#to have (who you think is) some stranger waltz in and just stake a claim on arguably the single most important thing in your life

[villainsidestep]

smth smth fawn’s self rivalry in the siblings!au

#gideon shut the hell up challenge #bc we keep randomly thinking abt how Absolutely Devastating the museum is in sibs!au it ofc led to #us thinking abt the heartache of having to see river take up the sidestep name #to have (who you think is) some stranger waltz in and just stake a claim on arguably the single most important thing in your life #(read: the sidestep name bc it’s all you have left of ur brothers) #BUT. then we started thinking abt how they Also take up the sidestep name again #and the agonizing self-loathing and Constant Mourning that they go through every time they commit a crime #bc it’s not just their own hero memory who they are corrupting and bastardizing but Their Brothers’…….. #fawn in the sibs!au is literally the equivalent of being so broken and bloodied and still dragging yourself onward #bc what other choice do you have? #ALSO !!!! bc we love to discuss fawn treating destroying the exhibition as a self-inflicted funeral. #knowing that in the sibs!au they probs only intended to remove their own self ?? but spare cyrus and river’s?? #except then cyrus goes and blows up the fucking museum !!!!!! #I know for a fact they’re too busy helping w evacuations to actually manage to detour and save any of it too #bc they def would’ve considered it. genuinely inconsolable later when ric talks to them abt it. #bc here’s the thing. it may not have happened in actual book canon but I know in my heart he would sit them down and explain that nothing #of the sidestep exhibit could be recovered. which is fine for Just fawn but when u include the brothers ??? absolutely not #angie also is the one who chases fawn off which makes it even more fun bc they Just run from her they don’t super fight #and genuinely…. idk if they could have right then !!!! I think they’d be way too distracted and shocked to manage it #keeping up with the beckers

[liliesoftherain]

Alstroemeria

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader; Midiroiya Izuku x Reader -- one sided bakugou x reader(or is it???????)

Genre: Fluff, Slight Angst? Mentions of unrequited love so 

Summary: Alstroemeria: This flower has an array of meanings...but the beautiful blooms always connect to a similar meaning of friendship, love, strength, and devotion. Someone should have mentioned that it doesn’t have to mean all of the above.

A/N: Hi y’all, enjoy this quick one-shot as I finish my next chapter. This is loosely based on the Bridgerton series? Mainly just a Victorian ball au? I just want to imagine Bakugou in a cute waistcoat I’m sorry. Izuku i an Earl and holds title cause his dad is gone. Katsuki is a Marquess cause he’s the son of a duke, as he should.

Part 2--Bakugou’s POV

----------

You’ve had time to get used to the ache of heartbreak.

Skillfully hiding the pain you feel behind a taut smile, you turn away from where he was dancing and sweep your eyes along the extravagant ballroom before you. It really is a wonderous sight; the crystal chandeliers are polished and sparkling, the lavish satin drapes are pulled back by golden ropes and allow the guests to watch the dancefloor without interference, and the professional musicians upon the raised lift play beautifully to set a magical mood. 

You’re no stranger to these elaborate formalities, yet this is the first season you were truly allowed to partake in the events. The fourth ball of the season is just as important as the first, allowing the suitors to try and claim the affections of their wanted--more like, just claim stake in any favorable lady they could. 

However, you have been groomed your entire life for an event such as this, and you were hardly in any position to complain. Yet, that doesn’t mean you were completely uncaring to the idea of being arranged into a loveless marriage. You so painfully wanted your husband to be someone you felt something for--you wanted your love-match. Alas, you weren’t in the position to gain anything of the sort, were you? Not while his attention was on her. 

“These are such a bore, are they not?”

You are shaken from your thoughts, locking on emerald eyes that brimmed with amusement, and you can’t help but grin at the sight. 

“Why, My Lord, dare say are you not entertained by all the ribbons and ascots?”

“I would say not--I prefer a plethora of feathers and exuberant ruffled fronts. Much more fashionable items.”

You share a laugh, the tension melting away the longer you were in the presence of your childhood friend: Izuku Midoriya. The Earl is and has always been a very kind soul, one who you would once spend countless hours with playing in the gardens, and even more so hosting tea and forcing him to attend. As a child, he was always rather timid and shy, easy to persuade into just about anything. Perhaps that is why you and Katsuki always got away with your harmless teasing--well, some teasing more harmless than not. 

He was always nearby, conceding you to put him through the girliest of activities, and yet he never complained. He often returned the favor by forcing you to study, presenting you with books on subjects you couldn’t even begin to understand, and allowed him to rant on about every and anything he found of interest. He was often your escort to most events--with the proper chaperone, of course--and force you to listen off as he rattled endlessly over different theories he came up with from his travels abroad. 

Katsuki wasn’t as fond of listening to his rambles as you were, and often would shut him up with a fencing match or something similar--anything that could have Katsuki physically overpower him to get him to, ‘stop talking for more than two bloody minutes.’ 

Yes, you three were once as thick as thieves--however now...

Your attention flickered back over to the Marquess; his blond locks wild and untamed, even though he was at such a prestigious event, and the endearing sight squeezed your heart as it was so him. He now stood off to the side, chatting away with the miss that has held his attention all night. She was rather beautiful, with long juniper locks and stunning sage eyes; it is no wonder Katsuki would be so bewitched. 

“May I?”

You glance down, seeing Izuku’s expectant hand, and grant him the remainder of your dances on your card. You try to smile, but it falters at his knowing look as his attention goes between you and his other friend. 

He leads you to the dancefloor, holding you tight as you both being to waltz a varsouvienne. You allow the music and his soft gaze to consume you, laughing and jesting as the night went on. Katsuki ends up in the furthest parts of your mind, almost forgotten.

“Pardon--”

Almost.

“Miss (l/n), a dance?” Katsuki stands before you, a friendly sneer on his face as he stares at your dance partner. “A real dance, anyways. Seeing as the ever graceful Izuku may as well have two left feet.”

“Oh, most amusing, Katsuki.” Izuku rolls his eyes, yet stays holding onto you.

You miss the quick glance of Katsuki’s eyes as they sweep over Izuku’s grip on your waist--instead, you offer a silent thanks for his comfort before giving a polite bow of your head. 

“Of course, Lord Bakugou.”

You take his outstretched hand and allow him to guide you away; he spins you once, then brings you back into his embrace. 

“How are you this evening, (y/n)?”

“Very well, My Lord.”

“Now why are you acting with such formalities? Have I not won over your friendship after all these years?” His brow furrows as you turn your head downward. “Tell me, what is it that troubles you?”

“It is nothing, Katsuki.” the upturn of your lips does little to put him at ease, “I am merely feeling the effects of dancing--that is all.”

“Why? Izuku and you had only danced a measly three times--and you know you have to dance with me.”

You let out a snort of amusement, remembering the promise you made to both men before the season first started of saving them at least one dance.

“Yes, of course, I always make sure to save one for you, do I not?” 

“You do.” He chuckles, before smiling at your head. “May I say, your hair looks lovely tonight--alstroemerias again? It suits you.”

He spins you around once more, slower than the first, and you spot Miss Setsuna from across the way. Her frown is prominent as she watches the waltz continue, and in some twisted way, you feel triumphant; you know she’s after his status, and his good looks didn’t hurt either. That’s what every woman was chasing, after all. That’s what you were supposed to be chasing--but that’s not what you want. 

You’ve been in love with Katsuki since you were both children. You loved the little boy who would take you on adventures throughout the grounds behind your estates. You loved the kid who used to pick you alstroemerias for your tea-parties--it is now why they adorn your gardens and your wardrobe. You loved the young man who would--begrudgingly--let you practice various dances on him until you got it just right. You loved the teen who would bring you various trinkets from his studies and travels, just because. You loved the man who never failed to make you feel worthy and respected in the highest regard of the meaning. 

You loved all of him. 

“Yes--they are my favorite flower, after all.”

The dance ends, and you both dip low in respect, and for a fleeting moment, you expect him to stay.

But that hope shatters the second he loses focus on you and gives it to her. You muster the strength to look away. 

“Thank you for the dance, My Lord. I hope you enjoy the rest of your night.” 

Without waiting on a response, you turn and swiftly make your leave. All you want to do is find your mother and go home, your heart unable to deal with any more pain. On your hasty exit, you end up crashing into someone.

“I, I am sorry,” you gasp, hoping that they said nothing in return so you could continue and get some fresh air.

Why was it so suffocating in here?

“(y/n)? Are you alright?”

Izuku places a firm grip upon your arms, holding you steady as your chest begins to rise and fall in quick breathes. He takes your form in worriedly and quickly moves to escort you to the balcony, where there is no crowd and fresh air. 

Leaning against the railing, you focus on the lush gardens below--on anything to get your mind of Katsuki. Yet it all is in vain, as the pin in your hair comes loose, and an alstroemeria falls right onto the back of your hand. 

Your bottom lip grows unsteady the longer you watch the flower, and you have to blink back the moisture that has begun to collect on your bottom lashes. You don’t understand why it all hurt so much--you’ve known from the start that receiving his affections was slim to none, yet you still held onto the dim idea that he could also return affections. 

