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fanficsandfluff · 2 years ago

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Tickletober 2022 - Day 7: Massage

A/N: Lucky day, @ticklishraspberries! Two for two! I know this one's a day late! I was quite busy yesterday so I couldn't finish it. Hope you enjoy!

Fandom: Barry

Characters: Barry Berkman, NoHo Hank

It was like clockwork for a while. Barry and Hank had gotten into a routine of sorts. Barry would go to Gene's classes every Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday night, and he would come home with such energy and a zest for life that Hank chatted the night away with him. And that was great for Hank, too, because Barry was never a chatter.

Then on other nights, when Barry would stop by after a tiring shift at work or even after completing a job, the mood was understandably tense. Hank would let Barry go about his business, watching him dropping his keys off in the dish by the door, letting a backpack or sachel of his drop to the floor. Sometimes he would shower, other times he wouldn't. But the part here that was consistent was Hank would give Barry back rubs on these especially straining nights. The back rubs turned into more serious massages as time went on.

And by now, that was just expected at a certain time of night when Barry was home and stressed.

Another thing Barry liked about these massages was that there was seldom any talking to be done, which was a rarity for Hank to accomplish. Hank had stopped asking Barry how his day was after maybe the third night like this. So now it was just: undress, bed, massage.

On one particular night just like the rest, everything was going according to plan. Barry shut his eyes and exhaled when Hank's fingers started kneading away the knots in his back. Hank's rubs went lower and lower, and this is where things entered uncharted territory. Hank pressed his palms down Barry's butt, the backs of his thighs and knees, his calves, and he lifted his hands up before he got to his feet. Barry opened his eyes and he rose a brow. He turned his head to see what Hank was up to. And there he was, sitting there with excited doe eyes, biting on his lip; that was a tell he'd always have to do when he was just bursting with something to say.

"I was thinking I give you a foot massage," Hank smiled Barry's direction, finally voicing his thoughts.

"The back stuff is fine," Barry didn't want to make it harder on Hank or give him more work.

"Yes, but it's boring by now, no? Come on, roll over, and I will give you a relaxing, calming, rejuvenating foot massage," he sat with his legs folded criss-cross applesauce and he patted his pale thighs showing through his lounge shorts, "Your feet go through a lot more than you may think. They need their pampering, too."

Barry sighed and he pinched the bridge of his nose between his pointer and thumb, giving himself a minor massage for a second. Barry grabbed some of the pillows on the bed and shoved them under his head as he lay his feet in Hank's lap. Hank had already produced a pillow of his own for his ankles to lay comfortably on.

"Okay, now just shhh," Hank smiled sweetly at Barry and immediately buried his thumbs into the tense nerves right above Barry's heel, dragging the pressure up up up until it dissipated by his toes.

The hitman's brow was furrowed while Hank began administering the new technique. It felt different. But he just had to get used to it, and after a few more passes, Barry didn't have to squeeze his eyes shut, as they moreso just laid shut.

"Bet this feels good, huh?" Hank asked softly when he felt Barry relax.

"Y-Yeah," Barry cleared his throat, "Feels nice. Relaxing."

Hank kept up his massaging, his hands not getting tired since he'd done this for Barry for some time now. He tried pressing his knuckles into the soles of Barry's feet like he'd do on his back sometimes. But the first touch was a little too light, before Hank would ramp up the pressure. And when four knuckles made light contact with the bottom of Barry's foot, his whole leg jerked and he pulled the leg more towards his body. Barry's eyes were wide and he was sitting upright now.

Barry and Hank just seemed to stare at each other for a beat too long, two different kinds of surprised expressions being exchanged.

"What was--"

"You know, I'm good for tonight," Barry cut whatever Hank was going to ask off and he made to stand up off the bed. Hank dove over to Barry's side of the bed and grabbed the man's wrist, "Hey! What do you think you're doing, honey? Come back! This is your time to be basked over," he definitely had confidence in the way he used that word incorrectly.

"No, I'm fine, Hank."

"Put them back here, Barry," Hank became a little more stern and he rose his brow bone when Barry returned his gaze to him.

Without another word having to be exchanged, Barry laid back down and placed his feet into Hank's lap. Hank hummed, content. And not even trying to play coy anymore, Hank stroked one finger up from Barry's heel to the base of his toes.

"Ah-ha!" the breathless, surprised laugh came from Barry without him being prepared for it.

"Oh yes yes yes yes yes!" Hank was happily chanting and he put Barry's feet in a headlock before the assassin could do anything to stop him. Barry was desperately trying to rip his feet from Hank's grip, but the guy was strong, he had to give him that.

"Hey, Hank? No, uh-uh, nope. Just stop, I do not like this, I don't want it-- fuhuck," Barry stifled another giggle when Hank repeated the stroke of a finger on his foot.

"This is much better than massage," Hank concluded, grinning wildly as he now skittered his fingers all over Barry's clenched, wrinkled soles.

And for the next few minutes of Hank's torture, Barry was laying on the bed with both his hands covering his face as embarrassing squeaks and laughs poured from his mouth. He'd squirm as much as Hank would allow, but he just couldn't get his feet out of his grip. So Barry resigned himself to the laughing, which wound up quickly causing his ribs to ache, having not had many moments of pure, uninhibited laughter in his recent life.

Hank liked the change in routine. He thought of keeping it around on future massage nights.

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popatochisssp · 4 years ago

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Heya Poppy! I’m loving the new gem headcanons and was wondering if you have a diamond au too? Or any other stuff about the new gems? I love this au so much

Ohoho, of course I do! I do have the new gems’ Backstories, but since you asked about the Diamond AU specifically... UwU

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away...

Cubic Zirconia (Undergloom Sans) emerges alone, in an abandoned Kindergarten galaxies upon galaxies away from Homeworld’s (known) reaches. He doesn’t stay alone for very long, and not too much later, Moissanite (Undergloom Papyrus) emerges too--another gem.

...Not that they...know too much beyond the fact that they’re both gems. They certainly have no idea that they’re both products of diamond replication experiments at this outpost, commissioned by the (recently ceased) Void Diamond and forgotten when The War began and other priorities became more important.

But! They have each other, so even if their origin is shrouded in mystery and there’s nobody else here on this dusty, deserted rock of a planet, they both decide things could be worse.

They go about their lives for awhile, poking around in things, bonding with each other, making guesses about their species and civilization from their bare-bones programming and the artifacts of the Kindergarten.

It passes the time.

And then, one day, the seismic activity starts.

The two of them have no idea what’s happening or what to do about it; if there’s anything to do about it, and it’s a stressful few cycles before they get any solid answers.

Raw Diamond (Horrorfell Sans), clawing himself up through the ground from the deepest, darkest caverns of the planet, is about as ‘solid’ as an answer gets.

Cubic and Moissanite shouldn’t know the newcomer at all, yet they find themselves automatically saluting, calling him ‘My Diamond,’ and Raw...

Raw is just as confused as they are.

He doesn’t know what’s going on either, where they are, what he is, who he is… he simply is.

He couldn’t know that he’s a forgotten project of Void Diamond’s, too, a new diamond meant to join the ranks with him and Brown and Gray as their empire expanded and needed more leadership. He was simply left in the ground to incubate without being refined or even cut.

(He's monstrous, huge even for a Diamond, and oddly formed with a crooked jaw that won’t open and a hole in his skull…but Cubic and Moissanite hardly know any better than he does what he’s supposed to look like, so no one makes any mention of it.)

Freshly emerged and very lost, it goes without saying that Raw wants answers. The Imitation brothers have a few, but nowhere near as many as he’s after, and he stubbornly demands to be shown around the Kindergarten and the outpost, to see it for himself.

And it all lights up for him in a way it never did for the two that came first, doors and sensors and screens coming to life, responding to the signature of a true diamond. There’s brand new access to everything, reports, records, files and procedures… they learn a lot about what they are, what they’re supposed to be and what they’re not.

They also learn how true diamonds are made, in full and not just halfway.

Raw is certain this is the answer. Cubic and Moissanite are the first of their kind, they barely have any programming, but a diamond…a diamond done right and not left unfinished like he was, surely they would know more and be able to make sense of…whatever it is they’re not getting.

The brothers aren’t totally convinced... but admittedly, they don’t have any better ideas and well…rough he may be, but Raw is a diamond…

Champagne Diamond (Horrorfell Papyrus) unfolds himself gracefully from a craggy cliffside on the abandoned planet, massive in size but otherwise perfect—and he does have some answers.

Champagne knows he is a Diamond and he knows of gemkind. He knows of their society and of their directive to expand their empire.

…What he doesn’t know is the answer to Cubic’s well-meaning query of ‘...what empire?’

Champagne has no clue where the hell all the other gems are, where this little rock is in relation to the Empire, if the Empire even still exists if this place has been abandoned as long as all the charts and data logs say it has been.

He wants answers as much as Raw does, possibly even moreso…but to even start looking for them, they have to get the hell off this planet.

As it turns out, what he lacks in inherent knowledge of their status and origin and social structures, Raw has a real knack for gem-tech, understanding the principles and functions of even the old and mostly broken down devices they have access to, enough to design a passable space-faring craft that they all pitch in to build.

The first world the quartet comes across is empty now, but was once uniquely occupied by both gems and by organics. There’s a handful of gem structures, Kindergartens, bases, et cetera--long abandoned and in disarray of course, but hiding lots of new data and potential clues to mine about what happened to gemkind, and more importantly, where the fuck Homeworld is...

(Like the lost city of Punt, it seems that nobody ever thought to store something as obvious as Homeworld’s coordinates anywhere in the days before warp pads--why bother? Everyone knew where it was.)

There’s a lot to repair and sift through, a whole planet’s worth of it, and there’s only four of them, so it’s probably going to take awhile…

So when Raw finds some old notes that this planet would be a good candidate to incubate a diamond if not for all the useful organic life on it, he nudges Champagne and jokes that all the organic life is gone now, maybe they should…?

To Raw’s surprise, however, Champagne is intrigued.

It could be something worth thinking about, actually… Another pair of hands, another set of eye-sockets… a diamond would be a costly investment, both time and resource-wise, but certainly more bang for the buck than a mess of soldiers or technicians that they really don’t need…

Plus, it’s something to do while they scour the whole damn globe for everything of use on it.

So... might as well try it.

A nice chunk of forest is summarily leveled by Cloudy Diamond (Horrorswapfell Sans) when he decides he’s good and ready to emerge—and while he’s certainly an extra pair of hands for the group, the eye-sockets…didn’t really work out the way they’d thought.

Cloudy, it turns out, is blind as a bat, a defective diamond—but still a diamond, able to interface with and access everything the other two diamonds can, if guided to it.

He sticks with Cubic and Moissanite, mostly, a quid pro quo sort of arrangement that works for everyone, at least until everything of use and worth is mined out of the artifacts of the planet, and it’s time to move on to the next lead: what seems to have been a military base on an almost entirely aquatic world.

Cloudy isn’t interested in visiting a water-world, not for a long-term stay like they’re talking about. He prefers solid ground beneath his feet at least most of the time...and he actually has very little investment in their Quest for Homeworld, so he decides that he’ll stay here.

The others question if he’s sure, and even offer to leave at least Moissanite with him to help him around, but he refuses. Aside from not feeling altogether right about splitting Moissanite and Cubic, Cloudy has his pride and he’ll manage just fine. He is a diamond, after all!

And so off the others go to the military installation.

Raw has a great time digging around in all the decaying ships and weaponry, Cubic and Moissanite explore the things left behind by the gems that were once upon a time stationed there, and Champagne researches.

Cloudy’s defect...weighs on him, though...

(Possibly because they kind of…created the poor guy, imperfect, and then left him there, which sucks… but Champagne is a diamond and doesn’t have half the emotional intelligence to realize the injustice of that is what’s bugging him.)

He somehow decides that it’s the defect itself that’s bothering him, that he failed to create a 100% functional diamond. But he didn’t fail, he could do it, if he tried again…which he’s not going to do, just to prove a point, to himself even and not anybody else!

………

That’s exactly what he does.

Pink Diamond (Horrorswap Sans) rises from the sea one day, kicking up a tsunami in his wake, much to the surprise of the others who were definitely not kept in the loop on this matter.

Champagne, for his part, is unapologetic and unashamed: Pink is a total success, strong and complete and perfectly formed (aside from, perhaps, the occasional, very minor glitching of his physical body... but that can surely be put down to all that water he was incubated beneath, smoothing his intended rose-cut over time into something more like a cabochon. That’s nothing to do with him...)

