it on to the sheet or have it oscillate around the room, and that will make it colder.

You have to keep rewetting the sheet as it dries, but this definitely works. It is how I get babies to sleep and how I saved my flatmate from heat exhaustion. If you have spare baking pans, fill them with water and put them on the floor with the ends of the sheets in the pans. The sheets will suck up water from the pan and stay wet. Otherwise, a spray bottle works well to keep the sheet damp (I rewet it using a spray bottle once every hour or so).

9. Eat little and often. Eating will pull the blood from your limbs and concentrate it on your digestion, so you feel cooler. Make sure you eat enough salt! I eat every 2-3 hours, so 6 small meals instead of three large ones, and I prefer spiced food from hot climates, as the spices tempt my appetite. Whatever you prefer to eat, little and often is better than 3 big meals. You may have to increase your salt intake to balance the extra sweat - potato chips/crisps are good for that.

10. Make sure you drink enough. Water, flavoured water, milkshakes, cold tea, iced coffee - I do not care what it is, just get that liquid into you. I drink one cup of liquid every hour, more if I am thirsty. Sweet drinks are good for rehydrating you. I know sugar and salt are the current bad guys of diet, but my experience is that both of them are necessary to survive hot days, in higher amounts than normal. I drink water that has been flavoured with those cold water tea bags (fruit infusions) or with cordial, sweet cold tea, and flavoured cold milk drinks. You can have hot drinks if you can cope with the extra heat in your body. If you can drink plain water, do so - I can't (more than one or two cups and I throw up). For me, milk and yoghurt drinks (lassi) are the best. YMMV.

11. Ice cream, granitas, popsicles, paddle pops, frozen yoghurt - frozen liquid of any sort can help cool you down. Some people like iced water from the fridge, or adding ice to their drinks. Tap water usually works for me, unless the sun has been on the pipes and heated the water, but if you need to put jugs of water in the fridge to drink, do so. If you need to make ice cubes in the freezer, do so (or buy ice and keep it in the freezer). We have a jug of flavoured water on the bench for me and one in the fridge for my flatmate, plus a container of ice cubes in the freezer for my flatmate (she feels the heat more than I do).

11. Frozen washers/flannels and/or cold gel packs, or an equivalent. Put them on your head, neck, elbows, wrists/hands, crotch, back of knees, ankles/feet. They help. Keep two sets on hand and swap them over as one becomes warm. Sticking your feet in a bucket of cold water will also cool you down quickly.

12. Dress for the weather. Loose, comfortable, and cotton clothing (or linen). No synthetic fibres (they just make you hotter). Loose is cooler than form-fitting. Go sleeveless indoors, but cover your shoulders if you have to go out, and your cleavage, and your upper legs (sunburn hurts - a lot).

13. Use sunscreen if you go outside. Use more than you think you will need. Reapply regularly. Cover your body, shoulders and upper legs with clothes (the minimum). Wear sunglasses. Wear a broad brimmed hat. Seek shade where-ever possible. Sunburn is no joke. It is painful and will make you hotter. Carry water with you and sip regularly. Put sunscreen on your feet if you are wearing sandals/thongs/flipflops. Sunburnt feet HURT. If possible, only go outside when the sun is low in the sky (i.e. not the middle of the day).

14. If you are able to, and if it makes you cooler, go naked at home. Wear the bare minimum of clothing that you can, and have something handy to slip on if you need to answer the door. I've spent hot days around the house in a swimsuit in the past. I'm also big on not wearing underwear in the heat unless it is necessary/makes you cooler/makes you more comfortable. I wear a calf length sleeveless floaty cotton dress around the house. Go for whatever makes you comfortable and won't upset the people you are living with. Comfort and coolness win over fashion (and social conditioning if possible and preferred).

15. Move slowly. Be lazy. It is better to take longer to do things than to get overheated and have to cool yourself down. Take breaks if necessary to cool yourself down/stop yourself from getting hot.

16. Know the signs of heat exhaustion and take steps before it becomes heat stroke. Do a pinch test for dehydration and drink if you have to. Ask your doctor how your medications will affect you in the heat and what you can do to combat that (if anything).

17. Heat rises. If you have a double storey (or more) house, stay in the lowest level. It will be cooler.

That is all I can think of right now. I hope this helps.

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love-and-monsters · 4 years

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Harpy Rescue

M monster X F reader, 7,143 words

You wash up on an island after a shipwreck. The harpy natives take you in and you find companionship with a certain healer who’s been caring for you.

I stared blankly at the sky above me. I was lying back on a beach. The tide was coming in underneath me. The salt water stung at the raw scrapes on my back.

It was struggle to breathe. My lungs spasmed and heaved with every breath. All my energy went into keeping my lungs heaving.

It was ironic. The only person who survived the shipwreck was the one who would die anyway.

None of my limbs would move. I knew I wasn’t paralyzed, if only because that would have dulled sensation and I could feel every scrape and bruise over the surface of my body. I just couldn’t move under my own power.

It took all my energy to keep breathing. It hurt just to breathe. My lungs stuttered over the air, threatening to stop altogether every time. Even with all my effort going into it, I still felt faintly dizzy from lack of air.

There were birds, enormous birds, circling overhead. Carrion birds, probably. They could see me lying on the beach and probably assumed they were getting a nice lunch.

The water was getting higher. It was a race, I thought morbidly. Would the water drown me before the birds managed to eat my entrails?

They were coming down more rapidly now. They were huge. Perhaps I would get lucky and they would fight one another for long enough that the waves would come in. I would take drowning over being torn apart hungry birds.

The tide was coming in faster. I could feel it lapping around my ears. A particularly strong wave made me sputter and I spent nearly a minute coughing and gasping. It was harder than ever to breathe. Perhaps drowning wouldn’t be substantially more pleasant than being eaten alive.

One of the birds plunged into a dive, spurring the others to follow. They drifted out of my sight and no matter how far I rolled my eyes back, I couldn’t see them. Great. I just had to wait in anticipation.

There was a crunching behind me, the sound of something approaching. Another wave struck me and I choked, coughing on the water. Black spots popped in front of my eyes and I felt my entire body heave, water trickling from my mouth.

A hand caught my shoulder. With a heave, I was dragged out of the shallow water and up onto the firmer beach. Tilting my head back, I managed to catch sight of my rescuers.

They hadn’t been birds, I realized. They had just looked like birds from a distance. My rescuers were a group of concerned-looking harpies.

If I had any sense of dramatic timing, I likely would have passed out then. It would have made the situation much less awkward, at least. But I remained stubbornly awake, staring up at the small throng of harpies.

Their heads and torsos were humanoid, but they seemed to have a combination between arms and wings. Their arms were feathered and there was a split at the wrists between hands and the final joint of the wing. Their legs were scaled and ended in large, heavy talons. All of them had deeply tanned skin and dark brown hair and feathers.

They spoke to one another for a moment, in a language I couldn’t understand. Then, the one that had dragged me up the beach bent over and hauled me into his arms.

The group headed off the beach and into the tropical jungle beyond. It was getting harder and harder to remain conscious. I faded in and out, struggling to keep my consciousness together. The blackouts grew longer and longer and the tightening pain in my chest was growing sharper. Breathing was almost painfully difficult.

Another bit of irony for me. I had been saved from drowning only for my condition to kill me right away.

The last thing I was aware of was the man carrying me speaking rapidly before I was deposited on solid ground with a jolt.

When I opened my eyes again, there was a ceiling above me. It was thatched, and there were several bundles of herbs hanging from the rafters. The pain of my body had eased, and though my chest burned, it had loosened significantly. After a few breaths, I had gained enough energy to sit up.

“Here.” Someone to my right pushed a bowl into my hands. It was full of a strong-smelling liquid that made my nose run and my sinuses clear almost instantly. “It’ll help with your breathing.”

The person next to me was the same man who had carried me off the beach. I hadn’t gotten the best look at him, but he had the same golden-brown feathers and his long, braided hair was done up in the same style. I dipped my head and took a few swallows from the bowl.

It burned worse than any whiskey I’d ever tried. I sputtered, eyes watering, but the tension in my chest did fade. The bands that had always restricted my breathing loosened ever so slightly and I gulped air gratefully.

The man outstretched his hands and took the bowl back. I sputtered a few more times before my breathing calmed. “What is that?”

“An old remedy for chest trouble. It’s steeped out of different herbs.” As he set the bowl on a nearby table, I realized something.

“You speak English?” I asked.

“Some. My aunt met with travelers many years ago. She taught me. Just in case.” He leaned back in his seat, stretching his legs out in front of him. Something behind him shifted and I noticed his tail, made of the same brown feathers as his wings. “You must have inhaled a lot of salt water. Your breathing was bad.” He tapped his chest demonstratively. “You were wheezing.”

“It does that anyway. But the almost drowning didn’t help.” I pushed yourself up in bed. “Where am I?”

“Healer’s house,” he said. “In Namori Village. You were brought here by the storm, yes?”

“Not on purpose,” I said. “I was sailing to Larmark. They have a good hospital there. I was going for an examination.” I rubbed at my chest. “I don’t suppose you have any ships heading in that direction?”

“We are not a sailing people,” the man said with an apologetic smile. I slouched back into the bed. I wasn’t as upset about it as I should have been. The treatment was supposed to find a way to cure my condition. Without it, I could be beset by a sudden bought of chest tightness that could kill me at any moment. It had nearly done so several times in my childhood. But I had lived my life with it so far. I was just back where I’d started.

“She’s up!” I looked up to see an older woman harpy leaning over me. “Thought I told you to call for me, boy.” The male harpy ducked his head, looking properly ashamed. “Took quite a beating from that storm. Lucky you made it to shore.” She flicked her wings. “We saw the ship go down last night. Didn’t expect anyone would survive. You’re lucky we noticed you.”

“There’s something wrong with her chest,” the male harpy said. “She wheezes.”

“Noticed that.” The woman looked me over. Her eyes were a piercing yellow. “Thought it was from the seawater. It’s usually like that?”

“Yes. Since I was a child. I had some sort of illness that damaged it. I wouldn’t worry about it too much. I’ve never allowed it to bother me.” I’m sure my voice would have been much more reassuring, but my chest contracted in a cough and I heaved a few times.

“Perhaps you should let it bother you more. Give her more of that infusion, Nor. And recheck her ribs, just to be safe.”

“Yes, Aunt Aerath,” Nor said. She turned on her heels and strode off. We were in a back room, I noticed, small and full of warm light. Nor turned back to me. “Sit up. Drink.” I sipped more of the brew he’d given me while he prodded at my ribs. It was a little ticklish and I had to work not to squirm.

“Your ribs are fine,” Nor said eventually. “But your chest is weak.”

“Well, nothing I didn’t already know.” I rolled over, ignoring the sharp pains that came to me. “Can I move around?”

Nor nodded and I got up. He hovered close by as I shuffled around. I’d been stripped down to my shift, which would have been embarrassing if both of them hadn’t been wearing something similar. They both seemed to be wearing something like togas, though Nor’s skirt was long enough to trail on the ground. Both their outfits were a deep navy blue.

There was a partially ajar door and I stepped through it, onto the forest floor outside. The trees were enormous, towering over everything. Up in the branches, harpies darted back and forth, flitting between the branches. I could see nest-like houses nestled in the crooks of the trees.

“We’re on the ground,” I said. Nor nodded.

“Healers live on the ground. In case flightless ones come to us,” he explained.

“Ah. That’s sensible.” I stared up, looking into the trees with some interest. At least if I was going to be staying there for a while, it was a beautiful, fascinating place.

Nor took me back inside and fed me a chunk of meat along with a few fruits. I needed to heat the meat over the fire for a little longer- apparently harpies liked their meat fairly rare. Aerath returned after that and forced a few more herbal brews down my throat, which she said would help with the pain.

“I expect I’ll be here for a while,” I said as I handed one of her cups back to her. My mouth tasted like I’d licked the underside of a stone. The brews were unpleasant at best, though I could already feel a numbness creeping into my injuries.

“Humans come by only rarely,” Aerath said. “And there isn’t much of a pattern. Our species is not water faring and we can’t fly to the next mainland. Ocean flight is not easy.”

“Which is a taciturn way of saying I am stuck here.”

“No more than us,” Nor said.

“Be kind. She has lost her home,” Aerath said sternly. I shrugged, leaning back in bed.

“It’s not as awful as you may think. I was sailing to a hospital, you see. It was likely I would spend the rest of my life there, which, even with all that care, may not have been very long.” I shrugged. “At least this place is better for the soul.”

Nor turned his head and spoke to his aunt rapidly in his own language. She frowned, but responded in the same way. I ignored the pair of them and moved back to bed. Despite not having been awake for very long, I was already exhausted. My chest stuttered as I tried to lie flat on my back and I paused for a moment, wheezing.

Nor darted over and adjusted my pillow behind me. “Better?”

“Yes, thank you.” Nor nodded, then slipped out of the room. Aerath lingered for a moment, looking at me.

“We’ll be upstairs if you require us. If you can’t walk, knock heavy things over until we come for you.” With that, she exited the room. The door closed behind her and I slumped back into the pillow, eyes closing.

I slept fitfully, especially after the pain medication wore off. By the time Nor brought breakfast, I was already up and walking around. There were several journals with detailed drawings of plants in them. I couldn’t read the writing, but I could see what the plants were and I spent some time matching them to the herbs hanging around the room.

“Quite an interesting journal,” I told Nor as he sat down to eat with me. “Did your aunt write it?”

He shook his head. “She is…” He struggled with the word for a moment. “Practical? A… practice? She remembers by senses, not words. But I need reminders.”

“You’re quite good at drawing,” I said. “I kept similar journals, though they sank with the ship.” He looked at me with clear surprise. “I had little else to do. I could rarely go out, so I spent much time in the gardens, drawing and remarking upon the plants. These remind me of my own journals.”

“When I am collecting herbs, I enjoy drawing them. Seeing nature. It is soothing.” He seemed to grow more excited, then composed himself. “I could show you garden, if you’d like?”

“I would,” I said. He grinned, then hopped to his taloned feet as his aunt entered the room.

I did not end up seeing the garden that day, principally because I spent much of it in bed. Nor stopped by every now and then, sometimes with food, more often with a new bundle of plants to tie up and hang from the ceiling. He seemed to go into a sort of trance when he was sorting the herbs, a sort of peaceful state.

It took a few days before I was approved to walk into town. “Don’t stress yourself too much. You’re still recovering,” Aerath said.

“I’ll keep an eye on her,” Nor said. He fluttered his wings at his aunt, shooing her away. “We’ll be fine.”

Being without wings earned me a great deal of stares. I was viewed with some general suspicion, as far as I could tell. I was allowed to stay because there seemed to be a consensus that throwing me into the wilderness would absolutely kill me, and they had decided not to be that cruel. Not wanting me to die, however, did not necessarily mean that I was accepted by the community. Having Nor with me seemed to help, at least somewhat. He was at least well respected, and being in his presence absorbed you into his aura of decency.

The village seemed to have been built into the enormous trees of the forest. Several houses had been formed out of several trees carefully grown together through cultivation, and the living pavilion, formed out of ten trees carefully coaxed into growing around each other, was the great centerpiece of the town.

Getting to see the town as a group also drew your eye to the cultural similarities between them. A majority of adults had short hair, while children seemed to exclusively have long hair. There didn’t seem to be a clear age delineation between them. Based on appearances, Nor was older than a few of those with short hair, though no one under a certain age had their hair cut.

“Is there a reason for the hair styling?” I asked. “You wear your hair long, but most adults seem to keep theirs short.”

“Oh,” Nor said, with a tiny, dismissive flick of his feathers. “They are… erm. I am not certain of the word. Paired?”

“Married,” I guessed, and Nor’s expression brightened.

“Yes. Married. Part of the ceremony includes cutting hair. Most couples keep their hair short, to show they are with someone. Long hair can be difficult to fly with. To keep your hair short means you have someone who makes it easy to fly.” He frowned for a moment. “It is a pun in my language. It does not work as well in yours.”

“I think I get it,” I said. “But your aunt is unmarried and her hair is short.”

“She is…” There was a long pause. Nor seemed to be struggling to think of the proper words. “Bound to work? Committed to healing? Something along those lines, I believe. She is joined to her job as one is bound to a lover.”

I frowned. “Healers are like nuns, then?”

Nor frowned too. “Like… nones? Healers are not nothing.”

“No, like nuns. It’s spelled differently.” Nor looked entirely blank. I suspected he couldn’t write English. “Nuns are people who take vows not to marry so they can become closer to God, as I understand it. Healers do something similar.”

Nor still seemed confused. “Not all healers. Only Aunt Aerath.” He reached up and touched the long braid that was coiled on the back of his head. “I have… not decided.”

“Well, you’ve got time.” We were quite close to the healing house again, but I paused and leaned against a tree. My chest was squeezing again and I needed a break. “I never planned on marrying, really.”

“Why not?” Nor asked.

“I didn’t expect to live terribly long,” I said frankly. “I have spent much of my life expecting to die from a sudden attack. And then my parents suggested that I go to a hospital for treatment, and it’s rare to marry once you end up in those sort of places.” I smoothed my new robes idly. “I never expected to have a husband who would be okay with his wife dropping dead at any moment.”

Nor fluttered his wings. “You are not going to die,” he said.

“It’s all right. I’m content with it. I have been this way all my life. I value every moment now. It’s nothing new to me.” Nor still looked discomfited, so I patted his shoulder reassuringly. “Truly, I’m fine. We should head back now.”

Nor plied me with the strange, spicy concoction for my chest when we returned home. I drank the lot of it, at his insistence. It did seem to help. There was something about the warmth of it that relaxed my lungs and brought air in easier.

As my recovery finalized, I began to look for ways to serve my new community. It was not something terribly easy. I could not fly, or truly do any sort of intense physical activity, which limited my options. Sewing and weaving, actions that had often been suggested to me, held no more interest for me in the village than they had in my own home. Trying to manipulate tiny threads that tangled at the slightest glance was infuriating, and my frustration often ended in chest-heaving coughing fits. I tried to go back to writing my journals, examining nature and writing about it, but there seemed to be little actual use for it.

Eventually, I began tagging along with Nor when he went to collect herbs in the forest. He’d been going out more and more often, looking for new plants and writing furiously in his notebooks. I could read them more easily now, having spent a few weeks immersed in a crash course of his language.

“Just make sure you watch out for snakes,” Nor said as we trekked through the thick foliage.

“Look out for what?” I said. I was at the awkward stage of learning a language where I knew most common words, but words that were used infrequently were still lost.

“Snakes? Er. <Snakes!>” Nor said in English.

“Snakes,” I repeated. “Are there a lot of them?” I looked cautiously at the ground.

