#than wandering around all the used record shops in that city

[12pt-times-new-roman]

c3e86

Fearne emerges in cold air beneath snow-dusted peaks. She immediately goes back through the portal at the bottom of this lake, and her telepathic communication is restored.

Imogen and Fearne exchange spell slots -- Fearne expends a 4th level spell to give Imogen 4 sorcery points. The language Matt used here is very similar to how he described the feeling Orym got when using Ludinus' funnel.

Slowly but surely, they all pull themselves through the portal. The sun is setting, and they can see both Catha and the leylines, so they're definitely on Exandria somewhere; Chetney identifies the trees as high-altitude pines, and the air is cold, thinner than sea-level, so they're somewhere up high.

They turn into clouds, and travel straight up: they're in a lake cradled in the middle of a sprawling mountain range, but even from this high up, they don't recognize this region. It's not the Alabaster Sierras near Whitestone, or the Flotket Alps, or even anywhere on Marquet. Even with a high perception check, they can't see any towns, cities, or even light sources -- but there are structures built on the edge of the lake, like a village.

They enter and find that it's a very simple village, but there are no lights, no sounds, no people wandering around -- just silence. It looks abandoned, and much of it has fallen to the elements, decayed. There are still supplies on the shelves of a shop, but they're covered in dust.

In the clerk's office, they find records of the town: Ria'doin village, on the shores of Lake Umamu. They gather, from the nomenclature and the position of the sun, that this village is Issylran, but there's not a single temple anywhere.

It doesn't look like there was a battle or a struggle here. Laudna finds a thread of notes in the clerk's space talking about business abandonment, people just getting up and leaving the village. There were disappearances here: a child, an entire family, the Otises, all in succession -- there must've been a rumor making people leave, but the next night, there were four families gone without a trace. Then the fishmonger was seen walking into the lake. Rumors spread about bad blood, business competition, small-town politics -- before the clerk disappeared.

FCG talks to a bird, and is very rude about it. But the owl tells him that she last saw someone five years ago; they wandered through, looted some stuff, and eventually walked into the lake too.

They decide to rest here for the night, and plan to relay information about the lake portal before returning to Ruidus.

They identify the two silver rings they took from the Willmaster: one of them is a "ring of life detection," which is paired with another one somewhere else that alerts the wearer if something happens to them; and the other they have to save until morning.

Chetney update: As a result of his deal with Morri, he gets a feat. He can craft a very well-made and well-carved wooden toy with an hour of his time. It's unclear if this does anything other than generate money/story, but hey!

Sending stone to Caleb: Caleb Widogast, we are in a village called Ria'doin. It's a backdoor to the moon, maybe. Do you hear me? Come for a visit? Ah! Hello. This is strange. This has not worked in some time.

SENDING WORKS, BABEY! Time to run Matt through his paces and make him play a half-dozen NPCs!

Imogen casts sending to Caleb: I assume this means you're alright. Again, that's Lake Umamu. Can you get word to the resistance? Jas, this is Caleb Widogast. I don't know what's changed; these communications have not worked for some time. I do know where -- (sending cuts off.)

Imogen sends to Keyleth three times: We found a secret entrance back on Exandria, in Lake Umamu. Leads to subterranean Ruidus. We're in Ria'doin. Hi! Hello! Is everyone okay? You're in Umamu? That's the Karamoran Reach, Issylra. What about Ruidus? After the Bloody Bridge, the capital city of Kreveris is where they're gathering forces. There's a tunnel that leads down. Halfway there. We'll show you. Alright. Let me finish some business here, and I'll try and meet you. I'm curious to hear how much you've learned. Time is starting to run short. The portal is in the lake. We're heading back in in the morning -- haven't learned enough. Going to Kreveris. We'll leave markers for you to follow. Very well. I'll send a team to follow and see what this secret door is in the lake. Good luck moving forward. We're counting on you.

Another voice pushes into Imogen's mind. Um, hello? Mr. Caleb said I was supposed to talk to this person! Is this working? I've tried this so many times and -- so anyway, I'm curious if this is going forward! Is this working?! Please respond! Yes, it works. We met Caleb at the key. We're at Lake Umamu, we just talked to Keyleth. Okay, I don't know who that is but I'm extremely happy for you, and I'm so happy this is working! Who are you? What are you doing? How do you know Caleb? What-- I'm Imogen. We went to Ruidus. We met Caleb at the key, he was captured, we haven't seen him since. Okay, well he's fine now, and it's nice to meet you that knew Caleb at the key. Don't know what that means either, but thank you! Okay. Who is this? Oh! My name is Jester.

aDSFsdgkjghfdk my heart---

Orym sends to Dorian: Dorian. We're alive. Been to the moon, going back. Find the Tempest. If I don't get the chance again... I really missed you. There's no response, but Orym swears he hears something outside. He needs to check in on that, needs to see what it was. It might be Dorian. They wake everyone, and Orym wants to go outside, but why wouldn't he have answered?

So if sending just suddenly works now, there's one of two options: either it's the proximity to the lake -- a rift between Exandria and Ruidus -- that's causing it, and the same thing would've happened at the bridge; or the Vanguard's plans are advancing and the leylines are calming down because of that. Or, y'know, the entire sending thing was a complete fabrication by whatever's in this lake (but that doesn't explain Jester).

Meanwhile, Matt is rolling saves for all of them behind the screen -- they at least got a short rest, but there's something calling them toward that water to inspect it, make sure everything's okay. There's a presence in the water that makes them wonder whether there's an ally in that lake -- they're not alone, but not in a bad way.

They start making their way through the fog, toward the bank. The lake is appealing to their sensibilities -- Orym senses a presence that could be Dorian, Chetney senses a disturbance in the portal, Ashton senses a useful tool, FCG senses an ally.

Imogen uses detect thoughts on the lake, and there is an intelligence that settles behind and below her -- those enthralled are wading into the lake, being pushed -- they disappear under the water, and we go to break!

Can I also just say -- Liam is portraying a soldier's hope so well with Orym. Like, the situation is near-hopeless, the deck is stacked against them, they are staring into the face of unfathomable threats, and yet. And yet. They have to do it. They must. Not because it's easy or even because it's right, but because it must be done. Fate has dealt them these cards, whether they like it or not, so they have to hope. They have to. If they don't hold on to that, if Orym does not put forward and wholeheartedly throw his entire soul into paradoxical hope against all hope, then what else does he have? What else is there? He can't cry, he can't bargain, he can't even grieve. Hope is all that's left, left bleeding at the bottom of the barrel -- and if he doesn't have that, if he doesn't even have the delusion of hope, then all truly is lost. So Orym falls, hard, for any shred of hope beyond ephemera, anything that just might be more than whim and blindness, like sending, like Keyleth, like Dorian. And fuck is it heartbreaking.

Imogen grabs Orym as he dives, and she gets pulled down too.

Laudna sticks her head underwater, spots one, and casts animate object on a boat! "It's ghost ship time." It grows little hands out of the front and starts fucking talking -- "what do ya want, missus?"

For the ones in the water, it's nothing but chemical impulse that pushes them forward, toward the bramble growths that surround the portal to Ruidus. It wraps around them, cradles them, and it's a warm sensation, like this is where they're meant to be, it's everything they've ever fought for, ever wanted. While they're down here, everyone takes cold damage.

Fearne spots them, the cocoon where they're being held, and also sees a graveyard of scattered bones. Dozens and dozens of corpses, cradled like children.

Imogen damages the shadows that hold them, and everyone ensnared gets to make another CHA save -- everyone but Ashton breaks free from its influence.

As he breaks away, Orym slashes at the shadow and frees a skull; but as he grabs it, the shadow re-envelops him.

Laudna boards her animated boat and rides it beneath the waves like Captain Jack Sparrow. As she passes, FCG grabs the side and coasts down, and casts turn undead on the shadows: the tendrils turn to hair, the roads of the Changebringer leading away, and although it succeeds this does confirm that this is some kind of undead creature.

Ashton is still trapped inside the mass, and they try desperately to free him. Orym swims down, dashes the tendrils away, and spots them -- he casts misty step somehow to reach Ashton and hacks at their bonds. He action-surges and hits Ashton to wake him up (that's a whole fucking thing that I will get back to--) but Ashton succeeds, they're still buried in there and Orym is still right next to him.

FCG's second turn undead succeeds, and the tendrils all scatter, pull back -- and they have a terrifying view of this underwater graveyard that lies here. Ashton gets to make their save again and finally succeeds -- they see exactly what's below them and dart away, dart toward the surface (alongside Laudna, who also failed the turn undead).

As they surface, all the effects subside, and the shadow recoils.

(Also, I love how Matt has incorporated Candela Obscura's "initiative" rules in C3. This entire encounter happened without rolling initiative once, but it still felt very fluid and inclusive.)

The center of this undead entity is closer to the village, whereas the portal to Ruidus is around 80 feet from it.

They return to the docks, and carve a message into the wood: Beware! Dead shit down there.

Orym leaves the skull he retrieved on the dock, too, assuming that Keyleth can cast speak with dead (and not saving it in the portable hole for FCG to cast that later).

Imogen, with the statement that "none of us are thinking clearly right now", decides for the group that they should all go back through the portal to sleep rather than waiting for Keyleth's envoy to appear.

Now that they've defeated the undead entity here, it's easy for them to re-enter the portal to Ruidus. They immediately go to sleep -- even with tired watches, they get a long rest.

As they sleep, Laudna talks to Delilah. She wants more power from Delilah in exchange for keeping Imogen safe -- "grant me power, and I'll give you everything you need." [You promise?] "I keep my word, if I have a strange way of expressing them." [I have a strange question -- Pate.] "I am no more pate than you are me. We are bound inexplicably, yes -- we are strange bedfellows... Laudna. We will endure. Always." Delilah's visage fades, and Laudna falls to sleep.

Long rest, finally!

They climb out of the tunnels they slept in, and continue across Ruidus to Kreveris. As they go, they leave trails and signs for anyone who might be following them out of the portal in the lake.

FCG identifies the other ring as a ring of protection, which is huge for basically anyone -- it gives a +1 bonus to armor class and all saving throws. Orym takes it, since Ashton already has two rings attuned.

Laudna uses the syphon to absorb the power of the ring of life essence -- it strips the ring of all its magical power, and gives Laudna +2 hit points (permanently) and advantage on al attacks and ability checks until the next long rest.

The Bells Hells leave the cave and move across meandering tunnels for miles, leaving Ashari symbols as they go so Keyleth's forces can follow them.

They all continue in this tunnel for a while, until it comes to an abrupt end. Ashton, although reticent, activates the shard of Ka'mort -- they get bigger, spiker, everything becomes odd and off, a fractal, an exaggeration that is six feet tall kneeling, with the elemental arm a claw. As they phase into the rock, they sense tunnels and caverns around them, and they are not far from the surface -- Ashton clears the way and the Bells Hells emerge onto the surface of Ruidus. There's a mild dust storm going through, but Imogen rolls with advantage (with the help of Fearne) and determines the direction of Ruidus' capital.

Laudna brings up that they all need to agree on when exactly to get the fuck out of dodge. Ashton is determined not to leave until they find allies, but Laudna brings up the fact that they need everyone to complete the mission.

They set off across Ruidus toward the capital, and start walking to save their more powerful spells for the future; but Imogen casts a magic mouth spell for when Keyleth's team comes through. "Hey. We are going toward Krevaris, the direction is slightly due north. Head toward the mountain range. Hope you find this. Heading toward Krevaris."

As they travel, there's a strange vibration in the air, an anticipatory change -- and every stone arounds you becomes incandescent with bright light, time seems to instantly stop. Everyone feels like they've been around forever, the blip of immortal essence passed through them -- and Imogen, eyes white, hair bright red-violet, drops to the ground as the feeling ends. Imogen and Fearne both gain 15 temp hp as Ruidus flares beneath them.

There's a fading warmth to them, and Ashton, as elemental, feels it -- a warmth under the ground, following that trail.

When Ashton comes out of his transformation, it's rough -- they are drained, tired, even after the long rest -- he takes two points of exhaustion . But Fearne offers to carry him, and they puh into the storm, they ear the thunder in the distance.

As they emerge from the fog, from the carved valley before them, they see the faintest view of a skyline, a real sign of civlization that they are on the cusp of reaching (with Ashton on 2pts of exhaustion).

#critical role #note watches c3 #critical role spoilers #critical role campaign 3 #critical role c3 #critical role liveblog #long post

[toomuchracket]

given recent events I’ve been thinking about a little city day out with matty just walking around holding hands, bumping into friends, him buying me whatever I want…

i miss birthday party matty so i'm making this about him lol. somehow, miraculously, work has taken you both to nyc at the same time; matty for recording and some press, you also for press and meetings and publishing negotiations. you stay in the same hotel because why wouldn't you, when you're in the same city for the same period of time, and it's actually quite domestic because even though you're thousands of miles from home you're still waking up together and showering and getting ready together and having breakfast and kissing each other goodbye when you leave for work. anyway, your final day in nyc is a free day for matty and a mostly free day for you - you have an early little press event/talk to do with an award you've been nominated for, which matty goes along with you to (the interviewer says something like "a lot of your new nonfiction seems to have more of a focus on love and romance than your previous writing" and you look at matty and smile like "yeahhhhhh that's someone else's influence" and his heart genuinely flutters lol), and then you just spend the day having a wander. in my mind, it's quite a crisp autumn morning (i'm rewatching gilmore girls again can u tell), and matty's doing cute shit like holding your cheeks in his hands and kissing your nose to warm them both up, and wrapping you into his coat while you queue for coffee; he holds his coffee in one hand and your hand in the other as you walk down the street, and does his usual thing of kissing you while you wait for the crosswalks (look at me using americanisms!!) to tell you to move. and you just spend the day slowly, dipping in and out of various bookshops and record shops and clothes shops, where matty (still on a high from your little interview moment earlier and even more putty in your hands than usual) says quite seriously "i will literally buy you whatever you want as long as you can fit it in your suitcase for going home"; you're like "baby it's ok lol i didn't really intend on buying anything", and matty hugs you tightly and kisses all over your face like "let me treat you! let me love you!", and you giggle like "you do already! but if you insist" and pick out some little bits to take home with you. he also carries your bags because he's cute like that, and does the cheesy little hand-in-back-pocket move while you walk so he can squeeze your bum - you roll your eyes at him when he does, he gives you a shit-eating grin in return, and then you both giggle and matty pushes you into him so he can kiss you again. later, maybe you run into jack and margaret and end up going for dinner with them, and seeing them in their newlywed bliss phase makes matty so delulu about marrying you (he is counting the days until the wedding. they are in the hundreds. but still), then you just head back to the hotel and share a bottle of wine and a bubble bath and... well, you know the rest. but it's lovely, the whole day <3

#mads answers asks #matty asks #fluff asks #into the birthday partyverse

[desmondkane-of-ao3-fame]

Skarlow adventures in the human realm? It doesn’t have to be a date specifically just some random adventure with the witch couple

Well, unfortunately, most of the ideas I come up with in terms of Skarlow tend to be romantic, so if you're looking for a platonic story, I'll only be able to provide one's that still hint at romantic Skarlow in some way.

BEFORE DATING

On the first time Luz let her friends go around the city unsupervised, Skara found a small hobby shop next to a record store, with a large poster of a game called "BardQuest". Curious, she wandered inside, only to find out it was an expansion to a collectible card game. She was planning to give it a pass, but when the manager mentioned it was a strategy game, Skara decided to try it out. Soon, Camila had to calmly, but incredibly firmly, explain that no, Snails are not an acceptable Earth currency, and no, she could not give them to her in exchange for using her credit card to buy a Commander Bellatrix Tripple holographic gold card with alternative artwork for more money than her mortgage.

Thankfully she could at least use some spare cash to buy a few decks, and she got Willow to play a few games with her. Willow wasn't a big fan of the game itself, barely even understood it, but she did like to see Skara excited and happy to talk about something she had a passion for. It made Willow feel... nice, even if she didn't always know why.

Willow decided to try out Baseball for a bit, see how human sports compared to Witch sports. While the lack of flight was a bit boring, the inability to use magic gave it a bit more challenge, and Willow took great pride in being able to do pretty well without it. One time, though, while the rest of the gang were in the stands (and while Skara was massively crushing on Willow), she hit a fowl that rammed through a hole in the fence and hit Skara's face. Willow immediately left the field, trying to see if her friend was ok as Camila performed some basic exercises to see if Skara was concussed. Thankfully she wasn't, but she was confused enough to call Willow an angel, the first time Skara made Willow blush and the first time Skara spent the evening writing ballads about what a fool she was and how she hoped to just lay down and never get up again.

