#“fate” is out to ruin any semblance of hope I manage to get

[ashersbraincell]

Taking an indefinite break from trying out voice acting because something quite upsetting happened 🙃

[cakesunflower]

a court of golden shadows: elain archeron and azriel endgame

so this is like an 11 page paper i wrote on why i think Elain Archeron and Azriel from Sarah J. Maas’s A Court of Thorns and Roses are endgame. i made a joke on twitter that i’d write a proper MLA format styled paper on them because i love them so much and a bunch of my moots convinced me to do it so here i am.

this is for the Elriel lovers like myself. if you read it, which you don’t have to, please refrain from commenting anything negative. everyone is entitled to their own opinions, and this whole essay is just my opinion on it. so if you read, i hope you enjoy!!

keep in mind, it’s LONG.

         A Court of Golden Shadows: Elain Archeron and Azriel Endgame

Sarah J. Maas’s fantasy series A Court of Thorns and Roses displays epic, world-shattering love stories among the thrilling action and fantastical elements present throughout the novels, as seen in the romance between Feyre Archeron and Rhysand and, most recently, Nesta Archeron and Cassian. Two sisters have already accepted and embraced the (so-called) rare mating bond with their respective counterparts, yet the question remains on what is to happen with the middle sister, Elain Archeron, who apparently has a mating bond of her own with Lucien Vanserra, but has not, for two books and a novella, made any indication of accepting it. However, Elain, in her quiet, gentle way, has shown to be more attentive towards the Night Court’s resident Shadowsinger and Spymaster, Azriel. Who, in turn, has notably started to move on from a five-century long love harbored for another female and gravitating towards the last remaining Archeron sister.

It can be said that the concept of the three Archeron sisters all ending up with the three Illyrian males is a cliché, but if done right, they can capture the reader in their grasp—one that no one would want to get out of. Taking a look at the novels, particularly starting from the second book, A Court of Mist and Fury, since this is where Azriel’s character is introduced, it is difficult to ignore the fact that Maas has been laying the groundwork for Elain and Azriel—or Elriel, as I will refer to them throughout this paper—to be a couple from the moment they met, whether these hints are subtle or obvious. In chapter 24 of ACOMAF where Feyre, the Illyrian faes, and her sisters have dinner together, we see tentative interactions between Elain and Azriel, despite the two of them having just met and Elain, as a mortal who grew up with stories of the terrors of faeries, seems to look towards the spymaster more. The first glimpse of their interaction, no matter how small, is shown on pages 253-254 when “a faint smile bloomed upon Azriel’s mouth as he noticed Elain’s fingers white-knuckled on that fork”. Though this moment can be overlooked, it is only the first of many oncoming moments of Azriel noticing Elain and her actions, a subtle hint of the spymaster’s attention towards Elain. The focus of attention is returned when Elain then turns to Azriel a few pages later, wanting to know more about their ability to fly, even so far as going to say “That’s very beautiful” when Azriel describes Illyrians as being “born hearing the song of the wind” (256-257). Additionally, there are two moments in this particular chapter where Elain, in some semblance, looks towards Azriel as a way of relaxing herself. The first is noted when Azriel’s attention is said to be on Elain, and he offers her a “polite, bland smile”, and Feyre notices how Elain’s “shoulders loosened a bit” in response to it (256). Rather than looking towards Feyre for indicators during an unexpected dinner with faeries, Elain seems to be more drawn to looking at Azriel, which is shown once again in the following passage: “Rhys chuckled, Cassian’s wrath slipping enough that he grinned, and Elain, noticing Azriel’s ease as proof that things weren’t indeed about to go badly, offered one of her own as well” (258). Elain tends to check everyone’s reactions to the circumstances to determine the levels of tension in the atmosphere, but she truly seems to be put at ease when she notices Azriel’s own relaxed state, once again indicating the attention she pays to him from the moment they met.

The first three books in Maas’s series are told through Feyre’s perspective, so it can be said that our perception of and desire for Elain and Azriel getting together is skewed because of the point of view we are given. I, however, consider this to be a moot point because Feyre’s character is the type to notice everything around her. She comes to grow close to both Azriel and Cassian, and with Elain being her sister, the reader can depend on Feyre as being as much of a reliable narrator to tell us exactly what she sees and how she sees it. With this in mind, some of the examples given will be from Feyre’s own musings, but it is important to note that she, more than once, groups Elain and Azriel together. This is shown when, in chapter 49, Feyre is distracting Rhysand as she tries to take care of his wounds and muses about her sisters visiting Velaris. There, Feyre mentions to Rhysand, “I think Elain—Elain would like it, too. Though she’d probably cling to Azriel, just to have some peace and quiet”, before proceeding to think to herself—and the reader, “I smiled at the thought—at how handsome they would be together” (487). Of course, this observation is followed by the acknowledgement of Azriel quietly loving Mor, as he has for centuries, yet what we don’t know, during this, that this wouldn’t remain an issue for long.

Moving on to focus on the third installment of the series, A Court of Wings and Ruin, there is a solemnity surrounding Elain, who, at the end of the second novel, was forcefully turned into fae against her will. After the transformation, Elain has become a shell of who she used to be, trapped in a state of deep mourning of the humanity she lost, of the love of her fiancé she inevitably lost, too. She doesn’t eat nor does she speak to anyone, an empty yet no less beautiful version of herself as her Cauldron given powers, unbeknownst to everyone else, manifest. But even in her state, in her indifference towards her mate Lucien and yearning for her human fiancé Graysen, Elain managed to acknowledge Azriel. He is gentle with her, much like everyone else, as he carries her into the townhouse, smiles, inquires if she’d like for him to show her the garden. And although he stands tall, intimidating in his fighting leathers and large wings, Elain does not recoil from him in fear or shyness. Instead, she takes the arm he offers her and, although it is unsure if she is looking at his Siphon or his scarred hands, she still utters “Beautiful” in response to him (254). Even when life has unexpectedly turned bleak for Elain, even when the world loses its color in the aftermath of the trauma she suffered, in that moment, there was a glimpse of who she used to be as she found beauty in nothing but Azriel.

This same chapter is followed by an insightful conversation between Feyre and Rhysand, triggered by Feyre watching her sister and Azriel. Feyre notes how at odds Azriel looks sitting in the garden next to Elain in his armor, yet she still questions, “Why not make them mates?” (257). This spurs a significant conversation between the High Lord and High Lady, where readers are given some more history on mating bonds and introduced to the prevailing concept of rejected bonds. Rhys provides examples of ill-chosen bonds, such as his parents, who were mates yet their relationship was not ideal in the least. Here, we are told that sometimes fate, the Mother, whatever chooses two mates can be wrong in its pairings, and it is rare for the bond to bring together “true, paired souls” (258) like Feyre and Rhysand. It has been established that the female can reject the bond, and while the male may feel the tug of it, it’s their burden to push through it. Maas spends an entire page or so talking about the concept of ill-chosen or rejected bonds, so it would be naive to look over these details if they weren’t placed in the storyline for a reason. Elain and Lucien may be mates, and Azriel (at least currently within the book) may be in love with Mor, but the idea of free will is not something to be so easily dismissed. Elain already had the choice of her humanity, her mortality, ripped away from her—it’s doubtful she would let this pattern continue.

In chapter 24 of A Court of Wings and Ruin, when Elain is having her first conversation with Lucien, she states, “No one ever looked—not really” (252), and although here she is referencing Graysen, this statement comes around a few chapters later. In chapter 27, Elain walks in on a conversation amongst the Inner Circle, and Azriel was the first to step forward as he noticed something amiss. His observations and questions when he says to her, “[But] you heard something else” and “What did you see” indicate that he, unlike Feyre and Nesta, believes that Elain’s riddled musings have a deeper meaning and need to be heard. The scene ends with Feyre looking to Azriel, noticing that his “hazel eyes churned as he studied my sister, her too-thin body. And without a word, he winnowed away” (287). Azriel didn’t brush off what Elain said, because while her sisters thought Elain had gone mad, Azriel listened to her—he looked. He looked past her “too-thin body” and read between the lines of what she said, and knew there was more than what meets the eye. He looked, which was exactly what Elain had wanted.

This is repeated in chapter 32, when Elain brings up another queen and no one is quite sure what she’s talking about, except for Azriel, who steps forward and gently prods Elain to elaborate. Even Lucien watches Elain warily, questioning if they need to help her, yet Azriel is firm in his assessment that Elain doesn’t need help, that they need to be the ones who need to listen, before ultimately determining that she does, in fact, have powers and is established to be a seer. So while Lucien “stared and stared at [Elain], as if he’d never seen her before”, it was Azriel who actually looked at her and saw what no one else was seeing, whose acknowledgment of her gift and the attention he brought to it from everyone else “freed her from whatever murky realm she’d been in” (336).

The idea of Azriel truly looking at Elain transitions into him looking for her, too. But first, another example of the former is seen in chapter 63, when Feyre, Nesta, and Amren hear the call of the cauldron in the middle of the night. They wonder about it, question why they three heard it because they were Made, not noticing that another who was Made was missing from their group. That is, until, Azriel asks, “What about Elain?” (560), and he is moving alongside the sisters to inspect Elain’s tent, only to find her missing. Azriel notices Elain—whether she is present or not. And so the concept of Azriel looking for Elain is introduced when they are discussing Elain’s rescue from Hybern in the following scene:

“From the shadows near the entrance to the tent, Azriel said, as if in answer to some unspoken debate, “I’m getting her back.”

Nesta slid her gaze to the shadowsinger. Azriel’s hazel eyes glowed golden in the shadows.

Nesta said, “Then you will die.”

Azriel only repeated, rage glazing that stare, “I’m getting her back.”” (563).

There was no hesitation on Azriel’s part in being the one to get Elain back, but there was obvious rage, as noted, in his gaze at the very idea of Elain having been kidnapped. A silent, lethal aura surrounds the shadowsinger that can be so clearly picked out within that scene, showcasing Azriel’s unwavering determination in returning Elain, even if it meant slipping into the heart of enemy camps—especially if it meant that. And throughout the dangers and urgency of this particular mission, when they do reach Elain, Azriel takes a moment to be tender towards her as he “gently removed the gag from her mouth” (573) and asks if she’s hurt. Elain, in turn, is shown to be “devouring the sight of him, as if not quite believing it” before she says “You came for me” (573). Elain looks at Azriel in wonder and disbelief, and this reaction hints towards how she feels drawn towards him. In their very first meeting during the dinner in the Archeron house, Elain looks to Azriel for reassurance, for judgement of the situation, and in the event of her rescue, she finds that same kind of comfort on a far more intense level. Because here, he truly is her rescuer, appearing in front of her to save her from the dangerous hands of their enemies and bring her to safety. And Azriel, in this sense, is devoted to her, holding up his fierce promising of getting her back. Even when he was injured, Azriel held onto Elain, refusing to let her go even while getting shot at and chased, and when they landed in their own camps, the first thing he claimed was for someone to get the chains off of her, rather than even mentioning his own injuries. This just reminds us of ACOMAF when Elain was being dragged to the cauldron and Azriel wasn’t even conscious to witness it—there is no doubt that if he was awake—and uninjured—he would’ve done all he could to save her. Maas robbed us of that type of scene.

Furthermore, evolving from the concept of Azriel rescuing Elain, we get another significant scene between the two of them that displays the kind of trust these two characters smoothly and effortlessly developed. On top of Elain accepting Azriel’s offers of taking her to the garden, a silent indicator that his company was one she enjoyed, Azriel shows a great act of trust to Elain as well when, in chapter 69, he offered her the use of his beloved knife, Truth-Teller. This blade is Azriel’s most prized possession, and to offer it to Elain to bring her the same kind of comfort and safety that we have seen she finds in Azriel himself portrays the trust he has in her—and his desire to protect her. This is emphasized when Rhys tells Feyre, “Never. . . I have never once seen Azriel let another person touch that knife” (610). Even Cassian was stunned that Azriel would let someone else use Truth-Teller, which is significant to note given that he has not let even Cassian nor Rhys—his brothers he has known for centuries—even touch it. And Elain, who had refused to take the knife Cassian had offered her, ends up accepting Truth-Teller—because it’s Azriel’s, and because through the short time she’s known him, he is someone she has poured her trust into and understands he wouldn’t lead her astray. And he didn’t, for it was Elain who “stepped out of a shadow” (653) and used that very same blade to kill the King of Hybern. A temporary gift, given from Azriel, that she used to put an end to one of the greatest threats to both the human and faerie realms.

In the post-war novella A Court of Frost and Starlight, Maas furthers the Elriel endgame agenda by continuing both subtle and blatant hints in their favor—and not just through actual interactions between the two. The concept of Azriel avoiding Lucien because of his mating bond with Elain is important to remember, for it will come back around later. But in this novella, we see it when Rhysand asks Azriel if he keeps an eye on Lucien, given that he is the spymaster. Azriel, in turn, informs him that he does not track his movements, because “He is Elain’s mate” and “It would be an invasion of her privacy to track him”, which Rhysand, since this is shown from his perspective, notes is because Azriel does not want to be aware of if and when Lucien seeks out Elain, and what they do together—if they do anything at all, given Elain’s tendencies to utterly ignore Lucien (70). Rhysand questions Azriel’s motives on this, but doesn’t get a response, but there is an understanding of Azriel’s intentions behind it. Not only does he want to remain ignorant of the forced bond between Elain and Lucien, but a big motivator for him is also Elain’s privacy, which he doesn’t want to intrude on—ironic, given that he is a spy, and it’s his job to know of others’ movements and thoughts.

Another example of Azriel very subtly showing his blossoming feelings towards Elain is when he unforgivingly states that if Lucien were to kill Elain’s ex-fiancé, then “good riddance” (71). He was well aware of how Graysen treated Elain after finding out she was fae, is the one who sits with her in the gardens because he is a comforting presence for her in the face of mourning, so he understands her. This idea is repeated in Azriel’s bonus chapter in A Court of Silver Flames, when Rhysand catches Azriel almost about to kiss Elain—that is definitely to be unpacked later—and warns him that Lucien has the right to invoke a Blood Duel to defend the mating bond, and Azriel does not hesitate, is confident, when he retorts that he would easily defeat Lucien, would have no problem in pulling Elain out of a bond she doesn’t even want.

The novella also includes some more obvious, sweet moments between Elain and Azriel, ones that show Elain’s own growing interest and feelings towards Azriel. Like in chapter 12, when Feyre notes that when Azriel enters the room, she feels Elain freeze at the sight of him, and then Elain proceeds to be almost in a trance when Azriel, after she greets him, moves towards her and takes the heavy dish of potatoes from her hands and says he’ll take care of it for her (105). This scene then continues when Elain hurries off to make herself more presentable, and rather than letting others dive into the food, Azriel stops Cassian from putting food on his plate and all but commands him to “wait until everyone is seated before eating” (106). Rhysand informs Feyre that this sudden reaction from Azriel stemmed from the treatment his mother received as a near servant, but it can also be tied to how Azriel keeps aware of Elain and the recurring theme of looking after her in any way. He notices her, just as she notices him, a subtle way of this being present in Elain’s solstice gift to Azriel. She doesn’t get a gift for Lucien, her mate, but does get one for Azriel, one that makes him laugh in a way that, Feyre notes, she’s never heard before. A genuine sort of joy breaking the cold, indifferent mask of the shadowsinger as he accepts and cherishes the gift Elain gave him—the extent of which we see in his bonus chapter, where it is revealed that he looks at the small vial every night before going to sleep, a not-so-subtle showing that Elain is the last thought on his mind before he descends into slumber.

This notion of the two of them looking after one another in their own ways is again repeated in A Court of Silver Flames in the following passage on page 221:

Azriel smirked. “You and Nesta are wanted down there.”

“Because of the shit with Elain?”

Azriel stilled. “What happened to Elain?”

Cassian waved a hand. “A fight with Nesta. Don’t bring it up,” he warned when Azriel’s eyes darkened.

Throughout the friendship they have formed, Azriel becomes a kind of protector of Elain’s, deriving from her being a part of their Inner Circle as well as the notion of Azriel’s own personal feelings for her. He is so obviously shown as going on the defense at the news of Elain getting into any kind of fight, of Elain potentially being hurt. It’s repeated on page 233 when Elain and Nesta are arguing, and after Nesta utters a nasty comment that lands on Elain like a blow, there is an acknowledgement of the “shadows gathered in the corners of the room, like snakes preparing to strike”. The shadows, of course, are Azriel’s, ready to jump between the sisters and defend Elain from Nesta’s verbal attack, to once again be her protector.

Of course, we can’t forget that Elain has a mate in Lucien, and how it seems to offer the enticing forbidden love trope between her and Azriel. We see a hint of it in A Court of Wings and Ruin, when in chapter 24, Lucien can scent where Elain had gone off to and who she’d gone with, in this case having it be Azriel, and he’d nearly snarled until Rhysand assured him that Azriel wasn’t the “ravishing type” (254)—although I think we can all agree that he most likely is, but wouldn’t even dream of it in terms of the state Elain was in at the time. Maybe it is the mating bond or maybe it’s both Elain and Azriel’s quiet personalities—or perhaps a combination of the two—but the shyness that has them looking at each other and then looking away continues. On page 467 of A Court of Silver Flames, Cassian notes how Elain nods shyly towards Azriel, who in turn offers her a small smile that she quickly looked away from, prompting Cassian to be puzzled as he wondered, “Lucien was certainly not here to snarl at any male who looked at her for too long”. Elain doesn’t look away from Azriel because of the bond, but perhaps because she is well aware of her feelings for him and, for the moment, is too shy for them to be known, especially by Azriel.

The mating bond between Elain and Lucien does serve as a barrier between her and Azriel, though. This is particularly present during the Winter Solstice, when a layer of Azriel’s character specifically has been peeled back to show his feelings for Elain. Like on page 597, when Elain is laughing at Nesta, the older Archeron sister notes that “Azriel stood in the doorway, monitoring them. As if he’d heard Elain’s sharp laugh and wondered what had caused it”. And if that wasn’t enough, Nesta watches as Azriel’s “gaze shifted to Elain, and though it was utterly neutral, something charged went through it. Between them. Elain’s breath caught slightly, and she gave him a shallow nod of greeting”. This is perhaps the most prominent moment of both of their feelings being reciprocated by the other, because Nesta notices the way they look at one another, as if they both see past the person they put in front of everyone else and truly see the other. And even Nesta understands that there is something deeper between the two, even if they themselves haven’t figured it out yet, when she approaches Azriel where he stands by the doorway and, when asked why he doesn’t sit, responds with a “pretty lie” of his shadows not liking the fire. But Nesta looks to where Elain is the one sitting by the fire, and why Azriel chooses to stand as far as he can, because it is “his secret to tell. Never hers” (600). Just like that, Nesta is aware of Azriel’s feelings for her sister and, perhaps, her subtle way of comforting him was her showing her approval.

We get a deeper insight of this scene in Azriel’s bonus chapter—an entire chapter that allows readers to see exactly how he feels about Elain, and that she returns those feelings, too. It is confirmed that Azriel stands by the doorway, away from Elain, because Lucien is in the same room, and the sight and scent of their mating bond is one that Azriel cannot stand. Because the female he feels deeply for, according to fate, “belongs” to another male and he needs to put distance between himself and the two of them when they’re in the same room. Yet, the mating bond doesn’t prevent Azriel from thinking of Elain, from fantasizing about her every night. He goes from being shown as relieved when Rhys tells him he doesn’t have to buy the sisters presents for the Winter Solstice in A Court of Frost and Starlight, to actively buying her a beautiful flower necklace that she would no doubt love. Their secret exchanging of gifts leads to an epic, steamy, full-of-yearning almost first kiss that shows so clearly that Azriel’s feelings for Elain aren’t unrequited, that she, just like him, is desperate to give into what’s been brewing between them for so long. Yet it’s all cut short when Rhys interrupts Azriel, reminding him of a mating bond that Azriel’s painfully aware of—and confidently willing to pull Elain away from if Lucien decides to invoke the Blood Duel. Azriel’s questioning of the cauldron, wondering why it picked three sisters and had two of them end up with his brothers while the last remaining one was mated to another, is not him declaring that he has a right to Elain. This is him questioning the powers and forces that no one truly understands, this is him questioning from a place of heartbreak, wondering why, yet again, he was the one left behind. It happened when his father imprisoned him, forcing Azriel to delay in his training as an Illyrian, it happened when the female he spent centuries loving never once returned the same kind of love, and now it’s happening again. Azriel does not believe he deserves Elain—it goes against his character, because he is self-deprecating, does not think he truly deserves anything good and worthy. He is simply questioning why his choice doesn’t ever seem to matter, and why Elain is yet again left having her decisions being taken away from her.

Because the matter of choice is a prevalent, significant theme for the two of them. For Elain, she was never allowed to truly make a choice in her life. Her mother’s death, her family falling into poverty, turning into High Fae, losing Graysen, the mating bond, her father’s death—these were all huge, significant life changing moments that she had no say in and was forced to endure, completely upending who she was and how she lived. But there is one choice Elain can make, and that is to reject the mating bond with Lucien. There are so many examples throughout the books where Elain turns away from Lucien; she doesn’t express any interest in him—it’s like he doesn’t even exist to her. There is utter indifference on her end, despite any effort made by Lucien, and that in itself is Elain choosing to all but formally reject the bond, however that may come about. There is a moment in A Court of Wings and Ruin in chapter 54 when Elain, while pleading with Graysen, claims, “I belong to no one. My heart belongs to you” (498). Of course, Azriel has nothing to do with what Elain was saying at the time, but her declaration of this speaks to her character and how dearly she holds onto the idea of being with someone of her own choosing, with someone she loves. This can further be developed into the idea that although fate, the cauldron, the Mother may have chosen Lucien for Elain—a pairing that can, ultimately, be ill-chosen—Elain would not give it the time of day unless it’s what her heart wants. And from what we have seen so far, her heart wants Azriel. She chooses Azriel over Lucien, and that holds significant weight to her and, I imagine eventually, to Azriel as well.

Azriel, who has not been other people’s choice. Azriel, who was imprisoned by his own father, who was rejected by the Illyrians. Azriel, who has spent five centuries loving Mor, who will never love him the way he did her. And it’s saying something, isn’t it, that he has finally stopped yearning for her, and that it was Elain who he is enraptured by? Even Cassian noted that the way Azriel used to look at Mor have become few and far in between, telling the audience that the spymaster has finally begun to move on, or already has, from Mor. And Elain wanting to kiss Azriel confirms to him, in particular, that he is her choice as well. And she is his, as further confirmed when Azriel tells Rhys he has no problem engaging in the Blood Duel with Lucien if it means freeing Elain from a bond she doesn’t want, and allowing them both to dive into the choices they clearly want to make.

Truthfully, there are many examples throughout the books where I can talk about Elain rejecting Lucien. She cringed away from the very first time he touches her in ACOMAF—though, granted, it happens right after she comes out of the cauldron. She is unsettled when Lucien tugs on their bond, saying that it felt as though he pulled on a thread connecting to a rib, which sounds painful and nothing like the comforting bond readers have seen between Feyre and Rhys. Elain doesn’t buy Lucien any presents for solstice, and the first present he got her, gardening gloves to prevent her hands from tearing, are ones she doesn’t use. Because she would much rather feel her hands get torn up while she’s working in her garden, uncaring if they scar, which in turn is a reminder of Azriel’s scarred hands and how she found them beautiful. And for those who wonder about Azriel giving the necklace he got for Elain to Gwyn, it is important to note that he tells Clotho to give it to any priestess who would want it, and merely mentions Gwyn by name because he trained her, because he was the one who rescued her after an attack, and she is the one he knows most familiarly by name because of it. At the end of it, Azriel only wanted the necklace gone because he didn’t want to see it, didn’t want to remember that the female he wants, wants him back just as much, but he was all but forbidden to pursue her. Once again, a choice that was taken away from him, and giving the necklace away is far easier than keeping it and remembering how he couldn’t be with Elain. At least for now.

Throughout the novels, there are many symbols that hint towards Elain and Azriel being together, but that is a paper for another day. This one’s goal was to simply point out the many physical and emotional indicators of the way the two of them are drawn to one another, despite the obstacles that are thrown their way—the biggest one being the mating bond no one asked for. There is comfort in the relationship they have, an ease you wouldn’t expect someone with Elain’s light to find in Azriel’s darkness. He offers her comfort in shy smiles and soft looks, and Elain does the same for him, which we see in the act of his shadows disappearing around her. These very shadows provided him comfort when he needed them, were his friends in his prison, and them leaving him when Elain is around is a sign of the contentment Azriel feels, because he doesn’t have to protect himself in her presence. Azriel loved Mor, and it has been noted that he lights up when she is around, and Elain is the only other person he reacts similarly to—because Elain is who he wants now that he has moved on from Mor. It’s important, isn’t it, that Elain is who pulls Azriel away from the centuries-long love he’d been lost in? That she is who he looks for, thinks about, wonders after?

Elain has found comfort in Azriel’s darkness, and he has found peace in her light, and so how could they not defy what’s been expected of them and rewrite fate to fit the choices they make themselves?

[strqyr]

Okay okay... Wild theory time. Apologies in advance.

You know the idea of Raven creating a portal to Yang and possibly by extension RWB, maybe as their falling or just wherever they end up (maybe it's just an endless void that has no bottom, idk).

Well you know the volume 3 opening, when we get this shot of team STRQ?

Followed by a close up of Qrow's sword gears

Which then transitions into something that looks an awful lot like one of Raven's portals

And then all of RWBY and JNPR falling, with JNPR then falling away from them, leaving just RWBY falling presumably into it?

Like, if v9 really is this Alice in Wonderland-esque dream sequence of all of team RWBY's past (like the vol8 OP shots of all of them in the present alongside where they started is an indicator of them searching through their own pasts as they go on like, a soul journey or smth) and them coming to terms with their past trauma, Weiss and her family, Blake and the WF and Adam, Ruby and Summer, then... Regardless, they'd still be at the bottom of some void, or falling through a void, with no escape. More enlightened, sure. But enlightenment ain't gonna get them outta of a void hole. Pretty sure Ambrosius wouldn't have been so explicit in his warning if there was any way to get back after falling.

Except if Yang, from whatever she might come to terms with about her mothers, about Raven, leads her to try to reach out and let Raven know she needs her help to get her and her team out of there. Because Raven's semblance isn't just portalling to her connections, right? She can sense if they're in danger too. That's how she knew exactly when to show up when Neo went to stab her, right? So if Yang reunites with her team and lets herself fully feel that instinctive fear, despair and impulse to reach out to a Mother figure for protection and safety, because before she wouldn't have let herself, couldn't let herself, to call out to Raven, would she be able to ignore the call of those emotions?

And then the girls would wake from the dream, back in Patch, and with maybe a follow up on STRQ lore and Summer's last mission, and a confirmation of her fate from Raven. And then after they'd only have the option to portal to Qrow, whether he'd be in Atlas or Vacuo.

Alternatively Raven already plans on portalling to Yang, and they're both like

Yang: What did you do?!!?

Raven: I think I just kick-started my own redemption arc and saved your life?!!

Yang: You ruined my soul journey is what you did! I was getting free therapy and emotional development in there!

Raven: YOU WERE FALLING THROUGH AN ENDLESS VOID WHILE UNCONSCIOUS

oooh i like this. i like this very much.

especially yang figuring out the way out. that’s like, my biggest hope for whatever void adventures the gang goes through: if rwb jumps in too, they’re doing it to rescue yang, and i wouldn’t want yang to spent that time alone, not trying to think of a way out. ya know, something similar what they did with weiss in vol5, where she was already planning her escape before yang showed up, showing that she wasn’t helpless there.

also, just the idea of yang explaining the plan to her team, like

yang: okay, so i’m going to make my emotional state really bad. if we can manage to get me in another life threatening situation, that’d be great!

ruby: how do you even know this is going to work?

yang: so there was this time i almost died —

rwb: wait, W H A T ?!?!!?

though the alternative option works great too XD hey, if yang get’s her free therapy and emotional development by falling into an endless void unconscious, that’s her choice, and we gotta respect that!

[project-ohagi]

Hitoshi Shinsou x Reader

Buy me a coffee!! <3

Trigger Warnings: Mentions of possible Self-Harm/Suicidal Ideation, Mentions of Bullying, Depression.

----

The echoes of words that, since their conception, carved up your heart without reason or care, still plagued you. The angel by your side wasn't privy to your unpleasant truths - the history etched in to your skin, bygone times littered with bullying and self-disgust. The latter hadn't disappeared like everyone said it would. If they dragged that lie from their own experiences, they shouldn't have been surprised when you became angry, and weak from 'night studies'.

Hitoshi worried half to death, and crafted his words accordingly. He couldn't bear to imagine his company brought you so much discomfort that you refused to let him help - or even just listen. He wanted to understand why pain seemed to dull your eyes, why you isolated like you did...why you declined to let him in, even after months of a strong friendship. He loved that you saw the person past the quirk, he loved the gentle tone in which you called his name. He had hoped that, with the dormitory situation (and your rooms being on the same floor), you would feel more secure and perhaps encouraged to seek help. If you reached out to him...

...Please reach out to him! He had grappled with depression, with that empty, hopeless feeling. He knew it all too well. But his battle had been fought, and he had the skills necessary to aid yours. He could rescue you, but the hard labour was your personal burden. It was horrible. What kind of aspiring hero was as useless as he? It was true. You couldn't win on your own, but he couldn't win it for you.

Gods...he wanted to! He wanted to do everything, just for you!

It was impossible...unless you opened up your heart. He respected your space, but his unrelenting love threatened to crush those invisible barriers. It felt as though you were slipping, like there was a reason more sinister than he had anticipated, as to why you didn't want any help. He grew nervous, eventually deciding that the possibility of you endangering yourself was enough cause to demand entry into your room. Once inside, he could talk about his concerns and lend you an ear. He could also check for anything...sharp. He never wished to offend you or come off as condescending (like a lot of therapists did), but he was desperate. He worshipped you as some beautiful, divine entity - if your anguish managed to conquer the last semblance of hope that still burned...well, how could he live with himself?

How could he live with the knowledge that he hadn't ever told you your worth? If you were reclaimed by nature, whilst believing that you meant nothing...that he didn't completely adore you...

No - he just...he couldn't allow that.

Maybe it was an overreaction. Maybe you wouldn't be so reckless. But he wasn't about to risk that. You wouldn't be foolish. You wouldn't be selfish. This didn't involve anyone else - not even him. But you couldn't keep suffering. Humans could only endure so much.

