#[ my flames may flicker...but they will never die // interactions ]

[gildedflames]

( rain, she/her, 35+, PDT ) woah! was that JOSHUA ROSFIELD walking down main street? i heard they’re not actually from ivy cove but come from FINAL FANTASY 16. they’re 28 and live in RADIAN HILLS but watch out because they can be RUDE + OVERPROTECTIVE but are actually CARING + POLITE. despite them HAVING memories, you’ll always think of A CRACKLING FIRE, THE SMELL OF WOOD SMOKE, AND THE SENSATION OF PHOENIX FEATHERS BRUSHING OVER YOUR SKIN when imagining them. / ross lynch, he/him

Point in canon he's from: Near endgame, just after the Echoes of the Fallen DLC but before the Rising Tide DLC.

[gildedflames]

Joshua nodded, looking thoughtful for a moment as he tried to figure out just how to explain it. "Well, where I'm from, there are some of us who can turn into giant creatures called Eikons," he began after a moment. "I can turn into the Phoenix, my brother Clive can turn into Ifrit, his girlfriend Jill is Shiva, and our stepbrother Dion turns into Bahamut. And that's not all of them, but I'd be here all night otherwise."

Finishing his drink, he turned to the bartender for a moment and requested a refill before looking back at Robb and continuing, "And as for what I remember, the last thing I remember is exploring this tower with Clive and Jill, and..." His voice trailed off as he realized he couldn't quite figure out how to explain it.

"Aye, I'm sure you would," Robb agreed with a small smile of his own. "But you can still try anyway. If you feel like sharing, I promise I'm a very good listener." He could not really imagine anything other than confusion now--what else were they to make of a world where so many realities were the same all at once? Unless, of course, they'd all gone mad. He huffed out a small, dark laugh. "War, mostly," he recalled. "I remember marching to war. I remember losing."

[littlepeakydevil]

Part 21: The Shadow of the Abattoir

Chapter 24: Twisted & Deranged

Warnings: Torture, violence, mutilation, suicidal thoughts, and references to sexual assault.

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Tommy unfolded the razor that he pulled from his pocket. Light from the lanterns in the room flickered off of the blade when he turned it to and fro, the glinting metal promising a sharp, painful bite.

“You can go, Charlie,” he said softly. He’d shed his overcoat, suit jacket, and hat, leaving him in just his waistcoat and button down. The leather of his black gloves creaked where he tightened his fingers around the handle of the razor. 

Charlie looked nervously between him and the man bound to the chair in front of them. “Tommy…”

“You can go,” he repeated, voice still remaining soft. Though his eyes did not leave the gardener. 

Charlie hesitated, then nodded, plucking up his lantern and shuffling out the door. Tommy waited until the hinges squealed shut behind him, and then he began to approach the man tied to the chair.

Paul Smith. That was his real name. Not the one that Lizzie had hired him under. They’d found two sets of identification forms on him. Tommy was guessing that Luca had Sabini helping him make up new identities for people. 

He did not remember ever interacting with Paul, but he remembered his son. And what Lily did to him. 

Crouching down in front of Paul, Tommy stared into the man’s small, black eyes.

“Where is she?” 

Paul stared back at him stubbornly, jaw tightening. “I don’t know.”

Tommy could see the lie in his eyes. Frustration flared through his nerves. Like an angry dragon roused while atop its nest of gold. He did not have time for this. 

“Yes, you do.” He somehow managed to keep his voice calm, despite the desire to slice and scream and kick something. 

“I’m dead anyway, why would I tell you shit?”

Tommy cocked his head, considering, then nodded. “You’re right. You are going to die. But not until I have the information that I need. How long that takes, and how painful it is for you, however…” He passed the razor from hand to hand. Paul’s eyes followed the gleaming blade warily. “That’s entirely up to you.” He brandished the weapon in Paul’s face, bringing it to just a few inches away from the corner of his right eye. “You tell me what I need to know now, and I’ll make it quick,” he promised. 

Paul was shaking, but when he looked up at Tommy, his expression was steadfast. Stubborn. 

Alright, then.    

Drawing himself up to his full height, he flexed his fingers around the grip of the razor, head tilting while he considered. He couldn’t take his tongue, at least not while he still needed him to speak. 

A shiver wracked down his spine. Every time he blinked, he was transported back to that dimly lit room. Vincente Changretta bound before him, mumbling prayers in Italian while Tommy danced on the line of losing what little sanity he had left. 

Arthur’s bullet in the old man’s head was the only thing that saved him from turning into a monster. 

But Arthur was not here. And Tommy could not stop. If he did, he may never see Lily again.  

Leaning forward, Tommy brought the razor to Paul’s face. Pressing the tip of the blade against Paul’s cheek, he drew it down in a diagonal line starting at the corner of his eye to his lips. Not yet exerting enough pressure to actually break the skin. 

“Tell me where she is,” he commanded. At no answer his temper flared, eyes narrowing, getting right down into Paul’s face. “You want me to castrate you like Lily did to your fucking son?” he snarled. Paul flinched, a tiny whimper emitting from his throat. So quiet Tommy might not have heard it if their faces weren’t inches away from each other. His captive clenched his jaw, but it did no good to hide the way that his lips trembled. 

“She’s getting what she deserves after what she did to my Xavier.” Despite practically shaking in his boots, Paul’s eyes were blazing like two twin flames, chin jutting up slightly when he spoke. 

Tommy rocked back, eyes widening. For a moment, he was nearly blinded by a pulse of rage so white-hot it could put the sun to shame. The leather of his gloves creaked when his hand tightened unconsciously around the handle of the razor. 

He took a deep breath, managing to wrestle himself back under control before the rage burst from his very veins and he did something he’d later regret. The man was probably trying to goad him into losing his temper and killing him prematurely. 

“Your son,” he wetted his lips, forcing his voice to remain level, “was a rapist sack of shit, and he got the punishment appropriate for his actions.”

Paul’s face flushed with anger. “And now so is she. Mr. Changretta promised me that he’d make her pay. He’s going to destroy her.” He let out a creaky, pained sound that Tommy realized was a laugh. 

Tommy forced himself to take a step back, refusing to let himself lash out like he so wanted to. His hands were shaking, and he tightened his grip on the razor in an attempt to stifle it. 

His Lily. His sweet girl who at times was the only source of joy in his life. They were hurting her. At this very second, this very moment. She was alone. Scared. Probably wondering where he was and why he hadn’t come for her yet. 

The very idea that she may think he’d abandoned her spurred him into sudden movement. The blood rushed so loudly in his ears that he hardly even heard the words Paul was still spewing at him.   

“God, I wish I could have watched. Hearing her cry and scream would have made me–” 

 An echo of his own voice, screaming in the dark, razor brandished out in front of him, thundered in Tommy’s head: 

I’m a Blinder I’ll take your fucking eyes first! 

Lunging forward, he grasped Paul with one hand by the sides of his face. Halting any more words that may have come from his lips. 

The razor in his hand was a precise little blade. Perfect for making the most delicate of incisions. 

He severed the muscles around Paul’s right eye with two quick flicks of his wrist. Distantly, he was aware that his captive had started screaming. But he didn’t really hear it as he wiped the razor clean and tucked it back into his pocket. One hand keeping Paul’s face held firmly still, Tommy jammed his gloved fingers into his eye socket. He had to flex and wriggle his digits a little to drive entirely under the eyelids and get a good grip on the slimy eyeball. Paul howled, twitching and writhing. Trying in vain to jerk his face away from Tommy’s steel grip.  

With a sharp twist and a yank, Tommy tore the eye cleanly from its socket, a bloody tail trailing out from the back of the surprisingly firm sphere. Blood poured copiously from the newly fashioned hole in Paul’s head. Running in a gushing waterfall down the right side of his face. 

Tommy tossed aside the eyeball unceremoniously, seizing Paul by either side of the cheeks. His black gloves left red smears against his skin. The man sobbed, mouth open and gaping with pain filled wails. Tommy curled two fingers into the bloodied hole where his eye had been, pressing down on the sensitive, irritated tissue. 

“You tell me where she is now, or I’ll take the other fucking eye,” he threatened in a low growl. The pure monstrosity that he heard in his own voice sent a shiver down his spine. 

He sounded like some thing risen up from the depths of hell. An instrument of nothing but misery and pain. 

Paul just continued to sob, shaking in the chair so violently that the wooden legs rattled against the floor. Tommy let go of his face, still looming over him. He watched the man’s head bow forward, gaping eye socket still bleeding heavily. He’d need to be careful, to ensure that he didn’t drain too fast. 

No answer to his question came, and so Tommy reached back into his pocket, razor once more finding its home in his palm. 

This time, when he descended upon him, Paul begged him to stop. Broken, whimpering pleas that were quickly cut off by another agonizing cry when Tommy dug the razor into the skin around his remaining eye. The overwhelming coppery scent of blood and what Tommy realized a moment later was urine filled the warehouse. The bastard had fucking pissed himself. 

Fingers diving in, he took hold of the eyeball and twisted it slowly in the socket almost a full ninety degrees before ripping it out with the same ease that he’d removed the first. There was a roaring in his ears, sickness twisting in his gut from the tiny part of him that still clung to sanity. His veins sang with the thrum of fast pumping blood, a twisted sense of vindication washing over him. 

They were hurting Lily because of the man before him. He would like to think that he’d at least partially paid him back for the pain that his actions had caused his lover. 

“WHERE IS SHE!?” he roared, mouth but a breath away from the crimson, empty sockets staring back at him. The stench of blood was almost dizzying. Only further addling Tommy’s mind and adding to the bloodlust, rage, and overwhelming terror that fully encompassed him. He was shaking, he realized, mind beginning once again to take up a horrible chant:

You’re too late. You’re too late. You took too long, and it’s too late. She’s dead. She’s gone. They’ve destroyed her, they’re hurting her, they’re raping her, they’re killing her, it’s all my fault, oh God, oh God, Lily, no…

In a movement driven by rage–at Paul Smith, at Luca Changretta, at himself–Tommy lurched forward and plunged his thumb into one of the fresh, bloody divots where Paul’s eyes had once been, digging in deep. The man’s screams finally pierced through the roar of self loathing ringing in Tommy’s ears. Echoing so loud throughout the warehouse that anyone in the yard would be able to hear him. Hell, they could probably hear him all the way down the bloody street. 

“YOU WANT ME TO CUT MORE FUCKING PIECES OFF OF YOU? WHERE. IS. SHE!?” He did not recognize his own voice. Had not even known that his vocal cords were capable of making such a menacing sound. 

“The church!” Paul started to wail. “They took her to the church! It’s a thirty minute drive south on the road from Miss. Stark’s house! Please, just stop…”

Tommy immediately knew which church he was talking about. It was a big, white building with lots of stained glass windows. The bowels of it had once been used to hold individuals deemed enemies of the Catholic church, or those who needed to be placed under the watchful eye of a priest while seeking penance. 

He straightened, the bubble of blind madness that had enveloped him popping with Paul’s confession. His stomach turned as he took in the full scope of what he’d just done, swallowing hard. 

“Are you lying to me, Paul?” he asked, voice soft once more. Paul whimpered, trying to shrivel back further into himself. As if expecting at any moment to feel the bite of Tommy’s razor slicing into his skin again. 

“No…no…I swear. I swear…” 

Tommy cocked his head. He was not detecting any lie in Paul’s voice. But still, he debated whether or not it would be worth it to keep him alive until they were sure that he was telling them the truth. 

He was still weighing options in his head when the door behind him creaked open.

“Tommy, I just–Jesus bleeding Christ!” Arthur exclaimed in shock when he took in the bloody mess before him. It was only then that Tommy realized that he had blood all over the sleeves of his white shirt, red smeared down the front of his waistcoat and a few sticky droplets clinging to his cheeks. 

“He says that they’ve got her at a church near Lizzie’s house,” Tommy told his older brother calmly. Deciding that it would be better for his own sanity if he did not think too hard about how he must look. He wondered if he finally looked like the monster so many in Small Heath believed him to be. 

 Arthur gaped at him, gaze darting between him and the eyeless man slumped over in the chair. Ignoring the shocked expression, Tommy went to grab his coat.

“Come on.”

“You’ll never get to her in time.” Paul was still sobbing, greatly undercutting the bite Tommy was certain he intended to carry in his words. “Luca…Luca has plans for her…”

Tommy clenched his jaw, hand squeezing so hard around the grip of the razor that the joints in his fingers ached. Something was trembling inside him. The need to rage and scream scratched at his insides. He went stock still with the effort that it took to force it down. Eyes fixed firmly on the ground, his back to Paul. 

Paul, who just kept on talking.  

“Even if by some miracle you get her back, she’ll never be the same.” A hiccupping combination of a laugh and a sob interrupted him. “The Red Demon is dead. She’s gone. You’ll never see her again–” 

A sound that was half scream, half roar tore from Tommy’s lungs. Whirling, he lunged at Paul. He seized the back of his head with one hand, brought the blade to his throat with the other, and slashed with a furious, uncontrolled movement. The razor ripped through skin, blood, and muscle, severing vocal cords and windpipe. Blood exploded upwards in a fountain-like spray, droplets spewing to dot Tommy’s cheeks like crimson freckles. More poured out to cover his hands and wrists, sticking to the leather of his gloves and soaking his shirt. 

“Tommy!” Arthur shouted, and he was half aware of his older brother’s hand on his shoulder, trying to pull him away. Straightening, chest heaving with heavy breaths, Tommy allowed him to draw him two steps back. Arthur looked from him to the man twitching in the chair. “What if he was lying?” 

“He wasn’t.” Tommy wiped his face on his sleeve, leaving a red smear where his skin made contact with the material. He went to collect his coat, cleaning the razor and dropping it into his pocket with shaking hands. “Come on.” He shot one last look at Paul, collapsed back in the chair, limbs dangling limply. His head lolled back as blood pulsed sluggishly from the open wound in his throat.

“Tommy, the Golds are still all the way across town. I told them you wanted them, but it’ll be a while before they get here.”

“So you wait for them. I’m going.”

“Tommy! What if it’s a trap?” Arthur scrambled to keep up with him as he made his way to a car stored out of the rain. “You should wait for backup.”

“Can’t wait.” He opened the car door and slipped into the leather seat. 

“Tom!” Arthur latched onto the frame of the open window. “Just stop and think for a moment–”

Tommy looked up at his brother, and there must have been something in his eyes–desperation, fear, madness, he could not have known–because Arthur drew back with a grave look. 

“The church that’s thirty minutes south from Lizzie’s house. You can use the other car in the garage.” He dug out the keys from his pocket and tossed them at him. “Follow me there now, or sit here and wait for the Golds. It’s your choice, but I’m going.”

“Tommy…” Arthur murmured in one final plea. But Tommy shook his head. 

“I have to go, Arthur.”

His brother said nothing more, watching him push the button to start the engine and begin to drive out into the cold, rainy night. When he glanced in the rear view window, he could see him still standing there, hands limp at his sides, watching the car pull out of the yard. 

Dragging his eyes away, Tommy adjusted his grip on the steering wheel, drawing in a deep breath. Attempting to calm the jitteriness that had begun to eat at his limbs. His foot pressed down hard on the accelerator, the engine roaring, the car rolling faster and faster down the road. Images of the bleeding Paul Smith nudged at the edges of his mind, but he pushed them away, instead focusing on the dark road in front of him.

Hoping he wasn’t too late. 

—

The entire room was filled with the overwhelming coppery stench of blood.

Everything hurt. Not a single nerve was spared from the burn or throb of fiery pain. 

She kept her eyes closed, lacking the energy required to even open her eyelids. Not that she particularly wanted to. Being awake meant being in pain. At least while in the sweet embrace of unconsciousness she was free from the agony that coiled throughout her entire body. 

“Do you think she’s alive?” came a voice, speaking in Italian. Lily made no indication of hearing it, body remaining limp despite the horrid pain it caused in her shoulders.

“Nah, she’s still breathing, see? Look at her chest.”

A chuckle. “As if I could look anywhere else.”

Bile rose in her throat at the reminder that she was still naked, even though the dried blood on her body covered a good portion of her pale skin. 

She could hear the soft scrape and shuffle of their shoes against the floor as they circled her. Like two vultures, swooping around and around above an injured gazelle they knew would soon succumb to its wounds. 

“Any idea what Luca’s got planned for her next?”

“No idea. I’d say he’s outdone himself already.”

“Shame that he won’t let us have a taste.”

Her limbs stiffened a little with dread, though thankfully not enough for either of the guards to notice. One of them made a sound of agreement. 

“When will he be back?”

“Don’t know. A couple hours, probably. He was going to go have dinner with his mother.”

From beyond the door, Lily thought that she heard some sort of commotion, but she couldn’t be sure that it wasn't just her hearing things.

“What the hell is that?” asked one of the guards, and only then did she know that the sounds she was hearing were real. There was a creak when the door was shoved open.

“Giovanni, Marco and Nico want you. Something about settling some dispute they’re having over their game of cards.” 

Giovanni sighed. “Are you serious? Why can’t you or one of the other boys settle things between them?”

“You know that Nico only listens to you.”

There was a good deal of grumbling from the guard, turning to his companion. “Stay here with her.”

“C’mon, man. I wanna go play cards with the others. She’s out cold and tied up. Not to mention beaten to shit. What’s she gonna do?”

“Nothing, probably. But Luca will have our balls if something happens while on our watch.”

A grumble. Then, “fine. Just don’t take too long.”

There was the sound of footsteps towards the door, the squeal of its hinges closing again, then silence. 

“You awake?” There was shifting in front of her, and then a light prod given to her stomach. She had to grit her teeth together to hold in a hiss of pain. The guard huffed at her lack of reaction. “Figures.” 

She heard a rustle that sounded like he was turning around. She waited a beat and then, very deliberately, fluttered her eyes open just enough that she could see through her lashes. 

The guard had his back to her. He was close enough that she could have poked the small of his back with her toe if she wanted. 

Tucked into his belt, right there, right within reach of her foot, was a knife. 

Lily’s eyes popped open the rest of the way, gaze zeroing in on it like she would a beacon.

It was hooked into his belt in a way that, if she could wrap her toes around the hilt, she could easily pull it free. Of course, she would have to deal with him first. 

A tiny bloom of hope started to build in her chest. 

Toes flexing, she experimentally tensed the muscles in her legs, encouraging blood flow. This would hurt like a fucking bitch, but she had no choice if she wanted that knife. 

With a quick, deep breath, she tensed the muscles in her core, raised up one of her legs, and swung it around to wrap around the guard’s neck. Using the momentum of the swing, she kept her leg turning, until she heard a sharp crack emit from his neck. 

White sparks of pain flew across her eyes, every bit of her screaming in agony at the sudden movement. It took everything she had not to let the guard’s body drop to the floor, and several moments of gasping, trembling breaths before she could bring herself to move again. 

Leg still wound around the guard’s neck, she squeezed it tight to keep his body half raised up while her other foot reached down, grabbing at the hilt of the hunting knife. A grunt of strain left her lips, fighting to get a good grip on it.

She had to take another break once she had it out of the belt, letting the guard’s heavy body drop with a thud to the floor. Now came the next hard part. If she dropped the knife, she was fucked. For a second, she wondered if it would be easier to slit her own throat, rather than to cut herself loose. 

Shaking the thought away, she tightened the muscles in her core again, and raised her leg up, up, up. Her back curled, screaming in pain the entire time, contorting herself to pass the knife from her foot to her bound hands. Whimpers rocked from her lips, half numb fingertips flexing as they tried to grab the knife. The muscles in her stomach trembled with exertion, sweat beading on her brow. Never before had she been so thankful for her past time practicing contortionism as a kid, or the exercises she'd continued to partake in over the years to maintain her flexibility. 

Her hand finally managed to snatch the knife, squeezing it in a white knuckled grip. She didn’t have the dexterity or coordination with her toes to trust herself to cut through the ropes around her wrists. The muscles in her core and leg relaxed, swinging down from their inwardly curled position. A yelp left her lips when her whole body swung back and forth with the momentum. 