On a trip to the zoo, while Gus, Vee and Hunter tried to communicate with giraffes, Willow and Skara decided to check out the exotic bird exhibit. Catching them during a parrot presentation for children, she saw it repeating back the kids statements and decided to 'help it out.' She wanted to try and see if it could say to Willow what Skara wanted to say to her, so she tried to make it tell her she was pretty and wonderful and always smelled of fresh lilacs and all the things Skara wrote about her in poems. Unfortunately, Skara's spell went a little coo-coo. The poor parrot began belting opera, and Skara had to rush Willow out of the room before she put two-and-two together.

AFTER BEGINING DATING

Willow and Skara spend most of their dates on the BI since it’s where both of them are from, but they do come to the human world every once in a while, particularly on double dates with Luz and Amity. Every time they go, Willow likes to grab herself some new cool plants, mostly for Skara’s benefit, since her gf prefers plants that are less dangerous for her windowsill garden.

Willow isn’t the jealous type, but when she and Skara met Vee’s friends from camp, she noticed Skara being friendly with the guy with bangs over his eyes, similar to Skara’s ex boyfriend. She had to admit, Willow was worried her gf might have a crush on them. But thankfully, Skara was more interested in playing BardQuest with him then anything else. Skara was genuinely surprised when Willow admitted later her jealousy, Skara asking why she’d want a guy who reminded her of her ex when she had a wonderful, better partner right there?

One day, Skara left the window open while hanging out with the Hexside gang at Luz’s house, and Clover and Daisy (Skara’s cricket Palisman) escaped when they all weren’t looking. As soon as the gang realized what happened, they grabbed their coats and ran out, yelling for them and searching with their own Palismen. Skara and Willow had to keep reassuring the other that they would find them, even when it was clear the other wasn’t sure they believed it. But, an hour later, Flapjack found them both, cuddling in a self made nest with some flower buds around them. He led the Hexside kids to them, and while both Skara and Willow were upset by their Palismen running off, neither could get over just how cute it was that their Palismen were secretly dating, and turns out they were doing it before their owners were by a bit.

#the owl house #skarlow #willow park #toh skara #willow park toh #headcannon #toh #skara

[13beachesxx]

i love Kendall Roy so much i don't have enough words for it. was walking through the park yesterday and thinking that while listening to modest mouse float on and honestly i love all the roy children so much, they feel like family to me. i don't know if that was the point of the show but they accomplished that and more. the park detour took me into a little amusement park that sits inside it i used to go to as a child and i hadn't been there in many many years or at least not directly having walked through it. not much has changed and it still smells like nostalgia. not much has changed in the park itself either, except it looks a little more tidy and cared for, and now there's CCTV every 10 feet which i definitely do not like. i hate feeling watched and okay it's not like i'm going to be wandering around drunk off my tits puking in the bushes there again anytime soon (though never say never lmao) but it still isn't nice to know those antics can now be recorded by city hall and perused at their pleasure. the fountain was drained and i wonder if it's been that way since that girl got electrocuted and died inside it, what a horrible way to die when you think about it probably one of the worst, she was maybe 10 or 11 i forget. i dipped into a store on the way out to get a bottle of water and some 12 or 13 year old boys were huddled around the alcopop mixers and giggling over the orange one called Sex on the Beach, it made me feel something warm inside but simultaneously sad, like we've come full circle and now i'm the adult amused at the children doing their amusing things, the exact same things i used to do with my own friends. oh, to be 12 again, i thought, bought my water and left to go back outside. i detoured into no less than two shops asking for thc edibles, one of the sellers was nicer than the other but i do wonder what not one but two whole smoke shops are doing on one of our main streets. regrettably i give them 8 months. rollercoastered through a whole lot of emotions in one day that ranged from ecstatically high to suicidally low, which is also kind of funny and wild when you think about it, but reminded myself at the low to remind myself of how the ecstatic high felt.

a lot of my emotions are still about how it feels to be in my body and directly related to the things i eat, i need to learn when i have a "bad" eating day not to get down on myself for it, simply observe the sensations inside my body, and start over the next day 'better'. i was going to say act like yesterday didn't happen but then i wouldn't be able to build on my mistakes. my body itself seemed to punish me for my gluttonous eating by giving me the shits (not diarrhea, but close), which in earlier times i would've dismissed and carried on eating like this for the rest of my weeks, but nowadays i see the correlation, not only do i see it but i feel it and it makes me want to be better, to do better. it's such a hard balance feeding your body both what it wants and needs, but trying to make sure you're not overdoing it. or maybe i'm fucking PMS-ing again and the cravings have increased. oh, the joys of being a woman.

[m-travel]

10 Incredible Reasons to Visit Mongolia

Have you ever heard of Mongolia? This gorgeous country has breathtaking scenery and exciting adventures! Here are 10 incredible reasons to visit Mongolia:

1. Stunning Natural Landscapes Mongolian landscapes are some of the most spectacular in the world, with vast grassy steppes, rocky mountain ranges, mighty rivers, and rolling dunes. There are endless opportunities for outdoor adventure – explore the Mongolian countryside on horseback or enjoy a gentle river cruise through the magnificent mountains. 

2. Rich Culture Visualise Genghis Khan’s warriors riding across the vast open expanses of Mongolia on horseback, or imagine yourself as a nomadic tribesmen living off of whatever Nature provides in this remote corner of Central Asia. Thousands of people worldwide visit Mongolia to experience its unique culture every summer!

3. Rich Wildlife The diverse and extreme weather patterns and its remote location provide ideal conditions for many rare mammals and birds that fill Mongolia’s forests and plains with life. Depending on your itinerary, you could spot one of these majestic creatures in its natural habitat! 

4. Fascinating History Serious history buffs will be captivated by ancient historical sites and fascinating stories about recent history that has shaped modern-day Mongolia, such as Soviet influence after World War II. There is much to explore – from crumbling monasteries built centuries ago to the massive walled cities once at the hub of trade throughout Asia! 

5. Endless Adventures For thrill-seekers looking for something different, there is no shortage of exciting activities you can do in Mongolia. Like stargazing beneath clear night skies, camel trekking across snow-covered deserts, or trekking up snowy mountaintops to breathe in awe-inspiring views, there is an adventure awaiting every traveller!  

6. Authentic Cuisine From hearty meals prepared with fresh ingredients grown locally to steaming hot bowls filled with noodles sprinkled with mutton, exploring Mongo cuisine is sure to tantalise your taste buds while offering you an insight into local customs!  

7. Unique Shopping Experience Traditional crafts are alive and flourishing across Mongolia – made right before you, often by craftspeople whose techniques have been passed down through dozens (or even hundreds!) Many written records exist today! Pick up unique pieces not found anywhere else as souvenirs for yourself or gifts for friends back home! 

8. Thanks to its small population and large territory size spread out over countless provinces and regions, travelling around Mongolia can be accessed at a meagre cost. Making them very affordable holidays compared to other countries nearby like China or Russia - perfect for budget travellers who don’t want to miss out on anything this beautiful country has to offer them without breaking their bank account doing it!  

9. Nightlife Experience After a busy day spent exploring one site after another– wind down at any number of bars near tourist destinations where live music plays. At the same time, locals dance until they can no longer keep their eyes open. The perfect way to end a special day – mingling with new friends made during your travels here rather than sitting alone inside your hotel room watching TV programs you wouldn’t understand! 

10. Incredible Off-Grid Digital Experiences Remote beaches where an internet connection isn’t available so you can genuinely disconnect. Breathtaking city parks with no WiFi but only pure peace, Mongolian sanctuaries boasting rich cultures unspoiled by tourists yet wealthy enough even when disconnected from modern life. Discover new heights & depths when it comes to digital detoxing within surroundings accompanied only by Nature. Without relying on technology being connected at all times, it's easy to forget the true beauty surrounding us. Sometimes the best moments come through planless spontaneous wandering letting yourself get lost & finding a specific destination that makes your soul belong again!

#mongolia #mongolia travel #tour #travel

[londontsukino]

From Bröderna Olssons Garlic & Shot’s Facebook page in Stockholm.

#the band ghost #tobias forge #Mappe Björkman #Tobi seems to live at this place #As someone told me there’s a better chance of catching him here #than wandering around all the used record shops in that city #as was my original plan the next time I get to go to Stockholm #I can’t believe I found these when I was trying to find the place #where Tobi recently did that interview

[save-the-villainous-cat]

Hey! I love your writing! I wrote a Heroes and Villains thing where the Hero and Villain are secretly married and only their sidekicks know, in one their 'fights', Villain accidently injured Hero. And I wanted to see your own take on this if you would like to.

They punched them right in the face.

The villain was probably more shocked than the hero themselves. They threw a short look at their sidekick who gave them a you-are-so-fucked-look back, before they could walk towards their spouse, horrified.

Shit. They just punched their spouse.

“Oh god, honey I’m so sorry-” they whispered. The hero was holding their nose, already tearing up.

The villain knew this reaction all too well. They also knew how much that must’ve hurt.

“I didn’t-” The villain looked around, the sidekicks were in the middle of messing up a small shop in their fight, most of the citizens were staring at that and pointed their phones at the spectacle, recording everything. For once, they weren’t the centre of attention and it was heaven.

The villain took that opportunity to pull their spouse into a nearby alley and tried to ignore their own hands trembling as best as they could.

Hidden from the view of the city, they pulled the hero closer.

“Honey, are you alright? I’m so sorry.” The hero blinked the tears out of their eyes and let a grin flash over their face. Slowly, pulling their hand away from their nose, the hero scrutinised the blood on their fingers.

The hero was bleeding.

The villain’s heart dropped and their sidekick’s face came into view behind their eyes. You are so fucked.

“Jesus, your right is pretty strong,” the hero said, their grin turning cheeky. “Where’s that endeavour in bed?”

Their spouse’s reaction took a load off the villain’s mind. However, they couldn’t fight the blush building up nor the built up concern in their chest. The villain took their cape and dabbed the blood from under the hero’s nose away with the uttermost care they could force their shaking hands to use.

“You’re really sure you’re okay?” They tilted the hero’s head a little, looking at what they had done, their own eyebrows pinched. In the distance, they could hear the sidekicks shouting at each other. They knew their lover buried pain rather than work through it. A nasty little habit they were both trying to fix.

“I’m fine. But you should kiss it better, don’t you think?” The villain let out a sigh. Usually, they loved their hero’s flirting but they were still not sure how much they had hurt their lover.

“It doesn’t seem broken,” the villain mumbled, ignoring the comment. When their gaze wandered upwards, they swore they could get lost in their spouse’s eyes for the millionth time. They pressed a featherlight kiss to their lips.

“You know it’s your job to punch me, right?” the hero breathed against the villain’s lips before pulling them in for a deeper kiss.

“I still don’t like it,” the villain answered. “I’ll be more careful next time, I promise. And I’m taking you out to dinner.”

The hero laughed their prettiest laugh, making the villain think they were the luckiest person to ever walk the earth.

“You should punch me more often, then.”

#writing snippet #heroes and villains #heroxvillain snippet #heroxvillain prompt #hero #villain #heroxvillain #hero x villain #hurt/comfort #an answer for an ask #request

[bump1nthen1ght]

I’m Still Hurting (Orc x Reader) Part 2

Pairings: Fem!Reader/Male!Orc

Genre: Urban Fantasy, Angst

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2107 words

Summary: You and your boyfriend establish a new normal

A/N: At long last, the highly requested part two! I had a bit of struggle coming up with a proper followup to the first part (which was part of why I left it with an open-ended ending in the first place lol). Little less angst this time, I felt these two deserved a little sweetness after the last chapter. Hope y'all enjoy!

Part 1

The first thing that caught your eye when you walked by the music store was the Grand Piano. It was gorgeous: Polished mahogany, a nice velvet seat, and keys that looked like they had never seen the sticky fingers of a curious 8 year old.

“Wow, is that new?”

You nod, admiring the old-fashioned air of the instrument. You knew jack shit about music, but even you could tell that this piano was an antique, one probably worth a good chunk of change.

“Must be. I’ve never seen it before and this place is on my way to work.”

Waruck hmms, pressing his hands up against the glass. His eyes sparkle when he sees the “Free to Play” sign right next to the piano. It probably reminds him of his Grandpa’s, the one he played when you guys visited his family for Christmas.

That was a long time ago.

“Want to go in?”

Waruck pulls away from the glass, eyebrows raised. He rubs the back of his neck and steps a couple feet back, trying to curb his enthusiasm.

“Uh, we don’t have to-”

“I don’t mind. It's been a while-” You pause, the slight-anxiety in the air making every casual word difficult, “It’s been a while since I’ve heard you play.”

Waruck smiles, small and polite, and opens the door of the shop for you. Before, he might have done a little bow and said “Ladies First” in a British accent.

But that was before, and this is now. Now, every comment is walking on eggshells, whispered tentatively and under your breath. Testing the waters for how comfortable you two could get around each other.

Still, it was exponential growth from two months ago.

--------

After your meeting at the coffee shop, you had asked Waruck for a month; A month of privacy, for you to collect your thoughts and feelings, to be alone for a bit. He had agreed immediately, shuffling out of the cafe with a hunched back and a melancholy air, but he had kept his promise. You took the time to focus on other things, shifting your relationship to the back of your mind and enjoying the day-to-day.

But a part of you felt a little bad, like maybe you were stringing Waruck along for an inevitable breakup. Getting his hopes up for an extra tortuous punishment that left a sour taste in your mouth. So on one brave Saturday night, you sent him a meme you saw on Instagram, one that reminded you of him.

That second month saw the two of you texting more and more frequently, sending little jokes, asking how your day was, so and so. Each week rebuilt a little bit more of that familiarity, that comfortableness. It finally got to the point where Waruck asked if you were free one weekend. He just wanted to get some lunch and stroll around the neighborhood for a bit. For the first time in a while, that idea didn’t seem too bad.

--------

The air is considerably cooler inside the store, a tiny bell ringing as a rush of air-conditioned air hits both of you. Waruck makes a beeline for the piano, his footsteps short and quick. You feel a smile crawl on your face; He always acted like an excited kid when it came to music.

Waruck plops down in the center of the stool, fingers lightly brushing over the keys in awe. You walk up the piano’s side, laying your hand on the wood and admiring the lack of smudge marks on the polished wood. Waruck tests out a G note and although the sound is short, it’s extremely pleasant. Waruck’s smile grows even larger.

“When I was a young boy…”

You mutter under your breath. Waruck chuckles, quickly continuing onto a G flat.

“My father took me into the city,” Waruck hums

“To see a marching band.” The two of you sing together, laughing a little bit too loudly and gaining a sharp look from the tired sales clerk. Waruck waves a little apology, but that playful grin stays on his face.

“Wow, that brings back some repressed Hot Topic memories.”

“Seriously. I can almost feel the book my band teacher used to thwack me with. Me and my buddies would sneak into the choir room and play that all the time.” Waruck’s fingers dance over a couple more notes, aimless.

You’ve always liked watching Waruck play. His fingers were so dextrous and controlled,  not to mention long and nicely articulated. He’d probably make good money from a hand-model side-gig.

“Want to take a seat?”

You shift your focus away from Waruck’s hands. He’s made space on the bench and pats the open space next to him.

“Yeah, sure.” You say, despite the fast pace your heart is now beating.

You keep a solid two inches of distance between your bodies, keeping your thighs together as to not brush your legs with his. It felt like a middle school dance, keeping a bible length away from your partner to avoid the disapproving stare of the chaperones.

Waruck nods, absentmindedly running his fingers up the scale. “Any requests?”

Immediately, all non-love songs depart from your brain. One of your favorite pieces sits on the tip of your tongue and your brain refuses to let it go. You shake your head.

“Nope. It’s all yours, music man.”

Waruck chuckles, a little louder and a lot more comfortable, as he sits deeper in his seat.

“Prepare,” Waruck cracks his knuckles, “to be amazed.”

You bite back a laugh. He’s still such a dork.

He starts to play, his hands easily finding the right keys, moving like a well-oiled machine. Your heart nearly skips a beat before it melts into a puddle of sentiment.