You had been watering this seed--this notion--every day, and it only grew stronger and stronger; its stem growing as if it were a vine, seizing every part of your being until you were helpless to the damage it had caused. You are tired--your body, your heart, it all hurts and you want to give up, but you keep pushing for this flower to bloom because something good has to come of all of this hurt, right?

And something does, but what you thought was a beautiful flower of love, strength, and devotion, he only saw one of strength in friendship. 

He may not realize, but it’s killing you that you two are seeing two different sides of the same coin; the opposite sides of the looking glass, unable to get to the other, only able to present a false front instead of the entire truth of feelings as a whole. 

You don’t even realize the tears have started to fall from your face until you notice you were no longer staring down to the darkness below, and had begun to soak the coat of your companion. You pull away, just enough to look into his eyes, and you see the concern and care he holds for you. Leaning back into his embrace, you don’t give yourself another moment to think how scandalous it must look to be held so fondly by a man you weren’t wed to--you need this hug more than anything right now, and that’s enough reason for the both of you. 

Izuku mumbles soothing words of endearment, stroking your clothed back softly--and while you can’t feel his bare skin against yours, you still shiver at the touch. He’s warm, comforting, and you find yourself calming down in his hold. You pull back, creating enough distance to be acceptable, and grant him a watery smile. 

He stares back kindly, a gaze of adoration, as he pulls another of your beloved alstroemeria from the clip behind your ear. 

“What are you--”

Izuku sets it on the balcony ledge, then unclips the flower from his breast pocket, delicately placing it in the same spot.

“A primrose--I think it suits you quite well.” 

You bring a hand up, briefly brushing over the soft petals before searching his expression for an answer. His smile only grows fonder, and he takes your hand away from the primrose and raises it to his mouth for a tender kiss on your hand. 

“Izuku…”

“If the Lady is willing to accept, may I be so bold as to call upon her tomorrow?”

One hand starts to fiddle with the fabric against your waist, suddenly feeling rather nervous as he continues to hold you other as he awaits your response. Your tongue darts out to lick your suddenly dry lips, a bashful smile forming right after.

“Of course, My Lord.”

“Fantastic,” he whispers, letting your hand fall back to your side as he stares with disbelief at your agreeance--you laugh at his wide-eyed look, “Then let me escort you inside, I do not wish to keep you any longer than you would like.”

You consent, taking his arm as he walks you back into the ballroom. For the first time that night--for the first time ever in fact--your mind is far from the Marquess, and you’re not concerned about it. 

So much so, you don’t notice the distraught-looking man leaving the balcony right before you both, nor the falling alstroemeria right after.

-----

Primrose: These flowers are seen as representations of young love and of feeling as though you can’t live without your lover. 

“...is the most overlooked flower when it comes to romantic flowers...”

#bnha #bnha x reader #mha #mha x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #izuku x reader #midoriya x reader #midoriya izuku x reader #deku #deku x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou x reader #bnha angst #bnha fluff #bnha bridgerton au #bridgerton au #mha bridgerton au #idk au #i thought of bakugou in a fancy coat #and ballroom dancing #and boom' #this babe was born #why do i always make these two fight over reader??? #ugh i love them idk #i say alstroemeria a lot #like #A LOT #im sorry

[kurowrites]

Snow - Chapter 6

Entire fic. AO3. 

---

“You did WHAT?” Nie Huaisang screeches the next Monday during lunch, and Wei Ying has to hastily shush him unless he wants even the hindmost person in the cafeteria to know what Wei Ying has been doing this weekend.

With his luck, Lan Qiren will waltz past them in the worst moment and hear what Wei Ying has been doing with his nephew, and it probably won’t end well for anybody involved. Not that he thinks Lan Qiren will deign to dine in this cheapt little cafeteria, but you never know. Stranger things have happened. Like getting picked up by a snow prince.

“Wei-xiong,” Nie Huaisang says as he leans forward. His voice is lower now, but his eyes still gleam with eagerness and the promise of scandal. “I have been hoping that you will find a decent partner for a long time now. You’ve been single all this time, I was getting worried! You never showed a real interest in anybody, even when I introduced you to those excellent soccer players. Still a waste, by the way, if you ask me. But anyway. I certainly admire your enterprising spirit. Still, though… making the nephew of Lan Qiren your sugar daddy? That’s both very impressive and rather worrying.”

Wei Ying laughs nervously. “What? Lan Zhan isn’t my sugar daddy.”

Nie Huaisang emphatically raises his eyebrows.

“Wei-xiong,” he says, and he sounds far too entertained for Wei Ying’s taste. “Let me recount. He got you a taxi drive home when you were sick and took care of you. He came to check up on you the next day. He got groceries for you. Twice. He got you new pyjamas, new bedsheets, new kitchen appliances, and other things. He took you out to a well-known spot for coffee dates. You went to bed with him within two days of your acquaintance. He’ll probably get you anything if you ask for it, and make proper use of your assets. That’s a sugar daddy. And you got yourself a really rich and really generous one by sheer dumb luck. I can’t believe you.”

Wei Ying gapes a little. He hasn’t really thought about their relationship so far, has mostly been too immersed in Lan Zhan himself to think about what it is that they’re doing. If this is even a relationship. Can be called one.

He thinks about it now. Lan Zhan has indeed bought him a lot of things, more things than he needs, really. Case in point: the extremely comfortable but completely ludicrous dressing gown. In return, he wants – Wei Ying. Wei Ying has even teased him for it, has made a joke of Lan Zhan wanting him. But it’s obvious, on second thought. Lan Zhan is willing to pay for him, is willing to spoil Wei Ying, as long as Lan Zhan gets what he wants. As long as Wei Ying gives him what he wants.

A strange, cold feeling settles in his chest.

Well, he thinks to himself, he can’t really complain, can he? He got so many things already, and Lan Zhan has treated him like a perfect gentleman. But then – why would Lan Zhan go for a sugar baby rather than an ordinary romantic partner? Is he trying to avoid future complications, planning to get rid of his partners easily and without complaints whenever they have fulfilled their use?

Maybe he has misjudged Lan Zhan’s taciturn character. Maybe Wei Ying simply assumed he cares about Wei Ying as a person, but he really just wants an uncomplicated person to… to fuck. It’s not unheard of. It’s a possibility.

But then, the rabbit. It was such a thoughtful gift, after they had talked about keeping rabbits. After Wei Ying had told him that he didn’t want to be alone. On the other hand, Lan Zhan might do this with all of his partners. Wei Ying might not be the first.

Wei Ying mulls the entire thing over, but he can’t find a proper solution. He obviously feels inclined to think that Lan Zhan truly likes him, but how many men and women have deluded themselves into seeing things in a relationship that simply weren’t there? He would certainly not be the first to make that mistake.

What he can’t deny, however, is that from an outside perspective, their relationship really looks like Lan Zhan is his sugar daddy. Who is spending a lot of money on him.

Nie Huaisang comfortingly pats his hand.

“All in all,” he says lightly. “I think you should enjoy it. Who knows how long it will last? So, enjoy it, but be prepared.”

Be prepared that Lan Zhan can end this relationship whenever he pleases. Nie Huaisang doesn’t have to spell it out for Wei Ying to understand. He’s not the one who’s holding the power in his hands in this relationship.

God, he behaved so stupidly on Saturday!

“Huaisaaaang,” he whines, leaning over the table to beg for Nie Huaisang’s sympathy. “Comfort me.”

Nie Huasiang laughs, amused as he always is with Wei Ying’s antics. “There, there. There is nothing to comfort, you’re in an enviable position.”

The next thing he knows, there’s a presence right next to him. A hand lands on the back of his neck, squeezing once, before long fingers tilt his chin up and around. He follows the movement and sees – Lan Zhan.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying exclaims with surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“You told me where you are,” Lan Zhan replies. There’s a tiny frown on his face, Wei Ying notices. “I came in search of you.”

Despite the fact that Nie Huaisang just explained to him the he shouldn’t get too attached to Lan Zhan, he can’t help but beam up at Lan Zhan, happy that Lan Zhan came to find him.

“Ehehehe,” he laughs. “I’m so happy.”

Lan Zhan doesn’t respond, but his thumb moves to trace the line of Wei Ying’s jaw. He tries not to shiver in pleasure.

“Who is your friend?” Lan Zhan asks after a moment, turning his eyes towards Nie Huaisang.

Nie Huaisang squeaks a little and makes himself small.

“Oh, sorry,” Wei Ying apologises. He forgot for a moment that Nie Huaisang was there at all. Oops. “This is my study buddy, Nie Huaisang. I say study buddy, but we mostly just have lunch together and gossip. Nie Huaisang, this is Lan Zhan.”

Nie Huaisang looks nervously back and forth between Lan Zhan, who is still staring at him, and Wei Ying, who still has Lan Zhan’s hand firmly attached to his neck. If Wei Ying didn’t know better, he would say that Lan Zhan is jealous and trying to stake his claim. But that notion is ridiculous.

