worn wood

anonymous asked:

Hey! If you're still taking prompts, could you write about neil and Andrew having a conversation about Neil's past? Like the stuff he had to do to survive and the stuff he went through with the worlds shittiest parents? Also I'm pretty sure neil has killed people like it makes complete sense so maybe andreil talking about that?

There’s a band of pale blue light nipping at the tops of the trees and sharpening the silhouettes of the houses, but everything else is fresh and dark. Andrew smokes with the pack clenched in his fist, the cherry of the cigarette winking at the street lamps winking at the orange moon.

Their front porch isn’t like the rush of the rooftop, but he can get that same jitter of fear from Neil nowadays, and he’s more portable. He’d left him knotted in the bedsheets an hour ago, and knowing he’s inside somewhere at his back is burning him up. Andrew inhales and focuses on the exhale, the way the smoke still tries to hurt him when it should’ve given up. He likes that nicotine doesn’t leave him alone.

Neil slips out the front door and lets the screen door clatter, and Andrew knows that he’s upset before he sits down two steps below Andrew, holding his own head.

He doesn’t ask; just smokes fervently. The moon bobs its head sympathetically, wind catches the smoke and breaks it over Neil’s head like water on rocks.

It occurs to Andrew that Neil isn’t going to start this conversation, because he likes to think things through on his own, solve them wrong, and tell Andrew about his mistakes later. He’s insufferably convinced of his own problem-solving abilities, then obsessed with the mechanism of his own missteps.

“What?” Andrew asks impatiently. He flicks ash from his cigarette and holds it out in front of Neil’s face. Neil sidles through his own tangled thinking for long enough to glance up. He leans forward and sucks the smoke from between Andrew’s fingers.

When he looks away, gusting smoke from his open mouth, he says, “Matt called. We fought.”

You fought,” Andrew guesses.

Neil looks agitated, blue in the choked light, eyes black and furious. “He was being unfair. He keeps trying to tell me what’s right or wrong lately, because he thinks I’ve been— been deprived, like my experiences were outside of humanity, or morality, and it’s so— condescending.”

“You’re only realizing this now? All of the foxes are condescending. It is the only way they can avoid their own failure.”

“This was different,” Neil says, shaking his head. “I can tell when they’re saying things because they want to see my reaction, and this wasn’t that. He meant what he was saying.”

“And what was that?”

Neil goes gagged silent. He shifts backwards up to Andrew’s stair without looking at him, settling into the groove worn into the wood.

“That killing someone makes you a monster. That murder is the worst thing you can do to a person.”

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TMNT x Reader (Part One).

Imagine your favorite turtle cuddling with you. It’s late and it’s cold and he’s had a stressful day. All he wants right now is to hold you and kiss you and fall asleep. The best part about being in a relationship is that all of those things can happen.

Leonardo is exhausted.
Today has been an exhausting, difficult day. And it seemed like those days were coming along more often.
Sometimes, the line between brother and leader can be confusing and tiring. There are some days when he just wants to hang out and not do anything…but that can’t happen.
He has a job to do.
A job that his family counts on.
So after training and patrol and meditation and butting heads with his brothers, all he wants to do is to crawl in bed. He slowly walks through the dark hallway, his brother’s voices and laughter slowly vanishing from his ears. He approaches the final circular door.
His door. His bedroom. His sanctuary.
He shuts the door behind him and leans against it, pressing his head to worn out wood, lost in thought. He thinks about everything he had to do today and how he will do it again tomorrow and he wonders if it will ever get any easier. He had been the Leader for five years, since he was fifteen, and as he got older his job only seemed to get harder.
Leo sighs and turns around, acting to get into bed, when he notices a small figure underneath his sheets. He stiffens but relaxes when the figure mumbles something. He would know that voice anywhere.
He strides over, quietly, and pulls his blue comforter away, revealing Y/N’s peaceful face. He notices the book tucked away next to her, a copy of Cinder that has her finger tucked between the pages.
He laughed softly at the sight before him.
“Did you fall asleep waiting for me?” He whispers.
Leonardo carefully takes the book, making sure to mark the page, and places it on the nightstand. For a moment, he simply watches her breathe softly.
She looks so content and he wonders what she might be dreaming about. A little part of Leonardo hopes that she’s dreaming about him…Eventually, he decideds to join her in her dreams.
Moving away, he removes his armor piece by piece, putting it away. He looks in the mirror. He tools older. Tired. He examines his green skin, littered with scars and a few tattoos. His eyes linger in his left forearm, where he had the kanji symbol for “love” tattooed.
He had gotten that for her and she had held his hand the entire time. He hadn’t really needed her to but he certainly had enjoyed it.
He looks up and he can see her reflection in the mirror. Y/N has rolled over and is now facing him, her arm reaching out towards him as though to say
“Come to bed.”
Love. His fingers run over the inked skin before he turns away and goes to join her. Carefully, so very carefully, he slides in bed next to her. Leonardo is always surprised about how small she seems next to him. How delicate, almost doll like.
She suddenly stirs, her eyes just barely opening.
“Leo?” She asks, her voice thick with sleep.
“Hey. Sorry for keeping you waiting.” he whispers.
Y/N smiled sleepily and says
“No trouble.”
She’s drifting off to sleep once more and Leonardo gives her a quick kiss before she resumes her peaceful breathing.
It has been a difficult day for the turtles but being able to hold her like this…made it all worthwhile.
Within moments, Leo had joined her in her slumber, still holding her in his arms.