“No. Not a lot. But there are some venomous ones that bite if you step on them.” Unsettled, I lifted up the hem of my robe, peering cautiously at the leaf litter. The clothes harpies wore were not well-designed for people without tails or wings. I had needed to do some rudimentary tailoring to fix it into something I could walk around in. Shoes had been another problem entirely, mostly because harpies had tough, scaled feet and wore no shoes. I had eventually just decided to layer several thick fabrics together and essentially tied them to my feet. They were neither comfortable nor easy to wear, but they were practical and had stopped your soles from being shredded.

We made our way slowly through the woods. I ended up holding onto Nor’s arm wing for much of it. Never having worked out for long periods of time had left me fairly uncoordinated and leaning on Nor made it much easier for me to move about.

“Look. Norell,” he said, picking up a bunch of sharp-smelling, pink flowered herbs from the ground. “My namesake.”

“What are they used for?” I asked.

“Chest conditions, actually. They’re a big part of the infusion I’ve been giving you.” Nor had been giving me a regular doses of that infusion. Taking some in the morning seemed to loosen my chest for the rest of the day. “I’ve been trying to make a stronger infusion, so we’ll need a lot of it.”

“Are you predicting a spike in chest conditions?” I asked. Winter was on its way, and apparently, due to their large, powerful lungs, harpies were quite susceptible to issues like pneumonia and bronchitis. But that seemed to be counterbalanced by the fact that winter was mild on the island, more of a tepidly cool wet season than a proper snowy winter.

Nor shifted on the ground. His wings twitched a little. It was hard to tell, thanks to his deeply brown skin, but I thought I could see a hint of red creeping into his cheeks. “It’s for you, actually.”

I lifted my brows. “For me?”

“It’s been helping you recently,” Nor said, a little defensively. “I thought that a stronger infusion would help even more.” He frowned critically at the plants. “I want to get it as concentrated as possible. But there’s not enough in the gardens right now, so I need more.” He straightened up, tucking a bundle of plants away into his bag. “Also, infusions will keep a little better than the herbs themselves, so I can keep them for longer. You’ll need some when the growing season ends.”

“You’ll need some for others as well,” I said. “Keep some in reserve.”

“If you need it, you need it,” Nor said. “I’d rather give herbs to someone who definitely needs them than reserve some in case someone else might need them.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to fully heal someone who can be fully healed than to keep giving supplements to someone who will always be sick?” I said. Nor’s feathers bristled, shifting in agitation.

“All people deserve healing. Whether or not their condition is curable. I want you to be well.” His tone was so severe that I could do nothing but stare at him. After a moment, he seemed to realize what he’d said and he broke eye contact, staring at the ground. “We should, ah. Head back.”

He started trekking through the woods rapidly. Harpies were notably better at balance on uneven terrain, thanks to their long, gripping talons. I struggled to keep up with him.

We were getting quite close to the village when I felt the unfortunately familiar seizing sensation in my chest. I stopped dead, enormously regretting my walking speed that had left me a little breathless. It was growing harder by the moment to inhale.

Nor paused, realized I was no longer with him, and hurried back to my side. “Are you okay?” he asked. One of his hands moved along my back, kneading my tightening muscles. “Breathe. Breathe!” If I had the air for it, I would have informed him I was trying, and was well aware that I needed to be breathing. Unfortunately, all my energy was going into not allowing my body to suffocate me.

Nor abruptly decided that simply telling me to breathe was ineffective and changed tact. “Hold on!” This turned out to be quite literal because he seized me around the waist and hefted me against his chest.

It was impossible for a harpy to fly while carrying something, because their arms and wings were one and the same, but I could have been fooled considering how fast Nor was moving. He plunged through the forest as fast as the wind. I would have been more impressed if I wasn’t struggling to breathe at the moment. As it was, I was aware that we were moving at quite a speed.

Nor was back in the healing house within minutes. I was unceremoniously dumped on the bed and Nor darted off, rummaging through a cabinet with a noise of wood rattling and glass clinking.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he said. He knelt next to me, turning my head toward him. “You just need to drink this. Okay?”

I tried to inhale enough to speak and it stuck in my chest, sparking a coughing fit. Nor looked panicked and thrust the little bottle he was holding into my mouth. I sputtered, but some of the liquid spilled down my throat. There was a mild tingling and my chest loosened.

With my breathing abruptly eased, I could keep taking small sips from the bottle. The tightness loosened with every swallow. Nor slumped next to the bed, wings sagging with relief. I put down the bottle, still coughing, but breathing easier.

“Are you okay?” Nor asked. I nodded.

“You can move quick,” I said. My voice was raspy and a little strangled. I swallowed, trying to fully clear my throat.

“I was worried,” he said. “You should try carrying a bottle of this with you from now on.” He walked over to the cabinet and fetched a small bottle full of the infusion. “If you’re going to be going out more often, you’ll want something to prevent more attacks.”

I took the bottle. “That’s a good idea.” I set it down onto the table next to the bed. “Are you inviting me on more herb gathering missions, then?”

A slightly shy smile crept up Nor’s face. “If you’d like to come. You’ve been pretty good at spotting plants. And you’ve been pretty good in the gardens lately.”

“I was never really able to do a lot of gardening before,” I said. “So, I tended to overfocus on the little minute details, like soil quality and the amount of water you give the plants.”

“You’ve improved the garden a lot,” Nor said. “Oh, which reminds me. Hold on.”

He stood up and trotted over to the cabinet again. After looking through it for a few moments, he pulled out a small notebook and walked back over. “Here,” he said, presenting it to me. It looked like the notebooks he used for his own notes, a smooth black cover and soft, slightly off-white pages. “I haven’t taken many notes on the gardening aspects of herbs. I just… haven’t been very good at it. But I thought you could start taking notes on how you care for the plants. It might be useful.”

I took the notebook from his hands. Our fingers brushed as I did so. His skin was warm and calloused, the sort of skin that only came around after long, hard work. The notebook was heavy in my hands, strangely dense for such a small item. “Thank you,” I said. “I would love to do that.”

Nor stood, shifting on his talons. “Good. Um. You should probably get some rest. I’ll be back in a bit.” He hurried out of the room. I watched him go until his tail had completely vanished around the doorway.

Working in the garden only brought me closer to Nor. We spent time together every day, either going out to gather herbs or helping him with the garden. He was enthusiastic to learn and good company even when we weren’t talking about plants.

His ease with me spread to the rest of the village. By the time winter was over, I had been completely accepted as a part of the community. To them, I was not as much an outsider human as a strange, wingless harpy. Even Aerath trusted me enough to allow me to learn how to make herbal remedies, while Nor took on more of her duties, like diagnosing illnesses and dressing wounds.

During early spring, when the rains began to ease, a change set in around the village. There was a new current of excitement, the younger adults spending more time showing off and engaging in stunts. Even Nor, who had been fairly even tempered in the time I’d known him, seemed to get caught up in the excitement.

It was during my usual work in the garden that I noticed the changes were not confined to emotional. There was a physical change too. Nor’s tail feathers, usually a deep golden-brown, had taken on a rusty color. The color only brightened over the next week, going from a dull, sort of reddish orange to a bright crimson. The colors showed up on the male population of the rest of the village as well, to varying degrees. Some, especially the younger males, never got past a reddish orange, while others got to the same brilliant crimson hue as Nor’s.

While it garnered some sort of notice and people seemed pleased about it, no one was talking about what it actually meant. It clearly meant something, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on why it was so important.

Eventually, after some time of trying to figure out what it meant on my own, I broke down and decided to ask Nor. “Your tail changed color,” I said as we headed back into the house from the garden.

“You noticed,” Nor said. His tone was utterly unreadable.

“Well, it’s a bit hard to miss. It’s a very bright color.” Nor’s unreadable expression shifted into one of clear embarrassment. “Is it something I shouldn’t mention? It seems to signal something, but I wasn’t sure what it was-”

“No, no. I mean, I guess I should have expected you to ask about it. You’re not a harpy, so you never would have been told.” He set the herbs he’d collected down on the table and turned to me, giving me his full attention. “It’s almost spring, which means that we’re approaching our mating season.”

I felt sort of stupid for not hitting upon that idea earlier. Of course. The red was to attract a mate. Was commenting on it some kind of social faux pas? As I tried to come up with that to say next, Nor continued. “We’ll have a mating ceremony soon, with the other local villages. It’s a big event, so everyone’s getting rather excited about it.”

“A… mating ceremony?” I repeated. How carnal were we talking? Was I going to have to make myself scarce for… how long did the mating ceremony last, anyway?

“It’s not as bad as you’re thinking,” Nor added hurriedly. “It’s more of a competition? Or a show, really. It lasts about a week, and the first six days are more of a festival than anything. Lots of feasting, games, shows. It’s more about getting to know the other villages and the people from them. It’s quite fun. The festival ends with the mating ceremony. It used to be a more literal interpretation of that, a long time ago. But now it’s really more of a show. Men fly around and show off, but it’s less to attract a mate and more to show off to someone you already have an attraction to. Or to get someone to ask you out, sometimes. It’s more for the fun of it and the tradition.”

“It sounds interesting,” I said.

“It should start in a couple of weeks. That’s the peak of the season,” Nor said. “I can show you around a bit, if you’d like.”

“Sure. If you’re not going to be too busy trying to find a soulmate,” I said, nudging him playfully in the side. He shrugged, glancing away.

“I’ve never actually participated all that much in it,” he said. “I’ve been kind of focused on my studies with my aunt. I spent most of my time at the last few festivals working with the other healers.”

“You should get out more, then. I can help your aunt out, if you want. Then you can go off and see the sights.”

“I already told you I’d show you around,” Nor protested. “And it’ll be your first festival.”

“Look, at least get a little time to yourself,” I said. “I can help out, you know.”

“We’ll see,” Nor said, which was as close to agreeing as I thought he was going to get.

The weeks passed slowly, with excitement ramping up as the festival got closer. I could almost feel the tension buzzing in the air, getting ready to overflow. By the time it had arrived, I was almost swept up in the rising excitement.

The fairground for the festival was a large clearing in the center of the island. It had an impressive view of the sky, and the ground was almost entirely covered in tents and attractions. Nor and I were toward the edge of the grounds, in a sort of makeshift medical tent. “We probably won’t be called on for a little bit,” he said once we’d finished setting everything up. “I can show you around.”

“Sure,” I agreed. Nor trotted off, and I followed after, looking around the festival with interest.

Most of it seemed like the sort of festivals I’d seen once or twice when I’d been young. Ever since my chest troubles had set in fully, I’d rarely gone far from my house. It looked mostly like a very fancy market. People showed off their most interesting wares, their most brightly colored or intricately designed trinkets. There were several people slightly younger than Nor picking up things that I assumed were for potential sweethearts. There were also several games, most of them for children, but a few clearly styled for adults. The food was the usual hearty fare that I’d seen at other festivals, enormously delicious and decadent.

“And this all lasts a whole week?” I asked as we made our way back to the healer’s tent. We had gotten sidetracked a few times- there were several musical performances and talent shows, and even a few classes that I’d been interested in taking.

“Well, the first and last days are the biggest ones. But yes, the whole week. For the most part.”

“Then you can take a day or two off and enjoy all this, can’t you?” I said. Nor hesitated for a moment. “I can handle things at the tent. Why don’t you take tomorrow off? It’ll be good for you to get a break.”

Nor hesitated. “I’ll have to ask my aunt.”

“I’ll make sure she says yes,” I said. “You deserve it. Especially after having to take care of me for so long.”

Nor shrugged and mumbled something about it not being a big deal. I laughed clapping him on the shoulder.

“Just take some time off. Okay?”

He agreed, finally, and we returned to the tent. There were a few injuries, of course, mostly young people trying to show off for their potential lovers, but nothing we were overwhelmed with. It took only a bit of persuading for Aerath to give Nor the next day off.

Nor went out only after making sure I kept my infusion on me. “Just be careful,” he said.

“I’m always careful,” I told him. “Now, go. And stop worrying so much.” He made a face, but left for the rest of the fairgrounds, leaving me with Aerath and the other healers.

I only spotted him a few times during the day. He seemed to have attracted a small group of friends by noon. It seemed he could get along well with others, as long as he managed to get out. Well, I reflected, he was a sweetheart. It wasn’t hard to believe that he was able to get along with others.

I’d been breathing relatively easy for so long that I hadn’t really been expecting another attack. So, when the bout of tightness came on with no warning, I was so shocked I couldn’t think of what to do for several panicked moments.

My wheezing attracted Aerath’s attention. She grabbed my shoulder and shoved me down onto a cot. I fumbled for the infusion, and Aerath helped me unstopper it and press it to my lips.

The infusion helped, but my chest still felt tight. I could draw in air, but it wasn’t enough. Black spots started to pop in front of my vision. My chest screamed with pain. I was dying. That thought sat clear and calm in my brain, rising above all the panic like foam over a tide. I’d known it was going to happen. I’d hoped it would take longer. But at least… at least the last few months of my life had been nice. My mind drifted to Nor. Hopefully he wouldn’t blame himself. He didn’t deserve that. He’d been wonderful.

Nor’s face was suddenly over mine. I blinked up at him. Ha. A nice hallucination before everything ended.

“Breathe!” Distantly, I could feel a hand on my chest, another at my mouth. Something sharp and bitter flowed past my lips and I choked, sputtering. My chest loosened abruptly and I sucked in a great breath, coughing and choking.

Nor, who I was gradually realizing was actually there and not just a hallucination, rolled me onto my side. Some of the solution drained from my mouth as I coughed it up. Nor rubbed my back vigorously, prompting another round of coughing.

Gradually, the tightness eased to just a faint raspiness and a raw pain. I sat up as Nor sank into a seat, weak with relief. “I thought you were going to die,” he said faintly.

“I did too.” My voice was gravely and everything felt raw. “The infusion wasn’t working. What did you use?”

“It was experimental,” Nor said a little sheepishly. “I’ve been trying to make it stronger, something that works better.”

“Thank goodness it did,” I said. I got slowly off the cot where I’d collapsed. Nor stood as well, staying close by like he was preparing to catch me.

“Maybe we should fine somewhere to rest,” Nor said. “The attack probably took it out of you.”

Despite your protests, Nor followed you back home and insisted on staying with you. “Just in case,” he kept repeating.

Nor kept near my side for the next few days, even when I tried to gently push him to spend time elsewhere and enjoy the event. The only times he seemed willing to leave was when I was going with him, at which point he took great enthusiasm in showing me around the various games and events that were being held. Being near him allowed even me to make some new friends- those who would have been unsettled by the sight of some strange, wingless creature seemed reassured enough by Nor’s friendly presence to approach.

Despite his insistence on sticking with me, I did convince him to take another day off for the last day of the festival. It was the day of the mating ceremony, and, given that Nor was of proper age, possibly even a little old, to participate in it, I wanted to give him time to do so.

The showing started at noon sharp, when the sun was at its zenith. Most of the people flying were male, though a few women had painted their tails red and were flying as well. A few would take off at a time and move in carefully coordinated dances. Some were conservative and simple, others were aggressive and risk-taking. Eventually, they would land back in the throng of people staring at the sky. Some of them landed and slipped off with a single partner. Others landed and seemed to attract a group, each of the admirers vying for attention.

After about an hour, I meandered off to the bank of a nearby river. Watching harpies fly was interesting, but it did get old after a while and I was getting a crick in my neck from looking up.

I had only been soaking my feet in the river for a few minutes when Nor walked up to me and sat down next to me. “Wondered where you’d gone,” he said. “Doing all right?”

“Fine. You don’t need to be so worried.”

Nor dipped his talons into the water. “Mm. I guess. But I do anyway.”

“I wish you wouldn’t,” I said. “You spent half of the festival trailing after me like I would collapse the instant you took your eyes off me. And now you’re missing out on the flight ceremony.”

It was hard to tell with his deeply tanned skin, but I thought Nor went a little pink. “I wasn’t really planning to fly anyway,” he said.

“No one caught your eye?” I asked. There was a long pause. “Nor?”

“Not as such,” he said. “I mean… Sort of.”

“And you’ve been spending all your time trying to look after me instead of enjoying the festival with her,” I said. “You know, I don’t need you to hover around me. You don’t need to feel guilty if anything happens to me. I’ve known I’m probably not going to live that long.”

Nor’s expression twisted a little bit. “I’ve been trying to fix that. I think I’ve got a concoction right. If you take it daily, it should help you-”

“Okay, okay,” I said. “Hey. You don’t need to spend all your time on me, you know? You can have a life. You’re not responsible for me.”

“It’s not about that,” Nor said. “I wasn’t worried about you. Well, not just that. I…” He stopped for a moment. “I wanted to spend time with you.”

Oh. That created a runny sensation in my chest, like my heart flipped over. “You wanted to-”

“Don’t be that surprised. I haven’t really been subtle about it,” Nor said. “Yes. I like being around you. Why did you think I kept inviting you to do stuff with me and stayed with you instead of going to the festival?”

“I thought you just wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to suffocate in your absence,” I said.

“A little bit. But mostly because I like you,” he said. He peered into my face, a tentative smile on his lips. “You don’t seem upset?”

“I’m not,” I said. “I’m pleased, actually.”

“Really?” Nor’s face was quite close to mine. His lips were parted. I could feel the soft warmth of his breath.

“Really.” Our lips were quite close to touching. Just before making contact, Nor seemed to stall, hesitation overcoming desire. I smiled and leaned in, pressing our lips together in a gentle moment of contact.

Neither of us had much experience kissing, so it was a bit clumsy and we clacked teeth more than once. Still, when we broke apart, I felt breathless in the most positive way I’d ever experienced.

“We should go back,” Nor said, still staring at me. “I… I think I want to participate in the ceremony after all.”

I smiled. “I’ll be watching.”

#exophilia #harpy #harpy boyfriend #harpy lover #monster boyfriend #monster lover #ocXoc #MxF #Nor

299 notes · View notes

needs-to-stop-looking-at-yigas · 3 years

Note

Could we get another Miphlink/Yiga Husbands double date?? I can't get over how much I love the way you write them! 😅

Thank you! I do in fact, love writing them all, including Mipha, who is JUST precious! (also yes to that one anon, you’re getting that smut of them you wanted, I’m getting there. 20 asks don’t get responded to overnight).

“Mipha, lil’ red, how’ve you been?!”

Kohga and Sooga were invited to come over for another double date. It was Mipha’s turn to pick what to do, and she had a rather interesting idea; learning how to make drinks. That was it. Kohga might have thought something like clothes making, maybe even searching for seashells or watching Link do his training. Not that Kohga was complaining, he loved an excuse to drink. Mipha accepted his offer for a hug, just delighted to see him.

“Kohga, Sooga! My dear friends! How are you both?”

Mipha parted from the hug, and offered Sooga her hand. She learned a long time ago that he didn’t exactly enjoy touching women, so she always offered her hand, in case he didn’t want to be touched. He refused it this time around, lightly bowing his head in apology.

“I’m quite well, Lady Mipha. Didn’t think I’d be carrying so much alcohol on my back though.”

Kohga scoffed, arms folded across his chest.