It’s your favorite.

The song brings back memories of your childhood, a rainy day in, and delicious food. It’s like chicken soup for the soul and you can feel any of the left over tension leave your body.

Waruck’s eyebrows furrow with concentration, but he has a large smile on his face, his large tusks peeking out from his lips. His arm stretches across the piano as the song hits its most fast-paced part. His biceps and shoulders lean more into your space, but the feeling isn’t unwelcome. It feels natural, as if his presence and yours is part of the piece itself.

Waruck’s thigh brushes against yours, but his pace doesn’t falter and neither does yours. You stay enraptured, watching how easily he slips into the music. You barely even notice how you have begun to lean closer to his side; Your mind says it’s to give his arms plenty of space to play, but it’s still far more comfortable than you are willing to admit.

How easy it feels, in the moment, to fall back into routine.

The song begins slowing to a stop, only a couple seconds left, when the sounds of the music shop return to you. A giggle from not too far rings discordant with Waruck’s piano.

Three girls stand not too far from you, watching with fascination as Waruck plays.

“Wow, he is so good!” One whispers to her friends.

There is nothing even remotely lascivious in their eyes or in their words, but a knife still twists in your gut. Your throat constricts as flashes of your bedroom, of unanswered texts, and a picture of a bar corner booth send needles down your spine and into your heart.

Is this wrong? Is this giddy feeling you have only distracting you from reality? Is it like this song, Waruck’s playing, beautiful but temporary?

“Ugh, I want what they have.”

“I know, right? How romantic.”

They’re wrong, you’re wrong, this is wrong; It’s fake, fake, fa-

Your eyes dart to and fro, trying to desperately avoid Waruck’s quickly overwhelming body heat and your audience, before it catches on the distorted shape of your reflection in the window.

The glass is old, slightly drooping, even the golden lettering of the music shop’s name looks dusty and sun-bleached.

But what is unmistakable is you and Waruck. Waruck, playing piano, and looking at you. Looking at you with the love in his eyes you thought had died, or had never been there at all. The group of girls stands in the background, small and out of focus.

And Waruck is staring at you.

“Are you okay?” Waruck asks, his warm hand on your shoulder.

You whip your neck around, almost getting whiplash.

You’re here, in the music store, with your boyfriend. He looks at you, brow slightly puzzled from your wild eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, I,” You suck in a deep breath, “Sorry, I guess I got lost in my own head. That song gets me kind of nostalgic.”

Waruck pats your shoulder and you miss it’s heat when he pulls it back to his side. He smiles, but you can tell he is still slightly worried.

“No problem, I get it.”

You notice now how much closer Waruck is to you. His chest has shifted towards yours, the fabric of his shirt sleeve pressing against the skin of your bicep. Waruck’s knee absentmindedly knocks into yours, but the contact doesn’t sting or jolt you. Not even the continuing silence makes the situation awkward.

It’s nice.

“Do you want to check out the record aisle? They might actually have that piece on vinyl.”

Waruck gestures with his thumb to the piles of CD’s and records not too far from you two. You nod

“Yeah, that sounds great.”

--------

The two of you spend about an hour in the music store, pointing out hilarious cover art and admiring some vintage finds. Waruck even gets you to chuckle a couple of times, slowly bringing out his old cheesy puns.

Waruck’s missed this.

You two walk out of the music store at the tail end of one of Waruck’s jokes, you playfully punching his shoulder.

The two of you wander, in the opposite direction of your cars, for a little while. But Waruck hasn’t lost track of time; No, he’s soaking in every moment he can, every smile and lingering look you give him. Every reminder that this is real.

He spent a week agonizing over what he did. Stuck in silence as he gave you your space. His friends (His real friends, not those assholes from the bar) had offered to come by and keep him company, but he turned it down.

When Waruck got back into routine, it was slow-rolling. It was difficult to fight the instinct to check his phone for a good-morning text, or check your Instagram for any ‘post-breakup’ partying.

No, he had already broken your trust once. The least he could do was give you some time. Spend some hour not wallowing in self-pity, but actively make a change.

Waruck began to accept those invites to a chill hang out, playing some poker and sipping on beer with the gang. He played his keyboard when the thoughts got too loud and went jogging when the music wasn’t loud enough. He called his mom a couple of times, even sent his sister a  couple of texts to catch up. They hadn’t spoken outside of holidays for almost three years.

Maybe he was the one that needed time.

God, why did you have to be so smart?

“Oh shit, how long have we been walking?” You mutter, checking your watch for the time. Waruck turns around you, already knowing the answer was 27 minutes, exactly. The both of you were nearing the edge of the neighborhood, cafes and shops turning into residential suburbs. “Dang, time really flies, huh?”

Waruck smiles.

“With you? It always does.”

You give him a half smile, patting his bicep. “Oh my god, you’re such a cheeseball.”

Waruck winks and shoots you some finger guns.

“You know it babe.”

You giggle, checking your watch once more, face turning just a little bit.

“I should probably head back, I’m getting dinner with some friends tonight.”

A small part of Waruck yearns for more time, but he lets it go.

Space, this was about establishing space.

“I had a lot of fun today, Waruck.” You step a little closer, Waruck’s heart skips a beat.

“Me too.” He whispers, his breath catching as your fingers brush against his.

It’s a simple gesture, one you’ve down a million times. But when your palm slips into his, your finger’s interlocking, it’s like fireworks have gone off.

“Same time, next week?”

Waruck nods, not trusting himself to speak without a voice crack.

That’s all he needed, all you wanted; The promise of the future.

“Yes, I would love that.”

#my writing #orc x reader #reader insert #female reader insert #orc/human #monster/human #monster x reader #monster/reader #angst #orc

[chimeracowgirl]

Floral Arrangements

Summary // Flowers the AOT characters would give you & what they represent

Characters: Armin, Eren, Connie, Jean, Levi, Zeke

Warnings: Slight mention of Daddy Kink

Armin

Tulips | Deep Connection, Appreciation

Armin gifts you tulips because they’re a flower you can plant and continue to grow, just like your relationship. They express how he feels one with you and the empathic nature you have for one another.

Evenings spent at the beach watching the sunset with Armin were pretty common. At this point, it was close to being a tradition. While he always kept a pastel yellow blanket in the back of his car and you always made sure to bring along snacks, you were a bit confused when Armin advised you to not worry about it this time. He had already stuffed a woven basket with all your favorite items and made note of the flowers you had eyed last time you both visited your sacred spot. So as the both of you make your way closer to the shore, cool sand beneath your feet, you help Armin spread out the blanket and weigh it down with your shoes. As you claim your spot on the soft fabric, he begins to pull out the snacks along with the orange tulips.

“I hope you like them”  he sheepishly says, a small smile forming to conceal his nerves. 

Eren

Roses | Undying Love, Affection

Eren gifts you roses because they convey his passion for you. You see red roses, you think love. And Eren is determined to make everything he feels for you known. Whether that’s to the world or you or both. He’s a spontaneous lover.

As you both are heading home from running errands, sitting in the 5 o’clock traffic, you distract yourself by aimlessly scrolling on social media. Small conversation being exchanged between you and Eren as he keeps his focus on the stagnant cars in front of him. He notices a group of people walking down the street, vibrant flowers in hand. The closer they get he can hear them yelling out “ Five dollars a bouquet!” Signs accompanying them asking to help support  worker’s rights. You lift your head up from your phone and before you can realize what’s going on, you see Eren lowering his window, waving the man over.  

“I’ll take them all please” He says as he pulls out two twenties.

The vendor thanks him repeteadly with a nod of his head and hands over every bouquet in hand, to which Eren places into your lap.

Your confusion now amplified even more so, but not as severe as the swelling of your heart for the loving gesture, you let out a breathy laugh.

“Eren, what in the world?”

“What? I’m supporting a cause” he justifies with a toothy grin, knowing that wasn’t his only motive in doing so

Connie

Gerbera Daises | Playful, Innocent Love

Connie gifts Gerbera Daises because of how colorful they are. Night adventures are pretty common and being around you heightens his playful personality. It’s nothing but laughing fits and genuine comfort when in the presence of one another.

Neon signs and city lights illuminate the streets as you and Connie make your way towards the subway. Returning from your late night pizza run, you walk hand in hand listening to his corny jokes. Giggles filling the air as you lean into his side, Connie tightens his grip on your hand, forcing you to run with him to God knows where. He had noticed the bright red sign reading “FLOWERS” down the street, past the subway stop you both were supposed to get on. 

“What are you doing?” you ask while continuing to laugh at his shenanigans. 

“Getting you flowers, duh” he says while turning to face you and pointing upwards to the sign above him.

You both wander the shop, admiring the variety of flowers among you. Connie begins to pick out radiant daises, ranging from pink, yellow, and orange. 

“Do you like these?” he asks, looking for your approval

You reply with a nod of your head and beaming smile.

“Perfect. Help me pick out some more”

Jean

Lillies | Purity, Virtue 

Jean gifts Lillies because they’re pure, just like his intentions for you. All he ever wants is to be the reason you smile. He’s supportive in everything you do and you’re the same for him. He shows his appreciation for you often and while it appears in various forms, he likes to make sure you know how much you’re on his mind with tangible gifts.

After hearing your sobs over the phone from the previous night and the strain in your voice the following morning due to the stress you’ve been under from school/work, Jean decides to head over to your apartment. He figures you could use a break and since you’re not giving yourself it, he will. So as he makes his way over to you, he stops at a local florist and grabs a bouquet of Lillies, making sure to also snag a coffee from the cafe next door, before continuing his venture to you. 

As you lay in bed, engulfed by the warmth of your comforter, you hear a knock at your door. You make your way over, still swaddled in your blankets and open it to find Jean staring back at you, stifling a laugh at the sight of you as little burrito. Only then do you realize the gifts in his hands, and look up at him with thankful eyes. 

“Seemed like you could use some company” he says while entering and handing over your coffee. He had your order memorized just like very other little detail about you. 

Settling into his presence, you grab a vase for the flowers and fill it with water. Placing them in, you notice the little card accompanying the white lilies. Written on it is “Be kind to yourself, my love” and as Jean watches you read it, he walks over the other side of the island to where you are

“Please” he mumbles before planting a kiss on your forehead.

Levi

Peonies | Prosperity, Compassion

Levi gifts peonies, accompanied by eucalyptus because he cares deeply although it may be hard to express sometimes. It’s very subtle but with these flowers he’s able to root himself deeply into you the way you did him. The eucalyptus helps ease the everyday stress you (and him) face.

The sunlight shines through the blinds, awakening you as you lay in bed turning over to find your lover missing. 

Levi always woke up earlier than you, but usually on weekends he’d stay in bed with you a little longer until you woke up. This morning though, he decided to occupy himself by visiting the plant nursery you both had spotted driving home one evening. He remembered your comment on wanting to get a bouquet for your shared apartment, something to make it more lively. So as a way to let you know he was listening, he purchased flowers and decided to construct an assortment for you. Peach peonies for the pop of color and eucalyptus as aromatherapy. Sure, he could have bought a pre-made bouquet, but he knew it wouldn't be as perfect as he wanted unless he assembled it. 

So as you crawl out of bed to find him standing over the kitchen sink, trimming stems and placing the flowers into a glass vase, you can’t help but tease him a bit.

“Didn’t know you were a florist” you playfully poke

“Tch, shut it” he jabs with the tiniest grin.

Zeke

Baby’s Breath & Roses | Purity, Everlasting Love

Zeke gifts you baby’s breath and roses to represent the two extremes in your relationship. It feeds into his Daddy kink, as you’re so pure and perfect for him. The roses are his way of “tainting” you while conveying his feelings of loving you intensely yet delicately. 

Zeke’s always been into the more vintage things. He claims they have more soul, real significance. So as he picks you up to drag you to a new Vinyl Record shop he’s discovered, you’re a bit taken aback when you see flowers resting on his back windshield of his car. Opening the passenger side of the door, you can’t help the curious smile plastered on your face as you begin to ask him what they’re for and why they’re propped there out of all places.

“They add to your aesthetic” He defends while reaching behind your seat to hand you a seperate bouquet of roses decorated with dainty baby’s breath flowers.

“My aesthetic?” you question, quirking an eyebrow to express your confusion as you analyze the bouquet with a smile beginning to tug at the corner of your lips

Lighting a cigarette before pulling out of the driveway, he turns to you with a smirk

“Timeless”

I literally spent 8 hours looking at photos of flowers to make this. I wish I could say I was joking but I can't. It’s okay though *eye twitch* Anyways, I hope you guys enjoyed this, please let me know what you think!

#AOT headcanons #aot x reader #aot x y/n #armin arlert #armin arlert x y/n #armin arlert x reader #Eren Jaeger #eren jaeger x reader #eren jaeger x y/n #jean kirschstein x reader #jean kirstein x reader #jean kirschstein x y/n #Jean Kirstein x y/n #levi ackerman #Levi x reader #Levi x y/n #connie springer #connie x reader #connie x y/n #connie springer x reader #connie springer x y/n #zeke yeager #zeke jaeger #zeke x reader #zeke x y/n #zeke yeager x reader #snk x reader #snk #snk headcanons #snk x y/n

[turtle-steverogers]

Hey pal, I'm a bit sad, so if you're up for it kill me with saaaaad stucky headcanons because you're absolutely awesome at them. (No pressure tho, love ya <3)

hello friend! love ya too! i'm sorry to hear that you're a bit sad-- i'm here if you'd like to talk!

after some deliberation, i have decided to use this particular headcanon of mine:

-So one day around the holidays, Steve and Bucky go out on a little day trip to some shops in upstate New York

-It's a cute little outdoor mall type place with coffee shops and string lights and an ice skating rink at one end, which is a much needed change of pace from the usual bustle of the city

-Of course, they get some treats at one of the cafes and take to the streets after, bundled in similar winter sweaters and walking at a leisurely pace, arm in arm and hands warming around hot coffee cups

-They window shop a bit, deliberate over gifts, and enjoy the peaceful air, and all in all, it's a nice area but it's not until they come across an antique store at the end of the strip

-It's a humble looking store with three levels-- an upstairs and a basement-- and a warm glow to the whole establishment. Books are grouped in one corner, a sign near the basement boasts clothes down the stairs. Old jewelry lays in cases along the middle of the store

-Naturally, they veer off from one another, taken by different things within the store. Steve finds himself wandering through the old record section and into the art supplies, which enthralls him for a while as he combed through old products that didn't seem so old to him. Except now they're worn and delicate-- another thing allowed to grow through time naturally while he was cursed to miss it

-Just beyond the room, there's a section filled with children's toys-- old rocking horses and wooden toys, still somehow more modern than what he grew up with. There's a section with dolls and dollhouses and he barely registers that he's moved before he comes back to himself holding one of the small dolls

-Steve turns over the doll, running his thumb over the worn features of its face. It is dressed in a colorful pink and yellow smock, a pink bonnet secured over its blond ringlet curls. He recognizes it as a Lenci Doll; Becca had some that she'd let Steve play with her when he'd come over the times that Bucky wasn't around. He'd wanted a set of his own, loving the idea of nurturing and loving something so sweetly, and he'd asked one day while out with his ma and pa-- a rare outing they'd taken as the three of them to the shops if his pa were sober for once. He winces, remembering the disgusted look on his father's face, the reservation on his ma's. It was the first heartbreak he could truly remember, and he didn't understand why it was so wrong to want a doll. How different was it from his teddy bear? Or army men?

I'm telling you, Sarah. He's gonna turn out a little queer.

Eyes suddenly burning, he grips the doll tighter.

"Got a whole collection of those, we have. A big find."

Steve jumps, blinking away the wetness in his eyes as he glanced to the side. An older man is standing next to him, dressed in a red sweater vest and sporting horn rimmed glasses. He has a name tag on, clearly an employee there.

"Oh, cool," he says, unsure of what else to say.

"Got a niece or something? I bet she'd love that."

Okay, so he hasn't recognized Steve. Thank god, honestly. He can't imagine what it would be like to find Captain fucking America holding a goddamn baby doll.

"Oh, uh, just-- just looking. It, uh, reminded me of my ma," which isn't exactly a lie. He looks back down at the doll, stomach aching. Would his ma have even wanted him to have the doll? His father had made it clear enough, but he can't read the memories of his ma all the time. What she might have thought of his queerness.