Seventeen as: Things in Life

S.Coups: Bright red. Worn in baseball caps, over-sized jerseys, hot dogs and empty stadiums. The smell of fresh strawberries; Getting into your house after a day out in the winter; The feel of a new basketball. Warm summer nights. The sound of kids in the hallways on the last day of school after the bell rings; Screaming when you finally beat a hard level in a game; Teasing eyes; Mangoes.
Woozi: An untouched field of bright crisp snow; the satisfaction you get when you ace a test you thought you’d do bad on. Thick Holiday sweaters; paper lanterns glowing in dark streets; serious conversations with your normally easy-going friend at 2 in the morning. The colors mint and peach. Smiling to yourself as someone unknowingly compliments you. Laughing to yourself, embarrassed, after you caught yourself daydreaming about someone. The feel of new notebooks.

Hoshi: The rush of joy you feel all at once as you’re trying your hardest doing something you love. Watermelon Popsicle sticks. Turquoise. Giggles breaking the silence. 2007- 2009 pop songs that you still break out screaming to if they come on the radio. Cherry lip balm. Daisies. Empty hockey rings. Cheesy Valentine’s Day teddy bears. Spending hours on a project you’re working on, not noticing you worked through the night. Plastic water bottles.

Wonwoo: Ocean blue. Secret smiles. The jokes written on cards you get at the Pharmacy. Midnight walks. Being in a warm jacket outside during the fall. Apples. The feel of a cold PlayStation controller. Fresh pumpkins. Inside jokes with your friends. Laughing really hard after not laughing for a long time. The smell of clean linen. The moon’s reflection on a car window. Hugging a friend you haven’t seen in a while. Worn in converse sneakers. The sound of a shower running. Soft cloth. 

Mingyu: Warm cheesy pizza.  Unexpectedly laughing loudly. Ultramarine blue. Fuzzy socks. Riding your bicycle really fast and feeling the wind hit you. Mozzarella sticks. Ice cold soda on a hot day. The way gloves feel when they just got out the dryer.  Giggling to yourself as you enjoy doing something childish. Dancing to yourself in front of a mirror. The sound of the city on a busy day. Dipping new paint brushes into paint. Bright sunlight pouring in through a window.

Vernon: Staying up all night on the internet. Late night jokes with your friends. Burgers. Crinkled plaid shirts. Purple. The way your face scrunches up as you laugh really hard. 2 a.m. Ramen noodles. Feeling satisfied as you push yourself past your comfort zone and get good results. Jokes so bad they’re funny. Falling asleep to the sound of a tv show. Opening a new album package that you waited forever for. Plastic figurines. Feeling nervous on the first day of school. Rubber bracelets.  Relaxing car drives. 

Dino: Stretching in the morning. Lopsided beanies. Pumpkin seeds and tangerines. Long needed hugs. Making fake mohawks with shampoo/soap. Brand new comic books. The way your eyebrows furrow as you work hard doing something you love. The color green. Pinky promises. Randomly learning a  weird fact. Rushing to open  a package of takeout when you’re really hungry. Racing during gym. Ham and cheese sandwiches. 

Seungkwan: The smell of warm, fresh out the oven, buns. Pastel yellow and baby blue. Soft pajamas. Purposefully singing badly to a song. Scrapbooks. The taste of vanilla. The feeling of satisfaction and pride you get after you tell a joke and everybody starts laughing. Those dollar store kids hand sanitizers. Preppy button up shirts. Warm honey brown eyes. The way a librarian smiles at you sweetly. Snow falling in your hair. Thick fluffy scarves. Really puffy winter jackets. Dandelions. 

DK: Yellow and orange. Sunflowers. The way you squint your eyes when the sun is too bright. Fried chicken + french fries. Late night snacks. Sliding down wooden floors in socks. Terrible romantic movies. Imitating/mocking the GPS’ voice when you’re driving. Holding hands with your friends. The toy section at the dollar store. The smell of citrus.  Bananas. Finger painting. Bouncing your leg as you type away. Laughing with someone, adoration shining through your eyes.  Oversized shirts with jokes written on them. 