Pink, for his part, is happy to help and join the search for answers.

He dives right into it all without complaint…until…

Well...

Seeing Cubic and Moissanite, and Raw and Champagne…they get along so well, and his recent arrival hasn’t opened up any space for him in their dynamics.

He’s very pointedly the odd man out, and it’s enough to make a diamond quite lonely, quite aware that he’s the only gem here without a brother to call his own.

………

Taking a page from Champagne’s book, telling absolutely no one, Pink sets out to squeeze one more diamond out of this big ball of water, even though the planet’s resources are low after his emergence.

It’s not long before Olive Diamond (Horrorswap Papyrus) is slogging out of a dark, wet swamp, assisted by his brother—which is appreciated, because he seems to have a hard time keeping his legs to retain the ‘hard’ part of ‘hard light projection.’ Sometimes they’re solid light and sometimes they’re only light and maybe that’s what happens when you try to make a gem from a planet that’s running on empty...

Pink is delighted by his new sibling all the same!

Even so, a rule is made amongst the gems after that and agreed to by all: nobody makes anymore gems without telling somebody, no more surprises!

………

In retrospect, they probably should’ve decided on that rule a lot sooner, maybe a planet ago.

By the time they all return to the ghost world with a stockpile of newer tech and ships, they find Cloudy in the middle of a fully-operational and tidied up base, with everything rigged to accept voice commands and read out text, and a brand new shadow hovering around him.

Pepper Diamond (Horrorswapfell Papyrus) emerged from the ruins of one of the abandoned cities, Cloudy explains, and has been very helpful in the others’ absence, wonderful company—he told them he’d manage fine. > 3c

Well.

After all of that, the military base had been their last, best clue to finding Homeworld, or at least the remains of it, if gemkind were truly gone…

After a bit of discussion among the group, they decide to take communicators and ships and anything else they wanted/needed and just…go their separate ways, to do their own things.

Cubic and Moissanite set up shop on the first world they can find with sentient organics that will accept them, wanting to be around other people and to live peacefully.

Raw and Champagne choose to stick to their mission, going on the wild goose chase that is the search for other gems somewhere in the universe, even without any solid leads—the gem empire was expansive, but not As Infinite As the Universe-expansive, so they haven’t had any luck yet.

Pink and Olive are curious about other gems, too, but make it their mission to hunt down all the deserted bases, Kindergartens, and outposts in their neck of the universe and fix them up, restoring everything to its former glory as best they can—whether those places are promising in terms of leads/clues or not. It’s their heritage and they want to explore it and restore it, if they’re able.

Cloudy and Pepper intend to stay put on their birth world…but when Cloudy’s done everything he can on their planet, he gets a little bored sifting through the ruins of this dead world and wants to go find somewhere with living organics to stay instead. Pepper (reluctantly) agrees and they stumble upon a fledgling, primitive society that seems to think of these giant, shining and glowing immortals as some sort of deities… Oops, it seems as if they’ve started a colony of sorts on accident!

They’ll all keep on keeping on, and if anything interesting happens or someone needs a hand, they can reach the others to get back in touch.

…

Unbeknownst to the Outer Galaxy diamonds or the Diamond Authority back on Homeworld, a strange pair of Chameleon Diamonds—one Reverse (Gastertale Sans) and one Classic (Gastertale Papyrus)—are spat out of a singularity, somewhere in a galaxy in between.

They’ve got a lot of knowledge between the two of them, in the skulls behind their briolette-cut gems, but not a single solid memory, and their only clue is a whole lot of wreckage of some strange machine scattered around them in space.

They don’t know what they are, where they came from, how they’re alive, or what all this junk is…but once they make their way to a planet with gravity and stuff they can fashion tools and parts out of, they do figure out that they can cobble together a ship out of all this...

What better use of a couple of brothers’ time than a bit of adventuring, leisurely exploring the universe and any interesting lifeforms or civilizations they find along the way, with little more than respect of the Prime Directive to argue about? ;3

#skelegems #diamond au #undergloom #ug!sans #ug!papyrus #horrorfell #hf!sans #hf!papyrus #horrorswap #hs!sans #hs!papyrus #horrorswapfell #hsf!sans #hsf!papyrus #gastertale #g!sans #g!papyrus #Anonymous

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nobodyfamousposts · 5 years ago

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Miraculous Ladybug Fic: Other Friends

For @lenoreofraven

Alya hadn’t meant her to find out this way.

She had never meant for Marinette to find out this way.

“So that’s it then.”

“It’s not what you think!”

She had just been trying to keep the peace. Whenever Marinette and Lila were together, there was just so much tension that anyone could feel it. This party was something everyone had been looking forward to. But while those two were at odds, they all knew there was going to be some conflict that would bring the mood down.

Lila had bemoaned the fact she’d missed the previous class picnic. And Marinette was always busy anyway and could use the extra time. So she and the other girls made the choice to tell Marinette they were having it a different day.

It wasn’t a lie. Lila said that sometimes it was necessary to tell a little fib. Little white lies were no big deal, after all. Especially if it was to help others.

It was just a fib. That was okay, right? Just a little fib here and there? Just a little fib to keep the party upbeat?

She hadn’t meant to hurt her.

She just…

Hadn’t expected Marinette to catch them.

The now very hurt, very angry Marinette. Who was glaring at her in a way she’d never seen Marinette glare at anyone save Chloe at her worst. Or Lila on a particularly bad day.

“So you didn’t lie to me that the party was cancelled and everyone just happened to meet up here with the food and supplies they had agreed to bring.”

Alya winced.

“Marinette, we didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“But you didn’t try to not hurt me, either.”

“Mari—”

“Don’t.” She cut her off. “You didn’t care about my feelings before. Don’t try to pretend you do now.”

With that, Marinette walked away. Alya wouldn’t see how it took everything she had to not break into tears right there. But she wouldn’t give Lila the satisfaction. Nor would she try to make anyone pity her.

Alya could only watch. Wanting to speak. Wanting to say something.

But what could she possibly say?

It was strange...seeing Marinette be the one to turn her back on them for once.

Such pain. Such heartache. This betrayal would have made her a perfect target to become an akuma.

It was probably fortunate then that someone else already had.

__________________________

Her name was Sofia.

She was a good person with a good life.

She had a good family.

And the best part was that she had amazing friends.

They were her best friends and she could tell them anything.

Noemi, Marie, and Irene.

And then one day, she added a new name to that number.

Lila.

She was amazing! And so personable and outgoing and sweet!

But personable didn’t mean friend.

Outgoing didn’t mean honest.

And sweet didn’t mean good.

It had been Irene who didn’t trust her from the beginning. But Irene was the brash sort. Stubborn and opinionated. Bossy even. When Lila started coming up with more ideas, Irene was always against them. It stopped being fun having her around and eventually, their invites to her felt less out of any real enjoyment of her company and more out of obligation. It was less stressful the days she didn’t come...or didn’t get the invite. But Irene apparently caught on, too, as one day she’d thrown up her hands in frustration and left, telling them they were on their own. Really, they had been better off.

Or so Lila told them.

It had been Marie who tried to support everyone and mend fences. When Irene and Lila would butt heads, Marie would be the one to step in and mediate. She was positive and friendly, highly well liked by everyone in the school. She was just clumsy. Forgetful. Losing things. And it just kept happening more and more often, no matter how much she tried to protest it.

She was unreliable. And clearly they didn’t mean that much to her if she couldn’t remember their hangouts and was always late for their plans because she had the wrong time despite how many times Lila reminded her. Then it all came to a head when the funds collected for a school fundraiser went missing while she was supposed to be watching it.

The teachers were furious. Why wasn’t she more responsible?

The students were even moreso. She probably spent the money herself.

Nobody trusted her after that.

Eventually, she moved schools.

Really, they were better off.

Or so Lila told them.

Noemi was dependable though. She was smart and funny. She always knew the right things to say to cheer anyone up. She was positive and upbeat. She was strong and always there for her.

Until she wasn’t.

Until she said she couldn’t deal with it anymore.

That their friendship was too much stress. Too much mess. Too much distress. And that she was sorry, but she just had enough.

And she was gone.

And...they were better off, right?

Or so Lila told her.

Then it was just her and Lila.

Until it wasn’t even that anymore.

Lila was gone. Without a word or even so much as a look back.

And suddenly, Sofia was all alone.

Her supports were gone. Her friends were gone. The one friend she had left—the only one who she could count on had left without a trace.

And Sofia found herself having to pick up the tattered pieces of her once good life.

That should have been the end of it.

Except it wasn’t.

Suddenly there was a field trip to Paris France.

Suddenly there were superheroes to learn about.

Suddenly there was a blog about them to check out.

Suddenly there was an interview to see.

And Sofia saw. For the first time, she REALLY SAW.

There was Lila, smiling like nothing had ever happened. Talking to someone she barely knew like she was telling long-hidden secrets. Telling stories about a hero that she never met—couldn’t have met. The dates were wrong. Talking about Ladybug in the same way she had once talked about THEM.

It was only when she was finally seeing it for the first time, on the outside looking in, that she finally realized the truth.

Irene wasn’t unreasonable.

Marie wasn’t unreliable.

Noemi wasn’t cruel.

It was Lila.

It had always been Lila.

And because of her, Sofia has lost all of her closest friends.

They had all lost each other.

When Sofia went to Paris with the rest of her class, it was with a mission.

While other students were chatting, she was searching for every mention or picture or online history.

While they were discussing places they wanted to see, she was working out a location.

And while they talked about hopes and desires for what the trip would bring, she only had a singular goal.

Lila.

She had wanted to see her one last time, to confront her. To ask her “Why?”

She didn’t know if that would satisfy the emptiness inside of her, but it would at least be more than she’d had. She could at least make the next step from there.

But then she saw those two girls arguing. A party in the distance. A party they had intentionally left someone out of.

Two girls. One hurt and betrayed. The other guilty and being played.

And there was Lila. In the background watching it all.

And smiling.

An all too familiar scene.

Sofia was a good person.

She had a good life she hadn’t appreciated enough. A good family more burdened than they should have been. And good friends she should have held on harder to.

She wanted her friends back.

She wanted her life back.

She wanted Lila to know what it was like to be used and thrown away like an old doll. To be manipulated and played with like a puppet.

And when a voice told her she could have that?

How could she say no?

__________________________

“Alya, it’ll be okay.” Rose said, trying to cheer up her friend. “I’m sure you can work it out.”

Mylene rested a hand on her back. “Yeah, we can make it up to her another day. She’s pretty understanding.”

“I don’t know.” Kim said, breaking in. “I don’t feel right about having a party when Marinette was left out like this.”

“Yeah. She didn’t do that to any of us.” Nathaniel agreed.

“I’m sure you had your reasons.” Nino told her, but didn’t look nearly as sure as he said.

“But no good reason to not at least talk to her about it.” Adrien said, sounding so disappointed that Alya wanted to shrink in on herself. “Marinette didn’t deserve to be lied to like that, especially not to leave her out of something. She had put just as much effort into this as all of us.”

“But…” Alya murmured, unable to really argue but feeling obligated to all the same.

And then Lila chimed in. “Alya was only trying to keep the peace, Adrien. It’s not her fault Marinette is trying to force people to pick sides.”

Alya snapped up at that.

Lila sounded like she was trying to make her feel better.

Except...Marinette never really tried to make her choose between them, had she? She’d kept her dislike to herself and never told Alya she couldn’t hang out with Lila. It had been Lila who had expressed feeling uncomfortable with Marinette around.

That had been why Alya had fibbed to her best friend.

Something about this felt wrong.

Alya hesitated.

Adrien frowned at Lila, looking angrier than any of them had ever seen him. He opened his mouth to respond when something slammed into the ground only a few yards away, making everyone spin to see it.

An akuma.

It looked like a china doll with a cracked face. One of its eyes was a bright blue color while the other—the one where the crack covered, was completely closed. Its mask was white while its cheeks were painted rosy, which made the cracks all the more apparent. Her suit was a black bodysuit with white and black stripes on her forearms and lower legs. There were three white buttons on her chest. And her sleeves were long, going past her arms and covering her hands.

“What is that?” Alix asked, sarcastically. “A mime?”

“Alix, maybe you shouldn’t insult the akuma.” Nathaniel hissed.

The akuma simply glanced around at the party participants with a calculating eye.