"How sweet," the man says. "Well, we sell them for cheap considering how much they go out for on the market-- only twenty dollars."

Steve shifts his feet, nodding. He doesn't want this man talking to him anymore. He feels oddly exposed.

"Cool," he says again.

Luckily, Bucky catches up to Steve then, holding a stack of dime store sci fi novels, and an old leather jacket that reminds Steve of one George Barnes used to wear. He wonders briefly if that's why Bucky had chosen it

Hastily, he puts down the doll before Bucky can see, but Bucky knows him better than anyone and he catches the movement

"Whatcha got there, pal?" he asks, reaching past Steve to pick up the doll.

Steve blushes, scuffing a shoe.

"It's nothing, it's dumb," he says, quickly, eyes landing back on the doll. He wants to reach for it again. "Just... Becs used to have those, remember?"

Bucky's eyebrows furrow and he glances down at the doll, thumb smoothing over the cheek. "Yeah, she was real protective of them. Never let me touch them unless I was helping her fix the tangles from one's hair."

Steve frowns, an old, irrational tinge of jealousy curling around his gut. He wishes he'd had one to be protective of. "I used it play it with her when I was real young still and-- and I'd come over when... you weren't around," he says. "Used to want one of my own..." He bites his lip, frowning. "I asked for one once when I went out with my ma and dad." Shrugging, he laughs dryly. "Definitely didn't get a doll that day."

He shakes his head, eyes downcast. It really was dumb, ruminating over this now.

"It's okay," he says, giving Bucky a brave smile. Bucky's watching him with an unreadable look on his face-- Steve thinks it might be anger, but there's a certain sadness there, too. "It doesn't matter, um... I'm going to check out the clothes."

-The subject is left alone for the time being. Steve clearly doesn't want to talk about it, but Bucky stays behind, watching Steve's retreating back. He looks down at the doll, smoothing his thumb over the cheek again, and thinks of Steve-- six or seven, maybe-- hoping for a doll. Innocently asking, only to be denied. He doesn't know much of the specifics about what went down in the Rogers' household, but he knows there was a lot of pain. A lot of denial. A lot of anger. He glances one more time at Steve, across the store now, and tucks the doll under his arm, hidden in the jacket.

-Christmas morning comes with a quiet morning together. Breakfast prepared while snow falls outside their apartment, personal gifts exchanged, and some soft music playing in the background.

"I think there's one more gift, honey," Bucky says, pointing to a small bag under the tree.

Steve frowns and reaches for it. It's not heavy, but it clearly has some weight to it. He glances up at Bucky, a questioning frown on his face, even as a smile lights his eyes. He carefully unpacks the tissue paper and reaches inside and--

Oh. Oh.

His eyes fill with tears as he looks down at the doll, her blonde ringlets still tucked underneath that pink bonnet. Her weight is warm in his palm. Instinctively, he holds her to his chest.

"It isn't dumb," Bucky murmurs after a long moment. He'd wanted to say that that day, but Steve had walked away. "You deserve her, Steve. You deserved her then, and you're allowed her now. You always should have been. I'm sorry you were ever not allowed to be yourself."

Steve is crying now as he reaches for Bucky, and then they're hugging, his face tucked into the crook of Bucky's neck. A doll won't fix the pain his father inflicted, but Bucky will always be his safe place. That space where he can be authentically and undeniably himself.

"Thank you," he whispers. "Thank you."

Bucky holds him tighter. "Always."

#anyway this turned half into a ficlet and half into disorganized headcanons alfkjdslfkajdslkf #stucky #steve rogers #bucky barnes #tw: child abuse

[southeastasianists]

In 2020 Singapore was hit by a series of coronavirus outbreaks, centred around dormitories where thousands of migrant workers live. Cases have dropped significantly, but most of the men are still not permitted to leave except to go to work. It is one of the longest periods of Covid confinement faced by anyone anywhere in the world.

"This is prison life. This is a captive's life."

Sharif came to Singapore in 2008. At the time, his wife was pregnant and the book stall he ran in Bangladesh was shut down.

Over the past 13 years he made a life for himself here, but since early 2020 all he has known are the four walls of his dormitory and the construction site where he works.

He and nearly 300,000 others are banned from mixing with the general public. Last week, Singapore's government said it would allow a handful of workers to go out in a "pilot scheme".

"I appreciate the experiment," he says. "But I can't express much joy at this news. Workers are only allowed to go to a certain place for a fixed time."

Sharif was not one of those selected for the scheme. Sitting on the back of the lorry that takes him to work, he often catches glimpses of the city and its people, who have never been subject to the same restrictions.

"When I see everybody outside, looking happy, it's very painful for me," he told the BBC on a video call.

"They are eating out, going shopping, meeting their friends. And I think, 'why is that not me? Did I make this coronavirus?'"

Most of his spare time he spends lying on the top bunk of his bed, either talking to his family or writing prose and poetry - both in English and Bengali.

He says night time is when things are most difficult. Men often wander the corridors or try to sleep outside on the ground.

"I lie in my bed and sleep won't come. How can I sleep? I need fresh light, I need fresh oxygen," he says.

'Are we animals?'

On the first day of the pilot scheme, the BBC was invited to Singapore's Little India neighbourhood.

Fifty workers were allowed to spend four hours out of their dormitories unsupervised.

A spokesman for the Ministry of Manpower (MOM) called it a "milestone".

At one of Singapore's main Hindu temples, two men were presented to journalists.

One of them, Packrisamy Muruganantham from India, told those assembled that he was "very happy to be out" and "very grateful to the Singapore government and to the MOM for taking care of us".

Since the start of the pandemic, Singapore has reported 58 deaths out of a population of 5.7 million.

The country's success in suppressing the virus has afforded Singaporeans long periods of freedom over the past year and a half.

But even when restrictions were at their toughest and the country was locked down, no healthy person in Singapore was ever banned from leaving their home.

Socially-distanced exercise, for example, was encouraged. But not for those in the dormitories.

"The communal living and working conditions of migrant workers in dorms put them at higher risk of infection and the formation of large clusters," Singapore's Manpower Minister Dr Tan See Leng said in February.

Dr Tan declined an interview with the BBC, but in a statement a Ministry of Manpower (MOM) spokesperson said the policy of keeping workers in their dormitories was "to protect the health of our migrant workers and to mitigate the risk of further transmission".

For Sharif, it feels more like he is being punished rather than protected.

"Everybody in the community is allowed out. All these people are expected to follow the social distancing rules, but they think we cannot do this also," he says.

"When I see a law only for migrant workers I think, 'Are we not human? Or are we animals? Do we not understand anything? Are we so uneducated?'"

A wake-up call

The men in the dormitories - mostly from South Asian countries - do vital manual work here.

They build the country's roads, bridges and apartments. In return, they are able to send back good money to their families.

Tasrif - also from Bangladesh - arrived in 2017. He is 25, earns less than $750 (S$1000; £400) a month and maintains air conditioning units.

He spent around $7,500 in agency fees to come to Singapore.

"We are working tirelessly for the country," he says. "We're making everything, we're doing everything for you guys."

"We are human beings just like you, like everyone in the community. We want our dignity back."

But life in the dormitory typically means sharing a room with up to 30 people and dividing your bathroom, cooking and recreational space with hundreds more.

These conditions led to major Covid-19 outbreaks in dormitories back in March 2020. Big clusters meant Singapore went from being almost untouched by the virus to announcing an island-wide shutdown for two months.

It prompted Tommy Koh, a former Singaporean ambassador to the UN, to rebuke the government recently.

"We should use this as a wake up call," said Mr Koh. "To treat our indispensable foreign workers like a first world country should and not in the disgraceful way in which they are treated now."

But Singapore's government has always been open about separating dormitory residents from everyone else in the country.

They hold a different visa, work under different labour laws and the authorities do not pretend that these men have the same rights as other foreigners who do the white collar jobs in the city.

Even official daily case numbers for Covid-19 are split into three categories: "Imported", "Dormitory residents" and "Community".

"Community" means everyone, apart from those living in a dormitory.

The figures are stark. As of 16 September, migrant workers accounted for 74% of all recorded cases. For context, the workers make up just 5% of Singapore's total population.

Last year several media outlets reported on a spate of suicides and attempted suicides in the dormitories.

When asked by the BBC about the current situation, the MOM declined to provide any details.

Instead, they said they were "always mindful and conscious of the need to better support the mental wellbeing of our migrant workers" and that they offer counselling services and a helpline for those who need it.

Professor Jeremy Lim, director of global health at the Saw Swee Hock School of Public Health at the National University of Singapore, says denying workers their freedom has few public health benefits at the moment.

"I would say that the Covid-19 concerns are massively overblown.

"They are vaccinated, they are familiar with safe distancing, they wear masks. So what more can we do?

"Speaking as a public health professional, we have to recognise there are limits. Right now is the time to focus on these workers' mental health because they are really, really struggling at the moment."

#Southeast Asia #Singapore #Migrant Workers #Labour Rights

[ruki--mukami]

🎀 💋💋💋💋💋....💋 — Lukas Alischer 🎀

Send 💋 to get a kiss from my muse. The more 💋💋 the more effort my muse has to put into the kiss.

⚠ NSFW AHEAD, 18+ ⚠

Boisterous chatter of the shopping district’s weekend bustle boomed around the various stores and establishments, drowning out hurried footsteps and other minor shuffling of energetic patrons rushing to their favorite hotspots downtown. The sunset dyed the sky a myriad of colors ranging from salmon pink to golden champagne as a wave of stratus clouds glided lazily over the expanse of the urban landscape, the full moon a faint white speck in the distance.

For some unknown reason, Ruki agreed to join Lukas on this tedious yet intriguing shopping trip to buy who knows what. Another extravagant outfit for the latter’s wardrobe? Silly costumes for his dress-up games? Ruki didn’t care in the slightest. The purchases that weighed heavily in an array of colorful yet flimsy shopping bags were the least of the Vampire’s worries.

Instead, it was the recent developments of their friendship that plagued Ruki’s mind even more than the usual nightmares that haunted him. Curiously enough, those terrors began to dissipate ever since he and Lukas met and began to spend more time together, though it pained him to attribute such a feat to the man who once annoyed him to no end. Whether it was thanks to the handcrafted dreamcatcher Lukas gave him for Valentine’s Day or the recent attention and care he received from the Vibora that warded off his nightmares, Ruki couldn’t remember the last time he slept so peacefully well.

It had him pondering as they wandered the streets of Japan, completely lost in thought as stormy blue eyes subconsciously shifted between the asphalt beneath their feet and the blinking traffic intersections ahead of them. The bustling city surroundings soon blurred into a meaningless void. Not even the nearby honks of the vehicles zooming past could snap Ruki out of his concentration.

All he could see was that fateful night in the manor replaying in his head like a broken record as they walked together.

When Lukas held him in his arms after that horrid nightmare, it scorched his heart aflame as if guarding him from the cold that he grew so accustomed to. It ignited the strong urge to reciprocate and hold him back in an embrace tighter than a lover’s grip.

An all-consuming wildfire that he couldn’t run away from, yet he had to run away if he had any dignity left, for Lukas is still the Crown Prince.

Any advances from the snake were met with a cold, discerning gaze, otherwise he could easily cross the point of no return. Fraternizing with royalty, especially developing any romantic ties with them, could lead to complications not only with his task of monitoring Eve, but also any potential arranged marriages Lukas might have.

Ironically, Ruki had worried about the opposite when they first met. Inflicting any harm on him would’ve disrupted the Vibora-Vampire alliance, but now he silently fretted over interfering with other diplomatic relations outside of his own clan, outside of Adam and Eve, and outside of Karlheinz’s entrusted plan for him and his brothers. Rather than delivering a fatal blow to the snake as he previously joked about, Ruki found himself wanting to monopolize Lukas in an intimate way using both his pointed fangs and the feathery touch of his fingertips.

Above all the irritated glares and resigned sighs, Ruki still wished to see Lukas succeed and thrive as Crown Prince and perhaps one day as the Vibora King, which discouraged him from turning these shameful thoughts into a reality. In spite of his childish antics, his eccentric behavior, his exaggerated theatrics and hand gestures every time Ruki scolded or ridiculed him, Lukas still exhibited ideal traits as any king should, from his concern for others to his interest in foreign ideas and concepts.

He would undoubtedly make an excellent ruler, or at least a better one than his sorry excuse of a father. Ruki couldn’t possibly get in the way of that.

But it was these same noble characteristics that sparked something he feared to confront, feelings that ran deeper than blood exchanges or mere admiration.

It all kindled a warmth unlike any other to the Vampire’s cheeks, a genuine smile on his face, and unignorable embers deep within his heart of ice. He didn’t want to look or shy away from Lukas, not even for a second.

Indeed, it was quite rare for Ruki to care about matters outside the plan or his own family’s well-being, yet little by little he found himself thinking more about Lukas with every kind-hearted smile that graced his somewhat feminine features or every excited flicker in his lustrous eyes. These thoughts persisted even when they weren’t together.

Aside from diplomacy, forsaking Eve would be the biggest act of betrayal towards Karlheinz, even if Ruki knew he cannot possibly become Adam. The very act of craving someone else’s blood, much less a serpent’s… It puzzled the Vampire to no end.

Not only was he a Vibora, but also a man. All of Ruki’s prey had been human and female, but here he was, thirsting for Lukas’s blood that tasted only slightly better than that of any mortal. Never in his life had he found himself infatuated with someone of the same gender until now.

Despite the subtle difference in flavor, he grew more and more besotted with the Crown Prince and his life essence. Refreshingly chill, metallically sweet, bursting with flavor at every sip. Intoxicating to the point where, had Ruki not been a Vampire of self-control, he might drain Lukas dry until not a single drop of blood remained.

If the serpent from the Bible tempted Eve, then Lukas was the snake who tempts Adam.

Slowly but surely the Vampire succumbed not only to temptation, but also to a feeling typically reserved for humans rather than the supernatural.

While he couldn’t be the Adam that Karlheinz envisioned, being the serpent’s Adam instead seemed far more promising. At times his thirst for Lukas’s blood betrayed every fiber of Ruki’s being that warned him not to take a bite of the forbidden fruit.

In fact, it had been such an insatiable thirst that he could no longer restrain himself in the presence of the man he wished to drink from. Spotting a narrow alleyway, he sought to satisfy these forbidden desires someplace quieter and more private, somewhere away from the hustling crowds of random passersby.

“We’ve seen enough of these shops for now, don’t you think, Lukas?”

Exasperated, Ruki sighed, running a hand through his own hair in frustration from the current phase of the moon. If this shopping trip prolonged any further, then he feared for what would happen next, for the snake tattoos on the man’s neck seemed to glare back at him as if provoking his fangs to sink themselves in their scales and indulge in that sweet red fluid.

“It’s best we head home soon and go our separate ways. Trust me on this. This has been… fun, but you couldn’t have possibly picked a more inopportune day for us to go shopping together,” he averted his gaze before reassuring the other, “No, it’s nothing to do with you. It’s nothing like that at all.”

After all, Vampires have a renewed lust for blood during full moons, making them prone to casting aside all inhibitions as if Lukas’s mere presence didn’t already encourage this. Ruki feared that the self-control he once prided himself on would soon disappear without a trace.

Despite this, the Vibora had been as insistent as ever with a pout that screamed he didn’t want to part ways just yet.

The way he pursed his lips captivated Ruki beyond reason. Why was this? Those smoky topaz eyes seemed to immobilize him in place, as if the Vampire had been constricted from the feet up by an invisible, inexplicable hold, binding him to the concrete.

“You’re always like this. Always persuading me to comply with your silly shenanigans and impulsive whims. To be honest, being surrounded by all these stores has only reminded me just how thoughtless people can be with their purchases… It’s a sorry sight.” As Ruki spoke, his eyes wandered down to the neck that beguiled his fangs. “If you insist on being so impulsive, then I’ll show you what impulsive looks like.”

With those words, he suddenly grabbed Lukas by the wrist and before they knew it, they scrambled into the cramped hidden alleyway. The sun disappeared into the horizon, full moon barely peeking through a now overcast sky onto the small space between the buildings where they stood.

Pinning Lukas to the concrete wall, Ruki splayed a hand beside the other’s head, staring intently into his glistening sherbet eyes. The other hand caught his chin in a bruising hold.