The mentally ill - for as much as they rebuffed it - were powerful warriors. Each day issued forth a new challenge. Some gave up. Some kept fighting. Some battles were lost, and others were won. These people were incredible - deserving of eternal love and happiness. Hitoshi hoped to give you both. But first, he needed a better grasp on your situation. Voice everything to him! Every tiny thing, no matter its insignificance! He was offering you a chance, a way to stave off the negativity, just for a while. Would you accept it? Or would his intrusion signal the end of your friendship...of a possible, future romance?

He approached with caution...and a full plate of food. Immediately after the school day concluded, you had retreated to your room. He asked around, but nobody could attest to having seen you emerge. Therefore, you hadn't eaten yet. He knew you wouldn't deny yourself and isolate to such an extent - was it a silent cry for help, and...were you even aware of it? Were you holding out for a hero? Despite his allocation to General Studies, his aspirations had only flourished. He could save you from the depths of this depression! He could become your hero...

...if you let him.

A sigh tumbled from his lips, as he knocked on your door. To be honest, he wasn't expecting a response.

"(L/n)...It's Shinsou. I thought you might be hungry? And, uh...I was hoping to talk to you. Maybe..."

A muffled "Go away" could be heard from within, but, being so weak, it couldn't deter him.

He coughed awkwardly, placing a palm against your door. "Please let me in. Please let me help."

There was hurried shuffling, and the sound of you falling over something. It almost made him chuckle. Then, the door opened. You peeked from behind it, eyes narrowed and with a sickly complexion. You scrutinised him for a moment, without words. Next, you looked to the food.

And you let him in. You actually let him in! Relief washed over his heart, but the pain still stabbed through. You were clearly hurting, clutching the hem of your shirt and trying desperately not to wince. He saw it all. He set the plate down, but you didn't move toward it. Maybe you would eat after he left? Well, he wasn't about to force-feed you, so...as long as you did...

"How can I help?" He asked, taking a seat opposite you.

"I don't...I don't think you can..." You started, diverting your attention away from him and his charity.

Unluckily for you, he was determined, and nowhere near satisfied with your half-arsed answer. It had obviously been impromptu, but his questions symbolised an outpouring of emotion from deep within his soul. That was your worth - how much he yearned for every part of you. He knew his lines. They were engraved upon his heart, like wedding vows. He could recite them with ease...but they were far from easy.

"Look at me." He loathed using his quirk on you, but this was important.

The Fates would forgive him...hopefully.

After a minute, he relinquished control. "Please talk to me. I can give advice, or I can just listen. I'll do whatever you need. Just...let me know."

Let me know everything.

Wiping a stray tear from your eye, you relented. "Okay...but please - please don't laugh."

"I won't. You have my word."

You are my world.

"I...I was bullied, in middle school. And...it sometimes happens now, but just...not so often." Your throat felt parched. "It was because of my quirk. They said I didn't have the capacity to do good, and that I would always be evil. They didn't want to turn me to villainy - they wanted me to die. It was so hard, just trying to survive every single day, getting pushed around and tormented...made to feel inferior, like I didn't even matter."

Hitoshi remained silent, eyes blown wide in shock and disgust.

"You know my quirk, right? 'Bone Manipulation'? I hate it. I've hurt people I should never have hurt. I've ruined friendships - probably lives, too. And...and...I can't always control it! When I'm angry...sometimes it just happens...and I can't - I can't stop it!"

You were panicking, rocking back and forth while holding your head. The really frightening parts of your tale were still a mystery. You would reveal them, in due time. But right now...you needed Hitoshi's warm embrace.

Cradled in his arms, you could forget the whole world.

[Word Count: 1256]

[lockefanfic]

Business Trip - Pt 35: Itaewon

NOTICE: this is the newest chapter of Business Trip (I’ve been crossposting the earlier chapters on here from AFF). If you want to get caught up, read the rest of the chapters here before reading this. Otherwise, spoiler warning!

---

“I’m not gonna whip out my dick in public for no reason, ladies.”

“Right, of course,” Seulgi answers, “not without some motivation.”

Seulgi’s left arm, still wrapped around Yeri’s back, drifts down to the younger girl’s chest. Her right hand joins it, and together she pulls down her friend’s low-cut pink top, revealing more and more of her chest until her breasts, round and full, bounce free - leaving her chest exposed.

Yeri, for her part, looks up at you and licks her lips, her face written now with lust. Gone is the cheerful, bright girl you’d only known briefly - this was another girl altogether, one that didn’t mind in the slightest that she had her breasts out in public.

She’d done a good job of hiding her assets, that was for sure. Her breasts were perfectly shaped, large for her frame, tipped with enticing looking nipples that were clearly already stiff with arousal. Her pink top, bunched up beneath them, did a good job of pushing them up and together, creating a delicious looking cleavage.

Seulgi’s hands leave her friend’s top and dance slowly towards her nipples, where she begins to fondle the stiff buds, circling them and pinching them with the tips of her index finger and thumb. 

Yeri’s eyes close, a soft, wordless sound of desire leaving her lips.

“What about now?” Seulgi asks.

Seoul’s Itaewon neighborhood was probably your favorite, with the hip bar scene and plentiful foreigners from all over the world helping you feel a little more comfortable than you were in the other neighborhoods of Korea’s sprawling capital. You’d spent more time in Korea over the past few months than you had your own home, and while you quickly found yourself falling in love with the country’s charms, the imported beer on your table and the occasional sound of familiar language in the air made Itaewon feel, just a little, like you were back at home.

It was a bit of a struggle to leave Nayeon’s hotel room - the girl seemed to have a boundless supply of energy, combined with a self-admitted reserve of pent-up sexual frustration that she wanted to release on you. Her tight, perfect little body and the history you shared with her made it all too easy for you to oblige her whims and desires, and you spent the following day and much of the morning after happily entangled in those perfect arms and legs of hers.

But you had an appointment to keep with Momo, and although Nayeon followed you all the way to the hotel’s entrance and tried to entice you with one more quickie in the lobby’s bathroom, you had to tear yourself away from her and hop into a waiting car.

Momo had sent Chaeyoung to pick you up, and despite the way she’d left you tied up and unfulfilled during your impromptu session in their van the last time you’d seen her, she still made for fun, relaxed conversation on your way to Itaewon. It was refreshing to speak with someone who had little stake in what was going on, even if she was directly involved in it - she was so detached, so relaxed and easy going that you were more than happy to chat with her about her favorite craft beers and her growing collection of tattoos, if for no other reason than that it took your mind off of what was probably going to be an intense meeting.

She dropped you off at the bar with a wink and a finger gun, telling you Momo was already waiting for you inside. It didn’t take you long to find her, although she wasn’t alone; Seulgi and Yeri were there as well, the former with her trademark resting bitch face plastered all over what would otherwise be beautiful features - you found yourself wondering if you’d ever seen her wear anything other than a constant frown. Seulgi had a cold aloofness to her that reminded you somewhat of Mina; but whereas Mina possessed a warm, princess-like quality beneath her prim and proper exterior, Seulgi was more like an ice queen, always icy and unsympathetic, always seeming to look down on you.

She was well balanced by Yeri, who greeted you warmly with a bright smile, in stark contrast to her friend.

Almost as soon as you reach their table a waiter approaches with a bottle of your favorite beer from back home - Momo must have ordered it in advance for you. You instinctively give her a smile in appreciation, but it quickly fades when you see the serious look she has on her face.

It pained you, somewhat, to see her lacking the brightness that was such a trademark of her personality. She was so serious these days, so focused on bringing Irene down that she almost seemed like a different person. Her hair was blonde now, parted near the middle and without bangs; her physical transformation mirrored her internal one, and while she was even more stunning now than she’d ever been, you found yourself missing the old, clumsy, ditzy Momo you’d shared so many easy days and passionate nights with.

“Well?” she asks, forgoing any sort of formal greeting, her tone so different from the one she used to use with you, “What do you want to talk about?”

“We’ve had the chance to look over the data Nayeon retrieved from SM,” you answer, doing your best to overlook her cold welcome, “and it’s more than enough to put Irene away for a while.”

“But you don’t know here she is, and your partners in the police are just as clueless,” Seulgi chirps. She sighs and looks away dismissively.

“Yes,” you admit reluctantly, “Which is why I’m here. I’m hoping we can work together to find her. Once we do, Seoul PD can arrest her and we’ll be done with all this.”

“So you want to do the cops’ job for them, is that it?” Momo says disdainfully.

“No, I want to help them. We can bring her down together.”

Momo lets out a huff and crosses her arms. “A lot of good that’s done so far,” she says under her breath.

You are a little taken aback by Momo’s attitude, but you decide to let it pass for now. There were more important things at stake.

“Regardless of how you feel about working with the cops, the fact is we need them to arrest Irene at some point if we’re going to finally get rid of her. We can’t go arrest her ourselves. We’re not cops.”

“Why do we need to arrest her at all?” Seulgi says.

Her question stuns you, mostly because you had no idea what she meant by it. What was her goal, if not to arrest Irene? It takes you a few long moments to digest her words and formulate a follow up question.

“What exactly do you mean by that?”

“You know what I mean. When we capture her, who says we need to turn her over to the cops, or let them arrest her?”

Seulgi’s words seem to surprise even Momo, who is looking at her team member with a look of surprise, her mouth slightly agape.

“Irene deserves to pay for what she’s done,” Seulgi continues, “and sitting in a nice cushy jail cell for the rest of her life doesn’t begin to make up for what she’s guilty of.”

“She’s ruined lives,” Yeri begins, “including ours.” The youngest girl at the table suddenly looks sad and sullen, as if she were reliving unpleasant memories behind eyes that had become forlorn.

It takes both you and Momo a few moments to digest Seulgi and Yeri’s words; it surprised you somewhat that this was probably the first time Momo had fully realized their intentions when it came to Irene’s ultimate fate. You weren’t sure just what Seulgi was getting at, but you were sure you didn’t like it.

“I don’t know what you’re implying, Seulgi, but-”

“You must’ve seen the tape,” she interrupts, her voice straight and stern, her face lacking any sort of sympathy or warmth. Her eyes, piercing and direct, are locked to yours.

“...Yes,” you admit, knowing she was referring to the tape of Red Velvet’s escape from YG, and how she and Yeri were left behind, seemingly on Irene’s orders.

“Then you know she left us behind.”

“Yes.”

“We worked with her for a decade. We bled and sweat and cried together. We on YG and Blackpink for years. And when it came down to it, once she had what she needed from us, she left us behind like we were broken tools. Maybe she decided we were liabilities, that we knew too much and wouldn’t blindly follow her like Wendy and Joy did. The SM mission was a perfect opportunity to get rid of us.”

“The YG guards-”

“It doesn’t matter,” Yeri snaps, her cold tone now matching Seulgi’s. Her face was deadly serious now, all semblance of the cheeriness you’d usually associated with her completely absent. “She could have still stayed and fought with us, even if it meant we all got caught. Even Wendy and Joy wanted to stay. I heard them shouting at Irene, asking her for permission to stay and fight. But now that she had the Blackpink girls, she had what she needed. They would replace us. She ordered them to leave us behind, and what happened after-”

The girl’s voice wavers, and Seulgi reaches over and grasps her hands on the table in a rare show of affection.

“We would have all been captured, all five of us, if she’d stayed. The mission would’ve been a complete failure and SM wouldn’t have the Blackpink girls. But at least we’d know we were really the sisters we thought we were, and not just unneeded tools she’d cast aside.”

“We managed to escape three months later. But those three months were hell. They hurt us,” Yeri says, her voice wavering as she relives painful memories. On the table her hands clench into fists, and Seulgi covers them with her own, stroking the younger girl’s knuckles with calming fingertips.

“Now you understand why putting her in jail isn’t enough,” Seulgi states, not looking up from where she is cradling Yeri’s hands in her own.

There is silence at the table for a few long moments as you and Momo digest Seulgi and Yeri’s story. You are both speechless, dumbfounded by the girls’ story and the depth of their desire for revenge. 

You found yourself thinking of the getaway with Nayeon and Jeongyeon - the situation was so similar. And Jeongyeon stayed, while-

“I need a smoke,” Seulgi declares, and Yeri nods as they both leave the booth and make their way out of the bar.

“Jesus,” you swear once the girls are out of earshot, “that was heavy.”

“Yeah,” Momo agrees, her expression one of concern for her team members, “I had no idea about any of that stuff. Irene really left them behind? Is that what it looked like on the tape?”

“It sure looked that way,” you answer, “I don’t even want to think about what YG put them through.”

“God,” Momo sighs, rubbing her forehead with a hand, “this is going to get complicated. My assumption was that they wanted to get Irene arrested, like we did. What the hell do they want to do with her? Torture her? What if they want to k-”

“No, don’t assume that,” you say quickly, “that’s something I don’t even want to think about.”

Momo sighs again, rubbing her face now with both hands. She seemed genuinely surprised - she was definitely hearing all of this for the first time and seemed a bit overwhelmed by it.

“I wanted to take the gloves off when it came to capturing her, but I was operating under the assumption that the goal was just to put her behind bars,” she admits.

“So you agree, the endgame here is to have her arrested.”

“Well, yes. But Seulgi and Yeri-”

“We’ll deal with them once we have Irene. I think we should focus on that first.”

---

When a half hour passed without Seulgi or Yeri returning to the table, you and Momo decided to settle the bill and head outside in search of them. Momo had tried without luck to contact them on their phones, and so the two of you had decided to split up in search of the two ex-Red Velvet members.

It being a Friday night, Itaewon was bustling with bar hoppers and partygoers. You tried your best to find the two girls amidst the rowdy crowd of youth in various states of intoxication, and were about to give up and turn around to regroup with Momo when you caught, by chance, a glimpse of Seulgi through the window of a slightly quieter cafe off the main streets. 

The small coffee shop was only half-filled with half a dozen patrons - a couple of students cramming for an exam and a few partygoers seeking some slight reprieve from the constant party going on a block or two away. Seulgi and Yeri had snagged a corner booth that provided a modicum of privacy from the other patrons, divided from the rest of the seating area by a vintage bookshelf filled with old toys and knick knacks. Seulgi has her arm wrapped protectively around the younger girl’s shoulder as she takes a few sips from the oversized mug of coffee she has on the table.

“There you both are,” you say as you approach.

“Tell Momo she’s draining our phone batteries with all her calls and texts,” Yeri says, her eyes red with recent tears even as she smiles softly at you. Her tone, at least, had regained a little of the bright cheeriness you’d associated with her.

You return her smile as you take a seat in the booth opposite the two.

“I’m sorry about making you relive those memories,” you say, “that wasn’t my intention.”

“It’s not your fault,” Seulgi answers in between sips of coffee, “It’s no one’s fault but YG and Irene’s. And since Irene’s done us the courtesy of taking YG down, I guess she’s the only one left to blame.”

The three of you spend a few moments in silence, eyes unwilling or unable to meet each others’ gaze. You play idly with a napkin on the table, not quite wanting or even knowing how to broach the topic of what would happen to Irene once you’d captured her. When the waitress approaches, you order a coffee - thankfully, she saw that you were a foreigner and took your order in only slightly accented English.

Before the waitress leaves, Seulgi reaches into her jacket and retrieves a few bills. She slides them across the table to the waitress, a serious look on her face.

“For privacy,” she says softly but sternly, and the waitress gives her a small nod of understanding before turning and leaving.

You are left only a few moments to process her request before Yeri speaks up again.

“Enough about us and our shitty past,” Yeri says, her voice slowly regaining more and more of her brightness, “tell us about you and Momo. You two have plenty of history, it looks like.”

You are a little surprised at Yeri’s request, but there is an underlying desire to change the subject in her young face that convinces you a swap in topic was probably the right thing to do.

“Um, where to begin? We’ve worked together for years now. She’s a good friend of mine.”

“That’s it?” Seulgi quips.

“Well, to be perfectly honest we were fuck buddies for a bit. Then we dated for awhile - seriously - before all this started. But shit hit the fan and things got complicated… now we’re back to being friends. Once this is all over, we’ll see where we stand.”

“Just friends? Because I’m pretty sure she’s still carrying a torch for you,” Yeri says with all the enthusiasm of a schoolgirl engaging in locker room gossip, leaning forward with a smile.

“Yeah, she still loves you,” Seulgi states, “God, men are so stupid.”

“And blind,” Yeri adds with a smile. “She’s been pretty tense lately, especially ever since we rescued you and your friend - what was her name, Jeongyeon? Anyway, when she saw you and how close you were to her, I think it freaked her out a little. She’s been on edge ever since. She probably thinks you two are together.”

“I bet you’ve got a nice dick,” Seulgi states bluntly to Yeri’s shy giggles, “Otherwise why else would a ten like her fuck a guy like you?”

“Why does everyone say that?” you say, a little exasperated, “Everyone thinks the only reason I get girls is because I can fuck. I’m not just a dick on legs. I have a great personality, too. I’m also really a humble guy.”

Yeri lets out a healthy laugh, and even Seulgi cracks a rare smile. You were happy to lighten the mood, even if it meant a joke at your own expense. 

“So,” Seulgi says, her eyes locked on yours now, her face suddenly a little more serious. She takes another sip of her coffee before placing it off to the side of the table. 

“Let’s see it,” she says.

“Uh, what?”

“Your dick. Let’s see it.”

“What-”

“That thing between your legs,” Yeri says, a mischievous look appearing on her face, “let’s see it.”

You take a glance around - while the cafe was relatively quiet and the bookcase kept most of its patrons from having a direct line of sight to your booth, it wasn’t exactly empty. Just anyone, including the waitress, could still walk by your booth and see what was going on.

“I’m not gonna whip out my dick in public for no reason, ladies.”

“Right, of course,” Seulgi answers, “not without some motivation.”

Seulgi’s left arm, still wrapped around Yeri’s back, drifts down to the younger girl’s chest. Her right hand joins it, and together she pulls down her friend’s low-cut pink top, revealing more and more of her chest until her breasts, round and full, bounce free - leaving her chest exposed.

Yeri, for her part, looks up at you and licks her lips, her face written now with lust. Gone is the cheerful, bright girl you’d only known briefly - this was another girl altogether, one that didn’t mind in the slightest that she had her breasts out in public.

She’d done a good job of hiding her assets, that was for sure. Her breasts were perfectly shaped, large for her frame, tipped with enticing looking nipples that were clearly already stiff with arousal. Her pink top, bunched up beneath them, did a good job of pushing them up and together, creating a delicious looking cleavage.

Seulgi’s hands leave her friend’s top and dance slowly towards her nipples, where she begins to fondle the stiff buds, circling them and pinching them with the tips of her index finger and thumb. Yeri’s eyes close, a soft, wordless sound of desire leaving her lips.

“What about now?” Seulgi asks.

The audacity of what was happening in front of you drives you insane - you were in a public, half full coffee shop, and here you were in front of two girls, watching as one of them played with the others’ breasts. You quickly feel yourself hardening beneath your shorts.

You reach down and unbutton and then unzip the cotton shorts you were wearing, revealing the quickly growing bulge beneath your boxers.

“That’s… not enough,” Yeri says, her words a half-sigh as Seulgi continues to fondle her chest, “Let’s see all of it.”

Another quick glance around confirmed there was no one within direct eyesight, and no trace of the waitress either - Seulgi’s request for privacy appeared to have kept her on the other side of the cafe. Most of the other patrons of the cafe were either some distance away or too absorbed in their phones or textbooks to notice.

You reach down and pull your shorts halfway down your thighs, dragging your boxers along with them. Your cock, almost fully erect, springs free from its cotton prison, immediately catching the eyes of both girls in front of you.

“Mmm, I guess I was right. She loves you for your dick, after all,” Seulgi states with a smirk after she leans over the table and gives your cock an appraisal.

You return her smirk with one of your own.

“It’s not very fair that you’re the only one enjoying those tits, Seulgi,” you state, gaining some aggression now that you had committed to exposing yourself. If you were taking the risk, you wanted to get something out of it, and Seulgi seemed all too willing to indulge you.

“I suppose he’s right. How about you let him see what these can do, Yeri?”

The younger girl, already reduced to putty by Seulgi’s ministrations on her sensitive breasts, wastes no time in following the orders she is given. Leaving Seulgi’s embrace, she slides under the table, crawls over to you, kneels between your spread legs, and takes your cock into her wet, warm mouth.

The very idea of it - getting a surprise blowjob from a gorgeous young girl under the table at a coffee shop - drove you utterly insane; and the feel of Yeri’s wet, slick tongue lathering your shaft from base to tip with her saliva before beginning her blowjob in earnest quickly drove away all of the tension that had been building in your mind.

You look down and watch as Yeri’s blonde head slowly begins to bob up and down on your stiff shaft, her lips pursed tightly around it, leaving it glistening in the low light of the coffee shop. She lets it pop out from her mouth before poking out her tongue and swirling it around your head, tracing the tip and underside of it with the very tip of her tongue.

It’s your turn now to let a soft, wordless sigh escape your lips. You reach down and stroke the young blonde girl’s hair as she makes eye contact with you, her innocent features in stark contrast to the actions of her altogether sinful pink tongue. You let your fingers comb her hair, cupping the back of her skull, ostensibly to keep her from banging her head against the table, but also to push her slightly further down your cock with each entry into that succulent, wet mouth of hers. Her tongue wreaks delicious havoc on your sensitive head, swirling it around the tip before dipping under it, pressing against the underside of your dock everytime she takes your shaft into her mouth.

“Now now, Yeri,” Seulgi begins, eyes locked on yours as she watches the pleasure worming its way throughout your brain, “I did say you should show him what you can do with those tits.” Seulgi pulls the table towards her, leaving Yeri a little more room to poke her head and most of her chest out from beneath the table.

“Right,” Yeri answers as she straightens up in front of you, eyes locked on yours, “I was just getting his dick ready.”

Yeri takes a moment to spit on your cock, a long rope of her glistening saliva landing squarely on your head. She pumps your shaft a few times with a small hand, ensuring it was wet from base to tip.

When she leans forward and captures your shaft between her soft, warm breasts, your breath catches in your throat - and at that moment you couldn’t have cared less that you were just a few metres away from half a dozen people.

Yeri was just a little less endowed than Jihyo, who was the only other girl large enough to give you a titjob - but Yeri’s breasts were softer than the detective’s, and Yeri was better able to wrap them around your glistening dick, trapping it in a tunnel of warmth and wetness as she begins to bounce her mounds up along on your length, thrusting the shaft between her breasts, up and down, up and down.

You are left powerless to do anything but watch the scene play out in front of you as you enjoy the pleasure radiating from your shaft, travelling up your spine and intoxicating your brain. Yeri’s hands travel towards the front of her breasts as she captures her own nipples with her index finger and thumb, pinching the stiff peaks even as she bounces her mounds up and down on your dick.

“Does that feel good?” Seulgi asks, and you tear your gaze away from the young girl between your legs to lock eyes with the older girl.

“Fuck yeah it does,” you hiss, reaching down with your right hand to stroke Yeri’s cheek. She nuzzles her face in your palm like an obedient pet, not breaking her rhythm, pushing your stiff shaft into her cleavage over and over again.

“I… I want to touch myself,” Yeri hisses, her face flushed, her features lustful.

“Her tits are sensitive as fuck - look at her get off on giving you a titjob. Pinch her fucking nipples,” Seulgi orders, and you are happy to oblige, reaching down with both hands to the front of Yeri’s breasts, capturing her brown tips in each hand before pinching both peaks, eliciting a sharp gasp from the young girl. Her hands freed, she reaches down and slips a hand beneath her skirt, and the soft moan that leaves her mouth tells you all you need to know about what she is doing to herself.

You squeeze her large breasts together around your shaft, thrusting up as best you could between her delicious cleavage given your sitting position. The friction is delicious, and you savor each thrust between the girl’s tits.

You are so lost in enjoying Yeri’s breasts, watching the expression on the girls’ face glaze over into full pleasure as she fingers herself - that you almost don’t realize Seulgi is leaning over the table, watching intently.

“Enough, Yeri - we don’t have all day. Make him cum.”

It embarasses you, somewhere in the back of your mind, that it only took a few minutes of a blowjob and titjob to get you to cum. But you weren’t one to fight the pleasure coursing throughout your body, not when it was so delicious, and not when it was given to you under such dangerous circumstances - right out in public.

Yeri’s hands pull yours away from her tits, and you have only a split second to lament the loss of her large, warm mounds around your cock before she replaces them with her mouth. Grasping the base of your cock and pumping it with one hand while she gently cups and squeezes your balls with the other, Yeri quickly launches into a hard and fast blowjob, taking the top half of your cock in and out of her wet mouth with a rapid pace.

It all becomes too much, and it hits you all at once - getting a blowjob from a beautiful young girl, in a public coffee shop, while another equally hot woman watches - and you quickly find yourself nearing that inevitable peak.

“Fuck, Yeri-” is all you manage to say before your orgasm overtakes your world.

Yeri releases your cock from her mouth a split second before you erupt, shooting long, thick strands of hot semen all over her pretty little face. Yeri’s face glazes over in pleasure and you are all too happy to watch as strand after strand of cum lands on her cheeks, her pretty little nose, and finally her open mouth and jaw. You watch, through half-lidded eyes drunk with pleasure, as the thick streams of cum flow down her face, dripping onto her upper chest and those perfect breasts of hers. Her face is flushed and her mouth open, as though she herself was on the verge of orgasm.

The next few seconds pass by in a blur, your mind still trying to make sense of what just happened. But when you manage to pull yourself together you realize that Yeri is sitting next to Seulgi again - and that the two are making out passionately, Yeri’s cum covered face pressed against Seulgi’s even as their tongues duel between their locked mouths.

Seulgi breaks the kiss to lick strands of your semen from her friend’s face, which elicits a look of pleasure to wash over Yeri’s features. It takes you another moment to notice that the older girl’s hand is working busily between Yeri’s legs, and it only takes another moment or two before Yeri is reduced to a quivering, shaking mess, cumming hard on Seulgi’s fingers even as your fresh, hot cum is licked from her face. She buries her face in the crook of Seulgi’s neck and lets out a sharp, wordless cry - one that temporarily worries you with its volume.

It is a scene that would have been utterly spellbinding in the privacy of a bedroom. But the audacity of the two girls to do so out in public - in an open, half-filled coffee shop, no less - completely overwhelms you, and you can do nothing but watch as Seulgi finishes her work between Yeri’s legs and licks the last large strand of semen from her face. 

Seulgi gives her friend one last soft kiss on the lips before turning once more to face you, using a finger to capture a stray strand of semen from the corner of her lips. She licks it and Yeri’s juices from her glistening fingertips, the same way a cat would lick milk from its paw, her eyes locked on you the whole time, filled with a sly lustiness that you found utterly captivating.

Yeri is a disheveled mess, her face still flushed and pink, but she finally manages to gather herself enough to stuff her breasts back into her top. She gingerly takes a napkin off the table and wipes the last remnants of your cum from her face and upper chest, still breathing heavily, still quivering occasionally as her orgasm finally winds down.

It’s at that moment that the waitress finally arrives with your coffee order, placing the large mug on the table. You couldn’t help but notice that her face was flushed and red as well - was she watching the whole thing?

The waitress catches Seulgi’s eyes for a moment, and the ex-Red Velvet member winks at her, before taking one last sip of her now-room temperature coffee, a sly, devilish smile on her lips that you found both arousing and frightening all at the same time.

---

It didn’t take Momo long to arrive after you’d texted her with the location of the coffee shop. She’d called Chaeyoung for a ride back to their safehouse and the four of you were waiting outside the coffee shop for her to show up in the van. Jeongyeon, who happened to be in the same neighborhood, had texted you an invitation to shoot some pool and she was likewise on her way.

“I trust the three of you got to know each other better,” Momo says, and you are heartened to find no malice on her tone - it was more of a tease than anything else, which led you to hope that perhaps the common ground you’d found regarding Irene’s arrest had warmed up her attitude towards you.

“He got to know Yeri pretty well,” Seulgi replies as she casually lights up a cigarette and takes a drag, “He still owes me one, though.”

“I get why you kept him around for so long,” Yeri adds, blushing.

Momo rolls her eyes and gives you a look, to which you can only shrug. You remembered how much she loved hearing about your sexual adventures with other women when you were together, and you wondered whether those feelings remained.

“So, boss,” Seulgi begins as she taps the ashes off her cigarette, “are you gonna tell him about our big operation next week?”

There is a moment of hesitation from Momo as she weighs Seulgi’s question, but she eventually relents.

“We have a plan in motion to catch Irene. We have a confirmed time and location where she’ll be.”

“What?” you blurt, more than a little surprised that she had taken this long to tell you, “When exactly were you going to tell me?”

“I wanted to see what you wanted to meet about first,” Momo explains. “Now that I know you have the evidence we need to arrest her, I can tell you about it.”

Seulgi lets a hiss of smoke leave the corner of her mouth. She gives you a sharp look at the use of the word ‘arrest.’

“We’ve decided to use Seulgi’s old Red Velvet email address to send Irene a meeting invitation,” Momo continues. “We told her to show up at an old Red Velvet safehouse next week. Alone.”

“She’s not going to show up alone. She’s going to have that place bugged and under surveillance way before we get there,” you state.

“Not this one,” Yeri says, “This is a special place. Irene may be a scheming traitor of a bitch but even she wouldn’t bring other people here. She doesn’t know what happened to us after YG, and she probably doesn’t know we’ve escaped. She would want to know who sent this email. There’s no way she would just ignore an invitation like that.”

“What if she thinks it’s a trap? What if she thinks YG broke you, or got into your email accounts, and someone is setting her up?”

“She wouldn’t. There’s few things that are sacred in that girl’s life, but this place is one of them.”

“Where is it?” you ask, curious.

“Our old dorm,” Seulgi answers, “From when we were just lowly little paper pushers at SM. We all started there at the same time and were poor as fuck, so we decided to room together in company housing. It’s where the five of us became friends and decided to form Red Velvet. It became our base of operations and even after we moved out we kept it as a safehouse - the one we treasured the most, where we went when we needed to feel secure.”

“When we were in that apartment, we were just friends,” Yeri adds, “just young girls. We spent so many happy nights in that place. We felt like sisters there.”

There is a sudden sad wistfulness in her eyes and in Yeri’s that spoke of better days long past.

“She’ll show up alone,” Seulgi continues, “I guarantee it.”

“My team will help out,” you say, convinced, “we’ll do whatever you need.”

“Good,” Momo agrees, “we’ll be in touch. Get ready.”

At that moment Chaeyoung arrived in her van, shooting you a smile and a finger gun. The girls pile into the vehicle, although Seulgi lingers at the sliding door with one leg inside the van. When she turns to speak to you, the coldness in her eyes matches the iciness in her tone.

“When we get Irene, don’t get in my way.”