“What? You expect ME to carry it?”

“No Master Kogha, I just-”

“Anyhow, he’s just whiny because it’s an indoor date. I’m SO ready to teach you how to make some drinks! Where’s your little boyfriend anyway?”

“He’s inside, helping me set out the snacks.”

Sooga cocked his head to the side.

“Should...you have left HIM near the food?”

She thought about it for a moment, and realized her mistake.

“Er...pardon me for a moment.”

She dashed back inside, and Kohga chuckled. Sooga looked down at Kohga, and he could NOT stop smiling. Kohga noticed it, and scowled.

“What’s so funny?”

“You call ME such a lovesick sap. Yet here you are, fawning over their love. You’re such a hypocrite.”

“You know what, get your ass inside, I’m not listening to you.”

Sooga chuckled as Kohga nagged him into talking inside. Mipha had her own room in Zora’s domain, but quite frankly, it was like a mini mansion. A giant bedroom, a kitchen, and a living room, all to herself. No doubt it was built for her purely because everyone LOVED her, not that she needed such space. Kohga liked it here though, it was DAMN pretty in here, even though red was his personal favorite color. Kohga closed the door behind them as he dipped his head into the kitchen. Mipha was scolding Link (if you would call her gentle ‘please save food for the guests’ scolding), when she seemed to just now notice them, smiling as she brought over bowls of snacks to the living room.

“Sorry, Link ate most of the fried salmon skins. He really does enjoy my cooking.”

Sooga gave a shake of his head.

“It’s alright, he may have them. Kohga always makes me shower after I eat fish.”

“Because that smell just does NOT go away! How am I supposed to cop a feel when you smell like a doc?”

Link didn’t have any complaints, grabbing the bowl and helping himself to the rest of the salmon skins, nodding at them both in a hello. Mipha chuckled, slightly shaking her head.

“So long as that isn’t an issue for anyone, I would’ve gladly made some more for you, Sooga.”

“Kind, but not needed Mipha, thank you. If I may though, can I put this bag down? I’d hate to accidentally break any bottles.”

“Oh yes, please, on the coffee table!”

Sooga nodded, going to the living room and putting the rather big back of alcohol down onto the table. Mipha brought a little cart full of snacks (including sauteed nuts, honey candies, meaty rice balls, bread and butter, tabantha bakes, and banana chips), pushing it right by the table before she sat down next to Link on one of the couches. Kohga whistled at the rather cute array of treats she had.

“You didn’t have to make so much, Mipha! That’s sweet of you, but I wouldn’t want you putting so much work into this.”

“You agreed to teach us all about making drinks, providing you food is the least I can do! I also have some cake in the fridge, in case we need something else sweet.”

“Ugh, you’re precious Mipha, you really are. Blondie, don’t lose this one, she’s a good one.”

Link nodded in determination, and in a way, Mipha found it adorable. Kohga started to take out the bottles from the pack, setting it all down. Now Kohga wasn’t an alcoholic by any means, but he did like having variety in his drinks, hence why he had QUITE the stock. Mipha leaned over to the tray of snacks, helping herself to a meaty rice ball. Even as she was stuffing her little face, she was being so neat about it, just as the princess she was. Sooga meanwhile, sat up straight and to attention, as usual, not letting himself relax.

“So, what drinks ARE we making today, Master Kohga?”

“Let’s start with Mipha’s. Ladies first and all of that. I know which one you like, I NEVER forget a drink order. Don’t think you’ve ever seen me make drinks actually, so this should be fun.”

Kohga was always fast when it came to making drinks of food. It took him pretty much only a minute to cut fruit, salt the rim (of course he brought his own glasses), pour the ice, juice, vodka and stir. Sure it was a simple drink, but the speed was nonetheless impressive. He handed her the glass, and she gladly accepted it, handing the rest of her rice ball to Link. She took a sip, and although she tried to hide it, he could tell she enjoyed it, based on the way her lips curled into a little bit of a smile.

“I always thought it was so much more complicated than that, quite frankly.”

“Honestly, ANY drink is easy, once you know what you’re doing. Sooga, your turn big guy.”

“I don’t think we packed wine.”

“We didn’t, because that’s boring. That, and I like the fact that you watch my hands when I make these.”

Kohga nudged him with his shoulder, trying and failing not to grin. Sooga knew he was right, he LOVED watching him make things. Be it food, drinks, or...well, anything really. Kohga dug into the bag, pulling out a bunch of stuff. Sooga cocked his head to the side, curious.

“Wait, what are you making-”

“Shh, you’ll like it, trust me.”

In a tall glass, Kohga poured a container of some kind of syrup, adding some wild berries right after. He mashed them up, added a bit of some red liquid, and topped it off with ice cream, and a dash of soda. Sooga picked up the glass, inspecting the rather colorful drink.

“What...is this?”

“It’s a float, just try it. I even made it low alcohol, because you’re a pansy.”

Sooga gave it a sip, and slowly nodded, finding himself rather liking it.

“That’s quite nice, actually. Sweet, but bitter. How did you get the ice cream to stay-”

“Don’t ask questions, and just enjoy. Meanwhile, let’s get to refilling your glass Mipha, you’re all ice over there.”

Mipha looked down at her glass, lightly shaking her head.

“Oh no, I couldn’t possibly. One is more than enough.”

“Come on, you ain’t swimmin’ anywhere. Just one more?”

Mipha hesitated, but chuckled in defeat, handing him her glass.

“Alright. But just one more, then that’s it.”

“Atta girl!”

He chuckled, gladly setting her up with another drink. He had to at this point, who wouldn’t make a drink for their hostess? Especially with the way the snacks seemed to slowly be disappearing. Kohga rested his chin on his hand as he looked at Link.

“Now...what would YOU like, I wonder. Don’t think I’ve ever seen you drink, Goldilocks.”

Link gave a shake of his head, stuffing his face full of buttered bread. Kohga thought about it, before snapping his fingers.

“Wait, I got just the thing for you!”

Link had only just recently become of drinking age, so he wasn’t exactly a booze hound. Not a problem, Kohga catered to anyone and everyone, experience be damned. Kohga started to two different kinds of rum, some vodka, lemonade, and some black currant cordial. He mixed it all together, and slid it over to Link.

“Like it? It’s a ‘pink fairy’. Seems like something you’d like. Bit on the strong for some, but hey go big or big home. Now drink, drink!"

Link took a sip, lightly shaking his head after his sip. Kohga chuckled, leaning over and patting him on his pretty blonde head.

"You'll get used to it, blondie. Just-"

"Link, drink swap."

Mipha traded their drinks (with hers definitely having a lot less), and Link more or less accepted the swap. Mipha chuckled after taking a sip, leaning over to pinch Link's cheek.

"It's adorable, your first drink! You're just. So cute, Link."

Link's face erupted in blush, and he rubbed the back of his head, shy boy he was. Sooga pulled out his Sheikah slate as Kohga made his own drink (banana hammock, obviously), and started to play a song, playing it at a reasonable volume. Mipha seemed pleased as the music played, and she squealed, grabbing onto Link’s arm and flailing her legs wildly.

“Link! Oh I LOVE this music! You HAVE to dance with me! Please please pleeeeease!”

Drunk Mipha was a TOTAL dance bunny, and paired without the usual shyness, it was adorable, honestly. Link finished whatever was left of the drink, and nodded. Link was never one to tell his girl no, and it showed. They both got off of the couch, choosing to get up and dance together. The music wasn’t quick, wasn’t slow, but it enough to give a relaxed party vibe to the room, and Kohga couldn’t help but chuckle, nursing his drink as he watched his drunk little fishy get her groove on.

“You did that on purpose didn’t you?”

“I have no idea what you mean. I just like a little postmodern music. Nice tune.”

“Sap.”

“Enabler.”

They both had a chuckle at that, sitting back and watching these two idiots. Drunk Mipha had a little swagger to her, and Link knew fairly well how to dance. Enough so, he managed to dip her, just to kiss her on her forehead.

“That’s bullshit cute. Can’t say I blame her, boys got moves. He-”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence as Mipha started to tug at his arm, chuckling and swaying in place.

“Come on you two! Can’t just be me and Link up here! Dance with me Kohga!”

“Hey, if you wanna look bad, your funeral, fishy!”

Kohga tossed back the rest of the drink, before trading Link, and getting his chance to dance with Mipha. Link watched Mipha nearly giggle herself half to death, before he offered his hand to Sooga. He rolled his eyes, taking another sip of his drink.

“I suppose Kohga would just scold me if I refused. Alright.”

He accepted his hand, and joined him right next to Mipha and Kohga. It was half hearted, not very well done dancing, but that didn’t matter. All that mattered was that they were having fun, chuckles and giggles moving around the room, just as much as their feet were. Even Sooga had to admit; he was having fun. He swapped partners with Kohga, now dancing with a very enthusiastic Mipha. Thankfully, he wasn’t scared enough to NOT twirl the little princess in place, catching her before her dizziness nearly made her fall to the floor. She cared not at all, laughing it off rather loudly.

“Ha! You’re just like Link! Ever the sweetheart, Sooga.”

“I’d say he’s a lot more like Kohga, quite frankly.”

He chuckled, glancing over at Kohga and Link, who were having just WAY too much fun together. Mipha giggled, getting herself to stand back up.

“You love Kohga SO much, oh my GOD its so sweet. I cry thinking about you guys sometimes, it’s SO sweet. You guys NEED to get married. I wanna see it, so bad.”

“Kohga WOULD look good in a dress, I agree.”

“Thought that’d be you. You have the tits for it.”

“...pardon-”

“Oh switch time!”

Their partners swapped, and suddenly Kohga was in his arms. Not that he had any complaints. Kohga laughed as he held onto Sooga, still keeping in tune to the song.

“Good call on the swap, any longer and I might’ve stolen her mans. I’m telling you, he’s into me.”

“Not anymore than me, Master Kohga.”

“Is that a fact?”

“Absolutely. I can prove it too.”

Sooga leaned down, parted their masks a bit, and pressed his lips against Kohga’s. It was a sweet, tender moment between them, and even though it wasn’t an outdoorsy date, Sooga wouldn’t trade it for anything.

“Link!-”

They both turned to watch Link trip over himself, sending himself falling on top of Mipha, who fell backwards onto the couch. They both shared a laugh, and it was tender, watching Mipha hold onto Link’s face as she did.

“Oh...you’re a big, silly man, Link. I love you. You and your soft face, and your big elephant ears.”

They both snorted at that, forehead pressed together. Sooga looked down at Kohga, who was clearly amused at them both.

“Kohga?”

“Hmm?”

“Did you...think it would end up like this?”

“Well yeah, they’re nuts for each other-”

“No. I mean...everything. Us being together, the world being as perfect as it is now. Did you see that coming?”

“...no. But you know, I’m really glad things ended up how they did. All of it.”

Kohga put his hand into Sooga’s, chuckling. There was a sweet, blissful moment of tenderness between them, before Sooga spoke again.

“You want to grab everything in the fridge and leave them be?”

“Absolutely, been thinking about the cake this whole time.”

#asks #kohga #sooga #mipha #link #they're adorable #each and every one of them #and yes mipha and link totally made out for like an hour as Kohga stole all her food #its normal tbh

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supernaturallyobsessedchic · 4 years

Text

7 Days to Die - Part 5

Heal

Pairing: Jensen x Reader

Warnings: Scary situations all round, language, implied character death.

Summary: The reader works to get Jensen feeling better again, but she forgets about her own health.

a/n: I guess I put it in here too, a little feeling of The Last of Us mission of Ellie trying to get meds for Joel, whereas in this Y/N is trying to get meds for Jensen.

Word Count: 1,293

Main Masterlist

7 Days to Die Masterlist

Mobile Masterlist

“Damn.”

Y/N cursed when the fifth check point that day came up empty for antibiotics.

As she exited a gun cocking behind her caused her to freeze.

“Don’t move.” A deep voice with a southern accent said.

The voice had a sense of familiarity.

“Benny?” she asked.

She turns to face the man. And it was the actor that played Benny Lafitte from Supernatural.

“Jensen must have told you about us.” He said, lowering his gun. Putting the safety on.

“Speaking of, he’s hurt. I need antibiotics, like now.” She says urgently.

“How bad?” he says.

“Bad, gunshot wound, I managed to stitch up. But it’s infected. He’s fighting a fever right now.” She explained.

“We got some in our camp, I’ll take you to Misha.” He says.

“How far is it, I don’t want to be too far from Jensen.” She says.

“Not far, this is our strong hold. We keep it stocked with mostly weapons. The meds are on the other side of the camp.” He says.

“What about his family?” she asked.

“We got some meds for them, they’re bouncing back. But his wife, she’s getting worse.” He says.

“Then you might need something stronger.” She says.

“Maybe, but we can’t find any. We don’t want to venture too far ourselves.” Benny says. “And Jensen and Jared pushed it going to that quiet small town.” He says.

“Jared didn’t make it.” she says sadly. “Scratched, turned.” She says.

“Damn.” Benny says sadly.

It wasn’t that far of a walk, the camp Y/N got into she had to go around the scrimmage that still went on. She went unnoticed, luckily.

At the camp it was like a scene from Supernatural, episode The End. She kept to herself, following Benny to the Infirmary.

Misha was at the main desk as she walked in behind Benny. Jotting something down, he looks up to see who entered.

“Hey Benny, who do you have there?” he asked.

“Didn’t catch her name but she’s with Jensen, says he’s hurt and needs meds. The strong ones.” Benny says.

“My name’s Y/N by the way.” She says. “He was shot, now the wound is infected.” She adds.

“I have just the stuff. Be sure to clean your hands, the wound, then apply it to a clean bandage. And he should bounce back within a day.” He says. Handing her a bottle of antiseptic and a loaded syringe filled with a clear liquid.

“He needs that shot. Just stab him in the arm with it, right there.” He points on his own arm to show her. She nods.

“Thank you Misha.” She says.

“Please, it’s okay to call me Cas in the camp. It’s what we refer to everyone in here. They’re Supernatural characters. As lame as that sounds. But it keeps us all sane.” Misha says.

“I get it. Once he’s better, we’ll be on our way up.” she says.

“We’ll be waiting, have a safe walk back.” He says.

“Maybe I should walk her back?” Benny offered.

“No, we need you here, we lost three more guys to a horde south of here.” Misha said.

“A horde, this far out?” Y/N asked.

“It keeps getting bigger. It’s out of Vancouver.” Misha says.

“Not only that we got a group of raiders to the east.” Benny adds.

“Well, we got some work to do on your forces. We’ll be back before the raiders come.” She says.

“Be safe out there kiddo, bring back my guy safe and sound.” Misha says.

“Plan to.” She says. Heading out, nearly sprinting out of the camp and back to the cabin.

She got back to the cabin by sundown, having to go around the same scrimmage. She washes her hands as best as she could, getting a fresh bandage she puts the antiseptic on the bandage. Just seeing how bad his color is, drove her to work fast.

She works the old one off of him. Taking a clean rag with clean water she cleans up the wound. He lets out a groan of pain, he shifts, writhing in pain slightly. Before passing out again.

“I’m sorry, but you need to get better. You have a family to get back to.” She says.

She puts on the new bandage that has the antiseptic.

Then takes the syringe, and sterile wipes cleaning his arm up of any possible germs. Then driving the needle in quickly, injecting the antibiotics slowly.

“There, you should be getting better soon.” She says.

She cleans up the area, and heads to the living room to sit and relax. Even with the sounds of the scrimmage still going on in the distance.

The fight silenced at sunrise the next day.

Y/N sat on the bed, fighting sleep, but not feeling too hot herself. She didn’t realize she hadn’t eaten in a while, but kept up on fluids. But she could feel how weak she was.

The sun rose more and more, showing the hours passing, she heard Jensen waking up. Showing signs of life. She finally allows herself to sleep, closing her eyes briefly. She heard him up and walking around. Though slowly, he entered the living room. Seeing her slouching on the couch.

“Did you get any rest?” he asked.

“No, not with that fight that went on for a four days.” She says.

“Sounds like it finally stopped.” He says.

“Probably ran out of ammo.” She says.

“You sound awful, rest up. We’ll head out soon.” He says.

“I’ll shut my eyes.” She says. “Oh, and we’re not far from your camp. It’s like, a days walk.” She adds.

“I take it that’s where you got the meds for me from.” He says. She nods.

“Well, awesome. Rest up quick, and we’ll head out and just haul ass.” He adds.

They quickened their pace when they left the cabin, not wanting to be in the middle of a possible firefight, which they avoided.

She began to lag behind. Her energy leaving her, if she did the math right, she didn’t eat for 3 solid days, now on day four she doesn’t feel right. She was careful to ration the water, but she was drinking. But not enough.

Her gaze was at the ground, she began to stagger. She admitted to herself, she needs to stop. She needs to tell Jensen.

“Jen…” she says, though too softly for him to hear. Too weak. Her eyes roll to the back of her head as she passes out, collapses on the cold wet ground.

The thud prominent, Jensen turns to find Y/N’s unconscious body on the ground.

“No.” he says quietly. Not wanting to be heard. His heart rate picks up.

All he saw was Jared in his mind, when he collapsed, as he ran to her aid.

He lifts her in his arms, he noticed how light she was. Even almost felt every vertebra in her spine. She starved herself. The work she was doing burned a lot of calories and energy, she didn’t recharge herself with eating.

I’m not gonna lose you too. He thought.

Picking her up in his arms he hurries to the camp.

Night fell when Benny saw his friend carrying someone he just saw the other day. Who looked healthy, but now looks to be dying of starvation.

“I’ll let Cas know.” Benny says.

“Hurry, she must have not eaten anything since I’ve been out.” Jensen says.

The two run through the camp to the Infirmary.

“Misha, she’s starved herself.” Jensen says.

“Well, good to see you too.” Misha says.

Jensen takes her to an open bed. Misha looks her over.

“I can still save her; she’s not totally dehydrated but I’ll pump her full of fluids. She’ll bounce back by morning.” He says. And he gets to work.

“Come on boss, ‘sides, you’re kids need their father.” Benny says.

“Wait, how is she? Danneel?” he asked.

“Look boss, there’s no easy way to say this.” Benny says.

Jensen Tag List:

@luci-in-trenchcoats, @supernatural-jackles, @becs-bunker, @mlovesstories, @winchesters-favorite-girl, @moonlight-on-her-skin, @backseat-of-deans-67chevy, @salt-n-burn-em-all

Copying and reposting someone else’s content is plagiarism and illegal. This work is property of supernaturallyobsessedchic. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. These works contain material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of these works may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher. An electronic reference link to the original posted work may be provided for purposes of promotion or assistance of publication by the readers discretion, if proper credits are given to the author in the re-post. 10/19/2020

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nahte123456 · 4 years

Text

Marinette Bio-Dad idea, White Collar:Neal

Alright I was doing that stupid fanfic-writer thing where I saw two characters in a short time frame and went “I bet I can think of a story for this”. Those two being Marinette and Neal. I like the whole Bio-dad thing and they do both have blue eyes so I went with it when I found something out, Neal is meant to be around 33 in Season 3 as far as I can figure(it’s said the character is meant to be around the actors age and that kinda works with what Ellen says iirc) and Marinette is meant to be 13.