“Uh… nice to meet you, Lan er-gongzi,” Nie Huaisang eventually manages to say. “I think you’re familiar with my brother, Nie Mingjue? He’s been friends with Lan Huan for a long time.”

“You are the brother of Nie Mingjue?” Lan Zhan asks, and traces his fingers along Wei Ying’s neck in a light caress. This time, the shiver is definitely there. “Give him my best regards.”

Having apparently lost all interest in Nie Huaisang and any further conversation with him, he turns back towards Wei Ying.

“Are you free today?”

“I’m off at five,” Wei Ying replies. “After that, I’m free.”

“Good,” Lan Zhan says, and Wei Ying feels inordinately happy at pleasing Lan Zhan. “I will pick you up at five, then.”

With a last lingering touch on Wei Ying’s jaw, Lan Zhan lets go of him and vanishes again, the crowd in the cafeteria parting in front of him like the sea parted in front of Moses.

“Wow,” Nie Huaisang says, once Lan Zhan is safely out of sight and hearing. “What the hell was that?”

Honestly, Wei Ying would like to know, too.

---

When Wei Ying leaves his office that evening, he finds Lan Zhan already waiting for him. And even though he had the entire afternoon to prepare him for this moment, to come to terms with the fact that Lan Zhan is his sugar daddy and not… whatever Wei Ying imagined he was, his heart cannot help but beat faster the moment he catches sight of that tall figure in white.

“Lan Zhan!” he calls out, and Lan Zhan turns towards him. He doesn’t smile, doesn’t greet back, but somehow, it’s as easy as breathing to just fly right into Lan Zhan’s arms. When he remembers that he should maybe tread a little more carefully, Lan Zhan is already embracing him.

It’s the best feeling in the world.

“How was work?” Lan Zhan asks.

“Fine, fine,” Wei Ying says dismissively. Who wants to talk about work now? “I was looking forward to seeing you.”

“Hn.”

Wei Ying squirms a bit in Lan Zhan’s arms until he can look up at him properly. Lan Zhan seems to have no intent of letting him go soon, and seems perfectly fine to intimately hug another man in a public space where everyone, including his uncle, might see him.

But as long as Lan Zhan doesn’t mind, Wei Ying won’t mind it, either.

“Hi,” he says, unable to stop looking into Lan Zhan’s gorgeous, luminous eyes.

“Welcome back, Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan replies, and Wei Ying has to laugh a little. It’s such a ridiculous greeting! But he loves it. He likes everything about Lan Zhan. Maybe Nie Huaisang is wrong, and Lan Zhan will never want to let him go.

He wonders if there’s some kind of rule about marrying your sugar baby.

“So, Lan er-gongzi,” he says, imitating Nie Huaisang’s style of address from lunch. “What have you planned this lovely evening?”

“I made a reservation for dinner,” Lan Zhan replies.

“Oh, you’re taking me out?”

“Hn.”

There is a moment of pronounced silence, and Wei Ying raises his eyebrows in expectation.

“And?”

Lan Zhan breathes the tiniest little sigh.

“I was hoping you will stay with me tonight. At my home.”

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying teases. “So forward!”

He squeezes Lan Zhan once, to show that he’s not serious.

“I’ll gladly come over, though.”

Lan Zhan gives him a soft kiss as reward for his favourable answer, and brings him to a taxi that’s already waiting for them.

They are deposited in front of a slightly upscale restaurant that’s well-known for the specialty dishes they serve. Lan Zhan reserved a private table for them, and Wei Ying has such a good time eating delicious food in their little booth that he forgets about everything else. Like that he should keep the things in mind that Nie Huaisang told him during lunch.

Lan Zhan orders another taxi to take them home, and Wei Ying finds out that “home” is not a modern high-rise apartment like he expected, but an entire house, evidently quite old, but impeccably renovated and beautiful. Wei Ying gapes as Lan Zhan gives him a short tour through the different rooms, all decorated and furnished with utmost care. This is the first time he’s seen something like this outside of a museum setting. He hadn’t known places like this still existed.

“Lan Zhan,” he eventually says in wonder. “This is amazing.”

“It took many years to restore it faithfully,” Lan Zhan replies. “My brother lives here too, at least when he’s in town. He is travelling at the moment.”

Wei Ying smiles. It’s a very innocent way to say, “We’re on our own and can do whatever we want.”

Lan Zhan eventually leads him to the bathroom and lets him have free reign of the facilities. He has everything prepared for Wei Ying, too, from a toothbrush to a long red robe he’s apparently supposed to use as a nightgown. He’s a bit sceptical about that last part, but once he puts the robe on and considers himself in the mirror, he thinks he looks quite nice, actually. He turns in front of the mirror to look at his reflection from all angles, and yep. He might just want to seduce a man in this one.

He hesitates for a moment before he leaves the bathroom. He knows he would do well to remember Nie Huaisang’s warning during lunch. Who knows how long this will last? Who knows how badly hurt Wei Ying will get if he isn’t careful now?

But it doesn’t matter, does it? It’s already too late. Even if he walks away now, he will be hurt. Whatever Lan Zhan’s plans may be, here is nothing that can save Wei Ying from heartache now. He might as well enjoy it for as long as he can.

With determination, he opens the door.

Lan Zhan also uses the bathroom and eventually comes to find him, dressed in a robe too, only his is white. It suits him, just as everything else that he decides to put on his body suits him. He only has to send Wei Ying one single look, and Wei Ying is already sufficiently seduced. Dammit. Lan Zhan makes him lose all perspective. He just wants Lan Zhan to take him to bed, hopes that Lan Zhan will take him to bed.

Lan Zhan silently holds out a hand to him, and Wei Ying takes it, lets himself be led to Lan Zhan’s beautiful bedroom. It’s so easy to follow Lan Zhan’s directions, to lie down on the soft sheets of his bed, to let Lan Zhan open the tie at the waist of Wei Ying’s robe.

He enjoys Lan Zhan’s burning gaze as he uncovers Wei Ying’s naked skin, as he softly traces the outline of his body. He moans when Lan Zhan places little kisses and bites everywhere, begs for more, begs for Lan Zhan to bite him so hard that it will hurt. He wants to have a memento of this. Lan Zhan obeys, and leaves his traces in the crook of Wei Ying’s neck, shoulders, the flesh above his hips, and the insides of his thighs.

He takes Wei Ying apart so beautifully, so perfectly. His fingers trail his skin like fire, his breath on Wei Ying’s bare skin is torture. Wei Ying has no doubts. When Lan Zhan slowly works him open, readies Wei Ying’s body for him, Wei Ying is certain. When Lan Zhan finally pushes into him, and starts rocking him gently, Wei Ying knows he’s done for.

He will never, ever be able to have another man.

He will never be able to feel all that he inexplicably feels for this man for anyone else again.

He can’t believe that he was done in so easily. That two days of caretaking and some groceries did the trick.

He holds onto Lan Zhan tightly and whispers nonsense into his ear, encouraging him to take Wei Ying apart completely, to make him his, and his only. When he finally does come apart, splintering into a thousand pieces in Lan Zhan’s skilful hands, he only hopes that Lan Zhan returns at least a tiny part of the love that Wei Ying feels for him.

#kuro writes #the untamed #wei wuxian #lan wangji #wangxian #mdzs #snow fic

[the--sad--hatter]

Game Of Survival - 9 (Bucky x Reader)

@jsmith509

FANDOM - MARVEL

PAIRING - BUCKY X FEM!READER

WARNINGS - SMUT, VIOLENCE, ANGST, VERY GRAPHIC BLOOD AND GORE, SWEARING, DRUGS AND ALCOHOL

DESCRIPTION -

The Executioner - Killer of Killers, the monster that hunts monsters, the bad-guys bogeyman.

It’s a title you earned and one that you cherish. Your goals are justified, your methods are not. But when a simple murder turns into a suicide and you are left clutching a flash drive with a terrible secret on it, you find yourself caught up in a mystery that you can’t solve alone. You turn to the professionals, the experts, the heroes. The Avengers.

With the lives of everyone in the world suddenly at stake, Earth’s Mightiest Heroes have no choice but accept your help and Bucky Barnes quickly finds himself drawn in by you. He never much believed in love, let alone love at first sight so it figures he’d be proven wrong in such a spectacular way.

Masterlist

Chapter Nine

Once you were in the suite you gave it a thorough checking over, looking for anything out of the ordinary. The bedroom/lounge were clean, as was the bathroom and you went about stowing weapons around the room before you set up the laptop that had been in your small go bag.

You quickly identified the local WiFi’s available and decided on one for a bookshop a couple of doors down, clicking on it with the encryption program you were running so the IP would be run through several countries in a longs, convoluted loop. You logged into the cuisine blog you’d set up and clicked on the inbox, scrolling through the messages. No leads yet, but it had only been an hour or so since you’d left your bloody request. With a few strokes of the keyboard you quickly looked through all your assets and made sure everything was in order before you turned the screen to black and grabbed a change of clothes and headed for the shower.

 You were in the process of rinsing conditioner out of your hair when you heard Bucky come in the room, calling out to let you know it was him.