The8: Rubber bouncy balls. Happy family reunions. Fuzzy slippers. Tinsel. The faint sound of music playing at a bbq. Baby golden retrievers. Surprising yourself with your own strength. Bonfires late at night on the beach. The sun shinning extremely bright after it rained. Long eyelashes. Roast sessions with your friends. Coconuts; the smell of purple grapes. Holiday music playing in stores. Fake mustaches and waffles. Two toned/swirled ice cream. The way the warm sidewalk pavement feels against your bare feet.

Jun: Retro red. The night sky when there are no stars out. Kitchen aprons and rose petals. Steele blue. Brand new pencils. Bright white teeth and secret winks. Jumping in (clean) puddles when it’s raining. Airplanes. Apricots and strawberry jam. Cheap perfume and small tourist knick knacks. Warm caramel, covered in chocolate.  When your friend pulls through for you. 1 a.m. phone calls. Waking up before you’re supposed to and just laying there, thinking, until your alarm goes off. Fake-flirting with your friends. Plastic flower necklaces. 

Jeonghan: Neutral colors. Cactus’ and pastel flower pots. The silence before a storm. Sticking your tongue out playfully. Laughing so hard you accidentally hurt yourself by bumping into something. Messy toaster strudels. Accidentally succeeding at something/good luck. Nostalgia. When you’re tired but so excited you can’t sleep. Watching terrible comedy movies with your friends and laughing more with each other than at the movie. Cinnamon toothpaste. Saltine crackers; absentmindedly laying in a weird position when you’re invested in your hobby. 

Joshua: Worn down wood. Maple syrup on warm fluffy pancakes. Procrastinating by watching strange useless videos on Youtube. Old headphones. When your desk is messy but you kinda just know where everything is. Coffee shops and doughnuts with sprinkles. The sound of traffic at night. Knowing every word to a child’s song you haven’t sang in years. Chipped nail polish. Jeans and messy hair. Seeing your own breath when it’s  very cold out. Drawing small hearts on the car window. Secret Pinterest boards.

Golden - Lin-Manuel Miranda x Reader

Summary: Lin-Manuel is holding his daughter for the first time. 

Words: 1,077 (short and sweet!)

Warnings: There is death at the end but it’s like cute but you know it’s like…yeah

A/N: WOW. Day 5: Reverse POV day is happening. I cannot believe this. I barely got this done in time so it’s super bad, but it’s the thought that counts! Enjoy. 

askbox | masterlist

Eldora Luz Miranda, whose name meant golden was born on a wet day full of rainstorms on April 23rd.

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Off Limits - Finale

→ Reader x Blind!Chanyeol

“You don’t necessarily have space for one more?”

→ Warnings: Curse words.

→ Off Limits p. 1 - p. 2  - p. 3 (M)

Word count: 1,4K

Worry laid thickly in the bottom of your stomach ever since that night. The clock that hung over the head of Ms. Marcus ticked teasingly slow, letting you only stare silently as it closed in on the full hour. You tapped your fingers against the top of your desk, your eyes wavering in the direction of Baekhyun on the other side of the classroom. 

He was smiling, chatting in whispers with this sideman. He was glowing with glee, his life had somehow turned out okay. It all only added onto the never ending thickness in your abdomen. If only he knew that Rose was only playing him for you, playing on a small crush he had on her years ago that somehow had lingered until now. You could only imagine what would happen once Rose ended things with him, how he would react and what he would do with you. 

Finally, Ms. Marcus took a quick glance to her wrist before raising her arms, ending the lesson. You sprung to your feet, throwing your heavier than usual backpack over your shoulder and hurrying out with the rest of your classmates. Baekhyun jogged down the route you used to take, going towards you dorms, where Rose’s dorm also laid. You sighed before starting to run in the other direction, down the route where Baekhyun would usually go, to his and Chanyeol’s dorm. 

It only took a few minutes before you were knocking on Chanyeol’s dorm, tugging your backpack tighter over your shoulder. The backpack was heavy, filled with clothes and toiletries this exact day in the place of the books you used to carry with you. Chanyeol opened the door to you, calling out a hesitant “Hello?”

“Chanyeol,” You whisper, watching as a beautiful face lights up his face. 

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Making the Grade - Ch. 2

A/N: Thank you all so much for your patience.  I’m so sorry this took so long!  This wouldn’t be possible without the support from my friends and readers.  I truly appreciate you guys!