Just a bit more, she told her tired body. Omitting, of course, that once untied she’d still likely have to fight her way through Luca’s men. Craning her head up, she focused on maneuvering the knife to slice through the rope that kept her bound wrists dangling from the ceiling. It was harder than she’d thought; the angle was funny and her hands sweaty. She almost dropped the knife twice, heart stuttering with terror each time.  

Finally, she got the knife at the right angle and began to saw. Tears started to stream down her face as the rope, little by little, started to give way. When it finally snapped, she went falling to the ground with an unceremonious thud that knocked the wind out of her. Groaning softly against the cold, blood-slickened stone.

She laid there for a moment, so exhausted that she was half tempted to just curl up and close her eyes. Not caring that she was now lying in the pool of blood that had collected beneath her. But a part of her–the part that by some miracle still had a drive to live–forced her to raise her head and drag herself up. Fumbling with the knife and crawling towards the guard’s body beside her. With a heave, she rolled him over, fumbling in his suit jacket until her fingers kissed the grip of a pistol. 

She really started crying then, yanking it from the holster and checking it to find a full round of golden bullets already loaded inside. She striped him hastily out of his clothes, pulling on his white button down shirt and trousers with shaking fingers. They were much too big for her, but she rolled up the sleeves and legs and used his belt to cinch the trousers around her waist. They were better than nothing, and would hopefully provide some sort of protection for her many gaping wounds. 

Scrambling, half slipping on the blood on the floor, Lily went to the door. It was locked, and that had a heaving sob leaving her lips. Even as she moved to press her back to the wall next to the door, stuffing the pistol into her waistband and clutching the knife with shaking hands. 

It was not long until she heard footsteps approaching from outside, and then the click of a key sliding into a lock.   

“Hey Leo, if you want to go upstairs–” the guard was unable to finish his sentence on account of her blade slicing across his throat. His eyes widened, hands flying to the slit in his skin. Lily seized him by the front of the shirt, dragging him into the room with her. He was trying to grab at her, mouth working as if attempting to shout. She drove the knife up under his ribs into his heart, waiting until he stilled before reaching into his jacket for his gun. Sheathing the knife in her belt, she fumbled through his pockets until she found a ring of keys, stashing them away in her pocket. She stuffed the second gun in the back of her waistband. 

Both hands wrapped around the grip of the pistol she’d taken, she cautiously kicked the ajar door open the rest of the way, poking her head out to peer down the hallway. 

There was no one there. 

Tentatively, she creeped out of the room that had served as her prison cell for the last few days. A surge of adrenaline had helped to somewhat dull the pain she was in, but everything was still extremely tender and raw, wounds rubbing painfully against the fabric of her oversized clothes. She was walking with a notable limp, one hand groping for the wall to help keep her upright. As she climbed the stairs at the end of the hall, she heard voices from somewhere up above.

The top of the stairs were closed off by a door, and she hunched down to peer through the keyhole to try to make out what was on the other side. 

She could see into a chapel, with high, arched ceilings and a depiction of Jesus on the cross at the altar. Pews made of rich dark wood faced the cross. Seated at a table between the pews and the altar, two men were playing cards. Two other men were seated on the pews, passing a flask back and forth to each other. She spotted at least one other man pacing the length of the room. 

Lily adjusted her grip on the pistol, weighing her options. 

The only way out was forwards. 

Head leaning against the wall, she closed her eyes. Listening to her breathing and the thunder of her heart in her ears. Trying to steady herself.    

Gun raised, she kicked open the door. 

Later, she would not be able to entirely recount what happened. But she knew that there was shooting. There was screaming. And there was lots and lots of blood.

Prev Chapter • Series • Part 21 • Next Chapter

[ddarker-dreams]

Epiphany. Yan Albedo x Reader

Warnings: General yandere themes, implied unhappy previous relationship, and spoilers for Albedo’s story. Word count: 2k.

It wasn’t fair. 

A snowstorm, unlike anything you’ve ever seen rages outside, shards of lustrous ice falling from the sky with the intent to kill. The Dragonspine’s traditionally somber ambiance contorts into something far more sinister. Numerous hues of grays and dark blues blur together, obscuring your view of the mountainous region. It’s difficult to see anything outside Albedo’s workshop save for the storm. 

“Your shaking won’t stop unless you sit by the fire.” 

His matter-of-fact declaration startles you. Albedo hadn’t spoken in some time, his attention devoted to a specimen he had discovered prior to the storm. You would’ve shared in his enthusiasm if not for the overall situation and company. Sighing reluctantly, you stand from your spot, hugging yourself to stave off the biting cold. It’s impossible to settle on which is worse: staring at the blizzard or staring at him. 

Albedo’s fair skin glows from the light of the crackling fire, sandy blonde hair tousled around his face without care. As he studies the new specimen, his lips purse, eyes focusing on nothing but the work before him, like nothing else mattered. This is how you’ve always known him to be. Even if the world was falling apart around him, Albedo would never falter from what catches his interest until he felt sated. 

Sensing how you’re fixating on him, his attention flickers briefly to you, an unidentifiable emotion gleaming in his eyes. You’re the one to avert your gaze first. Sucrose is going to owe you majorly for this one, why did you even accept her request in the first place? Thinking about it now and cursing your past self does nothing yet you still occupy the time by doing just that. She had come to you panicked, pleading that you take this letter to Albedo in the Dragonspine, claiming it’s urgent. In the heat of the moment, your judgment lapsed and you caved. She spoke of needing to continue her research in Mondstadt or else she would’ve done it herself.

Look where your goodwill has gotten you now, you think. She owes me a week’s worth of dinner. 

You lament giving credence to his advice, but your stubbornness concedes, the cold too miserable to withstand any longer. The fire is right by his side to add insult to injury. Did he do that on purpose to spite you? It’s unlikely, yet your mind wanders to the worst-case scenario. If any other citizen of Mondstadt were privy to your suspicious thoughts, they’d think you unreasonable, as Albedo has established his reputation well. He’s a known eccentric, sure, but a genius one. A few quirks on his behalf that anyone else could overlook. 

Quirks that you used to overlook yourself.

“Would you please grab my bag,” he doesn’t look away from his prized sample but motions to the general area it’s in. “I need to write down my observations.” 

You follow through with what he asks. There was a time you’d have been over the moon to participate in his process, you used to practically trip over yourself to do anything he needed. That enthusiasm has long died off and been replaced by apathy. It’s when he reaches out to take the bag from you that you snap from your trance-like reverie. Whatever remnants of obedience that lingered in your subconscious are brushed away, as you decide to finally challenge him.

Inhaling sharply, you hold the bag just out of his reach, finally earning his recognition for more than a millisecond. 

“I’m not your assistant anymore.” Among other things, you think. 

The words come out more childish than you intended. What you had meant to communicate was your new, critical view on him — he’s a person just the same as anyone else — who held no authority over you. You hold your breath awaiting his response. Albedo doesn’t have an intimidating presence, not in the traditional sense. It’s his mind that you’re wary of. There’s no guessing what sentiments run through his head, yet that’s never stopped you from trying to unravel the mystery that is his thought process.

He gives you a long, hard stare. “I’m aware of that.” 

Where were you going with this again? Albedo doesn’t need to point out your needlessly spiteful behavior with words, his mildly irate facial expression says it just fine. His thin eyebrows threaten to furrow together and the corners of his lips curl down into a frown. You’re unsure of what bothers him more. What you pointed out, or that his work is being interrupted for even the slightest moment. 

The budding confidence you had is all but crushed beneath the weight of his unblinking gaze. Clearing your throat, you decide to take a new approach, straightening your posture in an attempt to be taken more seriously.

“Then tell me, why do you still act like I am?” Your question comes from a genuine place of confusion. Ever since your arrival, you’ve begrudgingly done the odds and ends he’s asked of you, almost like clockwork. You had fallen back into the rhythm that was your life up until a month ago. There was just something about the silent authority he carries that makes it impossible to say no. 

That is, until now. You’re determined to clear up the problems that have plagued your mind. Albedo’s had his time to be nonchalant like nothing happened between you two, but you’re not having it anymore. 

“Force of habit,” he nods his head towards your hand that holds his possessions captive. “Now, would you please…?” 

Your grip tightens and you shake your head defiantly. “No. Or at least, not until you give me a better explanation. Not just about that. How you act in general… none of it makes sense to me.” 

It wouldn’t take much effort from his half to wrangle his bag from you, you’ve seen him in action before after all, so it comes as a surprise when he instead gives in. You blink, gaping when he takes a seat by the roaring fire, and motions for you to do the same. An opportunity like this is hard to come by. The past few weeks, it’s been your code of conduct to avoid any interaction with Albedo, but your frustration can no longer be repressed. 

You take a seat by his side but intentionally leave some distance. 

There’s so much you want to say. Insults, questions, demands, anything. Anything that could give just a hint of closure that he refused to offer himself. It doesn’t help that this familiar area brings memories with it — good and bad alike — painful nostalgia eating away at your heart from the inside out. While you battle with your inner thoughts, he observes you in silence. For a time you hear nothing but the crackling of the fire and wind howling outside.

Finding the courage to speak up, your throat tightens as you force a question out. “Did I… mean so little to you?” 

It’s rare that Albedo ever looks taken aback, but your inquiry managed to do just that. His eyes widen ever so slightly, confusion etching onto his face before he manages to compose himself. Lots of intimate discussions had gone this way. You’d spend hours prepping yourself, meticulously going over what it was you wanted to say, only for the words to die on your tongue when you saw him. 

“I don’t understand what you mean.” He appears genuinely perplexed and you can’t help but feel silly. It may have served you better to think long about this, you realize, but now it’s too late. You rush to explain yourself in hopes of making better sense. 

“When I said I wanted to, er, part ways,” you can’t help but cringe at not knowing the proper label for ending whatever was going on between you two, “You just seemed, I don’t know, indifferent…?” 

In your head, this went down in such a different way. 

Your cheeks are set ablaze by the humiliation his silence brings. It’s not the first time you’ve felt this exact way when bringing up your feelings to Albedo, yet it’s just as awful. Archons, does he always have to look at you like you have three heads? 

When he finally gives you an answer, you wish you had never asked. 

“I knew you would come back to me eventually.” 

Now it’s your turn to give him an incredulous look. He says it without an ounce of hesitation, never once breaking eye contact, his resolve holding firm. Sensing a need to clarify, he attempts to do just that. 

“I considered a variety of variables,” he raises his hand and brushes his knuckles over your face, the unexpected tenderness making you shiver. “I know how your mind works very well. When you told me that’s what you wanted, your physical mannerisms didn’t line up with what you were saying.”

Your heart drops but he doesn’t stop there. 

“Biological responses never lie. It wasn’t anxiety that kept you from looking me in the eye then, it was reasonable doubt. You know it as well as I do. There’s something about me that you can’t place, and the natural human response to the unknown is caution.”

He stops caressing your cheek. “So, tell me [First], and maybe then you’ll reach the conclusion you’ve been searching for. Why are you afraid of me?”

Everything feels wrong. How he’s whispering such horrifying ideas into your mind, leading the conversation with expertise. Is it charisma? You don’t think that’s the proper word. No, it’s how damn certain he is, how he never once leaves room for argument. 

Albedo appraises your silence coldly. 

“See? You’re not sure yourself. Thus why I knew you’d return to me,” he retracts his hand and leans back, but the ghost of his touch leaves your face tingling. “When you don’t understand something, you study it. That’s who you are. It’s why I picked you to be my assistant, that quality of exhausting curiosity, much like the one I have myself.”

He’s hypnotizing you with his words, his even tone, his silent authority. You’re drawn in like a moth to a flame and trapped in a verbal standoff. Whether it was a result of your Vision flickering subconsciously resulting in the fire diminishing or some other cause, you realize what little warmth in the cave is disappearing, your breath materializing in front of you as a result. 

But it’s only yours. 

That’s when it clicks deep inside the recesses of your mind. Apart of what always bothered you about Albedo was this sense of uncanniness. Whenever you thought you were understanding him better, new mysteries would arise, leaving you worse off than when you started. This combined with his workload and the emotional distance you felt between the two of you is what led to your separation. 

Albedo’s face is but a few inches away from yours. He’s patiently awaiting a response or anything you could muster to challenge him with, though both of you are aware that no such thing exists. 

You manage to surprise him again by asking another question. “Why… why are you not breathing?”

And how could you never have noticed until now?

His long eyelashes flutter shut. “Relationships truly are troublesome. There are unspoken rules and expectations, both of which take effort to satisfy. I hadn’t mind trying to do so to keep you happy, but that approach didn’t work as intended.” 

Had it not been for the hammering of your heart and how lighthearted you feel, you’d challenge him on his definition of trying. Instead, you watch without so much as moving an inch, too in awe to utter a single word. 

“You always asked me to be more romantic, but I guess the phrase you take my breath away won’t suffice here,” he sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “I’ll tell you, but once you know… well, I don’t think I can ever let you leave my side.”

“I hope you won’t mind keeping me company a bit longer than you intended to.” 

[yourdeepestfathoms]

melting fire

Bela had never been so hot before.

Delirious and fever-stricken, she squirmed on her bed, desperately trying to escape the burning heat inside of her. It was like she was laying in the hot sand of a desert, slowly being fried by the sun that wasn’t there. Because she was in her bedroom, shrouded by dim shadows, and the only light was coming from a singular gas lamp on her desk, flickering faint yellow-gold across the floor. But it was so hot, the blankets like plains of fire on her skin, doing little to bring her any comfort.

A soft moan managed to escape Bela’s flaking lips. Her mouth was dry, tongue like burnt coals. She desperately needed water--not even blood, but nice, cold water--but she couldn’t get up. She could barely even move aside from her twisting and turning in a vain attempt to get comfortable.

Her breath came out thin, reedy, and too-hot. She thought she could spout flames, maybe. She had to be burning alive.

There was a squeak as her bedroom door creaked open. She pried open her heavy eyelids to see two silhouettes creeping towards her bed. She instinctively bared her teeth and spat at the trespassers, too weak to raise her claws to defend herself.

“Someone is cranky,” teased a voice.

Wait-- she knew that voice.

Bela settled as her sisters perched on the edge of the bed.

“Sorry,” she rasped, her voice weak and hoarse from illness. “I’m kinda delirious.”

“Kinda?” Cassandra raised an amused eyebrow. “Do you know what you were doing before you passed out earlier?”

“Do I want to know?” Bela asked nervously.

Daniela helpfully supplied her with details: “You were all wobbly and Mother set a hand on your shoulder and said it was to keep you from falling. Your response was, ‘It’s okay, five-second rule.’”

Bela’s face flushed red--redder than it already was than her fever. “Oh--”

Daniela didn’t relent: “And then you started stroking Mother’s arm hair and said, ‘You’d make such a good carpet.’”

“Okay, that’s enou--”

“You also said, ‘my bones feel wet, may I have a napkin?’”

“Daniela--”

“Oh, and we can’t forget, while at breakfast and you were still trying to act like you were okay: ‘Coffee doesn’t taste like coffee, but it sure does taste like brown.’”

“Okay, okay!” Bela yelped, then coughed into her blankets. “I get it. I was out of it.”

“Very out of it,” Cassandra said, stroking her claws through Bela’s sweaty hair. Bela, rationalizing that she couldn’t get any more embarrassed than she already was, leaned her head into her sister’s touch, letting out a soft purr of contentment. Cassandra’s talons were nimble and uncharacteristically gentle against her burning scalp.

“Where is Mother?” Bela asked.

“Aww, are we not good enough company for you, Beli?” Daniela teased playfully.

“I didn’t say that!” Bela squeaked. She hunched her shoulders in. “I was just wondering.”

“Somewhere around here,” Cassandra said vaguely. “She’ll probably come to check on you soon.”

Bela nodded sluggishly. Her head was beginning to fill with fog again. “Alright…” she murmured.

“Aww,” Daniela cooed. “She’s getting all silly again.” She reached out and lightly dragged her claws down one of Bela’s clammy cheeks, probably thinking she was being comforting, when really her touch was just ticklish.

Bela bared her teeth at her, though she barely opened her eyes. “Shut it.”

Daniela tittered.

“Well, we’ll let you rest,” Cassandra said, tugging on Daniela’s arm.

“Sleep well!” Daniela said as she was pulled out of the room.

“Thanks,” Bela replied.

The door shut and she was left in darkness once again.

Bela rolled onto her side and curled up in her blankets. A moment later, she rolled onto her other side, but it did little to help her discomfort. Her body was aching all over and no position was good enough.

Outside, the wind was howling. Another snowstorm was blowing in, loud and powerful. She turned over again to watch the snowfall. The snowflakes flew like dozens of little whiteflies behind the glass, twisting and twirling through the air. It made her think of her own flies, and she broke off a piece of her skin into a cluster of insects. She was desperately lonely and wanted something to interact with since she didn’t have her sisters or mother there with her.

With blurry eyes, Bela watched dazedly as her insects flew around her head. She held out a finger and they lined up on it in a perfect arrangement: blowfly, flesh fly, dogbane beetle, Spanish fly, black vine weevil, drain fly, green bottle fly, clothes moth, click beetle, room spinning, ears ringing, eyes shutting…

Bela’s head jerked back when she began to nod off, sending her bugs into a scattering cloud of frantic wingbeats. She blinked her eyes furiously, but it did little to dispel the fuzziness over everything. It was like she was looking underwater. She rubbed her heavy eyelids, and moving her arms was like trying to move solid beams of lead.

Her fever flared. She moaned weakly in pain.

Her skin was baking, boiling right off of her bones. Her limbs were sacks of heated stones and smoldering embers that she had to drag around with her, and her ears simply felt like they were lit on fire. Her cheeks felt like someone was holding hot iron to the sides of her face and wouldn’t let go, no matter how loud she screamed.

To put it simply, she was like a roasted lamb on a spit, rotating slowly above hungry flames. Sometimes, she had fallen into their orange-gold mouths. She could almost feel the flaming tongues licking at her skin…

Bela squirmed, whining faintly. She couldn’t handle this. She couldn’t take this heat. She used to think the cold was bad, but this-- this was just awful.

She had to escape it.

As though beckoning her, the blizzard howled.

Bela raised her head--which was rather difficult, as it felt like it weighed a ton--and squinted. The snow usually wasn’t very enticing, but something about it now seemed to call to her. It was inviting her to join its cool embrace, promising to soothe her raging fever. She had to oblige to it.

Sliding out of bed, Bela staggered towards the window. The glass was cool against her palms when she pressed her hands to it, but felt even better on her burning forehead. She let out a sigh of relief as the chill invaded her, but it wasn’t good enough. She needed more. She needed to be rid of this fire inside of her.

Bela pushed against the window. It didn’t budge. She whined and pushed harder. It still didn’t budge. Mother kept them locked for good reason, but Bela needed to get out now. She felt like she was being cremated and didn’t know how much longer she could handle it.

Finally, after a few moments of desperate struggling, the window relented under her assault and she was embraced by the soothing cold. It didn’t hurt as much as she thought it would. It felt…nice.

Letting out a sigh of relief, Bela relaxed her body and shut her eyes to rest.

--- --- ---

Alcina was alerted by the sound of glass shattering. She had been idly flipping through a book when she heard the horrendous smashing sound. Instantly, she snapped to her feet and began striding down the hallway until she got to Bela’s room. Upon opening the door, she was greeted by a blast of cold air, which was as freezing as the black ice that suddenly sprinted through her veins.

“Bela?” Alcina shouted. Stepping inside, she noticed that the window was broken open and her eldest daughter was nowhere to be seen. “Bela?!”

Alcina rushed over to the crater created in the glass and looked out. Despite the darkness of the night, she could still distinctly make out the figure of Bela in the snow below.

She didn’t look like she was moving.

“Bela!!”

Alcina ran out of the room, where she was promptly met by her other two daughters. They both instantly leaped away from the doorway with yelps when the cold wind brushed against their legs. She quickly shut the door.

“Mother, what happened?” Cassandra asked.