 “We need to talk.” He said as soon as you walked into the room, dressed in sweatpants and a tanktop and towel drying your hair.

 “They wouldn’t have let me in if I had you with me. Best case scenario they would have thought you were a stranger, worst case scenario they would have recognized you.” You told him coolly.

 He wasn’t thrown by the fact that you automatically knew exactly what he wanted to talk about, both of you knew the conversation was inevitable.

 “Did you know you were going to kill someone before you went in?” He asked, staring you down with unrestrained ire.  

 “Yes.” You said simply.

 “Are you sure that’s not the reason you left me behind?” He challenged.

 “Would you have just stood by and let me do it?” You challenged back teasingly.

 “You think you’re the only killer here? Everyone on The Avengers has blood on our hands, some of us more than others.” He snapped.

 “If you have to kill someone you’ll do it, I know. But you don’t take pleasure in it, I do. You might have let me kill her but you would have drawn the line at me pinning her down and cutting her tongue out and forcing her to choke to death on her own blood. Or am I wrong about you?” You flung the towel down and met his eye, waiting for him to back down.

 “You might take pleasure in what you do but that’s not why you do it. You killed ‘her’ that way for a reason, for a purpose. I wouldn’t have stopped you.”

 “Easy to say that after the fact but you and your merry men are far too uncomfortable with what I do to sanction it.” You told him.

 “It’s not the things you do or even how you do them that makes them feel uncomfortable. It’s the lack of remorse. People love their guilt, they get attached to their demons and then you waltz in, stained with blood and not a trace of regret in your eyes. It’s disconcerting.” He tried to explain, almost desperate to make you understand.

 “Are you attached to your demons Bucky?” You asked him.

 “I’m learning to live with them. The question is doll, where the hell are your demons?” He rebutted.

 “I am my demons.”

  ~~~~~~~~~~Fifteen Years Ago~~~~~~~~~~

 There was an axe hanging over your head and you were waiting for it to drop.

 It wasn’t a metaphor.

 It had been six hours that you’d been stood there, waiting for the rope to be cut and the axe to fall.

 “If you fail this test, you will die. Do not fail.” Your father told you before he left the room.

 As you waited you listened. Voices carried in old houses like these and you could hear most of what was being discussed in your father office next door.

 “You’re too harsh with the girl, you’re going to break her before she even comes of age and then where will we be? It’s not as if you can produce another heir, not one that can unite the clans anyway.” Your uncle warned.

 “She is my only hope for a legacy, I would rather see her die than let my legacy pass to someone unworthy. If you commit to something you must remain unwavering in your resolve. Once you turn down a path there is no turning back. It is dangerous to allow yourself the luxury of changing your mind, it leads to self-doubt and self-doubt leads to mistakes.” Your father replied calmly.

 When he spoke there was an eerie silence that followed and the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end.

 The axe dropped.

 Your father and uncle opened the door between the rooms to see you stood there, holding the axe in your hands.

 “She didn’t move until it fell and she caught it.” One of your fathers goons, the one who had been charged with watching you reported.

 “Well done. You have completed your education, now you are ready to learn from me. From now on, I will teach you. You will learn everything I know.” You father decreed.

  ~~~~~~~~~~Today~~~~~~~~~

 “Where the hell did you come from Ex? What’s your story?” He asked you, advancing on you until you were forced to crane your neck to look up at him.

 “It doesn’t really matter. What I am isn’t a result of how I was raised Bucky. The fact I do what I do so well is because of my upbringing, but what I am was a choice.” You sighed.

 “If it’s a choice, you can change your mind.” He implored.

 “I didn’t say it was my choice.” You laughed humourlessly.

 “Your fathers?” He guessed.

 “No. I wanted to be what you’re trying to make me into, once upon a time. But a very smart man told me I wasn’t a hero and he was right.” You said heavily, something almost close to remorse flitting across your face as you spoke.

 “Who?” He frowned.

 “It doesn’t matter, he’s dead.” You said, clenching your jaw.

 “It matters if he’s still in your head.” Bucky told you softly.

 Your expression went cold and you huffed out disappointedly at him, shaking your head wryly.

 “You claim to be ok with what I do but the second you sensed a weakness, you pounced.” You chastised.

 Bucky stormed away when he realized you’d played him again. Your little moment of sadness for what could have been was a test and he’d failed. Every conversation he had with you solved a little bit more of the puzzle but somehow he always ended up with even more pieces to try and find a place for, more to solve. But the more complicated it got, the more he wanted, the more he needed to figure it out.

 You ignored his inner struggle and typed in the password to unlock your laptop, checking the inbox.

 There was one message there. One important message.

 “Just give me something, anything.” He pleaded.

 “What?” You frowned.

 “Tell me something true, something real about you.”

 “I can tell you The Executioner will kill again, tonight. We have a lead. Are you in or are you ready to admit defeat and go home?”

 “Tell me one thing about you, just one. Prove to me that this isn’t just some game to you and I’ll come with you tonight and I’ll do things your way.” He offered.

 You knew he was changing tactics but you couldn’t quite figure out what his new angle was and that excited you.  

 You smirked as you mulled it over, deciding whether or not to grant his request. You crossed the room to him, noting how he froze the closer you were to him until he was perfectly still as you stretched up, your lips brushing against his ear as you whispered a single word to him. His sharp intake of breath was loud in the otherwise silent room as he realized what you had said, what you had told him and he looked down at you with wonder.

 You had just told him your name.

_______________________________________________________

This chapter ended up shorter because the name reveal lost it's impact if I tried to make it longer. The next chapter will be longer and more actioney.

Bucky and Ex are apparently both playing their own games, I wonder how that's going to play out?

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[artificialqueens]

nobody knows where we might end up, chapter eighteen (branjie) - holtzmanns

(read on ao3) | (tumblr: plastiquetiaras) | word count: 4710

AN: The penultimate chapter - it’s hard to believe that this fic will be over by next week. This fic has really pushed me with plot development and storytelling, and I’m so grateful for it. Enjoy this doozy of a chapter. Thank you all for the sweet sweet feedback and reviews, they truly motivate me so much and make me so happy. Writ is the best beta one could ask for <3

(then)

It’s just a Skype interview.

Vanessa can do it.

A Skype interview. She doesn’t have to fly to California or anything for it, either. She just has to wear a nice button down shirt and a blazer, do her makeup and sit in front of the webcam on her computer to try and impress an admissions committee approximately four thousand kilometers and three timezones away.

She’s more confident this time around. The humming in her veins is less so that of nerves about embarrassing herself, and more so her brain running through possible questions that she’s already practiced, her potential answers already rolling off her tongue.

Vanessa’s done this once already. She’s been through this process.

This time, she’s going to do it right.

She doesn’t have to worry about being interrupted, either. The kitties are asleep on the bed and Riley’s resting by her feet, and Brooke, well…

Vanessa doesn’t know where Brooke is. Probably class? Maybe the library?

There’s a tiny voice in Vanessa’s brain that reminds her of how her and Brooke always used to be hung up on each other, even when they were busy. Constantly texting, sending each other funny pictures from things they encountered on campus. The way that Vanessa would always snap a photo of the weird foods the guy in front of her in organic chemistry would always bring to lecture, just to brighten Brooke’s day while she was stuck in her human biology lab.

Hell, the last person she’s texted is her mom. Before that, Silky. Before that, A’keria.

She hasn’t texted Brooke since three days ago when Brooke told her to clean out the fridge when she had time.

Vanessa doesn’t need Brooke for this interview. She doesn’t need any help in preparing, she’s done it herself.

And she’s going to keep doing it, too. Because she’s strong enough, smart enough, if the last year has taught her anything.

If it doesn’t work?

Well, there’s always nursing school.

“Thank you, Vanessa. It’s been wonderful talking with you and hearing your perspective, especially from the lens of being part of our neighbours to the north, with a differing healthcare system. You absolutely possess qualities that we value in prospective students.” The woman from the panel on Vanessa’s screen sounds happy, actually happy, and Vanessa has to press her palms onto her knees to keep herself from pumping her first.

She’s done well. First interview of many, and she’s done well.

It feels like retribution. Like she’s reclaiming what’s been taken from her, but doing it with her own spin. Making her mark. Staking her claim on what she’s been working so hard towards.

Vanessa’s going to get it. One way or another, she’s going to start med school in the fall.

She looks underneath the couch cushions, trying to find her cellphone. She’s gotta call her mom, tell her that she did well, that things are finally, finally coming together. If she’s done well with this Skype interview, who’s to say that she won’t with the interviews in person at all the Ontario universities? Vanessa feels like the Skype interview has given her a boost of confidence, pulling her off of the ground and towards the ceiling that’s been holding her back. And now, she’s going to break through it.

Vanessa grumbles when Riley gets up from his spot on the floor, because of course her phone had fallen on the ground earlier and he’d been sitting on it the entire time. Typical.

Her phone is already up to her ear and ringing when the front door bursts open, and there Brooke is, waltzing in and dropping her bag in the entrance and opening the fridge while…some strangers wait in the doorway?