Chapter 1

“Wait wait.  Here comes Lou - tell him what she said when you asked for her number.”  Harry’s laughter peals across the corner of the lacquered bar where Niall’s leaning with his head in his hands.  “Christ Harry, ya think you could keep your voice down to a dull roar?”  Niall can feel his cheeks burning hot with shame.  The entire debacle has been running through his head on a constant loop since the afternoon.  After Poppy had stormed out of his classroom, Niall was left standing at his desk, his mouth hanging open and his arms hanging uselessly at his sides.  For a brief moment he considered running after her, but what would he say?  “Hey, just so you know, I wasn’t hitting on you?”  Niall may have terrible luck with women, but he wasn’t a complete idiot.  Even he knew that wasn’t the way into a pretty girl’s good graces.  So, instead, he sank down into the hard plastic chair, took a deep breath, and shoved all his papers into his worn leather messenger bag.  By the time he’d made it to the pub to meet Harry, Niall’s mood hadn’t improved.  He’s skulked into the bar, heaving himself onto the stool next to Harry’s and waved Louis down for a pint and a shot of Jameson.  Harry had coaxed the entire story from Niall and was now forcing him to repeat it to the bartender for his own sadistic pleasure.  

Louis sidled up to the bar, flipping a bar towel over his shoulder.  They’d made friends with Louis almost immediately, deciding that his caustic attitude and relentless sarcasm could be tolerated because of their shared love of football and collective homesickness for the UK. “Ok Harold, you’ve made your point.  Spill it, Nialler.”  Louis was working on his Masters in psychology, a degree that came in handy more often than not working as a bartender.  With a deep sigh and a tug on his fringe for good measure, Niall reluctantly filled in his friend.

“I kinda accidentally asked out one of my students this afternoon.  Got me ass handed to me in the process.”  Niall raised his eyebrows and took another swig of his pint.  “Gotta be honest, she was fuckin’ terrifying.”  Slumping against the bar in defeat, Niall stared at the drops of condensation rolling down his glass.  

“I’m sorry, did you say you ‘accidentally’ asked out a student, Neil?”  Louis was staring incredulously at Niall, a wicked cackle starting to bubble up from his slight frame.  “How do you accidentally ask someone out?  I mean, logistically, how does it happen?”  Louis and Harry were shaking with laughter as Niall sat back and glared at both of them.

“For your information, Lewis, I wasn’t trying to ask her out.  It was a complete misunderstanding.”  Harry slapped Niall’s shoulder, shaking him slightly in his seat.  “Happens to the best of us, right Lou?”  Harry looked pointedly at Louis, nudging his chin in Niall’s direction.  Louis got the hint, and  piped up quickly.  “Sure Ni, sure.  I mean, can’t win em all can ya?”

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Taken (Part Nine)

Pairing: Dean x Reader, Sam x Reader
Summary: When Sam, the reader’s fiancee, is kidnapped with no explanation, the reader uses the help of Dean to find her lost love.  However, many unforeseen things happen on the journey to find Sam. How will Dean and the reader deal with developing feelings for one another?
Reader Gender: Female
Word Count: 2,232
Tags: canon-level gore/violence, situational angst, eventual Dean x Reader
A/N: Ahhhhhhhh let me know what you thinkkkkkkkkk!



“Sam!” you called out, your heart hammering in your chest.  You flew down the stairs and ran to his side.  “Sam,” you said again, touching his face and wiping blood out of his eyes with shaking hands.

He breathed in deeply, fumbling back into consciousness.  His eyes were tired as they focused on you, not believing the sight in front of him.

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“Down a path worn into the woods, past a stream and a hollowed-out log full of pill bugs and termites, was a glass coffin. It rested right on the ground, and in it slept a boy with horns on his head and ears as pointed as knives.”

- the darkest part of the forest by holly black 

Making The Grade - St. Paddy’s Day

A/N: This is canon, and occurs shortly after MtG ends.  Enjoy!

Niall had been insistent that Poppy come out for St. Patrick’s Day with him, despite her lamenting that he should go out and enjoy time with his friends. He whined and nibbled at her earlobe, pulling her off his desk and onto his lap in his tiny office. “C’mon puppy, ya gotta come out. All my friends wanna meet you.”  Poppy groaned at the nip of his teeth against her skin and at the ridiculous pet name he’d started using more frequently.

“I didn’t think it was possible to make my name any more obnoxious, but you’ve done it Horan.”

Niall giggled softly into her skin and trailed his fingers across the perpetually tattered cuffs of her cozy sweatshirt. “You love it.  Please come out with us. All my mates are flying in - even my idiot cousins that I haven’t seen since last Christmas.”

At the mention of Christmas, Poppy’s resolve crumbled. Three months earlier, Niall had cancelled his plans to fly home to Ireland for Christmas when he found out Poppy was spending it alone, holed up in her apartment. She had argued with him that he hadn’t been home in a year, but his insistence that no one should be alone on Christmas  was steadfast.  It had ended up being one of the best holidays she’d ever had.  Poppy sighed and twisted her slender fingers with his thick ones. “Ok. I’ll come. I’ll meet you guys out though, I’ve got to finish some articles. How will I be able to find you?”