“Stay here,” Alcina said instead of answering. She then turned and sprinted down the hallway and outside, nearly clipping her head on the doorframe.

When she found Bela, she may have been more concerned about her falling from the second-story window if it wasn’t for how leached her skin was. Her eldest daughter was icy to the touch, her skin as brittle as weak glass in the unforgiving cold. Alcina scooped her up into her arms, holding her close to her chest to protect her from the vicious lashing of the snowstorm as she carried her back inside.

Bela had been out there for less than three minutes, but Alcina’s mind was still running in panicked circles. Was it enough to kill Bela? Was her baby girl about to die in her arms? Alcina’s heart seized at the mere thought of losing one of her daughters. She frantically went over her own notes in her head: the flies generally began hibernating at temperatures below ten degrees Celsius, and it was definitely below ten degrees Celsius out there. When that happens, their metabolism drops and they go into a state of lethargy, which then causes extreme weakness and fatigue. There was also the pain and sensitivity that came from the cold, and though Bela didn’t seem like she was in freezing agony, Alcina still couldn’t be too sure.

It was then that Bela stirred, and Alcina snapped her head down. Bela was squirming in her arms, whining ever so faintly. She didn’t seem to be in pain, she just seemed distressed and very uncomfortable.

“Mother,” Bela panted. “Please--”

“It’s alright now, my love,” Alcina said, carrying Bela over to one of the many fireplaces in the castle, swiping up a blanket folded over a cushioned chair as she went. “It’s alright. I’ve got you.” She squeezed her daughter close to her chest, not quite realizing that she may have been smothering her. “It’s okay. Mother’s here now.”

“No-- no--” Bela tried to wiggle out of her grasp, but she was much too weak. “Hot-- too hot--”

Alcina frowned. She had been wondering how and why Bela got outside, but now it made sense.

Was her fever really that bad?

“You can’t be cold, darling,” Alcina said, crouching down in front of the fire, not releasing Bela from her vice. She wrapped her in the blanket, despite her wriggling. Under her touch, Bela's skin was still worryingly frigid and dry. She hoped the snow wouldn't leave blisters. “You must stay warm.”

“No--” Bela’s claws tugged feebly at Alcina’s dress. If it weren’t caused by illness, then it may have been cute. “Mother, please…”

Alcina sighed. She shifted Bela into one arm (it wasn’t exactly hard to do) and brushed her sweaty hair out of her face. Bela leaned into the touch, her eyelids fluttering shut. She purred faintly.

“You need to be warm,” Alcina told her. As hard as it was to resist her child’s begging, she couldn’t just go throw Bela out into the snow. She had to keep her near the fire, where her body could go back to its normal temperature.

Alcina cupped the back of Bela’s head and pressed her face into her neck, rocking her slowly. She should have kept a better eye on her. She should have been there, taking care of her. Now an awful chill had taken lodge in her precious daughter’s body and she was worried that it wasn’t going to come out.

“Mother?”

Alcina turned to see Cassandra and Daniela. They both looked simultaneously curious and worried.

“Is Bela okay?” Daniela asked.

“She will be,” Alcina answered, holding Bela closer until she was holding onto her like a baby koala bear. She was hoping her body heat would help dispel the ice inside of Bela’s own being. “Your sister thought it would be a good idea to break her window and go out into the snow.”

“I’m hot,” Bela whined. She quickly followed her words up with a purr as Alcina stroked her hair.

Daniela giggled. “Beli, I thought you were the smart one!”

“‘M gonna…turn you into a ceiling fan,” Bela growled without opening her eyes. “But…too tired… Maybe later…”

Daniela giggled again. Cassandra snorted into her hand. Even Alcina, despite her worry, couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Darlings, can you get a wet rag for me?” Alcina asked her other two daughters.

Bela chuffed against her neck.

“A moderately cold one. But not too cold. Just slightly below lukewarm. Please.”

Cassandra and Daniela both nodded and raced off to retrieve the item before the other.

Slowly, the cold was draining from Bela’s body, chased away by the tag-team effort of the fire and Alcina’s body heat. Her fever, however, quickly became apparent once again, searing right through the back of her gown and into Alcina’s hand while she rubbed up and down her spine. No wonder she had broken a window just to get outside; she was burning up.

“I’m sorry for not keeping a better eye on you,” Alcina said, shifting her daughter in her arms. “I should have been watching you to make sure this never happened. Though, I never expected you to break a window…”

“Not your fault,” Bela said, her breath hot against Alcina’s neck. “I was being stupid.”

Alcina leaned her back slightly, cupping the back of her head with one hand. “Are you slightly more awake now?”

“A little,” Bela said, her eyes glassy and half-lidded. “Feel like I’m on fire, though…”

Alcina frowned and tucked Bela back against her. She worriedly ran her fingers through Bela’s hair, which was damp with a mix of sweat and melted snow.

“I’m sorry I can’t do more for you, my darling,” Alcina said. “Damn, why did you and your sisters have to be weak to the cold? I would run you an ice bath if that didn’t put you at the risk of--” She didn’t finish that sentence. She shook her head. “Why flies? Why something that can’t survive in the cold? Why not something like-- like-- like birds!”

“Better than being hurt by heat,” Bela pointed out. “Then the fever probably would have killed me already.”

Alcina winced. “I suppose you’re right.”

“‘Course I am. ‘M the smart one.”

That got a small chuckle out of Alcina. “Your hubris is showing, darling.”

“No, yours is,” Bela mumbled, drifting off into a feverish, half-awake daze of slurring and purring.

Despite her remaining worry, Alcina couldn’t help but chuckle once again. She rocked Bela slowly until Cassandra and Daniela returned with the rag, Daniela being the one to present it to her. She thanked them, then shifted Bela in her arms so she could wipe her face down with it. Bela shuddered at the cold water on her heated skin, but let out a soft coo of pleasure.

“Thank you,” Bela whispered, cracking open her eyes slightly.

Alcina gave her a tender smile. “You’re welcome. Now, rest, my sweet girl. I will watch over you until you feel better.”

Afterward, she would make arrangements to strengthen the windows.

[gildedflames]

"Yes well, you'd think if he was, he'd have found me already," Joshua pointed out, shoving another spoonful of ice cream into his mouth. "But I suppose you're right." Setting his spoon down, his hand inched up to the feather necklace around his neck as he leaned back to look out the window.

Dammit Clive, you better be here somewhere, he thought. And if you are, you better have your memories too...

"It's normal to miss people when they are not around." Sally reassured the other with a soft smile, "I wouldn't give out hope that he isn't on this island somewhere. I've seen people reuniting with loved ones they haven't seen in a very long time since being here."

[fire-lady-ilah]

More good dad! Ozai AU? Even if you didn’t ask for it, you’re getting it and I’m picking up right where I left off. This is my reminder that, while Ozai is a good and non-abusive dad and husband in this, he is still very much an imperialist and a cruel person in general.

Parts [1] and [2] if you’d like. This is part 3. Here’s part [4]

The siblings venture into the capital, although they make it known that no one should inform their parents that they are nearby. The moment they step off the ship, Captain Jee sends a letter to the Fire Lady. He was loyal to the Prince and Princess above all, but he did not feel like being executed or exiled that day when Lady Ursa inevitably finds out.

In a large house just outside Caldera City, Lord Ukano lives with his wife, Michi, his daughter and heir, Mai, and his newborn son Tom-Tom. The Dragon Emperor and the Blue Spirit sneak into the bedroom of the heiress and steal her away.

In that I mean, Mai leaps at the opportunity to escape her home with her best friends, who she’s seen wearing the same theatre masks dozens of times, and follows willingly. It takes an hour longer than the siblings had expected, if only because Mai has far more knives than they had truly expected and they get caught up in the palace kitchens stealing Azula’s favourite mochi and some bags of fire flakes.

Then they are caught by Fire Lady Ursa, who is gathering a late night cup of cocoa after a nice night with her husband, not that her children need to know that part. Her children, who are wearing her theatre masks that had very recently gone missing from her collection, stare at her innocently. Her daughter carries two entire boxes she knows are full of mochi. Her son carries the fire flake bag they use for festivals. Her one day daughter-in-law is making a cup of cocoa and the Fire Lady calmly requests one for herself from the girl.

That night, the fire Prince and Princess sleep in their own rooms, with Lady Mai in one of the many available. In the morning, they take breakfast with the Fire Lord and Lady, discussing trivial matters of politics and domestic affairs.

Mai leaves on the request of the Fire Lord, bringing everything they took from her home and the palace (along with what Ursa and Ozai insisted they take) to the ship with the help of some soldiers.

Azula and Zuko sit with their parents. Ursa gives them each two potent bottles of poison. Ozai’s voice has a worry that only his family knows how to detect through the facade of boredom as he inquires how their firebending and blades practice has been, as to the state of their weaponry. They try to soothe their parents worries with assurances: their practice has been going well in both bending and blades, Azula has achieved perfection in lightningbending and Zuko has achieved lightning, their blades are sharp and well maintained, they weren’t harmed when the temple blew up—

It slips through Zuko’s lips. He was never the actor like his mother and sister. For their part, his parents do not react overly beyond a flickering of the flame and a long sip of tea.

“Your mission has changed.”

Ozai is smart. Everything he does is to serve his goals the best they can. In canon, the premier of those goals is to gain more power for himself. In this world, that goal is to secure the ideal outcome for his family. (Of course, his second goal is as much power as possible. But it is only considered after his first goal).

Allying themselves with the Avatar, at least in appearances, will secure the best outcome for his children. And he has no doubt that his brother (so weak after the death of his son. And yet, Ozai cannot find it within him to scorn him overly. He knows that were he to be left childless, he would break. It is merely that Ozai would break in an explosion, whereas Iroh’s flame fizzled into embers.) would eagerly help his children betray him. Even if it was just in appearances.

His children are loyal and dutiful. They protest, but only out of a desire to maintain that loyalty. He wishes the Avatar had remained hidden, at least until they were both adults. They are prodigal, yes, but they are just siblings.

“You have our permission to reveal your mother’s ancestry. Use it wisely.”

The children know their lineage for at least five generations on each side. That, of course, is in addition to their knowledge of every Fire Lord that has reigned since the unification of the Fire Nation. They are well aware that their Grandmother Rina (who feeds them chocolate and tells them stories whenever she visits) ‘s father was Avatar Roku. Just as they knew of the friendship between Fire Lord Sozin and Avatar Roku.

It is necessary for the people of their nation to hear pretty lies. It is not their responsibility to worry about the nuance and complexity of life. It is one of their responsibilities as Angi’s heirs in the mortal world. To worry of such things is a burden they should not have to bear. It is necessary for the people to believe the Avatar hated the Fire Lord.

The siblings don’t know everything, of course. They are just children after all. But they understand the nuance, the conflicting beliefs. They were told the truth (and carefully kept from necessary propaganda before then) when they were old enough to look critically at the situation. It was their duty to bring the Fire Nation’s good to the other nations, to liberate their populations, the siblings decided.

The Avatar is just a child, but he seemed able to connect with his past lives. And he had pointedly not hurt them, at least as Avatar Roku.

If nothing else, they have the Dragon Emperor and Blue Spirit on their side.

“Zhao has asked for permission to launch an invasion on the Northern Water Tribe. He is a fool, but he claims he has knowledge that will ensure his victory. Tomorrow, I will send him a letter approving his asinine idea. You will stop him— kill him, if you must— and use that act of perceived treason to ally yourselves with the Avatar.”

Ozai wants power, but he is no fool. The invasion is risky at best. He cannot find it within himself to care for the tens of thousands that would doubtlessly die in it, the Northern Water Tribe had the advantage in multiple ways. It would serve its purpose to get his children at the Avatar’s side.

The tone lightens after his orders and Ozai steps back from his role as Father Lord into just being a father. He teases his son on his interactions with his betrothed. He teases his daughter and asks if she would be visiting the circus soon, taking note of how she had learned to prevent a blush but not the squeak in her voice. They are not infallible, they are children.

As they see their children for the last time in the foreseeable future, the Fire Lord and Lady both think as to how much they will miss them. Ursa blinks back tears as she hugs them both, smiling as they react identically, burying their faces into her chest to hide them and breathing in the scent of fire lily perfume.

Ozai is not usually physically affectionate with his children. He had never received it from his father and was much more competent in other ways. That being said, no one commented on the kiss he pressed to the top of Zuko’s head (still shorter than him by quite a bit. Sometimes he acted so adult, but he was so clearly still a child) before repeating the action with Azula.

“I am so proud of you. Both of you.”

I’m just now realizing Blue Spirit is supposed to be after the whole Roku thing. Oh well.

For appearances’ sake, the siblings and Mai continue to chase the Avatar. Zhao attacks the Avatar while he trains under the Deserter. Princess Azula ensures the forest doesn’t burn while Prince Zuko uses all the bottled up anger at both Zhao himself and Azulon (really, what is with grown men trying to kill 11/12 year olds?) to yell at Zhao for acting so recklessly.

And if, perhaps, he manages to endear himself to others by knocking Zhao’s feet out from under him, all the better.

The Avatar and his friends escape and the siblings celebrate another success as Zhao nurses his bruised ass and ego.

(“Hey, did the Deserter look like that dude in Master Piandao’s painting in his main hall to you?”

“Admiral Jeong Jeong and Master Piandao were married, Zuko. Obviously that was him.”)

Zhao attempts to order their crew away from them, citing his rank as admiral as above prince and princess.

Azula’s sharp tongue reminds Admiral Zhao that Zuko is not only a prince, but the Crown Prince, and thus he is equal in rank to Zhao. As was their uncle a general, retired or not.

Behind the royalty of the ship stands Captain Jee, his eyes locked with Zhao’s. His eyes promise mutiny even if he were to somehow take them. His eyes swear loyalty to the Crown Prince, to his sister, above all else.

Zhao turns to leave.

“Of course, that is not to say we will not join your invasion.” Zuko sounds like his father sometimes, and never more than when his voice holds a hint of smug satisfaction. “Merely, do not presume to think you can order us in any way. We out rank you, and our crew is the best our Nation has to offer.”

Their ship joins, at least in appearance, Zhao’s fleet. That being said, they obey no orders from the Admiral and only allow his “inspections” of the ship and their crew once. For all intents and purposes, they are just there to observe.

And observe they do. The siblings watch the way Zhao treats his subordinates and twin righteous flames burns in their chests. The truth of being raised by a loving father means that Zuko and Azula are both rather sheltered in comparison to their canon selves. They are raised on ideals of honour and the divine responsibility of a monarch, rather than on the truths of war and practicality of rule. It only results in a hotter fire and more questions as to if Sozin’s way was truly the one to follow.

They still have absolute faith in their father. After all, he is the one that raised them, that taught them of honour and the ideals of a monarch. He is the one that sheltered them. He is the one that suggested they befriend the Avatar to keep them safe.

On the ship, only three people know the entire plan. The first two are the siblings, of course. The third is Captain Jee. He is the one that will keep their ship away from the invasion itself so there is no risk of their crew being harmed in the doomed attack. He is the one that will direct the ship to the colonies once the siblings are with the Avatar. Captain Jee has no qualms about technically commuting treason.

Mai knows some of the plan. In that, Mai knows exactly what Zuko and Azula tell her and then what she observes. She sees the way they stick together, now more than ever. Sees the way that Azula trains her non-lethal lightning (because even she, a nonbender, knows it’s far harder to bend lightning that doesn’t kill than that that does). She hears the way they drop the title of Fire Lord when speaking of their royal great grandfather. She catches whispers about Fire Lord Roku. About the Avatar.

Mai, in a way, knows more than the siblings themselves. She knows that they are genuinely sympathetic toward the Avatar in a way that they don’t yet realize. She begins to keep all her knives on her person, along with an easily grab-able bag for travelling in her room. There was no way she’d be letting her best friends turn traitor without her. This is the most exciting thing she’s done in years.

Iroh knows less than he believes. Oh, he gets the dropped title just as well as Mai, but he does not know the intricacies of Zuko and Azula the way Mai does. He sees Azula’s practice and writes it off as her ever-present search for perfection. He catches the tail end of a conversation between siblings and does not stop to consider who exactly “great grandfather” may be referring to. It would be unthinkable for his brother to tell the children of their heritage.

Despite this, Iroh also knows more than most. He knows from conversation exactly what Zhao intends to do in the Northern Water Tribe and it turns his blood to boil.

They reach the Northern Water Tribe. The siblings sneak off the ship in an emergency boat. Mai enters at the last moment and neither send her away.

Iroh has already left the ship, though he is currently in one last meeting with Zhao in an attempt to convince him not to continue with his plan. He will not check back with his niece and nephew, believing them to be safe on the ship.

In the Northern Water Tribe, the three Fire Nation teens remain tucked into the shadows. They, unfortunately, have no idea where the Avatar is and wander through the city. However, they reach the Avatar’s friends before Zhao does.

(“Is he... alive?”

“He’s just meditating.”)

It goes far better than they could have expected. The siblings’ act of releasing Sokka and Katara from Zhao’s bindings results in a part of water tribe siblings being quite willing to hear them out. Princess Yue gives them an odd look but remains quiet.

Zhao shows up. Iroh shows up. Azula and Zuko denounce him (though they cannot bring themselves to denounce their father, even though they know they should). Zhao declares them all traitors, a koi fish in a bag in his hand.

A bolt of lightning hits Zhao straight in the back. Both he and the koi fish fall into the pool of water. He does not emerge.

Azula’s face is carefully blank, even as she watches the water. She cannot stop to consider whether it is her or the water that just killed the admiral, or if he was even dead at all. She could not even see his body in its depths. She used non-lethal strength.

Despite Princess Yue’s backing, the Northern Water Tribe wants to take the siblings prisoner (hostage, everyone knows). After all, everyone knows of the devotion they show to the Fire Lord and vice versa. If nothing else, they would be excellent bargaining pieces in a more formal treaty.

They had not factored this into their plan. Admittedly, they had not factored the Northern Water Tribe into their plan at all.

The three Fire Nation teens are thrown into a prison cell. A rather comfortable prison cell, but still a prison cell. Iroh is taken somewhere else.

Within five hours, they sit on the back of a flying bison, Sokka handing them food he had smuggled out of the meal as Katara was smuggling them out of prison.

(“We tried to get your Uncle too,” the Avatar says in a remorseful tone, “but we couldn’t find him.”

“Uncle will be fine.” Azula declares, her mind set only on the future as she tries not to think about the way Zhao sunk beneath the still surface of the pond.

Zuko nods in agreement and clutches her hand in a comforting way.)

The Gaang now consists of six people:

Aang, a twelve year old Avatar with a mastery in air and a decent proficiency in water. He looks at the Fire Nation teens and sees his friend Kuzon, sees a time from before the war when an Air Nomad could wander freely through the Fire Nation. He attempts to use Fire Nation slang with them but it’s a century old and results in only laughter.

Katara, a master waterbender and healer (a concept that intrigues Azula to no end, although she tries to keep her questions polite). She tends to have a short temper when it comes to matters of the Fire Nation, but even she can be coaxed into trying a few sweets that Zuko has stored in his bag.

Sokka, a hunter and warrior who may or may not be engaged to the NWT princess (Zuko says he is, Azula says he isn’t). Azula laments that her jokes are even worse than Zuko’s, to which Mai agrees. It is that comment that leads Sokka and Zuko to start bonding, having nothing better to do on the bison’s back than exchange bad jokes.

Crown Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation, who Sokka would insist is walking Fire Nation propaganda as he goes on at least one rant about Fire Nation culture and technology a day. Who surprisingly helps Katara with the cooking because it was one of the things Fire Lady Ursa carried over from before she was Fire Lady and taught to her children.

Princess Azula of the Fire Nation, who has a sharp tongue and a sharper pair of twin daggers that she seems to enjoy threatening her brother with for any inconvenience, even though they both just laugh at it. (Katara and Sokka have to be assured by them both that they truly love each other and that threatening each other with weapons carried over from the theatre scrolls they used to act out as children).