Neal’s age is an approximate and we know that when he was 18 and ran away from home he did some stupid stuff until Mozzie picked him up. So is it so hard to believe that Neal, fresh from running away and just starting to con see’s a vacationing Tom and Sabine, thinks to try and con/steal some money from them, and starts buying them drinks under an assumed(and older) name. He then learns that they are nice people that seem to just care about him because they are good people and can’t go through with the con, but at that point they are all drunk and attractive young adults and nature takes it’s course and an accident with a condom makes a Marinette that Neal doesn’t know about.

Until a few years later that is. We know Neal was in Paris at one point so in between con’s he remember this nice couple that helped him out for a night and decides he’ll look them up, pop into there restaurant and buy something, maybe they won’t even recognize him. Only to see tiny Mari who 100% has his eyes. And Sabine walks in and she’s not dumb, she recognizes Neal and realizes what he see’s and so he’s invited in and they all have a talk about there daughter.

So Neal starts to give an abridged version of his side of the story when Babynette walks over with a surprisingly good colored pencil sketch of what was, if only by the colors, clearly him. And Neal has a bit of a breakdown at this point, not like a sobbing wreck or anything but he has a host of family issues, pressure from being on the run, and the surprise of a daughter all get to him so instead of some made up story he tells them the truth about the whole witness protection childhood and once he starts he can’t stop until he’s told them everything about being a con, and they were originally his marks and now he’s a master forger and con artist.

Tom and Sabine are...accepting. They don’t really understand either Neal’s need to do these things or the reasons he started but they get that his life was different from theirs, and despite being a criminal he’s been nothing but a good guy to them. So they invite Neal to stay the night and he agrees, eating dinner with the family and bonding with the 3, before sleeping in the guest room.

The next day the adults work out a deal. Neal doesn’t want to be some absentee father Marinette only learns about when she’s an adult and wonders about him forever like he had to, but obviously he can’t just stay for a number of reasons, not the least of which is ‘Burke The Jerk’ getting closer and closer every day. So instead they set up communications, he can call, send gifts, letters, whatever, as long as no big trouble is tracked back to them and no gift or money he sends is illegal. He agrees.

So this goes on and flows into the show until just before Sarah finds out about the U-Boat treasure Mozzie has. White Collar is mostly the same as Neal is still keeping Marinette away from things, and he’s more then sneaky enough to get into contact without being caught, Neal is slightly better off as he was more cautious and he kept more resources to send/liquidate for Marinette.

As for Miraculous, again largely the same overall, Marinette is slightly more confident and knowledgeable about art, she does forgeries as a type of destressing although she always signs them to not get in trouble. The only large change is her having more money for her designing, and that she tells Neal about the Miraculous as he’s far enough away to be safe and he knows better then anyone about secrets and needing to do things.

The change comes after Lila shows up again, I don’t imagine this as a salt-fic(I like salt-fics fine but I don’t think that tone would work great with White Collar) but that is a lot of stress for a teen. Her designing, being bullied, being a superhero, school, just everything. So Neal offers Tom and Sabine a deal, he can take her in for like a month, where she only has to worry about designing and keeping up with school(and Superhero work but with Horse and Rabbit Miraculous that’s also easier without so many people watching). Then Neal and Mari talk and she agrees, she’ll take Tikki, the Rabbit and Horse, some design stuff, and school necessities and that’s it. Just destressing in New York with her father.

Of course Neal being a little shit Neal picks an airport just outside of his range and then at the Burke’s one day he tells Peter “Hey I need your help to get to ____Airport tomorrow, my daughter is coming in and I want to pick her up.” After the freak out from both Burke’s and Neal’s taunting he give a (mostly) complete explanation about his stupid years then finding out about his daughter. To which Peter correctly figures out where some money had vanished in the past and why Neal sometimes went above board to get jewelry and such, to give it to his daughter without any heat being attached.

So Peter agrees to go with him, but El decides she’s going to and rather then trying to both bunk at Neal’s place Marinette can stay in there guest bedroom(Peter’s not thrilled with this sudden information but rolls with it for now). The next day they go to pick up Marinette, who’s cuteness and happiness wins over El immediately although Peter is more suspicious.

After that is a lot of bonding, Marinette shows her signed-forgeries which both worries Peter(she is already far to good at that for his comfort), but also comforts him(even when not selling Neal never so blatantly made sure his work was distinguishable from the real thing), although Marinette does kind of ruin that by stealing his wallet as a “I am Neal’s daughter” thing, same smile to. Neal loves it, El thinks she’s adorable, Peter just knows this’ll mean more work for him somehow.

Over the next week Marinette works on some dresses and meets the rest of the crew. She and Diana get along good, Diana likes her spunk, she and Jones bonds surprisingly well(I want Jones to have a bigger role then normal), and June loves her as much as El does. Mozzie freaks out more then a little at first, but after he gets over it he becomes convinced Marinette will be great and really tries to corrupt her and Marinette does like him in his own zany way.

As for her and Sarah, they grind at first, Marinette doesn’t want to ruin anything for Neal and Sarah doesn’t know how to deal with a child so they kind of both try to pull back without hurting anyone and it all goes wrong but eventually they bond and Marinette asks to make her a dress that looks good and hides her baton and Sarah agrees. Neal’s happy about this but also more then slightly worried about getting teamed up on(it’s bad enough when Moz and Peter gang up on him much less them).

I’ll be honest I don’t have a real ‘plot’ in mind mostly just a bunch of character interaction I think would be great fun. Marinette and El talking fashion, Neal and Peter having a talk on how to deal with a child, and so on so forth.

#biodad au #miraculous ladybug #white collar #marinette dupen chang #Marinette #neal caffrey #neal #badass marinette #protective neal

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nimblermortal · 4 years

Text

@icryyoumercy, with thanks for deciphering that one passage of Beowulf for me, your ‘drabble’ turned into 4,981 words

@ everyone else, please correct me if I am wrong about things like which Chinese novel I’m talking about or the theology of Arabic linguistic evolution.

The urge was growing in Nicolò’s fingers on the plane to Chicago, but it wasn’t until he was looking through Nile’s mother’s kitchen cabinets that Nicolò recognized it for the bread craving it was. He always baked when they were in a new place - bread was how you knew someone lived somewhere - but he also baked for understanding his life and others’, and between that and… well, he couldn’t say he disliked the contents of the Freeman kitchen, he adored modern convenience and salt and fat and protein and immigrant cuisine, and would gladly wax rhapsodic about Ragu and instant ramen if given half a chance and his pick of languages to do it in - but the Freeman kitchen was very clearly that of a single mother who worked nights, and Nicolò needed food that took work. So as they were walking down the front steps of Nile’s house, Nicolò turned to Yusuf and said, “I’ll take watch if you’ll -“ “Bread? On it, love,” said Yusuf. Now that they weren’t performing, they were back to their own pidgin of Ligurian, Arabic, and Latin - as if the pidgin could form a wall between them and the absence of Liber. “You found us a place with a kitchen?” Yusuf only answered that one with a wounded look, as if he would bed Nicolò down for two weeks without a kitchen. But he didn’t peel off immediately to hunt down whatever cooking store he had searched up. Most of Yusuf’s cut from jobs went to kitchen goods; most of Nicolò’s went to art supplies. Treasures they brought back to the other as if they needed to prove their affection still, abandoned at each successive safehouse. The attraction of Goussainville was - had been - the cups with chips in them, the crack down Nicolò’s favorite mixing bowl. Things they had had long enough to damage. Things Nicolò did not want to go back to now. “It’s vacation,” said Yusuf. “Rest, relax.” “We just had a year of vacation,” Nicolò complained. “I want to bake bread.” “Very well,” said Yusuf, and then he did disappear into the crowd. Nicolò tried not to watch him go; it would have been suspicious, while Yusuf was disappearing.

He came back, as he always did on such ventures, while Nicolò was rearranging the contents of the kitchen they’d rented. (The spatulas had been across the kitchen from the stove, far enough that even Nicolò could not reach them one-handed. It was an abomination, and someone would spend decades in Purgatory for this.) “I brought you a gun,” he said, which was not how he announced it when he had obtained a real gun for Nicolò. Nicolò pursed his lips faintly in question, and Yusuf laughed, trying to balance all of the bags he’d brought back on the counter. “There,” he said when he was done, fishing around in one, and brought out a yellow thing like a construction toy. “It fires lasers.” “That is the shortest shotgun I have ever seen,” Nicolò said solemnly, and took it from him. There was a screen at the back that stayed obstinately blank as Nicolò swept the room with it, trigger finger resting alongside the body of the gun since he had no intention of shooting anyone just yet. There was also a tag, but reading that would have been cheating. With a frown, he pointed it at his foot and squeezed the trigger. The screen lit up at around ninety. When he fired aimlessly into the room, it dropped by twenty. He looked up. Yusuf was watching him with interest and smothered laughter. Nicolò shot him right between the eyes. “Ninety nine,” he declared on inspection. “Do you want to lay down and I’ll get you some tea for your fever? What is the function of this object?” “It tells you whether things are done cooking without having to pierce it with needles or fumble it out and juggle it while you knock on the crust or open the oven door and have your soufflé fall.” “Hm,” said Nicolò speculatively, and left it on the counter where he would remember to try it later and decide what he thought of it, or determine its range and accuracy. Nile would probably agree to standing by the stove and keeping a pot of water just barely boiling so he could calibrate the accuracy at varying distances, but she was busy doing something with her brother that involved one of those televisor screens and a lot of leaning and screaming at each other. “What else did you bring me?” “Just your usual,” Yusuf replied, pulling things out of bags and finding cupboard space for them. After this many years, he could put them where Nicolò would look for them in any kitchen. When Nicolò brought out a pan and started pouring milk into it, Yusuf frowned. “Are you not planning to sleep tonight?” he asked. Nicolò shrugged. It was dark outside already. “I’ll keep watch,” he said, and gestured to the far end of the counter, where neither of them had let any bags come close to the little pink walkie-talkie Nile had leant them when she realized burner phones were not going to cut it for their twenty-four-hour surveillance plan. “I’ll be cold without you,” Yusuf warned him. “You’ve been cold before,” said Nicolò. He stirred the milk. Heat it slow, for sweetness. He had all the time in the world. “Go to bed. It’s not necessary for both of us to be tired tomorrow.” Yusuf hummed thoughtfully and kicked at his own heel. He was thinking about luring Nicolò into bed, what tricks he might apply to convince Nicolò to sleep instead of starting bread to rise. Nicolò hooked a foot lovingly around his ankle and swept. Yusuf unthinkingly shifted his weight and lifted the foot out of the way. “I’m not upset. Just antsy. Let me make this place home,” Nicolò said. He didn’t sweep Yusuf unless both of them were feeling safe. It had become an unspoken rule of their relationship, a declaration of honesty that, honestly, reflected what they had seen from Andromache and Quynh. When they had been hoping for something half so honest for themselves. Yusuf registered his protest by making calming mint tea for the both of them while Nicolò emptied grains into containers, and leaving the tea where Nicolò would drink it. The tea had been a recent ritual, only a couple of hundred years old, something Yusuf clung to to attach him to a regional identity that had superseded what he had grown up in. Nicolò had quietly adopted it as a way of laying claim to his identity as Yusuf’s husband. He let Yusuf make it this time, and made a point of sipping it before Yusuf left the room. And then he was alone with the kitchen, to make this stopping-place his. He stretched, hands overhead and then locked behind to pull first up, then down. Then he got busy. The milk was soaking over oatmeal - it would probably be softer than he liked, since he’d been so eager to get started, to signal what he was doing. That was all right, it just gave the bread more grain anyway. The yeast didn’t really need proofing, but he set it to do so in the little oven-proof dish Yusuf had brought, because he liked proofing yeast. After this bread was done, he’d take a little malt from the still and start a yeast bath in that dish, and Liber would yell at him for interfering with the fermentation, and - no, Liber wouldn’t yell at him for anything at all, any time soon. He couldn’t say prayers for anyone else, or grant them redemption with a wave of his hand. Perhaps at one point he had been qualified to offer absolution, but there were things for which absolution was not satisfactory, for any party. God was compassionate, was merciful, and the confessional was about one’s own forgiveness, not His. So he took a deep breath and looked for the lard Yusuf had brought him. It was some local vegetable shortening that he had seen in Nile’s mother’s kitchen, that came out white as a meringue but tacky. Another joke or gift from Yusuf, who had listened to Nicolò’s steady muttered encomium on what he had found in that kitchen, the wonders of modern technology, pasta sauce that came in a jar and could be kept at room temperature indefinitely and pasta that set next to it on the shelf and pre-cooked sausages… but he was getting distracted. He poked the lard suspiciously, but it seemed to be all right, and the label promised him it was shortening. So he melted that over the stove, and at least it greased the measuring cup sufficiently that the honey didn’t stick. Water, beaten eggs, salt - salt was so incredibly available these days, it was as much a miracle as the aluminum foil that sat quietly in its rolled box. To think, high-purity aluminum used as a disposable wrapper! Nicolò remembered being awed by the stories of Napoleon permitting his valued guests to eat off aluminum dishes, while the lower benches had to satisfy themselves with golden tableware. Liber had complained for years after he heard that story, and refused to say whether it was because he’d never been offered so much as silverware. Much safer, sturdier, more familiar than any of these was the wooden spoon to mix it with. Classic things. Yusuf liked to bring him gadgets - he still needed to play with that laser gun - but Nicolò was… all right, stodgier. He liked things he could understand. He’d driven Andromache crazy by taking apart the first several guns she brought them, until she gave up and apprenticed him to a gunsmith and he learned to make gunpowder and firing mechanisms and bullets, and eventually decided he knew enough to understand how to fire one. And then had gone through the whole process again when people started making them with rifling, or repeaters. Bread was meditative, was all. It brought back memories. Nicolò had baked a lot of bread, and the smells, even with strange modern flours and ingredients, even the Saxon bread he was making, were familiar and evocative. The stuff in his bowl was a dense, oily liquid, technically homogeneous but the heavier honey wanting to precipitate out of it. He started combining bowls - milk and oats first, then the proofed yeast, and finally flours. That was where it started to get good, where it really started to feel like baking bread. There was a lot of mixing involved, a lot of gradually adding more flour, wheat and white together. That was another strange thing, the way dark flour was valued these days, when throughout his history the white had been prized and saved for lords, the value in the lightness of the crumb. That was home bread for Nicolò, the way flat breads were home for Yusuf. And yet when he came to a new place, he strayed over the border toward the Germanic peoples, the grains darker and more varied, and came up with… this. Strangely Anglo-Saxon bread. Well. It was a joy to knead. The kneading only took a few minutes - eight, or ten. Enough to feel it in the outsides of his arms and start wondering how long it would take, before the dough went stretchy and elastic and the bubbles started to form under the outer edge. That was impossible to explain, the texture of bread when it began to take in air and breath, when it became not just dough but something with skin, something alive. For all the life he had taken, he could give life to this. Yusuf had brought him a special bowl just for rising bread. It was another silly contraption, but a classic one this time; Yusuf had decided that Nicolò must always have a bowl for raising bread. Nicolò spread a bit of oil across the bowl and lowered his dough tenderly into it, the creased side up, because then he slipped his hand under the body of the dough and turned it over so that the oil formed a protective coat. And then he could put a towel over it, and let it rise, and grow. On lazy days, like this, he liked to take it with him where he went, like a baby that might wake if it sensed its parent had left. He hooked it under one arm and went to see what books Yusuf had brought him, and what he might have as a comfort read, a beach read. Yusuf usually got their comfort reads out of the classics section, because things comfortable and familiar to them were old and strange to these modern mayfly people. And unfortunately, in Chicago that meant English. He hated English, with no particular passion except that it was a lingua franca he did not know. Well, and the idioms. And the strange elision of the subjunctive. And of every other familiar signpost at which Nicolò might remember how to decline or conjugate a word. He wasn’t a natural polyglot like Yusuf or Andromache, and he objected to every new language that crossed their path, and why couldn’t things be like Arabic that at least tried to stay the same (in some regions, in some contexts*), or at least why couldn’t people have stuck with writing things down in Latin like they had when Nicolò was a boy and still young enough to catch on to languages decently? If everyone was supposed to be best at learning languages before they turned twenty, how much worse must he be after turning nine hundred and twenty? It wasn’t fair that languages kept changing. He hadn’t had to learn a new language for Liber. Liber had already spoken Latin, and had been huffy about it being the language of education, of books, right up until Yusuf drawled at him in hillbilly Latin he’d learned from Andromache, We can’t all be book learners, and that was that, Sebastien became Liber Discipuli, the educated one. The freedom frighter, and the drinker. How had Nicolò not seen how unhappy he was? But he wasn’t here to think about Liber, so he picked something older than Liber was. Dream of the Red Chamber. They’d been in China when it was written, and like the rest of the country they had played at adding chapters of their own**. Some of them had made it into the modern version, and he liked to play at guessing which bits were whose, now that he could no longer remember. It was a bit of fluff and nonsense, but it was something where he could find his friends in its pages. Yusuf and still-grieving Andromache, laughing at life and its meaning, before Liber had ever been a part of their company. Yusuf was curled up in the bed, wound tighter than he was when he had Nicolò to curl around. He only partially woke up when he felt Nicolò join him in bed, moaning protest slightly at the light and pressure before he felt the bowl against his side and curled around it, managing to look sarcastic even in his sleep. They had shared a bed like this many times before: Nicolò sitting up to read or keep watch, Yusuf curled toward his side, the bread in a bowl between them rising from their shared warmth. Yusuf curled a hand around a fistful of Nicolò’s shirt and seemed content with that; Nicolò luxuriated in clear, steady modern light, and held the book one-handed, the other absent-mindedly threading through Yusuf’s curls, and checking once a chapter to see if the bread had started to nudge the towel aside yet. When it did, he set the book aside and nudged Yusuf awake. “Gnnngghh,” said Yusuf. “I’m going to depress the bread,” Nicolò said. Yusuf made another outraged, sleepy noise, and Nicolò waited for him, one hand on the back of his neck. Yusuf liked to watch Nicolò press rising bread dough down, had liked it since he had watched Nicolò in a heated debate with a monk a few decades ago, arguing about whether the way one treated yeast was any fair reflection of the way one treated mankind. It had been a silly argument, but Nicolò liked silly arguments sometimes, small things to get fully emotionally invested in; and this monk was willing to argue it with him in Latin, in which he could express himself properly. Liber had bet Nicolò that he knew more about bread than the monk, and then had the gall to roll his eyes when they got into an argument and forced him to adjudicate it. Yusuf struggled awake and his eyes started to uncross, to focus and take in the light, and Nicolò’s book, and the bread rising between them. “You’re going to press it down?” he asked in Arabic. Nicolò nodded, and Yusuf propped himself up on an elbow. Nicolò reached over and folded the cloth back as if it covered a baby or a sacrament on an altar, but when he spread his hand over the risen dough and began to press, he watched Yusuf’s eyes. As much as Yusuf liked to watch Nicolò be gentle with the bread, Nicolò liked to watch him watch, to see moment when his eyes rounded and every bit of tension went out of his body and he became limp with love. It was only a few seconds, and then Nicolò had to get up and deal with the bread, but he pressed a kiss to Yusuf’s temple first. “You torture me,” Yusuf grumbled, or Nicolò suspected this was what he said, blurred as it was with sleepiness. “If you would stop baking at night, I could write you the poem you deserve…” “Go back to sleep,” Nicolò told him, but Yusuf was already sinking down and pulling the covers over his head. Nicolò took the bread rising bowl (still a ridiculous idea), switched out the light, and went back into the kitchen. The first thing he did was check the walkie-talkie, as if it could have left some message. Nile would not thank him for waking her if he tried to send a message to her now, but if she were in real trouble she would not have stopped buzzing him for help. Or he liked to think so, and not about gas and grenades in the night and waking up helpless in a van… The bread needed tending. He tipped it out onto its floured surface and let it rest, puttering about the kitchen and cleaning implements while he waited. Baking bread did take quite a number of dishes, and he was done at least with the mixing bowl and the rising bowl now. He found the temperature gun while he was putzing, and shot the bread dough with it, but it didn’t register as any temperature higher than the rest of the room. He shrugged, set it down again, and set about the business of separating the bread into two loaves, folding them over until they were loaf shaped, brushing them with milk as if he could brush away any remaining unpleasant thoughts that way, and sprinkling them with flakes of barley. He had told Yusuf over and over that he could bake with whatever grains were convenient, that the oats that went into the bread were fine as a topping, and still every time Yusuf came back with barley flakes, would spend an extra hour combing the city for them as if they were the only grain that would do. As if the barley scattered over the top meant anything, except that he was fond of Nicolò, and even when he was sleeping Nicolò could feel his love just looking at those loaves. He twitched the towel over them to stop the smile growing at the corner of his mouth. It had some sort of novelty slogan on it, and he could tell by the pattern that it was probably cute, but he didn’t feel like reading the English just now. Yusuf could tell him what it said in the morning, or Andromache more likely - she would tease him when she found the bread. He took the walkie-talkie with him to the bedroom this time, just in case, and climbed back into bed with Yusuf to read. Yusuf felt the depression in the bed and rolled nearer, draped an arm over him and groaned something unintelligible in any language. Nicolò patted his shoulder and told him to go back to sleep, and turned back to puzzling over where Andromache’s hand came in to the story of Jia Baoyu, and if he would ever be able to figure this out without reading it in the original. When he got up the next time, he could tell from standing next to the oven that it was cheaper than the stone Yusuf had brought him to put in it. The heat was leaking out already. He frowned at it as if he could shame it into behaving, then swiped the gun off the counter and shot it twice. Well, it certainly seemed to be hot enough. This particular baking stone was not large enough for both loaves of bread, at least not after their second rise, so he picked one up by the parchment paper underneath it and laid it into the oven along with its ovenproof bowl, and sat down at the table this time. The baking process involved a great deal more interaction, and he had no desire to be up and down, disturbing Yusuf every time he got in or out of bed. Instead he took the gun Yusuf had obtained that morning - the real gun, that fired bullets, not temperature-sensing lasers - and disassembled it, making sure everything was clean and aligned and functioning the way he expected. He usually had to make minor adjustments to the guns they obtained on the fly. Every so often Yusuf would find him an honest-to-god crossbow and he would get to tune that up in proper Genoese style. One day this would happen while Nile was here, and he would get to give her his lecture on crossbow teams and maintenance, and Yusuf would watch the two of them and laugh and flutter his eyelashes, and Liber would not be there to roll his eyes and complain about Nicolò talking endlessly about crossbows again. Half way through the baking process, he took the water out; a little later he replaced it with some of that ridiculously luxurious aluminum foil, imagine, tearing aluminum sheerly for the vanity of getting a slightly prettier loaf. The wastefulness of it boggled him. He could bring himself to making a sheet of it to cover the bread, but he couldn’t bring himself to not reuse that sheet, not just for the bread, but for everything he cooked for the rest of the week, until the aluminum was wrinkled and torn beyond use. It had happened before. It would happen again. When the last timer ended, he reached for an oven mitt first, to pick the loaf up and knock it as he had for centuries. And then he remembered the gun and swore. He had the loaf in his hands already, but he managed to fumble it into one hand and reach sideways for the gun, the heat from the oven washing over him as he held the loaf at arm’s reach and shredded it with a laser machine gun fire. It seemed to be 198 F, which meant about as much to Nicolò as if it had been in Kelvin. When he knocked on it, it sounded good. Well, he could tell Yusuf he had used the gun for its intended purpose. He slipped the loaf onto the cooling rack, and reached for the second. Andromache was in the doorway to the kitchen. If he were less accustomed to her sudden appearances, he would have yelped. “You couldn’t be bothered to help when I was struggling?” he demanded instead. “You seemed to be managing,” she said. “You’re letting the oven cool.” He kicked the oven door closed. Oven like that, it could wait a few minutes before it was ready to take on another loaf. Andromache circled around the table in the kitchen, and Nicolò tried not to retreat or bristle. Tried and failed. He knew how menacing Andromache could be, and now when she was not even trying he was having trouble forgetting. Wound up about something, or more than one thing. He had thought the bread was helping. “You’re up early,” he said. “I smelled something good,” she said. “Can I…?” She gestured to the bread knife. “No,” Nicolò growled, and wrinkled his nose as he realized she had teased him out of being afraid of her. But she would have collapsed the bread if she had tried to cut it so soon, and it was still his to protect. “Have you slept yet?” she asked, more seriously. Nicolò shrugged and shook his head. “I can bake the second loaf of bread.” “Another hour won’t kill me,” said Nicolò. “Someone had to watch the…” He circled a hand and gestured at the little pink walkie-talkie. “You could have slept with it. Even Yusuf would have woken if it crackled,” she said. “You overestimate him,” he said. “You underestimate yourself,” she answered. “Why are you awake, Nicolò?” “I keep thinking about Liber,” he admitted, and there it was again, staring him in the face: That they hadn’t even bothered to use Liber’s name, that they hadn’t even noticed the misery in his nickname. “We can call him if you like,” said Andromache. Nicolò tried not to gawp at her. “That simple? One whimper and you’ve given in?” he asked. “I don’t have a lot of time left to hold grudges,” she said, and he’d been so caught up in not fretting about Nile by not-fretting about Liber that he’d forgotten they had Andromache to worry over now, that Andromache was someone they could worry over and not about. “He needs…” Nicolò began. Andromache held a hand up. “I know what your Catholicism is telling you, you’ve told me about your deity often enough,” she said. “I’m telling you, if you want to call him, we can.” I want to, Nicolò thought. He missed Liber, missed walking past him while he and Booker argued about whatever sport they were on now, missed making him French treats and being told his baking was not worthy of a dog, missed the sense of him holding down whatever corner of a room he was in, sturdy and new as a peg in a Shaker coffee table. “Not now,” he said instead, miserable over it. “He needs time. Maybe not a hundred years, but for now he is just wallowing. He needs time to forgive himself and build his life anew. He needs to think he has a hundred years to do so.” He walked past Andromache to open the oven door, but she blocked his way with a hand. “And I?” she asked, and there was an actual, honest-to-God tremble in her voice. “If I wanted to call him?” “I would be on the phone with Copley now, to get his number,” said Nicolò, and picked up the edges of the parchment paper. “I would find us travel tickets or stow us away in the holds of ships, and I would speak every word of English necessary to bring us to him, if that is what you needed.” He settled the bread in the oven to his satisfaction, and added the little dish of water to care for it. When he closed the oven door, Andromache was standing by the counter with her weight askew. “That is what I needed to hear,” she said, her voice husky. “Oh, Andromache,” said Nicolò, and gathered him to her, and felt her hand settle against his neck after an uncommon moment’s hesitation, right where he had held Yusuf’s earlier that night. “It’s all right to be scared.” He could hear what she didn’t say: that there were so many things that could happen, that she had never had to worry about before, that she had always assumed she would die in battle and that would be that, no fuss, no worry, no long-drawn-out years wondering what would happen if she drank too much or ate too little salad or if her brothers-in-arms fussed over her like an invalid, or how she could mark her last years as significant when her first thousands had already contained so much. Things Andromache would never be able to say aloud, and that Nicolò had already worried over. “Which part of Dream of the Red Chamber did you write?” he asked. Andromache laughed against him, shaking in his arms and he could feel it in her belly, the way she didn’t do things by halves even when they were little puffs of air. “You know, I don’t remember anymore,” she said. “Wasn’t some of it lost? Maybe none of it.” “Useless,” Nicolò declared her. “I should find a task for you.” He pulled back and reached across the counter without looking, fingers curling around the little pink rectangle in the corner against the wall. “Can you watch the bread for me?” he asked, pressing it into her hands. “I should get some sleep.” “Yeah,” said Andromache, holding the toy like it was Nile’s immortal life, which in some ways it was. “No problem, Nicolò. I have six thousand years of experience.” “Just don’t burn the buns,” said Nicolò, and went to bed.