“Well. Well, well, well, well! Let me get a look at the menagerie!”

Her gaze fell on Adrien.

“You must be Adrien Agreste!”

It turned to Nino, who backed away with Alya in his arms.

“And you must be Nino Lahiffe!”

His attempts did nothing to hide Alya from the akuma’s sight.

“And the Ladyblogger herself! Well, she’s kept you with her, isn’t that just swell?”

Alya gaped at the akuma in horror. “No...girl, what happened to you?”

The other classmates jumped at that, startled at the idea that their everyday Ladybug could be akumatized—or even become such a...terrifying akuma.

“A gift!” The akuma said with a twirl. “I got a new style! And a few new toys that are going to put an END to this party once and for all!”

She grinned.

“The name is Marionette. And I’ll be more than happy to be the one playing with you!”

Before anyone had the chance to run, she threw out her arms and a number of strings emerged from her sleeves. Quicker than expected, they shot out aiming for Alya and Nino. Nino, however, saw them coming and pushed Alya out of the way before being hit himself. Nathaniel was unfortunately nearby and was struck himself. Both were immediately overwhelmed and wrapped up in the strings, the ends of which attached to their very bodies.

Realizing the implications, Nino gasped, jerking and trying to dislodge the damn threads.

“This isn’t cool! I’m not a puppet!”

“You are now!” Marionette chimed, and with a small snip of her nails—which did exist and were actually much sharper than they realized, the strings were no longer connected to her hands. Instead, they floated for a moment, seeming completely listless until a pair of old fashioned marionette bar controllers appeared in the formerly empty space, now attached to the strings.

“What do you think?” She asked, smugly. “You’re all little more than puppets to her anyway. We might as well make it official!”

Alya gasped in horror. “Nino!”

“Alya, RUN!” He shouted back, helpless but to follow the direction the control bar pulled him as it jerked him away.

Cackling, the akuma sent another set of strings at the other members of the class.

“GET OUT OF HERE!” Kim shouted, pushing Adrien forward just before the strings grabbed him, at least sparing the model his fate.

Alix tried to run to get help, but didn’t make it much further herself before the akuma caught up to her, leaving Alix trussed up and cursing in her wake.

Adrien kept going though, promising to himself he would be back with help soon. Help of the “Miraculous” kind. He managed to duck around a corner and out of sight before the threads could get him.

“Darn.” The akuma cursed. “I was hoping to get her little boytoy for the performance.”

“Marinette, please!” Alya cried out, coming out from where she had been ducking for cover with Lila. “This isn’t you!”

The akuma froze at that, eyes wide in...shock? Recognition? The class as a whole held their collective breaths, hoping that maybe Alya had gotten through to her.

Except...

“Ma...ri...?”

The akuma started shaking, head bowed. Alya reached out in concern, an inch away from contact.

But then Marionette snapped up, her eyes alight. Alya jumped back in shock. Other classmates screamed or tried to duck out of sight.

The akuma hadn’t been shaking in pain.

It was unbridled FURY.

She spun on Lila in a rage, tightening the strings on everyone else in the process and making them cry out in pain.

“It wasn’t bad enough you were doing it all again, but the same name no less? After everything? What, wasn’t Marie enough for you?”

Alya blinked in confusion. “Wait, Marie?”

Who was Marie?

Marinette didn’t know a Marie as far as Alya knew.

That meant...

It wasn’t Marinette.

It...it wasn’t…

That shouldn’t have relieved her as much as it did. There was still an akuma that was still right there and clearly targeting them. But Alya couldn’t help but be glad it wasn’t Marinette.

Or because of what she’d done to her.

Lila’s eyes widened at that, finally seeming to realize something.

“You’re...!”

“I thought I’d never see you again. But here you are, claiming to know the biggest names and schmoozing up to another group of broken hearts and tattered friendships waiting to happen!”

“Wait, what is she talking about?” Kim asked, confused.

“It’s an akuma. You know you can’t trust what they say.” Lila quickly replied.

The akuma laughed. “Oh, that’s RICH coming from you! The Lady of Lies! The Queen of Deceit! You haven’t learned a thing, have you?”

Her eye narrowed and features shifted into a glare.

“I have.”

Lila backed away uncertainly, eyes glancing around for the best avenues of escape.

Unaware of this, Alya stepped forward, getting the akuma’s attention.

“In case you haven’t heard, Lila is best friends with Ladybug! She’s gonna let her know what’s going on and she’ll come to save us!” Alya insisted.

The akuma just laughed again.

“Oh, I heard! I’ve had your little interview ON LOOP!”

“Alya, maybe you shouldn’t have mentioned that.” Alix stated flatly from where she floated.

“I just LOVED that part! Where Lila-Lying Rossi lived the rest of her ‘happily ever after’ as a darling of Paris with a bunch of PUPPETS!”

Eyes widened. “Uh oh.”

“That's right I heard the story over and over again!”

Alya dodged back behind cover to avoid another whip of the strings.

“Gee, it's swell to finally meet her other friends!”

Marionette was distracted from her trapped prey when she caught sight of Ivan trying to shield Mylene as they attempted to make a run for it.

“That's right I heard the story, don't really like how it ends!”

They didn’t get very far before they were both tripped up by strings, tied to different controller bars, and pulled into different directions while trying to reach out to each other. The akuma gave a falsely sweet smile and patted a fearful and shaking Mylene on the cheek.

“Gee, it's swell to finally meet her other friends!”

Juleka didn’t see the almost living collection of strings converge on her hiding place until she was dragged out upside down to face the very angry akuma.

“What did she say about me? What did she say?” The akuma demanded. The normally quiet girl cringed in the hold and gave a shout of surprise as a controller bar suddenly appeared, controlling the strings that were now attached to her hands and pulling her along.

Rose gasped in horror, but this only attracted the akuma’s attention to her.

“What did you do without me? What did you do?” Marionette asked in a childish voice as she physically grabbed Rose—showing she did in fact have hands under those sleeves, which she used to spin her around, leaving the poor blonde dizzy and now tied up with strings and a controller above her as well.

She spun around as if alerted to another presence, finding Max, who realized he had been discovered and attempted to duck back out of sight. But she was in front of him before he could make any real distance.

“Did you play games without me? What did you play?” She asked, glaring. Max simpered, but was caught and trussed up as well.

She went back to where Alya and Lila had previously hidden, intent on rounding up the final targets, who also happened to be the main two on her “List”.

“Did you think all this time that I wouldn't find out about you~?”

But they were gone.

“Oh, that's right I heard the story over and over again!”

She looked around in annoyance, strings writhing. She’d find them soon enough.

“Gee, it's swell to finally meet her other friends!”

Both Alya and Lila had taken advantage of the distraction to sneak around, trying to remain as low and out of sight as possible. This was difficult with the akuma and moving around everywhere and the so many strings that were not only hard to see, but gave her a strange sensory ability to be able to detect them if they happened to touch any of them.

“Lila, who is this girl?” Alya demanded.

“Um...” Lila leaned back, nervous.

“And why does she have it out for you?”

Suddenly, Alya was jerked forward—realizing too late the strings had caught her and wound around her wrists, dragging her out to the akuma who further grabbed her by the cuff of her shirt and pulled her closer to the point they were almost nose to nose.

“Who am I! WHO AM I?!” She raged. “What are you even SAYING?”

She shoved Alya away, strings now fully attached to her newest victim.

“I’m the loser of the game you didn’t know you were playing!”

Lila took advantage of this opportunity to duck and scamper away from the akuma.

She grinned sinisterly as she righted the strings on the classmates and the control bars attached to each student began to rise into the air, pulling their individual victims with them.

“Let’s play another game! This time I get to win~!”

Holding her hand out, a weapon formed. It initially looked like a scythe, but the blade was much more reminiscent of cutting shears. And with a blade just as sharp.

“Lives on the line!”

Adrien kept running.

“Winner takes all!”

Marinette stopped and looked back, feeling something wasn’t right.

“Ready or not, LET’S BEGIN!”

She slammed the butt of her scythe onto the ground.

“Oh, that's right I heard the story over and over again!”

At her command, the control bars floated towards the akuma, arranging themselves and their respective students in a circle around her.

“Gee, it’s swell to finally beat her other friends!”

Several of the students cried out in shock and fear, trying to pull back or fight against the control as they were forcibly flown or dragged over to the akuma. But there was nothing they could do but flail helplessly.

“Oh, that's right I heard the story, don't really like how it ends!”

Looking around frantically, Alya saw Lila merely standing to the side, watching from the safety of her new hiding place but making no move to respond to their plight. Not to get help. Not even to try and call Ladybug.

“Gee, it's swell to finally beat her other~”

Marionette twisted her body, holding the blade out. Alya realized she was going to slice all of them at once.

“Lila!”

“Other~!”

The rest of the captives realized this as well and struggled to try and get free, shouting and crying out for help.

“LILA!”

“O~ther~!”

She swung the blade in a wide circle around her, cutting through each and every one of the classmates held in place by the strings. Each of them barely had time to scream when they were hit before they were suddenly silenced.

Strings loosened, now holding nothing.

“Friends!”

And ten little dolls fell lifelessly to the ground around her.

#ml fic #ml angst #ml spite #ml salt #lila sucks #lila really sucks #like wow I didn't think she could suck this much #marinette dupain cheng #alya cesaire #adrien agreste #akuma #original akuma #bad things happen #other friends au

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please-say-less · 4 years ago

Text

push my luck (part one)

player: mat barzal | new york islanders word count: 1, 539 warnings: light angst, pining, your heart will literally melt at how sweet mat is, no beta we die like men summary: growing up with mat, you’ve only ever seen him as the shy boy that you’ve spent your whole life being best friends with. after moving to new york, he hasn’t kept in much contact, but when you come to visit, he just wants to know if you’re feelings for him have changed too. author’s note: issa three-shot. bad summary is bad but kinda wrote this on the basis of mat as moreso a Soft Boy™ with hints of being a goober. yeah bro idk what’s with me and roommates to lovers tropes. ok but let me know if y’all are even vibing with the way i write his pov cos my writing feels highkey cringe to me all the time. whoops.

beginning | part two

“Hey, you okay, dude?”

It’s difficult to breathe with the air stuck in his throat, and he can’t help but rub his clammy hands all over his new suit－oh well, it looked nice enough for a few photos. His face is getting a little too hot, and he’s become a stuttering mess with his words. Anybody would think after the last couple of years as a well-known athlete in New York, he’d be able to handle any stressful situation, yet you manage to give him the same effect time after time.

“Huh?” he looks back over to Tito. “Y-Yeah. . . Totally fine.”

The questioning look on his friend’s face is enough of a dead giveaway that Mathew is probably the worst actor and liar on Earth, but he doesn’t care about the endless amount of teasing he’ll get for this. It’s been too long since he’s last seen you and to say that he misses the butterflies you give him would be quite the understatement.

Even now, he doesn’t see you as anything different than the same girl next door from home that he’s spent a majority of life being smitten with and the same ball of energy that’s cheered him on at every game from youth hockey to playing in the NHL until the two of you had to part ways. Yes, the worst event of his life that he’s dubbed his Untimely Death Part 1－Part 2 being the time Tito took him out to Coney Island and handed the poor boy a pretzel before the seagulls started chasing him down the boardwalk. In a way, he’s spent part of his time in New York mourning the death of what used to be, and there’s still a part of him that regrets not keeping in contact with you.

He’s not the most confident guy when it comes to dating, and as he swallows the lump of nervousness that’s been building up in his throat, Mathew hopes that his uncertainty isn’t as painfully obvious as he usually makes himself out to be.

He downs the shot of whiskey, and as the amber leaves a burning trail from his throat down to his belly, he mentally prepares himself on his introduction to you. He wants you to know that he’s grown in the last couple years, and he’s not the same immature boy you knew back home. He’s a man now and has the means to take care of you, should you need it. Chin up, head high, and shoulders back－he struts up to you with his newfound confidence.

“You look beautiful in that dress,” he comments.

Turning around confused, you smile as soon as you see who it is. The two of you embrace, and he can’t help but admire just how well your body fits in his arms－as it always has honestly. He probably has the dumbest, widest smile on his face right now, but he’s just so elated to see you again. It’s hard for him to concentrate on the words coming out of your mouth as he gazes at you with loving eyes through rose colored glasses. You’re just really here right now.

“Mat! It’s been too long!”