Lady Mai talks the least, seemingly content just to talk to Zuko and Azula. Aang makes it his mission to get her to warm up to him and spends a good portion of his time trying to talk to her. He succeeds when he brings up air ball, of all things. Mai’s parents had discouraged her from sport, believing it to be unfitting of a young lady just as they had discouraged her interest in knives until Zuko and Azula had ganged up on them. Partially for that reason, Mai enjoyed sports quite a bit, a shock to even Zuko (though Azula knew). After that, she talks mainly to Zuko, Azula, and Aang.

Captain Jee guides his ship to the Fire Nation colonies, unable to confirm that his Prince and Princess were okay. He hadn’t expected the worry he feels now, but he knows he will be awaiting a letter at Yu Dao if they are safe.

Prince Iroh is startled to discover that, while meeting with Master Pakku, the Avatar, his friends, his nephew and niece, and Mai had all disappeared.

As had his ship.

[astradrifting]

This is kind of inspired by this recent ask I sent to @esther-dot about Jon’s characterisation and Jonsa shippers’ apparent disregard for it, because it made me think of another part of Jon’s characterisation that is really integral to who he is. Mainly, that Jon really loves his brothers. Especially Robb. His rival and best friend and constant companion. Jon envies him, competes with him, buried a formative traumatic memory where he was deeply hurt by him... but ultimately loves him. Complex relationships with his brothers, both the Starks and his Night’s Watch brothers, are a running theme in Jon’s chapters.

Speaking of Jon’s brothers...

Aegon VI and Robb have a lot of potential parallels, actually. The “Young” moniker, red-haired counselors who are also their parents, trained to be the heir to a great kingdom from a young age, the barely younger half-brother Jon borne of their father’s dishonour of their mother… one that they might both have a good relationship with despite that?

The show tried to play with Jon ‘accepting’ his Targaryen lineage through the jonerice romance, very unconvincingly because it was simultaneously undermining it at every opportunity, in what was maybe a half-assed attempt at Pol!Jon (”They’ll all come to see you for what you are” isn’t anything but a threat in all contexts).

Jon will ultimately choose the Starks over everything else, that’s not really a question. But if Jon were to genuinely connect with another Targaryen, it’d likely be easier for him to find kinship with a half-brother than with an aunt - he has a basis for positive relationships with trueborn half-brothers, while the only aunt figure he’s ever known about is a) long dead and b) actually his mother. I think it’d both make more sense and be more compelling for GRRM to leverage Jon’s existing complex relationships with brotherhood by having him interact with and build a relationship with Aegon, than a rushed and out-of-character romance with Dany. 

Jon also is already primed to believe that Aegon is the real deal, that he was saved as a baby, because he’s already done the exact same thing himself - he swapped out a baby of royal blood who was in danger for a common-born boy, and then sent him halfway across the world for safety (side note: if Septa Lemore is Ashara, and if the baby was actually Ashara’s son as theorised here by @agentrouka-blog, that would just strengthen the parallel, because it would be his body double’s mother caring for him, as Gilly has to do for Mance’s son).

They’re definitely going to come into conflict first - politically, Jon will likely be in a position of power in the North by the time they meet, maybe as the KitN through Robb’s will or regent for Rickon, and probably will fight for Northern independence, while Aegon is fighting to be king of the Seven Kingdoms, not 6. Personally, it will be hard to get past the fact that Jon is the direct result of Rhaegar dishonouring Elia, plus that the Kingsguard who should have been protecting her were all stationed in Dorne, guarding Jon’s mother (in whatever capacity). But these interactions, a conflict and eventual friendship/brotherhood between them, would all be a lot more layered than jonerice can really offer. If a relationship between Jon and Dany was truly all that GRRM has been building up to, then there would have been no need for R+L=J - it adds nothing to that storyline, it doesn’t even make it a forbidden romance, because aunt-nephew is hardly the worst incest the Targaryens have engaged in.

It’s almost inevitable that Da*nerys is going to kill Aegon VI/Young Griff in the books, likely by burning him with dragonfire, in the Second Dance of the Dragons. The weird Dragonpit meeting in the show was very contrived, but it does make sense for Dany to meet the ruler on the Iron Throne at least once in a semi-peaceful context. In the show, she used her dragons only to intimidate Cersei, but she didn’t have a personal grievance with her. Aegon is in much more danger during such a meeting. After all she will think he is a pretender, and she doesn’t much care for the rules of safe conduct, as she showed to the envoys from Yunkai.

Dany shrugged, and said, "Dracarys."

The dragons answered. Rhaegal hissed and smoked, Viserion snapped, and Drogon spat swirling red-black flame. It touched the drape of Grazdan's tokar, and the silk caught in half a heartbeat. 

[...]

"You swore I should have safe conduct!" the Yunkish envoy wailed.

"Do all the Yunkai'i whine so over a singed tokar? I shall buy you a new one... if you deliver up your slaves within three days. Elsewise, Drogon shall give you a warmer kiss." She wrinkled her nose. "You've soiled yourself. Take your gold and go, and see that the Wise Masters hear my message."

(ASOS, Dany IV)

"Ah, there is the thorn in the bower, my queen," said Hizdahr zo Loraq. "Sad to say, Yunkai has no faith in your promises. They keep plucking the same string on the harp, about some envoy that your dragons set on fire."

"Only his tokar was burned," said Dany scornfully.

(ADWD, Dany VI)

So Dany will burn the Blackfyre pretender, and everyone will be happy and cheer to see the rightful queen, the last Targaryen, Slayer of Lies, Breaker of Chains, Insert-The-Million-Other-Titles-Here. Right?

Except how would she prove that he’s an imposter? She can’t exactly roll up with an Alt Shift X video pointing out that Illyrio has said some weird things about Aegon. Is Varys going to have an attack of remorse and explain his whole plot, complete with Blackfyre family tree? Or maybe she’ll explain that she went on a vision quest in Qarth and Aegon totally matches up with the vague symbolism that a bunch of drugged up warlocks told her before she set them on fire?

I don’t think it’s going to matter if Aegon is fake or not, and we might never find out either way. The mystery of his identity isn’t his main narrative, and all of his significance to the story and to multiple other characters is removed if he’s proved to not be Aegon VI. Him being proved fake would just make this plotline a weird, unnecessary digression on Dany’s journey to being the righteous and true queen, his death just another #girlboss moment for her. That’s definitely going to be her perception of it, but once she reaches Westeros we won’t have to rely on only her POV of her actions. History is written by the winners, and no one’s going to miss that it’s a lot more convenient for Dany if the boy with a stronger claim than her turns out to have been fake all along. Arianne and the Dornish are definitely not going to take it lying down, and neither is Jon. He’s not going to fall in love with the woman who murdered his brother, especially by burning him alive. ADWD has plenty to say about how much he hates death by fire.

“Men say that freezing to death is almost peaceful. Fire, though … do you see the candle, Gilly?”

She looked at the flame. “Yes.”

“Touch it. Put your hand over the flame.”

Her big brown eyes grew bigger still. She did not move.

“Do it.” Kill the boy. “Now.”

Trembling, the girl reached out her hand, held it well above the flickering candle flame.

“Down. Let it kiss you.”

Gilly lowered her hand. An inch. Another. When the flame licked her flesh, she snatched her hand back and began to sob.

“Fire is a cruel way to die. Dalla died to give this child life, but you have nourished him, cherished him. You saved your own boy from the ice. Now save hers from the fire.”

(ADWD, Jon II)

Funnily enough, the same fire as a kiss imagery from Dany burning the envoy’s tokar appeared there too, also used as a threat. 

If he is not a kinslayer, he is the next best thing. [...] What sort of man can stand by idly and watch his own brother being burned alive?

(ADWD, Jon IX)

So Aegon’s death is not going to be a triumphant victory for Dany, after which everyone proclaims her the true queen. It’s likely to just solidify opposition to her, from every corner of Westeros. If it happens during a summit or negotiation, it’d be even more of a tragic parallel to Robb and the Red Wedding; the young king murdered off of the battlefield, at an event where he was promised safe conduct. Featuring Dany in the role of Roose Bolton and Tywin Lannister. Tywin’s already died a very undignified death, and Roose Bolton looks to be on his way too.

I think the tragedy of Aegon’s death would also hit harder if we see it through Jon, as a main POV, or at least the aftermath of it. Jon was integral at the Dragonpit meeting after all, and probably would be at a peace summit or negotiation between the leaders of Westeros and the invading force.

In ASOS, there’s a curious lack of Jon’s reaction to Robb’s death. We see his initial reaction to Bran and Rickon’s supposed deaths when he gets back to Castle Black, but he doesn’t even know about Robb’s death until Stannis arrives to defeat the wildlings, and we’re not shown the moment he’s told about it. He barely even thinks about it, not even a mention until he meets with Stannis on top of the Wall:

“Your brother was the rightful Lord of Winterfell. If he had stayed home and done his duty, instead of crowning himself and riding off to conquer the riverlands, he might be alive today. Be that as it may. You are not Robb, no more than I am Robert.”

The harsh words had blown away whatever sympathy Jon might have had for Stannis. “I loved my brother,” he said.

(ASOS, Jon XI)

And that’s literally all we get that is specifically about Robb’s death - the rest of Jon’s chapters, his guilt and grief is about the loss of all his siblings, and the idea of stealing Winterfell from them. It doesn’t really make sense for him to not think about it at all, considering how close they were. This reminds me of how he has a non-reaction to Sansa’s marriage to Tyrion as well, as talked about in this post by @agentrouka-blog. Part of this could be Jon’s tendency towards denial and suppression of all his feelings, but it also points to GRRM explicitly obscuring his reaction - perhaps because he’s going to explore it in the wake of another brother dying a very similar death? One that this time he’ll be there to witness?

[wicked-mind]

Soulmates: Chapter Two

Summary: Soulmates are connected on a deeper level emotionally and physically. They can feel what the other needs and wants. As hints, the universe grants tattoos on your skin to help you find your soulmate when you’re about to meet them. When Bucky’s soulmate tattoo appears out of the blue, he knows that she is about to come into his life, but the way she does is not what he was expecting.

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Small bits of nudity with sexual tension

All Writings Masterlist

Note: Still debating if I’ll turn this into a series, but I figured you guys needed a little more interaction between the soulmates.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are always appreciated❤️

*gifs not mine

Previously

“Her name is Y/N Y/L/N.” Natasha began as the whole team stood outside the cell Y/N was in, watching her through the mirrored glass, “She was at The Red Room Academy with me. She was the top of her class, a year older than me. Y/N adopted the name ‘Queen of Hearts,’ a name I helped come up with. I thought it was ironic given that it didn’t seem like she had one. Y/L/N left the academy before she graduated, refusing to kill an innocent man. Last I heard she was doing mercenary work.”

Steve nodded at the information, looking towards Bucky who was just observing Y/N through the mirror, “What was she trying to steal?”

Natasha pulled out the flash drive she had obtained when Y/N was unconscious, “She was stealing information from us. Information of Barnes.” She said, her eyes flickering towards Bucky, “Whoever paid her, wanted to know everything about you, including all the information we know of how you became the Winter Soldier.”

Chapter Two -

“I want to talk to her.” Bucky said suddenly, his eyes still locked on Y/N through the glass who was pacing, staring back through the mirrored glass as if she knew he was there.

Natasha shook her head, “No. Absolutely not.” She told him, “Whoever paid her wants information on you, how you became the Winter Soldier. We can’t give her anymore information.”

“It may not be the worst idea.” Steve said, looking over to Natasha, “They’re soulmates, they’re connected on a deeper level. Bucky may be able to get more out of her than any of us.”

Natasha frowned, “Look, Y/N and I were trained the same. We are wired to think about the mission and mission only, letting nothing stand in the way. That includes soulmates.”

Before Natasha could finish, Bucky was already through the door. His body was carrying him towards Y/N, everything inside him begging to be closer to her. His blue eyes ran along the tattoo that covered her left arm again, hypnotized by how much it screamed for him.

Y/N watched Bucky enter, freezing in her spot from where she paced at his presence. She could feel the spark inside her again that she had felt when she saw him the first time but pushed it back down, “Come to stare some more?” Y/N asked, a small smile curving onto her still red lips. She knew from the moment she saw him the first time that they were connected on only a level soulmates could. It was like a fire erupted in her chest that she couldn’t extinguished and the closer he got to her, the more the flame grew.

Bucky watched her closely, his corner of his lips twitching slightly into a smile. All he could do was stare at her, take in everything about her. She was perfect and her voice was like music, drawing him closer. He slowly shrugs the black jacket off his shoulders, leaving him in the black short sleeved shirt, “You’re tattoo… All of that is parts of me.” He told her, walking closer and stretching out his right arm to show the tattoo on his forearm.

Y/N flickered her eyes from his face to his arm, tilting her head, “Oh wow, would you look at that.” She said, “Even got the card right. Those are custom made, you know?” Y/N had designed the cards herself. The queen had an eery similarity to Y/N’s features and held a heart in her hand with a small dagger through it. Her eyes ran along the marigolds, knowing what they symbolized- grief. How Y/N ended up at the Red Room Academy was only known to her, something she kept very private and it was caused by an enormous amount of grief. Her eyes flickered to his other arm made from vibranium, her tattoo making sense of why it covered her whole left arm, “Yeah, listen. I know we both feel the spark and flame and all those delicious feelings,” She said toward him, her eyes flickering back up to meet his, “But I don’t do the whole soulmate thing. So I’m sorry you got a dud.” As the words passed her lips, she could feel her tattooed arm ache as if the tattoo didn’t agree with her words.

Bucky gave her a knowing look, he could feel the same ache she did when the words passed her lips, knowing they were a lie Y/N was telling herself, “We were made for each other, doll.” He said as he got closer to her until his face was inches from hers, breathing in her sweet perfume, “We both know the world won’t spin again for either of us until we are together. It wasn’t just a coincidence that whoever hired you sent you to get information on me, it was the universe’s way of bringing us together.” Bucky was determined to make Y/N his. After all, you only get one soulmate and he wasn’t about to let his chance at happiness slip through the cracks.

As Bucky stepped closer to her, Y/N kept the smile on her lips. She could feel her body wanting to crash into his, like they were each other’s gravity and meant to orbit around each other but she held herself back. She put on her flirty eyes, flickering them from his eyes to his lips as she leaned closer, “Well then, who am I to stand in the way of the universe.” She whispered to him before planting a soft kiss on his lips, before watching him fall to the ground paralyzed from the small amount of paralyzing agent still painted on her lips. Y/N looked at him, “Sorry, sugar.” She told him as Bucky’s eyes were still locked on her from the floor. Y/N looked to the mirrored glass, knowing the rest of the super squad was watching, “Are you sure this ones mine? He seems a little dense. Could’ve at least warned him, Natalia.” From the information on Bucky’s file, she knew he wouldn’t be down for long with the super soldier serum in him.

Y/N spent the rest of the night in the detention cell alone after the man named Steve helped Bucky out of the room. She continued to pace the room, trying to figure out a way she can get out of here. Y/N had never been complacent staying in once place, part of the reason she became a mercenary for hire. She got to travel anywhere in the world to get to her target. She couldn’t help her mind drifting back to Bucky, her soulmate. The presence of his lips still lingered over hers and even if she did just kiss him to paralyze him, she wanted more of him. In the morning, Natasha came in to speak to Y/N who seemed to be waiting for her.

“We need to know who wants the information.” Natasha told Y/N with her arms folded.

Y/N rolls her eyes at Natasha, “Yeah, I get that.” She said, the red on her lips had faded showing that the paralyzing agent was gone, “It was an anonymous hire.”

Natasha narrowed her eyes at Y/N, “You and I both know those gold cards they give you when you get a job can track the buyer. Where’s your card?”

Y/N smiled a little, “In a space place. And no matter what you do to me, little Natalia, you know I won’t give it to you. The only way either of us is getting that card is if I go and get it myself.” She said, knowing that this was her only chance of getting out of here.

Natasha walks around the room, thinking of any other alternative than letting Y/N out to get the information, “Fine. Steve and I will go with you to collect it.”

“Sorry, no can do.” Y/N said, standing from the bed she had been sitting on, “Captain America is far too much of a good boy image to go where the card is kept.” A sudden smile came across her lips, “However, Barnes could come. He’s got a certain darkness to him that’ll make him fit right in.”

Before Natasha could open her mouth to disagree, Bucky was in the room looking at Y/N, “I’ll go.” He said to her, wanting to be as close to her as possible. Something inside him told him it wouldn’t be long until Y/N would reflect the same things he was feeling for her. After all, they were soulmates bound to be together by an unknown and undeniable force.

Y/N led Bucky and Natasha to Sister Margaret’s School for Wayward Children, chuckling slightly as they both looked confused. When they walked through the doors, it suddenly made sense. The bar was filled with men and women who had dark looks on the complexions, watching the three. All of them were hitmen for hire. Y/N went to the bar and snapped her fingers to get Weasels attention, “Hey, Weasel. I need the key to my room.”

Weasel turned and looked at Y/N, “Oh look, you survived and I lost the dead pool.” He said before looking towards the redhead and tall dark haired man who followed her, “Or maybe survived for now. I still have a chance to win.”

Y/N smirked at Weasel, “Oh darling, no matter how many times you bet on me to die, I’ll rise from the ashes.” She held out her hand as Weasel passed her a key, “Why don’t you get to know Natalia?” Y/N said, pushing the redhead to stand in front of Weasel, “Just put anything she drinks on my tab.”

“You never pay your tab.” Weasel said before looking to Natasha, “Oh.. hi..”

Y/N looked at Bucky, “C’mon lover boy,” She told him, beckoning her finger at him to follow as she passed through a door behind the bar. Y/N led him up a creaking staircase until a hallway opened up with rooms lining the hallway. She walked down until she was almost to the end, unlocking the door and walking into the small room. It wasn’t very decorated, just a simple bed with a dresser that had a bottle of whiskey on it as well as a notebook. The curtains were drawn, blacking out any light that entered, “Home, sweet home.” Bucky followed Y/N willingly, part of him excited to see what Y/N was like on the inside of her own four walls. But it wasn’t much, very minimalistic. He noted the notebook and the whiskey sitting on her dresser, it had a similarity to him. Bucky’s room was littered with notebooks of his memories and empty bottles of whiskey. He turned his eyes to Y/N who was fumbling through the dresser draws for clothes to change into. He felt his cheeks turn hot when he watched her pull out a red lace bra and matching underwear, “I thought we were here to get a gold card?”

Y/N looked over toward Bucky, seeing his cheeks a slight shade of pink made her chuckle. She walks towards him a little, holding the bra and underwear in her hand, “We are, but I need to change first.” She slowly lifts her black tank top off followed by pulling the matching shorts down, leaving her in just her underwear. She watched him hurry and advert his eyes, making her laugh a little, “Oh c’mon, Barnes. We are soulmates. You must be a little curious.”

Bucky slowly placed his gaze back on Y/N’s body, swallowing hard at the sight. She was beautiful, perfect. And it was like her skin was calling to him, begging to be touched. His eyes lingered for a moment over a large scar that sat on her left hip, knowing that scar meant someone had stabbed her at some point and from the looks of the scar, it was a pretty large knife. He watched her turn away from him and slide off the remaining of her clothing, following her fingers strip her skin clean of clothes as if she was teasing him and before he knew it, she was in the new pair of underwear and bra. He couldn’t tear his gaze from her, watching her pull out some black pants and followed by a simple blue v-neck shirt, “You can call me Bucky.” He said, finally breaking the silence once Y/N’s skin was covered and his focus broke.

“Alright, Bucky.” Y/N said, walking towards him and staring into his blue eyes, “Did you like what you saw?” She asks flirtatiously, running her tongue along her top lip as she stood close enough to where they were almost touching.

Bucky couldn’t help himself, watching her walk close enough to him and hearing his name drip for her sweet lips. He placed his hands on her hips, pulling her so their bodies were touching. He stared down at her eyes, “You’re perfect. But I have a feeling you already know that.”