Niall grinned mischievously and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “You won’t be able to miss us. Trust me.”

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Unevenly Drawn Petals

Pairing: Levihan 

Word count: 6793

Summary: Soulmate AU in which whenever you write on yourself, it appears on your soulmates skin as well, and Hange is a horrible artist, much to Levi’s dismay.

A/N: First time posting one of my stories on here! Hope you guys liked it! I’ll be posting another part of this shortly which will consist entirely of Levihan fluff because I’m weak… Oops. 

When Levi was little, the concept of a soulmate didn’t make much sense to him.

The earliest encounter he remembered having that involved his soulmate was when he was just about the age of four-years-old. He could still recall the way his mother’s light eyes lit up at the sight of the green lettering that appeared in a scribbled manner across the pale skin of his forearm.

“Look, baby, that’s from your soulmate!” She had said in a happy tone, pointing it out with her index finger. He had stared down at the lines for a minute in silent contemplation, before scrubbing harshly at the skin with the palm of his hand. His mother quickly pulled his arm away, his skin now a bright red from the friction he caused to himself. He didn’t focus on that, his eyes instead trained on the green marker that still lingered there despite his best efforts to wash it away. He promptly burst into tears.

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I sort of went off the deep end with this one. Oops. A Zombie Apocalypse AU. Content warning: Death. Implied violence. 

Even though it was impossible to forget, Mike was sure to keep his memories close, a constant reminder of all that they had lost right under his fingers. He could feel the notches in the worn wood each time he picked up his bat. They burned his fingertips each time he swung to save his own life. Five marks scratched into the handle of the weapon he held close at all times. Five marks he stared at without fail each night before fitful sleep took him.

Five memories that he’d rather not have, but that he’d never allow himself to leave behind.

The first notch was for his father, carved several days after the world Mike had once known fell apart. The news had broken at mid-afternoon and the phone lines were immediately useless. No matter how many times Karen, frustrated to tears, punched in the number to Ted’s office, she got nothing more than the buzzing of a dead line. Ted had not come home that evening. Or the next day. Or the next. After that, Hopper suggested they assume the worst.

Mike ran his fingers over the second notch and felt a thick lump grow in his throat. Hopper.

They would never have made it out of Hawkins without him and it had been critical for them to leave the town. Hopper never explained why, but Mike figured it was safe to accept that he knew something they didn’t. After taking on a job at the Lab, Hopper always seemed to know something they didn’t. Mike would never forget the look on his face; the set expression of fierce determination. He’d never forget the words on his lips; Go. Now. Uttered with such untroubled satisfaction and surety that they had done just that. 

Mike pressed into the second notch and held in a sigh. Was it horrible he had cried when carving a mark for the Chief when his eyes had been dry for his father? 

The third notch was the worst. Mike couldn’t touch it. He could only look, his gaze hard and his chest tight as it had been when he carved it.

Dustin had never been one for this world and Mike suspected that, after several weeks of grotesque horrors, he just gave up. In retrospect, Mike believed he had seen it in Dustin’s eyes for a long while and wondered if he should have said something. Could he have changed something?

He tried not to dwell on those thoughts, as they always led to the question Mike dreaded most. Am I cut out for this world? Lucas was tough as nails and determined. Will had experienced hell and survived once, of course he could do it again. Max was fearless, smart, and quick. And El…El could protect herself. Her entire life had been spent learning to endure. In himself, Mike saw none of the things he saw in his friends.

Yeah, the third notch was the worst. Everyone had looked at each other in shocked, horrified silence until Jonathan had stepped forward, tears in his eyes. Mike had to turn away into El’s shoulder, his hands coming up to shield his ears while El whispered comforting words to him.

Jonathan. He was notch number four. He had left camp one day with Steve and had never come back. Steve returned with a trunk full of canned goods salvaged from a store eighteen miles out and a glassy look in his eyes. No one said anything as the car door slammed shut and Steve cut a harsh path to Joyce’s tent, his feet throwing up dust as they dragged along the dry ground.

Steve got reckless after that. Detached and impulsive, he was notch number five.  It was Nancy who stepped forward that time, but there were no tears in her angry eyes. Mike noticed, days later, the same glassy and distant expression on her face that he had seen on Steve’s and Mike worried that his sister would become notch number six.

He wouldn’t let that happen.

“We don’t have to do this,” Lucas placed a hand firmly on her wrist and looked at her earnestly, his imploring eyes meeting hers, hard and cold.