He offers you his arm, and you take it as he walks you over to the bar and orders two flutes of champagne from the bartender. The two of you continue to chat for too long of a while, and he almost forgets that talking to you comes just as naturally as breathing. He admires your features and notices that you’ve done some growing as well. Your curves have filled out lusciously, and you have a more womanly aura that surrounds you.

“So how are you and that one guy?” he asks. “You two still together?”

“Please, we were never a thing,” you roll your eyes. “I can’t believe my mom told your mom about that－it was just one date!”

“I’m guessing it didn’t go great then?”

“He spent the whole time messaging other girls, so I made up some excuse to leave. The loser wouldn’t stop messaging me wondering why I wouldn’t go out with him again, and I had to bite my tongue!”

He nods in understanding as you let out an exaggerated huff, but mentally, he’s doing backflips out of joy knowing that maybe you’ve been waiting just as long for him too. How else could someone as beautiful as you still be single after all this time?

“New York seems nice,” you say.

“It’d be nicer with you,” he chuckles.

“Those are some bold words to say, Barzal.”

“It gets kind of lonely sometimes. Tito’s always been closest to me, and now that he’s got a girl, it’s just easier to tell them I’m busy than suffer through being a third wheel.”

You can’t help but laugh at his lame attempt at getting you to move countries, but at the same time, a change of scenery doesn’t sound like a bad idea at all. Besides your family, nothing’s really keeping you tied to your hometown, and your parents continuously insist that you see the world before you settle down. After all, you were single and fresh out of college but having a familiar face in a new place didn’t make it seem as scary.

“I don’t know. . .” you chew your lip. “I did get a job offer around here.”

“Oh yeah?” he tries to contain his excitement.

“I just wouldn’t know where to stay or what to do. A new city can be scary.”

All the stars and moons in the galaxy have perfectly aligned for this moment to finally culminate, and this must be the work of his prayers finally being answered. He needs to shoot his shot now while the ball’s in his court, or the chance may never come again. A sudden wave of nervousness crashes over him at the possibility of the actual death of his relationship with you should he hesitate once again.

“You could stay with me if you wanted－I mean－until you can find your own place.”

He sincerely wants to help you, but he also feels a sense of guilt in hopes that you end up depending on him. Although money hasn’t become an issue in his life after taking the big leap and signing a contract with the Islanders, New York City is by no means an inexpensive place to live.

“I wouldn’t want to impose. . .”

“No－I want you to stay with me!”

Suddenly his Untimely Death Part Three is going to come sooner than expected. His shoulders tense and jaw clenches as he realizes what he’s just blurted out, and he can feel his face turning red at just how dumb he is. He’s just revealed his biggest secret, and he’s in no way subtle or chill about it. He’s ready to turn back around, run out of the building, and head back to his house to hide under a rock until things blow over, but he becomes confused when he hears you giggling.

“I think you’re the only person who’s ever been this excited to live with me,” you smile.

“Uh－Yeah－Wouldn’t want you staying with some stranger or creep, y’know?”

He tries to play it cool, but Mat Barzal, in fact, is not by any means playing it cool. If anything, he’s the creep for trying to get you to stay with him. As if by some magic, you would fall head over heels for him overnight, and everything he’d been dreaming of since childhood adolescence would finally be coming true.

He’d whisk you away, and the two of you could be married somewhere beautiful with white sand beaches and ocean water as clear as the sky. Then maybe you could honeymoon throughout Europe before settling down and buying a house. After that, kids could fit somewhere into the equation. Wait, do you even want kids? He ponders the idea to himself for a moment before smiling at the idea of how cute you would look pregnant, and when he imagines you as a mother tending to your children and husband, he’s sold himself on the idea.

“Careful, I might have to take you up on that,” you snap him out of his daydream.

“Wh-What?” he stutters.

“Honestly, I kind of miss hanging out with you. No one back home can really compare to the Mathew Barzal.”

A light blush spreads across his cheeks. His full name sounds like a symphony coming out of your mouth, and he spends a little too much time focusing on the way your plump lips sound out each syllable of his name. He can’t help but imagine how soft your lips would feel if they were pressed against his, but as he continues to picture the other things those lips could do, he stops himself before having to deal with the possibility of his Untimely Death Part Four in the middle of this gala.

Somehow with his not-so-convincing words, he’s managed to talk you into moving in with him, and when you talk to your families about it, they’re more than happy about your new living situation. It gives them the excuse to visit more often, but he’s more excited at the thought of just being around you again.

#nhl imagines #mat barzal imagine #mat barzal one shot

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sxveme-2 · 4 years ago

Text

blueberry pancakes // bucky barnes

MASTERLIST

Description: A single mother. Juggling being a mom, a full time pediatrician, and a difficult ex who believed now would be the best time to finally be a father. A soldier ripped out of time. Ex-assassin turned superhero. Learning how to balance a new domestic life with handling demons of his past, while facing the trials of the future. a love story began over something as simple as chocolate chip pancakes with hidden blueberries.

Disclaimer: I do not own any original Marvel characters! All canon plots and canon characters belong to Marvel Comics and Marvel Studios. This is an original work. You may not publish it anywhere else

Status: Unedited

Note: Takes place after endgame. I have elected to ignore Tony's death and Steve's leaving. Did not happen. Quick Reminder! My works are only published here, AO3 and on Wattpad, thank you.

Chapter Twenty Nine: The One With the Weeks After

Warnings: Weight loss

Word Count: 2135

The first week was the easiest. She busied herself with work, made sure to tell Hunter everything and keep him in the loop. Cleaned the house until there was nothing left. At night she'd scrub the floors until her fingers bled. She'd go to bed around 2 in the morning every night. Rose tried to get her to go earlier, but she knew that Lily needed a bit. Needed time to process the end of the relationship she thought was the one. The one that would fix what had been done to her all those years ago.

Things declined over the following month. The hospital made Lily take stress leave. She stopped eating normally, and would simply make Hunter breakfast before returning to her office to force herself into working on letters she knew wouldn't help her case. Lily kept herself distracted also by helping Rose search for apartments for when her baby came, and Gen revamp the menu for her cafe.

When the first of May came around, Lily knew she had broken herself that day she told him to get out. And now, she sat in her bed as the clock struck 3am, Joey snoring softly at the end of the bed. In her hands she gripped onto the letters he had written her, gripping them to the point she was sure they'd rip. Her tears stained them, smearing the ink as she stared at his words.

-----

"Lily please," his voice broke as he stood from the couch, walking towards the blonde, "Please don't do this."

"You made me a promise, Bucky," Lily whispered, taking a step back from the advancing man, "and I can't handle it. You know for a fact that you're not done with this life."

"I am, baby please," he whispered, halting his steps a meter or so away from her, "I'm done with it all."

"I'll have your stuff dropped off at your apartment," Lily stated, her voice shaking as she dropped her keys onto the half wall, turning her back to the Avenger and taking a few steps up the stairs, "Goodbye, Bucky."

-----

A choked sob racked through her chest as Lily balled up the paper and chucked it at the mirror across from her bed. Her eyes wandered from the paper on the floor upwards, staring at herself in the mirror. Her cheeks were hollow and hair wiry. Her collarbones seemed more prominent and her chest heaved as she struggled to bring air into her lungs. On her chest still sat that damn necklace. The one she tried to take off but could never manage to. It sat against her sunken chest, shining bright against her shallow skin.

She remembered the mornings she'd wake up to him leaning over her, fingers wrapped around the silver pendent, admiring it against her supple skin of the good times. Now it just sat there like a jail sentence. Because she knew there would be no moving on from him. His touch, his smell, his words. The way he would hold her.

She longed for the feeling of his hair between her fingers. His breath against her cheek. His head ducked into her neck as she admired him as he slept peacefully at ungodly hours of the night. His smile. His eyes. The stubble on his chin.

Lily remembered the day she wished that she could sit in his lap and trim it. Months later she lived that same fantasy. Him chuckling as she scrunched her nose and intently focused on the harder to reach areas. The rumble deep in his chest vibrating through her like a warm blanket being draped onto her shoulders. How his arms draped along her thighs and fingers traced circles on her hips.

He was gone though. And Lily didn't have the strength to fight for him back.

-----

"Hey what do you want for your birthday, Lil?" Gen asked as she finished cleaning up the table from dinner, sending Hunter off to play outside with the neighbourhood kids.

"Nothing." Lily shrugged, finishing drying off a cup as she avoided her best friends pointed gaze.

"A new necklace, perhaps?" Gen tested, dancing carefully along Lily's guarded mind.

"I have a necklace." She stated simply, placing the rest of the dishes in their respective cupboards before drying her hands.

"Well your birthdays in three days and I'm not getting you nothing," Gen continued, taking a few steps closer to the blonde, "Can I at least offer to cook you dinner at the cafe?"

"Sounds good to me." Lily nodded, closing the cupboards and walking past Gen, shutting the door to her office and slumping into her desk chair.

-----

Lily stared down at the stack of letters that sat on her desk. It was May 2nd, two days from her birthday. Her birthday present to herself was something she read online. Write letters to your past love and then burn or bury them, to cut the ties. She wasn't sure if she would go through with it. She didn't want to burn the memories of him. They hurt her, but she cherished them. She never wanted to forget him, but she had convinced herself she had to in order for her to find true happiness. Or so the blog she read said.

"April 10th

It's been a week since I said goodbye to you. The words still feel foreign to me. It's weird waking up without you by my side. I can't believe I'm saying it but I miss your snoring. Miss your bedhead.

Hunter knows what happened. He's heartbroken, but I don't think he'll show it very much. Moreso for my sake than his own. I don't blame him. I'm sure he sees the same broken mother he saw all those years ago.

But this one hurts a bit more. Because you were supposed to be the one. I thought you were the one. I still think you are. And I loved you.

I love you"

She traced the tears stains that marked the paper. Her fingers grazing gently over the final three words. Three words she was too much of a coward to properly say. Instead, she made him guess them. Made him say them first in the same format. Writing. Three words she couldn't say, now permanently on paper. Lily's hands shook as she put the first page down, picking up the one just beneath it.

"April 15th,

Hunter asked me if I was okay today. The same way you used to. He put his hand on top of mine and let me stare down at my lap as I calculated my answer. His face reminds me of you. Soft and tender, but something always at work behind it. His eyes may be mine, but the thoughts behind it have become yours.

You always took the father figure role so seriously. I never understood why. I loved it, but it never truly made sense to me. He wasn't yours. But when I look at him now, I see more of him in you than I ever did Scott.

He may not have been yours through blood, but he is yours through heart. And he knows me inside and out, even when I feel like I don't know myself. My own thoughts betray me sometimes with Hunter. I feel like sometimes I say things to him because I long to talk to you.

He's your son, through and through. Even if DNA betrays that. But I took your son away from you. And I'm sorry. But I can't risk him."

Her fingers pinched the bridge of her nose, as though she thought it would stop the tears. A large ball formed in Lily's throat, and she wanted to scream and let it out, but she couldn't. Not with Hunter around. Not with Gen in the other room. Not with Rose so close to her own due date. She was mere weeks away from it, and here Lily sat, wallowing in her own self pity. Laying in the mess she made herself.

She picked up the third letter.

"April 25th,

I thought it would get easier over time. That the hurt would heal itself at some point. But as I sat at my desk today, I knew it wouldn't go away. It may numb, it may become distant, but there will always be an open space where you used to be.

Rose told me that I should consider therapy, perhaps. But I'm not sure talking about the love I feel for you is possible. The sheer strength of it is something that terrifies me. I'm scared that voicing it will make it stronger.

You took over every part of me. Your smell, your words, you. Every morning I would wake up feeling happy to face another day, because you were there. Whether beside me or just in the city. You were there. And you were mine. But now, you're not. You may already be someone else's for all I know. I haven't dared ask Sam or anyone.

I don't think I'd survive hearing that.

Knowing that you're giving yourself to someone else the same way you gave yourself to me. Knowing that they return the same things I still feel for you. The same feelings that I couldn't voice to you.

But who am I to be upset? I'm the one who ended it. I'm the one who said goodbye, and turned my back without a second thought plaguing my mind until it was too late.

It's still too late."

Staring at her words, Lily slammed her hand down onto the light wood of her desk. She did this. It was her own fault that he was gone. Because when Lily asked something, he always listened. But the one time he asked her to listen to him, she threw him out. She said goodbye. She let him walk out because she was too stubborn to just listen.