Even when the sliding door slams shut and van peels away, you are left with a chill at her words. Jeongyeon appears at your side a few moments later, breathing heavily after evidently having jogged there.

“Was that Momo and her team? Damn, I would’ve liked to thank them for saving our asses last week,” she says, oblivious to the weight of the evening’s previous events.

You smile at her and change the subject. She hooks her arm in yours and you both begin to stroll down Itaewon’s still-busy streets towards a local pool hall - but even her warm smile and bright aura do little to dismiss the impending sense of dread looming over you.

---

Author’s Note: Sorry for the delay!

Hope you’re all staying well in these times. Be safe :)

[georgemackayhey]

Silver Lining: Chapter 4

In which you and George decide to make the most of life after meeting up at the wrong place at just the right time…

w/c: 6k

a/n: This is the second to last chapter, guys! Ah! It's been such fun to write, and as always I'm looking forward to hearing all your thoughts and feelings! ♡

taglist: @etherealallure​ @maria-josefin​ @shelbygirlsclubx​ @loulouloueh​ @clarkewithameme​ @haileymorelikestupid​ @weyheyavengers​ @queen-bunnyears​

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The halls of the resort were immaculate, the sound of your hurried stomp echoed through them. You had hardly taken the time to appreciate the well-lit space with the way you zoomed up to the third floor- fist clenched at your side. You knew exactly what to expect, holding no hope for any other possibility.

And as you hurriedly knocked on the soft cream door of room 500, you hadn't even really noticed how George was hot on your trail; though lagging a bit behind to catch his breath on a winding staircase.

There was muffled chatter from behind the door you approached, the sound causing your patience to wear thin. So you went on knocking until the sound of a lock being turned proceeded its fateful opening.

"What? What is it- oh."

Colin was stood in the sliver of the open door, dressed in a sloppily tied hotel robe. And even though he seemed unprepared to greet anyone, a wicked grin painted his lips, as if he'd somehow been expecting to see you, all the same. The sight of him was enough to set your blood to a boil and the sound of his stupid grumbly voice nearly drove you to a psychotic break right then and there.

"What are you doing here?" You asked in a growl through your teeth. As soon as the desk attendant shot you a pitiful glare, you knew what was going on. You weren't surprised to see your almost ex-husband guarding the entrance to the room you booked for your honeymoon. But you were well and truly seething that he had the gall to enjoy any kind of leisure time during the period he should have somehow been paying for his moral crimes.

"Well, darling, as I recall it, I wanted to come here. You wanted to go to Rome. Looks like we've both gotten what we want, hm?"

"Don't call me-" You spat, glaring at him with a look you wish could kill.

"Alright- alright, It's been a lovely visit but I've had quite enough of you," Colin moved to shut the door, but in some odd reflex, you moved to stop it. You didn't really want to see much more of the guy. You didn't even realize you had more to say. But curses and blames started spouting out of you, pent up for too long.

Colin wasn't listening though. Why would he?  He did his own talking, right over top of you, complaining about the things he always hated about your life together, how much time he wasted on you. You were arguing the things you both always knew but were never brave enough to say in the stability of your mediocre romance.

"It's just like you to show up and ruin the only bit of good life has thrown my way in the past week." You hissed.

"Oh please, I gave you more good than you'll ever get again." Colin boasted, always one to make mention of wealth and status, no matter the situation or topic.

As you stood trying desperately trying to think up a comeback, you were too blinded by anger to say anymore.

That's when another voice, strained from hurrying after you, floated around the corner.

"Y/n? What's- oh" George's concerned expression morphed into some surprising glare when he turned to see who had already taken residence in the room you booked. George stalled in place, managing to steady himself in a flash even with all the momentum he'd gained on his race to catch up to you.

"Who the hell are you?" Colin asked in a condescending snort of a laugh that made the meter tracking your rage fly up and over the ballistic marker, sending you to short circuit.

But there was nothing more to say or do. Colin likely wouldn't give up his stay if you demanded, and even if he decided too, you wouldn't have wanted to stay in a room your ex-fiance had just been occupying. You knew he was only blocking your entry so he might have some kind of last laugh. And he got it, didn't he? With a frustrated groan, you spun on your heels and stormed away in the same fashion you'd hurried up here.

"Enjoy your holiday" You heard George offer Colin some semblance of a goodbye, though his tone was strained and withholding, he was still polite. But you were too busy fuming to admire the little ways George fascinated you.

You didn't have time to meet the desk attendants worried gaze as you stormed past his desk and out of the resort doors. You didn't have the sense to feel sorry for breaking up a group of birds from enjoying someone's discarded cup of ice cream as you paced toward a row of tall trees at the edge of the car park.

You knew the fun would have to end soon, but you were ignorant to the possibility of this trip ending in the same frustrating manner the night before your wedding had. Colin was at the worst place at the right time and he got just what he wanted, leaving you to pay the price once more. But you probably deserved it. You were really beginning to wonder if life could be lived in the dreamlike haze that Rome provided. You should have known better.

And just like always, when you least expected it, George slowly sauntered toward where you lingered kicking rocks at trees.

"Only you would run into someone you know on holiday in Barcelona" He echoed the same wry joke you gave him in Rome, but now was different. Now was ruined and you were struggling not to cry.

"I'm sorry, George. I thought this was going to be endless fun, and I don't know what I was thinking, dragging you along, and now its all ruined and I just-"

"It's not ruined." George gently cut through your monologue in that marvelously confusing way of his; pointing out the bright side that you really couldn't see, especially right now. "It doesn't have to be anyway." You just kept your befuddled gaze on him as he went on...

"He can keep the resort. It was far too posh anyway. Why don't we find a place on the beach and make the best of it?"

"You.. you still want to?" You breathed a humorless laugh. Your shoulders relaxed as you attempted to come away from your anger, and tried to understand why on earth George was still on board this wild ride.

"Well, we're already here. And... you promised I could choose our next adventure." George teased, offering a grin and reading his brows, coaxing you to smile too. You just stared at him, taking note of his relaxed disposition, his gentleness. It practically radiated from him.

"I'll go fetch our bags if you find a cab?" George nodded, already beginning to walk backward toward the entrance of the resort. And with the way he took the action you felt no option but to agree to join in, nodding on your turn to hail a ride.

The cab driver you flagged down was almost sickeningly helpful. She listed off a few dozen places to stay adding her personal favorite perks of every place. She waved goodbye when you and George stretched out onto the pavement of a hotel a decent number of miles away from the resort you'd come from.

The hotel you'd chosen was right on a golden beach, a quaint little stucco styled building. Inside was decorated in natural tones and plants and flowers. George insisted on splitting the cost when you wouldn't let him pay for the whole thing.

You thought of renting two separate small rooms four floors apart, but that seemed silly since you were basically on this trip together. So because the price was the same, you booked a suite with two small rooms joined by a galley kitchen and called it a day.

So after lugging your bags into the spot you'd keep them for the next week, there was nothing left to worry over. The mini bar in the lobby was serving drink specials; you decided since it wasn't quite time for dinner or bed, the day you had called for some form of immediate indulgence.

The bar was full of seasoned vacationers, sharing finger foods and margaritas. A kind bar keep managed to take your order before you'd even settled at the bar top. "You know what, I better just get this over with." You decided, pulling your phone from your pocket. You'd promised to call your mother often, and you knew you had to tell her what had just gone down. The sooner the better, you realized, because you didn't want to dwell on Colin or anything you had to endure hearing from the guy. You wanted to forget everything that had happened and spend the rest of your vacation having at least a little bit of fun.

You pushed past a door into the warm afternoon, settling against a wooden post of the patio where families lingered to shake off the sand from the beach before heading back inside the hotel.

Your mother answered the phone as she had days ago, worried before you'd even gotten the chance to say hello. So you didn't even try to mask your greeting with fake charm. You headed straight into the details of your upsetting encounter. How the start of your stay in this beautiful city was permanently soiled with the memory of Colin.

"I tried to warn you." Your mother spoke theatrically. You wondered if she could hear your furrow your brow, because she went on to explain herself. "I heard from Shirley, who heard from Dr. McCarther, that Colin's mother said he left for the airport a day ago."

So that's why she'd been so frantic on the phone, before.

"I tried to warn you, deary. I know how much you wanted this trip to be some kind of escape." She commiserated in the way only mothers know how to best.

"Yeah, I'm determined to keep it that way. We're staying at the beach now, instead." You spoke decidedly.

"Well, now that I've got your attention might I suggest coming home?" Your mother scolded. "I understand what you're going through but is taking off with some stranger really-"

You blocked out everything she said after that. Your mother meant well, you knew, but she had no idea what you were going through. She'd been happily married for decades. And she didn't know George.

You just couldn't go one talking about this situation. Sure Colin did his best to rain on your parade, but the heavens gave you one last shot to go a little wild. You were here, with George and there was no changing that. So you ended the call with the promise you were safe and sound and planned to keep it that way. Then you marched back inside repeating the mantra to yourself.

"What your mother must think of me," George pulled a face as you eased into the seat at the dark wooden bar, next to him. "I cringe to wonder."

"Oh, you think I'm calling home to report about you, Mr. Movie star?" You joked, jabbing George in the arm with your elbow. At this point, the little gesture felt familiar and you'd only wondered if you'd been to forward after the fact. If George was put off by it, his broad grin was only contradicted by the smallest shake of his head, eyes averted to a waiter who happily served your drinks.

___

The next day you woke up early and headed to see Casa Batlló. In fact, in just the first couple of days, you managed to see the majority of Gaudi's creations. It was divine, taking the time to admire the buildings and listen to other tourists yammer on about what they'd come to see and why they were so excited to be in the city.

There were fleeting moments, for the first day or two, when you worried Colin wasn't finished sabotaging your trip. That he might pop out of nowhere and pretend he was the one who was once so excited to take a tour of a modern art museum. But you realized he was never keen to your well-planned list. In fact, you planned most of your trip with the knowledge that Collin would be off meeting business partners and making deals. You needed something to occupy your time, and you never imagined having anyone to experience each little adventure with you.

That's what made George's presence all the more exciting.

Besides that, you'd seemed to have fallen into a familiar routine with George. And not just in the way you'd gone about planning out your days. You'd began to predict each other's lunch orders and what you'd both might have enjoyed most about each little adventure, and why. You'd began to pick up on many of George's little quirks...

Like how every place you went, people noticed George, but he didn't seem to notice their lingering gazes. You could never be sure if passerby recognized him like you once had, or if they were only struck by his perfect features like you often were.

But this didn't mean he gave anyone a cold shoulder. No, George was as friendly to the people running market booths and passerby as he was to you, offering smiles and asking about the details of the flowers they were selling.

He brought up serious things at the strangest times. Like how he told you some deep dark secret in passing over midday coffee, just as you'd come away from raving about the cup you held in your hands. George would ask intense questions as you stood on the edge of a garden watching a street band play where children danced near the makeshift drums. His timing always seemed strange and unexpected; but as you went on talking about whatever might have been brought up, you realized you felt completely comfortable sharing your own answers and hearing his in turn.

George gave answers that were well thought out, even if they were just yes or no. And he listened when you did the same, nodding and laughing at every right time.

Then there was how you shared silence together. Even when there weren't words to trade, the glances and nods you passed to each other seemed to speak for themselves.

And when you lied on the beach, breathing in the salty air while the sounds of scattered laughter were dulled by crashing waves, the silence between you and George was easy.

George looked perfectly comfy with a new ratty paperback held above his face. You wondered how many tiny storybooks he's backed away, and how many times he'd read them, with such worn covers.

When you pointed out boats on the far off horizon, George wasn't upset to be disrupted his reading. He indulged every one of your passing thoughts before turning another page, reading on till one of you had reason to speak up again.

But when you closed your eyes to soak up the warmth of the sun, your peace was broken when George uttered a strange noise. You lifted your sunglasses, turning your head to find a hard plastic frisbee had invaded the space you set up.

"I'm so sorry!" A girl rushed toward you, apologizing in an accented squeak. Her hair was flowing honey brown, her bathing suit was sunny yellow. She was the kind of picture-perfect girl that when mirrored against your own image, alerted you to the things you liked least about yourself.

"We're just learning how to play," She shyly reached out for the frisbee George had taken into his clutch, after it hit him on the knee.

"It's not too hard. Keep your eye on the prize next time, aye?" George extended the plastic disc to the girl.

She giggled. You feigned a chuckle in response as you slid your sunnies back on.  George spun off into some story about the correct frisbee stance and how it was tougher than it looked.

"Care to lead by example? We're hopeless." The foreign girl bit her lip with a hopeful gaze and that was all it took to get George to his feet.

Before he left, though, he handed his book to you with a smile. "Safe hands." He gave you a look as you settled back into your spot, giving him a similar expression before watching him skip off to meet the group of girls, showing them all the perfect frisbee stance, whatever the hell that even meant. How hard could it really be?

You only turned your gaze to the book in your possession, pretending to read it, but more so admiring the pages as you tried to understand what made them so important to George, what he valued. Wondering what tomorrow might bring.

___

Four days in, a heavy downpour halted your plans to frolic through the streets of Barcelona. You had become absolutely taken with the city and every time a new adventure died down, the pair of you would dream up what to do with the rest of your time.

So when dense pelts of rain woke you up, you frowned, but George seemed at ease, of course. He was just as excited to plan a day in.

He ordered extra from room service and found a foreign movie channel on the television in his room. The pair of you kicked back on the decently-sized bed he'd made up and added your own commentary to the films you couldn't quite understand. You ended having a blast making up storylines of your own as movies passed by the screen, and you shared plates of fruits while the rain poured on.

It was easy to get lost in George's company, no matter what you were doing. You realized you were treading dangerous waters, letting yourself feel so engulfed by his presence. But you let yourself all the same, determined to make the most of this rare occasion that would soon become nothing but a fleeting occasional memory.

Then it came time to attend the cooking class you'd signed up for. The website where the sign up sheet came from encouraged everyone who did to make time to visit La Boqueria beforehand. The market was only just around the corner from where the cooking class was held, and it was the place all the ingredients you'd work with would have been purchased.

You and George roamed around stalls for almost too long, exchanging favorite recipes, kitchen horror stories, and successes. You'd nearly forgotten where you were on your way too and had to hurry around a couple of corners to make it to the class on time.

When you arrived in a rush, the people who'd made it there on time were mingling inside a building made up of big tall windows and white brick. Most of them stared, bewildered by your hurry inside. There was still time to spare it seemed.

And as you eased in to join the group who'd already been waiting, past a few warm welcomes, you recognized one greeting out of the rest.

It was the girl from the beach who couldn't manage to get the hang of throwing a frisbee. Though you had a hunch she'd know exactly what she was aiming for, that day.  And there was no doubt she'd recognized you now, or rather, George.

He greeted her warmly, with kindness, like George did best. You gave her a smile and a shrug, accepting that she wasn't keen to give you the time of day. In fact as she greeted George in turn, she mentioned only signing up for this class after he mentioned something about it during their impromptu frisbee lesson.

Luckily that was about the time the instructor made his grand appearance.

A tall slender man with dark hair tousled and big green eyes slid into the room with a perfect smile. He introduced himself as Aureo, and you were nearly blinded by his beauty. He was just the right amount of good looking, a little intimidating, but all too well-spoken, he was like a male version of a siren.  

As Aureo spoke enthusiastically about the wonders your cooking class was about to embark upon, it seemed everyone was just as smitten with the instructor. Even George seemed dazzled, his wide eyes entirely fixated on the fellow.  

As Aureo went on explaining the class and began to delve into the foundations of cooking and the joy of food, his forest-colored eyes kept sweeping over to meet yours. His smile never faltered as he helped each attendant set up their kitchen. You and George were meant to stick together, as most of the people who'd come had brought a friend or two in tow. But the frisbee girl was all on her own.

Aureo was quick to assign her to join up with another pair of ladies, who were more than happy to accept her. But as you watched the slim girl move further toward the back of the room you watched her smile falter.

Soon, you got to cooking a basic version of paella with some fun added twists, and some pa amb tomàquet. Between demonstrations, Aureo made rounds to help everyone set up and start in.

You and George settled into your usual comfortable banter, shoving each other out of the way while you playfully bickered over the cooking instructions. George compared the duty to The Great British Bake off, laughing at how some of the other mini kitchen's were fretting over doing the exact right task at the exact right time.

The room made up of windows was full of warm sunlight and delightful smells. And in between everything was Aureo. You swore you felt your heart stop each time you caught him glancing your way. Never before had you felt so drawn to someone but simultaneously cautious of the same thing.

"Are you going to flirt back or leave that man hopelessly gawking your way the whole afternoon?" George wondered after you'd been caught averting a prolonged gaze with the guy teaching you to cook something new.

"Oh, I can't he's way out of my league." You fretted, searching for a certain spice on the rack in your cabinet space. "Plus I just got my courage up to say something and he's not even looking over here anymore." You pouted while George chopped up a lemon, chucking at your disposition.

You looked over to find Aureo leaning over a woman's shoulder as she offered him a bite of a cut-up pepper. He seemed to have forgotten all about you, actually, admiring the pretty, starry-eyed girl he was circling now.

"It's because he watched me shove fresh bread in my face like a monster and now I'm totally unkissable and he'll never even look my way again ." You joked. As much as you'd liked the attention the instructor kept giving you, there was something holding you back from giving in all the way.

The man was a walking angel, a vision, and he kept looking right at you with something undeniable burning behind his gaze. That was pretty nice.

"You're perfectly kissable, now let's get you that man." George raised his hand, polite as ever, even while scheming.

But you couldn't tell if he meant it, or if he was just trying to shift your attention elsewhere so he could flirt back with the hot girl who'd been shamelessly swooning over George all afternoon. She would shoot her smile across the room, laughing a little when George happily grinned back.

Low and behold, when Aureo came over to ask what you needed, and you made up some excuse about confusing measurements, the frisbee girl took a chance to come prancing over too. Her name was Renee, and her excuse for invading your kitchen was honestly to borrow some sugar. No one needed any sugar. It was a bloody free for all, and all you could seem to focus on was Aureo's warm hand trailing across your lower back as he went on telling you exactly what to do next.

When he left you, his glances somehow became more persistent, and you felt certain you were living in some kind of fever dream. And he kept coming back.

At first, to ask what music you'd prefer played over the background speaker, insisting if you said the word and he'd waltz back to change the song. Aureo was cunningly persistent, and you didn't mind his brief but blush filled visits. Especially since George had an admirer of his own.

Renee waltzed over, asking George about his stay in Barcelona so far. He kept mentioning the things you'd enjoyed together, asking you how you remembered certain things, and Renee would cast a glance your way. It was empty and unfeeling, just for show before her focus settled completely back to George.

And you couldn't blame her. He was so easy to observe.

You thought you'd started to figure George out by now, but of course, you hadn't. He still laughed about things you didn't realize he'd even noticed. He still looked at you in a way you couldn't understand. Even while he was talking to Renee.

As all the food started to come together, everyone went around trying each other's dishes. Renee made herself at home on your countertop, gushing over George's skills in the kitchen. As they got to talking about their favorite foods, she took a shot at asking him to someplace in the city with the best coffee he absolutely had to try.

Renee was serious, her big doe eyes gazing up at him with her fingers crossed behind her back. As George hesitated to respond, the girl was called back to her kitchen when their food had finished cooking.

When she sulked away with a glance over her shoulder to George who had already turned his attention back to the wonderful pa amb tomàquet you'd managed to create, you felt for the poor girl.

"Are you afraid of trying the best coffee ever and ruining your taste for every other cup for the rest of time?" You chuckled, leaning against the counter while George happily snacked away.

"I suppose we could stop in if you're so keen." George shrugged, none the wiser.

"Wouldn't you want to go with Renne?" You pushed, giving the guy a little laugh as you reached for one of the bits of bread on a silver platter.

"I've only just met her." George started off chuckling, but as he spoke he seemed to realize what it was he was saying. You shared a look, considering how Geogres soft smile remained, but turned into an expression more serious that you couldn't quite understand. But your smile blossomed into a burst of a laugh.

"You didn't even know my name when you gave me your phone number." You pestered, doing your best to ignore how speaking about it made my stomach fill with butterflies. How thinking back to this whole thing started seemed crazy, but in a good way.

"That was different." George searched your face, his brilliant blue eyes full of something he wasn't saying. Something he thought, or maybe hoped, you understood.

Somehow, after a few silent moments passed while you went on lazily tidying up your kitchen,  George said something about how he'd come here with you, and didn't want to leave you out of anything. He said that if you made plans with Aureo, that he'd make plans with Renee. But It felt like a dare. It didn't feel like a change of plans. It felt like some kind of game.

And the next thing you knew, you motioned Aureo over toward you and asked his favorite place to go dancing.

___

You slept in the next morning, content far from home. You stretched slowly into the morning, taking your sweet time getting ready for the day. As you padded into the galley kitchen to kick start the automatic coffee machine, you didn't expect any company.

"Goodmorning!" George greeted, coming from around the corner with an empty teacup in his clutch. You gasped, taken aback by his sudden appearance for once.

"I thought you were supposed to be drinking the world's best coffee with the world prettiest girl, today?" You sighed a laugh, relaxing against the counter as your heart rate eased back to normal. You had thought you heard him make plans before leaving the class, last night.

George set down his cup turning to face you while the coffee machine crackled to life.

"I decided against it. I'm sorry, I thought I told you so."

"Oh," You frowned in realization, wondering when he went about changing his mind.

Yesterday, as you'd lost yourself in a giggle-filled conversation with Aureo before the class ended, George seemed to be getting on well with Renee in the corner. What had happened?

"Well, now I'll feel bad about leaving you later." You spoke up, searching for a mug in the limited cabinet space.

"Oh, you shouldn't. I trust you'll have a good time. Renee was sweet. Just..."

"Yeah, yeah..." You pretended to understand, having no clue what George was being so weird about. "Want some of the world's most mediocre coffee?" You laughed, pouring yourself a cup to enjoy the morning, well, afternoon by this point.

The weather was a bit gloomy again, but the rain held off, giving you the perfect chance to whip out a set of playing cards on the balcony barely big enough to fit either of you together. When the time came to start getting ready, you were conflicted.

"You won't feel bad if I go?" You asked. Because George had basically been following your lead this whole trip, even asking if you were happy with the little things he thought up to do, before going about doing them.

"I'll be perfectly happy so long as you are." George did little to persuade you one way or another, which was funny considering how he'd coaxed you into giving Aureo a little attention the day before.

Ultimately, you got ready to go out. The cooking instructor had given you an address to meet up with him after his workday ended, and after a quick google search, you found it was a pretty popular night club. As you slid into an outfit, you almost wondered if you should invite George along. But as soon as the thought passed through your mind, so did a million other reasons why that was a bad idea.

"How's this?" You genuinely worried over how you looked, rushing to stand still in the doorway of the room you'd been occupying. George was stood in the kitchen, sporting joggers, holding a glass of water in one hand, and a new, old tattered book in the other.

"Oh.... you, well..." The guy looked you up and down, failing to come up with an assured answer. That was what you'd expected, a simple yes or no, maybe even a reason for whatever answer he'd chosen. Like always. But he just stated different conjunctions while you pulled at the hem of a dress you weren't sure how to feel about.

"Well, it'll have to do. I'm late." You sighed, hurrying to fetch your room key from the counter and fasten your shoes on. Aureo was probably already waiting up for you outside of the nightclub he insisted on showing you too, after you'd asked.

"Right well, see ya." George watched you scurry out into the hallway with a quick wave.

On your speed walk down the stairs, you couldn't help but kick yourself for not giving George a proper goodbye, even if you were in a rush. You'd felt so conflicted, leaving him. You didn't have a doubt he'd be happy on his own, but you'd come to function as some kind of team on this trip. Leaving seemed unnatural.

///

Aureo was standing in a well fitted, casual suit jacket with matching short cuffed trousers. His already brilliant features lit up when he saw you hurrying to cross the street.

As you met up with him you apologized for being late, feeling a bit bashful as he stepped even closer to hear you speak. His accent added something even more enchanting to his already velvety voice, when he assured it was fine and how excited he was to show you to his favorite club in the city.

The way his emerald green eyes traveled across your figure before he complimented your dress made you weak in the knees. His warm hand across the small of your back as he guided you inside.

There were three levels you could see, people dancing close to massive speakers, leaning over the rails of each floor to wave to their friends above and below. The lights were dim except every now and again when they flashed to the beat of some decently enjoyable pop music.

The bar wrapped around three corners, liquor decorating the walls of the lower level. That's where you headed first, insisting Aureo order you something he enjoyed best since this was his scene.

Some fancy mixed drink slid across the counter soon after he'd ordered as if they'd been expecting him. It wasn't long before your own drink came, some electric blue liquid in a crystal glass.

That's how the night started, taking some time to enjoy your drink before Aureo pulled you toward the dance floor. He was good, of course, and you didn't even have time to worry over the steps you were missing as he guided you along. It was stupidly fun, spinning around, bumping into people who'd laughed because they'd just bumped into you as well. Spirits were high, and between songs, you kept going back for more drinks.

Every pause, Aureo talked about cooking. You happily listened, trying to soak up everything about your surroundings at once.

You were a few drinks in, and the room was already close to spinning. But you were having so much fun. You slammed back another electric blue drink and twirled back to the dance floor.

There was something about the bass line in the chorus of Justin Timberlake's "Filthy" that you couldn't resist. And the floor was packed with dancers who must have felt the same. As you went on trying your best not to lose Aureo in the crowd while simultaneously losing yourself to the music, you felt your alcoholic haze turn into a fever of sorts.

As you raced away from the music, there was a mile-long line to either restroom, so you headed straight for the back exit.

You spilled out into a long dark alley where dumpsters lived. There were distant bouts of laughter coming from smokers at either end, so you spun between a trash can and a discarded broken shelf and proceeded to get sick.

It was an unceremonious end to your efforts to have a blast. And what was worse, how you still felt dizzy and down.

It wasn't long before Aureo came to check on you. He was the perfect gentleman, holding your hair back for round two and asking what you needed.

You apologized several hundred times for ruining the fun when you decided it was best just to go back to your hotel. You asked Aureo if you could make it up to him in a day or so. You were drunk enough to speak without considering your offer but sober enough from your episode that you managed to pull yourself together to go back where you came from.

Aureo insisted on giving you a ride back, fretting over getting you home safe. You were drunk enough to accept his ride without worry and sober enough to give him directions.

The guy put his number in your phone when you pulled up to the hotel because you felt the need to make up for the way you ended the night. You wanted a redo. And this way seemed like a common courtesy by now...

Aureo insisted on walking you up to the room, he seemed truly worried over your well being, and that endeared you to him more than you already had been.

"I'll call you, okay?" you promised the guy while you unlocked your hotel door, after thanking him for being so kind and bringing you back. He nodded, those pretty emerald eyes searching yours as you slipped inside after saying goodbye.

The lights were off in the tiny common area, and you focused all your energy on creeping back to your room without disturbing the peace. You failed by running into the corner, steadying yourself with a whine as you opened your bedroom door.

"Are you alright?"

You were caught.

"Sorry if I woke you up." You spoke low, even though there was no point in keeping quiet now that George was standing near your side, speaking gently to you.

"You're back quite early," George went on, seeming worried over how you sulked in the doorway after pushing open your bedroom door.

"Yeah... I just don't feel good." You admitted. But you didn't feel sick anymore. You just felt tired. You actually felt a lot like you had when you'd drank too much before, when your head filled up and nothing made sense.

With a gentle, "Come on." George pushed you further into your bedroom. You slumped onto the unmade bed, unlacing your shoes in an impressive hurry. George was gone when you looked up again, tossing each shoe across the room. You fell against your pillows with a sorry groan, shutting your eyes, and wondering if you'd made some kind of mistake tonight.

That's when George shuffled back in, quiet as a mouse. You kept your eyes shut, but heard him rest a glass of water on your bedside table. The sound of your door creaking shut made your heart sink.

When you thought to yourself how badly you wished George would have stayed by your side, you realized the depths of the shit you were in. You realized exactly why you felt so bad. You couldn't ignore it anymore.

You wanted so much more from George, and he was already giving you more than you deserved.

───※ ·❆· ※───

[flightofaqrow]

kiss with a fist

qrow + James ( @caeloservare​ )

“Let me remind you, how exactly I run my army is none of your business and you are not allowed to sniff around in Atlas.”

“what makes you think i care about how you run your army? i’m more worried about what you do with it. or is that just more guilt i hear?”

...qrow has a split second to dodge the punch.

everything about it is feral and raw, because that’s what happens when words don’t work.

They needed this.

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Just cause that’s what I did doesn’t mean you have to accuse the others, Jimmy.

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“Oh, shut up, I bet you all did!”

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“yeah? and i bet you run background checks on alla your men, don’t you? this was just more of… an informal process.”

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“Let me remind you, how exactly I run my army is none of your business and you are not allowed to sniff around in Atlas.”

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“what makes you think i care about how you run your army? i’m more worried about what you do with it. or is that just more guilt i hear?”

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Qrow has a split second to dodge the punch. And to pray his cheek can take impact of metal prosthetics well enough, because crossing highly personal borders with shoes on is rewarded with this kind of greeting.

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qrow and Ironwood on similar grounds of skill, and yet even though qrow wins by leagues when it comes to speed versus strength, he never saw it coming. not from James, not from the barest of bait.

uses the tiny window to draw up aura while he takes it right on the cheek; iron-fisted by Ironwood in the most unpleasurable way. head knocked to the side, and body knocked back a few steps, he rubs a stinging pressure where metal knuckles landed and resets burning red vision.

“oh, ho ho ho…” a gutteral, rueful chuckle crawls up from his chest. so it’s come to this? of course it has. it always does.

…fine.

if there’s one lesson the tribe ever taught him too well, it’s that there are more ways to work out problems than with words.

qrow puts his fighting face on with a grin and glint in his eyes, and rocks back on his heel with the last of the energy sent at him before pushing off in a long-limbed lunge forward to return the sling; goes for the guts (the softer half) while Ironwood still has arms elevated.

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If anything, laughter and so confident, so pleased posture drives James even more angry. Not only this little shit dares to act like an absolute idiot and hit where he was trusted not to, but seems he has fun while doing it.

Sadly, Qrow is a little bit faster than James. He folds in half with a grunt, but that gives him a good position and little space to ram into Qrow, head first, push him out of closest proximity or maybe throw off balance.