“We do,” El said hoarsely. She shook free of Lucas’s grip and watched him sink back against the wall, defeated, before she placed the knife against the wood. She felt numb, her mind detached from her body as her hand began to mechanically scratch a sixth notch into the handle of the bat.

anonymous asked:

I miss your writing. More snippets please hehe

I miss my writing, too. I’m sorry. :(

Um … let me see if I have a snippet. Oh! I found one. I don’t think I’ve shared this one before:

“Really?” Bucky jerked his chin at the display in the shop front window. Vivid royal purple curtains, rustic wood shelves stacked with mystical doodads and bundles of display herbs, and a large French nouveau-inspired, hand-painted sign advertising psychic guidance.

Darcy smirked at him. “Really.”

“I didn’t take you for somebody who believed in this bunk.”

“I don’t, because it is all bunk,” she agreed, stepping around him to get to the door. “Except Madame Odette.” Bucky frowned at the sign and gave her a wary look. Darcy shrugged. “She won’t pry. It would be rude.”

Darcy pulled open the door and stepped into the fragrant herbalist’s shop, Bucky at her heels.

Madame Odette was at the counter and looked up at the chime of the bright copper bell over the door. She propped an elbow on the worn wood and raised an eyebrow. “Well, look who finally decided to turn up. Where you been?”

“You tell me.” Darcy said with a grin.

“Still got that smart mouth, huh?” Madame Odette straightened up and walked to the end of the counter and waved Darcy over. “Come on over here and let me get a look at you.” Darcy complied and the woman took her hands, giving her a long look up and down. “Ah, my babies are all growing up.” She pulled Darcy into a tight hug.

“You look as stunning as ever,” Darcy told her, planting a little kiss on the woman’s cheek.

Odette’s short cap of black curls, just visible under a scarlet bandana, were shot through with thin strands of silver, and her dark eyes were bracketed by a few more lines, but, the wispy, tiny psychic looked much the same as last time Darcy saw her. Her long, flowing skirt was a pattern of wild slashes of colors, and her simple cream blouse was accented by a collection of rope necklaces strung with dark chunks of vibrant stones. Simple and vivid, that was Madame Odette.

“Oh, never mind me,” the woman sniffled and stepped back, her hands on Darcy’s shoulders. “Aren’t you gorgeous? Oh, darling, you grew up beautiful. Didn’t she?” And Odette turned her head to Bucky, who was lingering by the door, and gave him a knowing look.

“Yes, ma'am,” he answered promptly.

“And in a minute she’ll remember her manners and introduce us.”

Darcy laughed. “Who has the smart mouth again?”

“You do, darling.” She raised her eyebrows and tipped her head at Bucky.

Rolling her eyes with good humor, Darcy held her hands out between the pair. “Odette, this is James Barnes. Bucky, this is Madame Odette.”

“Pleasure to meet you, ma'am,” Bucky said, tipping his head.

Odette stared at him for a moment, a smile growing on her face, and she skirted Darcy to stand in front of Bucky.

“Welcome home, Sergeant.” She reached out and touched the backs of Bucky’s hands, asking silent permission to grasp them in her cool, gentle hands. He complied with a turn of his wrists and a puzzled frown, but she just gave his fingers a light squeeze.

“Oh, baby, you had such a long road home, didn’t you? But you are home.”

“Thank you,” he murmured, uncomfortable, and shot a look at Darcy, who was leaning against the counter watching them. It didn’t surprise her that Madame Odette knew who Bucky was; she had a head for all sorts of random bits and bobs, and she wouldn’t have needed her “sight”. And Odette really wouldn’t pry, she’d have seen that in his eyes, and knowing who he was it didn’t take much to guess it had been a long road home.

“And there I go, making you uncomfortable.” She gave his hands another squeeze and dropped them. “I had an uncle who served in Europe during the war. My grandmama’s little brother.”

“I don’t really remember a lot of—”

“No, no. He told stories about you Howling Commando fellows from time to time.” She laughed, rich and low. “Come on then, you go flip that sign to closed, and then you and Darcy come sit and talk with me for a time.”

“Yes, ma'am,” he said, sounding bemused, but he turned and walked to the front of the shop as requested, while Odette returned to Darcy and took her arm in a light grasp.

“That explains how time was odd around you,” the woman murmured.

“That’s not even the half of it,” Darcy said with a laugh. “But, I figure I owe you the story.”

Odette tsked and shook Darcy’s arm, leading her into the back of the shop. “You don’t owe me a thing. What was freely given asks no price.”

“Still, you gave me something, I want to give you something back.”

“So long as you know there was no obligation to my gift.”

Darcy snorted. “I feel like we could go in circles on this for like an hour.”

“Probably about that. We’re both too stubborn.”

One Year | A Gaston Story (Chapter Seventeen)

Gaston (Luke Evans) X OC

Summary: Gaston made all the wrong choices in life, and when a dramatic fall from the Beast’s castle leaves him wounded and near-death, he thinks it’s the end of his time. Suddenly, an old beggar woman appears at his side and heals him back to his normal self but gives him one year, and only one year, to find true love before his time on earth and the town’s memories of him come to an end.