Pulling the cap of her pen off, Lily pulled out a few pieces of paper. Her hand shook violently as she signed the date at the top, before pouring out everything she was always too scared to say onto the paper.

-----

May 3rd rolled around mere hours later. Lily sat in her bed once again as the clock struck 2, and she stared at herself in her mirror. Eyes swollen, glasses crooked, face fallen. Her entire body seemed to be falling at once. Her chest was fallen, her shoulders frail. Her skin seemed lifeless. She was merely existing at this point. She still was a mother, she cooked, cleaned, and talked to Hunter. But when the door closed in her room for the night, her body fell into a droop. She shuffled to her bed without bothering to worry about her makeup, if she even decided to do any recently. Nothing about Lily was herself. She had become a husk. Simply a vessel to walk her head and heart around from room to room.

She missed him so much. She wanted him back. God, Lily would do anything to have him back right now. To open her eyes and see him lying in her bed with that same lazy smirk on his face. But when she did, there was no one in her bed. Just herself.

Her fingers dialled the number before she knew exactly who she was calling. Before she realized what this could do.

"Hello?" His groggy voice whispered into the phone.

"Hi...It's Lily."

"Lily it's 2 in the morning."

"I know...I know," she whispered, biting on the tips of her nails, "I just need to know..."

"Know what?"

"Is he okay?"

Sam let out a whisper of a sigh, and she knew the answer before he even spoke again. It didn't relieve her. It hurt her more than anything. Knowing that she had caused it.

"He's a damn trainwreck, Lil," Sam answered, "He's always been the brooding type but there's something different now."

Lily placed her forehead into her hand, "Has he said anything?"

"He's lost a part of himself," Sam responded, the noise of shifting blankets echoing behind his voice, "You were something I can't even explain to him Lily. There's still a part of him with you."

She ended the call before he heard her lose it.

-----

Rose took Hunter for the day. Lily could barely move in her bed the morning after she called Sam. Her eyes felt dry and heavy. Whenever she moved, a part of her screamed out for him. She felt so empty and just so...alone. Now that he was gone. But she wanted him back so badly her throat yelled out at her to tell him.

Call him, her mind said, tell him what you're thinking.

But she couldn't.

Because she already said goodbye.

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demonprosecutor · 4 years ago

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ANOTHER HADES ONESHOT

by the time Lady Persephone had deigned to return from her daily haunts across the bountiful lands, your predictions were correct, Lady Artemis had driven her moon-chariot across the night sky by the time she had returned. but before that, zagreus had been gracious enough to bathe in the rose water, and to drain it into the hungering ground.

(the lands were a strange thing, a thirst that can only be quenched by the life essence of gods, even if water was a paltry substitute)

you laid out a fresh chiton for the godling, hanging outside the door, from your critical eye - it was a flattering colour, a sweet lavender colour that made him look more boyish, lined with white in swirling, intricate designs that made him look princely.

however, being idle was not your way, and already, your foot tapped impatiently on the ground as hands fluttered over your sewing. and once the god had finished his bath, smelling like roses and skin a healthy sheen from olive oil imported from athens.

he picked at the fluttering hem of his chiton, more bemused than anything else. you were quite sure that the finery that he had been bedazzled with was far superior than anything you had on this realm. “did you give me this?” the corner of his mouth was quirked in amusement, even moreso at the way you stared critically. “what? does it look bad on me?”

a snort huffs through your flared nostrils, a substitute for the bark of laughter that wanted to leap past your lips. “borrowed,” you stressed. “it... looks flattering, but a bit small on you.” in the sense that his godly height and width strained against fabric, offering a view that made you fluster and avert your gaze politely in the guise of looking out the window. you pat your thighs and push yourself to your feet, stretching with the luxuriousness of the felines that liked to prowl through the home, hunting for the mice that squeaked underneath the floorboards and pilfered the cheese that you laid out for Lady Persephone to enjoy.

(she had no need for mortal sustenance; however, she enjoyed the taste and texture of food. more of a luxury than a necessity)

“you keep looking out the window, is there someplace you need to be?”

you’re wrested from idle musings (more like the rushing thoughts of what needs to be done) before nodding slightly, “demeter’s winter is coming soon. i need to pick the rest of the apples. she is not... pleased with my kind this season.”

there’s a knowing look on his face, as though he understood the frigidity of the Goddess of seasons. “how could you tell?” he sounds curious enough that you oblige his godly curiousity and lead him out the door, standing on the sun-warmed sweet grass, the river burbling in coy delight nearby. “erm... I don’t get it.”

“tsk, slow down and feel.” you tilt your head, taking a deep inhale. “do you not smell that? the sharpness of Lady Demeter? the cold settling?”

zagreus takes a deep inhale, face contorted in consideration before it falls, “not really. i just smell... freshness. you know, just fresh air.”

you have to laugh at that, shaking your head as you bend over to grab the wicker basket filled with apples, propped against your hip. “well, when one is at the mercy of the gods, you tend to notice the inclinations of them more often.” you dip your head and go back towards the area where you had begun your pickings before being coaxed by the appearance of zagreus.

“were you a servant of the gods?” you leap a few feet in the air, dropping the basket and whirling around to find your impatient guest apologetically put his own wicker basket down and helped you pick your dropped items up. “sorry, didn’t meant to startle.”

“what are you---?” you shake your head. whatever, he can do what he wishes. “aren’t we all servants of the gods?”

the sharp-tongued retort makes him grin, reaching upwards, far above your head to grasp the red-rubied apples above and place them into his basket carelessly. “funny, but no. i mean, did you serve at the temples? like a priest or priestess?”

you shake your head, “that was not my vocation. there were a great many things i had hoped to do, but i am content where i am.” it’s almost time for dinner, but you staved your hunger with the choicest of apples - a crisp, sweet one whose flavour burst in your mouth. “tell me:” apples sweeten your words and lower your reticence. “what do gods eat in the underworld?”

you move closer, too aware of the heat that he emitted. like a fireplace from a distance and scanned his apples, picking out the best and juiciest one for him. after staring at it, zagreus takes it and takes a big bite out of it before moaning in the most obscene fashion, you look away with fluster. dear gods, Lady Aphrodite is playing around today! “pomogranates, nectar...” his cheeks are filled with apple and juices run down his chin messily. “we don’t normally eat honestly.” zagreus swallows and licks his lips, studying the apple with unabashed delight. “this is right delicious.”

“well, if you do stay, i’ll make dessert with it.”

he perks up, looking too much like a puppy offered a slab of meat.

by the time Lady Artemis begins to harness her moon horses in the sky, and Lady Nyx begins to blanket the sky with ink blackness, you both return to the cottage and deposit the apples in a bin to be either preserved or saved over the winter. zagreus, in all of his eagerness, aided you in picking the best apples for dessert that night.

lady persephone returns without much fanfare, the door opening, and the cottage shuddering with the welcome return of its goddess.

you turn to her, hands clasped in front of your body respectfully, “my lady... the god zagreus...” you are interrupted by lady persephone whose verdant gaze fills with tears, throwing her arms out in welcome.

“my son!” zagreus stands up and envelops his mother in a tight hug, her form swallowed by the sheer bulk of the other god.

“mother.” you hear the joy in his voice, the relief, and you feel something in yourself settle. there would be no quarrel today.

like all servants, you had mastered the gift of blending into the background - readying to make dinner and dessert, allowing mother and son to talk well into the night, the heathfire crackling in the background.

-----

you do not know how long they have been talking, but it has been long enough that you retreat for the night, folding out a cot outside under an olive tree (gifted to lady persephone by lady athena), a slice of apple pie in your bowl, one leg brushing the ground listlessly.

perhaps you were far more tired, more drowsy than expected, but its the sound of someone stepping closer that has you sitting up and making the move to stand.

“no, no. don’t get up. i just wanted to...” you blink at the sight of zagreus - wearing an emerald green chiton that fitted his form much better than your lent clothes did, holding a bowl filled with smushed apple pie inside. “just see outside.”

“oh, i see.” you feel awkward, enough that you shuffle to the other side of the cot and pat behind you.

zagreus hesitates until you pat the cot more insistently, swinging your feet so that your back was to him. you wait for a few moments and when the cot dips, and the heat returns at your back, you know he’s taken your offer. however, you failed to calculate just how much more heavier he was in comparison to you because you start sliding back, backs pressed against each other.

“oh! oh dear, I’m sorry---” a string of apologies start to leave your mouth like a river stream before zagreus laughs, his laurel wreath a light in this comforting darkness.

“i don’t mind! it’s ok. no need to apologize.”

it takes a few seconds to settle, only because you were embarrassed and you never dared to touch a god, but the warmth was... nice. you wait to see if he reneged his word, but relaxed slowly, air filled with the sound of crickets and the sweetness of baked dessert.

zagreus sighs deeply, head tilted up towards the blanket of stars, “we never had this in the underworld. well, i mean kinda? but they were shining crystals in the ceiling. everything is so open.” you listen to him, not making any reply. after all, gods never really expected to hear a mortal speak. what was the term? seen, but not heard. “everything is so fresh and sweet and warm. the underworld had always been so cold, so distant. and just... it’s so lively here. is it always like this?”

the question makes you startle, “sometimes. this is a... sleepy part of the lands. there are more exciting parts. the cities, the oceans.” you poke at your apple pie. “i’ve always wanted to see more, explore more. but alas, i have no complaints about my life now.”

he turns his head surprised, brows arched and disconcerting mis-matched eyes wide at you. “really? have you never left this place?”

you shake your head slowly, “no, for the longest of times, Lady Persephone and the upkeep of her lands have always been my home. Besides, much could be done to a lone traveler like I, especially a lone traveler without any combat experience.” you leave out the part where the thought of combat would make you drop into hysterics.

zagreus looks at you, something like pity, something like understanding. “i guess i kinda get it. but what about your family? don’t they miss you?” he knows that he had said something wrong the moment you look away, a gentle remorse creasing your features. “oh. i’m sorry.”

“it’s... it was a long time ago. i do not have any more family to speak of.”

it seemed that he didn’t know what to say. for all of his hatred of his own father, of his own dwellings, at least zagreus had the support of his family to tide him in his escape and journey. you bite the inside of your cheek, ashamed of the showing of your emotion. “there is no need to feel anything for me, it’s nothing.”

your heart throbs painfully in your chest, beating against the cage of your ribs. no! it’s everything!

“but... i think it’s still affecting you.” war and death had a tendency to do that, not that zagreus could understand the futility of death much, but it was... a lot. “maybe...”

you set your shoulders, looking back upwards, “maybe nothing. what is in the past is in the past, nothing more. i thank you for your concern, but i have made peace in my grief.” it’s sharp when you reply, but you are tired of this conversation. perhaps he had the gift of ever-lasting life, but you are far too aware of your own mortality.

“i apologize. i’ve upset you.” he sounds like a puppy kicked, and you feel something inside of you soften marginally.

a sigh leaves your lips, “you were trying to comfort me, it’s fine. but for now? let us enjoy the stars.”

you both quiet, contenting yourselves with watching the stars until your bowls empty and stomachs full - mortality and godhood coexisting in quiet peace.

#hades the game #hades supergiant #zagreus #zagreus ades #persephone hades #persephone #my writing #aku writing

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cosmic-navel-gazin · 4 years ago

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This is something a bit different from me, but in light of the recent announcement from Ubisoft that there’s going to be a remake of Prince of Persia: Sands of Time coming out in January 2021, I thought I’d share some thoughts.

(This started out small but got outta hand so super long post incoming, no spoilers for the games)

So first off, a bit of my history with the original game.

I’m a big fan of the Prince of Persia (PoP) franchise, and I’ll fully admit that nostalgia plays a big part in it. You see, in many ways this 2003 classic was my real entryway drug into the world of videogames.

It wasn’t the first videogame I had ever played. My friends had consoles, there were some games on the school computers, but I didn’t own games as a kid. As far as my parents were concerned, these were all the spoils and soul damning devices of Lucifer himself. You know how it is, every generation goes through this thing of blaming all the world’s problems on a new artform: rock and roll, comic books and then videogames.

So yeah, a gaming console or buying games for the home computer was a BIG NO-NO!

But of course, the more an authority figure says you can’t have something, the more you want and crave it. It was only a matter of time until the opportunity presented itself to me.

And then the day finally came.

It was just me and a couple of friends, going to this new magazine store near the school. And there it was: the dvd case that came with a gaming mag for like 5 euros if I remember correctly, stupid cheap for such a great game.