“Every day you continue to get on my nerves… It’s infuriating. The more I think about you, the more confused I feel. Ugh, you’re the last person I want to see me in such a pitiful state.”

A small shimmering droplet fell from above, landing on the tip of his nose as he spoke. He eagerly tugged down at the man’s turtleneck, exposing his bare column of flesh.

“And yet, I don't think I can hold myself back any longer.”

Tilting the Vibora’s head to the side, Ruki wasted no time in sinking his fangs into the tattoos that taunted him earlier, sucking his blood with so much vigor that threatened to erase even the ink from his neck with how greedily he gulped Lukas’s life essence down. The hand that slammed into the wall from earlier traveled down his arched back, pulling him close as his fangs buried themselves deeper into his succulent flesh. A cold tongue trailed along the fresh wound, lapping up the red beads before they could roll down, hoping to elicit adorable squeaks and whines from the Vibora.

“Mmn… Haah… Only you… Make me lose my mind like this, Lukas…” Ruki grunted huskily against his bleeding skin, pulling away for just a moment to get a glimpse of his flustered face before lunging his fangs back in. Seeing Lukas red to his ears enchanted Ruki more than he would’ve liked to admit.

Indeed, the Vampire’s mind truly spiraled out of control, but at this point it could no longer be contributed to the full moon which quickly tucked away behind gray clouds. If Lukas had an obligation to his kingdom, then perhaps this was a moment of weakness in which Ruki wanted to have him all to himself, unable to escape his grasp.

“The way you look at me with those eyes… It makes me want to bite more than just your neck…” the hand that rested along the small of his back lowered underneath his skirt, riding up his thigh until he finally found Lukas’s soft, plump ass. Without hesitation, Ruki cupped the fullness of one of his cheeks playfully, giving it a firm squeeze before moving to the other to give it the same treatment. Every cute sound that escaped the man’s lips only fueled Ruki to litter bite marks all over his tattooed neck, bruising red and purple spots under his derisive mouth. It was as if he was fucking Lukas’s neck with his fangs as they kept going in and out.

While his own lips felt chilling to the bone, the air was cold over the wetness Ruki's mouth left behind, thousands of raindrops pouring from the sky and slowly drenching their hair and clothes.

Yet even so, Ruki didn’t feel a single drop, or even the ground beneath him for that matter. Tasting Lukas’s heavenly blood without abandon sent him floating to the clouds, adrift in pleasure.

Everything around them, from the pitter patter against the asphalt to the stampede of people seeking shelter from the downpour seized to exist.

“Such a sweet voice… That’s right… Think only of me, Lukas,” he crooned teasingly, losing himself to the combination of the full moon and the feelings he failed to conceal. “Your shoulders, your arms, even your legs… Hn, you’re so delicious, I can’t bear it…!”

As the Vampire stroked and massaged the other’s ass cheeks, the other hand roughly grabbed his wrists to prevent Lukas from both struggling and possibly obscuring that adorable, flushed face of his. It would’ve been an unforgivable crime to hide behind his hands right now. He restrained them, securing them over his head using all the vampiric strength he could muster. Meanwhile, his tongue lapped at the excess fluid that pooled from his neck with delight, exhale shuddering through his nose with each new wave of delectable blood.

“Not just your body… I’ll suck from you until your mind is filled only with thoughts of me… Until your primary heart is all mine,” he finally withdrew from the crook of his neck as the corners of his blood-stained lips to curled into a sly smirk.

Inclining his head forward, he nibbled the shell of his ear, tugging at it with his lips playfully before whispering in a breathy voice.

“Ha… Every part of you… I won’t leave anything untouched.”

Rainfall tickled his cheeks and mixed with the blood from his mouth, dripping red by the time it hit the ground.

He wanted more. Not only more, but also to taste other parts of Lukas.

To devour him whole, to taste his blood when heavily aroused for a change.

“Are you curious what your own blood tastes like? Allow me to show you.”

Their lips collided in a bloody frenzy.

As if feeding Lukas, Ruki’s tongue quickly darted in, laving along the other’s forked tip so he could properly taste himself. Occasionally satisfied moans and growls escaped from the Vampire’s as he bit harshly into the wet appendage that brushed against his own, seeking more of that intoxicating fluid. Their tongues encircled each other, pulling yet another deep groan from Ruki as more blood flooded his mouth like a tsunami of rapture. He explored every corner and crevice of Lukas’s mouth, committing it to memory and savoring every last drop that oozed from his bleeding forked tongue.

“Mmn… Ahh… I want more…!”

Ruki, despite drowning in an arousal-laden sea of blood, found himself drunk and enraptured by Lukas entirely.

After deciding his ass had enough, the Vampire ghosted his hand along the other’s thigh and then finally his crotch to which he eagerly pressed up against, rubbing their clothed lengths together with such erotic friction that Ruki wished there wasn’t a single garment between them.

While this was the first time he pleasured another man, it didn’t stop Ruki from drinking the whole spectrum of red that colored Lukas’s face and every enticing squeak that slipped out. It still came as a surprise that the Vibora of all people was the one he came to cherish more than anyone else, but even so he felt determined to please him in whatever way he could.

That included the lingerie-clad stiffness prodding at the annoying piece of chiffon draped over his legs.

Within seconds, Ruki’s fingers curled around his length and began pumping him in slow, torturous strokes, lust-clouded sapphires glued to rubies as red as the blood that spilled from his neck and tongue. The sensual pumps soon turned into quick, relentless strokes as his thumb dragged along the underside. With every upward movement, Ruki picked up the pace, chuckling at the snake’s cute reactions.

By now, his blood without a doubt should've changed in flavor, teeming with unmatched arousal.

Ruki wasted no time piercing his fangs through Lukas’s shoulder, eyes jolting wide at the sudden spike of richness.

Unbelievable...

No longer an angel, but like a God.

“Oh, fuck… You taste incredible,” he growled hoarsely.

His blood transcended heaven itself, skyrocketing straight into whatever celestial void lied beyond.

“You’re mine, Lukas.”

#diabolik lovers #ruki mukami #mukami ruki #princesscrownprince #lukas alischer #rukas

[m-travel]

10 Incredible Reasons to Visit Mongolia

Have you ever heard of Mongolia? This gorgeous country has breathtaking scenery and exciting adventures! Here are 10 incredible reasons to visit Mongolia:

1. Stunning Natural Landscapes Mongolian landscapes are some of the most spectacular in the world, with vast grassy steppes, rocky mountain ranges, mighty rivers, and rolling dunes. There are endless opportunities for outdoor adventure – explore the Mongolian countryside on horseback or enjoy a gentle river cruise through the magnificent mountains. 

2. Rich Culture Visualise Genghis Khan’s warriors riding across the vast open expanses of Mongolia on horseback, or imagine yourself as a nomadic tribesmen living off of whatever Nature provides in this remote corner of Central Asia. Thousands of people worldwide visit Mongolia to experience its unique culture every summer!

3. Rich Wildlife The diverse and extreme weather patterns and its remote location provide ideal conditions for many rare mammals and birds that fill Mongolia’s forests and plains with life. Depending on your itinerary, you could spot one of these majestic creatures in its natural habitat! 

4. Fascinating History Serious history buffs will be captivated by ancient historical sites and fascinating stories about recent history that has shaped modern-day Mongolia, such as Soviet influence after World War II. There is much to explore – from crumbling monasteries built centuries ago to the massive walled cities once at the hub of trade throughout Asia! 

5. Endless Adventures For thrill-seekers looking for something different, there is no shortage of exciting activities you can do in Mongolia. Like stargazing beneath clear night skies, camel trekking across snow-covered deserts, or trekking up snowy mountaintops to breathe in awe-inspiring views, there is an adventure awaiting every traveller!  

6. Authentic Cuisine From hearty meals prepared with fresh ingredients grown locally to steaming hot bowls filled with noodles sprinkled with mutton, exploring Mongo cuisine is sure to tantalise your taste buds while offering you an insight into local customs!  

7. Unique Shopping Experience Traditional crafts are alive and flourishing across Mongolia – made right before you, often by craftspeople whose techniques have been passed down through dozens (or even hundreds!) Many written records exist today! Pick up unique pieces not found anywhere else as souvenirs for yourself or gifts for friends back home! 

8. Thanks to its small population and large territory size spread out over countless provinces and regions, travelling around Mongolia can be accessed at a meagre cost. Making them very affordable holidays compared to other countries nearby like China or Russia - perfect for budget travellers who don’t want to miss out on anything this beautiful country has to offer them without breaking their bank account doing it!  

9. Nightlife Experience After a busy day spent exploring one site after another– wind down at any number of bars near tourist destinations where live music plays. At the same time, locals dance until they can no longer keep their eyes open. The perfect way to end a special day – mingling with new friends made during your travels here rather than sitting alone inside your hotel room watching TV programs you wouldn’t understand! 

10. Incredible Off-Grid Digital Experiences Remote beaches where an internet connection isn’t available so you can genuinely disconnect. Breathtaking city parks with no WiFi but only pure peace, Mongolian sanctuaries boasting rich cultures unspoiled by tourists yet wealthy enough even when disconnected from modern life. Discover new heights & depths when it comes to digital detoxing within surroundings accompanied only by Nature. Without relying on technology being connected at all times, it's easy to forget the true beauty surrounding us. Sometimes the best moments come through planless spontaneous wandering letting yourself get lost & finding a specific destination that makes your soul belong again!

#travel #mongolia travel #juulchin #mongolia #tour

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

hi enjoy this random snippet of a sad ysijwa extra that has to do with Niall coming over to Harry’s place one night when he’s feeling particularly emotional about missing his family

///

They sit in silence for a while on Harry’s elegant couch, listening to his record player churn out songs from an era long lost, the music notes duller than usual. The duo takes turns drinking from the bottle of bourbon, which Niall had fetched from his cabinet before wandering down to Harry’s flat, staring out at the city with all its twinkling lights coming from surrounding buildings and the traffic down below.

Niall speaks first, his voice low and heavy and thick from the alcohol, which is so unlike him since his accent is usually so airy and full of joy. “I miss them, H.”

Harry takes a long swig from the bottle, his mother’s opal ring clacking against the glass. The small stone feels like a metal barbell on his finger, as it always does whenever he gets in such a somber headspace. He extends the glass container towards Niall, his face remaining neutral as he watches a car run a red light, a chorus of angry honking and distant yelling following the risky move.

His voice is just as dense as Niall’s. “I do, too.”

His friend takes the bourbon, setting it on his knee and studying the amber liquid hollowly, watching it swish around along the sides of the bottle. “I miss my sisters.”

Harry exhales slowly, a prickling sensation washing across the backs of his eyes. “I miss mine, too. And my parents.”

His eyes slide over to the liquor in Niall’s possession, an ancient memory surfacing in the murky fog in his mind, clearing its way through the clouds created by the liquid in his system. The burning in his eyes gradually funnels towards his sinuses, making his nose sting with longing dread as he recalls his past. “Bourbon was my dad’s favorite.”

Niall looks over at him with sympathetic curiosity reflecting across his dim eyes. The icy blue that is usually present has faded away, replaced by a sad grey that Harry rarely ever witnesses. Over the years, Niall and Harry have come to an unspoken agreement that whenever they are hit with a sudden wave of nostalgia and pain regarding the people they had lost, the person they will come to for comfort will always be each other. Despite the fact that the lives they had led back in the 19th century were somewhat different, they can both relate to the notion of having been the head of their respective families, both emotionally and literally, and it’s a commonality that all of their other friends are lucky enough not to share. They were both the sole, eldest sons bared by their parents, which meant the weight of their loved ones’ futures had rested on their shoulders alone.

Niall was the main father figure for all his sisters growing up, considering their actual father was constantly slaving away in the fields of their farm, breaking his back in order to put food on the table and a roof over their heads. He and his mother raised his siblings to be as strong and independent as they could, since one day they would be married and have to take care of a household of their own. Niall was meant to take over the family farm when the time came, and pave his own route to a brighter future where he would have a wife and children to help him get by. When the famine worsened, all of their dreams crumbled to dust right along with their only means to survival, and Niall sacrificed his own rations and well-being towards his sisters in an effort to aid them in making it out alive. It was a futile attempt, unfortunately, since malnutrition weakened their immune systems and left them vulnerable to diseases that very few women ever survived. In the end, he and everyone he cared for died due to the terrible conditions set upon them by the famine, and all of his life’s work perished right along with his beating heart.

When it came to Harry, his story of being the leading man of his family was almost just as tragic. He was set to inherit his father’s blacksmith business, which was the only source of income his family had ever known, and since owning the shop would be vital to his success in society, he sacrificed his youth in preparation for the responsibility that would be set on his shoulders once he came of age. He very rarely allowed himself any free time to relax or intermingle with people of his own age, which resulted in his stunted social skills and lack of romantic suitors. He was nearly thirty when he finally began looking for a lifelong partner, at his mother’s concerned behest, and the one he found turned out to be the first and last he’d ever have in a manner he never expected. With his disappearance from the family lineage, all of the obligations he’d carried were passed on to his sister instead, which was a burden he had hoped she’d never have to bear. Ownership of the business shifted to Gemma’s husband, and though it was saved from being abandoned, it no longer belonged to the people who founded it, and the sentimentality behind its creation was therefore lost to a great extent.

In the end, both young men felt like they had failed the people they loved the most, and they never got to say a proper goodbye before being torn away by a cruel reality neither had asked for.

No matter how many times they’ve been in this same position, Harry will never get used to seeing this dampened version of the lively Irishmen. It’s like he’s looking at a shell of the person he so well knows, hollowed out by the debt of the people and connections he left behind. It feels like he’s looking at the corpse his friend was meant to be.

“He always managed to get a bottle around Christmas time.” Harry continues, his sight still trained on the bottle in his friend’s grasp, as if he can see the clips from his past replaying across the reflective surface of the beverage inside. The edges of his lips twitch as a happier recollection dawns on him, the dark circles around his eyes seeming to sink deeper into his skin as fond melancholy settles across his features. “I remember the first drink I ever had was bourbon, actually. It was at a Christmas ball the town was holding, and it was open to the general public. My dad pulled me aside and offered it to me; told me not to tell mum or that she’d skin him alive. I was fourteen.”

Harry releases a tight laugh, his vision growing blurry with tears. “He said he’d had his first drink with his dad, as well, and that he wanted to uphold the tradition.”

“How was it?” Niall murmurs gently, his tone encouraging instead of prying. He wants to guide Harry through his feelings, just as Harry always does with him.

Harry’s chapped lips crack into a full smile now, another strained laugh vibrating in his chest. “It was fucking rank. I spit it out the second it touched my tongue and nearly threw up my dinner.”

Niall joins his friend in laughing, instilling some much needed humor into the dark ambiance of the room. “Pussy.”

“I’d never drank before!” Harry defends, giving him a flat scowl. “And bourbon is a pretty brutal alcohol to lose your liquor virginity to.”

“I suppose. Still doesn’t change the fact that you were a sissy.”

The vampire narrows his eyes pettily. “How old were you when you had your first drink, then?”

Niall squares his shoulders proudly, puffing out his chest a tad as he answers the question haughtily. “Twelve. It was scotch, and I downed it like a fucking champ.”

“And now you’re a raging twat with severe alcoholic tendencies. A lot of good that did you, huh?”

“At least I didn’t embarrass myself in front of all the girls at that ball. No wonder you didn’t get laid.”

“I was waiting for marriage!”

“Tell that to the psychotic blonde with nice tits and murderous intentions.”

Harry snorts, kicking one foot off his coffee table and shoving Niall’s knee with the heel of his boot. “Piss off.”

The pair remain quiet for a moment, the comical atmosphere gradually fading away. With a shaky breath, Harry continues his story.

“Dad said it was okay. He said he’d reacted the same way, and that I would eventually develop a taste for it the older I got. He said that one day, he wanted me to—” His voice cracks with sudden emotion, and he sniffles roughly to get himself back in order. But despite his best efforts, he can’t stop his accent from quivering as he lets out his next sentence, the words sour and painful on his tongue. “He said that one day, he hoped I would do the same with my own son.”

#ysijwa!blurb #payne!!

[dizzydancingdreamer]

Steve Rogers, The Man On Fire

Hey y'all, as Pride month draws to a close I would like to post this fic. It's been in my drafts for a month and I finally today found the motivation to finish it. This is special to me for many reasons, one of which being that I'm proudly a part of this community. Some of the anger written in is my own. I think a lot of people will resonate with it. I really hope you all enjoy this and happy Pride Month <3

This was based loosely off a headcannon and once I re-find it I will credit!