#theory and chalk #the *ld G**rd #I still am not satisfied with the ending #but I think I plugged enough gaps where I'd just pulled things over from other things I wrote and never put anywhere #anyway this is the first time I've used a recipe as an outline so that was fun #if I can get that blasted last line fixed #and possibly a reference or two I'm not certain about #I'll put it on AO3 with the recipe #in the meantime: ask about anything you're not certain of!#there was a fair bit of Journeyman Knower of Things in this one

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avintagekiss24 · 4 years

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The Art of the Deal - Part Three | Steve Rogers x Sam Wilson x Bucky Barnes{

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Sam Wilson x Bucky Barnes

Word Count: 6,001

Warnings: smut, sex, anal sex, oral sex, shower sex, threesome m/m/m, no refractory period, did I mention sex? oh, and there’s cheesecake

Summary: Steve - Steve and Sam’s tenth anniversary is weeks away, but another trip to Paris isn’t exactly what Steve has in mind. While showing a prospective business associate a night on the town, Steve links eyes with a long haired stranger - a gets a brilliant idea.

Bucky - Its a normal night at work for Bucky - free drinks, loud music, drunk, horny men. He’s twenty bucks into a lap dance when he spots a new, handsome face, sparking his interest immediately. They link eyes, and boy, is Bucky a sucker for blue eyes.

Sam - Sam? Sam’s just along for the ride (if you catch his drift).

A/N: We learn a bit more about our boy Bucky in this one! One more part after this!

Bucky raps on the familiar apartment door before tucking his hands back into the pockets of his leather jacket. He drops his head back on his shoulders, his eyes scanning the ceiling as heavy footsteps grow louder and louder as they approach. The door swings open and a large smile spreads on Bucky’s lips as he’s met by Sam’s toothy grin.

“Bucky,” Sam says warmly, extending his arms to embrace him, “It’s so nice to see you again.”

Bucky could melt into Sam’s warmth - both physically and emotionally, “You too. It feels like it’s been a year.”

“Good sex will do that to ya,” Sam winks, before pushing the door open wider for Bucky, “Come on in.”

Bucky keeps his hands in his pockets as he pushes into the apartment. It’s still the same, clean and crisp, soft hues of color bursting from the accent pieces. It’s warm, Bucky guesses from the oven and stove as the smell of freshly chopped veggies and cooking food wafts through the apartment.

“You’ll have to excuse Steve,” Sam starts as he moves into the kitchen, “I guess he had a meeting run late.”

Bucky chuckles slightly as he takes a seat at one of the bar stools in front of the stove, “I know I don’t know you guys well, but that sounds typical of Steve.”

Sam laughs wholly as he pulls out a martini glass full of cocktail sauce with shrimp carefully arranged around the rim. He slides it toward Bucky before grabbing a pinch of fresh basil to sprinkle into the pot in front of him, “This is so typical of Steve. I have to literally threaten him to get his ass home sometimes.”

Bucky lowers his head slightly as he reaches for a piece of shrimp. He remembers those days - texting and calling, sometimes having to drive down to the base just to get Rhodey out of his countless meetings.

Sam grabs a beer from the fridge, twisting the cap slowly as he flicks his eyes toward Bucky. He watches him - really, the shift in his demeanor - before cocking his head slightly as he slides the cold, golden liquid toward him, “What was that?”

Bucky shoots his eyes to Sam’s as a small smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth, “What was what?”

“That little head drop thing.” Sam smiles slowly.

Bucky’s eyes widen at Sam’s keen eye and impeccable skill of reading body language. Bucky laughs it off as he dips his shrimp into the red, spicy cocktail sauce, “What little head drop thing?”

Sam continues to smile as he spreads out his arms on the counter, resting his weight on his palms, “You’re talking to a psychologist here.”

“No shit?” Bucky asks, smiling widely.

“No shit.”

“No wonder you’re so nosy.” Bucky winks as he tilts his head back to take a swallow of his beer.

Sam laughs again, dropping his head, “I’ve heard that my entire life. Steve likes to call me Dr. Phil.”

“Well, you’re much cuter than Dr. Phil. I’ll give you that.”

The oven beeps and Sam turns toward it, grabbing his mittens to pull out the roasted lamb, “Seriously, everything’s okay?” He asks, glancing over his shoulder.

Bucky nods, “You aren’t gonna let this go, huh? Ooh, that looks good.”

Sam shrugs as he sets the pan onto the cooling racks, “Thank you, and no, probably not.” He chuckles as he grabs for more herbs to pepper along the meat, “I mean, my husband and I are about to invite you into our home, our lives, in a really intimate fashion, if you’re up for it.” He says, keeping his eyes on the lamb as he sprinkles a dash of salt, “I gotta make sure you aren’t some lunatic.” He flips his eyes back to Bucky, finding him staring back intently, “I mean, no offense but, Steve quite literally picked you up in a strip club.”

Bucky nods slowly, “None taken. That’s fair.”

“I’m not saying you have to share your entire life story, but I’m not big on keeping secrets either. Okay?”

Sam smiles at Bucky again, cocking his head slightly as his eyebrow quirks toward the ceiling. Bucky laughs again, a little out of shock, a little out of admiration, “Loud and clear, Sammy.”

“Good.” Sam winks before returning his attention back to his sauce, “So, how was your day?”

Bucky and Sam speak easily about their days, like they're old friends until the click of the front door sounds softly. Bucky watches as Sam’s face lights up, the glint in his dark eyes returning as he bestows a wide, bright smile as Steve comes into view.

“Sorry I’m late,” Steve apologizes quickly as he wraps his arms around Sam’s awaiting body, “Hey baby. Smells good.”

“Hey there,” Sam coos, closing his eyes happily as Steve pecks, and then nuzzles into his cheek, “You have impeccable timing, as usual.”

Steve chuckles before releasing Sam’s waist. He moves to Bucky and hugs him quickly, a soft smile on his face as his eyes wander around his boyish face, “Good to see you.”

“Same. I’m glad you guys called.” Bucky almost blushes, unable to keep the smile off of his face.

Steve grabs the plates and silverware from the counter before he moves to the table, “Has Sam been easy on you?” He asks over his shoulder.

“Oh, shut up.” Sam smiles as he pours three glasses of red wine.

Bucky laughs lightly, “You could have warned me that he was a psychologist, that’s for sure.”

“He’s good, man. He picks up on the subtlest of movements.”

“Jeez, you’re telling me.”

“You know what,” Sam starts, as he starts passing food to both Bucky and Steve, “I’m not sure this is gonna work if you two are gonna gang up on me like this.”

Bucky and Steve sit at the table once the food is spread out. Sam buzzes around the kitchen, collecting the last of random articles needed to eat - salt and pepper, extra napkins, and just a tad bit more basil to sprinkle over the lamb.

He plops down next to Steve seconds later, “Ok boys, dig in.”

Bucky watches the two as dinner moves on. He brings his wine glass up to his lips, swirling it slowly as his eyes linger on Steve and Sam before him. It’s like he’s not even here - not that they’re being rude. They’re just so comfortable - so easy with one another. The eye contact between them, the soft smiles, the lingering of each other's fingers on one another… it’s lovely to have been invited into their intimacy like this.

Bucky sips the sweet, red wine slowly before inhaling its scent. His mind starts to wander again. Back to New York. Back to their spacious apartment. Back to the mornings where he awoke entangled in the arms and legs of his lover. Back to their dinner parties where he and Rhodey were the Steve and Sam of the room.

He drops his head again. He chews the inside of his lip as he pushes it all away - carefully, this time - as to not grab Sam’s attention again. Maybe love just isn’t in the cards for Bucky Barnes. At least, that’s what he tells himself the nights when the tears come.

Bucky tucks some loose strands behind his ear and glances up, only to find Sam’s eyes on him as Steve enlightens the table about the meeting that kept him. Bucky stabs the last piece of his lamb with his fork and pops it into his mouth, chewing slowly as he smirks back at the curious Sam. Defiant and cocky, guarded and mysterious - the signs of the classic “bad boy” image.

Sam smirks back. He loves a challenge.

“Shit Sam,” Steve chuckles moments later, none the wiser to the staring contest going on around him, “I’m stuffed babe. Thank you.”

Sam leans into Steve again, accepting another kiss on his cheek as he holds his wine to his lips, “You’re welcome, darling. I’ll start some coffee and grab the cheesecake.”

“I’ll do that,” Steve starts, pushing away from the table.

“No, no, no, sit,” Sam stops him, “You’re the businessman, remember?”

Bucky watches Sam as he disappears back into the kitchen before turning his attention back to the blonde in front of him. He leans forward as another smile spreads across his face, “Well, businessman?”

Steve chuckles, “I’m not sure how I’m going to manage having two of you bossing me around.”

“You’re handling it well so far,” Bucky shrugs.

Steve smiles and throws a wink in Bucky’s direction, “So, as you know, Sam and I had a great time with you. You made our anniversary really special, so, thank you.”

“The pleasure’s all mine,” Bucky answers softly, “Thank you for trusting me and allowing me to be of service.”

Sam reenters, his hands full of dessert plates and coffee cups, “Thanks babe.” Steve coos as Sam sits next to him again.

“What’d I miss?”

“Nothing, I was just thanking Bucky for making our anniversary so memorable.”

“Yes,” Sam beams, “We had such a great time, you got us... thinking.”

Bucky laughs as he takes a sip of his coffee, “I can’t wait to hear what about.”