Prologue | One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve | Thirteen | Fourteen | Fifteen | Sixteen | Seventeen

Tags: @harleyscheekheart ; @jordyhaley ; @gawston ; @araceli91103 ; @the7thsilence ; @blackxthexbeast ; @hobbithorse19 ; @epicfallenismine ; @imoyu-trashblog ; @naildiva87 ; @dracsgirl ; @girl-next-door-writes ; @afairytaledream

They had fallen asleep holding hands, or at least that’s what Gaston believed when he awoke during the sunrise to find his fingers resting on hers. In the late evening, the fire gasped its final breath and the soothing crispness of nightfall blanketed the room and allowed them to sleep comfortably. Gaston recognized the drop in temperature once he straightened his posture in the chair and blinked his tired eyes.

Surprisingly, his muscles weren’t stiff as he rose from the uncomfortable chair and stretched while recalling his conversation with Anne. They had grown close to the point where Gaston questioned whether or not she loved him. Already cognizant of his own feelings, he nearly surrendered into his temptation and kissed her last night, but as he settled for an embrace, he realized how special their moment was, particularly since neither had expressed much physical contact in the past. Gaston knew he was changing and was already beginning to forget the shallow, arrogant, and ill-tempered man he was a year ago. And yet, as he remembered that Anne’s mother and Tom were following their path, the vengeful part of him stirred irritably. Vayle and Tom were gradually awakening a sleeping Beast.

“It’s time to go,” Gaston urged Anne as he gently shook her shoulder.

“Oh, okay,” she slurred her words and sluggishly pushed herself off of the couch’s sinking cushion.

Her last memory of the evening was listening to one of Gaston’s stories of his childhood, explaining the various jokes he had shared with Charles and LeFou, as he stoked the fading blaze from the fire. She didn’t intend to fall asleep then, her eyes had already grown heavy with the passing hours, and in this moment Anne couldn’t help but notice that the chair from the fireplace had moved overnight. She smiled at this thought, especially after they had a wonderful evening together, but Gaston’s sudden desperation caught her attention and pulled her back to reality.

“Come on,” he ordered as he grabbed one of his bags from behind the couch. “We’ve got one more stop until Holstein. We need to move quickly.”

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House Call, Part 2

The detective sauntered down the concrete alleyway, as his protégé tread with a light step behind him. Eyes felt something, a feeling he hadn’t known in years. Was that… Music? He could feel the abrasive beat against his chest, a bass level unrivaled by wasteland technology.

Fish rapped his knuckles against the steel door with a metallic echo, and almost instantly, the slat in the door opened and a deep voice emanated from behind the passage

“State your business” it said

“It’s Fish, V expects me.” Fish answered, Eyes  genuinely terrified of what could possibly lurk behind that door.

The voice spoke in a foreign tongue to its comrades, and turned back to the opening in the doorway

“He’s in the back.” It said, slamming the slat back shut. The unmistakable sound of latches and bolts unlocking could be heard from the other side of the door, and opened inwards for the two of them. The music was considerably louder inside, and shook Eyes to the core on every beat. It was some sort of gangster rap music, but in a language unknown to Eyes.

The voice was revealed to be a four-armed monstrous man with hands like wrecking balls. He wore a white tank top over his hulking muscle structure, and upon further examination, had rock-like shards spreading across his entire body. Marked on his shoulder was a tattoo of a triangle with a single eye in the center.

Fish and Eyes entered the building, which elicited the slight glance from a few menacing , but nothing serious. This alone was enough to startle Eyes, who sidestepped behind Fish who was busy lighting a cigarette. Fish stepped forward towards a large wooden bar, once a glorious altar to friends and drunks alike, the dark oaken bar was now a lively spot for anyone with the coin and a willingness to step above the law.

Fish, a regular drinker as Eyes had observed, mounted a worn leather and wood barstool, surely seeing its fair share of late nights.

“Fish!” A voice called from the left. Eyes, still contemplating whether to sit or not, looked up immediately to see a man, well dressed in white and black. His body was truly nothing more than a white circle with arms and legs and a single monstrous eye in the center of his torso.

Fish looked up to meet the circular stranger’s gaze, and his face perked up a bit

“Cuz, long time no see. It’s been a while lil’ guy, how’s the bar?”
“Not too bad” Cuz responded, his eye slowly shifting to meet Fish’s thousand-eyed comrade. “What’s the deal with your tagalong? Witness Protection? Suspect of a crime? Someone kill his family?”
“Business. None of yours actually.” Fish responded sternly.
“Well jeez, pal. Didn’t mean to get you all rough in the gills. Let me make it up to you.”

Cuz pulled a roughly marked glass bottle with a dark liquid inside of it and poured some into two glasses.