Y/N smiled at his grasp, everything about him touching her felt right in her body. She could see the want in his eyes and she was sure her’s reflected the same. As much as she wanted everything he had to offer, she pulled herself out of his grasp and went to the red notebook that sat on the dresser. She flips through the pages before pulling out a gold card, “This is the card I got when I accepted the job. It came in anonymously, but your super squad may be able to figure out something with all their fancy tech.” She said, holding it out towards him.

Bucky took the card, examining it. It was like a pure gold credit card but the only name on it was his own- James Buchanan Barnes. His eyes flickered back to Y/N when she continued speaking.

“You should know, as soon as you guys hack that card, the buyer will know. They’ll assume I was killed trying to procure the information, but they’ll probably send someone to make sure I’m dead, or a few someones.” Y/N said, tilting her head at him. Whoever the buyer was with the amount they offered, she knew they were powerful and would want to make sure she wasn’t compromised, “And with the amount they offered just to get the information, I’m sure they’ll be willing to track me to the ends of the earth.”

Bucky suddenly frowned at her words, realizing what she was saying. By taking this card, he was putting her in danger. But if he let Y/N give the buyer the information on the card, the buyer could be looking for a way to create more Winter Soldiers like him. He watched her carefully, “Come back with me. I’ll keep you safe.” He said walking towards her, placing his flesh hand on her cheek, “I’ll make sure nobody finds you, I’ll help you hide. I thought I would never find you, and I’m not going to lose you.” The words echoed honesty in his voice. Bucky would be whatever he needed to be to Y/N whether it was a lover or protector. And he was determined to keep his soulmate in his life.

________________________________________________________

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[pomegranates-and-blood]

Those who weave (Act I, Ch 1)

Those who weave Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader, Ivar/Freydis (I warned ya)

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: 18+, smut, and then just the usual stuff for this story. The general warnings can be found on the masterlist, please keep them in mind because I won’t warn those in specific chapters.

A/N: So, here’s the first chapter! I hope you like this, I would love to hear your thoughts on this! Fair warning this takes place in an very Alternate Universe lol, I hope to explain it well within the story itself, but if I don’t just shoot me an ask and I’ll bullet point the main changes or smth. For character ages, think around 6b, diverts greately from 5b canon onwards tho.

Also, there’s passing reference to an AU version of Ivar and Freydis’ first interaction (in 5x03), you can find it here. Passing mention, nothing more, but still, it’s there if you wanna read it.

The dream is always the same, the boat is always flimsy underneath you, the waters are always gentle around you.

And the wanderer is always kind towards you.

“If you could ask the Gods for one thing, and one thing alone…tell me, wanderer, what would that be?”

The question is always the same too. And so is your answer.

Looking into his eyes you cannot help but think back to the waters you are so used to seeing around you in your dreams. The endless blue of his eyes that, like the all-encompassing waves of your dreams, try to understand it all, reach it all, by a look alone.

Like now, as he puts heavy hands on the sides of your hips and brings you closer, until you are standing between his legs.

You search his gaze, and though all you can think of still is the endless blue of a surprisingly calm sea, it is you who asks,

“What is it you want, Ivar?”

Head tilted to the side, he doesn’t hesitate to retort, “You.”

“You have me.” You promise playfully, endlessly amused at the annoyed narrowing of his eyes.

“Are you planning on being difficult for much longer?”

“That depends.” You reply, a little sing-song in your words and a growing smile on your lips as you wait for Ivar to bite the bait.

“On what?”

“Will you tell me what it is you want?”

His shoulders rise and fall with a deep angry sigh, but after a moment he gains a glint in his eye, and his hands on your sides creep lower, venturing down the curve of your ass.

“I want to use my tongue on you, have you hold yourself over my face as I make you shake and scream my name,” He tells you, sending a pang of heat through you. His eyes remain on you, hungry, as he continues, “And then I want to be inside you, deep inside you while you are still coming down from your high so I can feel you tight over my-…”

“That is not what I-…”

“You asked, love.” He interrupts, annoyingly satisfied with himself.

You cannot help the effect of his words on you, and even as your roll your eyes pushing lightly at his chest, there’s a part of you that feels heat settle low in your belly at his words.

Ivar grasps your wrists as he falls back on the bed, tugging you forward until you are held above him face to face.

You don’t even consider stopping yourself from leaning down and kissing him. How could you, when he looks so lustful and open and yours?

The errant thought that he very much isn’t all of those things is quickly pushed away by the heady daze of lust that settles over you, even now as you exchange slow and languid kisses. Fire-like warmth takes over, an ember awaiting only the faintest change in the wind to start a wildfire.

You kiss him and let yourself forget, you kiss him and give your hands free reign over him, you kiss him and forget to think or feel anything that isn’t him, that isn’t this.

Ivar pulls back, just slightly, just enough so that he can speak, but when your eyes open to look at him the words die in his throat.

You take in the way his cheeks and the top of his ears still after all this time sport the faint shade of red, the way his gaze seems a little out of focus when your kiss-bitten lips pull into a smile, and realize whatever it is he was to ask for you would gladly give.

Thankfully, his request is simple enough, in more ways than one.

A petulant tug at the edge of your nightdress, and a gruff, “Off.”

You quirk your eyebrow, teasing, “Is that what you want?”

His chest expands under you with a heavy breath, “I swear by all the Gods, woman…”

“Don’t try to threaten me,” You chastise, one last peck against his lips before you lean back to take off your dress. “It never works.”

His eyes rake over you, painstakingly slow and burning you in the hunger that shines in them, a reverent edge to the way he licks his lips as he takes in your naked body that makes you feel as if this were the first time.

You take a step closer, and when Ivar’s eyes return to you, he tilts his head to the side, “Doesn’t it?”

You roll your eyes, “Arrogance isn’t a good look on you.”

“That wasn’t what you said wh-…ah.” His words die in a soft sound somewhere between a gasp and a moan when you slide one hand between his legs, cupping his hardening cock and drinking in the sight before you.

You don’t think there will ever come a day you don’t treasure this, the way he gasps, the way his eyes flutter shut, the way he tilts his head back and bares his throat to you.

Pressing your body against his, you move your hand to reach for him under the pants he wears, grasping at him just in between softly and roughly, and kiss a trail along his jawline as you move your hand up and down over his cock, passing the pad of your thumb over the tip.

A call of your name, breathy, beseeching, and all thought other than having him leaves your mind.

You make quick work of the laces of his pants, and slide them off his legs until there is nothing in between the two of you, until the warmth of his skin seeps into yours and makes the already flaming embers flicker and rage into heat that pools low in your belly and clouds your thoughts.

Straddling him, you kiss him as his hands bring you flush against him, unintentionally torturous drag of his hard cock against your center making you tremble.

Ivar surges against you, one hand splayed at your back to bring you as close as he can, chest pressed against yours and mouth hungry over the skin of your neck. Your hands grasp where they can at fever-warm skin, but before you can lost much more of your mind, your hand presses lightly at the base of his throat and forces him once again on his back.

There’s a growing smile on Ivar’s lips that speaks of hunger, a hunger you feel snarling and desperate inside of you as well, a hunger that pools low on your belly, that makes you bite your lip as you take him in.

There’s a moment, a breath or two, a pause that tortures you as much as him, where you just admire the way his body looks, naked in the low and warm light of your home.

Unable to wait any longer, you straddle him once again, a pang of heat running through you when he dutifully stays on his back, looking up at you with hunger and desire clearly written in his darkened gaze.

Holding yourself above him and grasping his cock with the hand not on his chest, you line him up with your entrance, but not before betraying a smile and pressing,

“What is it you want, Ivar?”

This time it is a surrender, it is a plea, it is a gasp, “You.”

____

It is known men sleep with other women when they are away from their wives, you know this. It is known they sometimes bring women bearing their child back to their homes, a bizarre war prize. Though the most likely outcome is that the two part ways, and the men return to their homes and their wives; and the women they chose to keep their bed warms during the raiding season move on, marry another, one that is free enough to call them their home.

You know this, and as you absently pick at a piece of bread, watching as Ivar works expertly through the process of securing the iron braces around his legs; you cannot help but remind yourself you also know many new things.

You know the cold makes his pain worse, you know he is very good with a bow and arrow, you know a flickering and soft smile can always be found on his lips when you tell him you want him, you know he has days when he irrationally tries to keep his legs a secret from you. You know him, and…that has to mean something, doesn’t it?

You are distracted from your thoughts by movement, and you watch silently the by now familiar wobble of Ivar’s crutch as he stands up, quivering under his weight until he easily finds his balance.

Straightening in his place, he extends a hand to beckon you closer.

“My love, come here,” He orders, and by the way the term of endearment you’ve stolen -taken, borrowed, but always hers- rolls of his tongue alone you have your feet helplessly trailing the distance between you. Ivar’s free hand grasps at the side of your face with more gentleness than you would have expected out of him when you first met him, and he tilts your head up to capture your mouth in his. He kisses you slowly, sweetly, reverently, and your heart breaks further with each breath you share. When you part, his brow rests against yours, and though you can feel his piercing blue gaze on you, you keep your eyes closed, “We will be returning soon, you know that.”

“I know.”

“You will be returning to Kattegat with me.” He tells you, and your body stills at his words, a furrow between your brows that Ivar reaches up to smooth with the caress of a rough thumb as if he hadn’t just said the words he did, as if things were normal.

“No, I…I have responsibilities here, I-…”

“I want you to come with me,” He insists, and any softer tone you may have fooled yourself into thinking you heard is lost when he meets your gaze with his piercing blue eyes and promises lowly, “I am not asking.”

“You never ask.”

He isn’t swayed or insulted, offering only a smile that tugs at your heart.

“Yet you still love me.”

It is an arrogant boast, nothing more than that, and it serves as a reminder for you of the mess you’ve gotten yourself into, it serves as a warning of all the ways this could end in disaster.

During the winter you spent apart, him in Kattegat with his wife and you still here in York with your duties, you told yourself you would forget about him, and life would return to the way it was before he came into it. Yet it didn’t, and somehow it didn’t for him either, because when the warriors from Kattegat returned to continue raiding into England, Ivar found you again, and…life did return to the way it was, the way it was before he ever left.

And now he will leave again, and you have made peace with it. You have made peace with him leaving you once again for the winter, and you have made peace with you not being there to be found when spring comes.

You shake your head, and insist quietly, “You are a married man.”

“I was a married man when we met, and that didn’t stop you,” He retorts, a quirk of his mouth, “I was a married man this morning.”

You look away with a sigh, “Ivar…”

His hand on the side of your face brings your eyes back to him, but you don’t find softness looking back, you don’t find the jarring warmth of eyes the color of winter; you find the probing gaze of a man looking for the answer to a question he hasn’t yet asked, you find something that looks a lot like distrust.

“What reasons do you have to stay here, hm?”

“The same you have to leave. Your life is in Kattegat, as much as mine is in York,” The words leave your lips as the hope leaves your heart. You have known, you have accepted it, but to say it is something else entirely. If you had met before, if you had met in another life, then maybe…but not this time. Searching his gaze, you sentence, “It is Fate we part ways.”

“Why is it Fate? Because you say so, hm?”

“Because you have my heart,” You sentence, trying not to show weakness at the flicker of emotion that crosses his features. “But yours belongs to someone else.”

Ivar’s eyes fall closed, and he shakes his head.

“No, no,” The barest hint of a smile, “It is yours. It was Fate that I found you,” He insists, hand trapping yours, making you pliant under his touch with the warmth of his skin and the openness in his gaze. “I believe…I believe the Gods sent you to me. If anything, finding you proves that it was true what I was told, about the Gods rewarding those who endure pain.”

And not even the warmth of his skin could stave off the cold that creeps over you when you hear the familiar words.

“And who told you that, Ivar?” You ask, a sad smile on your lips because he knows you know the answer.

“Did you believe her?”

Ivar’s shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath, and you lift your eyes from their lazy exploration of the traces of ink on his bare chest to meet his eyes.

“Freydis does. To this day, she still claims there is a reason for pain, hers and mine.”

That isn’t an answer.

“Did you believe her, Ivar?”

“Of course I believed her. I wanted to believe her, I wanted-…” A sigh, and he stops himself. Eyes searching yours, Ivar’s features tighten momentarily, as if trying to not give away something in his expression. “I want it to be true.”

“Why?” You ask, just as quietly.

“So there’s a reason for all of it. Any of it.”

“There is always a reason, Ivar,” You tell him, leaning up on one elbow. He looks up at you, silent. “It just might not be the reason you want it to be.”

“What do you think the reason is, hm?” He prods, the backs of his fingers trailing up and down your arm.

You shake your head, “You won’t find answers in me.”

“But you believe in something.”

“I believe in Fate. I believe…I believe that just like the Völur weave their spells, just as Freyja weaves her secrets, the Norns weave our Fates, our lives.”

“Without reason?”

“Without any reason we can understand.” You correct him, a small smile curving your lips at his insistence.

You bring her up and the reminder that across a sea she exists, she waits, she claims; and it is enough for the warmth to leave you completely, to drain from your skin like the last drop of blood after a deep wound.

You grit your teeth and lower your head, trying to hide weakness that has been there from the first day when you sat before the King of Kattegat as he watched you methodically work on mending the stitching on his armor and smiled stupidly at each clumsy attempt he made at making you laugh.

You turn to the door and open it, but you are quickly stopped.

It is almost a stumble, iron-braced legs not quick enough for how he wants to move, but Ivar reaches the door before you, slamming a strong hand on it and keeping it closed.

You are well used to his temper and his demanding ways, but that doesn’t mean anger doesn’t flare within you now, or that you will simply accept him trying to keep you from moving freely.

“Whatever it is you intend to do, Ivar, I suggest you think twice about it.” You warn slowly, before turning around.

But when you lift your eyes to meet his you don’t find ire, you don’t find rage. You find desperation, you find…fear?

He grits his teeth, breathing sharply through his nose before asking, “Why are you trying to leave?”

He isn’t asking about you leaving the room.

Ironic, you suppose, that he is the one set to leave for Kattegat before the week is over and yet you seem to be the one intent on leaving him behind.

“Spring is over, you ought to return to your home.”

“And you will come with me.” He replies automatically, ever so petulant, arrogant.

“No, my home is here.”

“Your home is with me. You will be coming with me to Kattegat.” He insists, more agitated, yet more fragile in his certainty.

“Is forcing me to be by your side what you want?”

“I want you,” He snarls, leaning even closer. So similar to the words he would speak last night and so many nights before, yet the meaning is so different. Or maybe it is the same, and you just haven’t been listening. Ivar presses his lips together, taking an angry breath before offering, “I don’t want to lose you.”

I am not yours to lose, you want to argue, but it tastes like a lie before your lips even form the words.

There is nothing to lose, you almost try, but the mere thought of it breaks at what is left of your heart on your chest.

“You won’t.” You promise instead, dooming you both. Or maybe you are just dooming yourself.

Ivar leans closer, but you notice him swallow thickly, you notice the way he lowers his guard a bit, no longer so much so on the offense.

“Come with me.” He says, asks, beseechs.

With your eyes searching his, you cannot help but think of the waters you see in your dreams, you cannot help but remember the question you were once -many times, or maybe never- asked.

You cannot help but think of your answer, and realize maybe this is what you are granted, maybe this is the gift you are offered at your answer.

____

Settling in Kattegat proves equally difficult and easy.

It is easy for you to keep yourself occupied; the dawning of winter means people are in search of warmer clothing that now that the men are back from raiding they can afford to purchase, so your days are easily -comfortably, familiarly- busied with sewing and weaving.

It is difficult however, for you to forget what brought you here, what foolish and reckless desires -your own and Ivar’s- have left you here in Kattegat. And it is still easy, to let him consume your nights, to let him take the space he demands in your life; it is still easy, and that is the difficult part.

Ivar is many things, but he isn’t subtle. He wasn’t subtle about keeping you close in York, he wasn’t subtle about how everyone ought to treat you on the journey to his home, and he hasn’t been subtle about where he spends his nights.

And you cannot help but feel strange, intruding, invasive. Stupid, really, that you feel guilt when the man that is married to her doesn’t seem to, but you cannot help it.

You haven’t met her, and there is really no reason why you should, but you have seen her. By all the Gods, she is beautiful, and carries herself in a way you have scarcely seen.

You see her in scarce moments, pass her by on a feast or meet her tranquil gaze across a room. Sometimes you see her with Ivar, a barely-there moment that you feel an intruder for witnessing, her hands carefully folded over her stomach, her a back stiffly held straight, her expression coldly controlled. Sometimes you see her with thralls and young girls around her, and you pretend not to notice the way she sometimes shies away from their touches.

You see her, not long enough to be able to claim to truly know her, but long enough to no longer be able to pretend she doesn’t exist.

Almost a month goes by as you live in this strange in between, as you settle into life in Kattegat as if you were still in York, pretending winter is nothing but another spring.

Tonight, as you sit across from Hvitserk as he animatedly talks about what his travels to the Mediterranean were like, Ivar at your side with a hand -heavy, comforting, possessive- on your leg; you find your gaze finding the Queen where she sits alone, across the room.

She has this way about her, this jarring contradiction between meek and steadfast. She lowers her eyes, she keeps her gaze pointed at the ground quite often, but she has this manner of looking up and meeting people’s eyes that has nothing to do with passivity.

She smiles often, a sweet smile just on the edge of being too wide, but there’s this shine in her eyes when she smiles when people are looking that reminds you of the easily-cracked seashells you could put to your ear against and hear the mournful cry of the sea from.

“What are you so distracted by, hm?” Ivar asks, pulling you away from your thoughts with the sound of his voice alone. You turn to him, offer a smile and a shake of your head.

“Nothing,” You reply, but your focus still lingers on her. This isn’t your place, she should be sitting where you are, or maybe he should be there sitting by her side. You shouldn’t be here, and the realization of it dawns on you like a weight dropped on your chest. You feel sick, and you don’t think there’s any hiding it. “I…I think I’ll retire for the night.”

As you stand up, a hand running down his arm in what you hope is a gesture soothing enough to keep him from asking questions, you steal another glance her way.

She isn’t there anymore.

____

That night, as too-many nights before it, as you settle for bed Ivar appears at your door, comfortably taking room in your space with a familiarity, an ease, that feels wrong even if it fills you with warmth.

You sit before the small mirror in your room, your back turned to the bed where Ivar sits, your eyes focused on the task of brushing your hair.

“What is the matter with you, hm?” He asks. You keep your gaze on the mirror, working on detangling your hair where it is thrown over your shoulder.

Slowly, you start, “You aren’t…subtle.”

He doesn’t need you to be any clearer about what you mean, understanding your meaning immediately, and you are almost grateful for that.

“Why should I be?” He retorts, almost affronted. “You are my woman, I don’t need to-…”

“You have a wife.” You enunciate slowly, eyes wide as they meet his over the reflection in the mirror. Your hands, by force of habit alone, are working on parting your hair in three different portions to ready the braid you are used to wearing to sleep.

Ivar’s mouth curves downwards in a nonchalant gesture, a furrow between his brows.

“Do you think Freydis didn’t know how I spent my time in England? Do you think she doesn’t know about you?”

You still your hands for a moment, before you continue the path of the braid down.

“That only makes it worse.”

“We aren’t…we aren’t as we used to be. Freydis and me.”

You offer a look over your shoulder, and a clipped, “Surely you bringing another woman to her home has nothing to do with it.”

A fake smile at your response that only speaks of annoyance, and Ivar explains,

“It has been this way before I met you, and you know that.”

Hushed conversations by the lapping shores of the river port of Yorktown of how after the loss of the second child grief was made into weapons on both ends, and her words of how it was his seed what had cursed their children to die on the womb was still a thought that haunted him. The rumors that walked with you through the streets of the big city of how Ivar the Boneless had chosen another woman to keep by his side and yet still was only able to remain loyal to one, rumors that you understood much later when you were told Kattegat’s king and queen slept on separate beds.

You grit your teeth, tying the end of the braid tightly, and ask the question you haven’t dared for too long already.

“Why doesn’t she divorce you? Or you her?”