Steve links his fingers with Sam’s, “We would like to offer you something permanent with us. Only, if you’re up for it of course, but we’d… like to have more of you.”

“Lots more of you,” Sam laughs, “We don’t want to share you with anyone else.”

The smile on Bucky’s face finally reaches his eyes. He slices into his cheesecake and pops it in his mouth, removing his fork slowly and seductively from his mouth as he moves his eyes between Sam and Steve’s, “Well, isn’t that sweet, boys.”

“You just have to name your price.” Steve smirks.

Bucky takes a breath while dipping back into his piece of cheesecake. He takes another bite - slowly - turning up the charm and seduction of it all as his libido starts to stir and swell within him. He’s not even in the mood to talk money. He just wants to be on all fours, with Steve in his mouth and Sam in his ass.

He leans back into his chair and points toward the quickly disappearing dessert in front of him, “This is good, Sammy.”

“Thank you,” Sam winks, “There’s plenty more where that came from.” He answers, leaning up to place his chin in the palm of his hand.

The shift in the atmosphere is palpable. Bucky thinks they’re all turned on for completely different reasons - and that turns him on even more. He flicks his eyes to Steve who stares intently back at him. He rubs his middle finger along the pad of his thumb, the gears in his head spinning. He blinks slowly at Bucky, ready to counter and negotiate, ready to win. He loves the art of the deal.

Sam’s ardor is much more based in emotion. The connection between people, the peeling back of one’s layers is what really turns him on. The mysteriousness and seemingly hard exterior of Bucky is a turn on all in itself, but mixed with his overtly sexual nature and this soft, unearthed hurt, and longing in his eye that Sam stumbled upon tonight, makes him nearly irresistible. It makes him think that not a lot of people really know Bucky Barnes. The fact he’d even be comfortable enough to let his mind wander in front of them, means something. Despite his training and all the latin phrases his mind is screaming at him to diagnosis Bucky, the bulge in his pants silences it all.

And Bucky? Well, it doesn’t take much to turn Bucky on. Two beautiful, strong, intelligent men wanting to put his dick on retainer is all he needs to know.

“You’re the businessman, Stevie. Make me an offer I can’t refuse.” Bucky says softly, tilting his head flirtatiously as he chews on another bite of cheesecake.

“Yeah, Mr. Businessman,” Sam echoes, his eyes twinkling with lust as he cuts his eyes toward Steve.

Steve slips his hand between Sam’s legs, his thumb stroking his thigh as Sam’s fingers wrap around his shoulders and neck, “Five thousand a month, cash, plus a credit card with another five thousand dollar limit. We get you any time we want you, eight hours notice. You take down your ad online, and your grindr profile.”

Bucky nods slowly as he takes another bite of Sam’s cheesecake. He takes a deep breath as he chews, his eyes wandering around the opposite wall as he contemplates his counter offer.

“Twelve hours notice, grindr stays up, but I change my status to just looking for friends, and I still get to strip. Oh, and Sammy makes me a cheesecake every month.”

Steve squints, “Why?”

“It’s a really good cheesecake.” Bucky chuckles, winking at the blushing Sam.

“No,” Steve shakes his head, “Why do you want to strip? I’m offering you over a hundred thousand a year in cash and credit.”

Bucky shrugs, “It’s not about the money.”

“You enjoy it.” Sam states.

Bucky takes another slow bite and nods, “Mmhmm.”

“You enjoy the attention,” Sam adds, arranging the puzzle pieces in his brain.

“Maybe.”

“We’ll give you more than enough attention.” Sam counters.

“You sure?” Bucky winks as his mind whispers. It’ll keep me from getting too attached to you.

Sam leans back, his eyes squinting as his gears start to turn. Bucky has offered up yet another piece to his ever growing puzzle. It doesn’t bother Sam either way, they’re not trying to change him entirely. He likes that Bucky just won’t roll over because Steve wants him too. He also kinda likes that he’s a stripper. Sam turns to Steve, their eyes linking as a silent conversation plays out between them. Sam then shrugs and quirks his eyebrow toward the ceiling, “Shouldn’t hurt, hm?”

Steve nods slowly, “Fine. Twelve hours notice, one of Sam’s cheesecakes, grindr profile gets updated, the ad for your services comes down, and you still get to work. That can’t interfere with us, though.”

“It won’t. I’ll be here right after my shift, or, I’ll just cut it short. Promise.”

“Good.” Steve answers, obviously satisfied.

“One other thing,” Bucky starts, “What if I want to have sex with someone who isn’t the two of you? I mean, I’m still allowed a personal life in this whole thing, right?”

Sam takes a deep breath and expels it through his nose, “That’s fair. Could you at least let us know? We may want some tests done, just to stay safe.”

“How about I make a monthly appointment, test results get sent straight to you. Anything pops up, which it won’t, I’m very selective, but if it does, we call it quits. I wouldn’t want to hurt either one of you.”

Steve nods, “You okay with that?” He directs to Sam.

“Yes. So it’s a deal?”

Bucky smirks again and finishes off the last piece of his cheesecake, “Deal. When can we get started?”

Sam laughs, “Don’t we technically have to give you twelve hours notice?”

“Nah,” Bucky waves him off, “I’ll give you a freebie this time. Plus, I owe you for this delicious dinner.”

Steve stands, keeping his fingers intertwined with Sam’s. He reaches for Bucky, wiggling his fingers to entice him, “Come.”

Bucky slips his hand into Steve’s and lets him lead him and Sam back to their bedroom. He shuts the door with a soft click once they’ve all entered and leans against it as Bucky cups Sam’s face in his hands. He kisses him hard, stealing the air right out of Sam’s lungs. He releases Sam’s thick lips seconds later, just to delve back in for them again, sucking his plump lower lip between his. He sinks his teeth into Sam’s flesh as he pushes his body into his, crushing their chests together.

Steve pushes away from the door and slides behind Bucky, sweeping his brown tresses over his shoulder before dropping his lips to his warm skin, “Shower?”

His eyes meet Sam’s, who in turn grabs Bucky’s hand and begins pulling him toward the lavish bathroom. Sam twists the knob, forcing an instantly hot stream of water to splash against the marble floor of the shower. They undress quickly, random articles of clothing falling to the floor in a heap before they step underneath the steady stream of water.

Bucky runs his hands through his hair, pushing water through it as it starts to stick to his wet skin. A chuckle rumbles through his chest as Sam peppers his neck and clavicle with sweet, chaste kisses. He throws his arms over Sam’s shoulders and hugs him to him, pushing his lips along his shoulders.

Steve goes for the body wash, squirting the expensive soap into his hand before rubbing them together to create a healthy lather. He rubs slow circles into Sam’s muscular back, tilting his head as his hands roam along his skin. Steve smiles softly as a moan from Sam bounces off of the tile walls. He digs his fingers into Sam’s lower back, kneading his muscles gently, drawing more loud moans from him.

Bucky sinks to his knees as his hands move along Sam’s stomach. His fingertips brush along his abs and then curve around his waist before he grips his flesh in both hands. He likes their dynamic. He likes Steve’s dominance. It’s not overbearing or suffocating. It’s rather gentle. Sure, he likes to direct, he likes things a certain way, but he doesn’t have to force it. It oozes from him, and it consumes Bucky. He likes that Steve wants Sam to be nothing short of satisfied. He likes how much they love each other.

That consumes him too.

Bucky can feel Steve’s eyes on him. He flicks his eyes up toward him and bites his bottom lip as he takes Sam into his hand. A shiver runs down Bucky’s spine as he keeps his eyes on Steve’s - lucky for him, Bucky likes to be watched. He drops his eyes back to Sam’s stomach and cock as he pumps him. He kisses Sam’s tip, smiling hard as he feels the man jump and hears a sharp ‘fuck’ fall from his lips.

Bucky closes his eyes as he takes Sam slowly into his mouth. He slides his tongue along his shaft, moaning and humming to add some vibration.

Steve pushes his hands over Sam’s shoulders and flattens his palms on his chest. He lets Sam fall back into him, resting his head on Steve’s broad shoulder, his face tilted toward the ceiling as the warm water washes over them. Steve nuzzles into his exposed neck and blinks slowly as he watches Bucky bob back and forth. He puckers his lips and pecks at Sam’s neck once, twice, three times before sinking his teeth into his thick skin.

Sam jumps again. He balls Bucky’s wet hair into his fist as a guttural, scratchy grunt pushes through his teeth. He can feel Steve’s erection pressing into his ass, Bucky’s warm, wet mouth and tongue caressing him in the most gentle of ways - it’s luxurious.

Steve keeps his eyes cast down on Bucky as Sam’s heartbeat thumps against his palm. He feels Sam's hips as they start to move - slowly pushing into Bucky’s mouth before pulling back out. Steve drops a hand to his rigid erection. He drags his palm along his length and sweeps his fingers over his pink tip before pushing back down his shaft. He blinks back down to Bucky again and can’t help the groan that scratches at the back of his throat. He finds Bucky stroking himself as he continues to suck on Sam. He’s so pretty like this.

Sam bites his bottom lip as his fingers continue to tangle in Bucky’s hair. Darkness consumes his senses as his eyes remain closed. He releases a soft breath through this teeth as Steve slips his fingers between his asscheeks, rubbing them along his puckered hole. God, is he ready.

Steve replaces his fingers with his cock, sliding in the cleft of Sam’s ass before he lines himself up with his hole. He pushes slowly and grips Sam’s shoulder as his breath hitches in his chest. Steve lets his eyes close as Sam’s internal heat envelopes and spreads through him. He drops his hands to Sam’s hips, placing them over Bucky’s digits and giving them a squeeze.

His pace is slow and steady at first. He rocks into Sam gently as his moans grow louder and quicker, his head still resting on Steve’s shoulder. Steve lets his hand wander - over Sam’s stomach, through the tough patch of hair at his navel and back up to his chest as he fucks him slowly.

Bucky hums as the lust in his chest builds. He pumps his hand along his own cock as he pulls back from Sam, licking his lips quickly and swallowing the tangy spurts of cum on his tongue. He releases himself long enough to stroke Sam with both on his hands, and sends his eyes up toward the couple. Sam’s eyes are closed, his mouth hanging as his natural soundtrack paints the walls. Steve’s head is low as he fucks Sam, his fingers digging into his hips, leaving indentations in his skin.

The sight sends a chill right down Bucky’s spine. It’s so private. So intimate. So personal, and sexy. He takes Sam into his mouth again, this time rougher, sloppier, faster. He wants him to cum. He wants to taste it and feel it. And then he wants Steve to fuck him.

Bucky Barnes loves his life.

Within seconds, Sam is shuttering. His chest heaves, unintelligible words fall from his lips as Steve deepens his thrusts and Bucky swirls that talented tongue around the tip of his cock. His heart pounds against his ribs, his stomach is in his throat as adrenaline pumps through his veins. It’s in moments like this that Sam knows just how lucky he is.

He comes without warning. Bucky grunts at the sudden hot ribbons of cum flooding his mouth, but hums in contentment soon afterward. His eyes flutter shut as he sucks Sam through his orgasm, swallowing every last drop that Sam has to offer.

A soft smile spreads on Steve’s lips as Sam works through his release. His hips slow as he wraps his arms around Sam’s middle, flattening his palms on his stomach. He mumbles his love for him into his ear and nibbles on his earlobe and jaw as his muscles tense with his orgasm. Steve’s smile broadens as Sam starts to come down from the high.

He flattens his palm on his chest as he peers at his boy, “You are so pretty when you come.”

Sam chuckles as he places his hand over Steve's, “You think so?”

“I know so. I think Mr. Barnes would agree?”

Bucky is back on his feet and closing the distance between he and Sam’s lips within seconds. He kisses him deeply, his tongue sweeping along his teeth and bottom lip before he pulls away, dragging Sam’s bottom lip with him.

He releases it quickly and smiles, “Absolute beauty.”

“He pays you to say that,” Sam winks, his head still swimming, his eyes hazy, his smile lazy, “Let’s lie down.”

Steve throws his eyes to Bucky, “Bed?”

“Let’s do it… literally.”

Steve reaches for a towel as Bucky turns off the water, throwing it over Sam’s shoulders before he steps out. He lets Bucky follow Sam and steps out last, throwing Bucky a towel to rid himself of excess water. Steve follows suit, swiping at his limbs and chest with a towel before discarding it to the floor and moving into the bedroom.

Sam’s already climbed into the large, soft bed. He’s at the headboard, his eyes heavy but his hand busy as he slowly strokes himself. Bucky lays at the foot of the bed, holding his head in the palm of his hand as his free hand skips up and down Sam’s calf. He smiles at Steve and Steve smiles back.

“You ready for me?” Steve asks.

Bucky smirks, “How do you want me?”

“Face down, ass up,” Steve answers.

“And what’s the magic word, Mr. Businessman?”

Steve smirks, “Please.” He says sweetly.

Only then does Bucky oblige. He repositions himself on the bed, sinking his knees into the mattress and he places his hands flat on the sheets. He lifts his eyes to Sam’s, making direct eye contact with him. He reaches out and skirts his fingers along Sam’s skin again before wrapping his hand around his ankle. He sinks his teeth into his bottom lip as Sam drags his hand along the length of his gorgeous cock, never taking his eyes off of Bucky’s blues.

Steve grabs a bottle of lube from his armoire and squeezes a dollop onto his fingers as he approaches the foot of the bed. He rests his left hand in the center of Bucky’s back and rubs his thumb along his soft, damp skin. He massages the warming gel along himself before sweeping his fingers lightly between Bucky’s cheeks. He inches forward, pressing against Bucky as he grips his shoulder.

Bucky squeezes his eyes shut as Steve fills him up slowly. He tightens his grip on Sam’s ankle and lets out a focused breath through his teeth as soon as he feels Steve’s hips are flush with his body.

Steve starts slow, acquainting his body with Bucky’s. He lets his fingers dance along Bucky’s skin, gripping, squeezing, kneading as he fucks him. He flicks his eyes toward Sam’s, finding them hooded and hazy, drunk almost, as he strokes himself to the same rhythm of Steve’s hips. Steve’s chest constricts almost immediately. He hips jut forward, hard, pulling a yelp from Bucky.

Steve stops and squeezes his shoulder, but Bucky laughs it off, “I’m good, cowboy.”

Cowboy. Steve likes that. Steve also likes that he can take it. He sets his pace faster - his strokes deeper - as Bucky’s soundtrack grows louder. He skips his fingers down Bucky’s body and between his legs. He caresses the inside of his thigh gently - sweetly - and then pinches without warning.

“Fuck,” Bucky groans as pangs of pleasure and pain flash through him.

This is the best decision Bucky’s ever made.

Steve keeps his eyes on Sam as they bounce between his and Bucky’s. Steve watches as Sam’s chest rises and falls faster, his hand pumps harder, his toes curl and flex as his moans mix and mingle and rise with Bucky’s. Fuck, the beauty of it all is enough to make Steve stutter again.

Bucky tightens his grip on Sam’s ankle and drops his face into the mattress as he lunges forward with each of Steve’s thrusts. He slams his eyes closed as a chorus of grunts fall from his lips. He yelps again as another flash of pain rips through him - Steve’s fingers pinching again, harder and harder as his hips crash into his.

Bucky lifts his head just in time to see Sam come undone again. He bites his bottom lip as he watches the ribbons spurt from him and falling against Sam’s chest and stomach. He shutters as Steve runs his hand along his spine and… that’s just about all he can take. He doesn’t even have to touch himself. He just cums. He drops his head to the mattress and lets Steve fuck him through his orgasm as he spills himself onto the soft, white sheets.

Steve falls forward as Bucky’s body constricts around him. He grips Bucky’s shoulder, his fingers digging into his skin as the threat of his own orgasm rushes through his veins. He grunts as electricity flashes through him. His vision tunnels, his chest tightens… and then he’s filling Bucky with his hot spunk. His hips jerk as he holds onto Bucky’s shoulders, barely able to breathe as he cums.

Bucky can’t help the chuckle that rumbles through his chest as Steve collapses on top of him. He reaches back and caresses Steve’s hip with the tips of his fingers as their three ragged, heavy breaths fill the room. He’s almost sad when he feels Steve’s weight leave him. He peeks over his shoulder as Steve disappears into the bathroom and reemerges with washcloths.

Bucky watches as he moves to Sam first, pecking him on the lips before he starts to clean him. He’s gentle with him. He sweeps the warm washcloth over Sam’s chest and stomach before giving the same ample attention to his dick. Once Sam is squeaky clean, he kisses him again, and then moves back to the foot of the bed.

He taps Bucky’s ankle, “May I?”

Bucky nods slowly as he tucks his hands underneath his head and stretches out his legs. He loves a control freak. He closes his eyes as Steve caresses his skin with the warm washcloth and cracks a quick smile as he lands a smack against his ass before retreating back into the bathroom.

He feels another tap on his ankle, “Under the covers.”

Bucky has something snarky to say, but he’s in a good mood, so he just climbs up next to Sam and slips underneath their expensive comforter. The TV flips on, Steve’s heavy footsteps move around the room before his weight sinks into the mattress and the soft light from his laptop washes over him.

Sam reaches over Bucky and lets his hand and fingers brush along Steve’s arm - just so he can feel them - and drifts off, taking Bucky with him.

----

Bucky takes a breath, his eyes fluttering as he stretches his limbs. His eyes open slowly and focus on the blue numbers projected on the ceiling from Steve’s clock. 3:17am. Sam’s arm is still slung over his chest. Steve rests against the headboard, his head rolled the side, his hands still propped on his laptop. Bucky smiles slowly. It reminds him of -

He stops. He blinks slowly, shifting his gaze back to the blue numbers. 3:19am. He needs a cigarette.

He wiggles out from between them and shimmies into his tight boxers before digging through his jacket pocket. He slips out, and pads through the apartment to the sliding glass door leading to the balcony. He steps out into the warm night, sliding the door partially closed before bringing a thin cigarette to his lips.

He’s gone through about three of them before he hears the door slide on the track. He doesn’t even turn around, he knows who it is. He takes another drag and exhales the grey smoke slowly before he bends over, resting his forearms on black railing.

“His name was James,” he starts slowly, dropping his head between his arms, “James Rhodes. But, everybody called him Rhodey.”

Sam smiles softly as he leans against the walls behind him, “How long were you two together?”

“Five years,” Bucky laughs, “Isn’t that crazy? Still surprises me that I was capable of that.”

“Anybody is capable of anything Bucky. You must have really loved him.”

Bucky nods slowly, “I did. I gave him everything. I gave up everything.”

“Before we get there,” Sam says gently, “How did you two meet?”

Bucky takes another drag of his cigarette and lifts his head to gaze out onto the city, “We were both in the military, he was a Colonel.”

“Bucky, that’s-” Sam cringes.

“No, no, not - We didn’t meet like that. He was in the Air Force, I was Army. I was discharged after a few years cuz I have a heart murmur, and I couldn’t manage to get back on base by curfew.”