Vanessa hangs up as Brooke turns to her, biting into an apple. “Oh, hey. Came to drop stuff out before heading out again.”

Vanessa wrinkles her brow. “Where are you-”

“The second year med students are planning some prank on the third years, apparently. Supposed to happen soon. We’re gonna go watch.” Brooke throws out the apple core as she finishes it, turning back towards the people at the door still shouldering their own backpacks.

“You ain’t even gonna introduce everyone?” So what if it comes out saltier than Vanessa intends it to be? It’s been a semester and a half that Brooke’s been in med school and Vanessa feels like that part of her life is completely separate, untouchable to her.

“Oh.” Brooke pauses. “Well. Steve, Jon, Aurora, Courtney. In that order. Everyone, this is Vanessa.”

The guy farthest on the right (Jon? Steve? Vanessa’s missed it), his arm around the guy beside him, lets out a noise that makes the normally loud Vanessa want to plug her own ears. “You! You’re Brooke’s girlfriend!”

“The one and only.” Or so Vanessa hopes. Not that she wants to go down that spiral.

“Honestly, we were beginning to think that you didn’t exist, from the way we’ve never seen you.”

“I may as well not.” Vanessa mutters it under her breath, so that they don’t hear. As much as she’d love to start shit right now and as much as she loves mess, she’s not gonna stoop low.

“Well, come along with Brooke to our library study sessions sometime. We get stuff done. Occasionally, at least.” The girl with the bleach blonde hair turns towards her friends. “Remember that time that B ordered pizza to the library? And we snuck it in and-”

“We ate it and hid it from the security guard under the table-”

“-that was hysterical.” They’re all cracking up, the lot of them, and Brooke is too, and Vanessa wants to disappear into the couch. More inside jokes that she’s not a part of. Probably will never be a part of, at least not in the same way that a group of friends sharing a med school class are a part of.

It’s fine.

“Yeah, sure, maybe.” The words leave Vanessa’s lips halfhearted, because really, does she want to go and hear about people that she doesn’t know and classes that she’s not part of, and generally feel like she’s still on the outside looking in?

Not really.

“Brooke?”

“Yeah?” Brooke looks surprised, almost, that Vanessa’s calling out to her. It could be due to the fact that they haven’t been speaking much over the last few weeks, or maybe not.

Who’s to know for sure, really?

But Vanessa’s interview went well, real well. And she kinda wants to share it with someone. Someone there in person, not just on the phone. “Can we talk for a sec?”

Brooke bites her lip, looking between her friends and her phone. “Um, can it wait? Just got the text from a girl in our class that everyone’s meeting outside Convocation Hall to watch. We gotta go.”

Sure, Vanessa expects it, because the two of them aren’t each other’s highest priority anymore. But it still fucking stings. She patches up the hole in her chest, the one looking for Brooke’s pride, Brooke’s approval, the one that preens under Brooke’s appreciative glance because she’s not going to get it anytime soon. “Yeah, sure, whatever.”

She could fight right now, yell at Brooke for being flippant. But does it matter? When Brooke probably won’t even give a shit?

It’s not like she really does these days, anyway.

The door closes behind them and Vanessa pats the couch, letting Riley jump onto it and curl up beside her. She buries her face into his fur as the sounds of talking get softer and softer down the hallway.  

Vanessa doesn’t feel like calling her mom anymore, either.

Brooke comes back when Vanessa’s already climbed into bed, reviewing her notes for her upcoming microbiology exam. Vanessa doesn’t want to look up, she really doesn’t, when Brooke climbs in beside her.

They don’t automatically snuggle into each other the way they used to. It’s like there’s an invisible wall between their sides of the bed, and Vanessa’s not sure which one of them keeps on adding the bricks on to it.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” Vanessa flips to another page of her review, trying her hardest to focus on the virus that she’s supposed to be studying, but can’t help pulling her eyes up.

“The second years set a bunch of chickens loose on the lawn in front of Convocation Hall as they left their lecture. It was hilarious.” Brooke lets out a small laugh, evidently remembering the sight in front of her. Not that Vanessa cares.

“Fun.”

“Yeah.” There’s an awkward pause, one that makes Vanessa want to fidget before Brooke speaks again. “You wanted to tell me something earlier?”

Oh. That.

“It doesn’t matter.” Vanessa mumbles the words as she turns another page over, because it really fucking doesn’t. Brooke didn’t care enough a couple hours ago. She doesn’t care now.

Vanessa doesn’t need any reactions or cheering from her.

“What? Just tell me.” Brooke shifts on her side, raising an eyebrow. “What was it?”

“I ain’t gotta tell you anything,” Vanessa snaps, suddenly annoyed. The interview feels like it happened ages ago by now, anyway. She’s already told her mom and Silky and A’keria and celebrated how well it went by ordering in Postmates and why should she have to retell it, when Brooke didn’t even want to hear about it in the first place?

“Fine,” Brooke huffs, crossing her arms. “Don’t say I didn’t ask, later.”  

“Fuck off.” Vanessa doesn’t want to deal with this, doesn’t want to end up in the shitty mood that Brooke always manages to put her in. She’s tired of it. “Not like you actually care.”

Though apparently, Brooke isn’t. “What the hell is your problem?”

“Excuse me?” Vanessa feels her voice raising as she finally puts her review down on the bedside table because is now the time that Brooke is going to come for her? Really?

“I don’t actually care? You’re the one who never talks to me anymore, you never want to come to things with me or meet my friends and, you know what? I’m tired of trying with you.” Brooke looks cold, real cold, in a way that Vanessa’s never really seen directed towards her. The kind of closed off expression that she only gets when she talks about her parents, or when she’s ranting about one of her professors. The kind of Brooke that Vanessa’s not quite so used to, not when the Brooke that she normally gets is soft and open and not so closed off.

Vanessa’s about to run her mouth, though Brooke isn’t done, cutting her off before she’s able to say anything. “All you’re doing is pushing me away. Like the past three years have been bullshit and don’t matter anymore.”

“You’re the one who’s left me behind!” Vanessa runs a hand through her hair, because how doesn’t Brooke get it? Brooke’s moved on, moved onto other things and left Vanessa floundering in the dust and they’re supposed to be a team.

That’s what they’re supposed to be.

“No I didn’t, and you know that. I’m still trying, I’m the only one that’s still fucking trying between the two of us because you can never bother to even give me the time of day anymore.” Brooke’s jaw is set and she swallows hard, as if she’s trying to push everything back down and it’s not fair. Because Brooke is acting like this is solely her fault, when it isn’t.

“You’re never here anymore, how do you expect me to even do that? You’re always in class or hanging with your own friends or doing some med school event or the other. Not like I can even come to those.” Vanessa crosses her arms. She’s not going to follow Brooke to the ends of the earth to try. Not when Brooke wouldn’t even do the same for her.

“It always comes back to med school, huh?” Brooke lets out a bitter laugh. “Always the thing that makes you snap.”

“Don’t-”

“You still blame me because you didn’t get in, don’t you? Or at least, you take it out on me. Because I’m here and the admissions committees don’t exactly respond well to any sort of threats.” Brooke hasn’t raised her voice, not really, but the words still set Vanessa on fire, make her angry because Brooke’s so damn calm while she says them.

“You think real highly of yourself.” Vanessa doesn’t care about being quiet anymore, unlike Brooke. Not when she’s being like this. “You ain’t that important, bitch.”

“Believe whatever you want.” The ice is back, the tendrils beginning to creep along Vanessa’s skin from her words. “We both know it’s true. That’s when things started to get like this, when you stopped trying to actually talk to me about things. When you didn’t get in and I did.”

“Fuck off.”

“Maybe try a little harder for this next year and you don’t have to be so bitter anymore.” Brooke has a smirk on her face, the bitch. As if it’s all a joke to her.

“You really think I didn’t try hard? Like I didn’t put in as much effort as you, didn’t deserve it like you did? Like I wasn’t supporting you that whole fucking time?” Vanessa’s mad, real mad, because how dare Brooke even say that she didn’t fucking try hard, when Brooke was the one who was there, and saw her. “Maybe the reason I didn’t get in was because I had to spend so much time trying to make you feel better. Holding your hand constantly when you got anxious and stressed and had to put my books down to make sure you didn’t fucking blow a gasket on me.”

It’s a low blow and Vanessa knows it, by the way Brooke’s eyes darken because this isn’t something that they make light of, or joke about. Either of their mental health. But part of it is true. Sure, it comes with being in a relationship, supporting your partner. But maybe, just maybe, it’s taken away success from Vanessa too. Or at least, that’s what she’s going to tell Brooke, to drive that knife in just a little bit deeper.

There was a time when the last thing that Vanessa wanted to do was to hurt Brooke.

That was a long time ago.

“I didn’t realize I was such a huge burden to you.” Brooke narrows her eyes, and Vanessa can see the way that she’s covering up her heart, reinforcing it with every brick that she puts in front of it for protective armour. “You know what, though? I’m doing just fine. Just fine without you, don’t you think? Meanwhile, you look like you’re falling apart.”