There was doubt, there was fear, there was anxiety. I didn’t know much about the game, only the old 1989 DOS Prince of Persia:

This had the same name but looked different. I was seduced immediately.

The case stared longingly at me:

It’s not my fault, I was bewitched and I bought it.

My symbol of rebellion, my first big transgression, and my first real treasured posession that I bought with hard earned money.

PoP:The Sands of Time was my original sin so to say:

Accurate representation of what happened that day

I furiously installed the game as soon as my parents left the house. Played it for a couple of hours and stood in awe at the thing - the cinematics, the cool parkour moves, the arabian nights setting, the time manipulation to undo mistakes when platforming or in combat, the Prince breaking the fourth wall saying:”no no no, that’s not what happened, let me start over” whenever I died and got a game over…

You have not experienced true fear if at some point in your life you didn’t feel the cold sweat running down your back as you hear the very distinct sound of your parents’ car arriving when you’re doing something “prohibited”.

As soon as I heard that sound, I quickly quit the game, uninstaled it (I could not run the risk of them finding out I had tainted their machine with a videogame *gasp!*), and ran to my room to hide the game before opening the door for them.

Neetheless to say, I never made much progress since I had to start over every time after quitting and uninstalling the thing. I would just play those first couple of hours over and over, never knowing how the story progressed, but I was happy all the same. At one point I knew every line of dialogue, every music cue, every sound effect of that beginning part. It would be some years before I got my first laptop and finally managed to complete it.

All of this to say that the game means a lot to me. Not just as a product or piece of entertainment. This wasn’t casually playing on someone’s gameboy advance or PS2 to have a bit of fun and pass the time.

This was more intimate.

It was just me; the game; a dark room and a blanket; and a sincere and charming, simple but compelling story told seamlessly through mechanics that only enhanced it. This was me witnessing gameplay and storytelling going hand in hand in a way that even many of my other favourite games don’t do, or don’t do as well (there’s usually some disconnect where a game only manages to really excel at one but not the other).

Ok, so on the announcement and trailer:

youtube

As a big fan you might think I was super hyped for this.

But I gotta say…no, not really.

I’m not super angry, but I’m not really excited either honestly. And I don’t think it’s just the rough and uncanny character models and animation that people are pointing out all over (although that doesn’t help).

I guess to talk a bit on that, I should stress out that my problem isn’t that it doesn’t look realistic enough. To be honest, and this is going to sound rich from a big Witcher 3 fan, I think that the gaming industry overall, moreso big tripple A titles, seem to have this unhealthy obsession with photorealism. Like, I don’t need to see the characters’s pores to care about these polygon people. Strong art direction is what I feel is more valuable. I just don’t think this arms race to photorealism is sustainable. Games are taking longer to make and fund, and I’d rather have dev teams spend more time polishing and refining the games’ mechanics and/or story if the trade-off is less “realistic” graphics.

It might just be personal preference, but I wish we were getting more stylized character and world design. Go look at some screenshots for Pathologic 2, a game that came out last year that hits that sweet spot between full-blown cartoony/caricature and realistic by today’s standards:

And I think that is somewhat what they were going for with this remake’s character models (or I hope it was). But it’s still not quite there, hopefully they’ll work on improving those so they can hit that sweet spot also.

(in defense of my hipocrisy and love of The Witcher 3, I think the more realistic look was appropriate for the world they were portraying, it benefits from it. However I don’t think I would love it any less if it had less detailed models and environments)

One last thing on the graphics.

I will say this though, at least from the footage we see in the new trailer the team seems to be capitalizing on colour. Big vibrant reds, blues, whites and yellows in the environment look great, and really captures the 1.001 nights/arabian nights feel that I absolutely love. I appreciate that since there’s always this tendency for remakes to suck all the colour and life from the original (in both games and movies), regardless if it fits the setting and tone or not.

Anyway, I think the reason I’m very much without a big reaction is that I believe the 2003 original is a true classic, a masterpiece even - I guess I should stress out that when I say masterpiece, I don’t mean it’s perfect. Just that the whole is bigger and better than the sum of its parts, that the things it does right, it does so right, that it completely overshadows the flaws.

The story, the art direction, the gameplay (the holy trinity of platforming, combat and puzzle solving), the brilliant introduction of the dagger of time as a gameplay and story mechanic (one of my favourite mechanics in all of gaming), the music, the charming duo that is the Prince and Farah, the tight pacing with the game being just the right length and not overstaying its welcome, the outstanding level design where you’re never stuck doing one thing for too long (the game is always juggling between combat, story, platforming and puzzles, mixing and matching)…

Looking at all these things, I just really don’t think we need a remake because I don’t think there’s that many glaring terrible flaws that could justify it.

Adding more scenes and content could be good, or it might backfire: bloat and ruin the game’s already excelent pacing and fluidity (which I think is the main keyword that better describes the original, everything flows superbly). The original was only 6-8 hours long and it is better for it. I’m not confident that adding dozens of hours of gameplay like the big tittles today would help at all.

The only real improvements I can see are:

tweeking and perfecting the combat (I’ve seen it mentioned that they’re implementing a targeting system which sounds good);

perhaps also better Farah’s A.I during combat when you have to help protect her from swarms of enemies;

Maybe throw in a couple more enemy types? The cut sand tigers for example?

usual things like adding the option of subtitles, add the ability to skip cutescenes;

But other than that…

I don’t even think the graphics of the original look bad. They’ve aged of course, with the game being 17 years old, but still. I installed it last night and played through the first hour to take some screenshots and I think they’re still good:

I can understand the MediEvil remaster, the Spyro remaster or the more recent FFVII remake in terms of wanting to update the graphics. I can understand that not everyone can easily go back to these low poly lads:

But this game? I know I’m influenced by nostalgia and all, but I don’t think it needs that makeover that badly, especially when compared to these other remakes and remasters. Funnily enough, I just noticed that these examples I just listed were all PS1 games. PoP: SoT was a PS2 , PC and Xbox game. PS2 era games have aged far better visually and don’t need that big a makeover in my most humble opinion.

It would be one thing if the original was out of print like a Rule of Rose scenario ,where you can’t find the game unless you go to ebay or something and it’s stupid expensive. Or if it was a pain to get running on modern systems like it was with Grim Fandango, until it got a remaster.

But no, you can find the Sands of Time trilogy and the PoP (2008) reboot on GOG and Steam (on Steam only there’s also the PoP:The Forgotten Sands midquel). So there isn’t the usual problem of the game no longer being accessible to people who want to play it, which helps justify the need for a remake.

The original still plays nice, sounds nice and looks nice, so I guess this all goes to show that at the end of the day, this remake just feels a bit unnecessary to me, at least from what little the trailer showed (I would love to have my bitter cynical ass proved wrong though!).

Maybe I just have a superhuman tolerance for older games and how they look, I really don’t have that big a problem if the game itself is good or interesting, so I don’t always think older games need remakes.

Maybe my falling out of love with Ubisoft in this last decade has curbed forever any hype I might have for their announcements, even when they pull out my son, my baby boy Prince of Persia out again.

Maybe I’m just burnt out and too pessimistic about remakes, remasters and adaptations (although game remakes usually do better than film ones).

And this makes me a bit sad because I don’t want to sh*t all over the first piece of “new” Prince of Persia content we’ve had since 2010??? Oof, it’s been a while.

Especially knowing that Yuri Lowenthal is coming back and excited to voice the Prince again. And I also don’t want to be too harsh since we’re looking at an alpha of the game. But so far I’m just very numb to this, I do seriously hope it turns out good and that they don’t rush it out the door. But I’m not convinced we need a remake in the first place. The original is a milestone, a game changer. I’d rather see a game that had great ideas and poor execution being remade than something people already love and consider a masterpiece.

Guess we’ll see how I feel once more news and footage come out.

Oh and feel free to share your own thoughts on this remake. I’m curious to know what both fans and newcomers alike think.

small edit: I can’t believe I was just watching this Sands of Time playthrough on youtube and at one point it is said: “Another game that is designed similarly to this is Soul Reaver actually.”

Of course! I didn’t even see it! All of my favourite things are connected!!! Maybe that detail was another thing that helped me getting really into Soul Reaver as I was first playing it.

#prince of persia #prince of persia: the sands of time #prince of persia remake #ubisoft #videogames #my ramblings #I can't seem to write a short post to save my life!

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zinaidas · 4 years ago

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HER EYES, HER LARGE DARK EYES, WERE AMBIGUOUS —

𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄: zinaida petrovna sabitova

𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐄: the sacred

𝐀𝐆𝐄: twenty-five

𝐎𝐂𝐂𝐔𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: principal dancer at the bolshoi ballet

𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐓: here.

—a delicate nose tucked into a fur collar, the flashing of camera bulbs white-cold and relentless as the snow, perfume no one can identify, a knife hanging from the ceiling; thread fraying, the slow undoing of a velvet bow, walking into the sea in an evening dress, the bargains made in folktales, smiling without showing teeth, heat from a spotlight, a striking figure in a black dress, blood in pointe shoes, unopened gifts, kissing a cold statue, balancing atop the balcony railing, straining muscles, lying naked atop the bedspread, a rose pushed to bowing under the weight of snowdrift, a crown that mysteriously fits, swans on the morning lake, lipstick stains, pulling death from the tarot deck, the gaze of a room sweeping in one direction, a glass throne, flowers being thrown on stage, grainy black and white footage of far-away figures, the cold draft through a window purposefully left open, the scent of perfume lingering in an empty room, perfect posture, the shot that puts down a lame horse.

𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘, 𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐀 & 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐔𝐓 !

trigger warnings for: implied sex work, sexual assault, drowning, suicide, & attempted suicide.

𝘏𝘐𝘚𝘛𝘖𝘙𝘠 !

i swear this is abbreviated compared to her app... i swear...

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈: 𝐀 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐒.

she’s raised by her mother in an apartment with red walls, a colour she remembers not as blood-red or rose-red but heart-red. her mother is beautiful in the way no single individual should be and charming in a way that borders on symptomatic of terror. as a woman she excels, captivating hearts around her without intention and outright pilfering those she aims for, but as a mother she knows little. it is never a secret to little zinaida that she was an unplanned child — the absence of a father is evidence enough.

her childhood is blurred and full of a great deal of whirring colour; the red walls, the churning silhouettes cast by light of a candle, the twirl of her mother’s skirt before she leaves for the night. girlhood is always full of this motion and little stillness — the solid, rectangular parts of life such as school and full meals are of little importance to zinaida’s mother, and sometimes forgotten altogether. she learns to be a quiet, undisruptive girl who does not whine when her stomach grumbles or the scent of smoke stains her clothes; she is educated on the value of trading rations for pure silk stockings when the war comes in place of the missed lessons. there is no time beauty is required more, mother says, than in duress. always, it prevails.

at night she sits on the edge of mother’s bed and watches as she applies makeup at the vanity, setting her face with rouge and powder in flaking gilt packages. it’s like magic those hours, watching her mother transform into a proud creature even more beautiful and untouchable than the one in the beginning, and how it is that extraordinary demi-being that returns home with beautiful trinkets or thick handfuls of paper bills. each morning she comes home, until the one she does not.

the man in the dark suit arrives at her front door and tells little zinaida, whose height only reaches his hip, one thing she knows to be a half-truth and one thing that she does not know of at all: that her mother is a prostitute, and a traitor to the soviet union. these things are explained to her as both independent facts and contingent clauses, like the two angular pieces of a door hinge.

her mother is accused, she is told, of blackmailing one of the state council. young zinaida blinks, still gripping the doorknob. it is not news to her that her mother associates with rich and powerful men, but it is news to hear that this is a crime. blackmailing? she asks. yes, he says. it means to threaten with a piece of information. only, in this case, the information is false. she is lying, and she has been arrested. oh. the girl says. it seems very odd to her that her mother, who so often lessoned zinaida on the truths of the world as she saw them (for instance, that men were only afraid of the two things they could not control: beauty, and death), would be caught lying. what is the information? the man looks down at her from under his hat. it begins to rain behind him. you. she says you are his daughter. everyone has a father. she answers. why is this so bad? for the first time, the stranger in the doorway looks uncomfortable, lifting a hand to scratch the midday shadow along his jaw. she claims it is by force.