Sam chuckles, “That’s not surprising.”

“Anyway, I was working at this bar, on base, and he came in one night. We ended up talking. He took me out a few nights later and a month later, I moved in.”

Sam smiles harder, “Steve made me move in after two weeks.”

“That’s not surprising.” Bucky chuckles.

It gets quiet between the two of them. Sam doesn’t want to push, he knows this is a place that Bucky is not comfortable navigating, especially with someone he barely knows. So, he waits for him to get there. He watches him as he finishes that cigarette and promptly pulls another from his pack. The small fire sparked from his lighter adds a dim light but it dies away just as quickly as it came.

“I straightened up,” Bucky says after a long while, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he holds the cigarette between his fingers, “I stopped dancing, I got a straight job, I started cutting my fucking hair again. I straightened up for him, because I loved him and I wanted him to be proud to have me on his arm.”

The anger becomes undeniably present - suffocating almost - and they’re quite literally sitting out in the open. Sam thinks he knows where it’s going, but Bucky needs to say it, “What happened?”

Bucky shrugs, “I don’t know. I did everything he wanted me to, I became the person he wanted, and I came home one night and there was another man in my bed. Some fuckin’ Private or whatever the fuck they call ‘em.” He swallows hard as he stares at the trees, his jaw set in a hard line, “I gave him everything I had, and it meant nothing to him.”

“I’m sure that’s not true. I’m not saying what he did was right, I’m not going to call it a mistake because that’s a conscious decision, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t love you. It certainly doesn’t mean that you meant nothing to him.” Sam tilts his head as he stares at Bucky’s back, “Your worth is up to you, not to anyone else.”

Bucky smiles, but it’s sarcastic - cynical, “I’m sure you get paid a lot of money to say stuff like that.”

“I do. Lucky for you, you’re getting it for free.”

Bucky laughs, “I like you, Sam.”

“I like you, Bucky - and before you say something snarky, no, I don’t get paid to say that to everyone.”

“Sure,” Bucky sings, peeking over his shoulder quickly, “You got any other words of wisdom?”

Sam nods, “You got out of there. You stood up for yourself, that’s something to be proud of, and it means that you know deep down that you deserve better than that. I mean, five years is a long time. This was in New York, I’m presuming?”

“How do you know that?”

“Everyone hears the Brooklyn in you, but you.” Sam laughs, “Seriously. I’m not sure how long it’s been, but to uproot your life and start over in a new city - on your own no less, is incredibly strong. Knowing who you are and being comfortable with yourself, is something that some people never learn how to do.”

Sam stands and leans against the railing next to him, tilting his head until Bucky makes eye contact with him, “You could work on the vulnerability, but that wild side of you - that freeness, is like catching lightning in a bottle. This James guy is an idiot if he didn’t realize that. There’s nothing wrong with you, you didn’t do anything wrong, and I like your hair long.”

Bucky laughs again, but this time, he really, really means it. Sam kisses his forehead before retreating back to the sliding door. He stops and glances over his shoulder, “I’m very familiar with this bad boy act, so, no sneaking out. Bring your ass back to bed when you’re done.”

Before Bucky can get out another word, the door clicks shut. Bucky smirks again and lets out another breath. He drops his eyes to the concrete as his mind spins. It’s weird. He feels a little better. He puts out his cigarette and does exactly what Sam told him to do - he promptly takes his ass back to bed.

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tarithenurse · 4 years

Text

The good Villain - 5

Based on the prompt “You’re the villain and you know that you just want the ‘good guys’ to understand why”

Pairing: Loki x Fem!Reader (eventually) Content: Questions are answered but new arise, some not very veiled innuendos, some tension. Loki being a snack and a tease. Completely made up fake science. A/N: Well, last update absolutely gave me some fuel in the shape of reblogs and comments. Thank you very much!

Chapter 5

… Loki …

To find joy in life, it is important to find happiness in the little things, and although Loki would have appreciated to have been the mastermind behind the squabble…well, it is a delight to watch the Avengers argue amongst each other. The room is heavy with the scent of panic and anger, each new word spewed adding to the roiling ocean of chaos.

“But her vitals are fine.” Banner mutters at the edge of the group, knowing all too well that no one is listening.

If only the witch had been here, Loki muses. On the other hand, she would never have allowed the tempers to get out of control nor for the Trickster to sit calmly and watch the show with a drink in hand. Turning his head, he can see enough on one of the tablets on the coffee table to guess that the Betan has stopped crying. Leaking, she had said, so naïve. In hindsight, it does make sense that she would not recognize tears for what they are.

“ENOUGH!”

Loud enough to shake the glass in the windowpanes, Banner’s shout catches everyone’s attention and though they are still on edge, their concern is due to the slightly green tint of the scientist’s skin rather than the topic of the argument. With a single nod, he signals for them all to sit down and shut up. They do. Oh, can’t have a party every day. It would have been quite entertaining if the Green Brute had made an appearance.

“Thank you,” Banner groans, also collapsing into a chair, “right…now…I don’t care who said what and…’nd shit…” There is an audible gasp from Stark, thickly laced with sarcasm. “Just tell me, someone please, why she’d think she’s leaking?” The question might be addressed to the group in its entirety but the tired (and slightly bloodshot) eyes are trained on the younger Asgardian.

None of them have bothered to learn. “Isn’t it obvious?” Loki allows a tone of mockery to slither into the rhetorical question. “Sirius Beta is so close to its star that the temperatures are hundredfold higher than here…naturally resulting in immediate evaporation of free liquids. [Y/N] has simply…never seen tears.”

The disrespectful scoff is hardly a surprise even if it irks Loki to hear it from this many. And of course Stark is the one to object the theory, as he calls it, by pointing out the alien female’s tolerance to the Midgardian temperatures.

“She’d freeze!”

“Not necessarily,” the tamed growl of Barnes retorts hesitantly, “her…her physiology isn’t like ours and besides…there’ many ways to train or…to condition a body to withstand a broad array of situations.”

The man rarely speaks in large groups, and only then if closely backed up by his faithful friend, Rogers, if the former Winter Soldier voices his thoughts unasked while clearly drawing on his personal experiences. Screw the Hulk, this is far more interesting.

… Reader …

You had not been leaking. You had not been melting.

Despite attempts over the last day cycle, you have not been able to reproduce the crying, and you have a theory it might have something to do with the mental state you were in when it first happened. What else can my body do? Lying flat on your back, you only have to turn your head to see the growing stash of water bottles tugged away under the bed. A simple test is all you need to perform to learn more about water. Is it salty too?

The bottle crinkles in your grasp, remaining slightly out of shape when you loosen the grip after unscrewing the lid. It does not smell of anything, you can barely feel it, as you allow a little to drop onto your finger.

“It’s safe.”

Technically, you do not hear the end of Loki’s statement, too busy squeaking in shock of him and the water sprouting upwards as you involuntarily squeeze the bottle. With a loud splash, it lands on the hard floor, the rest of the liquid joining it as you abandon any remainder of decorum to scramble away.

Safe? “It better be!” To be fair, it does not actually do anything but lie there and reflect the lights above in a shimmering pool.

“As long as you don’t inhale it…or if it’s not too warm,” the sneaky bastard purrs, “you’ll be fine.”

“…what do you use it for?”

There is a moment of silence where Loki stands with his mouth slightly open as though he has never been asked something like that before. Maybe it is a stupid question, but you have decided to learn as much about this phenomenon as you can. Liquids in general does make sense, like blood or lava, so all you have to do is figure out the workings of this.

“It…fulfils a similar function to many lifeforms like salt does to you, I believe. Perhaps you should not drink too much of it, actually.” You eye him but finding no deceit in his eyes decide to observe the topic of the lesson more closely while he continues. “We use it for cooking, bathing, a-“

“Bathing?” Now that is just ridiculous. “No sand?”

“Allow me to teach you, curious one,” he smiles.

It is garishly obvious. Something is making Loki think he has the upper hand or that he will somehow gain from the new arrangement. A careful person would deny him his wish. A person needing a change in a stalled situation has to use the opportunities as they present themselves which explains why you watch a section of the glass wall slide aside, granting him passage to your cell.

Once inside, he walks ahead of you to the niche where the basic necessities can be taken care of – you had recognized the seating arrangement for what it is already on day one. But Loki leads you past that, past the treacherous basin where you had discovered water to come out of a tap at a light touch, and towards an area with a thin glass door.

“See that?” He points to a few nobs and a sort of nozzle-arrangement protruding from above the wall. “That’s called a shower.”

With a fragment of hesitation, he slips off the long-sleeved tunic and dumps it on the floor, baring a surprisingly muscular upper body. Lithe and athletic, Loki is far from the bulky type of his brother or Captain, but he does not have to walk around my bed more than once, you admit with a pleased shiver.

The enthusiasm dissipates, however, the moment he reaches in and (as he calls it) turns on the water. You see the way the drops land on his arm, clinging to the hairs even when he continues to undress. Slight rolls of puckering of his pale skin travel towards his, unfairly nice, shoulder before skating out of sight together with the lines of scarring that prove the legends of Asgardian valor true. Dipping his head towards you, his eyes are twinkling at your attention to his now naked body. Shit, I was ogling.

“Yes, the water is a bit cold at start, but I’ll go in first…find a good temperature for you.”

No sense of modesty colours his cheeks, unlike the Captain’s would in this kind of situation. In fact, the blond, triangular man would mostly likely never get into a situation like this, let alone move in a perfect pace to show off everything. Ooh, that is a lot.

Scrambling to focus, you clasp on to the conversation. “You want me to go in there? With you? Hah!”

You are tempted, at least marginally, when he steps under the water. With his eyes closed, he allows the stream to guide the large hands along his limbs, and you have to battle the basest instincts to turn away and leave the way you came.

Marching into the cell itself, you are stopped dead in the tracks at the sight before you: Loki. Loki sitting dressed and dry on your bed with a shit eating grin lighting up those mesmerizing eyes. How? Sensing a movement out of the corner of your eye, you turn to see an identical figure at the other end of the room. A projection? Whatever the explanation, the Loki you had follow to the shower-thing is suddenly behind you, cold (and dry) hands grasping your shoulders.

“You really think I would let down my guard around you, pet?”

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captain-aralias · 5 years

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Vampirism for fun and profit

We learned some good stuff about vampires from ‘Wayward Son’. Here’s a list, because like @sharkmartini says - it could come in useful. (To fic writers, I assume; not vampires who are new to vampirism.)

Big ticket items are obviously to do with ageing and the effects of vampire bites. I will also add in - the vampire thrall, which is a significant new ability we didn’t know about.

Ageing and immortality:

Lots of this obviously has to be taken with a pinch of salt, as it comes from Lamb who is not a reliable source. I assume it is the truth - but given that we have no proof, it could easily be ignored or disproved in fic or later books.

It’s strongly implied that vampires are immortal unless killed. Also, they either have very slow ageing or don’t age.

Lamb implies repeatedly that he’s around 300 years old (when vampire society was very different), asks Baz how old he is “really”, and the NowNext vampires specifically want vampirism because it stops them ageing.

"I pre-date choice. ... All my people understood was war and hunger, and demons who came in the dark." (Chapter 52)

Does vampirism stop ageing immediately? @krisrix theorises that it’s to do with drinking human blood, rather than animal blood, which makes sense to me. However, we might also hypothosise that since Lamb’s brother killed his parents before he went for Lamb, it’s possible he was much younger than the 34 he claims to appear to be when he was turned and has now aged to around 34.

There’s plenty still to play with here - Baz isn’t very good at asking questions about his condition, and did not get information about what loopholes exist.

Lamb also claims that you can’t stop being a vampire, but presumably he has never tried:

"You won't feel so close to them, the Normals, once you've outlived your ties to mortality ... There's no unbecoming, Baz. There's no sidestepping your true identity. All the rabbits in the world won't change you back. They'll just leave you thirsty." (Chapter 52)

The Turn and other effects of vampire bites:

I was willing to challenge this one when we just had ‘Carry On’, although it’s presented as pure fact that Baz’s fangs will turn someone into a vampire. But of course he literally does not know. (Which is all the proof you should need that everything is up for grabs, unless Baz has experienced himself. And even then, we might be able to write it off later because he’s so isolated and doesn’t know how to be a vampire.)

Again - none of this is provable as once again nobody thinks to get any evidence for Lamb’s claims or Shepard’s hearsay. (Why not look up that guy who got bitten? Isn’t this relevant to your life, Baz?) However it seems likely that not all bites result in someone becoming a vampire.

"Oh I doubt he Turned him," Shepard says, smothering his chips in ketchup. "Vampires hate to Turn people. They either take a sip and let you go - or drain you dry"

Lamb says the same thing:

"So you don't Turn people?" "Rarely. Most of don't want the chaos and competition. Almost no one wants the responsibility." (Chapter 52)

However, it’s worth noting here again that when he talks about his brother he states that his brother didn’t want a “comrade”; he was “thirsty”. So it seems like if you don’t know what you’re doing, you can definitely Turn someone accidentally.

If, however, you do know what you’re doing, you don’t have to kill or Turn. Again - we primarily hear from the vampire’s POV, but Lamb strongly and repeatedly implies that people like being bitten.

"No need to leave a corpse when you can leave a satisfied customer, you know?" (Chapter 44)

"Because I didn't enjoy being bitten." "Then someone was doing it wrong." (Chapter 52)

You could argue that this is supported by the sight of the Normal (?) girl Baz sees at the party, who does seem to be having a good time.

"A Very beautiful woman - a girl my age - stumbles past me, laughing. There's blood streaked down her neck" (Chapter 44)

Not entirely sure whether the guy who gets bitten later in the chapter is enjoying it, though, so ... again, room to play with whatever.

"The man's neck goes limp. His head droops back, his hat falls off. His eyes immediately glaze over. I've seen that face on a deer before." (Chapter 44)

Turn is always capitalised, btw.

Different kinds of blood:

Shephard notes that Baz looks greyer than the rest of the vampires:

Not as drained and ghostly. If this is what a vampire is supposed to look like, then maybe Baz is a vampire with an iron deficiency." (Chapter 53)

Lamb probably confirms that Baz’s colour and the kind of blood he drinks are related:

"No wonder you're so pale. You're malnourished."(Chapter 50)

The NextBlood vampires are probably all really new vampires (like - the last 10 years), but they don’t look like Baz. They look incredibly healthy and are almost certainly surviving on human blood they get from somewhere. They don’t drink blood; they transfuse.

"They don't even drink, Baz - they transfuse. They won't touch anything that hasn't been tested frozen, and stored. I've heard they've started pasteurising.” (Chapter 50).

We also learned (and we learned this for sure) that you can fang-up or fang-down at will. (Chapter 50)

The smell of Simon:

Last time on ‘Baz doesn’t want to eat his friends but he also does’, he told Simon he smelt like bacon and cinamon buns (CO, Chapter 71) - although he might have been being metaphorical. (I tend to think not, but could be convinced.) Later, at the leaver’s ball, he says Simon’s smell has changed - and now he smells like “something sweet and brown. No more green fire and brimstone.” (CO, Epilogue)

This time we get a new description, although it tallies with the CO Epilogue.

Simon smells like the kitchen after you pop popcorn and melt butter. There's a singe to it, with a round, yellow, fatty feeling that sticks to the roof of your mouth. Bunce is sharper and sweeter - vinegar and treacle. (Chapter 14)

And when Simon is shot:

Simon's blood smells like brown butter. (Chapter 60)

Baz tries to block this out with Altoids, which he must buy specially from some sort of posh-person shop because I’ve never seen them on sale.

They're very good for blocking out blood smells. Especially the spearmint flavour." (Chapter 55)

The thrall and other vampire abilities:

There’s not much to say about this, but I thought it came out of nowhere. And I know the gang had lots of worry about but no one was like, holy shit - vampires can do that??

Lamb did something to me. Hypnotized me or something. (Chapter 55)

In this particular case Shepard appears to those around him to be napping. (Is that all the thrall can do? We have no information.) It doesn’t feel good once it wears off.

I'm still a little hungover from my vampire thrall. (Chapter 50)

The other abilities are all confirmation of, or build on, things we learned in ‘Carry On’.

Advanced hearing: Lamb and Baz are both able to hear Simon’s heartbeat. (Chapter 52)

All senses are particularly advanced at night (which I think might be knew. We know they don’t like sunlight, but this seems to be more than that. Like - senses get better.) Although I treat this as the least trustworthy piece of information Lamb gives us as it’s just before the betrayal. (Chapter 54)

Vampires move in a particularly stealthy way that is very noticeable:

Vampires aren't especially beautiful (though some are). That's a myth, I think - vampire beauty. What they are is especially rich. And especially ... liquid. They move like oil, like shadows. Like cats. (Chapter 44)

General speed, strength, feeling like a brick wall if you punch them, faster healing (to go with not getting sick in CO).

I know that I heal faster than other people. (More proof that I'm nota person.) But I've never really tested my limits. No one's ever emptied a shotgun into my chest or kicked me in the gut with steel-toed cowboy boots...

The worst I've been injured before this was when the numpties took me. I think my leg healed right away even then - but it healed wrong because I was stuck in that coffin.

Before that, there were fights with Simon. A few black eyes over the years, a split lip. I healed fast from those injuries, but so did he. I think Simon's magic used to heal him, even when he couldn't cast the spells to heal himself. (Chapter 37)

Vampire weaknesses:

I don’t think much is new here, but as Baz remarks at the end, we certainly do know a lot about how to kill vampires. Some methods include: fire, beheading, being possessed by a demon and then getting a vampire to bite you, staking.

The vampire impaled on my axe handle has already started to wither. Like it was the magic in his heart holding him together. I pull back the stake, and he falls - a man-shaped pile of blood and boots and ashes. (Chapter 22)

Methods that don’t work include: gunshot and potentially most other weapons, although I can’t tell whether the Ren Fayre weapons are just terrible. (I assumed they were, and that this was hilarious.)

There’s a bit more information about crosses as well. I thought Doctor Wellbelove had given Simon a specific vampire talisman, but apparently literally any cross will do, bonus points for silver. (Simon’s is gold.)

There are at least three people wearing crosses sitting near me. One of them must be silver; my nose won't stop running. (Chapter 9)

This makes me think that maybe what happened was that Simon said ‘my roommate’s a vampire, help!’ and Agatha’s dad was like, I don’t think so, Simon, but OK here you go - here’s a cross that will protect you from the, ahem, “vampire”. It was supposed to be a placebo, but since no one knows anything about vampires, Simon got back to school and Baz was like ‘argh, wtf is this??”

(N.B. It makes no sense to me that the cross thing is real, btw. Not all crosses are blessed, which means they’re just shapes. Why would vampires be repelled by a shape?)

Vampires get sunburnt. And go black, rather than red. (Chapter 16) Baz thinks it might not heal, but it does, just more slowly.