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no one punches right to the face without intention to hurt, qrow knows better than anyone. especially with an opening declaration like that, if James expects him to play fair instead of dirty, taking whatever opening he can get, he knows him even less than how a spy’s job works.

a spy, allied under the same man as Ironwood, that’s supposed to be on the same side. a little trust would be nice.

partially metal forehead bashes against qrow’s shoulder eliciting a heave of air and pained groan. with the blood-colored web of his aura awake and glowing from the hit, he lets it wash across his chest and down his arms; falls backwards from the force, but grabs fistfuls of jacket and shirt with misfortune-laced hands to yank with him, turning lost balance into in a suplex.

Odds of escape not in the other man’s favor as entangled limbs crash into the floor loudly cracking beneath them, fractured and dented around their bodies, but not caved through - yet; windows rattle in the wake.

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Well, the training grounds would be a much better spot for an impromptu wrestling session, but it’s bit too late to relocate now. Pulled down, James tried to avoid landing on his head, as someone’s luck was apparently aiming to let him knock himself out. He meets the floor with a pained grunt, but rolls over right after hitting the ground. Not wasting any second, James springs forward to slam into Qrow, pin him down with his weight, lock him in a any lever hold if possible.

From all possible types of problem solving, they chose this - least pleasant way to tangle limbs on the floor.

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as James rolls away, qrow uses the space to roll out, knocking into a table leg which bumps the surface off kilter and send a lamp crashing to the ground; its bulb pops and fizzles out. a little less light in the apartment, now.

he scrambles to all fours just in time to take a charging clothesline right to the chest with a throaty wheeze. but lanky, loose legs accept the shockwave and recoil to keep him steady, pushing right back as pairs of shoulders lock. arms raise to grapple with the man; muscles strain and sweat starts to drip down his face - full of focus and surprisingly calm, considering - from dogged effort of trying to push James down or roll him over while qrow growls in rough cadence along with the entropic pulse of his semblance flashing, threatening to drag everything down with; framed artworks clatter against the walls and ornamental figures fall from shelves.

chaos to combat order.

and while qrow is resilient, determined to break through, and awfully good at breaking things, James is stubborn, more than any other person on Remnant, solid in ways beyond just metal flesh.

grit clenches qrow’s jaw and grounds his feet, braces the entire frame of his physique, prepared to hold out and lash out as long as it takes for James to burn out.

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Looking from time perspective, James might think they shouldn’t have gone this feral. He might be wealthy, but most definitely doesn’t sleep on money and renovating most of his apartment’s main room was not in his spending plans for this year.

But at the moment he doesn’t think about it, assuming he thinks at all in between anger and adrenaline running through him in pulsing waves, getting lost in pure fighting instinct. Rarely he allows himself to dive into something this far, to lose head and his cool, analytical thinking and yet, here they are - engaged in punching, kicking, wrapping and pulling each other so far, that nothing else matters. No snapping, crumbling and crushing around is relevant. Whenever dark blue eyes meets pale red, it’s like a challenge is thrown anew and another round starts, even when more and more exhaust creeps into muscles. Fatigue is too slow to cool the raw determination down.

Thrown on his back, James lands hard again, but this time, something stabs him between the shoulders. He bites down his own pained whine as impact echoes through his entire spine and body. Only then he realizes that his aura is in fact gone. Must have been for a while. He stops, letting his weight slide him to side, a little away from whatever part of former coffee table tried to impale him. Still keeping his grip on Qrow, he finally notices large amount of aching all over and how heavily they both are breathing by now. Brothers, this is bad. Slowly, he just lets go, not moving from the spot. They’ve had enough, haven’t they… He’s not sure what got into him, but sure he’s glad it got out.

“Enough…” He breathes out quietly, squeezing eyes shut. Doesn’t dare to look around yet, he knows already that externalizing inner mess went all too well. Only now he feels various swelling and aching in way too many parts of his body, blood dripping from his nose and a cheek burning wildly. He doesn’t want to think what’s left of his shirt and jacket. Just hopes Qrow’s semblance didn’t use him as outlet to hurt its bearer to play a bigger number on him. “You okay..?”

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everything about it is feral and raw, because that’s what happens when words don’t work. people speak just as well with their bodies, the flesh and blood container of their heart, and beneath all the titles, despite all the metal, James understands that better than anyone. if qrow has to surround him with collateral damage to show him how little meaning all this wealth and power has in the end, if he has to rip and tear apart every bit of pomp to remind him how human James Ironwood really is, then so be it.

qrow’s quite practiced in being climbed on, brow-beaten, deceived, and shoved aside by the people who are supposed to be protecting him. and still he reaches out a hand and an extra leg to stand on; maybe in the form of a fist or boot to the head, but little else needs to be noted about his intentions than the fact that Harbinger still rests idle on the sidelines.

qrow, belittles himself so easy, doesn’t mind being beneath, has no need for reputation or glory or having all the right answers all the time.

the only follower left in the midst of too many frantic leaders, and meanwhile getting shit on and actively having his clothes and his skin and his soul torn apart for being just that. who he is. just like always.

but qrow can think for himself, and this he makes his own call on, refuses to back down from. if James cannot work within the gray, only sees black and white, then this is a time to push, to push to their absolute limits, until they’re too exhausted for anything but the messy truth.

and qrow comes out on top as the last dregs of misfortune summon piercing blows from broken parts, spent in the from of aura flickering away just before the other’s dissolves, and he can only close his eyes and grunt. down to the fibers of every firing muscle, he knows how to tense and relax to absorb the hits, roll with the punches that never really stop. he takes the final desperate flails of James’s blows on the chin.

qrow can do that for him. knows what it’s like to have a semblance get in the way of things.

somehow manages that the only twist of fate to come back on him is how Ironwood gets his chance to ruin a pretty face wearing a smile with an iron fist, just how it started, after all.

qrow steadies as James squeaks, down on one knee, aching, tired, and heaving breaths as if he resurfaces in the middle of an ocean after going about a thousand miles too deep, sees shimmering yellow stars as the ring of a black eye blooms on his cheek, and red oozes to pool across the white of sclera as he stares the man down. sharp eyebrow raises as if to say are we done here?

Enough

they’re finally on the same page, then.

“just fine,” he hisses, even though the act of answering sends an acrid metallic copper draining down the back of his throat, “passed up enough from the start of it, James.”

he wipes his mouth, pokes tenderly at the side of his head, and sniffs against the stinging all over his body; plops down to take a seat, a breather, right on the spot. no energy left to move an inch. perfect.

“…so i think the real question here is, are you okay?”

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James covers his eyes with a crook of an elbow, at least mechanical hand comes of use now. Much easier to move than the flesh one, significantly devoid of pain. Takes a longer moment, time just for the labored breathing, before peeking at Qrow from under the hand. Mess. Now the guilt is real and it stings fiercely.

“Ice’s in freezer.” Doesn’t seem either of them can move much anymore, but he had to offer. Good he had separate small kitchen, toilet and bedroom. At least something survived.

Awfully lot of mess.

“I don’t know.” The confession is quiet, not much louder than a whisper over sudden lump in throat. He hides in the hand again. Can’t face bare truth, can’t face Qrow nor mess they caused because of him. Because of him, his pride, his stubbornness and fear that he’s mistaken, that he can sacrifice everything, do his absolute best and more, and it won’t be enough. Because she found a way in before and was a step ahead all the time. He pulled every string he could to assure it won’t happen again, but somehow, sometimes, he just couldn’t be certain.

Time passes as James just grits teeth and lays there, trying to focus on slowing down breaths and just resting.

“Qrow..?” He tries once he’s sure his voice won’t tremble. “I’m sorry.”

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yeah.

qrow is a mess. James is a mess. it’s always a mess.

but sometimes upside down and inside out adds new perspective. and James finally sees what he started. created a nice picture of how he feels. meanwhile qrow looks towards the kitchen, the freezer, and while first aid is certainly called for, it’s so far. maybe in a few.

more important things right now.

James, suddenly small and quiet, knocked off his high horse. he mutters three words, so very hard for a leader to admit. last time qrow heard it was from Ozpin, and it wrecked his world. somehow hearing it now gives him hope. hope that James can still be reached.

he’s closer than the freezer.

qrow crawls on all fours, drags himself with slow movements and griping groans, but he gets there, and flops over on his back next to his friend, shoulders of flesh touching. and they don’t need to talk, qrow doesn’t need to pry painful thoughts from his mouth, doesn’t need to hear what James faces in his own shadows, or the realizations he finds in twisting colors on the back of his eyelids; a metal arm over his face reflective enough of his state of mind to prove qrow’s plan a success. satisfaction rushes over him and salves what stings. he doesn’t like talking until he’s blue in the face only to be ignored, but maybe James will see reason if most of the words come from himself.

“don’t be sorry,” qrow grounds out, turns his head to look at the other man, and so his burning cheek finds some relief against the cool floor, “be a better person. listen to your team and your friends. things don’t have to be as unilateral as you’re makin’ ‘em, James. …and for brother’s sake, get some sleep before i conk you out for real.”

soon enough actions will demonstrate whether all this was worthwhile or not, better than any heart to heart they could have here.

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James lets out a quiet relieved huff. The touch is strangely reassuring, much more than he’d expect it to be. It answers the question, he’ll probably never ask out loud. It’s good to not be alone, especially in a very rare moment when he can’t be the leader and protector, because he’s exhausted, frustrated and insecure, and finally let it out. When he can’t keep anyone else safe and sound, because he’s crumbling himself. And yet, he’s clearly wrong to think he’ll have to face everything on his own. Mistaken that serving as kingdom’s pillar, he’s not allowed to falter and can’t be supported without any higher purpose to it.

It’s so strangely good to be wrong.

It’s good to have a friend by his side, even when he wishes Qrow didn’t have to push him this far to prove a point. But same, he’s glad he did. All the thoughts slowly settle - being ready and having plans for the future is one thing, but worrying about it should come only once it’s present, not earlier.

Snort and a quiet chuckle raises in his aching chest, releasing remains of tension.

“Please do. I could use it from time to time.” The longer he thinks about it, the funnier vision of Qrow knocking him out seems, especially now, laying down in the wreckage they created in a quite long fight.

“Fine.” That’s not much, but it is a promise. He will try to be better. The hand is dropped to side, as he leaves mental hide out and turns to finally meet Qrow’s eyes. James was never fond of repeating himself, especially when he’s told not to, so he’s not going to apologize again, but the lack of accusations nor impeachment in the pale red gaze, makes him relax more, washes the guilt away.

Something right above catches his attention and he reaches to carefully get a wooden splinter out of Qrow’s hair.

“Hmm…” A bit of bright paint indicates it once was a bookcase. “You got me good, didn’t you.” He chuckles again, throwing the splinter away. “Please don’t do that again though. I don’t want to sell family estate to afford living.”

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deep chuckles roll from his throat as James agrees to the terms for a solid sock to the noggin for a solid sleep, without more broken noses. still qrow hears only the surface of thoughts, but he can dive deep as he likes into everything unspoken when dark blue eyes meet his own, a shine of honesty and gratitude beaming through otherwise exhausted features. and yet his whole body looks better this way, scuffed up clothes and broken down postures compared to rigid structures built on a grounding of false securities.

the bigger they are, the harder they fall. and qrow doesn’t wonder if James has made himself an empire too oversized to carry on one man’s shoulders. bound to collapse in a heap.

he already said his piece, and offered his shoulders to help, and alights with laugher anew as his face goes soft and cross-eyed to watch a strong hand which swung out at him not long ago, affectionately groom him, until it pinches swollen tissues forcing a release of focus, but he can’t help to think again, please see the signs around you.

“You got me good, didn’t you.”

he huffs while fluffing palms through graying black plumage to knock any more debris out.

qrow breathes; takes air into his lungs like he hasn’t in a long, long time, while the weight of misfortune is still lifted from his chest, even if his sore muscles groan from a stretch unaccustomed to. soon, aura will creep back in and bad luck will stick stubbornly to his skin in blood red tendrils, warping surrounding realities once more, but for now he takes the long shot gamble of still believing some can turn away from a path of self-destruction.

of all people, qrow has. so why not.

“did i, James?” he goads, goofy grin flashing as his head flops back down, and his fingers lace together to rest over his chest, mirth looking perhaps out of place with the rest of qrow so busted up, but since when was anything he ever did appropriate?

“it was good for me. was it good for you?”

a response all joke and no promise.

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“Yeah.” James chuckles and shrugs, only metal shoulder doing the full movement. “You definitely did and I take no complaints that I was the one to start the fight.” That’s half a lie - he knows he’s just as much to blame for the mess, i not more. He is the one who should know better than to let wounded pride and frustration get out like this.

“I’ll tell you once I’ll see the bill for repairs.” He huffs. There already was so much to do and now there’s even more. And the more he settled down after the fight, the more weary he felt. Can’t sleep on the floor though, however comfortable it was getting.

“I’ll fetch us the ice.” Relying mostly on his right side he sits up with a groan. Brothers, it aches. So he takes time for each movement before standing up and making way to the freezer.

They needed this. Time, vented mess, ice, all of it.

They also needed a shower and rest, but only one task at a time.

Takes some time to get back there and sit down by Qrow’s side. A bit ironic how fast can be destruction and how slow is the healing.

[billyhargrovesbabe]

you should see me in a crown | pt. 1

The first part of the series is here, and I’m honestly super excited! I’ve had a lot of fun planning and writing. I’m hoping to update pretty regularly, and I’d love to hear what you guys think. It’s gonna be a slow burn and a longer series. I have about fifteen chapters planned so far, but it might wind up being longer than that depending on how it goes. The first few chapters are written and ready for proofreading, so it shouldn’t be too long a wait. Feel free to comment or message your thoughts or if you want to be added to the tag list!

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of a bad past relationship, but I don’t think much else aside from that

Words: 2,664

intro | pt. 1

The first time Billy Hargrove approached you was practically straight out of a scene from a movie. If there had been a camera on you on that fateful October day, it would’ve been teen heartthrob gold.

The bell for lunch had just rung, and your classmates stampeded through the school in true high school fashion. The wafting smell of Friday pizza from the cafeteria down the hall wasn’t exactly mouth-watering, but it was enough to encourage you to get to your own slice as quickly as possible. You knew your girls would have your slice already waiting for you, used to their captain’s pre-lunch ritual. You were eagerly throwing your textbooks into your locker when it hit you.

The smell of cigarettes, hairspray, and men’s aftershave invaded the pleasant smell of lunch, assaulting your senses. The only thought that crossed your mind: here we go again.

You were no stranger to boys (because really, that’s what all these high-schoolers were despite their obvious thoughts otherwise) trying to approach you. Sometimes they were sweet and shy, sometimes they were blunt and upfront, and sometimes they were just obnoxious and crass. Hell, sometimes they were some bizarre combination of the three. Regardless of their approach, they were always met with the same result: denial served with a side of pitying kindness. It wasn’t that they were all pigs or anything. Sometimes guys you genuinely cared about and appreciated were the ones who approached (and they were always the hardest to turn down). You were just tired of the same old drama. Between the girls on your squad who ran to you for everything (like their pseudo mother hen) and your own... experience during your freshman year, you had suffered through more than your fair share of painfully awkward relationship drama. Besides, you had more to worry about. You had a squad to lead, a school to run, and a college resume to build. The times you were approached tended to be few and far between, so it wasn’t a frequent occurrence anyways.

Guys, in general, seemed to be intimidated by you. You’d think a girl who was smart, funny, kind, feisty, and a student leader would be dream girlfriend material, right? Apparently, that only worked for the heroines in teen romcoms. Once upon a time, it used to frustrate you: now, you welcomed the reprieve. Steve was the only one who could really hold his own, and you two had never been more than friends. All the others were too terrified. Those who weren’t scared off by your reputation and dating history usually backed off when they had to talk to you around your squad. You typically had at least one or two of your girls back you up. Besides, it wasn’t like you had a bunch of spare time to waste on guys. This was the only time of the day you could really be found alone. You enjoyed the quiet solace of stopping by your locker during lunch, especially on Fridays when all the other students in Hawkins rushed to get a slice of the weekly pizza. The hallways were typically bare, and people had learned not to mess with you during your locker breaks. Between cheer practice after school, the many social needs of your squad and demands of being captain, and your rigorous course load (because you were getting into college and as far away from Hawkins as possible), you rarely had time to yourself. And you loved it. You really did. But these precious five minutes at your locker during lunch was the only time you were really able to breathe. They were sacred, and everyone knew that.

So who the fuck was stupid enough to interrupt that?

With a dramatic sigh, you stretched your cheeks into what you hoped was some semblance of a smile (even if it was a painfully fake one). You could sense them, whoever they were, on the other side of your locker door. And they didn’t seem to be budging any time soon. You tried to stall for time, mentally counting down the seconds of freedom you had left.

Ten... You grabbed your calculus book and practically chucked it in your locker.

Nine... You shoved your composition book into your backpack.

Eight... You tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear.

Seven... You prayed this jackass would take the hint.

Six... No such luck.

Five... You searched both your locker and backpack in vain hope of finding anything else to stall.

Four... You figured you’d have maybe a minute of having to endure some painfully awkward conversation as you secured the lock, zipped your bag, and booked it the fuck out of there.

Three... You mentally double-checked that your fake smile was in place.

Two... You sent up one last Hail Mary they’d take the hint.

One... You took a calming breath.

And your time was up.

You had a sneaking suspicion whoever this was had planned it all out.

The hallways were practically empty, with just one or two stragglers making a futile dash for the cafeteria in the hopes there would be some pizza left. Your breath caught in your throat as your eyes met a pair of beautiful, crystal blue irises. Your fake smile dropped for just a moment as you took in sunshine curls, honeyed skin, plush lips, and slightly freckled cheeks. Your eyes traced over the almost gentle features of his face. His sharp cheekbones, lovely nose, and square jaw were practically begging you to cup his face in your hand. And his body... Damn. Nothing delicate there. You knew your fair share of jocks and hunky boys. But none of them compared to this. He wore a faded jean jacket, and he filled out every inch of it. It was clear he was buff, but you’d bet he was cut too. This blond in front of you was... Well, he was beautiful. You had never met a man (because fuck, but that’s what he was) who left you so thoroughly speechless. And then he had to go and ruin it by opening his mouth.

“Like what ya see, sweetheart? Cause I certainly do.” The lazy drawl matched his lax stance as he leaned against the lockers. He was posing for you, you quickly realized. This was a guy who knew exactly what he was working with, and he wasn’t afraid to shamelessly use it. A chill ran down your spine. 

Oh, he had definitely planned it.

Too bad he hadn’t planned for you.

You had more than your fair share of experiences with a guy like that. It wasn’t something you were looking to repeat anytime soon. The smile slid back across your face, a mask you had perfected and an armor you had worked all the chinks out of long ago. You watched, almost bemused, as a flicker of annoyance slid across his face. He knows, a voice whispered in the back of your mind. He knows you’re putting walls up. He can see it.

“Just getting to know a face I’ve never seen before.” Most guys would take the perky tone and sweet grin for the superficial flirting it appeared to be. The diversion you intended for it to come across as. You had a feeling this guy was smarter than that. You upped the bubbly factor, wanting to see how it would affect him (and a small part of you hoped it would annoy him). “You must be new to Hawkins. Welcome!” You had to stifle a giggle as he visibly bristled.

“Not that new,” he mumbled as he released the smooth facade for just a moment. He was clearly upset by the idea you hadn’t heard of him yet (which, of course, was not the case. Everyone and their mother had about the hot new guy with a killer car, but he didn’t need to know that). He managed to recover relatively quickly though. His eyes widened a fraction before that smirk snapped back into place. “Been here nearly four days, sweetheart. And in those four days, I’ve heard you’re the girl who runs the show around here.”

“And what makes you think that?” You figured playing innocent was the best way to go here. As helpful as your girls were in getting the gossip, it never hurt to have a little more info. No matter how high up the ladder you climbed, it was nearly impossible to get a real grip on the rumor mill here at Hawkins. Secrets and lies just tended to have a way of getting out, so no one ever quite knew what the truth was. Sometimes, you even second-guessed what you knew about yourself.

“Well, you’re the only cute (h/c)-haired, mini-skirted spitfire I’ve met so far. And I’ve made it a point to look out for the... feistier girls. Y/n, right?” Interesting. So he was going to keep his cards as close to his chest as you were. The suggestive smirk he sent you and the emphasis on the word feisty weren’t lost on you. You could hazard a guess as to what he really meant. So, the new kid had done his research. This should be fun.

“I’m so embarrassed. Here you are, knowing all about me, and I don’t even know who you are. What’s your name?” Of course, you knew exactly what his name was before he even said it.

“Some girls might call me the man-they’ve-been-waiting-for, but you can call me Billy.” The smile on his face would dazzle any crowd, leave any competition judge putty in his hands, and make the girls on your squad melt at his feet. It was clear this guy trying to work you over. But that was why you were the captain: you weren’t so quick to fall.

“Well, it was nice to meet you, Billy. Hope your first week went well.” And with that abrupt dismissal, you were off. In your years of evading hormonal and horny teenage boys, you had perfected the well-timed retreat. Flirt with them and talk just enough to let them think they’d hooked you, then cut it off quick. You had subtly worked the zipper on your backpack closed during the conversation, so all that was left was to fasten the lock and run. You were only a few steps away before Billy recovered. Impressive. Usually, you could get halfway down the hall as they were left reeling from your attention.

“Y’know, my first week has been fine,” he drawled again as he easily fell into step with you. A slight stab of annoyance tore through your chest. You checked your fake smile. “But it’d be even better if you agreed to show me around this weekend. Since I’m new here and all.” You pretended to consider it. You waited just long enough to make it seem like you weren’t going to turn him down before the words had even left his mouth. You were all about giving new kids a chance, but not when they had interrupted your precious alone time and stood between you and your pizza.

“Sorry, but the squad has practice tomorrow. And then the girls and I have team bonding on Sunday, so I’m all booked for the weekend.” You simpered, throwing a flutter or two of your lashes and a mock pout his way for good measure. You thought you had won that little confrontation until you saw a determined gleam in his eyes.

“I take it you aren’t going to Tina’s Halloween party tomorrow night, then?” Damn. The new boy was already connected enough to cinch an invite to a party? It usually took new kids weeks before they broke into the social scene enough to even hear gossip about the last party. Hawkins might’ve been small, but it was a pretty tight-lipped town when it came to outsiders. This guy must’ve known exactly what he was doing if he had already gotten that far in. And, worst of all, he had you trapped.

After all, you couldn’t exactly lie and say you weren’t going. By now, the two of you were close enough to the cafeteria that there were people around. If you lied, said you weren’t going, and then showed up anyway, it would make you look fake. Two-faced. Bitchy. And you had worked so hard to get your reputation to where it was after the disaster that was your first two years in high school. You were depending on your friendly and kind reputation to get you a student body position next year that would look killer on a college application. You couldn’t run the risk of ruining it because of some gossip about being a bitch to the new kid, who hadn’t even been in town for a week. Besides, that familiar tingling of a guilty conscience seemed to whisper. You barely know the guy. At least give him a chance.

“Silly me,” you forced yourself to giggle for fear of biting the words out instead. You didn’t want to judge him preemptively, but there was something about him that set alarm bells off. “I must’ve forgotten. I can’t believe it’s Halloween already.”

“Honest mistake. I tend to have an effect on girls that leaves them forgetting a lot of things...” He moved to step closer into you, and that was when it hit you. You knew exactly who Billy reminded you of. Eric. Your douchebag of an ex-boyfriend who had left you scarred against relationships. As the blond in front of you leaned over you, you were struck with the flash of an image of green eyes instead of blue. You refused to give ground and carefully tried to breathe. You tried to remind yourself this wasn’t him. Hell, Billy probably didn’t even know the guy existed. He didn’t know what he was doing. He shouldn’t be written off because he reminded you of a monster. But it did send a worrying thought through your mind. You hoped you were wrong, but there was a nagging sense that you couldn’t be too careful. You needed to get away from him, now.

You sent him another falsely sweet smile and quickly scanned the cafeteria over his shoulder. Your eyes desperately searched as you forced yourself to back up a step, feigning butterflies when you were really just trying to buy yourself time. It was Pizza Friday, so he had to be somewhere nearby. He loved Pizza Friday. Nancy told you how he always ditched after class to make sure he got some. Surely he hadn’t wolfed it down that quickly... There. Your eyes landed on the luscious head of hair you had been searching for, and you practically leaped at your chance to escape. You let your eyes flit back to Billy, trying to send him a flirty smile whilst internally panicking.

“Sadly for you, I don’t forget things easily.” You let the words hang in the air, unsure if you meant them as a threat or a promise. If only he knew how true they were. “Guess you just got lucky this time.”

“Oh sweetheart, luck had nothing to do with it.” He stepped in closer again. Your heart had practically crawled up into your throat. You snapped your eyes back to Steve, praying either he or Nancy would somehow sense your distress.

“Y/n!” Steve called, waving you over after catching your eye. Finally, it seemed like someone was up there listening.

“Well, looks like we’ll have to see if lightning strikes twice. Catch you later.” You sidestepped the blond’s advance and, without giving him a chance to respond, made a bee-line for the couple’s table. You had to warn him. You couldn’t be sure, but you had a feeling you knew what the research, the quick invasion of the social scene, and his singling you out immediately meant.

Billy Hargrove was gunning to be king.

And he wouldn’t be the first guy to try and use you to get there.

taglist//

@asheseiler | @chaoticbillywrites | @speedmetalqueen | @keira1416 | @familybusinesswritingbro | @axxl-rose | @hargroves-dingus | @agustdpeach | @gracieadorable | @loveofshows | @queenmissfit | @octaviamoore-15 | @billysgodcomplex | @jojo-buttercup | @salemlysi | @beyxlm | @littledeadgirlwalking

[writerwrites]

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader, Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: Protégé to Bruce Banner, Rosemarie finds herself working closely with and befriending the Avengers. Friendship, lust, heartbreak, and so much more find her along this heartbreaking journey into new adulthood. Rosemarie discovers her self-worth and that home is where the heart is… she’ll just have to figure out what her heart is saying first.

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Smut 18+, language, angst, fluff, language, ye ole slow burn, and eventually death, pregnancy, love triangle… or love adjacent to a triangle? It’s complicated.

playlist . masterlist

A/N: This WIP is intentionally made to ruin all of our lives with feels. You were warned. It’s just my writing style, but I use a name for the reader, in this case Rosemarie, so adjust your imaginations as you read, fam. Also, I do what I want, so don’t come at me for MCU canon timelines. The most notable YOLO in this series is that Bucky/Winter Soldier is an Avenger pre-Blip, Banner isn’t in space, and though there’s tension between the Tony and Cap ‘sides’ of the Sokovia Accords they’re all trying to work together. Avenging is not a main point to this story, but that’s the clarification I will give you. I hope you enjoy my first posted fic, leave a comment, review, message, etc.

Introduction: October 2016

--- BANNER SCIENCE TECHNOLOGIES (BST); MIDTOWN MANHATTAN, NY ---

“Anything? Anything at all? Bueller?” Rosemarie looked at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, trying to spot some sort of subtle difference in her appearance. Though she had been searching for a job in her field for months, the ‘spooky’ elevator music chirping through the bathroom was an indication that she was just shy of that November 1st tuition payment start up. Her May graduation felt like a distant memory and all the years of hard work and applications to various schools, and even scholarships for being gifted and a minority hardly made a dent in the mountain of debt that came with attaining a doctoral degree. So, the prodigy looked, hoping for even a crinkle in the corner of your twenty-two year old eyes or a crease in her forehead. A little guilty knot formed in her stomach, as she thought no one ever wanted to ‘grow up’ faster than she did.

Rosemarie had been an intern for Stark Industries during her undergrad and worked a part-time research position for Stark while she looked for the right fit. It had been the CEO and his wife, Pepper, who had tipped you off about Dr. Banner’s small new company, Banner Science Technologies. No amount of ass kissing or overtime seemed to get the young woman a chat with Tony Stark, who was providing significant financial support to his friend and her boss’ endeavor, and she had all but given up until three weeks ago. That fateful email felt more like an unexpected termination. The fear of going ‘upstairs’ for that meeting amused Tony, he’d told her so much when he cackled that he had watched her self-talking on the journey up.

Now at BST, Rosemarie was leading a medical research team that rivaled Elon Musk and every major university in neuroscience. But there she was, leaning into the mirror on Day One, wishing she felt like she knew what she was doing, like she didn’t look like a dork in your square black rimmed glasses, or that she would look older than she was because she wanted to be taken seriously. The young doctor hadn’t realized that her accomplishments had already done that for her because almost no one ever blew through a public education, let alone Yale, like she had. The emotions tied to repeated social rejection; however, began to bubble in her chest like poison before her badge glimmered on her hip and snapped her out of the trance.

Oddly, in that interview for BST, Banner didn’t ask the doctor about her research. He asked Rosemarie about her mental health, how she balanced work and life, and what her definition of world peace was. It had somehow never occurred to her that both Banner and Stark shared the unnatural gift of intellect since they were young too and that, at least to some degree, could relate to her experiences. There was a steady and natural intimidation that came with working for an Avenger like Bruce, but seeing the rest of them in passing at the lab in Stark Industry’s famous tower made the young woman slowly catch glimpses of their humanity, taking off the rose colored glasses placed on every stranger’s face by the media’s interpretation of them. Nevertheless, Rosemarie was a nobody, a lab rat, scientist, doctor, dork, and perpetually invisible to everyone at work. In fact, she had been her whole life, special but not special enough to warrant connecting with on a personal level. She told herself you’ll learn to appreciate the anonymity, but after being an academic shining star in college and spending a half a year looking for a job in the field, any semblance of confidence left in her small frame had certainly faltered.

Before Rosemarie could hit the ‘wallow in self pity’ button on her emotional circuit board, the bathroom door opened. Quickly straightening up and without looking at who came, she turned on the water to wash her hands and only upon reaching for the air dryer did she realize that the woman was the curvy redhead Avenger known for her skills in espionage, linguistics, weaponry, and combat; Black Widow. Rosemarie blinked, making a mental note to not call her that if she managed to speak at all. She looked at the young doctor curiously, her eyebrows slowly drawing together in confusion. “Are you really going to the party dressed up as Bruce? We try not to do ‘the Avengers’ at this thing every year.”

Whether it was from Agent Romanoff’s use of air quotes or the fact that she was speaking to a person that saw themselves as invisible, Rosemarie’s mouth bobbed open and closed, head tilting to the side like a confused puppy. “Party? Bruce?” Please, Rosemarie, save yourself from chronic rambling, she mentally monologued, only showing she was in her head through the pursing of her lips and a fleeting nod of acknowledgement; both of which hadn’t gone unnoticed by the spy.