Synopsis: Steve is freshly thawed, queer, and pissed | A.k.a. Steve's experience in 21st Century America

Characters: Steve Rogers, Mentions of Bucky Barnes, (loosely a Stucky fic but Steve thinks he's dead here)

Warnings: Angst but not bad, Steve Rogers being volatile and chaotic (we love), poorly written accents (I literally read this with an accent in my head), literally a 2k monologue

Word count: 5.1k

Steve Rogers came out of the ice angry.

No— not angry— Steve Rogers came out of the ice fuckin’ furious.

He came out of the ice with his hands curled into two fists, with his jaw clenched so hard his teeth were liable to snap, and with a bone to pick with every damn reporter and historian and too loud opinion on this side of the Brooklyn Bridge.

He came out simmering— no, erupting— like the serum in his blood couldn’t keep his body from hibernation all those years ago but it sure as hell won’t keep him from setting the entirety of New York on fire now. He’ll burn it all down if he has to and rebuild it the way he remembers it— the way Bucky would have remembered it— and at the end of it all no one— not the bigots or deniers or the homophobes that seem to be the only thing that came with him from the forties— will be able to say that Captain America can’t love whoever he wants.

No one will be able to say that Steve Rogers didn’t love James “Bucky” “the man I’ve loved since twelve years old” Barnes with everything he had and then some.

No one.

So he starts with the museums in Washington— because sure it isn’t New York but where else would a relic like himself belong more?

He still has hope when he enters the building. They didn’t make them like this when he was a kid— they had science fairs in the town hall and culture fairs in the backstreets near the docks but never anything this grand. No tall marble pillars or enough stairs to make him wonder if he would have been able to climb to the top when he was half the size he is now. It’s strange. It’s kind of wonderful. Yeah, the Smithsonian museums make Steve Rogers feel small for the first time in a very long time and that gives him hope.

That hope doesn’t last long, though, because soon he’s wandering through the halls, following the signs that say Captain America: The First Avenger— what the hell is an Avenger? Is that what they’re calling soldiers these days? Now he feels small and old.

Turning the corner is like landing on another planet, one devoted entirely to him. His picture is everywhere he looks, his name is in lights, even his damn uniform has been replicated and presented on a little stage and he hates it. The rage is back, sparking at his fingers— he’s a match and lucky for everyone this building is made of stone because if it wasn’t he’s sure it would be reduced to nothing but ash by now.

It only worsens as he begins reading through the plaques and the paragraphs flashing across screens on the walls— he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to that. The more he reads, though, the more he wonders if the stone is really, truly safe from the fire in his blood. He doesn’t think it is.

He surely isn’t at least— he feels like he’s going to explode. This isn’t him— none of this is him. War hero. Martyr. Golden boy. He has to stop reading that plaque— clearly no one did their research. Clearly no one dug up his medical files— or his police records. Brawls at the pub, disorderly conduct behind Mr. De Luca’s sandwich shop, public nudity at the beach that one time— thank you Bucky for the best night of his god damn life. Golden boy— ha.

Golden nobody with the black eye and broken hand is more like it.

For a moment he thinks he’s fine— he thinks it can’t get worse than this. Then he gets to the early life section and for an even longer moment his tongue tastes like gunpowder.

Steven Grant Rogers grew up in the streets of Brooklyn alongside his friend James Buchanan Barnes—

He can’t bring himself to finish the sentence— not when they already got the most important part wrong. Friend. Friend? No, no, no. No! There are a million words in the english language that Steve could use to describe Bucky and ‘friend’ will never be the first one.

How about best friend?

How about partner in crime?

How about soulmate who loved Steve so much that every night for the past forty-eight days since he woke up in an era that Bucky doesn’t exist in he’s cried himself to sleep with the same cherry cola taste of his ‘friend’ on his tongue.

It’s the final straw— Steve loses it.

“Anyone got a marker?”

The museum is quiet before he speaks but when his voice— steadily rising and taking on that New York headiness that his troops used to jazz him about— cuts through the exhibit— his fuckin’ exhibit— it’s silent. It’s dead, almost as dead as Buck— Nobody dares move a muscle as he rips his ball cap off his head and throws it at the statue of himself. Everyone knows who he is— everyone is going to know who he is so help him god.

“I said—” he tries again— “does anyone have a marker?”

It takes a moment for the people around him to pick their jaws up off the floor and he allows them that moment with a smug grin starting to tug on the corners of his lips. Finally— they’re starting to get it.

He’s not a hero; he’s a supernova of every scrawny, queer kid who’s ever gotten beaten to a pulp for kissing who they want.

Maybe then it’s fitting that the marker— when it’s finally produced and placed in his waiting palm— comes from a teenage girl with a shaved head and a blue, pink, and purple denim jacket and a busted lip. She doesn’t say much— only a mumbled here you go— but her eyes say everything that her words don’t. Give em’ hell, Cap. For the first time since waking up he flashes a genuine grin back— yeah, this one’s for you kid.

Steve wastes no time uncapping the sharpie— he’ll look that one up later— and scratching out the error. The blasphemy to his unholy name. It takes him a little longer to decide what to write in its place. There are a million words, sure, but somehow none of them feel right at this moment. None of them are enough. That’s something he’ll have to come to terms with later, though— how much nothing feels like enough anymore without Bucky.

Finally Steve settles on a word and he scribbles it as neatly as he can given the fact that he hasn’t had to write anything in eighty years. When he takes a step back, feeling alive for the first time since waking up, he beckons over the girl with the shaved head and points to the place where he’s taken it upon himself to correct history.

“Hey kid, why don’t you go ahead and read that outloud for everyone here.”

He allows another moment— this time because she deserves the time it takes for her eyes to light up and the smile to stretch across her bruised mouth.

Steve laughs— a rusted, croaky laugh; another first in forever— when her head whips around, facing him as she loudly proclaims: “It says boyfriend. Steve Rogers grew up in the streets of Brooklyn alongside his boyfriend Bucky Barnes!”

“Damn right I did—” he mutters to the kid before taking a step towards the crowd of gaping mouths. “Did you all hear that? Don’t worry if ya’ didn’t— I’ll say it one more time. Boyfriend. Bucky was my boyfriend and if he was here today he would be my husband. If any of you have a problem with that then feel free to take it up with me. I took on half of Brooklyn for that man and I’ll do it again.”

When no one says anything Steve nods, turning to hand the girl back her marker and to thank her— he may be angry but he hasn’t lost all his manners— but when he looks at her she doesn’t look back. Instead she takes the same step forward that he had, one of her hands balled into a tiny, shaking fist at her side and the other wrapped around a cell phone that’s pointed towards the crowd. He doesn’t understand the mechanics but he thinks she’s recording.

“You hear that?” She parrots the super soldier with a wavering but fierce voice. “Captain America likes men! And none of you can deny it!”

This time it’s his mouth that drops, watching as she shakily turns the camera off and spins back around. Before Steve can say anything, though, she’s talking again, this time hastier, and he can’t help but think that she sounds so much like him. All flushed and scrawny and pissed.

“I’m sorry, I’ll delete the recording if you want but, I jus’ know these bigots are gonna’ try and cover everything up and that would be a fuckin’ shame. I don’t know if you know how many kids need to hear this. I did— and I think they should too. Only if you want, of course.”

He doesn’t answer right away— he can’t. It’s like looking at himself at fifteen. Suddenly he’s back again, his feet hanging in the water as his boyfriend paces behind him, asking if he’s ready to have him look at his knuckles yet. He didn’t get that many good punches in— the scrapes are mostly from the pavement— but Buck always worries too much so it doesn’t matter. The protective idiot.

Steve shakes his head, blinking away the sunset lingering behind his eyes. “Bucky woulda’ loved you, kid.”

The next time he loses it— the next time he turns into more flame than man— is after he saves the city he’s been trying to burn down for three months.

It isn’t long after that day in the museum when Nick Fury decides it would be best for everyone if Steve goes back into the field. Of course, no one really asks him what he wants— they pretty much just shove a new suit into his hands and tell him to get training, Captain— but what else is new?

No one really comments on his outburst besides that either. Can you really call it an outburst when you’re just trying to reclaim the parts of you that have been stolen? Sure, the press gets a hold of the story and, true to what the kid had said, tries to twist it into something more digestible, but no one actually addresses it up with Steve. Apparently when someone saves the world as good as he does no one cares that they kiss men.

Or that they don’t wanna’ to actually save the world anymore.

See, in those three months— between the training and training and even more training that Steve Rogers begrudgingly obliges— he has time to catch up on the world. More importantly, he has time to catch up on what the world thinks of him. He scours a plethora of documentaries, scholarly essays, and whole books of information about his time as Captain America. Well— his time as Captain America when it mattered. In all his scouring he learns one thing: everything written about him is wrong.

It’s all so fuckin’ wrong.

Just why the hell would he want to save a world so bent on destroying who he is?

The Smithsonian exhibition was nothing compared to what’s been written in the eighty years he spent in the ice. Better yet, nothing compared to what hasn’t been written about him. They’ve taken an eraser to every part of his life that doesn’t fit with the golden image that they constructed for him. A.k.a. every part that matters. His relationship, his past, every little thing that made him supposedly perfect for the role he was given. Gone. Erskine told him he was a good man— apparently he was the only one who thought so.

Apparently being a good man isn’t good enough.

They only wanted the perfect soldier. Yeah, well, they had one and they fucked him over too. Don’t even get him started on what they did to Bucky— Steve doesn’t want to think about what Winnifred— Winnie for short— Barnes would do if she saw the history books erasing her baby’s Jewish roots. Or his relationship. It wouldn’t be pretty, that’s for damn sure. If ever there was someone more protective than Bucky it would have been his mother. Not that there’s a damn note about her in anything either though.

Maybe that’s the final straw that does him in this time— watching the place that Mrs. Barnes loved more than almost anything else in the world crumble, while also knowing that the world no longer gives a shit about the two people she loved more.

“Mr. Rogers, this is where you grew up, is it not? Is there anything you would like to say about what took place here in your home city today?”

Maybe he pretends not to hear the last part— maybe he really does only hear up until where the reporter asks him if there is anything he wants to say. He’s been around quite his fair share of explosions; it would make sense that his hearing is a little off. Maybe he just doesn’t care anymore, though.

Scratch that— he definitely doesn’t care anymore.

And why the fuck should he? He does have something to say and propriety be damned he’s going to say it.

Steve stares into the crowd of faceless reporters and flashing cameras with a scowl on his grimey face. Around him stand the other Avengers— his ‘team’. The last time he had a team the historians screwed up the history for every single member. Dugan, Morita, Falsworth, Jones, Dernier, Sawyer, Juniper, Pinkerton. Barnes. All of them were brave men with families and sacrifices and all of them were treated like jokes by ‘reporters’ just like the ones in front of him now. He really doubts there’s a difference between old and new journalism.

The only difference is that now he’s here and this time he’s not going to let them write anything but the damn truth.

“It is—” Steve muses, brushing the sweaty hair from his forehead— “I’m surprised you know that though.”

The reporter cocks his head, clearly confused, and it makes the super soldier’s blood boil. “Come again, sir?”

“I said I’m surprised you know where I was born, kid.” This time when he says the word— kid— it’s derogatory. “Ya’ know, considering how you all seem to know nothing about me otherwise.”

Steve almost smiles at the way the crowd tenses. He actually would if it weren’t for the white hot rage coursing through his veins, mingling with the last of the adrenaline leftover in his system. It gives him an extra kick— not that he needs it. Even when he was just a runt from the wrong side of the tracks he needed nothing more than an offhand comment to raise his fists. Fighting to Steve Rogers has always been intoxicating— the aftershocks of winning the battle just makes it more thrilling now.

Who knew, right?

“Sir I asked—” The reporter sputters and Steve simply holds a hand up, silencing him before he can start again.

“Yeah I know what you asked, alright. You want me to talk about the battle here in New York today and how I am more than happy to have risked my life to save it. But I can’t do that, kid. Because I didn’t save it for you. I didn’t save it for any of you.”

Steve feels his team tense— maybe were it any other time he would stop talking. He would just leave it, let the issue go, because Bucky would tell him too. They aren’t worth it, bruiser, he would say, they aren’t worth your blood. Maybe he would listen to his boyfriend because usually he was right. Bucky was always right. So yeah, maybe he would list—

Who is he kidding; he knows he wouldn’t.

Not then and certainly not now— not when Bucky isn’t here to defend himself against everything Steve has been reading about. That’s exactly why he doesn’t stop talking. Someone has to defend him and who better of a person than him? So, yeah, he keeps going, even when he hears footsteps behind him.

“You wanna’ know who I did save it for? James Barnes, that’s who I saved it for! You see, just around that corner there is a bookstore. Rickley Books. That was my boyfriend's favourite bookstore. You know, the man who gave his life to stop a train in Austria from reaching the enemies? Yeah that was him. That train was filled with supplies. Had it reached their headquarters, who knows if we’d be standing here today. If there would be a New York at all. Not that you would know that. But who cares about that dead sergeant from the 107th, right? There’s plenty just like him.”

Steve shrugs nonchalantly— a move he picked up from the very man he’s speaking about— but he spits his words at the reporters with enough venom to cancel out any peace that the action brings. That’s his own move.

He keeps going. “You know who else I saved it for? His mother. Yeah, his mother Winnie Barnes. Wonderful lady. She used to run a soup kitchen a couple blocks from here. Kept the rift raft like myself from going hungry most nights— I was a brawler, you know.”

A couple of reporters in the crowd laugh at that and Steve flinches, his vision tinting red as he cranes his neck, seeking them out.

“Oh you think that’s funny, do you? You think I’m joking? I’m not. You ever been backed into a corner, son? Had people hurl slurs at you that I can’t even repeat today? Ever been beaten up for loving your best friend? No, I bet you haven’t. You weren’t a queer kid in the thirties. That’s hard— that’s borderline impossible actually. I only made it because of people like Winnie Barnes. That woman was a saint but nobody talks about her either.”

Steve has to take a deep breath, clearing the rasp in his voice that rises as he dwells on the woman he called his second mother for so long. She wasn’t just a saint, she was an angel. He can’t cry here though, not now. Not even as his throat begins to tighten.

“Winnie was the type of lady who didn’t let anyone walk over the little people. She used to sit me down and say Stevie you gotta’ fight for what you want because ain’t nobody gonna’ give it to you. She told me that I shouldn’t have to but that there were going to be people who would try to tear me down just for being me. And she was right— just like her son— because that was the era, you know? But now, here in the twenty-first century, you’re all still trying to tear us down.”

A hand lands on his shoulder, small fingers tugging at where his suit has begun to tear. Natasha Romanoff. He meets her gaze quickly, neck craning to stare down the red head, and in the few seconds their eyes meet it’s like Bucky is next to him. Somehow the blue in her irises catches the falling sun just like his used to. Steve can hear the gruff of his voice in the depths of his mind. Back down, bruiser. The sentiment is echoed across Nat’s face.

Steve shakes her hand off him, turning back to the reporters— don’t they know that he can’t?

“You all say you care about me, huh? That I’m a hero? You know nothing about me— you don’t want to. Before I was a soldier I was a kid. A queer kid. I said that already but let me repeat it. Queer. Did you write that down? None of you certainly did before. That’s how I know that you don’t care— because in an age where being queer is infinitely more accepted you still don’t bother to write it down.”

He pauses for another breath, shutting his eyes against the blinking red lights of the cameras. They’re like little demons, always watching his every move. Recording. Everything’s always recorded these days. Will he ever be used to that? Bucky was the technology guy, not him. Not then and not now.

When Steve picks up again— eyes open and shoulders freshly straight— it’s on a new note— a clear note.

“You don’t care about me— you certainly don’t care about the real heroes of the war because if you did you wouldn’t erase our history. Do you know how much it would have meant to Bucky to see our relationship accepted? The man who died for you? How much it would’ve meant to his mother? You can’t just pick which of our stories and our sacrifices are worthy and which aren't.”

He hasn’t spoken this much since he’s woken up, not all at once at least. Maybe he should have, though— maybe if he had then he wouldn’t feel like ripping the heads off everyone in front of him right now. Call it fight or flight. Call it revenge. Hell, call it whatever you’d like because it doesn’t really matter. Either way he feels like a kid again— again— backed into a corner behind the deli with his fists up and his teeth bared.