It is idle curiosity, you have never had the intention -the imagination even- to think Ivar would divorce his wife, but after all he has told you it is a question that has ran through your head often, and now that you have been a witness to how they interact, to at least part of it -his nights are spent with you, and that alone is enough to make you question what is the point of any of it- the questions grow louder.

“People would talk,” He replies as if the answer should be apparent, as if that is reason enough, explanation enough. To him, you realize, it is. “They talk enough already, even if I were to be the one to end it, they would-…the rumors would grow louder, people would talk about how she left me.”

“They would be wrong.”

“It doesn’t matter,” He sentences, “I won’t fail, I won’t lose.”

“Fail?”

“The cripple can’t satisfy his wife, can’t father a child, can’t…can’t be a normal man, so she leaves him.”

Your heart feels strange in your chest, as if it is being squeezed tight.

“Ivar…”

He grits his teeth, looks up at you past stubbornly furrowed brows, “You know that is what they would say, I can’t…I can’t let them say that.”

“It wouldn’t be true.”

His eyes fall from yours, “It doesn’t matter.”

He refuses to talk much more about any of it, and if you are honest you are almost grateful for his stubbornness, because you don’t want to discuss anything else any further.

It is with painful ease that you two settle in bed together for sleep, your head on his chest and his fingers absently tracing the dips and curves of the braid you wear.

Sometime in the middle of the night you wake up to a darkened room and a low call of your name in a voice you know well by now, even if you hate to hear it when you are peacefully sleeping and he insists on disturbing that.

Ivar’s fingers are running idly over the side of your face, tracing the contour of your cheek. You reluctantly open your eyes.

“Why aren’t you asleep yet?” You mumble, irrationally annoyed. Your brow furrows, and eyes narrowed, you lift your head, “Better yet, why are you punishing me for your inability to sleep?”

His fingers trail down from your face to the base of the braid on the side of your neck, and ignoring your question he prompts, “Do you regret it?”

Biting back an argument about how this is very much not the time to continue this conversation, you ask, “Regret what, Ivar?”

“Coming here. With me.”

Your annoyance fades away like smoke between your fingers, and you sigh.

“No.”

More easily than you would like to admit Ivar maneuvers you until you are on your back underneath him, looking down at you with a small smile.

“Good.” He sentences. You lift your eyebrows.

“Good?”

He hums an affirmation, leaning closer and stealing a kiss from your lips.

“You are mine,” He reminds you, eyes piercing on yours. Before you get too lost on the way the flames flicker in the blue of his eyes, Ivar leans once again to kiss you, slowly but with an edge you can’t help but notice. When you part, he licks his lips, before admitting, “And I am yours.”

“And hers.”

A smile, a slow blink of his eyes, and he ignores your words.

“I didn’t bring you here to keep you a concubine, and when spring comes I will leave but you will still be here.”

You frown, “What are you saying?”

“I intend to make you my wife.” He states, jarringly certain, unmovable. Your eyes widen, and in the back of your mind you think your breath leaves you in a gasp.

“N-No, you can’t-…”

His eyes search yours, trying to find the answer to a question he hasn’t yet asked. It is still enough to silence your words before they even leave your lips.

Voice quiet, he asks, orders, pleas, “Marry me.”

____ ____ ____

“Whether you love what you love, or live in divided ceasless revolt against it, what you love is your fate.” (F.B)

A/N: I certainly didn’t plan for the first chapter to open with smuttish themes, but I need the practice writing it and I suppose it works well for establishing the relationship between these two. Idk. Hope this was alright, thank you for reading!

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius​ @xbellaxcarolinax​ @1950schick​ @ietss​ @peachyboneless​ @encounterthepast​ @maggiescarborough​ @fae-sedai​  @zuxiezendler​ @crazybunnyladysworld​ @stupiddarkkside​ @northumbria​  @aprilivar​ @punkrocknpearls​ @heavenly1927​ @ladynightshade30​

[elliewritessometimes]

hello! me n @mattieswheelers wrote another fic!! tiff is the most incredible writing partner and i- i just love them???? thanky so much for writing with me you are a stunning writer aaaa (y'all there will be a second chapter stay tuned fdhhddh aLSO we are posting this on ao3 it will be there at some point)

in other news: this was originally a request!! @notsomightymightytiger it may have taken me uh- a good couple of months but here is your fic!!!

for reference, these numbers apply to these tropes: first kiss/flowers of romance/blind date

LOVE YOU KIERA AND TIFF AAAAA HOPE YOU LIKE

tw: swearing, alcohol and drunkenness but not in an angsty farrah way just in a silly oops first date way, as per usual if there's anything at all you want me to tag let me know :D

---

Eva thought she was doing perfectly fine without a romantic partner. Her life was normal, one filled with work and friends and scrolling through Pinterest.

Apparently, in the eyes of her best friend, this was not a normal life. Farrah had always been a bit extra, that one kid in highschool who always seemed to know where the best parties were, or who was known by name to the baristas at the local Starbucks, and by the ripe old age of 22, she believed that a romantic partner was crucial to living a fulfilling life.

Or, at least, that you should at least try romance once before becoming a hermit in the woods, especially if your name was Eva Sanchez.

(“Look, normally I wouldn’t be like this,” Farrah drawled, leaning against a counter, “But deep inside  you are nothing but a useless gay at heart-”

Her phone buzzed.

“-and you haven’t dated anyone, like, ever, and if I have to be the only one constantly dragging you out to social gatherings, I’m going to die early. So do me a solid, will you?”

“Hey-!”)

Eva did not agree.

But, she was a loyal friend, and that was how she found herself sitting in an overly posh restaurant on some random blind date with some random person that she’d never even seen before. It would be an understatement to say she was a little bit nervous, but then again, whenever Farrah was involved, that was normal.

***********: hi sorry i got your number from the blind date place thing but uh are you the person at the table in the corner

***********: ???denim jacket ?? pride pin??

Eva smiled, glancing up at the door. There was another person looking a little lost in the entrance, very obviously trying not to draw attention to themselves, their phone held close to their face as they squinted around at the restaurant. They were pretty, dark hair pulled up into a loose ponytail, obviously not dressed for a restaurant as upper class as this one. Eva liked them immediately. Raising a hand, she waved in their direction, laughing as her date gasped dramatically, hurrying over and nearly overturning a tray of drinks on their way.

“Hello.”

“Look-” Eva’s date slumped in the seat opposite, one hand awkwardly held behind their back. “I dunno about you, but I certainly did not willingly sign up for this. You see, my friend wanted me to apparently live a more interesting life and stop relying on Tumblr as my only source of interaction with anyone, and my friend is very persuasive, so here I am.”

Eva raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, so I wanted to get that out of the way before we even introduce ourselves. I am here out of spite only, so, uh, I hope you’re not too desperate.” They paused, finally taking a breath. “Right. The more I think about this, the more embarrassed I get.”

“It’s okay.” Eva gave a noise which sounded suspiciously like a snort. “Let’s not think about it then. I’m Eva. She/her. It’s nice to meet you, unwilling datemate.”

They grinned. “Kate. She/they.” She gasped a little like she’d forgotten something. “Oh! I brought flowers. Chess said it would be romantic.”

Eva accepted the offered flowers with a blush. This date was going better than expected. Farrah was going to lose her shit when she heard about it. “Wait- You have a friend called Chess?? Like, the game???”

Kate rolled their eyes, casually snatching a bright pink cocktail off a passing waiter’s tray. “Duh. You didn’t really see me walk in this fucking posh ass restaurant in my flannel and converse and think I’d be normal, right?”

Eva laughed then, properly. It had only been a few short, chaotic minutes, but she was already warming to this mystery person and, God, they had good taste in flowers. Even if Eva’s nerd hermit brain did helpfully choose that moment to remind her that this particular bunch of flowers presented a meaning that translated almost exactly to ‘fuck you’. She wondered if Kate was aware of that. However, perhaps that was a fun fact for the second date.

-

“Hey, Eva?” Kate was slightly tipsy. Only a little bit! Really not that bad. Not at all. Definitely not too drunk for a first date. Shut up. “Hey! You’re- so cool.”

Eva giggled - she was equally as drunk, but not quite so intoxicated as to stop wondering why the restaurant hadn’t thrown them out yet. “Noooooo. ‘m a nerd.”

“Yeah, but a cool nerd.” Kate twirled the decorative candle between her fingers, drawing stares from disapproving patrons. The flame reflected in Eva’s glasses, making her just a little bit more smitten by the second. They enclosed their hand around the candle holder as best they could, standing up just a little shakily. “Eva-” It was like they got a rush from just saying her name. Eva thought it was endearing. “Hey- we- we should go…”

“Why?” She narrowed her eyes, also standing up, her long-discarded denim jacket slung over one arm, the other naturally slipping to link arms with Kate.

“....Arson.” Kate sounded entirely serious, still twizzling the candle in one hand. Eva blinked dumbly at her, mouth slightly open. They pressed a gentle kiss to the side of Eva’s mouth, giggling uncharacteristically at the motion. “I’m jokingggg! Don’t look so shook, my dude.”

Eva stuttered a little, letting Kate pull her finally out of the restaurant, marvelling at the fact she’d only known this incredible, crazy person for a matter of hours. Who knew where tonight would take them?

-

They found themselves in a park, gazing up at the stars, now dim in the reflections of the city lights. Kate’s phone flashed 11:46 in the dark, the lock screen filled with notifications from a contact who’s name consisted only of a chess piece.

Eva lay down on the grass, spreading her arms out towards the stars. “Do you ever think about life?”

“Sure. All the time. I’m alive, and so are you, and I think you’re really pretty. Does that count?” Kate flopped down beside her.

“I- I mean, yeah- um,” Eva tried not to sound flustered, thankful for the darkness that hid the color rising in her cheeks. “But like, life. Scientifically. Relatively.”

“Uh-huh. Yeah, I totally do. Um. Do I?”

Eva laughed, turning her head slightly to gaze at Kate. Under the light of the stars, they looked… ethereal. And really, really, really beautiful. And-

Eva coughed slightly, turning back towards the night sky. “Just… think about it. I’m lying here beside you, on a giant marble that hurtles through space. Relatively speaking, our orbit and path are unique, and all around us, the other planets are… swirling in harmony, and we’re just. We’re just here to see it.”

Kate hummed. “You sound like those philosophical people, all ‘if a tree falls in a forest and no one is there to hear it, did it really fall?’ and ‘relatively speaking I am relatively here, and I’m relatively certain… blah blah blah.’”

“Huh. Do I?” Eva shrugged, putting her hands behind her head. “I dunno. I’m drunk. I think. Oh, no, I’m relatively drunk, ha ha- okay no, I’m just drunk.”

“You are,” Kate nodded wisely. “We both are.”

“Do you know what Albert Einstein said once?” Eva asked abruptly, closing her eyes. “He said, ‘When you’re courting a nice girl, an hour seems like a second. When you sit on a red-hot cinder, a second seems like an hour. That's relativity.’ And if that isn’t the most relatable thing he’s ever said, then, well- okay yeah I’ve lost my train of thought.”

“Wow,” said Kate. “Did Albert Einstein court lots of nice girls?”

“Pfft.” Eva rolled onto her side, laughing openly in Kate’s face. “Sure. Why not.”

They rolled to face Eva, curling up into a ball, softer than the 22-year-old had seen her all evening. “Not as nice as the one I’m courting right now.”

“Even though neither of us really wanted to be here earlier?”

“Yeah. Y’know, I’m fucking glad our best friends basically set us up. It’s very pog of them.”

“You did not just say ‘pog’. You did not.” Eva groaned into the slightly damp, slightly disgusting grass, listening to Kate cackle next to her.

“Shit, dude, my secret’s out. I’m just as much of a nerd as you.” She leant their head on Eva’s outstretched arm, burrowing into her side.

Eva paused then, draping her other arm around Kate, thinking quietly. It was stupid, really, that they were cuddling in the openness of a park at almost midnight. Dangerous, definitely, especially when you took in the candle still flickering far too close to Kate’s now loose hair. Some more sensible people, maybe Farrah’s sister, would say that it was stupid how close they’d grown in so few hours. But Kate and Eva weren’t sensible people, not really, and maybe this was completely normal for them. Nerds lived life differently. “We’re not like other girls… we’re nerds.”

Kate barked out a laugh again, pressing yet another small kiss to the top of Eva’s head.

Eva thought she might melt into a puddle right then and there.

God, she was so in love.

Kate looked up at the sky. “Y’know, for all your philosophical talk, you should be an inspirational speaker. Be on goddamn TedTalks or something, blow the crowd away with all that ‘the future’s in the palm of my hand!!’ bullshit.”

“Well,” Eva said, trying to sound completely sober (and failing), “I think all I could ever want is in the palm of my hand, right now.”

Kate paused for a moment, registering the fact that Eva had just cupped her hands around their face. “Wow. That was smooth.”

“Right?? I’m honestly impressed and I was the one who said it. Wait, is that hubris? Oh shoot, am I developing an ego? Or maybe I’m just drunk?” Eva’s head was seriously starting to hurt.

“You deserve an ego,” Kate nodded sagely. “You are so amazing. Seriously. You should have an ego. Dab on the haters and all that jazz, right? Right.”

Eva giggled, unable to take her eyes away from Kate’s. “What the shit?”

“Dude! Dab on the haters. ‘m fuckin’ right, and you know I am.”

“Mkay.”

“Lit.” Kate dragged her gaze from Eva’s, instead staring up at the stars. “If we weren’t drunk right now, I’d be kissing the hell out of you.”

Eva pouted. Apparently Drunk-Eva was limited to the facial expressions of a twelve year old. “Who’s to say you can’t kiss me now.”

“We’re drunk, Eva.” They waved their hands, casually flipping off the moon. “Consent.”

“If you think about drunk...ness. Drunkenness? Drunkness. Whatever.” She coughed. “If you think about it like maths, then because we’re both drunk, it cancels out, right? Like, drunk you minus drunk me equals zero drunks overall, yeah?” Pausing, she ran a hand over her face, watching Kate smirk and wriggle closer out of the corner of her eye. “What I’m saying is, yes, I give you permission to kiss me-” Kate leaned closer and Eva laid a gentle finger on their lips. “But only if I get to kiss you back.”

The two met in the middle, naturally coming together. Some might describe them as magnets, two poles attracted, unable to stay away from each other. Others might say soulmates, meant to find each other from birth. Or, just maybe, stars, gravitationally pulled together, ready to explode into another plane of existence, one so different from our reality that we can’t even begin to imagine the wonders that they’ll find.

However, this is reality, and somehow Kate and Eva are still grounded on our Earth, stars maybe, but ones made of ancient stardust no longer free to travel the universe. They found themselves pulling apart after two worlds collided, an unknown period of time passing as it happened. Eva’s fingers didn’t untangle themselves from their comfortable seat amongst Kate’s hair, the closeness making their noses brush, spouting giggles from both young adults.

“Well, that was fun.” Kate brushed hair out of Eva’s face, one arm still wrapped tight around her waist, pulling her closer as she shivered in the night air.

“Yeah?” Eva pressed her forehead to theirs. “Why don’t we try it again, huh?”

---

“I told you so,” Farrah smirked, picking at a freshly baked blueberry muffin. “See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Eva huffed, failing to come up with an argument.

Over by the kitchen counter, Mattie snorted. “I find it kinda funny that the single girl insists that love is the answer to anything.”

“Well- it’s not like I’ve never dated!”

“Suuuuure,” Mattie rolled her eyes, hopping off the counter and snatching a muffin. “Anyways, at least Eva has a significant other now. That’s the biggest victory, right? Other than the celebratory muffins, of course.”

Eva sighed. “Is it really that big of a deal that Farrah’s plan worked?”

“Yep!” Farrah grinned, taking a bite of muffin.

“Technically, my plan, but okay,” Mattie shrugged.

Eva almost dropped her muffin. “What.”

Mattie grinned, a devilish glint appearing in her eye. “Believe it or not, I am also friends with none other than the amazing Chess, and since her friend Kate- who is also my friend, by the way- was being a mopey mess around the same time as you, I just had to take it upon myself to play matchmaker! So I’d like at least 50% of the credit and reward, please and thank you.”

“I- what-” Eva sputtered, trying to come to terms with the new information. “Mattie- you- oh my God.”

“Oh my God indeed,” Mattie bit into her muffin and swallowed. “So anyways, you’re welcome for getting you a girlfriend.”

Eva stared at the younger girl, mouth slightly open and muffin hanging loosely in her hand. Farrah clapped a hand over her mouth as she wheezed through a mess of sugar and blueberries, earning herself a death stare from Eva. Phone in one hand, Mattie continued eating her muffin as though nothing had happened, the teasing look on her face only exaggerating as her phone pinged with a message. “Oh! Speaking of, Chess is outside-”

She was cut off as the door burst open, the handle crashing into Eva’s bookcase, knocking her alarm clock to the ground and presenting two dishevelled figures in the doorway. One of them, a tall student probably in their last year of uni, puffed out a breath, a hand tightly clinging to a much shorter student squirming angrily. “Before you say anything, I tried to prevent any of this happening. Wheeler, I’m blaming you entirely for this.”

Mattie only laughed, offering Chess a muffin with her free hand, “Dude, it was totally your idea.”

Eva tried very hard not to stare as Kate finally freed herself from Chess’ grasp with an indignant yelp. “Fuck off! Eva, babe, sweetheart, love of my life, tell me you didn’t fucking know about this beforehand or I will break up with you.”

“No! God, no! You know I didn’t want to be there just as much as you did.” She rested her head gently on top of Kate’s, arms draped over their shoulders. “Believe you me, I’ve also been sorely betrayed today.”

Farrah gagged across the kitchen. “Ew. We should never have set you two up.”

“Bitch.” Eva grinned affectionately at her best friend, batting Kate’s hand down as they sent a middle finger in Farrah’s direction. Conversations carried on for a while, Chess finally being introduced to Farrah, with a muffin being forcefully placed into her hand. Kate whispered to Eva for a second before going out to take a call. Eva smiled knowingly, leaning on the counter to address Mattie, “So…”

Mattie made a face as Eva raised an eyebrow in her direction. “What are you thinking, Sanchez, I don’t like that face.”

“I don’t know…” She feigned thinking, sticking her tongue out as Kate re-entered the room. “Maybe, a little thank-you gift?? Y’know, me and Kate were thinking just now… Seeing as you set us up so nicely, how about you try a blind date yourself?”

Chess and Farrah stifled a laugh in unison, choking a little on their muffins as Mattie’s eyes got wider in horror. “You didn’t.”

Kate smiled sweetly. “Yup! Tonight, seven thirty. It’s payback time, kid.”

“I hate you.”

[salt-warrior]

RISE FROM THE ASHES

A When Earth Turns to Ashes sequel

Masterlist

Chapter Five: Ghost Girls

The drive back home was long not because Cinder was mad or frustrated that Kai had left her standing there, but because of what was there when he left. A flash in the dark, lighting the black of his hair and the deep brown of his coat. He never turned, never saw. But Cinder did.

She had sunk to the ground and stared at the ghostly flames until they flickered into nothing. Heart pounding, she'd stood and walked to the place where the fire had burned. It had been larger than she'd remembered it being the first time. There was no sign of it, though; no heat or ashes— just a memory.

Kai didn't speak to her, but stared out the window with that same empty expression on his face. I'm looking at you, he'd said. But when his eyes had glanced on hers, there was no Kai, only anger and pail. Fear had hit her then— fear that she was losing him. It was the very worst thing she could imagine. But right now, she had bigger things to worry about.

She parked the car in front of the apartment, but made no move to get out. Instead, she pulled the house key off its chain and handed it to Kai. He stared at the small silver key. Then his eyes met hers, and for the first time in weeks, she saw something in them. Fear.

"Cinder, I– I–"

"I'll be back later," she said quickly. "I promised Cress and Iko we'd have a girls night." It was a lie, but she was going over to her friends' apartment. She needed to talk to them— she needed Cress to explain to her what was going on, and she couldn't very well bring Kai along with her. "You can leave the key under the fire extinguisher or the door unlocked so you don't have to wait up."