“Bruce really forgot to invite his top dog? Typical. I swear I told him three times this week alone.” She walked around toward Rosemarie with speed and grace. Her gaze was analytical of the body in front of her, despite the majority of it being tucked underneath a pristine new lab coat, as she kept talking, “The annual Halloween costume party is tonight and you and the other two department leads…” she waved her hand when she realized she’d forgotten their names. “Anyways, it’s a party Tony throws every year and it’s always been Stark Industries, Rand Corp., and some other companies in Stark’s pocket that get all the big faces together for a few drinks, laughs, and a good time. Banner Sci. Tech. has Tony at the table and Bruce in bright lights. You’ve got to be there,” Just as a protest was about to pass the girl’s lips a finger went to them, “No excuses, Rosemarie. Consider it a part of the ‘other duties as assigned’ clause on your employment agreement.” She wiggled her fingers dramatically, but there the lab rat stood, utterly dumbfounded. A new question was on her mind: What could she possibly add to a conversation with a bunch of brilliant wealthy CEOs and superheroes? “Soooo, naturally, the people that are the glue of this place should come and rub shoulders. You know, show ‘em why you’re so fantastic. Get to know the people your tech will likely be used by, little like that.”

“But, I’m… me?” The words were quiet, disjointed, and felt like you had more confidence giving your first valedictorian speech to a crowd of Seniors that had bullied you for walking with them at the age of twelve.

“Exactly, Dr. Smarypants. You’re you, which is why we’re going to mine and getting you some costume that doesn’t make you the laughing stock of introductions. How old are you, anyway?” Natasha opened the bathroom door and the doctor walked out feeling like she was about to get the Princess Diaries treatment with some sort of Nightmare on Elm Street plot twist.

“I turned twenty-two last February.” The answer was offered up in the tone of an apology but she disregarded the awkward timbre and stuck to the facts, making Rosemarie’s shoulders relax just a little.

“Well thank God for that,” The Avenger’s laugh echoed through the hall. “I was half worried you wouldn’t be able to drink and then you’d be both bored and silent at the party.”

With a finger up she skipped over to the main lab’s window where Bruce was squinting at four screens and banging on a tablet. When he finally looked over at the redhead, everyone in the vicinity noticed his expression quickly melting, something Rosemarie had certainly never seen. Natasha pointed to her watch, to Rosemarie, and gestured little walking legs with her fingers. Dr. Banner acknowledged her with what looked like a mouthed ‘I love you’ but before Rosemarie could even smile at the site he offered her an apologetic nod, unnerving her once more. In the blink of an eye, Natasha was dragging her out of the office, arm in arm, and out of midtown Manhattan.

--- BRUCE AND NATASHA’S LIMESTONE; UPPER EAST SIDE, MANHATTAN, NY ---

Despite asking a few times over what she had in store, Nat, as she asked to be called, gave her little to go on. Sitting on a bench at the foot of her boss’ California King bed, she watched Natasha rummaging through the walk-in closet. “Clint’s daughter dragged me to Disney a few months back. She insisted we go ‘Disneybounding’ and I have more wigs than I’ll ever need.” She was processing her choices and more than once Rosemarie picked up something that flew out of the walk-in closet at her head. A shimmering ruby red dress landed to the left and her mouth fell open in horror at the plunging neckline and thigh extra-high slit. Nat came out with a few things on her arm and laughed at the look of pure exasperation, “Don’t worry, babe, that’s mine… and this,” She plopped the garments into her victim’s arms, “Is your get up. There’s a bathroom down the hall, the only door on the left. I’ll be over in a bit to help with your makeup.”

Rosemarie wasn’t sure if she should take offense to the fact that it wasn’t a question, but remained too intimidated to say anything. Once in the bathroom with her back to the mirror she took off her white lab coat and untucked the seafoam green tie-neck satin blouse and skinny black slacks. As she folded the discarded clothes, she sighed at how proud of the outfit she’d been just this morning and how it now felt like a bland choice by the time she saw half of the spy’s closet. Like the pang of emotions set off a bomb, Rosemarie was self-talking about how nice Nat was being to her and to see this as a professional opportunity rather than a terrifying obligation. The mental chatter was enough to get her into the outfit which, surprisingly, required no sucking in, tucking, or wiggling to get on. It wasn’t until she turned to the mirror that Rosemarie registered what ‘Disney bounding’ was, immediately placing the character the ensemble was meant to resemble.

The high-waisted yellow shorts with their two panels of brassy buttons hugged Rosemarie's hips and made her see the curves of a defined hourglass frame for the first time in clothing other than yoga pants. The off the shoulder royal blue crop top had enough draping and a built-in bra to make her comfortable about wearing this around other professionals, just the tiniest hint of the tan skin of her upper stomach when she raised her hands or posed, neither of which she planned to do tonight. The red bow against black hair was the perfect final touch to make it obvious the outfit was a modern Snow White. Before Rosemarie could overanalyze going to a work event in the getup, there was a rhythmic knock on the door and, even though she thought she’d locked it, Nat was walking in, items in hand. At first she whistled, taking Rosemarie’s hand in hers and spinning her around. Nat smiled when she saw the heat rise up the bashful doctor’s neck and color flooded her cheeks. “I have one last thing.”

Until Nat pulled black heels from behind her back Rosemarie hadn’t even noticed Natasha had changed, but when she did her mouth went dry. “You look…” With a knowing smirk, she put her hands on Rosemarie’s hips and spun her back toward the mirror, her chest pressed to the doctor’s back as she studied her features, the pouted lips and high cheekbones, the long eyelashes underneath the ridiculously hipster glasses. Rosemarie felt naked in front of her, no one having ever really looked at her that way before and her body naturally reacted with a shiver that caused her hips to roll back into her host. As Rosemarie was about to apologize, Nat simply smiled and shook her head no, getting to work on their makeup with both expertise and speed.

Rosemarie thought she had gotten away with the embarrassing and obvious moment of unrequited attraction when the Avenger popped the lipstick into a wristlet purse that looked like an apple. Then she leaned in like a panther pouncing on her prey and, somehow, the doctor didn’t cower back. Nat was intrigued by that, a little curve found its way to the corner of her crimson lips, two shades darker and glossed compared to Rosemarie’s, “Let’s have a good time tonight, Snow. Something tells me it’s going to get very interesting.” She bit her lip, noticing that Rosemarie was holding your breath and assumed that it was a combination of her looking great and being the girlfriend of the girl’s boss, she wasn’t wrong. Nat still dipped down between her legs and slipped the heels onto the young woman’s feet, letting her fingertips tickle her ankle before they were holding hands and heading to the party.

--- STARK INDUSTRIES: THE TOWER; MIDTOWN MANHATTAN, NY ---

The closer they got to Tony Stark’s ‘Tower’ the more Rosemarie wanted the stroke of midnight to hit so she could get out of dodge. Nat worried, even if she hid it well. She’d playfully asked her a few casual questions about her time at Yale, what the parties were like, and what the doctor liked to do for fun. She quickly and accurately surmised that the twenty two year old had been in love once and upon some bad sex and the dropping of the ‘L’ word, she’d been dropped like a fly. The pity never reached Natasha’s face, but it was there. It reminded her of more than one person that would be at the Tower tonight, and as she cooed compliments to the anxious new girl in town, she hoped that offering the invitation was the right thing. Rosemarie nodded and blushed, hoping accepting was the right choice too, though she didn’t hide it well at all.

As Natasha entertained that young woman with pleasant little stories about how harmless everyone was, she couldn’t help but think that, with the tension of the Sokovia Accords, you might not be up for the mental olympics the attendees would undoubtedly be going through. As the elevator doors closed behind them, Rosemarie didn’t notice how worried Nat was and instead tried to calm herself down in the bustling room. Her matte dusty rose lips pressed into a closed mouth smile as she tried to remember little details about the people in front of her, people that she had only heard about on television or seen through a lab window. “Here we go,” Nat spoke with surprising pep and with a sigh, Rosemarie followed. She was glad Natasha let her walk down the stairs behind her as the crowd funneled in both in front and behind them. You can do this. You’re smart, a good person, you can do this. This is totally normal. Just smile and nod, fake it to the bar, fake it ‘til you make it. The doctor’s gaze brushed across the room after Natasha moved away toward Bruce. Immediately Rosemarie froze, a few heads that had turned to greet Nat now turned toward her. Well, shit.

CHAPTER 1

Taglist: @caplanbuckybarnes​

[flyswhumpcenter]

Bad Things Happen Bingo! The event where you send me requests according to this marvelous card! (Red cross is the completed prompt, character headshots are prompts I’ve already filled. I don’t have any request left, so feel free to send in suggestions for this card!).

I need to write more Makaito smh

Y'all don't even know how surprised I got to see @mythgirlimagines had sent me a request. Most of all because I rarely get those, but man, that was a good surprise. I had to ask her for another duo (as I know nothing about UDG, not gonna lie), but I always love more Makaito in my life despite the appearances. I always get crazy about the worldbuilding in this AU, but in short: everyone has powers (yes, everyone, even your grandparents). They're called mages. There are three types of mages: weapon users, spell casters and healers. Sometimes there are hybrids between these models (of 2 kinds at the same time). Hybrids are chased by bounty hunters for plot reasons. Maki used to be one, but she's become a "hunter of hunters". I think that's all you need to know for this fic? Oh yeah, this fic contains some French because the main setting, the city of Hellesimbault, is heavily based on French culture. It just made more sense to keep some French in.

It should have been angstier than that, but I was in a fluffier mood today, so here you go. I really need to provide more for this ship.

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Flickering Lights

Summary: The night has never been safe for anyone in the darker streets of the city, yet a duo makes it way through the shadows with vigilent crimson eyes and purple thunder. Still, even the most attention doesn't always give away damage people can take, doesn't it?

Fandom: Danganronpa V3 (magical people AU) Ship: Makaito (Established)

Wordcount: 2.2K words

Event hosted by @badthingshappenbingo

AO3 version available here.

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Quartier de la Lune, Hellesimbault, January. The dire cold blew in harsh winds as the dust and garbage littered on the barely lit ground fly right against the ground, their mass never quite taking off. The artificial lights flicker in incoherent rhythms, drilling into the skulls of passers-by with their constant noise you can’t quite get used to, even after hearing it for a while (it just stops being your main nuisance). The rest of the streets leading to the old Moon Temple is sunk in the night’s darkness, with only a few flashes and bursts of clarity piercing through the sea of shadows.

Personally, Nerio was one of these shadows, and had always been. She had gone through everything possible: abandoned girl, orphan raised along the nice and the bad, forced through the grinder to become a bounty hunter, now on the opposite side of the underground war. Hidden under her hood, crimson eyes focusing on any light and ears open to all possible noise, she was used to the darkness.

In fact, she was in unison with the underground, hostile, familiar universe of Hellesimbault’s darkest streets and ruins long buried by modern civilisation.

 In the shadows, she felt safe as soon as she was wearing the mask of Nerio, named after a goddess of war, a bloodthirsty figure in need for a vengeance and taking it out onto bounty hunters with no hope of redemption. It felt good to shoot arrows at criminals like those who had forced her into the network as a preteen whom life hadn’t directly shown its atrocious parts to yet, and it was the one way she had ever felt alive: reclaiming her rotten childhood and early teenage years by showing them she’s now better than them.

She hadn’t quite killed her abductors, even when an untold furry had possessed her into doing so by hindering any semblance of reason she could have had, only because some guy who couldn’t get enough of her had put his hand on Enyo’s shoulder and whispered to her, in a disapproving but paradoxically soft voice:

“Maki, that’s enough.”

 That was the day where she had truly stopped only considering herself as Nerio, bloodstained shadow and reluctant, yet effective, bounty hunter turned hunter slayer, a figure of the shadows, and more like whom she had been during in the daylight all this time.

All thanks to an absolute idiot she had met in class because he wouldn’t stop not wanting to talk to her.

 Their tandem made no sense. She was a figure of the night, a girl shrouded in darkness, content being left alone. Her arms and legs were covered in scars, her hands calloused from handling her magical weapon, her feet permanently threaded with the liquified mana of her former adversaries. Her spirit was calculating, her character quiet, her face always covered with a mask. She never had had friends before high school had come around, before people flocked to her because she had apparently stopped being threatening to some. That was around this time that Nerio started to fade and Maki took her place, progressively, until Nerio was the persona and Maki the person.

If she was used to the horrors of Hybrid trafficking, he couldn’t have. He was a benevolent figure of the day, loud to the point of being obnoxious, rude but well-meaning, never second-guessing anything, acting before he thought. His arms and legs, displayed by much more revealing clothes than her elbow-long sleeves and opaque tights, were defined yet not showing a trace of damage like a recently sculpted statue, his hands were strong but their skin soft, his character remarkable, his face displaying a smile and never hiding anything from sight. He was popular, dizzyingly so, people constantly around him, but he had his inner circle. He had come to her, introduced himself, asked her who she was and, before she realized it, he had accepted her into this inner circle so few would have even dared dreaming about entering in the Cité Scolaire, and that was when her façade crumbled before his friends and him. Before she knew it, Kaito had found himself a night persona, Uranus, who barely was different from the person.

It pained her to have him as her partner for this very reason: he was too good for the shadows, too bright for the darkness, and he’d only be busted before she could save him. She wasn’t ready to lose him to the urban abyss, but he insisted, and his presence was too warm for her not to want it.

 Still, Uranus had impressive fighting skills. His dream to one day be the first mage to reach space and discover if there was a world aside from theirs had pushed him to maintain a perfect form, despite an unfortunate illness trying to limit his life. She’d have expected him to be a weapon user, like she was, but the equivalent to his crossbow life had given him was a cape whom had the powers to create the tiniest blackholes and power up his offensive magic. They were power units in vastly different domains, sure thing, but she was still impressed by how many enemies he could take at once and still win over.

The main issue of their duet was their range: it was too long for close combat. If an enemy was to sneak up on them and force her to switch her weapon for her fists and kicks, there was no doubt she’d have a harder time taking care of them. He was more or less the same: long-range spells, very poor to non-existent support magic, a blackhole strategy that’d be more of a double-edged sword and, of course, his fairly frail constitution outside of his training. Neither was a healer, so they couldn’t possibly count on that either.

 Under the full moon of the harsh January, lights flickering above them like candles on a tomb flowing with the wind, they were fighting against an ambush. A bunch of low-grade Hybrid bounty hunters, eyes staring at them with an indiscretion she was getting tired of, their hands on their weapons and only waiting for the duo to slip up. Nerio wouldn’t give them the pleasure to kill her and take her corpse away for them to get compensation for a murder, so she shot arrow after arrow, ignoring various attempted status ailments thrown at her and gusts of winds repeatedly trying to flip her skirt up. All she had to hide under the hem of her dress were tights and a holster with a material hatchet in case she was in a desperate situation; but using it in front of Uranus felt dirty. It’d be nothing but a cheap shot at life when she had proved to him countless times before she was more than competent.

Their number was dwindling more quickly than her mana, sure, but the fighting was tiring her out, most likely him too, and they had class to attend tomorrow (Kaito had managed to convince her, with the insistence of the overly cheerful Kaede). She’d better make it quick, so she charged her cheapest shots in and didn’t mind the drawbacks of wasting more of her power endurance to quickly put an end to the fight. Rapid-fire, crimson arrows it’d have to be, in the end: not quite her Final Gambit spell, which she was still trying to control, but still one powerful enough to clear through the ranks and through her mana reserves. Any child of the shadows would have learnt that exhausting their magic entirely was nothing more but signing their worse-than-death fate: being forgotten in the icy streets of the underground city.

 Their adversaries were most likely scummy opportunists, because they disappeared after a few arrows had been thrown at them. It didn’t prevent her from exhaling a sigh of relief, the danger of the streets weakening around them as the lights stopped flickering. Too much magic in the air to make the one used by the electric network function properly, she supposed: it didn’t matter this much, to be frank. All she wanted to do was go back home, now that she had exterminated the vermin for the night.

Maki turned her attention back to her partner who, like her, was still transformed into his battle attire. He looked just fine, smiling at her with his darkness-eating grin and a thumbs-up. Giving him a nod, they silently decided to go back to their base, where surely Kaede and Shuichi were waiting for them before going to sleep at last. Despite her earlier loneliness, she felt safe and welcome around their little group, her companions, her friends.

 Yet, despite the peace of hearing nothing but their footsteps and breathing, the mandatory silence of the underground nights pushing them not to speak to each other before they’d safely make it to their home, there was something bothering Maki. It wasn’t the sudden silence: she was used to activity dying down and coming back much, much later, when they wouldn’t be there anymore. Thinking silence was a trap in those uncharted territories was a beginner’s mistake: it was a sign towards the right direction. The narrow walls always made sounds resonate and echo to a hunter’s ears.

It was a smell in the air, the faint smell of iron. It was close to her, yet hindered by something, and she couldn’t quite put her hand on where she had smelt it before. Her confusion merely lasted a few moments, though, until she realized it couldn’t have been anything but blood tainting something, its scent retained by something else, but remaining detectable nonetheless. One source and one source only: the dark crimson puddle she was seeing on her partner’s attire.

 “Kaito,” she suddenly said, stopping in her tracks.

“Hm?” He turned his attention to her, hand mindlessly over the epicentre of the issue. “What’s wrong, Maki Roll?”

“You’re injured, you idiot. I thought you wanted us to tell each other everything.”

Her eyebrows frowned.

“I am? I promised I would tell you everything, Maki Roll, you must be imagining things!”

She knew when he lied, when his voice would sound fake, when his eyes looked too much to the left and when he wouldn’t stop laughing nervously. It disturbed her that none of these cues were there.

“Your hand,” she only said as an explanation. “Look at your hand, you fool.”

 Kaito, luckily, understood immediately what hand she was referring to. He took it off the wound, eyes glancing at his mostly untouched palms, then the growing stain. It surprised it at first, almost sending him in a panic, until he breathed out and ignored the nervous sweat beads pearling on his temples.

“Ah, fuck, you’re right Maki Roll! They must have gotten a hit on me… Let’s get home fast then!”

She felt a tiny smile make its way onto her face.

“I’m surprised you didn’t feel it,” she replied as they resumed their walk, gaze often glancing at the stain. “It doesn’t look too deep, at least, if you can walk this easily.”

“Yeah… Most likely a bad cut. Nothing my sidekick can’t heal!”

“…you’re going to ask Shuichi to heal that for you?”

He blinked.

“On second thought, bad idea. It’ll heal by itself soon enough.”

“That’s also a terrible option. At least put a bandage on that thing, you moron.”

“Got it!”

 His eyes grew wider as he stared at her. Now, that was a look she didn’t like in the slightest: he usually gave it to her when he had a shitty idea to propose.

“Hey, Maki Roll,” he pointed his finger at her arms, “you’re injured too!”

Surprised, she stared at her forearms right afterwards, only to notice he was referring to small bruises and scratches.

“Oh, come on, you know this has nothing in common with what you could have been bleeding from, Kaito. It’s merely a scratch.”

“You should be careful too, then, if you scold me for being careless.

“I know what I’m doing, unlike you, but thank you for the concern.”

“Hey, I know what I’m doing too!”

“Sure, sure.”

 He showed her a hand, palm turned to her.

“Don’t worry, that’s one not stained with blood”. His grin.

She found him ridiculous and beyond cheesy, but took his fingers in hers anyway, enlacing them together.

“As long as you don’t need me as a clutch, it’s fine.”

“Of course I don’t! I’m Uranus, Luminary of the Stars!”

Oh god. He was ridiculous, and such an idiot, but her life had only improved ever since he had arrived there. She could only partially attribute it to his idiotic side, in a way.

“Your predictability is utterly disappointing, sometimes, you know that?”

“I also know you secretly love it, Maki.”

“If you say so. There’s no discussing with you anyway.”

 Right in front of her, he brushed his other hand on his attire’s pants, barely giving her the time to frown in disgusted surprise, and swiped her hood in a swift movement with the back of his hand. All of this to put a kiss on her forehead, a childish peck, that nonetheless makes her cheeks slightly heat up.

“You’re an untameable idiot, Kaito.”

“I’m your idiot, though, Maki Roll.”

She looked away, chuckling despite her best attempts at controlling herself.

“…I know, I know.”

[johnskleats]

Update!

Beautiful Fool

Chapter 2: Eyes of God

Fandom: BBC Merlin

Characters: Merlin, Arthur Pendragon

Summary: Arthur, an affluent, lonely bachelor, spends his days brooding and entertaining his homebody neighbor with short-shot attempts at affection. Merlin just wants to chill with his plants, but his neighbor (the one with the castle) keeps sending him pretty things and inviting him to parties.

One night, he decides to go, and discovers a different sort of magic.

Great Gatsby!AU, also found on ao3

@the-once-and-future-love @arthur-of-the-pendragons @pretty-pendragon @bbcmerturfanficsrec

Merlin didn't sleep that night. He dreamt instead of red ascots, red lips, red wine; yellow cars, yellow hair, yellow watch; blue scarf, blue eyes, blue eyes. He woke gasping. It was still dark. In his bones, he could feel Arthur waiting for him. Waiting, to return tonight or any other, and keep his promise. The party raged on, and on, until the day broke.

Would you come back?

His vow bound him like cords.

That's all I wanted.

Dread it as he did, Merlin knew in his heart, from experience, that he would. Were he less stubborn, he would be there now, and maybe, maybe, Arthur Pendragon would have kissed him. Even the thought had him shaking his head rid of it; the vow remained.

Arthur Pendragon didn't need kisses to seal his spell. Merlin could feel with sinking resignation that he was already branded by those eyes, captured by that smile. The cogs of fate were turning; he could hear them.

Merlin did what he did best, and put it out of his mind.

There were no more letters, no more gifts, after that night. Merlin felt sick with the feeling he'd done something very wrong. The parties continued- at least he hadn't ruined that -but part of him had hoped that they would end as well, like a sign. He hadn't known, but somewhere in his mind, Merlin had hoped that they were for him. It was silly. Arthur had been up to that old trick a long time, was notorious for it, and yet he had hoped that, like himself, the man with the yellow car was waiting for something he couldn't define.

It was rare Merlin was compelled by guilt, but when he was, he liked to think he was quick to humble himself and apologize. How true that was, he couldn't say. He was stubborn and proud and he knew it, hated to say sorry, hated to be wrong. However, when the lights went up and the music blared and Merlin looked out his window to see fireworks illuminate the face of the lake, every night, he could see in a high room a man doing the same. Sometimes, he even fancied that the man was looking at him, sharing something quiet in all the noise, but he knew better. The stars would die on the water and Merlin would close his curtains, bitter, and more alone than ever.

Work was tedious, but gave him something to think about. He had always been good at arithmetic, always found comfort in the consistency accounting offered. If something was wrong, it was wrong. If it was right, then the numbers remained as such; everything was plain and visible and there was nowhere to hide. How ironic, then, that he cowered in his cottage instead of answering that nagging at the back of his head. How hypocritical, then, for his eyes to skip avidly over the little red box with its silky blue scarf, the only present he'd been too intrigued by to return and too paranoid to wear. Its use would be final, somehow. Made to go about his neck, like a collar, a mark of conquering, the scarf would stay in its box. In it or out of it, however, it felt to Merlin a profound loss; and so he ignored it.

He was getting worse and worse at that as time dragged forward. It was less that things piled up for him to overlook, and more so that what he had already pledged to bury persisted to press him exponentially. The gift box on his coffee table seemed to enlarge, take up all the air in the front room, and then only amplified when he moved it to a shelf, to a drawer, to another box in the closet. It never really went away. Out of sight, out of mind was a myth.

The day he decided to finally do something about it was a dismal one indeed. The sky was overcast, partly cloudy, and there was a storm on the lake. The city was bustling on the opposing shore, unbothered, more than a week since he had made his promise. More than a week- it had been more than two. In fact, Merlin let that boxed scarf nag at him for a month before he finally gave in to that churning upset in the pit of his stomach, and if he thought inaction made him queasy, then this was suicide. He rewrote the note six times before he typed it out. He signed it, after, to make it a touch more personal, but the awkwardness of the situation dangled over him more precarious than Damocles' sword. The threat of rejection weighed on him just as distressing.

Mr. Pendragon. Arthur Pendragon. Dear Mr. Pendragon. A. Pendragon. Dear Arthur. Arthur,

I regret I'm very busy. My thoughts have been scattered as of late As of late, I feel If I've offended you in some way I know I was wrong meant no ill will.

You are welcome to join me for tea tomorrow afternoon post three o'clock.

Merlin Emrys

Merlin signed it, dated it, and put it in the post. He knew it was awkward, and poorly constructed, and in worse taste, but looking at it more would make him sick.

There was no party that night.

Merlin listened as cars drove in, circled, then turned away from the closed gate. Their headlights spotted through his windows, light striping his walls. The only noise beyond his frantic heart was of rolling gravel under rubber and the occasional curse of a disappointed visitor. For the first time in a long while, he would sleep with no music. The nerves that had wracked him all day, mounting, in fact, all month, reached a peak when one of dozens of cars came and went, leaving his driveway dark again and his little house and that gargantuan palace alone together on their island, leaving Merlin and Arthur Pendragon alone, again, on their island. The walls seemed to suffocate him. This was wrong, tonight was wrong, everything had been off for so long and this, this quiet--

The door closed behind him with finality, and Merlin breathed in the chilled air of the night. His arms folded about himself, he cast off the thought that bade him fetch a coat- the air was good, enlivening. The moon was bright unlike its counterpart hours earlier. All the day was unprofitable; all clouds and no rain. All worry and no result.

Merlin stood on the edge of his rickety porch, uneven boards creaking softly, and overlooked the tire-haggard path with its moon-brushed pebbles, past the silvery grasses and gilded, swaying trees to the dock. It was the only kind of fence between he and his mysterious neighbor, the only barrier that served at a meeting point more than all else, and this thought possessed his feet with frightening poignancy. A man sat on the pier. Merlin could make out his fair hair in the starlight, shoulders hunched under the weight of the sky as Arthur swung his feet idly over the water. It had to be him. There was no one else.

Merlin stopped his anxious feet halfway there, just on the opposite side of the driveway. He dare not go further, not after all the energy he had put forth today in requesting an audience- an audience, as though Pendragon were some kind of king, or prince -but that tugging pronounced itself at the base of his neck, so much like a noose.

That's all I wanted.

Merlin chided himself to breathe; stop being silly.

You're all I want.

The truth of the matter was that he had neglected to phone his poor mother and had instead fantasized for a month about what may have happened if he had stayed on the night that magic entered his life. He had been beside himself, behaving like a lovesick teenager and more notably, a prat, and he was sorry and not accustomed to saying so, and now the object of his affection (?), fascination, perhaps even purpose, was before him on this most quiet, singular of nights, just waiting. Waiting for him, maybe, Merlin would like to think so, but he had always been a little self-important, and the heart of it he couldn't guess. All Merlin really knew was that he had been waiting for Arthur, and hoping for the chance to choose differently than he had when this kind of opportunity had first arrived.

He stepped onto the pier.

His limbs had been lead as he'd crossed the grass, and every second, he had been agonizingly aware of. He could turn back any moment, probably should, this could wait for tomorrow, he was being precocious, but then the boards creaked with his weight and Arthur jumped to see him and time had a funny way of stopping for them. It did so now, or it should have. At first, Arthur seemed dumbstruck with surprise. Then, his expression leveled into careful indifference, a neutral smile that still managed to be charming.

"Evening, Merlin," and that was all wrong, there was no fondness in it, "Scared me a moment there."

"--Sorry."

Arthur was stretching from how quickly he had leapt to his feet, his trousers rolled up to his knees and wet from the calves down. Merlin didn't see any shoes on the dry land. He was avoiding his face, shoulders tense, waiting for him to leave, and that dread that had plagued Merlin day in and day out solidified into heavy hurt.

"Not a problem," Arthur was saying, but Merlin was shaking his head. The blonde paused, a hand on his hip. Incredulous, he asked, "What? Are we playing charades now?"

Merlin shoved his hands down to keep them from rolling over themselves, trying to express the words he couldn't think to. Arthur smiled. He felt a little bit better.

"I wanted to apologize-"

"Then apologize."

Merlin pursed his lips, a spark of agitation souring his mouth. Arthur lead with his hand as if to say, I'm waiting, and all semblance of sorry vanished from his mind.

"A real life Prince Charming," he hummed.

Arthur shrugged. "I tried being nice."

"When?"

The sorry returned.

Merlin put up his hands in surrender and Arthur quirked an eyebrow. He wondered why it felt like this was a fight they'd had a hundred times before, a roller-coaster of feeling he'd experienced a million times over in some other life.

He took a deep breath.

"I'm not good at this."

It seemed as if his lovely neighbor was about to snark something along the lines of clearly, but thought better of it. Merlin was immensely grateful. He continued.

"I apologize for my...rash behavior last we met. All of this is very new to me and I'm not," Merlin winced at himself. He was beginning to feel sick, "versed in these affairs, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings--"

Arthur’s demeanor had changed from one of petulance to patience, albeit reluctant. He was nodding, worrying his lip, and the air was burning in his lungs as he waited for Arthur’s reply. Merlin chided himself, again, to breathe.

"No, I understand." His heart dropped. Oh. "You're not," Arthur cleared his throat, concealing a blush, "--The other night, you thought I- that I was, uh...dropping pins. Letting my hair down, you know, that," Oh. "I was a nance? That I made a...you know, a pass."

He smiled; it was brittle and Merlin was going to faint. The air crackled between them, stretched thin and screaming.

Arthur went on.

"A misunderstanding, that's all it was, I- ...A miscommunication. I made you uncomfortable, I can understand that."

Merlin was pale. He wasn't listening anymore.

"It wasn't,"

Don't say it.

"Intended,"

Will you stay tonight? Will you stay? Will you? That's all I-

"To be taken in the, um," he chuckled nervously, avoided his eyes, mussed his fair hair and smiled that pained smile again. "I'm sorry, Merlin, it, uh, makes sense why you'd- well, you know."

A miscommunication.

"I don't."

It sounded wrong now, too, but for different reasons. His tone was warm if not shaky, rose lips formed the curve, Merlin, with fondness, but it was rejection, it was apology, what, what was happening--

"What?" Arthur was frowning at him, taken off guard.

Merlin shifted his weight to a more defensive stance, less open, less vulnerable, less danger. "...I don't know. You said it made sense why I would, 'you know', and I…" he swallowed. "Don't."

Arthur blanched. "--Why you'd avoid me, I mean- you thought I had- that I was-"

He was trapped in a nightmare. All of this had been some strange perception of his own, some gooey, fantastical lens he'd conjured. He felt so incredibly stupid. Stupid, stupid-

"...We can be friends now. --Now that that's cleared up, and I won't do it again, we'll humor one another."

Merlin furrowed his brow. Arthur sounded hopeful, was looking at him with bright eyes as he babbled.