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈𝐈: 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐆𝐄.

driven out from stalingrad into the surrounding country by the man in the dark hat, zinaida is taken to an estate with wrought iron gate, overrun with weeds and the sensation of time passed and left embittered for it. there she finds a half-dozen other girls, all bastards of important and high-sat men. she and the other girls call it the birdcage: for their imposed home gleamed like one, and because it housed a half-dozen little sparrows of young women, each of them trapped, fluttering at windows, waiting to get out and touch the world.

despite its size, the estate has few staff, and those who do cook and clean within the walls keep their silence like a photograph tucked in their pocket. uncle vanya, as they are told to call him, is the only one who speaks to the girls — though his speech is always stunted and harsh as a candle burned halfway down. he stands as both the head of household and, as zinaida would learn, the ballet master. dance, he says, is how they will occupy their days — ballet the medium which would instill discipline and self-control into their lives, things they will then carry into life as young women released back into the city.

the war feels so distant in the countryside, wrapped as they are in their strange, repetitious daily life. dance occupies both the time & intention of each day; if they are not practicing they are stretching, and if they are not stretching all that there is schoolwork, sleep, or chores.

zinaida, tall for her age and with a body made lean by intermittent poverty, is objectively made for the stage in ways she has no control over — but her skill, too, is preternatural. already accustomed to suffering, she has no wide eyes when uncle vanya chastises her, nor wobbling lip when her pointe shoes graft sections of skin from her toes and heels. she merely persists. more than that, she begins to exist. she has found what her mother told her about all that time ago: a beauty that survives even dread. even the end of the world.

her skill over the others — and perhaps even moreso, her desire to dance — is quickly noticed by the uncle and the girls both. her peers grow cold, irritated by what makes her different — what makes her special in a world where all must be communal. uncle vanya, however, pays closer attention. after dinner on her eighth birthday, he bends to one knee and looks zinaida in the eye, one hand on her shoulder. you can go to leningrad to dance, if you wish. they will teach you, and I can arrange it. will you go? she, with her raven-hair and bright, solemn little eyes looks back with a very simple answer: what else would I do?

( and she thinks, she thinks: if only i am good enough, perhaps they will take me to mother again. perhaps i will not be alone. )

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈𝐈𝐈: 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐃.

she comes of age in the breeding grounds of race and rivalry. zinaida is found, as uncle vanya has expected, a prodigal dancer with bodily proportions meant for the stage. her peers resent or flock to her, hoping to find a queen to please or a star to hitch to. so long without true companions, she is desperate for the affection of those around her — for friends, for lovers — but the demand of ballet, the pull of a future with the bolshoi, usurps the ability to make connection. still, she dreams. she imagines loving every individual who shows her kindness.

innessa anisimova is another vaganova pupil with great promise, and perhaps zinaida’s singular dearest friend. both seventeen and dark-haired, they are often mistaken for sisters, and take their places next to one another at the barre. though the academy and its tutors were brutal to all who entered, innessa is picked on by the school’s faculty, often critiqued by comparison to zinaida. they accuse her of having a leaden body, criticizing her footwork by saying it looked as though she had bricks tied to her feet. the stress of the training coupled with increasingly personal attacks, innessa’s mental health suffers until reaching a point of no return. on a cold november night, innessa looks to the verbal attacks of her instructors and takes her own life, lashing cinderblocks to her shoes and jumping into the nearby lake.

several months later, zinaida makes an attempt on her own life before a handful of instructors in a fit of mania. the knife is wrenched from her hand, but the motion leaves a 2-inch scar across her delicate neck. zinaida is given a brief reprieve from lessons, and the academy, unwilling to release their star, covers up the incident. still, rumours persist.

at eighteen, after graduation from vaganova and weeks prior to her debut with the bolshoi, zinaida goes the ‘60s version of viral after her measurements are taken in several national newspapers, put out as proof that she has the “perfect” ballet body printed along with interviews & articles. the image of her at 18, extended in fourth position while a journalist holds a measuring tape down her leg, along with subsequent video footage, has been widely circulated.

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈𝐕: 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐉𝐄𝐖𝐄𝐋 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐖.

her debut is remarkable, her place as a celebrated figure quickly evolving into celebrity as she rises from the corpse to soloist and principal in a thin handful of years, two meteoric ascents. but the fame is not wholly naturally: instead, it is in part carefully cultivated. having sought an effigy for the general populace to rally behind and support — a face more personal than authority figures, and less frivolous than america’s movie stars — the soviet government decide on zinaida. she, with her generation-defining talent, exemplified a human excellence that could be strained into a narrative of natural soviet supremacy — a thing so potent, they want you to believe, that it manifested in the body itself.

she attends high profile events; she’s dressed in foreign clothes; her personal life is gossip; she’s seen on the arms of extremely important men. the glamour is muted but still there, meant to showcase what any soviet could attain through hard work and excellence; she is a celebrity, but of a different kind. much like her skeleton title, her reputation is carefully cultivated to be exactly that — sacred. the brand of her image is one meant to mark a certain exclusivity, a sanctity that cannot be broached by things unworthy. her absences are as important as her attendances, as it’s within these blank spaces that the general public can imagine what the government desires them to: that she resists parties for practice, dismisses romance for work. of all she has, all that zinaida knows as earned in truth is her position at the bolshoi — but even this remains at the discretion of the soviet government, as everything in her life does.

𝘙𝘜𝘔𝘖𝘜𝘙𝘚 & 𝘗𝘜𝘉𝘓𝘐𝘊 𝘗𝘌𝘙𝘊𝘌𝘗𝘛𝘐𝘖𝘕 !

... ONLY ATTENDS EVENTS FOR A LARGE APPEARANCE FEE / half-true. she occasionally receives payment through the government for attending events they dictate to her, but she doesn’t have much of a choice anyway lol.

... WAS ENGAGED TO A YOUNG COUNCIL MEMBER, HAVING BEEN WON OVER BY HIS PURSUIT: ATTENDING EVERY SHOW OF THE 1960 SEASON / false. the councilman did attend every show, but the romance (and subsequent rumour) was contrived. this was largely done to unite a “people’s” figure with one of authority. zinaida and artyom mikhailov would have a brief and genuine relationship during this time, but it ended prematurely.

... WILL BE NAMED PRIMA BALLERINA AT THE END OF THE SEASON / ?? it’s considered an ill-kept secret and all-but-verified fact by the public, but we’ll see.

... CAUSED THE OVERSEERS OF HER VAGANOVA AUDITION TO CRY WITH HER PERFORMANCE / false. similar things have been said of her bolshoi audition, but it’s untrue.

... IS RELATED TO XYZ. / who knows. not zinaida. there are a handful of random rumours as to her parentage, but largely this is due to the fact that her life before vaganova is unknown. unwilling to have their figurehead linked to a scandalous birth or mother, the soviet gov has scrubbed and hid her records.

𝘛𝘙𝘐𝘝𝘐𝘈 !

to hide the scar on her neck, zinaida constantly wears necklaces and scarves - she’s known for wearing a black velvet choker even during rehearsals.

knows how to read palms and tarot cards by heart, skills remembered from her childhood with an unusual mother who came from a crooked house in the black woods. zin carries that little bit of witchiness quietly with her, between occasional occult practices and the mental ritualizing of her modern habits. superstitious, though she doesn’t like to show it.

frequently after performances, zinaida rushes from the fallen curtain to her dressing room, not stopping to speak to cast or crew. this likely incurs opinions of snobbish or diva behaviour, but it’s emotion rather than apathy that has her take to the private room. the emotions of a role, when not allowed to move and expel through performance, tend to overwhelm her once she stills -- leading to tears, tremors, and other vulnerabilities she doesn’t wish her peers to see.

the media and general populace have several nicknames for her, most prevalently the jewel of moscow (stalingrad? idk) and the tsarina (graduated from the tsarevna, her pre-principal nickname).

obsessive over preventative beauty and bodily measures -- even moreso than the average ballerina. there are lengthy morning and nighttime routines for both, with everything from face creams/serums to stretching, and the ritual of it soothes her.

she has no idea who her father is, but frequently thinks about the fact that any of the old men in authority she poses with for the papers could be Him. her patronymic was assigned to her before debut.

terrified of her own mortality, and subsequently dislikes being around the elderly.

contrary to what was told to her so many years ago, her mother was never arrested for attempting to blackmail a politician. she was, conversely, offered a large sum of money to send her illegitimate child to the estate in the country. though i’m still working through how she discovered this, zinaida is aware of at least part of this truth by now.

has the awfully fatalistic habit of practicing choreography and positions on the edge of a high building, particularly when overcome with guilt, anger, or melancholy. to her, this is a resolute test -- either she is strong and agile enough to uphold herself, to balance with utter perfection, or she is not. and if she is not -- is life not ruined regardless?

applauded for the depth and intensity of her characterizations on stage and the ability to embody a role, removing the audience’s view from one of technical steps to that of a character and a story. her talent, generally speaking, is considered a once-in-a-generation -- along the lines of the anna pavlovas and margot fonteyns; a name that goes down in both russian and ballet history.

𝘊𝘖𝘕𝘕𝘌𝘊𝘛𝘐𝘖𝘕𝘚 !

tbd. i just need to post this already gdi.

#deux:intro #⋆ ❍ ⋆ / an in wrought fairytale sense of doom » dossier.

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danddymaro · 5 years ago

Text

Just between us | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Set During Civil War W/ a bit of Steve x Reader that’s one-sided.

Buck’s opinion on (f/n)

Fixed/ Edited

Word Count : 4459

Just Between Us

“ Hey (f/n), what do you think of our getaway car?” Sam said out loud, disregarding the fact that the woman sat just a few feet behind him, and that Steve was literally right next to him.

The blonde listened on with a straight face, a very small, inconspicuous groan slipping out of him at the question, while his hands wrung the steering wheel with obvious annoyance gearing within him.

It was plainly obvious Wilson wanted the blonde male to hear his conversation, all to make certain Steve understood just how silly his choice of vehicle was, and he had a field day using every bit of material he could think of,

“Steve right there thought it was the best thing to stay on the low,” Sam said snickering, unable to downplay the stretched-out grin over his face. Gliding his index over the dashboard and inspecting it with a comically critical glance at it, he then looked back at the young woman, smiling at her, urging her to play along.

He made a small gesture by nudging his head right to the driver, a cheeky smile present over his face.

In turn, (F/n) shook her head in disapproval, but nevertheless, letting her gaiety slip through.

With her (e/c) eyes she pleaded Sam, continuing to shake her head, a hand slapping over her mouth, tightly pressing over the lower half of her face.

Her body was shivering with the amount of laughter she had been suppressing since she saw the little piece of ancient history, and Sam was not helping,

“ - A real 007 right here,” she then added with a cackle, having tried to keep the words under her breath, but failing miserably.

Unfortunately, she had been doomed from the start,

“Oh fuck!” She squealed, throwing her head back, her hands clutching her midsection as the muscles there cried with agony at her present enjoyment.

“Language (f/n),” Wilson chided her, making her laugh even more, “Sam, you idiot…Stop it!” she hissed, her right hand quickly moving to slap over his left arm.

“- Alright you two,” Steve muttered, “I get it,” he said before sighing, soon stopping the car and setting it in park.

“Do you really though?” Sam asked him, raising a dark brow at the man.

With an eye-roll, Steve gave the man an amused chuckle with his response, “ By now, yes.” He said huffing, “ It’s hard not to.” He deadpanned.

“Anyways,” he began, “ I just need a few minutes,” he assured them with a sure nod, speaking to his little team through the car’s open window.

“- Oh, and (f/n),” He added, leering in closer to speak to her, “ Can you please keep an eye on these two?” Steve asked her, looking at her with an apparent plea.

With a quick, little salute, she nodded her head, “Can do!” she agreed, making him nod in appreciation, a thankful, little smile being shot at her before he stepped away.

After the blonde had stepped away from the car, silence settled between the three in the vehicle, and during then, the young woman raised both brows with proud surprise, ‘ Hmm...I don’t know what he was so worried about,’ (f/n) thought to herself, ‘ It’s not like they’re kids,’ She added, giving credit to the two men in the car with her, her eyes going from Bucky to Sam, finding them both preoccupied with staring out of their seat’s windows.

As she was musing over the two men’s mature behavior, Sam suddenly jutted forward, nearly crashing into the dashboard. Luckily, his two hands gave him the stop he needed, and once the initial shock of the sudden push went away, an instant show annoyance was worn on his face, agitated lines and all.

“That’s the sixth time you do that this whole car ride,” he said lowly, directing his words at the man right behind him, not bothering to turn back and glare at him.