"If that's what you want."

It wasn't what she wanted.

"See you later," Cinder breathed, starting up the car again.

Kai hesitated before getting out, casting her a cursory glance. Then he was gone. She watched as his figure made its way through the double doors. He still walked with that distinctly Kai walk. Not proud, but confident all the same. Sure of himself.

It was strange. He'd fallen to pieces, but he still had that walk, that surety. His walk was still Kai. But on every other count, well, Cinder wasn't sure.

***

"So it was real," Cress sighed, staring mournfully at her bowl of ice cream. Cinder had told her the story— her and Kai out by the river, him leaving, the flames coming back. She'd listened raptly, holding her spoon loftily in the air, eyes wide.

"Yeah," Cinder said, letting her face fall into her hands. She wanted to scream, to break things, to cry until the vision of fire was washed from her eyes.

"What do you think it is?" Iko asked. She, too, had a bowl of ice cream, but while Cress' was chocolate, Iko's was mint and chip. She still wore her scrubs from work, but her blue braids were down, touching the inner curve of her elbow. "Is it your mom?"

Cinder and Cress exchanged a glance. They sat across from one another in the two armchairs while Iko resided on the overstuffed couch. The Christmas tree still stood in the corner of the room, tinsel decorating it despite Iko's dislike of it. The apartment was small, but cozy. It had been a haven for Cinder at one point in her life, back when she'd had nowhere else to go. It was strange how she always ended up back here when her life seemingly fell apart.

"No," Cress finally said. "The bracelet was Channary's only possession, and she disappeared after we burned it. Why would she leave if we hadn't destroyed her power source?"

"I don't know," Cinder muttered. "None of this makes any sense."

"Could it be either of your foster siblings? Peony? Ran?"

"No," Cress said again. "They died by the hand of a ghost. Ghosts can't rise from the cruelty of ghosts, just as murderers don't rise from murders. It doesn't matter how traumatic the death is. Ghosts have to be created under very specific and strange circumstances. So many factors have to align."

Cinder narrowed her eyes at Cress. "What are you alluding to? What have you figured out?"

Cress sunk down in her seat, throwing her gaze first at Iko then at Cinder. She heaved a great sigh, took a bite of her pooling ice cream, then began, "I've been researching. Like you asked me to." Her cheeks flushed, making her eyes appear more blue than ever. "And I looked back into poltergeists."

"But you have to see the person die in order to create one," Cinder inserted, almost throwing herself out of her chair. Cress had accused her of creating a poltergeist before— it was what had destroyed their friendship back in high school. Cress had feared what Cinder might do and aided Pearl Linh and her friends in bullying Cinder relentlessly. It was part of the reason why she'd run away from Olympia. "I didn't see my mother die. I couldn't have created one."

"You may not have seen your mother die," Cress said slowly, as if afraid of startling a flock of birds. "But Kai watched his father die. He was in the room with him, wasn't he?"

Cinder nodded, then shook her head. Two pairs of eyes stared at her, one gold, the other blue. She couldn't bear to look at either of them.

"It's just a theory," Cress said weakly. "There are so many other things it could be— things I don't know about. Hell, I didn't know about Lemuralia Phantoms until I stumbled on them in my book. Maybe it's some sort of fluke. A wandering spirit attached itself to you or something."

"That can happen?" Iko asked.

"I have no clue," Cress replied, setting her bowl aside. She wandered to the table and picked up the massive leather-bound book once more. "But I'd bet that Cinder's aura is pretty inviting to ghosts after having one leeching off her for fourteen years. I wouldn't be surprised if that were the case." Her words were uplifting, but the way in which she said them let Cinder know she found it improbable.

It wasn't that long ago that Cinder and Cress had been having this same discussion, back in the squeaky library chairs at OHS. They'd searched through every book on paranormal activity, which was actually just one book written on the ghosts that haunted H. H. Holmes' Murder Castle. But it had been a start, filling them in on the details of different kinds of ghosts and the many ways in which they haunted places and individuals.

They'd then progressed to the Olympia Timberland Library, staying through the afternoons until closing. There'd been dozens of books. Some on events or places or the ghosts of famous people. Cinder and Cress had sat at a worn wooden table in the corner, day after day, week after week. The librarians had taken to calling them the ghost girls, not knowing just how accurate the name was. At least for one of them.

Those days had been exhausting— frustrating, even. For while they learned about any number of ghosts, they never seemed to get closer to understanding Channary Blackburn's spirit. They could cross off Funnel Ghosts or any of the different types of Orbs. Even Interactive Personality Ghosts didn't quite fit the bill. They knew what Channary Blackburn wasn't, but never what she was.

Then one day Cress had suggested a poltergeist. Cinder had immediately balked at the idea. She had only been six when her mother had died. Left alone in the apartment for days until she was finally rescued by police officers, Cinder hadn't even seen the body, being too young to be allowed to identify it. Even if she had been old enough, the officers had explained that her body was so badly burned that it wouldn't have made much difference. She'd had dreams of her mother burning, but she hadn't witnessed it.

Shortly after, Peony said the fatal words and became Cinder's second victim. All had gone to hell after that. Cinder's tedious relationship with the Linh's, her friendship with Cress, everything. Her life had fallen apart.

Now she was back at the start— history repeating itself. A ghost was haunting Cinder, and Cress had reached out her helpful hand. She hated that Cress' first thought was a poltergeist, even if she wasn't pointing the blame at Cinder. Kai— her Kai— he couldn't do it. He was grieving, just as all people do after the death of a loved one. He wasn't in the right mental state to create a poltergeist. Depression didn't create supernatural beings, it was too much of an ordinary thing. No, it had to be something else.

Unless there was something he wasn't telling her.

"How's Kai been doing?" Iko asked, always one to look out after others. Cinder had never met another person more compassionate than Iko.

"About the same," Cinder sighed, letting her head fall back. "He's going to school, but then he comes home and just... stares. He'll lay on the bed and just look up at the ceiling for hours, like there's nothing else in the world. It's..." Cinder choked on the word. "It's kinda scary. I'm worried about him."

Iko chewed on her bottom lip. Cinder could practically see the gears turning in her head, as if she were thinking of the best way to treat a patient. "Have you maybe considered having him see a therapist? It might do him some good."

Cinder let out a dry, humorless laugh. "He doesn't want to," Cinder said. "In fact, he refuses to. We got into a bit of a fight over it."

"Oh no," Cress breathed, her face almost devastated.

"Yeah. That's actually what we were arguing about right before the– the you-know-what happened."

A kettle whistled in the kitchen, and Iko stood. Cinder watched her go, then turned her gaze back at Cress. The blond girl was watching her, a crease forming between her eyes. She worried at her bottom lip and stroked the cover of the thick leather book as if it were a pet rather than a massive volume.

Iko returned, a mug in hand that had the most delightful smell about it. "My aunt's famous cider," Iko said, handing the mug to Cinder. "It will make you feel better."

"I think the only thing that would make me feel better right now is a vat full of vodka."

"It might have some of that in there, too," Iko said with a wink. Cinder couldn't tell whether or not she was joking.

"Thanks, Iko," she smiled, taking a sip of the stuff. It was delicious but, unfortunately, vodka free. However, the sweet taste of apples and cinnamon brought its own sort of comfort. She felt warm and relaxed and somewhat okay for the first time in weeks.

Cress and Iko talked about their lives, discussing rude, bossy doctors at work and stressful website building. Iko pantomimed stabbing someone with a syringe, Cress complained of the lack of cooperation in gaining pictures for a florist's website. It was easy conversation, all day-to-day things, Iko's easy laughter, Cress blushing whenever Iko teased her about one thing or another.

Slowly, Cinder fell into a sleepy haze, laughing only when her friends laughed and smiling like a drunkard. It felt as if she hadn't slept in a decade, and all she wanted was to curl up like a cat and sleep until the sun shone upon her face. Maybe the cider did have some sort of alcohol in it after all.

"Do you want to stay here tonight?" Iko asked Cinder after a while.

"No," Cinder said, shaking her head. "I promised Kai I'd be back tonight. And I don't want to leave him alone for too long." She stared down at her fingers as she muttered this last part, memorizing the pattern of her scar tissue. There was little that she could feel in her left hand, but the pressure of her other hand made her fingertips tingle.

"Come here," Iko said, waving her hand at Cinder. She pulled a pillow onto her lap and patted it. "Just lay down for a little while. I'll wake you before it's too late." Cinder hesitated. "Oh come on," Iko insisted. "You look dead on your feet. I'll even play with your hair if you'd like."

Cinder gave in, laying her head down on the scratchy pillow and allowing herself to melt into the couch cushions. Cress pulled a blanket over her, and Iko played with the loose strands of Cinder's hair. Her friends continued to talk in hushed tones, but Cinder was already too far gone to hear whatever they were speaking of. They could have been yelling, screaming, and she wouldn't have heard.

And in this warm place, with her two best friends beside her, Cinder fell into a peaceful sleep.

Tags: @healing-winston-pratt @cosmicnovaflare @idkchatie @just2bubbly @impossiblesuitcase @shellyseashell @winterrhayle @bookpapaya @kaiderforever @gingerale2017 @saltyfortunes @galaxy-creationz @f-r-o-p @cinderswrench @alysendria @cindersassasin @cindersnightmare (Let me know if you want to be added or removed)

[demonprosecutor]

FROM THE EYES OF THANATOS

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10 | part 11

thanatos was not a being who strayed far from his station in life, he was someone who was wedded intimately with his work, and could not find the time to dally them away. however, there were extenuating circumstances, always has been - and they always, infuriatingly, began with zagreus. hades never really spoke about his son beyond irate murmurs of his disruptions of the ill-begotten peace or, more recently, of his subsequent escape.

he cared not for the deeds of zagreus. not when he had bested the furies. not when he defeated the lernean bone hydra, not when he had defeated the champion of elysium or defeating the god of the underworld himself. other gods would have roared their joy and delight at the virility of their offspring, praised their achievements with ambrosia and nectar flowing freely.

but that is not what hades did. all he did was hunch over his desk, scrawling over endless piles of scrolls for a work that never ceased. beyond that, it seemed that hades had washed his hands of his offspring, leaving him to do what he wished in the world above.

if he wished to debase himself and pursue fruitless heroics like the offspring of the olympians - do so, he did not care.

------

“you do not seem remarkable.” thanatos spoke into the open air, startling the mortal groundskeep who pattered around the small kitchen with a chicken in their arms.  they flinch, enough that the hen is able to squirm free and cower underneath the table with a fearful cluck!

the apple trees shuddered outside shied away from the clouding sun, the wind trembled. thanatos knows the matter of his presence, knows that wherever he steps, silence follows - for peaceful death was often quiet. the air felt far colder than before, in spite of the midday sun. and all the mortal could do was bow their head respectfully. “lord thanatos.” they were soft-spoken, words feathery that hardly rose above the curls of smoke from embers smouldering. their eyes remained downcast, pinned firmly on the ground and unmoving.

if thanatos was a lesser being, he could’ve mistaken the mortal for being a statue - if not for their living colour and the subtle rise and fall of their breath. 

“do you wish for me to fetch prince zagreus? he is resting in his room.”

conversation was hardly the tool of his trade, and many would be hard-pressed to elicit more than succinct sentences or monosyllabic responses. a conversation with a statue would glean more than one with thanatos. “no.”

confusion halts the mortal’s reverence, tilting their head up to stare at thanatos, straightening in place, spine unfurling like a sapling freed from the throes of a hurricane.

to his eye, the mortal was unassuming. plain-looking, boasting no beauty that would make poets weep, nor with a voice that could charm sirens. they were, unequivocally, average.

gods always gravitated towards the remarkable, yet here the groundskeep was, an antithesis towards a previously cemented notion. they were not aggressive, not brave, not out-spoken, nor overtly clever from their brief interactions (he unspooled their life like a scroll, reading their memories like prophecy). nothing about them made them stand above the nameless masses. 

yet word flows freely from one shade to the next, word of the new destiny that his sisters, the Fates, were unravelling. that was the thing about mortals, they may have their destiny predestined, but the paths that they take to that eventual end can differ and sometimes, they could change their destiny.

not like them, not like the gods - both freed and trapped by their divinity.

nevertheless, this sort of inanity was a gift, he supposed. the eyes of gods were rarely kind ones and to scorn one of them... well, the countless tails of minor deities and mortals being turned to nameless monstrosities to be slain by upstart heroes.

the mortal shifts in place uneasily, their hands clasped behind their backs, but with the way their muscles shifted under skin told thanatos that they were grasping their hands together uneasily. they were not used to this manner of scrutiny.

there was a part of him that disliked the mortal, that despised that secret jealousy that was born from: what was so good about the surface world? gods were a prideful and jealous folk, and thanatos was no exception to the rule, he simply hid it better than most. 

“do you wish for tea?” the mortal asks carefully, rocking from heel to ball of their feet, they do not smile, but their eyes speak of kindness. it’s an offer that surprises, but one he did not simply have time for.

besides, the nourishment offered in the mortal realm often paled in comparison to the immortal one.

the hen, which had gathered its courage, plucks at the flowing reaper cloth that clung to his form. a nameless rage befalls over him, and it is with one fell swoop, blood splatters in an artful arch on the floor, over the mortal, staining their chiton with spots of crimson.

he was not prone towards acts of unwarranted violence like this, but it was a substitute of what he wanted to do to the mortal. thanatos hides his shame of calm lost with an impassive expression, expression not shifting with the aghast and terrified look that the mortal gave at the way the hen fell lifeless. its soul shuddered as it shed its flesh vessel, flickering like the dying of a candle.

without further word, death incarnate disappears with a flash of light and the ear-splitting sound of a bell.

------

zagreus finds him, hours later near the river. time had always moved so strangely for gods, and what appear to be hours for mortals was simply minutes to his kind. death had always been inextricably drawn to life, vice versa, and he knows - the moment the grass shifts, the air whispers, that he was found.

“you didn’t have to do that, than. you didn’t have to... frighten them, threaten them.” thanatos does not turn around, content on staring out at the expanse of untamed woods, something that he was sure that lady artemis would find delight with hunting in.

his grip on his scythe tightens, “my presence is threatening enough. besides... i did not do anything much, it was time for their pet to die anyways.”

the prince stands next to him, shorter, but presence imposing enough. he looked angry, displeased with what he had done. “you could’ve waited! you didn’t have to kill it in front of the groundskeep - what’s wrong with you? you... you’ve never done this before, than.”

thanatos purses his lips, “you are a coward, zagreus. running away from your problems, running away from home,” running away from me without a goodbye.

“so take it out on me!” zagreus thumps his chest, flames flickering at his laurel wreath, teeth bared, “not on the damn mortal who couldn’t even lift a finger to fight back!” his hands flex, as though ready to fight back.

and it was that moment that truly hurt than. was zagreus truly prepared to leave them all, to wash his hands of the underworld? just for this world, and his mother and that mortal.

oh blood and darkness, how humiliating. was he... was he jealous?

his pain must have filtered through his mask; for zagreus had frozen, expression dropping in surprise. “than--- wait.”

but it was all for naught, thanatos disappeared in a familiar flash of light and shriek of a bell, leaving zagreus cursing quietly.

[ohmy7hearts]

promises and dreams are just falsified hope

when the sky kisses the earth: 2

Summary: Familiar setting, different atmosphere. Your mind is filled with the death of your brother. So Eren imposed a dream into your heart.

Pairings: Eren Yeager x Fem!Reader

Warnings: None, for now.

A/N: I actually stuck to the once per week timeline thing. wow, good job me.

prev

Fist met your jaw. You flung backwards. Back skidding across the ground and eyes meeting the sky. 

Well isn't this my lucky day. 

The pain pulsating from your jaw rendered you frozen, sprawled on the ground with no intention to move. 

Not like you can. The next moment found you breathless and literally wheezing.

Eren groaned, trying to grasp onto the nearest surface to sit up. When his hands met something substantial but not entirely hard, he didn't think twice about it and immediately sat himself up to throw some remarks at Reiner. 

"Woah Eren, easy up on the touching. We're in public, you know?" Reiner smirked, his voice carrying over the training grounds and bored, tired gazes darted to Eren. 

Eren gave his trademark huh. His head was still trying to regain some semblance of normality - hand supporting his head in an attempt to ease the tension - but the crowd grew wild. People whistled and clamoured in approval. His head pounded more with the increasing attention and noise surrounding him. 

"Can you please get your hands off me?" You murmured. "It's getting painful."

At your voice, he whipped his head towards you, meeting your half-lidded eyes but showing no sign of emotions, as if you were asking him to pass you something out of reach. His head then whipped to the other side. 

His supporting hand was on your thigh. His eyes widened in disbelief. Too close. His ears burned. It was lodged in between your hips and thighs and he could feel the pelvic bone underneath. But with his considerably large hands, his thumb is dangerously close - 

Hands grabbed onto the front of his shirt. He had whiplash from how fast his point of view changed - now facing a pissed off Jean - and his legs dangled uselessly before he was shaken to reality by said boy. His feet sunk into the ground, facing Jean with an equally annoyed expression. 

"What the hell is your problem?" Eren snarked. 

"Huh?" Jean's face morphed into a sickly fake smile, scorning. "I should be asking you that!" He shook Eren vigorously - his head looking like it was almost dislocated from his neck - and chalking his headache up to 100 times worse. 

Anger fueling his dazed mind, he grabbed onto the hands, twisting it, before pushing Jean backwards. Jean fell on his ass from the sudden force. Similarly, Eren found himself in a similar - yet more compromising - position. 

The air in your body expelled so suddenly when his body slammed into you yet again. Pain bloomed from where most of Eren's weight laid. But it was gone as soon as it came. 

Landing much more softly than he anticipated, his mind reeled back to his earlier predicament. His face erupting in embarrassment. He scrambled to his feet. 

"Oh God, I'm so sorry. Are you okay?" Kneeling by your side, Eren wrapped one of his arms around your shoulders to support you into a sitting position. His eyes checking your face for a reply of sort or any fleeting emotion other than pain. 

He could hear the crowd busting in more cheers at his actions. But he tuned them out on instinct. Worry had him zeroing in on you, senses heightened to pick up even the slightest motion.

"Just fine," You winced. "Another day of training."

Before he could ask you further, an imposing voice interrupted them. "Jaeger, care to explain?"

Spine straightening as habit and eyes darting to the glare of his instructor, Eren gulped. Heart pounding in his chest and sweat collected under his bangs. This looks so wrong no matter how he tried to explain it. 

"Just a small accident sir. Eren landed on me when he too was thrown back by his partner." You answered. His eyes returning to yours which are closed with eyebrows furrowing. You shook your head, trying to shake off the pounding headache but it made it worse, then revealed the orbs underneath. Eyes meeting his. His breath hitched. 

Using the hand gently in yours, you pushed yourself up with Eren being your crutch. With that quick movement, a mind-numbing pain erupted from your midsection, buckling your knees and Eren quickly stood to ensure you didn't fall. His hands go to your waist, guiding you to lean your weight on him. 

"Jaeger, bring her to the infirmary. Dismissed." With a flurry, he turned, glaring at all the gawking cadets, prompting them to leap back into training with enthusiasm.

“Come on, it’ll be faster if I carry you instead.” Just like that, you found yourself in a familiar situation - a reflection of your predicament a few weeks ago. 

You sighed in disbelief, a smile tugging at your lips, and just like that day, you relented. Climbing over his back and wrapping your arms around him. “We should stop meeting like this.”

“Technically, we meet each other every day,” he chuckled and you landed a half-hearted hit on his shoulder. “But what’s wrong with us ending up like this?” 

You wound your body closer to him, voice dropping a few octaves while you breathed it into his ear, “I may start to depend on you a little too much.” A shudder ran through his body. Goosebumps appeared on his skin and the hands around your thighs tightened. You giggled, burying your nose into his neck. 

“You can’t just do that,” Eren’s voice was strained as if it was hard enough to think of those words much less to say them into existence. 