"This confusion kept you away, but now you'll come back, like you said." He couldn't piece together why Arthur would push like this, probe so desperately for a friend. He was wealthy and charming and handsome, had plenty of admirers. Nevertheless, he was worse than a puppy at table. "Right?"

Beyond himself and his floundering self-respect, Merlin found himself nodding.

"...Right," he murmured. "I'd like nothing more," and that was a lie.

Arthur smiled that smile, the one that could end wars, and Merlin reminded himself that he was damned. Fall for a normal man, someone not like him, that was the worst possible thing he could think to do. He had thought this time was different, had thought he'd heard destiny knocking, but he was wrong. He was wrong.

I won't do it again, he had said.

Arthur would never kiss him.

Merlin was reminded that he didn't have to, that he was lost to the ether, that his heartstrings were wound tight about Arthur’s little finger and that he was hopeless to the red box, a space he shared with the closet for what would certainly, now, be forever.

He seemed so happy that Merlin could almost forget his heartbreak. The ghost of his touches a month ago came to haunt him. What had they meant, if not attraction? What were those shared moments, if not ones of intrigue? What was he curing if not loneliness, not longing?

Merlin was more confused than ever.

"Then- goodnight," Arthur grinned, grabbing him by the shoulder in a cordial manner, brotherly. He found himself smiling warily, Arthur’s earlier words echoing in his brain with venom. He was so caught up that he didn't notice the ache behind Arthur’s eyes, but instead picked up the spring in his step as he wandered toward his mansion, free as a bird. Merlin stood on the pier, feeling vacant. Whatever anxious, merry creature had flitted about possessing him these past weeks had taken leave for the time being, and he didn't know what was happening in his mind. A profound emptiness, he supposed mutely. It was a sensation that should have been profound, at least, should have been distressing and life-altering as he had fancied Arthur Pendragon would be, but instead it was lackluster, and quiet, and sad. His companion disappeared down the road, into the trees, and was gone.

This confusion kept you away.

Merlin, his mind clearer than it had been in a long time, took the red box in hand and unceremoniously threw it out.

But now you'll come back.

In the morning, he phoned mother.

You'll come back, like you said.

-

Merlin had all but forgotten the note. Dramatically, he had slept in, and dramatically, he had stared at the ceiling for hours afterward and mapped the constellations in the pocked plaster. Mindlessly, he'd eventually roused himself, mechanically, he had dressed. The toast was dry and the tea, weak, and sometime around ten, he determined he would be angry instead of sad. He could use this to motivate himself. He could make this positive. He had been foolish to spiral into such an idolic crush, especially with so little knowledge of the man's true character. He could be anyone, could have done anything. Any number of those rumors could have been true. Besides, all Arthur had done was warm him with wine and pretty words, flatter him with a distant adoration, and Merlin had been so starved for affection that he'd lapped it up like honey. From this point forward, Merlin would do better. He deserved better.

It wasn't too late by any means to find a nice girl, some Mary or Julia or Elizabeth, someone who made pie and would ask him to fix the roof. Nevermind that the thought made him queasy with anxiety, nevermind that she would suspect, would know, would be betrayed and hurt and hate him, nevermind, nevermind, nevermind, and Merlin was sad again. It wasn't hard.

The tea was cold, and mother was chattering with her soft, kind voice about her bridge game with the old gals at church and how she wished he would drop by to get some food in him, and oh, did he hear Gwen was getting married in the fall? She had always thought he would have stepped up to nab her first, but there were lots of fish in the sea.

There was a knock at the door at half past two. Merlin was in his bedclothes, rather, in cleaner bedclothes than those he had woken up in, but bedclothes nonetheless, and he hadn't combed his hair. His teeth felt mossy under his tongue, his feet felt hollow, his heart was drained, he answered the door. He almost closed it.

Arthur looked lovely in grey. The color brought out his eyes, made them sharper, brighter, and his red ascot was the most brilliant color Merlin had been privy to all day. He stood stiff before him, tall and strong and well-dressed in his fitted suit and fine hat and shined shoes. His hair was sure to be neat. His nails were finely manicured and teeth shined and straight- he knew from the way Pendragon licked them anxiously, looking past him into the charming but achingly modest home.

"I know you said two," he said furtively, as though to conceal his nervous energy with something passive. Merlin didn't have much control over his mouth or mind in his state, and so he observed, marvelling:

"You can read."

Arthur smiled wryly. "Admittedly, not well."

In truth, he had all but forgotten, at least had worked very hard to forget and had at last succeeded, the invitation sent the day prior. Arthur would have received it last night or this morning, must have rearranged something or other to make the trip, much less arrive a half hour early; there was no way he could burn through money the way he doubtless did without some kind of job. He had to have gone to great pains to be here, standing uncomfortable and objectively unwelcome on Merlin’s porch. Even without plans moved, he was very well done up.

He was about to think Arthur was handsome, but recalled he had sworn off men over breakfast.

Merlin turned around in his robe and slippers, retreating inside. The door he left ajar for his guest to come or go at will; he did nothing to hide the fact that he was incredibly tired and lacking the patience required for niceties. Consciously, he didn't jump at the click of the lock.

Merlin could feel Arthur watching him, scrutinizing him closely as he reheated the tea from breakfast. His hands did not shake. After too long a moment, his intruder cleared his throat, about to start a train of conversation Merlin was avidly certain he wanted no part of. He beat him to the chase.

"Sugar?"

Arthur blinked, his own words halfway to his lips. "--Yes. Say, Merlin-"

"How much?"

"What?"

Mugs hit the table with resounding thuds, and as though ignorant of the tension, Merlin went on. He didn't want to talk. He didn't want to.

"Sugar, Arthur." He didn't like him saying his name like that. He thought, in his mind where most of his thoughts occurred, that if he mimicked the ridiculous sense of familiarity that his neighbor insisted on imposing on their odd, nonexistent relationship, that somehow that would make it better. Merlin, yes, the way Arthur said it made his heart skip, but the reminder of that thin, anxious, pitying smile the night before preyed on him. He thought if he said Arthur, the spell would break- say a name three times, and their jinx is broken. It didn't work.

It only served to make him pine for a reason to say it again.

Blue, blue eyes.

Arthur was looking more affronted by the second, guilt and sadness encroaching on the horizon of Merlin’s fluctuating mood. He just felt sorry again. He just felt lost.

"You've done well to fix this house," his guest said to the tune of 'are you alright?' "You did it yourself?"

Merlin nodded, and poured tea. He did not shake.

"Do you like it?"

His voice was remote, floating somewhere outside his body- the air, perhaps. "I make do."

He watched as Arthur slowly eased into the space, walking through the living room and surveying the extensive but humble changes. He appeared thoughtful. Chamomile steamed in a lonesome fashion, but Arthur paid no mind.

"May I sit?"

"--Over there?"

Merlin’s immediate thought was something along the lines of not eating on the furniture, but he swallowed his mother's teachings and gave his consent with a gesture of the hand. Arthur chose the sofa from which Merlin watched the Pendragon House every night. It creaked, and Merlin had yet to move.

"It's old," he explained, crossing the space the join him in the danger zone, in what was once a safe place. He sat down. "The furniture. I don't really know how old or where it's been, but it's...rickety."

Arthur nodded as though this were sage wisdom, and took the mug from Merlin’s hand. He had forgotten he had it.

"I've could use your expertise at the mansion," he said casually, taking a gulp of tea Merlin knew for a fact was too hot for consumption. "You've a good eye."

"Are you joking?"

Arthur shrugged. "Pendragon House is old, too. Older than these couches, certainly. Come work for me in the House and you'll be handsomely compensated."

The audacity of this man would never cease to amaze him. He was still talking, though, and Merlin had nothing to say.

"--Of course, the whole of it could take a number of months, but I wouldn't contract you harshly. The ballroom could do for some attention, I think, due to frequency of use, and some of the bedrooms, to start. What say you?"

Slowly, Merlin set aside his tea.

"What, exactly, do you mean by 'handsomely'?"

He couldn't help that he was his mother's son, Gaius's nephew. This was an opportunity, even if he didn't like it. It could lead somewhere, or provide more opportunity to forge a path of his own- provide the funds to get off this island, maybe.

"Merlin, fair weather friends are a dime a dozen. If I wanted one of those, I could pluck anybody off the street, but I admire your work ethic. You're smart, adaptable-"

"You don't know that." Ever so slightly, he trembled.

"I do."

"You can't possibly-"

Arthur’s tone sent Merlin’s eyes to the floor.

"I do."

Beside himself, he smiled wearily. "Bully all your friends, do you?"

The mood shifted instantly, a flash of humility knocking Arthur back to Earth. Softer now, he continued.

"If you won't let me be generous to you, be kind to me and take the offer. I've listened," not well, "and I'm letting you work for it, since you seem to prefer things that way."

"...I don't want handouts."

Arthur got that incredulous look.

"You don't accept gifts! Look, it's- it's a job to do."

"I like my job." Merlin closed his eyes, flexed his fingers, tapped his foot. "I need a moment," he said finally. He stood before Arthur could say anything sweet or stupid or invasive or considerate and disappeared into his bedroom, the door shut definitively behind him. Merlin didn't mean to run away, but the wreck of a day this had been had him by the neck.

His landlord wanted to pay him, presumably, considerable amounts of money to interior decorate because, and only because, he wouldn't accept said money any other way. Arthur was insistent on largely impacting him in one way or another. He seemed lonely, without any other friends- he almost certainly was alone, lived alone, else Merlin, a stranger, wouldn't be getting all of this unprompted attention.

He returned to the living room.

He thought back to that glittering evening, where his mind had been light and his feet lighter, and a handsome legend had swept him away to a place without time. He thought of the storm, the chill and that water cutting like knives through his clothes and across his skin as his muscles screamed, fingers slipped from the vehicle as he and a strange man trudged through mud together. He thought of the moonwashed youth on the pier the night before, for once all in quiet, of his contagious smile and confusing words. Merlin looked tiredly at the man sitting anxiously in his front room vying for any reason to see him again.

His voice was level, and sure.

"You mustn't pay me-"

"That's ridiculous!"

"--Unless you absolve my rent. I'll work for you in return for my tenancy and no further favors."

The suited man was quiet a moment, wiping his hand across his face in consideration, brow furrowed. In all seriousness, he reached out his hand. Merlin swallowed his hesitance and took it.

In all this, he had noticed only mutely that Arthur had taken off his ascot. He thought no more on it. It was a little hot, he supposed, and would be for anyone wearing as many layers as that.

On the table was the box.

This, Merlin realized hours later in the night. Music raised on the wind and floated into the ether on the lake. He drowned it out with cheap whiskey- all liquor was cheap these days. Prone to that old devil, heartache, and weakened by drink, he failed to question the gift box's resurgence, only heeding that pining of his to run his fingers over the silky material as he had in sorrow many times before. He opened the box and dropped it like fire. His glass shattered on the floor.

The scarf was red.

Merlin shook.

[wcmiunofficial]

WCMI (Unofficial): CH. 32 Upheaval

‘Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?’

‘That depends a good deal on where you want to get to,’ said the Cat.

‘I don’t much care where—’ said Alice.

‘Then it doesn’t matter which way you go,’ said the Cat.

‘—so long as I get somewhere,’ Alice added as an explanation.

‘Oh, you’re sure to do that,’ said the Cat, ‘if you only walk long enough.’

‘Alice in Wonderland’ by Lewis Carroll 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Many a night passed before Reginald began to feel some semblance of balance in his daily routine. Things were as balanced for him as life could be for a madman madly in love, anyway. He was sleeping better and had turned his attention elsewhere for the time being to work on new projects in his shop. Ears was more or less forcing Reggie to keep himself busy. He made it clear that it was better to be productive instead of feeling sorry for himself. So, Reginald half-followed his advice.

The sting of rejection and loneliness still lingered in his chest with a less than dull ache. To him, it felt not quite unlike the feeling of having a bruised rib that takes one's breath away if they're not careful to watch how they go about moving with such an injury. In the earlier days when a fresher, more painful wound made itself a home in his heart, Reggie confided in Ears that he didn't think he was ever going to get over Alice. Once more, Ears gave him some sound advice. Or something like that. Reggie could barely bring himself to listen to something so utterly disheartening, though some of that ideation had crept its way into his subconscious.

Consequently, being content with working and trying everything in his power to avoid the pain that plagued him in certain moments was his default. Every day still found him tightly wound and ready to spring into something – anything - that would make him feel better. But, it was no longer the worst state of mind he could be in. For that, both Ears and the Hatter were thankful.

As it turned out, giving Alice her space had been the right decision after all, the dashing and lovestruck lunatic reasoned with himself. He was quick to notice that she had been unusually friendly in passing now more than ever. It took every ounce of the Hatter's strength not to run to her and confess his undying love whenever their paths happened to cross. But Reginald new better. And he couldn't bear the thought of her loathing him again, so he kept his distance. Waiting. Hoping. With his captivated, endearing, and technicolor heart all aflutter. Though things for the both of them were still very broken and raw, he knew.

It wasn't long before The Cat caught wind of the distinctive sounds a pair of hearts made when trapped in the wreckage of emotional turmoil. Anyone who knew anything about The Cat knew that he relished in both the misfortunes and, most times, the extreme successes of the varying inhabitants of Wonderland. Alice was unaware of such a thing. Reggie, on the other gloved hand, should have seen The Cat's arrival coming a mile away. His mind was too busy to consider it a possibility. But fate would not allow poor Reggie to outrun his problems for long....

It was a particularly cold night. Reggie had just come home from a long day of work and was sufficiently exhausted, which pleased him because it meant that he had very little time to do anything else but sleep and work these days. Exhaustion was a wonderful sleep aid, he'd learned.

As he milled about his house in a brusque attempt to get himself ready to court Dreamland from behind closed eyelids, the Hatter barely noticed the purple hat that sat upon the small work table in his home. He didn't notice it, at least, until it began to purr when he walked by.

“I don't recall making a purring hat for anyone this week,” he said aloud to absolutely no one. Reggie eyed the hat suspiciously at first. “Why, I don't think I've made one of those since last spring, if memory serves me right.” He paused for a moment and then, he laughed. “And it never does!” With this revelation, Reginald waved a dismissive hand and took to bed as soon as he was washed up and swaddled into some comfortable peacock-printed pajamas.

He sighed into his pillow, comforted by the embrace of imminent sleep. Understandably, his dreams were a better place to be these days. He was on the cusp of temporary, gentle unconsciousness when the sound of his purple squirrel friend's voice struck him out of his bed violently. “You've forgotten; you haven't made a purple and pink purring hat for anyone in at least two years.”

Reggie was up in a flash. “Wait a minute! You're positively right. What absolute balderdash is afoot tonight in this here home?!”

The storming of sizable feet echoed through the hallway leading toward his in-home work area. Upon seeing the offending hat, Reggie pointed an accusatory finger in its direction and yelled, “Who sent you?” Slowly, the hat began to unfurl into the form of a familiar and terrifying spirit. “The Cat. Of course.” Reggie's voice faltered. He swallowed hard as some of his anger left him and made way for a bit of fear which crept into the very core of him.

“Why yes, some days I am that. Other times, I am not,” purred the low voice. It echoed independently of the conditions which normally make sounds echo naturally. This reverberation was always unsettling to Reggie, and he could never get used to it. Eventually, the Hatter sighed. He addressed the unwelcome visitor directly once more: “What are you doing in my home? I know your ways and I'm sorry, but I seem to be fresh out of mischief this week, so you'll have to come back later.” His voice had an edge to it not often heard by those who knew the otherwise hail-fellow-well-met Hatter. Reggie was aware of the power The Cat held over people's lives. He was mischievous, cunning, and truly neutral in nature. There wasn't a lot he cared about. Just things he happened to be entertained by. Things he would then begin to meddle in simply for his own amusement. When the inhabitants of Wonderland spoke of “The Cat”, everyone knew exactly what they meant, and would then usually beckon for the person who brought him up to be quiet, lest they accidentally summon him. It was long rumored that The Cat was something of a deity in these parts. And while Wonderland was full of madness and madmen, most there would think better than to get tangled up with the likes of him.

A ghostly, fanged grin stretched out impossibly wide before Reggie.

“I think you know why I'm here,” The Cat chuckled lowly, now floating and stretching himself over his own tail, which propped him up and rocked him back and forth very much like a rocking chair.

“I don't,” the Hatter snapped tersely, yet quietly. Oh no. He knows about Alice and I. He's going to ruin EVERYTHING. That very thought made the hair on the back of his neck bristle.

The Cat idly stretched an arm before him, examining the claws from the backside of his paw and then flipping it oppositely to curl his digits inward and examine his claws that way, too. “Oh good. Because neither do I,” The Cat said lightly. “So I was hoping you could tell me. But I suppose since neither of us know why my presence was drawn here, it means that I must linger awhile to figure out why.”

The Hatter paused for a moment, stunned. He then approached the pink and purple feline in a fierce flurry of movement, sputtering, “I don't think so! You will not stay in my home for any length of time. I have better things to do than to play your games the way I did last time.”

Last time The Cat came to vex Reggie for fun, he rearranged the Hatter's house in perfect order, drove away his lover at the time, sorted his mail, and made no less than 25 hats using every blanket in his home for their material. It drove the Hatter, well...mad. (The hats sold strangely well, however, so there was that, at least.)

The Cat remembered this all too well and never missed a chance to regale anyone who would listen about the catastrophic meltdown that ensued after he pestered Reggie into oblivion for a week. Fewer things were more entertaining to The Cat than causing Reginald to slip further into madness.

The Cat seemed to be lost in thought for a spell and then when he addressed Reggie, he could hear the smile in the dastardly spirit's voice; “Well, I suppose I'll just have to go bother Alice, then. Purrhaps she'll be able to shed some light on my current predicament.”

Alice? The thought of The Cat pestering her sent Reggie over the edge. “No, you will NOT, Cheshire!” he cried, leaping toward The Cat. Of course, the entity escaped his clutches with relative ease, seeming to disappear and then reappear on top of Reggie's shoulder. Reggie swatted there. “Listen to me – you...you fiend!” Again, The Cat sidestepped his clumsy attempts to grapple him, floating gracefully in the air too high above The Hatter's reach. “You almost got her killed, and for that, I will NEVER forgive you. You simply cannot go near her again!” Naturally, the next course of action was to grab the umbrella near the door and attempt to swat The Cat down. Of course, The Cat managed a flawless retreat there, as well, chuckling all the way. When he reappeared and sat upon Reginald's China cabinet was when The Hatter began to rethink letting his arms fly so wildly about with his makeshift weapon. There was no way he was about to ruin all his lovely tea sets in pursuit of this pest, if he could help it. A soft, frustrated lament left his lips. “My babies...”

Reggie huffed and eyed The Cat with fire in his eyes. “What are you going to do to her?”

The Cat placed a paw upon his chest, pantomiming an ache there. “Reginald, you wound me. What kind of monster do you believe me to be?”

A very careless one, thought Reggie. His mind replayed the memories of Cheshire nearly getting Alice killed all those years ago when he appeared before her, making her accidentally insult the Queen of Hearts. Though the Queen was a truly evil and temperamental old tyrant, The Cat wasn't as bad. He was still, ahem, the catalyst to a lot of unfortunate happenings, however. Things were already so raw for both Reginald and Alice, and he didn't want her to keep hurting. The need to protect her that Reggie continually felt swelled within him now. Hatter took a step forward, puffing up his chest. “Listen,” Reggie's voice crackled with all the passion of the coals of a blazing fire being stoked, “Promise me you will leave Alice alone. I will make any deal with you that you want. Just, please...leave her alone.” He tried to remain civil, but beneath his barely composed mask, Reggie was furious. The Cat noticed this, plain as day, and it did nothing except make him even more interested. “What a tempting offer! You know, I've never seen you this calm yet simultaneously infuriated before, Reginald. You truly are the Mad Hatter now, aren't you?” The Cat's taunting response barely concealed his mirth.

Tea sets be damned, the Hatter was seriously considering vaulting over the sofa before his China cabinet and capturing the irritating ball of fur that teased him so. But before he had a chance to act, The Cat had begun to fade away. The slowly disappearing visage of its signature grin was the last thing to go. The mouth flexed into eternal, gaping laughter as it announced an apology. “So sorry, old chap, but I fear I have other business to attend to. You do understand, I hope. Hehe hehehe...”

And just like that, The Cat was gone.

The room suddenly felt colder as Reggie stood there with his temper turning over into sheer panic. He broke his frozen stance and rushed to get dressed in something appropriate and warm before sprinting out into the chilly night with a sense of complete urgency. He ran all the way to Alice's without stopping. The cold wind bit his face but he didn't care. Alice stood no chance in dealing with this crazy cat on her own, he thought. I just hope I'm not too late...

[imsuchmarveltrash]

Bucky Barnes Imagine - No More Time

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Enhanced!Reader:

Word Count: ~6200

Summary: 2 years after Enhanced!Reader saves both Bucky and herself from Hydra, Hydra decides to take its revenge.

A/N: Hey guys, so this is my first imagine that I’m posting and it’s loosely based on the song No More Time by flor (You should really check them out, both the band and the song are AMAZING!!!), but I hope you guys like it. Feedback is much appreciated. :) 

Warning: Angst, swearing

Your life had been difficult, but you had finally gotten to a point where you were genuinely happy. You’d been dealt a bad hand. When you were younger, you had found out that you had an enhanced ability: cell regeneration. Your cells both healed and replaced themselves so fast that you were even able to cheat death (essentially making you immortal).

It wasn’t long until people found out about your ability. Hydra had sent the Winter Soldier to abduct you when you were only 16. You couldn’t understand what purpose they had for your abilities until the torturous experiments started. Each day, they exposed you to painful tissue extractions, trying to find the root of your abilities in order to replicate them. Hydra had taken you from your family, only to replace them with a life of pain without solace.

This continued for 10 years, until you finally broke free. The Hydra base you were in fell under attack and, by some technological error, your cell was opened. You were finally given the opportunity to try and escape the organisation that had made your life a living hell.

As you ran through the labyrinth of corridors, you passed a large room filled with numerous cryo tanks. Being locked in Hydra for so long, you had come to hear about who the Winter Soldier was from various doctors, scientists, and agents that happened to talk about him around the room you were being held in. The opportunity in front of you was too sweet. You needed to rob Hydra of their most lethal and favoured weapon.

You drained and opened the tank that the soldier was being held in, desperately trying to hold up his limp body while trying to help him regain consciousness. After a few angst-filled seconds, he came to, with an exceptionally confused look on his face.

“Where am I? Who are you?” he asked frantically.

“You’re in a Hydra base that is currently crumbling, and my name is Y/N. But, Come on! We need to hurry if we want to make it out of here alive.” You stressed.

The soldier nodded and unsteadily stood to his feet. Once you were sure he didn’t need your assistance, you let go of him, only to grab his hand and pull him as you broke into a run. You needed to escape the facility. You had come too far to take the opportunity for granted.

You and the soldier made it out of the building just in time as its foundation crumbled with a massive explosion. Panting, you finally stopped to breathe once hidden in the treeline of the forest that concealed the Hydra base. You turned to look at the soldier.

“So, now that you know who I am, and I set you free, who are you?” you asked. The soldier blinked confusedly, as if trying to grasp at memories that were barely there.

“My name’s B-Bucky, I think.” He murmured, clearly not trusting his own mind.

He groaned in frustration, clenching his hands in his hair, still wet from the cryo tank. He sank down onto the cold soil of the forest floor, breathing deeply as he tried to compose himself. He opened his mouth again, thinking hard, then closed it and reopened it, before replying.

“My name is Bucky Barnes,” he sighed, “that’s all I can remember. Hydra has scrambled my brain too many times for me to count, so that I could be their soldier.” His voice was full of contempt at the mere thought of Hydra. It was then that you realised that they had ruined his life just as much as they had ruined yours.

“It’s okay, Bucky. I understand how you feel. It’s just that, right now, we need to keep moving so that we don’t get recaptured.” You stressed. Bucky nodded in agreement. Getting up from where he was seated, he seemed to almost choose a point at random, before he led you through the forest until you found any other semblance of civilisation.

 2 Years Later

You and Bucky were happily back in New York. After discovering that the Hydra base was in Latvia, you and Bucky managed to find a place for yourselves while Bucky slowly but surely regained his memories. After about six months, Bucky’s memory was sufficient enough that he remembered who Steve was, and that he was still alive. After discussing it with you, Bucky decided that he would contact Steve so that he could go back home. He didn’t want to involve you yet since he knew what the implications of him going home would be–he was a criminal.

Yet, Steve came through for him and got all his charges cleared and his brainwashing removed. Six months later, Bucky was able to secretly move you from the small, one-bedroom flat you shared in Latvia to an apartment in Brooklyn. At that point in time, he was in the process of becoming an avenger, and he didn’t want you to get caught in the crossfire of any battles between him and his enemies. So, you kept your relationship a secret from everyone, including the avengers.

That was how you and Bucky got to your current state: him working as an avenger while you worked as a freelance illustrator for various publishing companies. Although you led very different lives, you and Bucky had become so close that you couldn’t picture life without each other. Even after a year, none of the avengers knew about your relationship. But, that didn’t matter. Your relationship with Bucky had you in a constant state of bliss.

He loved you, and he reminded you of that every day. He felt that he owed you everything: if it wasn’t for you, he’d probably still be the Winter Soldier. Yet, what he felt for you wasn’t just dutiful devotion. You could tell by the look in his eyes that he adored you. His entire world would shatter if he ever had to lose you. And, one day, that was exactly what happened.

It was a Saturday morning and you were walking to the front of your apartment building to pick up your mail. Once you got up to your apartment, you closed the door and made your way to the couch, flopping down and flipping through the envelopes, trying to pick out the important ones from the spam.

You found one with no return address, and you found that strange. You picked up the blank white envelope, turning it over and examining it, yet you couldn’t get any information from it. As you opened it, you felt a feint, heady smell filled your nostrils. You could feel the sickly-sweet aroma slowly clogging your senses, making your head foggy and, before you knew it, you started to fade into a black abyss.

You were woken up by a frantic Bucky shaking you awake. You looked up to see a distraught look in his eyes that only slightly lessened once he realised you were awake. You groggily rubbed your eyes, trying to piece together what happened before Bucky got there.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, noticing the panic on his features.

“Well, I texted you to let you know I was coming through, but you didn’t reply. I came through anyway and the door was unlocked. When I came inside, I saw you lying on the couch, but I figured you were just asleep. Then, I saw the note in your lap. Y/N, you haven’t read it yet, have you?” Bucky replied, the worry in his eyes not lessening.

“No, I haven’t. What did it say?” you asked.

“It was from Hydra. The letter was laced with a toxin meant to attack the part of your brain that triggers your cell regeneration. Essentially, they’ve made you mortal, and now they’re saying you’ve got no more time.” Bucky replied, eyes tearing up at the thought of losing you.

You stood, staring blankly ahead of you as you tried to process what Bucky had just told you. You couldn’t fathom how this was happening. As you stood, you attempted to mentally analyse every part of your body, trying to see if anything had changed or felt different, but you still felt the same.

Bucky was the complete juxtaposition to your stillness. He was pacing up and down through your living room, clenching and unclenching his fists in frustration while muttering to himself as he tried to think of a solution.

You looked up to him, the man you loved so much, and it broke your heart seeing him so scared to lose you. You moved towards him, grabbing his hands and feeling them relax as you wrapped his arms around you. You breathed into his chest, trying to enjoy it while fending off the thought that the threat was true, and it might be one of the last times you get to enjoy being with him. You felt Bucky’s arms tighten around you, and you knew he didn’t want to let go. His chin rested on your head and you felt every deep breath he took, trying to calm himself.

“What are we going to do? I can’t lose you.” Bucky whimpered.

“You won’t,” you replied, adamantly, “for all we know the threat is fake. I don’t feel different and besides, the regeneration was only useful whenever I got injured. So even if I only have just one life, it can still be a long one.”

“Y/N, you still haven’t read the letter. You didn’t see what they said. Does ‘no more time’ not mean anything to you? They took away your ability so that they could do something fatal to you, and even if the threat is fake, I won’t risk that.” He stressed, his blue eyes wide with both worry and sincerity.

“Let me see the letter.” You commanded, fatigue slipping into your voice as you started to feel the weight of the issue.

Bucky handed you the single white piece of paper. As you brought the paper up to reading distance, you realised how anxious this whole matter made you. You could feel your heart rate increase, racing as you slipped into a slightly panicked mental state as you were about to read the single page that may or may not hold your fate.

Good day Miss Y/L/N,

As you might have guessed, we’ve found you. I hope you’ve enjoyed these past two years because you won’t have much longer. This letter has been laced with a toxin particularly designed to target you, specifically your cell generation. This toxin will inhibit your brain from undergoing the process that allows your cells to regenerate, meaning that you can’t heal, and you’ll age. You’re essentially mortal.

Don’t think that we won’t capitalise on that. We haven’t forgotten that you’ve stolen our greatest asset, and we won’t be very forgiving about it either. We’ve been watching you. We know how close you’ve gotten to the former soldier. We’ll give you a slow, torturous death while we make him watch.

Enjoy your last few moments with him because, all too soon, you’ll have no more time.

HYDRA

Processing the letter was even more difficult than processing the news from Bucky. The letter had a kind of finality to it that was just far more terrifying. You could feel your heartbeat thrumming in your ears as you sunk down onto the couch, breathing heavily as you tried to comprehend and anticipate everything that was about to happen to you.

Bucky took a seat next to you, pulling you into his arms and rubbing your back to calm you down. He desperately wanted for you to be okay and at ease, but he couldn’t expect that when he was just as terrified as you were.

“We can get through this, Y/N.” Bucky whispered. “I can call Steve and we can move you up to the Avengers compound. It’s highly secure and you can stay there until Hydra’s officially been destabilised and the threat isn’t there anymore.”

You could only nod, paralysed by the increasing feeling of fear growing inside you. You didn’t realise how scared of death you actually were until Hydra made it a reality for you. It wasn’t only death, though. It was knowing that now your time with Bucky was limited, and it was knowing how much it would break him if they forced him to watch you die.

“Okay,” you breathed, voice barely a whisper, “I’ll do anything as long as it’ll keep me with you. I know I’m the one with the threat of dying, but it hurts even more knowing that my time with you is limited.”

“I won’t let it be. I’ll always be with you, Y/N. Hydra won’t get to you.” Bucky promised, placing a kiss on your forehead.

The next two days passed in a haze for you, not for any lack of event, but only because you couldn’t get out of your head and the fear of any day being your last. You were introduced to all the avengers and they welcomed you with open arms. Steve was the only one slightly disappointed that his best friend hadn’t trusted him enough to tell him about the woman he loved, but he let it go soon enough, wanting to do anything in his power to make sure you were safe.