He feels feral again.

“So now you just want me to save the world like I did— like Bucky did— all those years ago— or maybe jus’ New York— as if that’s any better— and you don’t even bother to write a proper article about me? Hell, I never even asked for an article, let alone a whole exhibit! I’m just a soldier— and before that I was just a kid. If there’s never another article written about me I’ll be grateful. But now that I’m here, standing in front of you, I’ll say this—”

Just as Steve’s voice is cresting into a shout that would no doubt be heard regardless of whether or not the microphones were in front of him, Natasha tries one more time, her fingers slipping between his.

Her voice is a dull buzz compared to his, only reaching his ears by sheer will. “C’mon Stevie— we gotta’ go now.”

Like before he’s stunned but this time instead of seeing Buck— instead of hearing him in his head— he hears Winnie.

You fought good, honey. You fought good for us. You can rest now.

It’s jarring and it’s not lost on him the handful of awkward seconds that it takes for him to respond. That’s just the effect Winnie had on people though— still has, apparently. Steve shakes his head— I know, mama. But I gotta’ finish this fight.

“No, Nat— I’ve got to say this.” Steve mumbles— voice just beginning to waver despite how hard he clenches his jaw— before sneering at the crowd one last time.

“If I ever read an article from any of you that discredits Bucky Barnes, our relationship, or myself just know that I’ll come for you. I’ll come for this city. Don’t you ever forget who I saved it for. James Barnes, Winnie Barnes, and every queer kid who’s ever felt erased because of people like you. The bigots in the forties couldn’t stop me. The Nazis couldn’t stop me. Not even the Atlantic Ocean could stop me. So don’t think for a second that any of you could either. Have a good day.”

With that Captain America turns, marching off the impromptu stage and beginning the trek back to his apartment. He doesn’t bother looking at his team as he passes them— he can imagine their stunned faces well enough on his own. No doubt he’ll be getting another assignment from Fury soon enough to make up for this ‘outburst’ too. Still, he feels a little bit better. There’s an ache in his shoulder, and one under his ribs too, but he still smiles as he passes Rickman and Sons Books. That must mean something good.

The last time Steve Rogers burns he doesn’t burn the way he’s expecting to— he doesn’t vandalize his own name or blow up at a reporter. No, the third time— the final time— that Steve Rogers burns it’s with nostalgia— and with a damn good cup of coffee in his hand.

“I had no idea this place was even here.” The girl across from Steve muses, tiny hands shifting the steaming cup back and forth.

Her name is Ellie, he learned that back at the museum after asking for a copy of the video she took. He barely knew how to use his phone back then, let alone his email— hell, both still confuse him more often than not— but she had been patient. A little awestruck and a little riled up too but he took it in stride— easily. It’s not hard being nice to the spitting image of him.

“I’m glad I’m good for something other than making the news.” Steve chuckles and this time he means it— there’s no malice or ill intent, only humor. “O’Malley’s ‘s been here longer than I have. Looked a little different then—” he takes a moment to let his eyes wander the old coffee shop and it’s new appliances— a moment to feel his age catch up to him— “but I guess I did too.”

Ellie’s laughter joins in there and it’s strange— strange that he hasn’t laughed with another person in seven, almost eight, months; strange that her laughs sound so much like Bucky’s when they were younger; strange that Bucky isn’t here to hear. Here to laugh, too. Because he would have.

He would have called Steve an old man, would have wrapped his arm around his shoulders, would have asked— no, demanded— that Ellie try the plum cobbler. They always made the best cobbler. Bucky always had the best laugh. All grit and breath and him. Steve feels warm just thinking about it.

“Well thanks for letting me in on the secret, I’ll make sure to guard it carefully.” She even has Bucky’s warm sarcasm.

Maybe it’s not so much like looking in a mirror as it is looking at what he wishes he and his boyfriend could have been back then.

“And thanks for letting me interview you—” Ellie continues, setting the cup down but not before nodding at it, her eyes wide— “wow. You weren’t kidding about the joe, huh? Anyway— thanks for scheduling this. I know you’re probably super busy— and that there are more well established people you could have gone to.”

Steve sets his own mug down too— if he hadn’t there’s a possibility it would be more puddle than porcelain. “Well established means nothin’, kid. Not when you don’t have heart. They’re parasites, all of ‘em. The press couldn’t care less about me.”

Ellie nods, lifting the lid of her laptop. It’s a little bit dented and slathered in stickers, not quite the newest model— he would know, he has the newest one and it’s still sitting in his apartment in the box. Yet another testament to how little the people around him truly know him.

“Welcome to the twenty-first century, can I get you a side of classism with that commercialism?”

Now she sounds like Winnie too.

“Say, has anyone ever told you that you’re funny?”

She shrugs, tilting her head, a lopsided grin glued to her face. “Once or twice— I never know if they mean it or if they just want me to shut up. I never do so I guess we’ll never know.”

Steve sputters out another laugh because; “I guess we’re the same then— never give them a moment, kid. That’s the best advice I can give you.” He pauses— again— he supposes it’s going to be a day of pausing— he supposes it’s about time he pauses— before adding, “Bucky would’ve scolded me for saying that.”

Ellie’s fingers, swift and deft over the machine— Steve hadn’t even seen her begin to type— pause too as her smile softens. “What would he have said instead?”

Her question shouldn’t catch off guard— this is why he asked her to meet him; to finally, properly write his story— their story. Still he pauses— Steve’s empty hands feel hot, his shoulders warm; bare— what would he have said? It doesn’t take long to hear his boyfriend’s voice, not there but somehow loud in his ear all the same.

Just relax— they aren’t worth it. It’s too nice out to care about anything but the water— are you coming in or not? Summer doesn’t last forever, you know?

It’s impossible but Steve can feel the sun on his back and on his ears again, like he’s there— like he’s back, sixteen and on fire. Those were the days where everything made him cold. The days where his skin burned no matter the season but especially in August which was when the ocean was warm enough to swim in. It never stopped him from joining Buck— nothing could have stopped him. His cheeks warm, too, at the thought.

Steve blinks, his own smile— perhaps a little lopsided in it’s own right— shaping over his mouth. “He would have told you to relax— and to try the plum cobbler. It’s fantastic.”

With another giggle— and a reiterated comment— has anyone ever told you you’re funny, Steve?— they fall into a conversation, just a kid and a relic, about life. It’s not an easy conversation— but then again those kinds never are. It’s real, though, and unedited. Unfiltered. Just the way Erskine and Winnie and Bucky would have liked it— the only way Steve wants it. It’s not perfect but, hell, Steve has never been perfect.

He’s never wanted to be.

Maybe Steve doesn’t know everything his boyfriend would say— and maybe he’d be lying if he said he doesn’t blow up once or twice after today— but he can confidently say that he gave Brooklyn a run for her money— twice— and lived to tell the tale. He can say then when it mattered, he burned. That he still burns. That he will until he doesn’t— until he’s extinguished.

But, hey, though Summer doesn’t last forever, not even the Atlantic could extinguish the flame that is Steve Rogers.

That’s what he writes— in Sharpie— on the card he writes to Ellie— the one attached to the computer he knows he’ll never use.

#Steve Rogers #Bucky Barnes #Stucky #steve x bucky #Queer!steve rogers #Queer!Steve #Queer!Bucky #Queer!Bucky Barnes #Captain America #pride month #Steve angst #steve fluff #Marvel cinematic universe #Mcu #mcu fic #steve fic

[lastbluetardis]

Sacred New Beginnings (1/?)

Summary: James Noble thought he traded away his chance at love and a happy-ever-after when he signed a contract with a record label that turned him into an international celebrity. But a chance meeting in a dive bar may prove him wrong.

Ten x Rose AU, @doctorroseprompts

This Chapter: Teen, ~5500 words

Note: Er... surprise? This idea has been in my head for months but my brain took it and ran with it this weekend. I plotted the whole thing and am gonna try to update every weekend. I don’t anticipate this being more than like... 7-10 chapter? I’d love to keep it under 5 chapters but that might be trimming things down too much for my liking. Anyways, I really hope you enjoy this little story!

AO3

Flashing lights and shrieks of his name greet James the moment the back door to his armored car is opened. His head of security ducks out first and James can only see a mass of feet and legs but it’s more than enough to let him know it’s a heavier than usual crowd. Not surprising, considering the news of his latest break-up just dropped while he’d been flying back from a visit to America.

He slides out of the car, helped by hands that pull him as much as guide him through the throng. He ignores the shouts of his name—telling him to look left or right or up or down or every combination therein—and the barrage of questions and jokes that aren’t funny.

Was it you or him that ended it?

Three weeks, is that a new personal record?

Another notch in the bedpost, eh James?

Got another beau lined up yet?

If you’re looking for candidates, what do we have to do to get our names in the running?

“Ignore them,” he mutters to himself, too quietly for anyone except his security team to hear.

In answer, one of them gives his shoulder a reassuring squeeze as they reach his front door. Someone has already unlocked it for him and the darkness within is a blessing he’s all too willing to be shoved into. The cacophony muffles once the door shuts, and finally he’s alone, a rarity for him. If it’s not his security, it’s personal assistants and writers and producers and photographers and the paparazzi.

Or his lover of the month, as the papers have taken to calling his partners.

But nope, his home is empty and quiet and bloody freezing. A shiver ripples up his spine as he treads to the thermostat controller. Summer finally released its hold on London, and the muggy heat has been replaced with a damp chill that burrows down into his bones.

Several button-presses later, James hears the familiar clank of the radiator and he can smell the heating kick on. It’ll take a while for his house to warm up, so James keeps his peacoat on for the time being as he putters around his home, checking the fridge and the cabinets. As always, they’re well-stocked. He hasn’t had to do anything as mundane as grocery shopping in the five years since his YouTube channel full of acoustic covers of popular songs went viral and landed him a lucrative deal with a prestigious record label. Only in his wildest dreams had he expected to find fame and fortune in the hobby he loved so much—for it to have actually happened still took him by surprise, as though any minute he’d be told “it was fun while it lasted, but it’s time for you to leave wonderland now.”

Shaking his head of those thoughts, he goes to the antique dining table that can easily seat ten people, which is great for holidays or in-home meetings, but just plain depressing every other day of the year. A stack of mail has piled up, and he spends the next five minutes attempting to sort it before giving up and telling himself he’ll look at it in the morning, once he’s not quite as groggy—transatlantic flights always take it out of him.

Instead, he rootles around his fridge until he comes up with the necessary items to make himself a ham and cheese sandwich. With the prospect of food in front of him, James realizes he is starving. He shoves a whole slice of ham in his mouth while he assembles his pitiful meal, heaping on lettuce and sliced tomatoes as though that’s enough to negate the pile processed protein and greasy chips he layers in for crunch.

It’s tastier than any sandwich as a right to be, and he nearly makes himself a second one before catches sight of his phone screen and the slew of incoming notifications. His work is never finished, is it?

There are several texts from his publicist, Donna, welcoming him home and congratulating him on not making an arse of himself just by trying to walk up the front drive of his home. (To be fair, he felt entitled to channel his inner crotchety old man and tell reporters to get off his damn lawn if they encroached on his personal property.)

“Though some photos are surfacing of your trip to New York… Anything you need me to get ahead of?”

He rubs his fingers into his eyes, knowing she’s probably referring to his last night out in the city, where he went bar hopping until the wee hours of the morning to try to forget the text his subsequently-ex-boyfriend had sent him.

Thanks for everything, but I need to focus on my career. Cheers mate.

The career that James had kickstarted for him by introducing his rising actor boyfriend to several of his friends in the film industry, because James had been so damn desperate for affection that he’d once again let the wool get pulled in front of his eyes.

And so James had reached out to mates who lived in New York and they’d all gone out and acted half their age and had a wonderful time once James forgot about why he’d gone out in the first place.

But none of that now. Nope. No sir.

“Not that I’m aware of,” he replies. “Let me know if you catch wind of anything.”

Despite the fact that he only just got home and he’s jetlagged and still feeling the effects of his night out in New York, James can’t stay in his house right now. It’s so quiet that his brain is creating its own white noise. He can’t stand being in his head on a good day, and today is not a good day.

He grabs his keys and wallet and makes for the back of the house. His property is landlocked with the back gardens of other houses; the paps have learned the hard way that James is dead serious about protecting his neighbors’ privacy and will not hesitate to phone the police to arrest and sue anyone caught trespassing on private property to snag a photo of him. James hosts dinner for his neighbors several times a year and buys them gifts any chance he can to show his appreciation for their patience and tolerance.

In the dead of night, he slips out into his back garden, the crisp October air burning his lungs in the best way as he ducks his way through the neighborhood, his feet taking him far away from the crowd of reporters that are still stationed in front of his own home. Hopefully they’ll all have dispersed by the time he gets back. Perhaps he should have turned on music or a movie or something, made them think he was settled in for a lazy night in.

He wanders aimlessly for a while, enjoying this taste of freedom and trying to remember the days when he could leave out the front door of his flat without any fanfare.

It’s dark, and thick clouds obscure whichever moon phase they’re in, but the street lamps glow yellow on the damp pavement, lighting his way forward. A crisp autumn breeze ruffles his hair and the leaves, sending them tumbling around him and skittering across the residential street that’s so much quieter than the bustle of New York. It’s good to be home, though.

He arrives at a bus stop and catches one headed into the city proper. It’s no secret that James lives in London, and therefore the general population has gotten used to glimpsing him on the tube or walking on the street or frequenting pubs. He knows people snap quick photos of him, and he’s always happy to stop and pose for a selfie with respectful fans, but mostly he’s left alone when he’s out by himself like this.

Nevertheless, he hears the excited undertones of people trying to inconspicuously point him out to their oblivious friends. He keeps his head down, mindlessly opening and closing apps on his phone for something to do as he pretends he doesn’t notice them. He won’t be on the bus much longer anyway.

Several people get off the bus with him, including a group of teenage girls who are whispering heatedly among themselves. It’s almost funny, watching them debate amongst themselves before one of them approaches him.

She’s red-faced but determined as she blurts, “Can we get a photo?”

“Sure thing,” he says good-naturedly, inclining his head for them to come closer. “Need me to take it?” He holds out a lanky arm and flops it around a bit. “Got a longer reach than any of you.”

He’s certain one of the girls is about to start crying with joy as they all nestle into his side and hand him a new-model iPhone. Damn, it’s fancier than his own. When he was their age, he had an old flip phone that lost reception if he breathed on it wrong. It was a tank though—he’d dropped that thing hundreds of times, and nary a scratch.

“Do me a favor,” he says, handing the phone back to its owner, “and don’t ping our location if you post to social media, yeah? I appreciate it.”

“You’re my favorite person ever,” one of the girls squeaks.

His face splits into a grin and he tucks his hands into his pockets. “Is that so?”

The girls spend the next five minutes chatting with him about music and how they’ve been following him ever since his YouTube days. He listens and chimes in every now and then when they ask him a direct question, but he prefers being passive in exchanges like this, content to hear peoples’ stories. It makes him feel normal, if only for a little while.

Finally, they take their leave, and James turns in the opposite direction even though the destination he had in mind is down the street the girls had just taken. But he’s been burned far too many times by encounters with seemingly innocent fans, only for them to begin following him around and showing up outside his house to talk to him again. He makes a point of not drawing out public encounters with his fans.

He wanders down a street he’s vaguely familiar with, figuring he can backtrack in a couple blocks. The night is too beautiful for him to be upset about needing to take a detour.

Everything looks different in the dark, the glow of neon signs bathing everything in hues of greens and blues and pinks and yellows. Shops and restaurants are mostly shut up for the night, their windows dark or blinds drawn. Dingey motels with pay-by-the-hour rates are in full swing, as are the pubs that have a revolving door of people in varying states of intoxication.

Deep bass that he can feel all the way in his chest catches his attention, and he gets turned around a few times, but he eventually finds the establishment: Bad Wolf Brews. At first, he doesn’t think it’s open, and that he must be mistaken about where the music is coming from, but the heavy front oak door opens, and he realizes the glass on the door is tempered so that the interior lights don’t shine through. The music is clear and heavy and vibrating in his bones. He doesn’t think twice before catching the door before it closes and slipping inside.