You gave a half-hearted hum as one of your hands crawled to the back of his head, playing with the ends of his hair, cheek planting onto his shoulder. It was silent as you both continued on your path to the infirmary. 

Your eyes roamed over his features. Those teal eyes were beautiful and the steely gaze which reflected his determination sharpened it to look like jewels - you’ve never seen them but with how people described them to be something otherworldly eye-catching and something even money can’t buy, you believe Eren’s eyes were a clear depiction of them. His drive intrigued you and lit a fire within you but when you found out the reason why he’s fighting to begin with, the story pulled on your heartstrings. It was like looking into a mirror whereby it would present the best version of yourself.

And you wondered if he feared anything.

“Hmm? My biggest fear?” Eren spoke. “Losing to the titans.”

“So death?” Hand still playing with his luscious locks.

“No.” The resolve in his voice hardened and your gaze flickered from your hands to his face. “Losing more to them. Like maybe having my friends die in their hands or more of them breaking down the walls, driving us to a corner like a herd of cows before slaughter.” Your heart skipped a beat, hands stopped playing with his hair and all your attention on the boy before you. “I don’t want to die before I kill all those titans. I refuse to.”

You frowned, heart dropping to your stomach and eyes burning with incoming tears, “That’s what my brother said as well. And he died. Some things are fated to happen, you know?”

Eren looked at you, as best as could in the position you both were in, trying to decipher and unravel all your thoughts and emotions because all he could see was a girl trying to keep everything in in the wake of a death of a family you longed to see. He never understood it much when people keep their emotions under wraps, he was always one to confront them head-on. So he cried when his heart was heavy, got angry when his blood boiled, laughed when his body felt light with mirth despite what people claimed he should do. But he wanted to understand. Especially if it meant helping you.

Eren set you down on the infirmary bed, eyes searching for the nurse stationed there but once he came out empty-handed, his gaze landed on you - hands trembling in your laps and eyes vacant, clearly swarmed with the thoughts in your head.

You snapped out of the war in your mind when warm hands enclosed both of yours. Eyes meeting teal. “You know, there’s a land made of ice somewhere beyond the walls.”

“Huh?”

“Even water filled with so much salt that the merchants can’t collect it. Imagine that!” Eren’s grin lifted his eyes to a close. “It was actually Armin’s dream but hearing him talk about it makes me want to see it for myself. The flaming water, snowy fields of sand and everything else that waits for us on the other side of the walls. Freedom!” His hold on you tightened, eyes hardening but smile bright as ever. It sent a jolt down your spine and your breath quickened. “You can come too! See the world with us. Be free.”

Your heart quickened, toes curling. “You want me to come with you? To live your dream? To see… this world? Together?”

He nodded, fingers now intertwining, his smile widening. You frowned, thoughts consuming you, blocking the words stuck in your throat.

“I can’t.” You saw him visibly deflate before your eyes were quick enough to fall to your hands. Hands which are much slacker and the wind passing between your fingers and his biting on the skin. “I can’t promise you that.”

“It’s not a promise.” His voice never wavered, hands now grasping your wrist, prompting you to look up at him. “It’s a dream; a goal. Something to work towards and you know, make life worth living.”

“What’s the difference?” You scoffed, tired and worn out and hollowed.

“Because it’s fate. Like you said, some things are fated to happen, right? Dreams are like fate, guiding us somewhere.” 

Your mind told you to run the other way and never interact with him anymore because he’s danger reincarnated. But your heart yearns for his warmth and to believe him so you did.

[raigash]

Watching the staged concert of Les Mis (pt. 2)

{So I actually did write notes while watching the Concert, and was intending on publishing the rest of them eventually...and then. You know. I was just never up to really doing the points the justice they deserved. But, now, for Part 2!} [Tumblr ate this BOTH times I’ve tried to write it so maybe THIRD TIMES THE CHARM]

Things I loved AFTER the 10 minute intermission

•Éponine is all hard edges and taught muscles (rightfully so) while going to make the delivery for Marius. This continues all the way up until Valjean pays her and shows her gentle concern. Her face VISIBLY softens, and a tiny smile started to etch her lips. You can see her relax slightly when he warns her of the dangers in the streets. Because this man I don’t know cares for me, and wants me to be safe. Why?

•Enter Marius, maudlin with affections perhaps unreturned. (Background) [R]: He he he [Enj]: no. Just. No. Don’t even think about it. [R]: But..But he’s...you can’t honestly expect me to turn this down! [Enj] I can, and I do. Don’t think about it. Don’t move. Don’t even breathe. [R]: ...fine

•(2 seconds later) HAHA YOU THOUGH I AM AGOG

•Grantaire and Gavroche’s interactions are the cutest thing EVER. I’m reminded of a gruff old hermit and his plucky little foundling (which is exactly what this dynamic is I will DIE on this hill)

•Literally like 30% of these bullet points were the proximity and banter Enj and R maintained throughout their scenes. It was so beautiful and I really got a different vibe then how I usually see them presented.

•Gavroche flIPS Javert OFF because he is 100% THAT BITCH. Grantaire laughs his ASS off because who wouldn’t?

•Afterwards though, when Javert’s been revealed, Grantaire looks absolutely disparaged. He genuinely always wanted to be wrong. He may be a rabble rouser, but you can see his heart shatter when he realizes he was right, and his friends have next to no chances now.

• At the break of the scene, R and Gav slink off despondently towards the back, and Enjolras kept glancing back and moves three separate times to comfort them, but keeps getting cut off.

•The final battle/death scene for the Boys gave me chills. The music rose and fell perfectly with each shot, and the lights going out hauntingly slow as each Boy fell and died. It was such a heartbreaking scene but the execution was brilliant, and it hurt all the worse for it.

•Enj and Grantaire’s deaths were. Just. Oh my gosh. Scooping Gav into his arms? Making his stand beside Enj? Gav dying in his arms just before he falls dead as well, leaving Enj the last to fall? The last flame to flicker out? Ow. Amazing. But ow.

•Javert is so obviously unhinged, and I think it was a phenomenal portrayal, inside and out. His hair down looking, disheveled and mad after Valjean lets him go and they meet again. His eyes were wild, darting every which way and his breathing was rapid and crazed.

•Just...Perfect job of struggling internally during that scene. A+

•He is begging GOD. I can feel this in my veins, the sorrow he’s portraying. He is begging for an answer, and the stars are silent. Oh my god he’s crying and begging god for answers

•his Heartbroken realization at the bridge of the song kind of shattered me. The switch in notes was hauntingly sad, and it felt as though the weight of his whole story had settled on his (and my) shoulders.

•WHAT SLOW AND BEAUTIFUL TURNING I’M CRYING IN THE CLUB

•THEYRE SITTING RIGHT BESIDE EACH OTHER IN THE DARKNESS AHHHHH RIGHT THERE

•The dead Boys interacting in the background of Marius’s lament was so sad, and so beautiful. I was breath taken when they all stood up behind him.

•Marius- simple colors

Valjean- complex colors and patterns

Both wear greens, though, and similar tones. Maybe an indication at the complexities of their stories? Discuss.

•THEYRE ALL PART OF THE WEDDING CHORALE IM SO HAPPY

•“Tomorrow never came”

You’re tomorrow, Marius. You and Cosette.

•Why is the top middle line of people exempt from the dance 😂😂

•Enj Gav R and Comb all interacting and being adorable in the darkened background

•EP AND FANTINE SINGING TAKE MY HAND BECAUSE ITS JUST SO FITTING

•THE DEAD SLOWLY FILING OUT AND GETTING LOUDER AND OH MY HEART

•JAVERT GIVING ENJOLRAS (NEW JAVERT) HIS COAT DURING THE END

•AND A DEBUT OF HIM SINGING

•THEY SING TOGETHER

•LOVE LOVE LOVE

•VALJEANS??? SINGING BRING HIM HOME TOGETHER AT THE END

•HARMONIZED VERSIONS OF SOLOS??? YOU BET YOUR SWEET ASS

•Accapella one day more end after the writer challenges Javert to sing his old Marius part and they all start singing together!!!!!

This took SO long to get out 😂😁

Part 1:

[hilllsnholland]

Flicker

Peter Parker x Reader 

W.c: 2.5k 

Warnings: none? 

Summary: After a near-death experience you become friends with Spider-Man, You tell him everything, even your crush on your best friend Peter. 

A/N: This is something small I wrote while listening to Dear Evan Hansen so enjoy?

___

“Peter, did you get the tickets?” You took a hold of the bar above your head and turned to your best friend. 

“Yeah, yeah.” He holds the museum tickets to your face. “You have to trust me Y/N. I’m not the same irresponsible kid from middle school.” He whines while swinging around the subway bars. 

You narrowed your eyes at him, he was always getting into trouble. How he survived without you? You never know. Peter went three years without your guidance while you lived in Rhode Island, but now you were back to your old ways. Always watching out for him. Always worrying. Which is why Aunt May loved when the two of you hung out. Peter would always be safe. 

“So what exactly is our paper on?” Peter stops from swinging and leans over to rest on your shoulder. 

“The transition of modern art after the-“ 

There was a screeching noise and suddenly you were on the floor. The subway was dark, only lit by phones trying to use the flashlight app. You scrambled to get up but the train jolted again. Something was going wrong, you couldn’t tell what though. As you looked around though you couldn’t find Peter. 

“Peter! Peter Par-“ 

The train rocked back and forth while the smell of smoke filled the compartment. There was a fire, maybe a crash. You needed to find Peter though. Other riders rushed to leave, pushing or stepping on you as they ran. As you crawled on the floor you screamed your friend's name again, hoping his brown curls would appear. It was terrifying, not having the person you care most about in a situation like this. He can’t be dead right? You didn’t even get the chance to tell him you have a stupid crush on him. 

“Miss! Miss!” A voice said through the yells. 

You tried to ignore it but were suddenly whipped from the ground with a great amount of force. Suddenly you were in the arms of someone who felt…strange? It felt all too familiar, but you did not know this person. The smoke cleared up just enough for you to see the face of Spider-Man. Your heart stopped, the notorious hero you’ve dreamed of meeting was now saving you. 

“My-my friend I can’t find him!” You cried and tried to leave his grip. 

“No! No, he’s-he’s fine!” Spider-Man assures and shoots a web out the open train door. “He was helping people get out. We need to leave now!”

Spider-Man’s voice is slightly strained as if he was choking on the air. You took another scan of the train and you were the only one left. It seems like Peter ran for it, and forgot you. How could he do such a thing? Spider-Man takes a hold of your waist and propels the two of you to safety. The rest of the train passengers are being led by another masked hero towards the nearest underground exit. Spider-Man helps you meet the group, his focus is on you mainly. 

“Are you alright? You seem upset?” The hero asks. 

“My friend-“ You shake your head. Were you really going to divulge your feelings to a random superhero? “My friend, Peter, I’m just so mad. He left me behind, I could have died. And to think I…” 

“You what?” He says quickly. 

“I have a crush on the idiot! The same idiot who I had to pick out of trash cans when Flash would throw him in. And the times I’ve fixed his glasses- well he doesn’t wear them anymore…He’s not the same anymore.” 

There’s an awkward silence followed by your statement. Peter isn’t the same as he was before you moved, he’s confident. He has this new air to him now like he’s a man who can handle his own problems. You don’t have to be his babysitter anymore. Which is great, but you wanted him to need you. If he didn’t need you, then what was the point of having you around? “Your friend saved a lot of people’s lives. He probably got caught up in the mess, maybe thought you got out first. Don’t be mad at him.” Spider-Man defends with a pitchy voice. 

You come to a complete stop, forgetting the group of people coming to surface from the traumatic crash. There was no sight of Peter anywhere. Did he really not care? Spider-Man looks to you, his face softening somewhat behind that mask. 

“You like your friend?” He asks again sheepishly. “Why haven’t you told him?” 

“Because why chase something that won’t ever be?”

You paused and turned away from the masked man. It was true though. Why chase after Peter? He showed interest in Liz and MJ in ways he’d never shown towards you. He idolized them, but with you, he was normal old Peter. Dorky Peter who asks you to come over to watch Game of Thrones or to build Lego sets with Ned. Peter was your friend, nothing more. You turned back towards Spider-Man but he was gone. 

“Y/N! Are you okay?” Someone else rushes to you and engulfs you in a hug. 

Peter is stroking the back of your head while he tightens his grip around you. It feels like home in his arms so you melt right into it. But with a swat of your hand on his back, you’ve made your emotions clear. You were pissed. He left you behind. 

“You’re lucky I’m feeling generous today,” You state. “And that Spider-Man saved our asses.” 

“Yeah, Spider-Man. What a guy,” 

-

You sat below the flickering light outside your window, head down and reading your notes.  The light only illuminated your reading sometimes, other times it went completely dark and you had to wait for the fuse to finally work. It had been like that since you moved back to Queens a year ago, and you didn’t bother to fix it. You let it be, let it flicker and die out, in hopes it will fix itself. For a while it was laziness, but now it was your calling card to your old friend Spider-Man. 

There were no sirens for once which hopefully meant that your masked friend would visit you sooner. Your thoughts were burning to be let out and Spider-Man had become your trusted friend after that almost fatal train crash. He had somehow found your apartment one night, tapping on the glass to make sure you were alright after that event. Weeks later you’ve told him everything. Life in New York and Rhode Island, family, friends, even your deepest feelings about Peter. Spider-Man was your rock, he always knew exactly what to say. 

“What are you working on?” The familiar voice asks above you. 

You move your Spanish textbook to his usual side of the fire escape. He sits on the ledge, two churros in his hand, skimming the vocab. You pull one of the treats from his hand and starting eating it while he tries to pronounce the phrases. 

“Me Gusta,” You say and point to the churro. “That’s all I got. How were patrols Spidey?” 

“Usual stuff. Petty theft, helping cats out of trees, and this one lady left a birthday cake in a car so I helped her with that.” 

A giggle escapes you. Although he has the ability for much more, he was truly the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. He looked out for the little guy, which you appreciated. You connected with that. It had always been you to be looking out for others your whole life. It was all on you to save the day. Maybe that was why you got along so well with Spidey. He knew your struggles on a much larger scale. 

“Sounds like a day,” Spidey moves back and forth on the ledge absent-mindedly. “Something on your mind?” 

“Oh no, just thinking about…uh well,” His eyes focus and he spins around to look at you. “How’s the boy thing? What’s the name?” 

“Peter. It’s alright. We partnered in Chemistry again. He’s always one step ahead of everybody I swear. The boy is a genius.” 

The thought of Peter flamed your body. It was eating at you even since that train crash. That hug he trapped you in as a way of telling you he’s always there. But he wasn’t. He was always missing. You knew that Peter had a life other than you, but he wouldn’t talk about it. He never said what he was doing and where. You didn’t want to nag so you didn’t ask. It seemed like this crush was fleeting. 

“I’m going to have to give up on it,” You sigh and drop your pencil. “He’s always so secretive and disappearing. I think he just doesn’t like being around me-“

“No! I mean, no way. I’m sure this Pete guy is just busy-“

“But if I was important he’d make time for me right? He’d come to see me once in a while, not just to ask for homework.” You hold up your phone that has zero messages on it. “He doesn’t even text me! This sounds stupid but I have a point, right?”

Spidey tenses up immediately. For once his big mouth is silent. He sits on the ledge facing you, legs crossed and scratching the back of his head. You wondered who was the face behind the mask you’ve been talking too. It had been eating at you as much at the Peter problem. This person knows all your darkest secrets but you’ve never seen his face. 

“This Peter guy would be an idiot not to like you. Maybe he does do those things, you just never notice,” 

You thought harder about the last few interactions with Peter. He was always showing off his glowing smile, the one that made you smile just as hard. Peter always invited you to anything, even his nights alone with Ned. Sometimes dinner with Aunt May. On the surface, it seemed like he really liked you, but the subtext wasn’t cutting it. 

“He’s probably obsessed with that smile,” Spidey stands and uncomfortably moves his hands. “He might do things, stupid things, to make you laugh. Guys are dumb you know?”

“Maybe-“ 

“I bet he loves your sense of humor though. You can make anyone laugh.”

“Thanks Spidey,” 

Your heart thumps in your chest, a smile breaking on your concrete face. You imagined all these things to be true, Peter was dying for your attention. God, that would make everything easier. It could be possible. Maybe, just maybe, Spidey was on to something. 

“Peter probably loves to partner with you because he can sit close to you and look in your eyes…” He trails off and tries to regain composure. “Because, you know, he likes you and all,” 

“Sounds like you’re the one with the crush,” 

Spidey laughs a little too hard. He shrugs it off and crosses to your side of the fire escape. He’s nervous, shaking as he continues to work vomit different scenarios to you. He’s passionate about convincing you that Peter likes you. 

“And that time you dyed your hair school colors for that Pep Rally? I bet he was lost for words-“

“How’d you know I dyed my hair?” 

Spidey stops, freezes like a deer in headlights. He makes noises that sound like words but are incoherent. You stand up and face the masked man, gaging his height compared to yours. Spider-Man doesn’t turn away but you can basically hear his heart exploding in his chest. 

“Spidey, have you been watching me for a while?” 

“No! I just…Y/N, I…” 

You grab the bottom of his mask and pull it off before he can finish defending himself. The fluffs of curls hit his face and you almost scream. Peter’s face is bright red as he tries to snatch the mask from your hands. You stumble back while Peter apologizes a million times. 

“Y/N, no please don’t be angry! I didn’t-“ 

Before he’s done you pull him into the privacy of your bedroom, away from any nosey onlookers from the busy street below. Peter tries to muster up another apology but failing as his tongue is tied. You are still in shock. The person you confided in the most was your best friend. A mix of emotions consumed you, mainly anger and confusion. 

“How long have you been Spider-Man?” Your voice is strangely calm. 

“Since I was fourteen.” 

“When were you going to tell me?” 

“I was going to tell you! But after the train crash, it became difficult. You told me that you liked me, but I was Spider-Man and I’m sorry. I should have told you then. Y/N, please don’t be angry-“

You raise your hand to his face, signaling him to stop. As you take a seat on your bed you let out a low groan. It was going to take you a while to fully process this. The thumping in your chest was now in your head. This whole time you were trying to take care of Peter, save him,  but he was the greatest hero of all. He really didn’t need you smothering him all the time. 

“Y/N, I know this might mean nothing but I like you. A lot. What I did was awful-“ 

“Peter-“

“But I swear that I was planning on telling you soon. I thought about it all night on patrol. I want you, but I probably ruined it with my stupidity. God, I’m such an idiot-“

“Peter-“

“You can be mad all you want okay? You can never talk to me again. I just want you to know that everything I said was true. I like you, maybe even love you-wait that’s too much-“

“Peter Parker!” You yell and grab his face. “Shut up. I like you, just give me time to process okay?”

“You’re not mad?”

He quirks an eyebrow while leaning towards you. His face is still smashed between your hands, emphasizing his squeezable cheeks. You nod your head slowly, dragging your hands down his face and resting them on his strong shoulders. 

“Yes, but I understand…kinda.” You rub your hands his suit nervously. “I just know I still like you, even when you’re a bit of an idiot.”

Peter sighs in relief. His hands nervously rest on your hips, grabbing them with little to no force. 

“So…can I kiss you?” 

He’s giving you that grin, the same one you imagined before. You didn’t even respond, you allowed him to close that gap. The sweet taste from the sugar on the churro coated his lips, making him taste sweeter. Peter was just as timid as you expected, he pushed softly, moving his lips slowly and slipping his tongue across your bottom lip. He was anxious but respectful. Peter, even in his Spidey suit, was still Peter Parker. 

“So, we’re good?” Peter says in a desperate exhale against your lips. 

You hum against his red lips, his fingers trailing up your sides delicately. 

“Give it time Parker,” You lean your forehead against his. “But maybe a trip to the Bodega will change my mind,” 

He smirks, kissing you again with playful vigor. It was that flicker inside of you that finally stopped. That light was on. It was shining bright and was undeniable, Peter Parker was yours at last. 

“Let’s call it a deal”