You moved into a room in the compound on the same floor as Bucky and Steve, though the room was more of an apartment in itself, with its own lounge area, kitchenette, bedroom and bathroom. You knew you’d hardly be spending any time in there anyway as you wanted to spend all of your time with Bucky.

You knew that wouldn’t be possible, though. Just like Steve, possibly even more so, he was doing everything in his power to secure your safety. Unfortunately, that included confining you to the compound and barely allowing you access to the world beyond it.

He’d been increasingly loving with you as the days passed too, giving you everything you asked for, always looking at you as if he was trying to memorise every single one of you features, and whenever you were in the same room, it was as if he always needed to be touching you. It wasn’t in the sexual sense: only ever running his fingers on your forearm, or caressing your cheek, or having is arm around you. It was as if, when he wasn’t touching you in some way, he feared you would disappear.

You’d spent all of the morning in Bucky’s bed while he attended meetings with the avengers regarding your safety and trying to snuff out Hydra. You didn’t really know what to do with yourself. Although the compound had many means of entertainment, it wasn’t the same as being able to go outside and enjoy the city.

You rolled over on the bed, groaning in frustration just as Bucky entered the room. He walked over to you, sitting down at the edge of the bed. He grinned at you as he grabbed one of your legs, stroking his hand over your calf and ankle.

“What’s wrong, doll?” he smiled.

“This compound is mind-numbing!” you groaned, “I know I haven’t been here long, but I have nothing to do. I can’t go to work, or into the city. It’s like everyone throws a fit if I even mention stepping a foot out of the compound! I know you want to keep me safe and that this is to make sure I get to live, but Buck, this isn’t living! This is just waiting.”

“I know, and I’m sorry.” Bucky replied, face falling, “but it’s only until Hydra’s down. I know it’s frustrating, but I’m scared to death of losing you, so I’m sorry I’m taking all this precaution.”

“It’s okay.” You sighed, “I do understand. I also want to be spending as much time with you as I can because, as much as I don’t want to believe it, there’s a chance that they could succeed with their plan. But, all that aside, I miss how we used to be.”

“How do you mean?” Bucky asked.

“Bucky, we can’t really act like this relationship hasn’t been tainted by both of our pasts being difficult, but even then, you always loved me despite that. Now, it’s like you treat me like glass; as if I’m going to disappear the moment you look away.” You replied.

“You can’t really blame me though. Every time I leave you, I get this pressing fear that Hydra could somehow have gotten to you before I get back. Maybe I do treat you like glass, but it’s only because I don’t know if when I see you will be the last time.” Bucky said, despair clouding his once happier expression.

“I understand. It’s just that sometimes I wish you could love me the same way you used to: simply. I used to be able to feel just how much you loved me by just one smile. Now it’s as if everything you do is exaggerated. I know things have changed but I really hoped that how you loved me wouldn’t. I guess what I’m trying to say is, when it comes down to it, can you love me the way you used to, with no more time?” you explained.

Bucky looked at you with wonder, perplexed by your explanation, yet reminded of one of the reasons he loved you to begin with. Despite the shared trauma, and always being there for each other, Bucky loved your mind. To him, every experience with you was like seeing the world from a different perspective. That was how he came to understand how you were feeling. All he saw was that he had a limited amount of time to love you, so he was trying to love you with all he had. Yet, he didn’t realise that that was exactly what he’d been doing for the duration of your relationship. What he was doing now was suffocating.

“I understand.” Bucky smiled.

“I’m still here, Buck, and I love you. Let’s just enjoy that while we can.” You said, raising a hand to stroke his cheek.

Bucky leaned into your touch, savouring the intimacy of it and appreciating your close proximity. You leaned into him, cupping his face as you softly touched your lips to his in a sweet kiss. Bucky brought his hand up to your neck, lacing his hands through your hair as he pulled you closer to him, deepening the kiss and filling it with all the longing and emotion he could muster. You couldn’t help but breathe into him, fully immersing yourself in everything that was Bucky. You dropped your hands, slowly dragging them down his chest and around his waist, getting as close to his as you could.

You both pulled away breathless, Bucky with a loving smile on his face and you with a warm blush on yours. Bucky caressed your cheek softly, his eyes filled with so much adoration as he gazed at you.

“I love you.” He whispered, “with time or not.”

The next few days were better. Bucky had made a conscious effort to make sure that you were less bored. Aside from trying to spend more time with you, while not suffocating you with his behaviour, he’d worked with the rest of the team so that they could keep you company and do fun activities with you on the compound. Clint had taken you to play mini-golf (beating you by a landslide), Natasha had become your gym buddy, Tony let you experiment with some of his suits, Wanda had become a movie night buddy, and Steve had given you some art lessons.

You’d definitely grown closer to all of the team members and the compound was starting to feel a lot more comfortable. Things had gotten so good that, if it hadn’t been for the team members working on the Hydra case when they weren’t with you, you would’ve forgotten the threat completely.

That afternoon, Bucky walked into his room (where you’d basically taken up a permanent residence) with a wicked grin on his face. You cocked an eyebrow at him, wondering what he had up his sleeve this time.

“Come with me. I have a surprise for you.” Bucky beamed.

“Okay.” You agreed, reluctantly, getting up from his bed as you giggled at his antics.

Bucky led you through the compound and after walking through a few corridors you came up to one of Tony’s open lab areas. This was one of the spaces Tony worked in, especially when testing prototypes for his new suits. The area was big enough to test the jet propellers while being wide enough that not much damage came to the room as a whole if anything spontaneously exploded.

As you walked in, you realised that the room had been cleared. It was just you and Bucky enclosed by the four walls. You looked at Bucky in anticipation, waiting for him to tell you what was going on.

Bucky held his hand up to you, and that was when you realised that he’d been holding something. You took the pair of virtual reality goggles that he was holding out to you, but still stared at him expectantly as he hadn’t said anything yet.

“So, by the look on your face, I can tell that you’re quite confused. Well, I was thinking about the other night when you said that you were frustrated because you couldn’t leave the compound. So, I came up with a compromise. I asked Tony to help me and he set up multiple virtual reality scenes into the goggles. The goggles have also been modified to pick up my position in the room, so you’ll be able to see me within your virtual reality.” Bucky explained.

“Bucky, that’s amazing! Thank you so much!” you gushed.

“You haven’t even seen it yet.” He chuckled.

“Well then let’s do it!”

You immediately put on your goggles, switching them on while Bucky did the same. Once they were on, you were no longer in Tony’s lab. Instead, you were in a galaxy themed settings menu. You could see an abyss of stars and an array of luminescent colours, painting the most beautiful image of the universe you’d ever seen. Right in front of you was a list of different virtual realities you could choose from: rooftop picnic at midnight, sunset on the beach, central park, hiking through the forest, haunted house, music festival, and even a virtual version of Thor’s Asgardian palace.

“Where would you like to go, doll?” Bucky asked.

You grinned as you considered all your decisions. They all seemed like really nice places to go, but you couldn’t help feeling drawn to the haunted house. Not that you needed one, but it felt like a good excuse to get close to Bucky.

“Haunted house.” You grinned excitedly.

“As you wish.” Bucky smirked.

You moved your head to focus your gaze on the icon for the haunted house. By holding your gaze there, you were able to select it and were immediately transported from the galaxy to what appeared to be a corn maze in the middle of nowhere. It was the dead of night, and all you could see around you were stalks of corn that came up to the height of your head. If you looked up, all you could see was the blue emptiness of a starless sky.

You jumped up, getting a fright as something lightly brushed your hand. Bucky burst out laughing behind you and you turned around to punch his shoulder at his lame trick. Once he calmed down, he actually took your hand and laced his fingers through yours as he looked around.

“Are you sure you want to come to a haunted house, especially seeing as you scare so easily?” Bucky teased.

“Ha. Ha.” You deadpanned, rolling your eyes, causing Bucky to chuckle lightly.

“Come on, the house is over there.” Bucky stated, leading you through the corn maze as he could actually see over the stalks. “Also, you should know, the lab has been modified to mimic the surroundings of the virtual reality. So, you’ll be able to see, hear, and smell everything around you within the virtual reality. Your only senses that are limited are taste, not that you would be tasting anything, and touch, to an extent. For instance, you’ll be able to feel a breeze in the air or a draft coming through the house, but you won’t be able to physically touch any of the objects.”

You nodded at Bucky’s explanation before you both continued walking in a tense silence, consumed by the eerie feeling surrounding you. It felt like the temperature of your surroundings had dropped by 20°C, and you couldn’t help the shiver that went down your spine. Bucky noticed and unlinked your hands, so that he could wrap his arm around you to try and keep you warm.

“Thanks.” You whispered.

By then, you and Bucky had already made it out of the corn maze and were coming up to the haunted house. The house was quite old. Made of grey wood and with blackened windows, it looked menacing. There was a wooden porch that surrounded the whole house, with bare furniture that only added to the house’s look of desolation.

You and Bucky started your walk up the porch steps, the ominous presence and overwhelming silence made it seem as though you could feel the creaking of the steps reverberating through your entire body. As you made it to the top of the steps, you found that the front door was ajar.

“You ready?” Bucky asked, looking over to you.

“Yeah, let’s go.” You replied, moving to go into the house.

Somehow, as you walked in, thunder struck. Rain started pouring down and the only thing illuminating the house was the brief flashes of lightning, adding to the house’s eerie atmosphere. Bucky stepped in front of you, trying to get a clear look around the house and decide which way to go. While he did this, you felt yourself stiffen, the hair at the back of your neck raising as you felt something uncannily similar to someone breathing down your neck. Immediately, you grabbed Bucky’s hand, squeezing tight to prompt him to turn around.

Bucky turned, and his eyes widened as a deep, deafening laugh filled your ears. Paralysed, you couldn’t do anything but scream. Unable to turn around to look at what was behind you, you let yourself be yanked into Bucky’s arms. Once you’d stopped screaming, you looked back up to Bucky, only to find him with the most amusing grin you’d ever seen on him.

“What is it? Why are you smiling?” you asked.

“You freaked out because of some skeleton ghost. I looked behind you and saw this dark figure, but then the lightning struck, and it was this skeleton of an old man in a suit. It was quite freaky seeing him light up while his eyes stayed so hollow, but then you started screaming and it just got funny.” Bucky said, before breaking into a laugh.

“Yeah. Well you didn’t feel it breathing down your neck.” You muttered.

“Y/N, it’s dead. It literally can’t breathe. Also, the sensory limitations only allow you to feel wind and differences in air temperature. You shouldn’t be able to feel anyone breathing down your neck.” Bucky stated, the amusement quickly falling from his face and his eyes becoming frantic.

He ripped the goggles from his face and you quickly did the same. As you adjusted to being back in the lab you immediately heard someone laughing, namely Tony. Bucky glared at him as he stalked towards him.

“What the hell, man!” Bucky shouted, rage coming off of him in waves.

“Bucky, it was a joke!” Tony said, coming down from his laughing fit.

“It’s not funny, Tony. I thought someone had creeped up on her and was about to take her away.” Bucky stressed.

“Come on, tin man. Relax.” Tony sighed, rolling his eyes, “you know the compound is secure.”

“I know.” Bucky huffed, “I just worry sometimes. I can’t lose her.”

As things quietened down in the room, you saw a flashing light on the window. Suddenly a hologram appeared. In bright red, block letters, the words ‘NO MORE TIME’ appeared and, before you knew what hit you, a searing pain flooded through your head. This time, the scream you let out was genuine and bloodcurdling.

Bucky’s eyes filled with terror as he watched you fall to your knees, clutching your head in agony. Tears streamed down your face at the pain pounding through your head and starting to flow to the rest of your body. He rushed towards you, but when he tried to touch you, the contact felt as though it was singeing your skin. Bucky looked to Tony with a painfilled expression.

“What do I do?” he asked, frantically.

“I don’t know. What’s happening to her?” Tony asked, nearly as panicked as Bucky was, “F.R.I.D.A.Y., call Dr Banner!”

After a few minutes, Bruce burst into the room, immediately trying to come to your aid. He tried to touch you in order to find the source of the problem but, just as he was about to touch you, Bucky stopped him, filling him in on what happened.

“Then what do we do? How do we move her to the med bay to find out what’s wrong with her?” Bruce asked.

At this point, most of the other avengers had filed into the room to see what had happened. They all had solemn looks on their faces, not knowing what to do to help you. Finally, Wanda stepped forward.

“I can help. I can deaden the pain receptors in her head so that she momentarily won’t be able to feel anything, and you can carry her to the med bay.” Wanda suggested.

“That could work.” Bruce nodded.

With a movement of her hand, Wanda’s red energy enveloped your body and suddenly, the pain dissipated. You gasped for air, feeling like you could finally breathe now that the pain wasn’t consuming your entire body. Bucky picked you up quickly, and ran with you to the med bay, where Bruce quickly hooked you up to some machines that could start testing what was wrong while giving you a sedative for the pain that would return as soon as Wanda stopped her magic.

Once you were secure in the med bay and Bruce was waiting for the test results, another hologram appeared at the med bay window. This time, instead of a message, a person came up. You immediately recognised him as the scientist whose control you were under when you were still a prisoner in Hydra.

“Hello, Y/N. I see you aren’t doing too well. I can bet that you’re all wondering what’s wrong. Well, remember the toxin in the letter? It was designed not only to inhibit your cell regeneration, but also, after a certain period of time, to target your pain receptors. When it targeted your cell regeneration, it didn’t stop you from producing new cells. The toxin allowed that those new cells that were produced were mutated so that they didn’t heal you but started attacking other cells instead. Essentially, the toxin allowed your new cells to kill you from the inside. Now, your beloved Bucky and all your friends can slowly watch you die without being able to do anything about it. You’ll be in too much pain to allow them to perform any treatment on you.” He explained, malice dripping from his voice with every word.

“What do you want!” Bucky cried, tears in his eyes at the thought of losing you, “I’ll do anything! I’ll come back! I’ll be your asset, just please stop this! All she ever did was set me and herself free from the agonising lives you inflicted on us! She doesn’t deserve this!”

“Oh, but she does, Mr Barnes. It wasn’t her decision to make to free the both of you. So, now she has to pay and there’s nothing you can do about it.” He replied, smugly.

“Then, I swear to God, I’ll hunt you down and I’ll kill each and every one of you slowly and painfully, just like you did to her, until the world is eradicated of this disease called Hydra.” Bucky seethed.

“Do what you wish, Mr Barnes. You’ll spend your life chasing an act of futility. When you cut off one head, two grow back in its place. Hail Hydra!” He declared before the hologram went black, and all you could see was the clear night sky through the window.

Just then, you cried out, feeling the searing pain starting in your head again. Your regenerated cells had burnt through the sedative and were now burning their way through the rest of your healthy cells too.

Bruce had finally come back with your medical chart, after giving you some more of the sedative, he confirmed everything that the scientist had just told you. They wouldn’t be able to find a cure for your cells fast enough and any medication they administered would burn through your system in minutes. You truly had no more time.

“No. No! No!” Bucky cried, tears really rolling down his face. He started pacing through the med bay, not knowing how to express his angst and heartbreak. Eventually, he threw over the empty bed that was next to yours, knocking over more medical equipment in the process. Steve had to restrain him so that he didn’t cause any more damage to the room.

“Bucky, blowing up like this isn’t going to help–” Steve started, holding Bucky against him.

“Nothing’s going to fucking help her, Steve! She’s dying! I’m losing her…” Bucky choked, his face flushed with pain and anguish as he started sobbing into Steve’s shoulder.

Everyone went silent for a few moments, until Bruce spoke up. “I’m sorry Bucky, there’s nothing we can do for her. If we give her any medication, we’re only prolonging the time before her cells get to her. As much as I want her to live, we already have her on the strongest sedative we have, and she burns through it in minutes. I’m really sorry, but no matter how much we slow down her cells, her death is inevitable.”

Bucky had been listening through his sobs, tears still streaming down. He didn’t want to accept that he was going to lose you. But, suddenly something Bruce said stood out to him.

“Dr Banner?” Bucky started, looking up at him.

“Yes?”

“The sedatives you have, how long would it take her to burn through all of it?” Bucky asked.

“About two hours.” He replied.

“You said we could slow her regenerated cells down. I know that, when you put someone in cryo sleep, there is barely any cell function–it’s extremely slow. Would that slow her cells down enough to find a cure?” Bucky asked.

“That could work.” Bruce replied, after thinking it over for a few minutes. “I can give her the rest of the sedative. That will give you approximately two more hours with her while we prep a cryo tank.”

Bucky nodded. “Do it.” He commanded.

Dr Banner administered the rest of the sedative before him and the rest of the avengers filed out of the med bay, leaving you alone with Bucky. The sedatives made you quite drowsy but, knowing what was at stake and how much time you had, you fought off the urge to sleep. Bucky sat down next to your bed and slowly started stroking your hair back, trying to smile at you through his tear-stained face.

“Everything will be okay, Y/N” Bucky smiled, but it wasn’t doing much to convince him or you.

“Bucky…” you sighed, “you’ll be okay, but I’m dying.”

“Not for long, doll. We’re going to save you. Once you burn through these sedatives, you’ll go into cryo where your cells will be too slow to harm you. That’ll give us enough time to find a cure, then we can be together again.” Bucky explained.

“I’m so sorry, Buck.” You cried.

“What are you sorry for? You have nothing to apologise for.” He stated.

“If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t be hurting so much right now.”

“You’re the one who’s heavily sedated so that her cells won’t kill her, and you’re worried about me being hurt.” Bucky chuckled, looking down at you lovingly. “Also, thanks to you, I’ve had the most amazing two years of my life, and I promise we’ll have so much more than that when all this is done.”

“I love you.” You sighed.

“I love you, too, Y/N.” Bucky replied, leaning forward to kiss your forehead.

Your eyes started drooping, sleep becoming more and more difficult to fend off. Bucky stroking your hair back wasn’t helping. The soft motion only helped lull you away.

“It’s okay. You can go to sleep. I’ll see you again before you know it.” Bucky said, a tear rolling down his cheek.

“I’m sorry. Bucky, I just want you to know, you’re the happiest my life has ever been…” you said, before you felt yourself slowly drift away.

[homogrimoire-archive]

The Remnant Branches

CH. 2 - Vile Toxic Intent

Part 4: The Power of a Goddess's Voice

Tyrian and Co. arrive in the Cathedral City. Will he show just how mighty his Goddess is, show how much he loves her?

After a day of rest, they finally arrived at the Cathedral City. That meant Tyrian had two more days left. In that time, he gained sparse knowledge on shades, and even more sparse information on magic. He only hoped his gracious Goddess would accept his measly offering. At the very least, he had fun killing in her name. The followers of the Intoners were the followers of false goddesses. Killing them only proved that his Goddess was the true Goddess.

“Pretty place. Can’t wait for it to be stained red!” Tyrian shouted.

“Good idea stupid, let everyone know where we are.” Zero berated as a group of guards zeroed in on their location.

“Whoops.” he chuckled.

“Well, it’s nothing you and I can’t handle, Lady Zero. The rest of you though… good luck.” Cent commented.

“Fun fact!” Dito mimicked. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Now, now, let’s not fight each other. Lady Zero has it hard enough as is.” Decadus said in attempts to diffuse the two.

“I’ve got something hard that will make her life easier.” Octa offered.

“All of you shut it and start killing.” she ordered.

Guard after guard, monster after monster, all fell to that merry band of killers. Guard after guard, monster after monster, all fell to that bleary band of killers. Guard after guard, monster after monster, all fell to that band of killers.

“Huh. Never thought I’d say this, but all this killing is getting kinda boring.” Tyrian said as he gutted a man, and moved to behead another.

“Quit complaining and get used to it.” Zero told him as she came out of her Intoner mode, a dead cerberus at her feet in the center of the arena.

“I’m getting tired. Are we there yet Zero?” Mikhail asked.

“We’ll get there when we get there.”

“How big is this goddamn city anyways, Z?” Dito questioned. He drove his sword into a monster, causing its guts to spill out. He looked at the gross display with delight.

“How the hell would I know? I just sense my sister, and follow that.”

“More magic, hmm?” Tyrian asked.

“No shit it’s magic. And before you even ask, I already told you. Magic just is. You don’t question it.”

“Magic just is.” Tyrian mumbled. “You don’t question it.” he mocked further.

“Oh, look at you, my dear sister! You’ve got a harem of men, and you’re not sharing? Naughty, naughty.” said a voice out of nowhere.

“Five.” Zero said, unhappy that her slutty, slutty sister was here.

“No hello? You wound me, Zero. Can you kiss it to make it feel better? Pleeeeeease?” she said seductively in a way only she could do

“No.”

“I can give you more than a kiss, if you’d like.” Octa suggested lewdly.

“Ooh, I like him already. Can I have him Zero? I’m just itching for some stimulation” Five suggested back lewdly.

“Whatever. Octa, take care of her.” Zero ordered.

“Oh at once my Lady!” He said as Five began her Song. “Quickened Puppets of Antiquity! The raging demon’s deathly gaze, The army of heretics that rejects the natural cycle, Render into ash the powers of reason and order!I, Octa, summon thee in my name! Armisael, invade!” He shouted as her Song reached its zenith.

Looking back, the group saw the area encased with a magical barrier. Inside, The Quickened Puppets of Antiquity ran rampant.

“That’s not creepy at all.” Cent comments.

“Be happy you’re not fighting them. Come on. We’ve got more killing to do.” Zero she said as a wave of enemies engaged them. Soon, they happened upon another clearing.

“Hi, Zero.”

“Four.”

“Please Zero, we don’t have to fight. I know that you don’t want to either. Just come back to us. We can live happily, together, just like we used to!”

“Well, I have to fight.”

“If that’s how it’s gonna be,”

“Oooh, this is the infamous Virgin Intoner.” Dito gasped. “I am so fighting her.”

“Then I’m sorryyy!” she screamed as she began her song.

“Grand Light of Antiquity! The great power made manifest, The great ceremony of glorious arrival, Burn into thine eyes the punishing lance of divine retribution!” He shouted to the sky. “I, Dito, summon thee in my name! Phanuel, arise!” The area flooded with water, and became encased by a magical barrier. From outside, the rest of the group moved forward once more.

“How the hell?” Tyrian wondered in awe.

“It’s the power of a Disciple. We can summon an angel, though it is best that we only do it under the most dire circumstances.” Decadus explained.

“And let me guess, the reason is magic?”

“See, you’re starting to get it now.” Zero told him.

More foes, more foes. More killing, more killing. More monotony, more monotony.

This time, they find themselves in an area with lots of small buildings when the waves of enemies end for the time being. They hear the distinctive clink of scissors.

Clink. Clink. Clink.

Behind them, is Three.

“Hello, Zero” she said, emphasizing the “o” in hello and zero.

“Everyone’s favorite bag of insanity, Three. Hmm? Nice hair.” Zero said, noticing that her hair was in a braid.

“Sane and insane, it is all the same. Nothing is everything, and everything is nothing. It’s all different too, just like my hair. Same and different, different and same. Oh, and thanks” Clink. Clink. “You.” Clink. She abruptly stops to point a pair of scissors at Decadus. “I will experiment with you first.” She pointed the other pair at Tyrian. “You with the tail, I’ll experiment with you later.” she smiled. Clink. Clink. Clink. “Ha ha ha ha.” Clink. Clink. Clink. “Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.”

Clink. Clink. Clink. “HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!” Clink. Clink. Clink. Clink. Clink.

“Nngnh, so enticing.” Decadus groaned as he stepped up to summon his angel. “Impenetrable Shield of Antiquity! The rare power granted to our own, The stout citadel that protects us, Cast your blighted sins upon these very skies! I, Decadus, summon thee in my name! Armaros, uphold! And please, Lady Three, don’t hold back.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it!”

The group witnessed The Impenetrable Shield of Antiquity rise into the sky. They could just make out Three and Decadus fighting as they flew threw the air.

“She seems fun.” Tyrian smiled

“Figures you would say that.” Cent states.

“You know, it’s a joke, idiot.”

“Got me there, I am just an idiot. And what does an idiot like me know.”

“Shut up and get back to killing already.” Zero chastised as a horde of enemies appeared..

They cease their bickering, and continue on. Engage. Kill. Engage. Kill. Engage. Kill. Kill. Engage. Blood, blood, blood. The wave of foes comes to an end again. Another Intoner appears.

“Let me guess,―” Tyrian begins.

“Lady Two.” Cent interrupts. He walks towards her, as if drawn to her by an unknown power.

“Cent?” She says. For a moment, her eyes clear and she notices who he is. It is a short lived moment. Her eyes quickly return to their foggy state.

“What happened to you?” Cent questions.

“She couldn’t handle The Flower’s power. It broke her, and there’s no way of fixing her.”

“I’ll― I’ll take care of her then. It’s the least I can do for her.”

She begins to cry softly, The Song begins.

“Great Fist of Antiquity! The blood-wind storms that slash through fate, The steely hand that has sworn allegiance, Cross the countless swarms of writing dead! I, Cent, summon thee in my name!”

Her soft cry had turned into a wail that would make even a banshee shudder.

“Egregori, dance!”

The look back to see an ocean of blue made without water. Within the barrier are two giants. They see one toppel, though they do not see what has made it fall. They can only assume it was the might of an Intoner.

“So, just us three.” Tyrian states.

“It’ll be zero soon enough.” says a voice Tyrian recognizes. They attempt to dodge the set of daggers that flew their way. One scrapes Tyrian, and another scrapes Zero. She yelps as it cuts her.

“Dragonbone… Who the hell are you, bitch?!” Zero shouts at the woman.

“Miss Goodwitch, soooo nice to see you again. A shame your death won’t be permanent!” He lunges towards her, but is forced to deal with the deadly daggers sent his way. Three of the five are sent after Zero, and Tyrian sees this as an opportunity to attack. Glynda uses the remaining two to block his blades, and back steps to dodge his tail. She recalls the other daggers, and lets Zero and Mikhail escape to One and Gabriel.

“Tch. You just had to show up and make things difficult, didn’t you?” she said, annoyed with him.

“Well I can’t defy the will of my Goddess, now can I?” he retorts with a smile. “Buut, I think I would have loved to show up and ruin your day anyways.”

“Figures.” she states.

She sends a flurry of daggers his way. They move with great speed, but Tyrian is able to deflect them with his blades. They are sent flying back, but are swiftly redirected. Again and again, she commands the daggers to attack, and Tyrian manages to deflect or dodge them. All the while, he gets closer and closer to Glynda.

“Can’t you be any more fun to fight? I’ve been soooo bored lately.” Tyrian complains as he sends a dagger flying back to Glynda, but she orders it to miss and assault Tyrian again.

“No.” she says sternly.

“I guess I have to do allll the heavy lifting then.”

With a wild look in his eyes, he charges at her without regard for the damage to his aura. When he finally closes in on her, he begins his chaos of attacks. With his semblance active, he aims to kill. But despite the fury of his attacks, Glynda was quick with her own semblance and the dragonbone daggers, blocking or deflecting the slashes. With a burst of strength, she sent him flying back with her semblance, undoubtedly costing her a good amount of aura.

Quickly, she used the daggers as steps to position herself in the air, out of his reach. From her vantage point, she could see all the wreckage she could use. There, she commanded the large rocks, broken weapons, and other materials into a field of deadly debris. Looking down onto Tyrian, she began her barrage, sending the remnants of battle flying towards him like a rain of rubble.

“Oh now this is fun! Hahahaa!” he screamed as it all flew towards him. With extreme precision, he did his best to dodge the projectiles, while also using them to propel himself closer and closer to Glynda. All he could think about was ripping her to shreds and sending her back to Ozpin. That would surely please his Goddess.

The debris had run out, leaving him with a shred of aura, but he was now right in front of her defenseless face. He could see the fear in her eyes in that split second it took for her to react, if she could. He knew he would have sweet dreams in the coming days. However, he was wrong. She was not defenseless. A dagger stabbed him in the back, breaking his aura and piercing him, sending him crashing down onto the ground below. A wayward, broken spear impaled his leg, while two more daggers stabbed his arms, pinning him to the ground.

“YOU FUCKING WHORE!” he screamed in agony as he forces himself up, the weapons still embedded in him. “I WILL NOT LOSE! MY GODDESS DEMANDS IT!” he still screams as he lurches towards her. “I, WILL NOT, LET, HER DOWN! I, WILL, NOT, LET, HER, DOWN! I, WILL―” He feels something lodge itself in his throat that stops him from finishing his sentence. He doesn’t feel the pain of it. He wants to go on, needs to go on, but his body finally refuses. He falls to his knees.

“Tell her we send our regards.” he hears. He can just make out the sound of The Song before his vision finally fades to white.

-

Tyrian awakes with a gasp as he clutches his throat. The Song rings in his ears before it soon fades away. He looks around, and sees that Watts is there.

“Good. You’re awake. Her grace demands that you see her at once. As the doctor around here, I suggest you begin praying for her mercy.” he recommends. “You’re mental health is already questionable enough as it is.” He recommends. In that moment, as Watts takes his leave, Tyrian almost wishes he had really died. At least then, he would not have to face having failed her.

As he walks to her throne room where she awaits, he prays and prays for her gracious mercy, prays she will forgive him, prays she will still see use for him. He stands before the imposing door, honored to be in her presence once more, but so terrified of having to face her as a failure. He knocks on the door.

“Come in, Tyrian.” she orders. Her voice is laced with a hint of rage. Meekly, He shuffles in.

“My goddess.” he says as he falls to his knees before her in reverence and terror.

“Why have you returned so soon?” she inquires. She cocks her head to rest on the palm of her hand.

“My Queen, I― I―”

“Quit stuttering.” She commanded. He dares to look up, and sees that she is frowning at him. It hurts somehow.

“I ran into one of Ozpin’s underlings, the Goodwitch woman.”

“And you fought her, and lost.” she said, her voice becoming slightly louder.

“Yes, I lost.” he said, his voice deflating.

“That wasn’t a question for you to answer.”

“Of course. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sure you are. You let me down.” she calmly tells him. “Tell me Tyrian, what did you do?”

“I did what you wanted me to. I―”

“No. You let me down. Let me ask you again. What, did you do?”

“I, I let you down.” he said, his voice cracking. Having to say that hurt more than any stab wound.

“Yes. That’s what you did. You let me down.” She pauses to let her words linger in the air. “Now leave me. I don’t want your pathetic tears to stain the rug. Write a report and hand it over to Watts when you finish. I’ll let you know if I still need you.”