“We square?” Cuz asked, sliding one of the glasses across the bar to Fish.

“Sure.” Fish replied  

“Listen Cuz, you’re my favorite barkeep, but I’m not here for the rotgut. Not today, at least. We’ve got business with your brother.”

Eyes stood beside Fish contently and nodded as if to back up his point.

“Alright, I get it. You come by for the first time in weeks and you don’t want to have a drink with ol’ cuz. No worries mi amigo, I love you too.”

“Let’s not get all offended here, I’ll be back for that drink, don’t worry.” Fish reached into his coat pocket and dumped a small pile of coins which Cuz quickly slid across the bar and funneled into a glass container. He got off the stool and looked at eyes, waving a finger to motion for him to follow. Fish and Eyes walked across the bar, ducking past patrons far larger than the two of them combined.

In the back of the bar, a tall ornate maroon door stood in a golden frame, guarded by two of the larger well dressed patrons. One looked down at the duo, and stepped aside allowing them entry. Fish promptly opened the door as Eyes examined what lie behind it. Realizing that some no one larger than him was in the room beyond, Eyes sped through the ten foot door frame eagerly.

The room beyond was the cleanest, most luxurious display Eyes had ever seen, the carpets were stainless, monogrammed with a “YV” patterned across the area of it, shining pillars rose from ceiling to floor, standing spotless and shined, and a gigantic golden chair stood behind a desk that appeared to have been polished every day for a thousand years.

The chair began to swivel slowly, and the occupant was revealed. On the cushion sat a triangle, he was simply that. Nothing more than a triangular body with a single eye and limbs. He wore a white pin-striped suit and a shining gold revolver at his side. He sat up in his chair and placed his hands on the desk.

“Fish. Thank you for coming. Your associate as well.” The figure said, his eye studying the two of them.

Fish took a cigarette from his breast pocket and lit it promptly. “What do you have for me, V” He said, busy taking his first drag.

“First things first, it seems you owe me an introduction to this one.” V said, gesturing towards Eyes

“Right, right. This is the kid I’ve been keeping around. I just call him Eyes, shouldn’t be too hard to see why” Fish said, chuckling at his own joke.

V forced a laugh, then met one of Eyes’ many stares. “You know who I am, boy?”
Eyes shook his head nervously, wondering if he should

Fish turned to Eyes “This is Yung Venuz. Head of the Venuz gang, a legitimate businessman who has often been wrongly accused of revolutionary crimes.”
Venuz laughed, this time legitimately.

Eyes’ stare widened, now realizing the caliber of criminal he was dealing with. Venuz, not nearly as physically threatening as any of the mutants in the bar was the mastermind.

“Look at the kid, you scared him I think” Venuz said, forcing words between laughs. “Come here, kid, I’ve got something to show you” Venuz dismounted his chair, and Eyes waited for the sound of his feet to hit the ground, but it never came. As Eyes walked across the room, he soon realized that not only was this the criminal mastermind of the city and beyond, he could levitate.

Venuz pulled open a drawer of his desk, inside it were more revolvers than Eyes had ever seen in his entire life. The boss picked one up, inspected it, and held it towards eye, handle out.

“Take it kid, you’re going to need it if you’re working with this guy” Venuz said, gesturing backwards to Fish.

Eyes slowly and reluctantly grabbed the handle of the revolver. He felt its weight, which was a surprising realization, as he had never held a weapon in his life.

“Well, seems like you owe me for that gun then, right?” Venuz asked

Eyes looked up from the firearm immediately, staring nervously at Venuz.

“Looks like you’re tagging along on the job then.” Fish said “So what is it, V? Someone get shot again?”
“I wish, my friend. But this one is a bit uglier.” Venuz walked over to a maroon and gold wardrobe along the wall. He sorted through various sizes of an identical uniform consisting of a black dress shirt and pants, white vest and white armband with a logo of Venuz on it. He pulled two sets from the closet and closed it back up.
“Someone’s been stealing from our supply posts in the desert. My boys don’t usually get put on the outposts without a clearance to shoot anyone who isn’t one of us, so you two are going to need these.” He tossed each of them a uniform.

“I don’t have the slightest damned clue what’s happening over there, but I need two out there who aren’t one of mine.”
Fish inspected the uniform “White isn’t really my color, V. But hell, it’s a job.” He stretched his hand to Venuz who accepted his shake.

“I want you two out there as soon as you can, I’ll have a map drawn for you. You have my clearance to shoot the bastard when you find him.” Venuz said

Fish took a drag from his cigarette, and met Venuz’ eye.
“We’ll find him, V.”

The two shook hands, and Fish turned, uniform in hand. Eyes, still distracted by his revolver, looked to see Fish leaving and ran after him.

“Let’s go, kid. And don’t shoot anybody til’ we get there.”