Baz, at least, can get drunk. Lamb implies that other vampires don’t - is this because Baz is a weirdo vampire, or because he just isn’t a big drinker? I assume the latter, but could be convinced of the former.

History and society:

There’s a lot of stuff about the Las Vegas vampires, which I’m not recording because there’s lots of it and I’m mostly interested in this stuff for Baz-related fic and I’m assuming he will never go back to Vegas.

Are things like vampires being ‘tight lipped’ and vampires being ‘over the top’ specific to Las Vegas or the species? I assume it’s cultural and specific to the Vegas vampires.

Some famous UK vampire killings:

"I remember hearing, back in the fifties, that there wasn't a single one of us left in the UK - that Old Man Pitch had driven us out, like St Patrick driving the snakes from Ireland." (Chapter 44)

And of course Beatrix Potter apparently murdered every vampire in Lancashire.

You can apparently get a medal for slaying vampires. (Chapter 23) And all the shit the Mage did pales in comparison with him chatting to vampires. It doesn’t even seem to matter what he asked them to do for him (i.e. murder someone) - it’s literally just talking to them. (Chapter 37) The World of Mages is fucked up.

Baz doing other vampire stuff:

"Pork is the worst, sometimes I have to leave the Watford dining hall on days they served bacon" (Chapter 50)

Baz has also read Ann Rice and once ate his own dog. (Chapter 22)

That’s all I got!

According to the Kindle copy I have, the word ‘vampire’ (including vampires, but not vampirism) is mentioned 302 times in ‘Wayward Son’ compared to only 162 times in ‘Carry On’.

If you spot anything I missed, have other theories about vampires, or just want to talk about how Baz is a vampire, please let me know.

#wayward son spoilers #wayward son #carry on

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bluesfanfiction · 5 years

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It’s a Texas Thing

#77 from the prompt challenge.

Notes - It’s been over a year since I last posted any writing, apologies about that. And apologies for this taking so long. I was out of town for a little while and also I am very much struggling to write. But I wanted to write something cute and hopefully?? funny??? Hope you all enjoy! AU - Married AU, Human AU Rating - SFW

“Alfred are you ready to go?” Arthur moved down the hallway towards the bedroom, wondering what was taking his husband so long to get ready. “We’re going to be late for the movie.” He pushed the door open and saw Alfred struggling to pull on a pair of jeans.

Leaning against the door, Arthur chuckled. “Love…”

Alfred grunted. “Hold up almost… man… Have I gained weight again?” His gut sucked in as he tried holding his breath, his face reddening from the effort of his fight against the pants.

Arthur took pity on him finally after a moment of watching. “Alfred, those are my pants.”

“What-” Alfred stopped. “Oh fuck thank god.” The relief that he hadn’t suddenly gained an obscene amount of weight was evident on his face. “You’re right.” He kicked them off his legs as fast as he could, circling around to a chair in the corner where a lot of his clothes ended up. It was a compromise for the two of them so that Alfred had a place to put them easily that was not the floor.

“Perhaps your glasses would be of use, hm?” Arthur stepped over to their large, shared dresser and plucked the glasses off. He opened them and walked over to Alfred, slipping them on his husband’s face, careful not to poke him in the eye. “Is that better?”

Alfred grinned and wrapped his arms around Arthur. “All the better to see you with,” he quoted and bent forward to give Arthur a kiss.

“We’re going to be late,” Arthur reminded him.

“Shit,” Alfred located a pair of jeans, his this time, and pulled them on with much more ease, a satisfied look on his face as he eyed himself in the mirror. Arthur smoothed his hair and then headed out of the bedroom, beckoning for Alfred to follow.

“I can’t believe this is the fourth time you’ve done that.”

“Fourth, wasn’t it only my third?” Alfred asked, grabbing his keys and wallet off the kitchen counter.

“No, remember at Francis’s Christmas party last year?”

“Ohhh…” Alfred frowned a bit and locked the door as they headed out to the car. “I’d forgotten about that. Why’d you remind me?”

Arthur laughed, climbing into the passenger seat and shaking his head. “I will never let you forget it.”

At the cinema waiting in the queue for concessions, Arthur glanced around.

“A large popcorn with extra butter and a large coke please,” Alfred ordered cheerfully.

Arthur zoned out for the rest of Alfred’s conversation. Normally they snuck candy in but they hadn’t had time today so it was a special occasion for Alfred. The man had a huge obsession with movie theater popcorn with extra butter; Arthur preferred the simple microwave salted popcorn at home. It wasn’t like Arthur had never been to a cinema before or had never been to a concession stand in a cinema, however, he had for some reason or other, had never noticed an item sat on the shelf to his right, green as grass.

“What the bloody hell is that?”

Alfred turned to give him a puzzled look as he handed the cashier his credit card.

“A pickle?”

“Yes I know it’s a pickle but… why… why is it bagged? Why is it here?” The green, turd-resembling pickle floated in its own liquid juice, eye level with Arthur, offending him in a way he had never been before. Shocked, Arthur reached out to touch it, as if it weren’t real.

“Do you want one?”

“No!” Arthur withdrew his hand, the cashier now staring at him as well, trying to hand Alfred back his card. Alfred signed the receipt and they stepped out of line, a large popcorn and soft drink nestled in Alfred’s arms. “Have there always been pickles at the cinema?”

“Uh… yeah…”

Arthur took the tickets from Alfred’s full arms and gave them to the worker to tear. “Theater six down the hall on you right.”

“Thank you,” Alfred nodded.

“Why… why do you have pickles at the cinema?”

Alfred shrugged. “It’s a Texas thing.” He shoved the door open with his butt, holding it for Arthur to pass into the dimly lit room. They headed up the short hallway and rounded into the open part of the room, glancing up the rows of seats and the crowds of people. Alfred motioned for Arthur to go first, Arthur squinting in the dark to see the steps clearly so he wouldn’t trip and bust his face open.

“Do they not do it in other states?”

“Um, maybe…” Alfred’s voice called up from behind him.

“Why would you want to eat a pickle… during a movie?” Arthur asked, pausing and turning back to look at his husband. “How could something so lukewarm just sitting on a shelf like that possibly be any good?”

Alfred nearly ran into his husband, stopping awkwardly on the step and hoping he didn’t spill the popcorn and drink. “I mean, it’s not that bad, and I don’t think they would just leave it out like that if it wasn’t consumable. A lot of people would get sick if not.” He shifted the drink in his hand to get a better grip. “What’s our seat number?”

“I’m getting sick just thinking about it,” Arthur responded, still incredulous. “I can’t believe that’s something you would want to just snack on. I understand wanting to have a bit of pickle on or with your sandwich but just by-”

“Honey, the seat number.”

“It’s disgusting.”

Alfred apologetically glanced at the others behind him, stuck on the step as he was, Arthur glued to his spot.

Arthur seemed completely unaware of his surroundings and Alfred forced himself up onto the step next to Arthur, the two of them crushed together in the dimly lit space. He got the popcorn tucked against him so he could reach out and get the tickets from his husband, who was still going on about the pickle. Alfred couldn’t decide if it was funny or annoying, perhaps both. “We’re in this row, seat 12 and 13.” He ushered to one row above them and nudged at Arthur.

Thankfully his husband began to move again but he didn’t stop talking, all the while passing down the row of people. “Excuse me, sorry, sorry…” Alfred murmured as they passed by, nodding and apologizing to those whose feet he stepped on.

“Who ever thought of bagging one single pickle and selling it?” Arthur turned his head to look back at Alfred. “When did it even start? Did you have them around when you were a child?”

“Honey…”

“I wonder how many the cinema sells in a day…”

“Arthur this is our seat-”

“It can’t possibly be that many…”

Arthur took a seat and Alfred was relieved to be able to set down his drink and popcorn, but Arthur was still going on. He could tell by the shifting and coughing of those around them that others were starting to get irritated by Arthur’s twelve million questions about the pickle. It was starting to get to Alfred too. It wasn’t usual for Arthur to cause a disturbance like this in a public place. Usually polite and full of manners, it was a rare sight. One that Alfred was realizing was more annoying than funny just because of how many others it was starting to irritate as well.

“How many people want to just eat a pickle all plain like that? Do they do it in other states as well or-”

“PLEASE BE QUIET.” The voice of the man sitting to their right, the woman in front of them, the elderly couple behind them, and Alfred’s all rang out at the same time, cutting Arthur off. Arthur’s face reddened as he seemed to come back to his senses, immediately scrunching in on himself to appear smaller, a shyness passing over his expression and posture.

“S-sorry,” he murmured, glancing around.

Alfred reached over and took Arthur’s hand, holding it in his and stroking the back of it with his thumb. “We can talk about this later honey, when we’re back at home, okay?”

Arthur nodded, whispering another “sorry” as the trailers began. Alfred settled in, his hand settling in to the popcorn bag as well.

“May I have a sip of your drink?” Arthur whispered.

“Sure thing, it’s to share.”

Arthur took a sip through the straw and his face scrunched in disgust as he did, trying not to spit out the drink all over the place. “I thought you said you ordered a coke,” he hissed at Alfred, the drink he’d just had a sip of was definitely not that.

“I did,” Alfred said, confused. “Oh I mean like, I got a Dr. Pepper but yeah it’s a coke.”

Arthur’s confusion was very evident.

“You said a large coke back at the counter, this isn’t coke.”

“I mean it’s not Coke, but it is a coke.”

“Don’t you mean a soft drink?”

Alfred sighed, taking Arthur’s hand in his again and giving it a squeeze. “Listen babe... It’s a Texas thing.”

#usuk #fanfiction #usuk fanfiction #aph england #aph america #aph usuk #cute and funny #sfw #oh texas what are you #i edited it but i was like falling asleep while doing so #so if there's a ton of mistakes rip sorry!

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yasirreynolds · 3 years

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Treatment For Diarrhea

Diarrhea is the the watery state of the stool, which occurs because of dehydration or improper diet. It's normal and the treatment for diarrhea can be done even without visiting the doctor in a span of 2-3 days. The common symptoms during diarrhea is that the loosening of the stool in regular intervals, pain, irritation from the lower abdomen, vomiting and loss of appetite. It happens as a result of low oxygen level in the body. It's very important to have a specific amount of water everyday. The best cure for nausea is drinking loads of water. You can take every other kind of fluids too however, the principal point is the replenishing the water loss that had caused nausea. Many of you have the idea that the food you eat during diarrhea has to be with no spice hence absolutely bland but this isn't the situation. You need to avoid fatty foods such as lots of butter, fried foods and other types on the other hand consume a lot of green bananas, apple, rice, soups and veggies. Even after nausea is treated do not eat fatty and junk food for three to four days. A proper check is very important to prevent it from happening over and over.

During diarrhea do not consume alcohol because it is going to intensify the situation in your gut and may lead to serious ailments. Exercise during diarrhea should be reduced, you can continue with them but do not continue with your exercise for a longer duration because it contributes to tension in your belly muscles. Children and babies are at a higher risk of being infected by nausea because of the propensity of getting dried in larger among them. To restrain it from happening again and again solutions like Pedialyte should be given regularly since these liquids have a small quantity of additives present which replenishes the salt loss that takes place during diarrhea. Children feel very feeble during diarrhea hence the sole treatment for diarrhea is to take proper sleep and rest along with a well planned diet. Do not go over board in assessing your diet simply avoid the junk and greasy food. Bacteria, fungus and other virus that enters our system through the food that we eat are the source of diarrhea. But do not pop in anti fungal pills since they are of no use at times that they cause the situation to intensify. Check your diet and follow the homely treatment to treat diarrhea. However if you are traveling then it's recommended that you take some medicine with you enjoy carry your own food, water and also some pills like loperamide. They'll help in curbing the signs of diarrhea. The points mentioned previously would be the ideal remedy for nausea. If you choose the precautions you simply read you can place a check . A proper food habit should always be followed in order to avoid its occurrence. More information about thuoc tieu chay smecta just go to the best web page.

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m42-fr · 4 years

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Some FR Food Headcanons

Inspired by a thread on FR, I may or may not have accidentally written up a massive column of text on the various foods of Sorneith. I’m gonna copy-paste it here! Also gonna reblog with some headcanons from other users on that thread, so I can keep track of the ones that I really liked.

Lightning: In a more modern world, I'm absolutely certain somebody's invented the equivalent of Soylent (the meal replacement, not people). A quick, efficient meal that you can live your entire life off of, liquid and flavorless. Most people try to get some real food in whenever possible, but a particular strand of dragons absolutely swear by the stuff and spend their entire lives subsisting on it. Lightning cuisine also has a wide array of shelled creatures, including crustaceans, beetles, and armadillos. Many traditional dishes use the hollowed-out shells of these animals as bowls, while others utilize the bowl as an edible element. Dragon jaws are strong, and many texture-based eaters love the feeling of the shell cracking between their teeth.

Fire: Firstly, as a spice lover, I 100% support the notion of Fire having super spicy food. Secondly, it should be worth noting that I personally headcanon a large chunk of Fire's territory being covered in humid tropical rainforests, nourished by the rich volcanic runoff and the moist sea winds blowing in from both sides. Climates are basically as far from realistic as you can get in this game, so really, anything goes. With that in mind, I personally headcanon a lot of Fire's cuisine to be like Indian food, especially the advent of curry and the usage of an insane amount of spices. Having such fertile farmlands lends itself well to the growth of all sorts of exotic spices, and even if you don't personally share my headcanons, it's easy to say that since it borders Wind, it could ship in spices from there. Also, Fire residents absolutely boil their coffee like this. No exceptions. Which brings me to Wind. If Fire is India, then Wind is China and/or Japan. Seriously, having that sort of aesthetic already, it's very easy to say that their food might be like that as well! I think they 100% have rice, and they might have a wide variety of spices as well - if Fire grows their own spices, then the two Flights likely trade their spices very often with one another. The Wind flight is artistic, creative, and adventurous, and their food is no exception. Wind has one of the greatest amounts of imported food, and it's well-known that they have some of the best and most well-traveled chefs. Wind, having a border on two large oceans, also likes to make sushi, seaweed wraps, and other seafood-based items. There's an interesting cuisine difference between the coasts and the mainland - the coasts tend to rely less on spices and more on meats and rice, while the inland likes to pack their food with spice, and loves to utilize doughy recipes like dumplings and noodles. Arcane food is very sugary. Faes have a special sweet tooth and a hankering for honey in particular. Arcane food is also very showy - the more colorful, the better! Many professionally-made dishes will even utilize inedible elements, such as crystal chunks and gold flakes, to really make a dessert pop. Arcane is also the home of food-based magic. Instead of potions, crafters will cover cupcakes in frosting runes, and mix magically-infused powder into their dough. While lacking the long-term storage potential of a bottled elixir, there's no arguing that magical confectioneries are significantly tastier. Their most popular use is in the realm of light pick-me-ups and mild painkillers. Why take a pill for your headache when you can just eat a magic cookie instead? Shadow food focuses heavily on texture over appearance. In the dark, the way food looks doesn't matter much - it's how it feels in the mouth that counts. Unsurprisingly, many of its dishes utilize mushrooms as a primary ingredient, and slow-roasting is a popular way to bring a dish to perfection. Shadow also absolutely loves puddings, and one of its most famous dishes is a dark, sludgy, tarlike stuff laced with dark chocolate and mint. Very filling, and so sugary that getting all of it down without making yourself sick is a challenge. Earth food is plain, but hearty. Tubers are the most common type of food; potatoes, carrots, leeks, onions, and other ground-growing plants are common. There are few traditional meat dishes, as meat is exceedingly rare. Earth food lacks many spices, but has an abundance of one critical substance: salt. The territory is home to massive salt flats that can be mined for their salt, and this alone makes up the backbone of its trading economy. Earth flighters love their salt - there's essentially no dish in their repertoire that doesn't use it to some capacity. Plague cuisine tends to favor strong, meaty flavors. They like their meat juicy, bleeding, and fresh. Given the land's propensity towards hunting parties and scavenger behavior, dishes tend to be local. Cooking is quite widespread, though. Most notably: stews. Plague dragons almost invariably boil their water before they drink it to rid it of potential diseases, and eventually somebody got the bright idea to drop some bits of food in the water as it heated. Plague is adaptive and will use whatever foods they find in their stews, so again, recipes are local, but a wide variety of meats are the most common. Bordering Wind, Plague also imports a very high amount of spices. Their region lacks the widespread farming arrays that would enable it to make spices on a large scale, and many from the flight love the extra kick spices give to their food. Ice food is hearty, with a solid serving of both meats and vegetables, sourced locally. Their distance from the rest of the world means that their food has remained the most traditional and locally-sourced of Flight cuisine, virtually unchanged for hundreds - if not thousands - of years. Most dishes use some sort of meat, typically deer, caribou, or rabbit. With a large population of Tundras, they also grow all manner of vegetables. Many in the Ice flight like to make use of all parts of a carcass, not just the meat. Tools, including utensils, are carved from bones. Hides are used as clothing and shelter. Organs may also be eaten - most of Ice's more 'out there' dishes involve some sort of strange organ, like a deer stomach that's been cleaned out and filled with a variety of seasonal fruits and vegetables. Nature food is also filled with both meat and plants, though has a much higher percentage of fruit-based dishes. Many foods utilize some sort of complimentary fruit, either as a side or as additional flavoring to the primary ingredient. As most inhabitants are the voraciously meat-consuming Wildclaws, their dishes tend to have a high amount of meat, and are cooked and flavored accordingly. Nature dragons like to slow-roast their food, cooking it until the meat's tender enough to rip apart with a fork and practically falls apart in your mouth. I like to think that Nature also is a big fan of sour and savory flavors - many of their dishes utilize things like lemons, limes, and pineapples. Light food isn't the tastiest, but it sure is the flashiest. Of the Flights, Light food is the showiest, and its bakers are exceptionally skilled in the art of making their dishes look the best. Light dragons have a propensity for large-scale feasts and celebrations. They bake insanely huge, mastercrafted cakes, and host banquets filled with exotic dishes from all around the world. Original Light cuisine is heavy on grains and dairy, creating all manner of beautifully knotted breads and succulent cheeses and butters. It also imports the most amount of ingredients and recipes; while it's hard to find a non-Light ethnic dish in Light that's as good as the originals back home, it's typically nothing to shake a stick at. Finally, we have Water. Water - what a shocker - really really likes seafood. As many spices and foods can't be transported properly underwater, they're quite uncommon, found only along the coastline and in the homes of those with the resources to magically ensure that their imports don't get ruined on the way down. They like fresh, raw fish, and probably also create something very much like sushi. They can't roast anything underwater, so they boil it all instead. Cuisine on the few over-land parts of the territory is heavily influenced by its neighbors, Lightning, Light, and Fire, and is just as varied.

#flight rising #my headcanons #the flights #my lore #mmm this is giving me some good lore ideas now...#think I'm starting to fall in love with Fire flight #I NEED MY GIANT SPICY TROPICAL RAINFOREST VOLCANO LAND DAMMIT

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