Vanessa wants to scream and tell Brooke that she’s not, that she’s just fine, but the words don’t come. Because Brooke’s right.

And Vanessa hates it because it means that Brooke really has moved on.

“What, you don’t have anything to say, now that you don’t have anyone to blame anymore? Now that you actually have to take responsibility for something, for once in your life with no one to pick up the pieces for you?”

Vanessa doesn’t.

“Fine.” Vanessa’s off the bed, grabbing her coat that’s hanging on the back of their bedroom door, because she’s done. “You win.”

“Can you just fucking listen to yourself for once? It’s not about winning!” Brooke’s following her and she doesn’t care, she’s not going to stop even with how frustrated Brooke sounds. Because she’s wrong.

Brooke’s won, left her in pieces the way that she’s so good at doing again and again.

Vanessa doesn’t need Brooke to build herself back up.

(now)

The light of dawn makes Brooke glow in shades of gold.

It’s 5:45 a.m., and Vanessa’s unable to sleep anymore because of the rays of sun that are beaming directly into her eyes from Brooke’s bedroom window.

Their surgery starts at 8 a.m. sharp. They’ve done the practice run, have had consult meeting after consult meeting. Vanessa would probably be able to do the procedure with her eyes closed. Even if the surgery is approximately four and a half hours long.

Vanessa’s done longer. They both have. She’s not worried.

For now, her thoughts are solely drawn to the woman lying beside her.

There’s something about Brooke in sleep that continues to be absolutely mesmerizing to Vanessa. The way her lips are slightly parted, the way the worry lines etched into her face smooth themselves out while she’s dreaming. The slight twitch of her fingers and the soft breaths that she lets out as the sheets brush her skin.

She’s beautiful.

Vanessa gets up as slowly as she can to not wake Brooke up, and pulls on one of Brooke’s sweaters before she heads to the kitchen. She can’t help the little curses she lets out as she tries to get Brooke’s Keurig to work, different from her own at home.

“Stupid, damn machine-”

Though she doesn’t have to grumble to herself for long, two steaming drinks in her hands before the clock strikes 6:00.

When she heads back to the bedroom Brooke is awake, a hand running through her hair and her eyes wide as she sits up. Vanessa can see the palpable relief in Brooke’s eyes when she spots her in the doorway, along with the way that Brooke’s grip on the sheets begins to lessen, her body releasing the tension that had began to build up.

“You okay?” Vanessa hands Brooke a mug before sitting down beside her on the edge of the bed.

“Yeah, I-” Brooke draws in a breath, looking down at the sheets. “Thought you’d left.”

The words lie heavy in Vanessa’s heart, because she knows she’s the one that’s made Brooke so afraid of it.

“I ain’t gonna leave, B,” Vanessa starts, voice soft, “Unless you want me to.”

Brooke looks up at her and Vanessa can see a vulnerability in her eyes. Neither of them are talking about this morning anymore. Vanessa knows it, she knows that Brooke knows it.

Vanessa’s not going to leave.

“You know it’s different now, right?” Vanessa puts her hand on top of Brooke’s on the mattress, feels Brooke’s hand turn over to grab hers. “It’s not like it used to be. We’re not like that anymore. We’re different.”

“We are, aren’t we?” Brooke’s just as soft, her voice on par with the way the sun is beginning to rise even more, lighting up the room.

“We’re not gonna end up like that again. I won’t let it.” Vanessa won’t. She can’t, because she’s already lost Brooke before, slowly and then all at once. Ripping off the band-aid at a torturous pace.

“How, though? How do we know we won’t end up like that again?” Brooke’s voice is almost pleading and Vanessa gets it, she does, because the tug in her heart is asking the same question. Waiting, just waiting, to catastrophize and concoct scenarios of how they could go all wrong.

“‘Cause we’re not gonna let that resentment build between us. We’re killing it in our own fields, both the heads of our departments. We’re not competing against each other anymore. We’re cheering each other on.” It does make a difference, it really does, when Vanessa thinks about it. Not having to vy for the same opportunities, same goals.

Brooke’s success isn’t a detriment to Vanessa’s own, and vice versa. She knows that now.

“Plus, I’m not a bitch ass, immature, twenty year old anymore.” Vanessa is sheepish as she says it, watching Brooke giggle. “You succeed now? I’m gonna have my phone out to record everything with a proud fucking grin on my face.”

“Same.” Brooke tilts her head and the sunlight glints off of her hair and Vanessa’s never seen a more beautiful girl in her life. “I want those memories with you. I want them to happen.”

“Look at you getting all soft on me, B.” Vanessa leans forward to kiss her, cutting off the half hearted protest on Brooke’s lips (‘I’m not that soft’).

But it’s true, Brooke is. So soft and open in a way that Vanessa loves, in a way that she feels so lucky that she gets to experience, since Brooke likes to keep that part of herself hidden away, not showing it to just anyone. Vanessa had been lucky enough to have that version of Brooke in university in the early years. And now here Brooke is, trusting her and letting her see the most beautiful parts of herself again.

Not the fact that Brooke’s a great surgeon, even though she is. Not the fact that she’s brilliant, absolutely brilliant, a fact that everyone already knows.

But rather, the fact that Brooke’s grip on her hand always tightens when she’s happy, and also all the little kisses that she presses to the crook of Vanessa’s neck whenever they snuggle as they’re about to fall asleep. The way that Brooke seems to remember little flippant things that Vanessa says, ever so thoughtful, like when she brought coffee before their consult meeting with the entire team yesterday and Vanessa’s had a dash of vanilla, just the way she likes it.

The softer parts of Brooke that contrast from the tight ship she runs as a surgeon, the rigidity that she imposes. The parts that make Vanessa realize that she really still loves her, so so much.

Brooke’s alarm clock blares as the numbers shift over to 6:30, making them both jump. Brooke turns it off, and Vanessa can’t help the way she leans against her side, revelling in how Brooke wraps her arms around her and rests her chin on top of her head.

“We have to get ready.” Brooke mutters the words into her hair before pressing a kiss there, and it makes Vanessa want to squeeze her eyes shut tight.

“No, we don’t.”

“We have a surgery scheduled at 8:00 a.m. sharp.”

“Who said that?”

Brooke snorts. “Come on, baby. Let’s go.”

The term of endearment makes Vanessa’s heart flutter more than she wants to admit, as if she’s eighteen again and crushing on the girl that sits beside her in anatomy class with two french braids in her hair.

Except, now? She knows, really knows, how much this girl actually means to her. And how hard she’s going to work not to lose her again.

“Tie up the back of my gown for me?”

Vanessa dries her hands and turns to see Brooke standing with her back towards her, scrub cap already on along with her face mask, surgical gown on top of her scrubs but untied.

“Sure.” Vanessa double knots the ties on the gown the way she always does with her own, always remembering the one unfortunate instance when she hadn’t tied her gown properly and it promptly came off on top of a patient’s open chest. Not one of her finest moments.

“All done. Anyone tell you how fucking adorable you look with a scrub cap covered in cats?”

Brooke’s mask is covering half of her face, but Vanessa can still see the way she blushes, the top of her cheeks glowing pink. “Shut up.”

“I’m serious! It’s cute.” Vanessa protests, pointing to her own covered in puppies. “Besides. We kinda match.”

“That’s true.” Brooke grins behind her surgical mask, and Vanessa can tell by the way that her eyes scrunch.

The charge nurse for their surgery yells out a timecheck, and it makes Vanessa remember that they’re really about to do this together. After so much planning, so many late nights. So many fights in the early stages, which seem almost comical now, looking back at them.

She and Brooke are both too damn stubborn sometimes, though it’s something that Vanessa hopes never ever changes.

“You ready?” She reaches out, squeezes Brooke’s hand before letting go. They’re still at work, after all, but she knows how Brooke can get, how an extra check in never hurts.

“Yeah. Now c’mon.” Brooke tilts her head towards the operate suite, at the way their team is finishing their set up for the surgery. “It’s a beautiful day to save lives.”

Vanessa gapes. “You did not just quote Grey’s Anatomy at me-”

Brooke cackles as she follows her into the suite. “I’m quite the McDreamy, aren’t I?”

“You wish.”

Vanessa massages her own shoulder as they stand in the line for Tim Hortons, neither of them particularly keen that morning on packing lunches for after their joint surgery.

“I’m fucking sore from being hunched over.”

Brooke looks over at her with an adorably furrowed brow. “You’re a surgeon. You do this for a living.”

“And you’re supposed to say you’ll give me a massage.” Vanessa pouts, though it morphs into a grin when Brooke wraps an arm around her shoulders.

“If you’re patient and can wait until the end of the day. Can you do that?”

“It’ll be real difficult.” Vanessa lets out a fake sigh as they head to their table, where some of the neuro and cardiac surgeons have already began to eat. “I dunno if I’ll have it in me.”

“If you’re good, you can have something in you-”

“Bitch-”

They’re both giggling as they sit down at the table, and Vanessa can already see the incredibly curious faces of their coworkers.

“You two aren’t fighting?” Kameron points between them, squinting her eyes as if she’s attempting to solve a complex math problem.