“Yes, my queen.” he barely whispers. He gets up, and makes his way out. He feels her cold, cruel gaze linger on him as he walks towards the door. Once he closes it behind him, he feels the warm tears stream down his face, and his breathing quickens.

If I still need you. You let me down. If I still need you. You let me down. I let you down. Repeats in his head over and over again. Every word is a knife to the chest. Except a knife to the chest hurts less. Despite feeling weak, his body shakes, and whimpers and sobs escape his mouth.

He knows that all he can do is pray to his goddess that she may see use in him. And if she doesn’t… Tyrian laughs at the thought. He laughs, and laughs, and laughs, cries, and cries, and cries. All he can ever be certain of, is that he loves his Goddess.

[eloiseduval]

challenge 5

a/n: the group date in which eloise is the epitome of poise and grace. lol no, but this was fun to write. thanks to everyone for rping! @nathaniel-schreave @clove-teasdale @camille-marshall @victoria-seaberg @ladyallegrahannon word count: 2640

Apparently I was a master at avoiding someone, princes specifically.

It had been about a week since that day on the beach with Nate, and I had managed to avoid any semblance of a mature conversation with him. I was well on my way to a successful lifelong relationship.

I winced at that thought, wondering when I had become so sarcastic. I blamed Clove.

He had tried more than once to catch my eye at dinners, but even then I focused solely on my food and conversations with the girls around me. At this point, I wasn’t even angry with him. I was guilty, and that guilt was welling up inside to the point of me not being able to face him for fear of what he might say or do.

Now, I couldn’t avoid him any longer as I was headed to a group cooking date with him and a few other Selected. Some merciful twist of fate had allowed Clove to be put in my group, something I was eternally grateful for when Nate stepped up to the few of us gathered outside the kitchens.

“Hey, sorry I was running a bit late. The meeting went a little over…”

Did he have to look so good all the time? That one little piece of his hair curled over his forehead, his suit jacket unbuttoned for this more casual activity.

“Don’t sweat it.” Marshall reassured, joined in by Clove who mentioned something about not ruining his suit. Although at her words, I slowly maneuvered myself so I was practically half hidden behind my taller friend.

I only heard Nate’s chuckle as he guided us into the kitchen. Clove eyed me behind her, not missing a beat when it came to my awkward interactions around him, though began talking to Marshall with a grin. We learned upon entering the kitchens that we would be making lasagna, all of the ingredients set out before us.

Nate turned to face us. “Marshall could you get the pasta cooked and stuff? Allegra you could help Marshall with that. And Victoria you could… measure the cheese? And Clove and Eloise can you come with me to help cut some vegetables...?”

Clove nodded, sparing me a glance before turning back to Nate. She knew me too well. “Sure… Where to?”

I could only nod at his request, though silently wishing I could have been helping one of the other girls.

“Just to that island,” Nate instructed, pointing to the other far side of the kitchen.

The other girls separated to do their tasks, Clove gesturing for him to lead the way. “We all know how to use a knife, right?”

I shot her a flat look. “Yes, we do.”

Nate merely walked to the island with a “We have a lot of veggies to cut.”

“It was just a question.” She raised her hands in surrender before following Nate, making me feel guilty for snapping at her. It wasn’t her fault I felt so uncomfortable.

“Yeah, sorry,” I muttered before following suit to the island.

Once I stepped up next to Nate he handed me a knife and a cucumber, giving Clove the same with a different vegetable. “Could you dice these?”

I didn’t even look at him as I took the offered knife and slowly began to dice the vegetable on a cutting board. Being this close to him after so long was doing weird things to my head, so I did my best to focus on the task at hand. Though after a brief glance I noticed Clove looking between us awkwardly.

I hated being like this. Why couldn’t I get my act together and just talk to him? This wasn’t who I was, shrinking away from the people I truly cared about. And I did care about Nate, more than I wished to admit. But if I was being honest with myself, this wasn’t the first time something like this had happened with me. First with Alex, our mutual avoidance lasting for almost two years, then with Isaac, although with him I had been avoiding my own feelings rather than a conversation.

Still, this pattern was becoming too frequent to sit well with me, and I hoped that I could summon up the courage to fix this… thing with Nate.

Soon.

Maybe.

I almost groaned out loud at my thoughts, only to be drawn out of them at Victoria’s question of what our favorite food was.

Allegra moaned hungrily. “Mac and cheese.”

As I sliced a few more cucumber pieces, I moved them into a bowl only to accidentally brush my arm against Nate’s. I doubted he even noticed as I quickly brought my arm back, pressing my lips together to continue with the cutting.

“Lasagna isn’t in too bad a spot on my list,” Clove replied.

Marshall commented something about burritos and s’mores, to which Allegra and Victoria both agreed with. Though I quickly found myself caught up with the sudden awareness of Nate standing next to me. Every little movement he made — shifting his feet or his hand coming close to mine as we dropped our vegetables in a bowl — I was hyper aware of.

Snap out of it, you’re just cutting vegetables. You’re fine.

To clear my head, I answered Victoria’s question. “I’m a fan of baby carrots.”

I heard her say something else curiously to which Allegra replied, but I couldn’t register the words as Nate chuckled at my comment, the first real acknowledgement I had from him besides instructing me. That simple action alone made my attention waver and my hand with the knife slip to cleanly cut across the palm of my left hand.

“Ow.” I immediately dropped the knife, moving away from the counter to grab some paper towels and press them against the alarmingly bloody cut.

I was an idiot. Who let one laugh unsettle them so much to the point where they literally cut themselves?

“Eloise… are you okay?” I heard Nate ask. Glancing up for a moment I noticed how he had paled at the sight of all the blood. “Uhhh.”

I looked back down at my hand to focus on anything other than the embarrassment of the situation. “I’m fine, it’s fine. I’m just— I’m going to go get this taken care of.”

Leave leave leave.

“Is there a first aid kit?” Allegra asked. I turned to face her, desperate for an opportunity to get myself together, out of this group date.

”No really, you guys just finish here and I’ll go to the hospital wing.”

“Are you sure? I know how to bandage wounds.” The offer was kind but my hand was starting to throb painfully. I had a feeling I would need more than just a bandage.

“Um Clove could you take Eloise to the hospital wing please.” Nate sounded concerned from behind me.

I shook my head at Allegra. “Don’t need any more blood anywhere than necessary.” I flashed a small smile and moved to leave with Clove who had come over to me.

After another brief goodbye, we left. As soon as we were far enough away to be heard, I groaned in pain. “Ow dammit this hurts.” I pressed my lips together and furrowed my eyebrows, not wanting any more colorful language to slip out.

“And you judged me for asking if everyone knew how to use a knife.” Her dry remark went unappreciated as she merely stared straight ahead, evoking a glare out of me.

“I wasn't exactly in the best mood.” I paused, sighing at my temper that rarely came out. My lack of sleep over the past week wasn’t a positive contributor to my mood either, though that wasn’t a good excuse. I needed to get my act together, and fast. “Sorry, we just— Nate and I still haven't talked yet.”

“As the mature adults you are.”

I couldn’t help but tense at her blunt words. Clove wasn’t one to sugar coat anything. “It's not the easiest topic to broach.”

“You just... talk about it. It's better than waiting for the perfect moment.” But she hadn’t seen his face. She hadn’t seen how torn he looked at the sight of me angry at him, so torn that I wondered if he even wanted to forgive me anymore. He could’ve sent me home and dealt with someone else who wouldn’t lash out at him irrationally. But Nate wasn’t one to do that, and I knew that deep down.

I shook my head, both at her words and my wandering thoughts. “I'm not that doing that either, I—” I took a deep breath. “I'll talk to him soon. I think.”

“You think.”

This conversation was going nowhere and I needed to think about something other than Nate and myself, so I looked over at her pointedly. “And how are you and Brooks? You never did tell me about your little New Year's getaway.” After covering for the pair of them on New Year’s Eve, they had never found the time to tell me what they were doing, both that night and since the beginning of the Selection.

“Oh... that one’s a complicated one.”

“You two are nothing but complicated. Spill.”

She considered my words for a moment, sparing the hallway a glance. “After the hospital wing we're making a stop at your room.”

I nodded once. “Perfect.” It’s about time.

“So… do you want the actual info or do you want to know about Brooks and I?” Clove rubbed the back of her neck awkwardly. “Because there's news on both sides.”

“Both. Feel free to start with whichever you want.” I moved to sit on my bed, crossing my arms to prepare for her overdue stories while she stayed standing in front of me.

“Good or bad first?”

“I guess the bad.”

“Alright, so...do you remember the first time we talked at breakfast?”

An odd thing to bring up, but I tilted my head to one side as I tried to recall the conversation. “Vaguely, but yes. Why?”

She scratched the back of her ear. “Remember you said it was funny I got Selected?”

“Oh yeah, I think I said it was crazy odds or something like that.”

“Right, um, well...turns out it wasn’t really in the hands of odds.”

I raised an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

She hesitated before getting her words out. “The whole raffle thing...it's not really at random. It's fixed to have as many high castes as possible.” Wait, what?

I furrowed my eyebrows, confused. “But... why would they do that? Out of 35 girls they're bound to get high castes already.”

“Yes, but did you realize the amount this time? It's pretty high.”

I took a moment to recall all the girls who had been Selected, and my eyes widened as I counted about half of us who had been of high caste at the start of the Selection. That was too many to be considered random, yet no one had noticed. “Oh. What I still don't understand is why, the people would have been happy with almost any girl Nate favored, high caste or not.”

“It's not the first time they've done this. Nate would've never agreed on taking castes into consideration though, so we're guessing they decided to keep things under wraps and make most of his options close to what they considered good for a Queen. It's not like he would find out anyway and it was easier than trying to convince him on accepting their "advice". They would have to leave some of it to chance, but with half the girls being high castes at the beginning, the Elite was bound to end up pretty much the same. No one is under Four and half of us are Twos.”

I bit my lip, taking in all of the information. “I’d say I feel honored but... that feels wrong.” My teasing wasn’t making itself known in the best of times, but I didn’t know what else to say. I hadn’t been chosen by chance, there were a group of men and women who had looked at my application and thought “She’s good enough,” yet discounted so many other girls who hoped for a chance of a lifetime. The whole point of the Selection was not just for Nate to find a wife, but to give opportunities to those who may have have never had one, and they had violated that.

Nate. One fact of what Clove stuck out in my mind, making me frown. “And you said Nate doesn’t know about this?”

“It feels wrong because it is, but no, he doesn't know. And we're not telling him yet, okay?”

My eyebrows furrowed. “I don’t like the idea of keeping secrets from him, Clove. We have this,” I waved one hand, “thing of being honest with each other and even though we’re... not in the best place with each other, I just—” I couldn’t even finish my thought, rubbing my forehead with a sigh. This was a lot to process in one day on top of everything else.

“Oh, we're definitely telling him. I promised him I would explain why I was being weird on our first encounter,” she frowned at herself, “I never thought it would get to this though…”

She sighed. “I just don't want him to get angry and do something stupid. Now that Brooks is involved I don't even know if he'll want to be the one to tell him. We'll look for a better time, okay? We're still looking into it.”

She moved to sit next to me on the bed, though I kept my gaze ahead, considering her suggestion. Nate deserved to know, but it wasn’t my place to tell him. I trusted Clove enough to realize that it would be better for them to inform him of everything. Still, I wanted to be there when they did.

I peered over at her. “Can I be there when you tell him?”

She returned my gaze. “Sure, if that's what you want I'll tell Brooks about it.”

I nodded. “Thank you.” Looking down at my hand, I played with the bandage a little, only to look back up at Clove when I remembered this wasn’t the only thing she wanted to tell me. “Wait, you said you had good news.”

“Oh.” She seemed to snap out of the serious mode she had been in, her cheeks reddening slightly. I took that as a good sign. Her and Brooks had an unspoken thing for too long, and it was encouraging to see her on better terms with him. They had a long way to go, though I had a feeling that in the end, they would end up happy with one another.

She told me all about New Year’s eve, and after some well worth the wait teasing on my end, we made our way back to the date. The time away had given me a chance to get my thoughts together and realize that being so caught up in myself wasn’t the way to handle the situation. I would work up the nerve to talk to Nate eventually, but for now I would talk to and be myself around the girls.

When we got back, I did exactly that. Talked with Marshall and Clove, even helped with some of the cooking without making a mess of things. Everything was good, and by the time we finished our lasagna I was ready to leave in a much better mood. I was considering when I would find a good time to approach Nate when the opportunity found me instead.

As we were all headed to leave the kitchens, I felt a tap on my arm and a familiar prince whisper, “Can you stay for a bit?”

Well shoot.

[themyskira]

The 18th Letter: A Love Story - Part 2

Last issue, an immortal shitheel started a war and slaughtered a bunch of innocent people expressly to blackmail Wonder Woman into having sex with him.

Also, the Golden Age Fury keeps trying to punch Diana because of her irrational female emotions.

And Christopher Priest forced us all to contemplate Wonder Woman taking a shit.

In this instalment, things get a whole lot worse as everybody rushes to judge Diana and nobody is concerned about her wellbeing, Priest does everything he can to strip away Fury’s agency, and Alcmaeon is determined to make both Diana and Fury’s stories all about him and his fucking manpain.

Again, I want to flag some big honking trigger warnings for abusive and coercive behaviour, attempted date rape, victim blaming, slut shaming, normalising of abuse and general shitty treatment of women.

Interlude

Flashback time! As we watch a sixteen-year-old Helena return home to find her house in ruin and her parents murdered by Nazis, Alcmaeon/Priest monologues self-indulgently.

She was too late. Much too late. Her name was Helena. And I adored her. Which was why I sent for her— in the most compelling way I could think of. She was barely 16. They were the Third Reich— and they weren’t know for their civility. I was a homeless spirit, cursed to wander the earth. Reaching out for a moment of peace, but finding only— a living death.

Pursued through all time by these hateful creatures— the Erinyes! Goddesses of vengeance set upon me as an eternal curse for my crime of matricide. Having never quite managed to defeat or destroy them, the best I could hope for was to placate them— by earning the love of their avatar.

The Furies descend on Helena, who defiantly cries that they can kill her if they want, but even in death she won’t rest until she has vengeance. They hear her vow, and empower her as an avatar of Tisiphone, the punisher of murderers.

Here’s the problem with these three pages: the monologue and accompanying scene don’t work together, and in fact serve to confuse the story.

Priest’s echoing of the first issue’s monologue over the scenes of Helena’s parents’ deaths, while very ~literary~ and ~symmetrical~, creates an implication that Alcmaeon is responsible for Helena becoming Fury. It suggests that he somehow orchestrated the murders in order to ensure that she became the Erinyes’ avatar. That he “sent for her”, as he “sent for” Diana, through carefully planned murder.

That’s completely infeasible for a variety of reasons (aside from anything else, he couldn’t know that she would summon the Erinyes in her grief), and I suspect it’s not what he intended to imply. The problem is, it’s hard to know what he is saying, because he never makes it quite clear. Did Alcmaeon seduce Helena during her years as a teenage hero, seeing an opportunity to win the favour of the Furies through the vulnerable, pliable girl they had chosen as their avatar? Did he seduce an elderly Helena in the present day and try to win her over by restoring her youth?? We just don’t know.

It’s possible this confusion is a consequence of Priest having to condense what was originally conceived as a 96-page graphic novel into a 66-page comic arc. But it’s still poor writing, prioritising literary pretentions over clarity.

And if, as Priest seems to imply in these pages, Alcmaeon’s history with Helena dates right back to her teens, that has the unpleasant effect of reframing Helena’s heroic origin around Alcmaeon’s quest to free himself from the Erinyes. Her story becomes less about how a defining trauma shaped her heroic identity for better and worse, and more about her being groomed and manipulated into becoming what she is by a man seeking to gain some hold over the Furies.

But wait, it’s gonna get worse.

Helena Kosmatos became the child phenom called— Fury. She allied herself with the Young All-Stars, battling the Nazis who had stolen her mother from her. The girl was driven by an almost psychotic hatred — consumed by the tragic loss of her mother. That is, until fate stepped in— and brought her mother back to her…

From my understanding of Helena in her Young All-Stars incarnation, her great weakness was that when she became consumed by anger, she was vulnerable to being fully possessed by Tisiphone and would be powerless to prevent the goddess from wreaking havoc.  Priest has taken this and turned it into “bitches be crazy”. Helena’s grief and righteous anger and drive for vengeance are belittled and reduced to the broken mind of an hysterical girl.

And, yes, she’s so thoroughly deluded that when a time-travelling Hippolyta (long story) appears and shows her kindness, Helena becomes convinced that Polly is her mother reincarnated.

We cut to Themyscira, where Hippolyta is explaining how she came to meet and mentor the young Helena during her stint as Wonder Woman in the forties. Polly is bemused by Helena’s claim to be her daughter. Diana is a humourless prig.

Hippolyta: I was only there for two years— hardly enough time to even date. Diana: A sense of humour ill suits you Mother. Especially when I’m seeking your counsel.

Diana turns the conversation to Alcmaeon’s Indecent Proposal. Hippolyta is of the opinion that saving the world is far less important than not being a slut.

“This war is not your concern, and, of course— compromising your virtue is out of the question.”

Don’t you love how her only worry is for her daughter’s ~unsullied virtue~ as opposed to Diana’s wishes and feelings?

Meanwhile in Lois and Clark’s apartment, Supes is being briefed on the Vladonia situation via video transmission. J’onn explains that the ceasefire has been enacted “in exchange for Wonder Woman’s consideration of… a romantic overture” and that he has told Diana “this arrangement may be in conflict with stipulations regarding the affairs of a sovereign state”.

Again — zero concern for Wondy herself. Diana is J’onn’s friend, and a mass murderer is playing on her compassion and sense of duty to coerce her into something against her will, and all J’onn can say is “I hope you understand how inconvenient this is for me and the rest of the Justice League”.

Anyway, Clark isn’t really listening to what J’onn’s saying, because he’s too busy fantasising about this:

In fact, he’s so caught up in his fantasy that J’onn has to check if he’s still receiving the transmission.

i hate this SO MUCH.

Clark isn’t upset about Diana “compromising” her “virtue”. Nor is he upset about her making things awkward for the League. He certainly doesn’t give a flying turd about her wellbeing.

No, Clark is upset at the idea of anybody but him being physically intimate Wonder Woman.

So obviously the moment his wife catches wind of this chauvinist bullshit, she kicks him in the super-balls and tells him he can fuck right off to the Fortress of Solitude until he’s learned to stop treating women like possessions— oh I’m sorry, I mean she backs him up completely and soothes his fragile man-feelings.

Lois is not concerned about Diana being preyed upon by a complete monster, either. She’s only worried about how all this is making her husband sad, and thus less emotionally available to her.

Is there anybody in this story who isn’t a complete dick?!

Second Episode

“I’m not sure what you want from me,” says Batman’s voice from the all-enveloping shadows, because Bruce Wayne cannot help being a giant fucking drama queen.

Diana pontificates for half a page on how different the Amazon way is from Batman’s way and how the fact that her teachings have had no effect on Batman, while she herself has learned cynicism, makes her almost doubt herself. But in the midst of Priest’s self-indulgent wank, he hits a genuinely disturbing note, with Diana effectively admitting that she is prepared to sleep with a predatory villain against her own personal wishes in order to end a war, and wishing to harden her heart “for the task ahead”.

Rather than show any semblance of concern for his clearly tormented friend, Batman looms unhelpfully in the shadows and offers her a blandly generic “hey, you can’t save ‘em all”.

Diana’s next stop is her old friend and surrogate mother, Julia Kapatelis, who…

ugh.

SHE FINDS IT ROMANTIC.

A man is threatening to rain destruction on innocent people unless Diana spends the night with him — something Diana clearly does not want to do — and Julia, a fiercely intelligent and kind and loving woman who looks on Diana as a daughter — Julia thinks it’s all just terribly romantic.

And that’s not even the worst of it.

“Diana— the man has been a complete gentleman—”

So far, Alcmaeon has:

Started a bloody civil war and rained destruction on innocent civilians for the express purpose of luring Wonder Woman into his orbit,

Used the promise of a ceasefire to toy with Diana and coerce her into wearing the clothes he has picked out for her and sit down to dinner with him, and

Threatened to continue slaughtering civilians unless Diana spend the night with him, with the hope/expectation that she will realise that she is “meant to be” with him.

But oh, he’s got a fancy house and an expensive tux, so I guess he’s a fucking gentleman.

Then Superman crashes the conversation so he can lecture Diana. He gives her another variation of the ‘you can’t save everyone’ talk, with a side of “I’m wondering if you’ve lost your mind”. He concedes that Diana’s mission of peace is not quite the same as the JLA’s, but he still doesn’t approve of her sleeping with a villain to fulfil that mission.

This is fucking bananas.

Like. I don’t think Christopher Priest understands. Certainly nobody in this story seems to. This is not a Wonder-Woman’s-mission-comes-in-conflict-with-the-JLA-charter situation. This is a complete-monster-trying-to-coerce-Diana-into-sex-by-holding-human-lives-to-ransom situation.

Alcmaeon is trying to rape Diana, and all of her friends are treating her as though it’s her fault, as though she’s an inconvenience, or as though she’d be crazy not to date him.

He was too late. Much too late. Her decision had already been made centuries before he was even born. The letters of prophecy foretold— in the 18th Letter.

UUUGGGGHHHH so of course Wondy shows up for the “date” she’s been coerced into, but not before we get one last round of men-casting-judgement-on-Diana:

Second Stasimon

Again with the shitty editing. To have a second stasimon, you generally need to have a first stasimon.

And still nobody is concerned about Diana’s actual wellbeing.

Third Episode

We left New Vladonia at nightfall, about 8 PM local time. She insisted on driving.

Haha, oh, these women with their adorable notions of equality!

They’re in the invisible plane. Alcmaeon has brought a bag containing several changes of clothing, because he’s still trying to dictate what she wears. He’s planned a busy travel itinerary that chases the night across the globe, prolonging the evening for as long as possible because, as he puts it,

I had only one night with the most exquisite woman to ever walk the earth. I intended to make the most of it.

VOMIT.

The reveal won’t come until a third of the way into the next issue, but I’m going to spoil it now: Alcmaeon spends the entire date essentially trying to roofie Diana, using genetically engineered drugs and high-tech contact lenses that render women unable to resist his advances. Fortunately, Diana has come prepared and isn’t affected, but bear this in mind as Alcmaeon begins to fall in lurrrrve with her. This. man. is. a. rapist.

They meet the Pope (?!?!), go ballroom dancing, take a ferry ride, watch a baseball game, go to a fun fair. Diana’s have an awesome time.

Then Diana takes him to a soup kitchen in an effort to teach him something about compassion and humanity. The lesson he takes away is a somewhat different one.

VOM. IT.

We also get this infuriating exchange in which Alcmaeon asks why they don’t just throw some money at the homeless and get on with their evening, and Diana is like LOL NO YOU CAN’T TRUST THE POORS WITH MONEY THEY’LL JUST SPEND IT ON BOOZE AND DRUGS

Such compassion.

Next stop is Maui, where Alcmaeon tries to convince the woman he’s essentially taken hostage to “get jiggy with it”.

Yes, that is a direct quote.

Haha! He tried to pressure the woman he’s planning to date-rape into wearing a revealing bikini! What comedy! C’moooon, Diannnnna! Daaaaance with the nice murdering rapist!

Which of course she does.

She was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. And, easily, the most graceful. I was powerless before her. Ten thousand years of charm— completely ineffectual on her. Those eyes… a million miles away.

So, let me see if I’m getting this. Alcmaeon is falling in “love” with Diana because

She’s the most beautiful girl in the world! That makes her the best!

She is the only girl in the world resistant to his charms date rape drugs

A vaguely defined prophecy said he would or something, I guess

They move on to Mecca, Cairo, Sudan, Northern Ireland.

A bond. A shared spiritual experience. Suddenly, she was getting inside me. Something I hadn’t quite counted on. The realisation gave me great joy, though. For if she was getting to me— I had to be getting to her. At another of Diana’s choice of stops, she reveals a new power — perhaps her most potent weapon of all — singing. Some ancient Greek folk tune. But a voice— that could halt armies.

Throughout this, Priest appears to be playing on Diana’s mission to spread her philosophy of peace and compassion, her ability to touch people’s hearts and win over enemies. As we’ll see, the Greek lullaby that so enchants Alcmaeon becomes something of a metaphor for his long-buried conscience, returning to haunt him.

Problem is, we see this through the eyes of Alcmaeon, who conflates these qualities with her beauty and gracefulness — and arguably he isn’t affected by her message of compassion at all, only his own attraction to her. Throughout their travels, we see Diana consistently prompting him to connect with the ordinary people around them — a crying child at a fun fair, homeless people in a soup kitchen, religious pilgrims at Mecca, a sickly child in Sudan — and consistently Alcmaeon is focussed solely on Diana. He indulges her, admires her, moons after her, all the while looking straight through the people she’s inviting him to engage with.

So essentially this sequence ends up playing as the Deep and Complex mass-murdering-rapist-monster who reconnects with his lost blah-de-blah by staring into the eyes of a sexy-gorgeous-beautiful-goddess-woman-object.

Though she seemed at peace, the war [in Northern Ireland] continued. Over both the summer’s breeze and the latest broken ceasefire, she listened to the guns of Belfast.

(This is an anachronism. While the Troubles were probably ongoing when Priest started writing this in the late nineties, they had effectively ended two years before this comic went to print in August 2000.)

Anyway, Alcmaeon retreats to the bathroom, because he is sooooo toooortured by her sooooong.

I was running out of night. And all I heard was the damned singing. The Greek lullaby— reverberating in my head. Worse than the Erinyes.

Boohoo, fucko.

The mirror in front of him shatters, and Fury appears to flounce around in classic Bitter Jealous Ex form. She speechifies about how Alcmaeon can’t possibly win Diana’s love because he’s not capable of love — has never loved any of the women in his life. I’m with her so far. But then she calls him a “gigolo seeking refuge from a guilty conscience”, which is insulting. Gigolos exchange sexual services for payment by consensual agreement; Alcmaeon doesn’t know the meaning of consent.

So then out of nowhere there’s an explosion and Fury’s thrown back and suddenly Alcmaeon’s wearing some high-tech metal sleeve?? And Fury turns into a gorgon all ‘RAAA YOU’LL PAY FOR THAT’ and Alcmaeon’s like ‘pfft, that’s your weakness, see, your irrational female tempers and emotions’.

Diana tries to break up the fight by calling both of them deluded, which, nice job, Diana. Super diplomatic. She then tries to smooth things over by saying she respects Helena’s wartime heroism and sacrifices, which only sets Fury off again.

“What do you know of sacrifice, Diana?!? Hippolyta was my mother a lifetime before she became yours! I named my own daughter after her— only to lose Lyta to the very goddesses who empowered me! You know nothing of sacrifice, Amazon— NOTHING!! The Eumenides possessed my child— sent her on a mission of murder! When it was over, the deed done, my child Lyta was gone, and— her child— my grandchild— was sacrificed! “MY SACRIFICE?”?! You can’t begin to know what you’re talking about!!”

Iiiiiii am always a bit iffy about writers bringing Sandman continuity into mainstream DC? I know it uses a lot of pre-existing DC characters, including some superheroes. I know a lot of DC writers have drawn on and acknowledged Sandman as canon in the main DCU. It doesn’t really sit comfortably for me. A little cameo from Death or Dream can be fun, but when you start to drag in all the events of The Kindly Ones… at that point it starts to grate, for me.

On the other hand, if you strip away Priest’s bullshit characterisation of Fury, there is a cool concept in here. A young teenage heroine, still grieving her mother and coming to grips with the full implications of her deal with the Erinyes, encounters an Amazon queen grieving her lost daughter (this was just after Diana had ‘died’ in continuity) and becomes her protege? Even comes to see her as a surrogate mother, to the point that years later she names her own daughter Hippolyta? That’s a nice way to weave Helena into modern continuity! There’s some great story potential there! Unfortunately, Priest has wasted all of it by making her a generic crazy-jealous-delusional-ragebitch and pitting her and Diana against each other for no good reason.

And hey, how about this: instead of this clunky premise of Helena “withering away in a convalescent home” until Alcmaeon showed up to restore her youth and hook her into his nonsense — further eroding her agency in the process — what if the same power that enabled her to avenge her parents’ deaths also condemned her to ultimately watch everyone she’s ever loved die? To never be reunited with her lost family? In granting her a share of Tisiphone’s power, the Furies also conferred a share of their immortality (she’s their earthly vessel, they don’t plan to lose her through something as small as mortal ageing).

That gives a new perspective on why her marriage to Iron Munroe went so badly, why she gave Lyta up for adoption, why she was so adamant her daughter never know her true parentage. Consciously or unconsciously, she’s sabotaged every relationship she’s had, trying to spare herself the pain of loss.

So she’s isolated and embittered and hurting. She no longer has friends and loved ones to ground her — she burned those bridges long ago, and most of them are dead anyway. The daughter she never knew is gone, and the grandson she never met is as good as dead. So maybe she’s more amenable these days to the Erinyes’ bloodthirsty form of justice — eventually putting her at odds with Diana.

(And I think we need to be clear that her anger isn’t only her weakness; it’s her strength. Lyta isn’t the Incredible Hulk, she’s Nemesis — this is a woman whose righteous anger once burned so bright it summoned the Erinyes from the depths of the Underworld. Her rage feeds Tisiphone, yes — but when it’s focussed, when it’s righteous, it also gives Helena power.)

…but anyway, back to this book, where Helena is instead just having an incoherent, violent tantrum.

Diana tells Fury that her mother died long ago. Fury spews some deluded nonsense about how her mother was reincarnated!! as Hippolyta!! the ONE TRUE WONDER WOMAN!! Diana tells Fury off for being a shittily-written character brought low by her hysterical female emotions.

“It’s a lie. A delusion that brought you comfort— the product of a grieving woman left alone in this world! A woman seduced by one of history’s great seducers. A woman scorned!  My mother loved you and showed you kindness. You have been cruelly used, Fury— and you have lost much! But I am responsible for none of it. Not for the loss of your mother— or for your having fallen in love with the man you were charged with vexing.”

Fury turns on a dime, sneers that since Diana apparently knows everything already then her presence is no longer required, then flies off declaring that Diana and Alcmaeon deserve each other.  Alcmaeon reassures Diana that bitches be crazy.  Diana is frosty as she flies shithead back home.

As the sun rises on the next morning, she asks him how she can be sure he’ll keep his word and end the war. He uses this as an excuse to kiss her like the gross creep that he is.

but oh

oh there’s more, friends.

Why yes, that is Clark Kent abandoning his wife to loom terrifyingly over the Atlantic while perving on Diana with a jealous glower.