The air is humid and smells of sweat and stale beer. Bodies are writhing and gyrating to the rhythm blasting through invisible speakers. The acoustics are phenomenal; none of the layers are lost and the sound quality is nearly as good as if he were listening to the record at home on his own stereo system.

The lights are low, and he’s sure he trips into a few people in the minute it takes for his eyes to adjust to the dimness, but finally, he’s at the bar. There are three open stools, and he claims one between a blonde woman and a red-haired man as he wonders what the hell this dive bar serves. He can see beer taps, but he’s more of a cocktail guy. He must look as lost as he feels, because the bartender hands him a menu that looks like it was hand-written and then photo-copied. It jives with the overall vibe of the pub.

The bartender checks in with him a minute later. James opens a tab and orders a sidecar sans sugar, and is pleasantly surprised by the quality. Not to make assumptions, but he’d figured an establishment such as this would have cheap liquor. If the alcohol in his drink is cheap, it’s well masked.

When he’s drained the last drop and about to signal for another, a hand rests on his shoulder. “Can I buy your next round?”

James looks up into the face of a stranger. It’s a woman with striking green eyes and a disheveled pixie cut. Judging by her crimson cheeks and glazed eyes, she’s three sheets to the wind. There’s buzzed, then there’s drunk, and then there’s plastered. He prefers not to let himself get to that last category, and by extension, he doesn’t really like to associate much with people who won’t remember the night come morning.

“Thanks, but I’m good,” he says with his most charming grin. “G’night.”

He has no idea if the woman knows who he is, but the way she shrugs and saunters to the gentleman sitting beside James, he doubts it.

He gets clumsily propositioned a few more times and always politely declines with a smile. So far, nobody here seems to recognize him and he is going to ride out this anonymity for as long as it’ll last. It has been too long since he’s been able to sit in a pub and drink quietly. Well, quietly, insofar as crazed fans or paparazzi aren’t harassing him—the music is loud enough that he’s sure to have ringing in his ears for a few hours once he gets home.

But he’s not really in any rush to get home, and so he orders his fourth cocktail before making his way to the loo. Alcohol goes right through him, and it’s nearly gotten him in trouble on tour a time or two.

There’s no line, but the loo is crowded, and he tries to ignore the double-takes as he stands in front of a urinal to take care of business. If he wakes up tomorrow morning to find that someone snapped a photo of him having a piss, he’s going to lose his goddamn mind.

Bladder tended to, James keeps his head ducked and shoulders his way back into the bar. His stool is unoccupied, and when he steps forward, he realizes why. A purse sits on it, seemingly reserving the seat but he can’t figure out for whom. He’s about to take the cocktail the bartender hands him and stand against the shadowed wall when someone picks up the purse.

It’s his blonde-haired stool mate. She flashes him a broad grin that lights up her entire face and squeezes something deep in his stomach.

“Saved your seat for ya,” she says with the ease and confidence of someone who’s known him his whole life.

“Thanks,” he manages through a suddenly dry mouth.

Feeling like an idiot for standing and gaping, he slips into his seat and downs half his new sidecar in one go. It’s as though the ice has been broken now, and she turns to him, her elbow on the counter and her cheek propped on her fist.

“Pretty sure you could outdrink a fish, mate,” she drawls, smiling again in that easy way that does too many strange things to his insides. “You’ve been knockin’ ‘em back for over an hour now.”

Has it really been that long? James checks his watch, and yup, it’s half past ten. The paps should be gone from his house by now, but he feels no draw to leave this place. The alcohol has left him pleasantly tipsy and warm, but he’s more drunk on the fantasy that he’s just a normal bloke having a nice night out in a newly-discovered dive bar.

“Fish don’t really drink though, do they? They absorb water through their gills via osmosis,” he replies, and he wants to bite his tongue off because what the fuck was that??

This woman, whatever her name is, doesn’t seem to mind his answer though, because her face scrunches in a giggle. His body is hot and throbbing with more than drink now, and he wants to hear that sound again but his brain has stopped working.

“Is that so different from you absorbin’ alcohol through your bloodstream?” she muses, finishing off whatever is in her short tumbler.

“Can I buy your next round?” he blurts rather than responding to her question, which he’s almost certain was rhetorical.

Her smile melts into something softer, something private and a little shy. “If you’d like.”

“I do.” He flags down the bartender and glances at his new companion expectantly.

“Gin and tonic,” she says. She thanks the bartender, then James when she takes her first sip. “I’m Rose, by the way.”

“James,” he says, feeling stupid because his face is plastered all over London, which likes to boast that it’s the home of international celeb James Noble. But wouldn’t he seem more of an arse if he just assumed this gorgeous woman knew who he was?

Nevertheless, his stomach sinks a bit when she snorts into her drink and says, “I thought it was you.”

“Yup, it’s me,” he forces, his voice flat. He hides his frown with his glass, knocking back the rest of his sidecar like it’s a shot. The room sways slightly with the violent motion of his head, and maybe he’s slightly drunker than he’d thought.

If Rose catches on to his sudden sour mood, she doesn’t mention it. “What brings you here to Bad Wolf?”

He shrugs and blows out a noisy breath. “I dunno. Went for a walk, ended up here.”

“Those are the best sort of adventures.” She hums wistfully. “Sometimes you find what you didn’t know you needed when you let yourself get lost.”

That observation is far too astute for his current state of mind, so instead he says, “Would you like to dance with me?”

Her eyes flicker across his face for a brief moment before she says, “Okay.”

He hops down from his stool, but Rose hesitates, clutching her purse and coat awkwardly. The bartender helpfully tells her to keep them on her stool, and he’ll keep an eye on it. Rose flashes him a grin that James would rather she flash at him, but he realizes that is utterly absurd, so he simply rests his coat on top of her things to better hide them from view. He then holds out his hand for her. Her palm is soft and warm against his as he leads her to the crowded dance floor.

They find space towards the back of the pub, hidden in the shadows of a hallway that states it’s closed off to patrons. And of course, of fucking course, right when he rests his hands on her hips to find the rhythm of the song, a new one comes on, and his own voice belts from the speakers.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters. He loves his music—he made it, after all—but he can’t help but feel pretentious and more than a little silly to dance to it like this.

Rose, however, grins and says, “Oh, come on, this is one of my favorites.”

She catches his hands where he’d loosened them at her waist and forces him to grab hold of her. She’s wearing high-waisted trousers and a top that leaves a sliver of her belly exposed. His thumb grazes the skin of her bare side, and it’s enough to send tingles through his body. Rose, meanwhile, slings her arms around his shoulders and begins to rock her hips from side to side in sync with the bass, embellishing the motions until she looks absolutely ridiculous but so, so beautiful.

He can’t help but grin and laugh, and he mirrors her movements until they’re both dancing like idiots to his music.

“This is how my baby brother dances,” she explains, bouncing up and down while twisting her hips. “We have regular dance parties together.”

“How old’s your brother?” he asks.

“Just turned four.”

He blinks, and blood rushes from his face. “And… and how old are you?”

“A perfectly legal twenty-four,” she drawls, reaching up to flick his nose. “You can start breathing again.”

Thank fuck.

“That’s quite the age gap.”

“My mum got remarried when I was nineteen,” Rose says with a shrug. “She and my stepdad didn’t waste much time.”

“Clearly,” he mutters under his breath.

“It does feel a bit like they’ve started over,” Rose confesses with a too-stiff shrug. “New family, new life, and I’m the interloper.

There is no way this vivacious woman in front of him could ever be considered an interloper, but before he can tell her that, she continues, “Mum does her best to assure me otherwise, but still. It’s hard to watch all the things Mum and Dad are able to do for Tony—that’s my brother, Tony—when Mum struggled so much as a single mum with me.”

“Your dad’s not in the picture?”

A sad smile pinches her face, and he regrets asking.

“No, I never knew him. He died when I was a baby.”

“I… I’m so sorry.” Well, he’s totally buggered this all up, hasn’t he? He wracks his brain on how to salvage the easy banter they’d had at the bar, but draws a blank.

Rose seems to realize they’ve lost the mood, but she breaks out into a lazy grin and says, “Since you seemed so opposed to dancing to your own music, it’ll please you to know a new song’s on. C’mon, show me your moves.”

He’s not going to look a gift horse in the mouth, and so he follows her lead, watching her dance her heart out until her cheeks are pink and her hair is damp with sweat. He’s sure he doesn’t look much better, since he can feel the perspiration beading down his back and beneath his arms, but he can’t bring himself to care. Tonight has been the most fun he’s had in a very long time. Clubbing in New York had been a lark, but he’s been swarmed by his American fans half the night, and had been busy drowning his latest heartbreak to fully enjoy it. But here, now, with Rose, it’s like he’s any other bloke in a pub, chatting up a pretty girl he wants to get to know.

Their bodies are wrapped around each other with the ease and grace of partners who have known each other for years, and he forgets that he has known Rose for all of a few hours. He never wants this night to end. He wants to cling to this fairytale and pretend that the clock isn’t about to strike the proverbial midnight.

But time marches on as always. The clock really does strike midnight, and the bartender begins to clear people out of his establishment. James is as exhausted as he is exhilarated, no longer drunk on booze but rather the company of Rose and the magic they made together by simply dancing the night away.

They head back to the bar to retrieve their coats and her purse, and to close out their tabs. James slides his credit card to the bartender and asks him to charge everyone’s tab to his card. If the bartender is surprised, he hides it well. A few minutes later, James is signing off on the receipt of purchase of several thousand pounds-worth of alcohol. His personal assistant is sure to be confused as hell when she wakes up to see the charge. He fires off a quick warning text to her so she doesn’t open up a fraudulent charge claim.

James salutes the bartender, knowing he’ll come back to this pub as often as he can until he’s found out and this place once again becomes somewhere that’s overrun with his fans.

The night is refreshingly cold when he and Rose emerge into it, a nice change after the stifling, sweaty heat of the bar. However, she hunches her shoulders against the chill, prompting him to wrap his arm around her waist and tug her into his side, all too eager to lend her some of his body heat.

“Can I walk you somewhere?” he asks, glancing around the street that is now full of the drunken patrons who’d been in the pub with them. They all disperse in different directions, stumbling home or to a different bar that is still open. “Or wait with you ‘til you catch a cab?”

“Yeah, sure,” she says, pulling up her phone to order a ride. She taps on the screen for a few quiet moments then says, “Done. Should be here in a few minutes.”

They descend into a slightly awkward silence that James wants to break, but he can’t think of anything clever to say. So he says nothing, and finally headlights wash over them, momentarily blinding them before a taxi pulls up.

“D’you wanna share?” she asks, opening the door to the back seat.

Is she as reluctant to leave him as he is to leave her? Or is she being polite and eco-friendly by ride sharing? Nevertheless, he nods and slides into the back seat beside her.

There is something incredibly intimate about sitting with Rose in the dark interior of the taxi, and he feels like he’s fifteen and wondering how to hold his date’s hand after a cheap night out at the cinemas. He fists his hands together, knotting his fingers until his knuckles pop.

The driver goes to the address Rose provides first, and all too soon they’ve arrived.

“I’ll cover the fare,” he says when she makes to hand over some bank notes to the diver. “It’d be my pleasure.”

She hesitates, but nods, then opens the door to climb out of the car. His pulse quickens as he watches her walk away with nothing but a, “Goodnight.”

“Can you wait just a minute?” he asks the driver.

“Meter’s still runnin’,” he grunts.

“That’s fine.”

James scrambles out of the taxi. “Hey, Rose?”

She turns back to face him, frowning.

“I… er… I had a great time tonight,” he says lamely, but her frown relaxes into a smile. “It was fun. With you. I had fun.”

“Yeah, me too,” she answers.

He licks his lips; his mouth is bone dry and his pulse pounds in his ears, making his vision throb with each frenzied beat.

“Do you… do you maybe wanna do it again some time? Hang out together? I… I’d really like to see you again,” he says, cursing his clumsy, fumbling words.

She scrutinizes him for a long moment, her expression indecipherable. His stomach sinks. Maybe this was a one-off, a story for her to tell her mates.

You’ll never guess who I met at the pub last night. James Noble! He paid for all my drinks and we danced like idiots.

He stews in his misery of doubt, and just when he’s about to tell her to forget about it, she slowly nods.

“Yeah, okay. I’d like that.”

“Really?” he asks, a hopeful edge creeping into his voice.

She laughs. “Really.”

“Brilliant!” James fumbles in his pocket for his phone, and he thrusts it at her. “Give me your number? I’ll text you. Or call.”

He rocks back and forth on his toes and heels, waiting for her to finish up with his phone. He has a sudden, potent bolt of panic that she’s snooping through his private messages or photographs for something to use against him to make a quick profit, but before that panic can take root, she hands his mobile back to him. It’s open to a new texting conversation.

From: 🌹 Bad Wolf Girl 🌹

Now I’ve got your number too 😉

He beams at the name she’s given to herself in his contacts, then he pockets his phone.

“I’ll see you later,” he says.

“You better,” she replies with that knee-weakening smile he’s grown to love over the course of the night. “See ya.”

“Bye.”

He stands there like a moron until she’s safely inside, then he turns back to the taxi and climbs in. The deserted streets streak by as the driver takes him to his neighborhood. He never gives his address though; he always chooses a destination a few streets away, just in case.

James generously tips the driver and bids him goodnight before slipping into the night to his home. He was right: the paparazzi are gone. There is no fanfare as he slips his key into the lock and lets himself into his house. It’s warm and cozy, but still too quiet for his liking.

Between the plane ride and his night out, he feels greasy and disgusting, and indulges in a hot shower before bed. He washes Rose’s scent off of his body, an intoxicating blend of jasmine and vanilla that’s as sweet as it is musky.

He’s groggy by the time he crawls into his giant, king-sized bed and burrows deep into his mounds of pillows and duvets. One of his ex-girlfriends once teased that he turns into the marshmallow man when he sleeps.

His sleep is deep and dreamless, and when he awakes with the sun the following morning, he feels more refreshed and invigorated than he ever remembers being. He’s got a full day of meetings with his songwriting team to brainstorm his next album, and he is ready.

But first, he checks his phone. There’s nothing from Rose, which makes him a little sad, but also nothing from his publicist, which is always a good sign. If ever she messages or calls him first thing in the morning, it always means there’s some sort of dumpster fire to put out. Usually a dumpster fire full of compromising photos of him.

He makes a point of not Googling himself, but he does occasionally check his social media pages for new posts about him, wanting to know when, where, and how his fans came across him in the wild. He easily finds the photo that he took with the group of teenage girls, and makes a point to like the original post and type a quick, “Nice to meet you all. Thanks for chatting with me last night - J” in the comments section. He snorts to himself as his comment blows up within seconds.

But other than some grainy photos of him riding the bus, he can’t find any other photos of himself. Nothing of him wandering the streets or drinking in the pub or even having a wee in the mens’ room. And best of all, there’s nothing of him and Rose. No photos of them dancing together or sharing a cab. If Rose has a social media account, it didn’t post any sneaky photos or bragging stories about dancing all night with James Noble.

He can’t quite believe it; he managed to have a fun night out drinking without it all being thrown back in his face the next morning. Within seconds, he’s grinning to himself and pulling up Rose’s contact information. It’s still in his phone, further proof that his night with her wasn’t some sort of jetlagged fever dream. She was real.

“Good morning. I hope you slept well. Thanks for last night.”

She responds almost instantly. Good morning to you too. I should be thanking you for paying my drink tab and taxi fare 😉 And for being an excellent dance partner.

“The pleasure was all mine, on all counts.” He sends that message, then types out a new one, “I’m gonna be in meetings all day (yes, I know it’s Sunday), so please don’t be discouraged if I don’t reply. But I’d really like to see you again. Want to do dinner or drinks or coffee or something?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, needing to make himself presentable for when his driver picks him up in an hour. Yet he can’t help but check his phone every three seconds, until finally there’s a message from Rose.

Yeah, I’d like that. I work ‘til five most nights, but I’m free after that. Or we can wait ‘til the weekend.

With spirits lighter than they’ve been in months, James steps out of his house with a broad, stupid grin that the ever-present crowd of paparazzi are all too happy to photograph.

#ficandchips #dwfic #doctorroseprompts #doctor who #ten x rose #ten x rose au #james x rose #yet another iteration of james and rose lmao #romance #meet cute #light angst #musician au #my fic #sacred new beginnings