Brooke shoots Vanessa a look, almost asking permission. Vanessa nods, because what the hell. It’ll be funny to see everyone’s reactions.

“Considering she woke up in my bed today, no.” Brooke takes a sip of her coffee as their table erupts into chaos.

“Goddamn! And y’all say that I’m the loud one.” Vanessa yelps when Yvie grabs her hand to high five it, ducks out of Kameron’s bear hug directed towards her. “Absolute animals.”

“So. Tell us.” Plastique looks delighted as she takes a bite of her sandwich. “Was the sex good? After that much fighting, it must be good.”

“A lady never kisses and tells.” Brooke smiles faux demurely before stealing a Timbit from Vanessa’s lunch.

“Hey-”  

“Sorry, baby.” Brooke doesn’t look the least bit sorry as she pops the Timbit into her mouth. “I’ll make it up to you later.”  

She’s so cute that Vanessa can’t even be mad about it.

Yvie wrinkles her nose. “You two are already gross. Unbelievable.”

Brooke grins. “Says the girl who wouldn’t shut up about her date with her girlfriend during the temporal lobe tumour removal last week.”

Yvie sticks her tongue out at both of them. “Hateful.”

“Truthful.”

Vanessa’s about to chime in, when she’s interrupted by the slam of Asia’s tray on the table, Asia herself looking out of breath and quite smug.

“You all won’t believe the tea I have on these two from yesterday.” Asia looks positively delighted as she points between Vanessa and Brooke.

Vanessa can’t help herself. “We already told everyone else. It ain’t breaking news no more, Anderson Cooper.”

“Damn. And here I was actually excited about something for once.” Asia scowls, before pausing. “Wait, how do you know who Anderson Cooper is?”

Vanessa scoffs. “I watch shit sometimes. Nah, I’m playing. It was on the TV in the cardiac outpatient waiting room the other day. I prefer 90 Day Fiancé, myself.”

Kameron snorts. “A woman of culture.”

“That I am, bitch.”

Brooke nudges Vanessa’s side. “Gotta go. Consultation with a patient in ten.”

Vanessa gives Brooke her best fake pout. She knows that they’re at work, surrounded by coworkers and patients and families, but sometimes it feels like time spent with Brooke passes by too fast, like it’s in fast forward.

“Don‘t give me that face.”

“Hmph.”

Brooke raises an eyebrow. “Don’t you have a meeting in ten, too?”

Vanessa shrugs. “Maybe so.”

“You’re something else.” Brooke reaches over to ruffle Vanessa’s hair and Vanessa yelps, because her curls don’t stay this nice with anyone messing them up.

“I’ll see you soon?” Brooke’s eyes are expectant as she stands up, gathering her things from the table.

“That you will.”

It’s true, in more ways than one. Vanessa doesn’t want to let Brooke go anytime soon.

#rpdr fanfiction #branjie #holtzmanns #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #lesbian au #hospital au #nobody knows where we might end up

[paladin-andric]

Day of the Roses

Happy Valentine’s Day! For this occasion, I decided to write up a little something about a love-struck bird. This takes place right before Eignach and Razorwing took that step and went from friends to something...a little more. He decided to do this on the Day of the Roses, a holiday in Deaco that celebrates love in all its forms...

The smell of fresh flowers filled the air of the shop, as the jingling of a bell signaled the arrival of a patron. The owner, currently rifling around under the counter, shot up at the noise.

“Ah, welcome, welcome!”

The owner was a koutu, a tall and graceful woman who took long strides in her approach. She was mostly a pure white, with black at the ends of her wings and right above her legs. There were also black quills rising out of her head, and the feathers of her face were a colorful orange.

She smiled at the small, crowlike koutu standing nervously at the entrance.

“Ahh, a fine Day of the Roses to you! Come for a bouquet?”

“Umm...yes.”

Eignach’s voice was quiet and timid, lacking certainty.

“Oh, well that’s wonderful! Were there any flowers you had in mind?” the tall birdwoman seemed to tower over Eignach, shaking his confidence even further. He already felt small, but now…

“U-umm...I-I don’t know...I’m not…”

“...a botanist?” she finished, a playful smile on her face.

“Y-yeah.”

“Well, lucky for you, I am! Let’s find you something nice.”

Countless flowers adorned the walls and tables, held in containers with what was most likely water. They were everywhere, and the sights and smells left Eignach a little disoriented.

“See anything you like?” the owner asked, wings folded behind her as she led the young bird through the shop.

“Uh...I don’t know. They’re all so different...”

“Tsk. Of course they are! Surely you can pick something out! Each carries a distinct presence, a meaning and benefit.”

“I dunno...they’re all just pretty flowers to me.”

The woman sighed, his cluelessness grating on her. “Very well...should I recommend a bouquet for you, than?”

“That would be wonderful.”

She stopped and nodded. “Okay. Why don’t we do roses? That’s always a safe bet. The holiday itself venerates them, after all!”

Eignach nodded quickly. “Yeah, yeah! Roses! Lots of roses!”

The woman raised a brow and cracked a smile. “Sounding a lot more confident all of a sudden, friend.”

The smaller koutu shrugged. “There’s just so much to pick from…I didn’t know where to begin.”

“Well, allow me to help you.” the shop owner stopped before a collection of roses, all of them a rich red. “A traditional rose, deep red, symbolizes the burning heart of one who feels a deep and unfettered love for another. It symbolizes the red-hot blood of passion and zeal. It is a flower of love. Does that sound right for you?”

Eignach’s eyes lit up. “Oh, that’s perfect! That’s just what I want!”

The woman smirked. “Slow down, now! There’s lots of different roses, and they all mean different things!”

The crow’s ecstatic bouncing ceased. “O-oh.”

“Well, red is for love,” she explained, “But there’s others too! Pink roses are for gentle kindness and adoration of another.”

“A-adoration? Oh, I think I might want that…”

“Yellow is for warmth and happiness! Green is for life. White is purity and orange is for desire...now which of those sound like a match for what you want…?”

The smaller, nervous koutu looked like he was at his wits end now. It took quite a while for him to muster a response.

“Umm...all of them?”

…

The shop owner wrote the transaction down on a piece of paper as Eignach watched her count the coins he had handed over. To the side, his purchase sat in waiting.

“So...are these for a special someone of yours?” She eyed him as she kept writing, offering a small smile.

“Y-yeah, they are.”

“Really, now...don’t be so nervous, dear! I’m sure they’ll love it. Calm yourself before you get back!”

“O-oh...thank you, ma’am. I’ll try.”

“Don’t mention it.”

The sounds of quill on paper filled the air for a moment before she broached the subject again.

“So...how long have you been together?”

Eignach’s eyes went wide.

“U-umm…”

She gave the crow a confused look.

“W-well...we haven’t.”

Now it was the woman’s turn to become excited. Her face seemed to fill with new life as she grinned like mad at the admission.

“Oooooh! You’re finally declaring your love for someone you’ve had your eye on, aren’t you?!”

“Y-yeah…” the young man looked uncomfortable.

“Oho! Who’s the lucky recipient? Who are you pining after?”

Her teasing seemed to only be making him worse, his head bowed and burning with embarrassment now.

“Hey, don’t be like that! You love them, don’t you?”

He hesitated. This woman was a complete stranger. He’d only come here because he heard how good the quality of her stock was. Yet…

“I do...with, um, uh...with every fiber of my heart.”

“Well, than there’s nothing to be ashamed of! Love isn’t something to hide away! Be proud! Be joyful! Being with another is a miracle of life, there’s no reason to cast your head down!”

“I-I don’t know if he…you know...”

Ah. There was the problem. Fear of rejection, or perhaps fear of ruining a friendship. It was something she was familiar with, as her customers sometimes confided such things.

Eignach let a out girlish yelp as two talons clutched onto his shoulders.

“Hey! Look at me.”

He turned his gaze up, and stared at the woman leaning over the counter and grabbing onto his shoulders.

“If you don’t do this, you’ll spend the rest of your life wondering what might have been. A bit of fear in your heart is natural, but you can’t let it rule you! You have to take a deep breath, gather your courage, and march up to that man and tell him you love him, you hear me?!”

Eignach gulped. He blinked, and suddenly things didn’t seem so bad anymore.

“Yeah...yeah, you’re right! I can’t give up! I’ve come this far!”

“That’s the spirit!” the woman shoved the bouquet into his chest, the small crow quickly grabbing it and nodding at her.

“Get out there and stake your heart’s claim, mister!”

“I-I will! I’ll do it right now! Razorwing will love these! Thank you ma’am!”

“Don’t mention it! Good luck!” she called out as the small bird rushed out of the shop, bells jingling as the door shut behind him.

“Ah, that’s what this day’s all about…” the shop owner, one Miss Finnibir, had her hands on her hips as she felt pride over inspiring the man to follow his heart. After a moment however, her smile faltered.

“H-hey, wait a minute…” it turned into a frown, her eyes shooting open as his words finally crashed into her.

“R...RAZORWING?!”

She clutched onto the counter as she stared in bewilderment at the door. Some man had just announced his desire to propose his love for Razorwing! THAT Razorwing!

“W-wait! B-but I...I was…”

Her body slumped over. Finnibar’s beak scraped against the counter as she stood there, defeated.

“...I was gonna do that.”

She idly scratched at the wood with a talon as she thought it over.

“Unbelievable. He always struck me as such a ladies’ man...tsk, just my luck.”

She sulked, lazily stepping into the back room. In this private area she moved to the end of the storage room, approaching her greatest creation. A massive bouquet of flowers from all over the world was sitting on a table, something truly remarkable. Their sights, their colors, their auras...it all combined into a rainbow of beauty, her finest and most costly arrangement ever.

She sighed and shook her head, wings folding over herself. “Well...it’ll sell for a lot, at least…”

Finnibar grimaced. “W-well...so what?! There are plenty of fish in the sea! So what if he’s taken?! He’s only famous...and handsome…and charming...and kindly...a-and probably saved the world...”

She stewed over it for a moment longer before narrowing her eyes. Just like she’d told the man, she had to get over herself.

Grabbing the beautiful bouquet, she waltzed back to the front of the store, casually plopping the arrangement of exotic import flowers onto the counter for the world to see.

Sitting in a chair and leaning back, she propped her talons onto the counter, crossed her arms, and grinned.

It couldn’t attract Razorwing anymore, but it sure as hell could attract someone with a fat coinpurse, and to the botanist, that would do.

Sometimes, you just had to play the hand you were dealt...and Finnibar was determined to make the most of hers.

Tag list: @thereisnothingwrongwithbeingmad, @lady-redshield-writes, @paper-shield-and-wooden-sword, @sheralynnramsey, @tawnywrites, @writer-on-time, @oceanwriter, @zwergis-spilledink, @fluffpiggy, @elliewritesfantasy, @homesteadhorner,  @laurenwastestimewriting, @elaynab-writing, @the-ichor-of-ruination, @reya-writes, @bexminx

[authorsusanrich]

Red Socks

Dear Butterscotch,

You arrived half-starved, a weightless stripe of cream-colored fur, protruding ribs and scrawny legs.

I didn’t know better, or maybe I did. I fed you, and you moved into our heads and hearts and house. Two days later I was in ER, gasping through my first asthma attack, the doctor giving me steroids and a lecture: Get rid of the cat.

But first you were spayed, an unwanted cat with a womb full of unwanted kittens. Barely healed, a stranger shot you with a nail gun, piercing the narrow gap between the bones in your front leg.

You moved into my office after that, a scrawny princess on a green pillow I picked to match your eyes.

Dear Butterscotch,

There were dogs; you loved them all.

There was Dave; you loved him best.

There was me: forced to keep you at a distance, we staked a fake-out, each one pretending the other was the enemy.

You almost had me fooled.

Dear Butterscotch,

You slept in a crate because that’s what the dogs did. Oversized, set high on a shelf, safe from scary monsters that roamed quiet streets after dark.

Daytime found you stalking pit bulls in their yard, mocking them from your perch on a fence, tail carried high. Our neighbor begged us to make you stop, swore you’d be dead if you ever fell.

Who can caution a cat?

Dear Butterscotch,

You came in the mail, with the mail, a special delivery we never regretted.

I opened the door to take a package, and you waltzed inside. Stood, purring loudly, in the living room, hardwoods gleaming from a splatter of sunlight, golden like your fur.

That’s why I fed you. Desperation masked by bravery, I must have felt our kinship.

Dear Butterscotch,

I’m sorry about your name.

I knew I was allergic to cats, knew I couldn’t, wouldn’t keep you. So I gave you the stupidest, silliest, non-cat name I could think of--blithely ignoring the fact that naming is the first step to wanting, the precursor to loving.

You bested me there, too, immediately responding to my tremulous call as if you were a dog.

I’m sorry about your name, but maybe you’re not.

You yearned to hear those three syllables, all the time, all those years. I’d found a quirky way to say it and no matter the depths of our antipathy, you’d slink into my presence, and onto my lap, just to hear me hum-croon Butterscotch, making three syllables sound like ten.

Dear Butterscotch,

I’m not going to lie: we had a great time in Italy.

The neighbors fed you. You had a safe place to sleep, pit bulls to pester, long afternoon naps under the laurel hedge.

Quit pretending our month-long absence wasn’t every bit as fun for you as it was for us.

Dear Butterscotch,

How the hell did you get behind that sliver of wallboard?

What were you thinking, going three days without food, water, or potty breaks?

Signed,

Not Sorry We Moved to Salem

PS: Deal with it.

Dear Butterscotch,

Playing Marco Polo with you in the new house is FUN.

PS: We’re in the living room. Hush yer yowlin’ and join us.

Dear Butterscotch,

We were right! You love the yard and having the downstairs bathroom all to your badass self.

Signed,

Still Not Sorry We Moved to Salem

Dear Butterscotch,

What the hell?

You were supposed to live four more years, then four more, and four more after that. Not four more weeks. Renal failure is not how we wanted this to end.

It’s incurable, but there are options. Always, options.

You will have none of it.

Feisty, independent. Surely you know where this is going.

You’re handling it with far more grace than we ever will.

Dear Butterscotch,

It’s been six weeks.

We don’t know the last time you ate. You’re like Houdini, caught in some magical, death-defying leap. There are days when we don’t think you are going to die, nights we cry because we know you will.

We take turns holding you, mostly because you have abandoned the last of your “touch me not” ways and have slipped, seamlessly, into the role of world’s most cuddliest cat.

That, and the Kitty Bucket List you apparently (finally) discovered. In the midst of your dying you are choosing life: climbing on counters, knocking objects over. But that’s the extent of your mischief. You never knew what you could have had, never took what wasn’t yours. Unlike the dogs, you never pulled dental floss out of the trash or caught a fish hook in your lip. You never filched a bagel or stole a plate of chicken.

Food still intrigues you--it drags you out of thick slumber and into the kitchen, the sound of a crinkling cheese wrapper as erotic as any fantasy.

But that’s all it is: a dream.

You’re holding us hostage. Because now that you can eat anything you want, you want nothing. There are no enticements to drag you off this balance beam, this precipice between life and death.

Today we noticed that your tail, once held so proudly erect, lists sideways, ballast as you scoot from one room to another.  

Eat, damn you. Eat.

Dear Butterscotch,

We have had time to ponder the bookends of your life.

You came to us half-starved, half-feral. You will leave emaciated, your silken pelt loosely stretched across a knobby spine, bones protruding like arthritic knuckles.

Memory puts stories inside these brackets, habit hits like a hammer.

Isn’t it time to feed you? Let you out, let you in. Open the slider only to watch you run away. Open it a second time, a third, cajoling you to creep past my looming size because we’re playing a game where only you know the rules.

There you are in the yard, basking in the summer sun. Now under a dessicated fern; next, the hedgerow between two houses. Drinking from the sump pump spigot that fountains water after each rain storm. Prowling the railroad ties that define our tiered garden. Butterscotch the huntress. Yellow cat playing lion.

That’s all done now, seeing you into another hot summer is every bit as wishful as hoping you will eat.

Years before you’d given up on me and my office, only to return in those last weeks: adamant that my space was yours and not just my office. My clothes, my chair, my time. Me.

Your biggest hunger is for my lap.

Hour after hour, night after night, I hold you. We read my tablet together, you nosing the screen, turning pages before I am ready. We discover Facebook videos and I learn you like watching LOL Cats as much as I do.

My eyes water, my nose runs. Allergies, I tell myself. I can’t possibly be crying--not like this. I thought a life shared at arm’s length would spare me the anguish of losing yet another pet.

You proved me wrong.

Dear Butterscotch,

You couldn’t lift your head this morning, so we knew it was time.

Maybe past time, but, no: you roused mid-morning and went outside. It was a sunny day, the kind of bright cold February offers as a promise of spring. You strolled across frozen ground, sniffing at sharp spokes of grass. In your not so recent past, you would have vanished for hours, today it was brief minutes before you returned, ready for your final trip out of our home and out of this world.

You nestled in a makeshift carrier, burrowed deep inside the plush robe you claimed some weeks before. This would be the place of your final sleep, your splash of cream against a purple backdrop.

The vet whisked you away to put an IV in your leg. Only to return, long minutes later, apologizing: she couldn’t open a vein. Two failed attempts before your hind leg yielded.

We gazed down at you, you in your red socks, two bandages brighter than blood binding your front legs, and ached to realize that our quest to spare you any pain had failed.

She held up the syringe and we nodded.

I put my lips close to your head, that velvety spot between your ears, and hum-crooned your name.

Dear Butterscotch,

The food bowl is gone, but the urge to feed you remains. The sliding glass door yields only a view of the yard, not a cat waiting to come inside. Wind chimes sing like the bell on your collar.

Inside is quiet, bereft of your chatter and wads of fur.

Dave and I are untethered, petless, for the first time in 24 years.

We can go back to Italy, visit the kids in Chicago, tour the country like we’ve always planned. And we will, I know this.

But for now we’re on hold, simply missing you.

#catgrief #cats #petloss