“Well, I don’t have room,” Bucky replied back in a deadly flat voice.

Hanging her head, (f/n) pouted out her lower lip, currently sulking, already aware of the petty war that would pick up from where they last left off,

‘ Here we go,’ she thought to herself, roughly dragging her left hand down from her forehead to her chin.

‘ I guess that didn’t last long,’ She added, ‘ Honestly, With everything else going on...we can’t be squabbling with each other, not now,’ she thought to herself, trying to block out their bickering, focusing on other things, like, what was currently happening outside.

She had already grown easily annoyed due to Sam and Bucky’s arguing, but moreso with the fact that Rogers had taken longer than he should have, the man seeming to make idle conversation with Carter instead of just moving along with the plan.

‘I thought we were here to just pick up our stuff,’ She thought with a heavy breath leaving her nostrils after seeing Sharon giggle.

‘-So what’s taking so long?’

She looked down at her wrist, her watch’s face determining they’d been there for 25 minutes already, all of which had been of her just sitting there, trying to ignore the two within the vehicle, meanwhile, preoccupied with the two outside,

‘Just what are they talking about anyway?’ She wondered as she strained to try and read their lips.

It was then that in her line of vision, Sam’s hand rose, his middle finger right there for her to stare at, something she was sure wasn’t meant for her, but nonetheless irked her.

‘And these two are still at it.’ She thought deadpanned, shaking her head.

“Guys, “ she started, the sound of her exasperated sigh making the two men grumble with reluctance before they grew silent.

“Thank you...” she said with a short mumble, her eyes falling back to the outside world.

With a low sigh of his own, one that made his cheeks slightly bulge out, Sam sank into his seat further, stretching his left arm out into the driver’s seat, his right laying on the door right aside from him.

Meanwhile, Bucky attempted to also relax, but was stopped as he felt another leg pressed against his, the (h/c) haired woman’s body being right there to stop him from stretching any further.

‘Damn it,’ he thought to himself.

She didn’t flinch or move at his brush up on her, her attention far too involved on the two outside of the vehicle, completely stricken by both blondes.

Just then he saw the seat in front of him move back a bit more, the head of it hitting him on his forehead, forcing him to lean back more, his metal hand going right to his forehead to rub the struck spot.

And It wasn’t like it had hurt, but still…

(f/n) heard his small grunt, as well as felt his arm roughly jerk to hers when his face was hit.

With a short gasp of her own, one that was filled with surprise, she startled.

‘-Great,’ Bucky thought sarcastically, watching the woman’s reaction, his attention immediately going back to Sam, eyes narrowed sharply,

“Can you move your seat up?” He asked in a dull tone, already well aware he’d receive anything but a good-willed yes from the other man.

“No,” Sam replied back flatly, the answer making (f/n) huff as she heard it.

“You can’t be serious,” (f/n) whined, “Sam,” she started, her voice full of the same disappointment a preschool teacher would have in regards to a small, defiant child,

“ You could move your seat up, you know?” she said crossing her arms.

“We’re already squished as it is,” she added.

“Can't. Seat’s jammed,” he answered back.

Rolling her eyes, the young woman clicked her tongue loudly, “You are so unbelievable,” she muttered, “You know it isn’t jammed, in fact, I just saw you move it back some more!” she accused, wedging herself in between the passenger and driver seat to go glare up at him.

“ Sam…” she warned him, noticing the way he averted his eyes.

“What’s wrong with you? You're acting like such a brat!” she questioned him, watching him pout.

“- Wait...No...My fucking god,” she muttered in disbelief, realization coming over her, “You seriously can’t be mad about that bagel!” she said with wonder, rolling her eyes at the very idea.

“If this is about that damn bagel I swear...” she added before trailing off.

“ It was a whole wheat donut,” Sam corrected her while speaking in a calm tone, also raising up his index finger as he lectured her. “ …And, He took the last, and only donut that I specifically asked for,” he interjected.

“I didn’t know!” Bucky shot back as he groaned out, hanging his head back with an annoyed groan.

“Well now you do,” Wilson murmured, “And don’t think I forgot about my totaled car,” he added before falling quiet.

“Oh, sam...” (f/n) said softly, shaking her head at the statement, understanding the root of the problem.

He was also stressed and annoyed, and of course, roped into everything that came with Steve, and Steve included Bucky.

Being petty was his way of getting even.

She then shifted over to the left, crookedly smiling over at the dark-haired man beside her, “Hey,” she said gently, patting her hand to the small spot in between the brunette and her to get his attention.

“Hey...Buck...” she said again, catching his attention during her second attempt.

Once she saw him turn his gaze to her, her sheepish grin lost its reluctance, the expression quickly replaced with true, open sweetness.

Looking down at her moving hand, Bucky pressed his lips together as his own show of hesitance, but soon after, formed a stiff smile at seeing her kind offer topped off with the light, friendly smile.

“Thanks,” he muttered, feeling his forced smile grow more genuine as he stared at her pretty face.

“Don’t mention it,” she replied back, “Just try and get comfy,” she advised. “And don’t mind him,” she added in a whisper, “He’s normally a sweet goof,” she added, “But with everything happening...you know, right?” she explained vaguely.

Nodding, he moved closer to her, taking up more space in the back, soon finding himself feeling just a bit more comfortable while (f/n) squeezed herself together towards the other side of the backseat, both her arms and legs coming in towards her body to make herself as small as possible.

Without another word, she returned to her earlier observation, the woman soon back to peering past the driver’s seat.

She bit her bottom lip anxiously, watching both Steve and Sharon talk, the apparent comfort between the two making her feel noticeably uneasy.

It shouldn’t have bothered her, heck, she didn’t even feel a smidge of spite or dislike towards the redheaded woman on their team, despite her closeness with the First Avenger.

And that was recognizing that Natasha as a total bombshell.

She wasn’t ever worried about the man being around other women and yet, for some reason, Sharon Carter felt different. She unsettled (f/n) and admittedly arose a feeling of raw, green envy from within her.

It gnawed at her, devouring her from the inside out, and it couldn't be helped.

Bucky felt sudden pressure placed over his knee, and trailing his soft blue eyes down to his leg, he watched as (f/n) lay her hand over it, carelessly holding it as though it were her own.

The touch made him feel somewhat uncomfortable, but nonetheless, he allowed her to keep the contact.

After all, he took up all the space in the back, practically squishing her into a small corner, so, he couldn’t possibly protest to her touch when she had been nice enough to keep shut her own complaints.

She had gone as far as to give up her comfort for his, and he wasn’t ungrateful, he recognized the effort.

That, and there was the fact that he had quite literally nearly killed her a couple of years prior, something she seemed to have gotten over, but he couldn’t let go of.

So, in the end, he couldn’t find it in him to ever give her any lip.

‘Why do I keep thinking about it?’ He wondered. ‘If she let go... why can’t I?’ He thought annoyed.

He then felt her hand tighten, her nails nearly clawing their way into his knee, digging in through his denim jeans as she watched the sight before her with wide eyes.

Curiously, he followed her line of vision just in time to see Steve step forward, being the first to move, claiming a kiss from the long-haired blonde female standing before him.

‘ Well then,’ Bucky thought to himself, impressed that his friend had been the first to move, and for a second forgetting he had a vice grip attacking his left knee. In fact, it wasn’t until the pressure left him, leaving him with numbness that he snapped out of his focus.

He immediately set his eyes on the woman beside him, finding her sad (e/c) eyes drawn away from everything but the small car’s interior ground.

‘ Oh…I see,’ He thought to himself, understanding.

His hand closest to her began raising, moving to touch her shoulder, but halfway through the act, he shook his head, deciding to turn the other way, his face set to the window beside him.

It wasn’t long before Steve came back, “Alright guys," he started, his voice sounding elated as he opened up the car door, “ Our gear is here,” he said while smiling brightly, sporting a new glow to his face that was hard to ignore.

Nodding hastily, (f/n) pushed the driver’s seat forward, not sparing him a single glance, instead, making a straight line toward the back of the other woman’s car.

Sharon still stood there, smiling at her with a somewhat welcoming expression, though clearly holding back the expression to a degree.

And it wasn’t as though they held bad blood in between them, (f/n) always made sure to be kind to the woman, and Sharon always did the same.

The thing was that in certain cases, women just know, they are aware of competition, and between the two, it was a well-established fact that they both held an interest in Steve Rogers.

Unfortunately for (f/n), Sharon had won, and it was an obvious victory the (h/c) haired woman wasn’t going to ignore or cheat her out of in any way.

She wasn’t a sore loser. She accepted that she was A loser, but not a shitty one.

“Thanks…” (f/n) said with a somber smile, wasting no time in gathering her things, her grip on her belongings being tighter than usual.

“Yeah,” Sharon breathed out, her eyes set upon Rogers once more, a different expression washing over her as he approached her yet again.

The look between them was easy to read, lifting a bitter smile from the female Avenger as she left them to say their goodbye.

On the car ride (f/n) put on a fake smile, Congratulating him like she was also impressed, playing along and feeding off of Sam’s playful energy, while in reality, she was lying through her teeth, shoving out the words with everything she could muster.

Bucky could tell that each and every one of her words was fake and that within her (e/c) colored eyes was a storm waiting to let loose, simply needing the perfect moment of isolation to do so.

Steve, who was not just the object of her affection, but one of her long-running friends didn’t take notice of it, and Bucky knew just why.

Because as well as she had hidden her yearning for him, she was able to mask her sadness and newfound disillusionment.

Sam, who was also a good friend of hers, failed to notice as well because it was difficult to tell when she grinned like a fool.

All in all, it was difficult to tell when she had already hidden her true self from them with a different persona and it wasn’t long before Bucky began to realize just how much of a master she had become at masking the true sentiments within her heart, even from those closest to her.

It was both impressive and saddening to him,

Admirable, yet disheartening.

‘She’s such a sweet gal,’ He thought to himself while shaking his head, easily seeing visible cracks on the mask of merriment she wore.

He’d thought the same when she welcomed him, assuring him that whatever was in the past between them was nothing but a memory.

And then, he was only proven right furthermore when she cramped herself to the side just for him, all because she couldn’t stand him being uncomfortable.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“You ok?” he said softly, slowly approaching her while she leaned against the white van.

Humming in acknowledgment, she looked up at him, confused, “ Of course," She said to him, "What are you talking about?” she answered back, blinking up at him with pretty (e/c) eyes, cocking her head to the side as well.

He stayed silent, biting his lower lip, not quite sure how to even start, “You know...” he trailed off, his eyes gesturing off to the side where Steve was, the blonde preoccupied with talking to an attentive Hawkeye and Lang.

Her eyes slowly grew open, “ You could tell?” She said lowly, her voice going soft and secretive as her eyes drifted off in every way they could stray, because there was already one too many people who had figured it out.

She stepped closer to him, staring up at him with uncertainty, making sure she didn’t spill anything wrong, just in case she had misunderstood.

And he didn’t respond to her, but from his face, she got the confirmation she needed,

“ - It’s that obvious, huh?” She asked him, sighing before slumping. “Be honest,” she added, smiling with humiliation and defeat.

If he’d figured it out then who else knew?

“Not really,” he answered her, “ If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think Steve or Sam have a clue,” he told her, making her release a shaky sigh of relief.

“You think?” she asked him.

“I’m sure,” he told her, shooting her a halfhearted smile.

Shaking her head, she then released a breath from her nostrils, her shoulders hanging,

“With it just being the two of us here...Can I tell you something?” she asked him, and with open ears, he heard her out.

“In all honestly, I've wanted someone to figure it out,” she admitted, “ I wish it would have been him though, it would have made things slightly easier.” She added.

“Of course that was before it became pretty cemented that he and...Well, Her are a thing...” She explained, trying not to name any names and catch anyone’s attention.

“And you know…” she started, “ It’s been this way for a while,” she admitted, “I hadn’t even realized I felt that way about him till it was jokingly pointed out,” she told him.

“Tony had said something stupid... I think he called us an old married couple, but, of course, he was just being an idiot, and it didn't mean anything.” She further explained.

“But then, I thought about it, and then kept thinking about it until it was past midnight. And when the next morning came, I was still awake, realizing that if we had been one, I wouldn’t have minded.

In fact… I would have loved it.

Fuck, I'm pretty stupid aren't I? I thought too much of a simple joke, and then afterward it was like I let loose something I couldn't cage up again, because whenever I even heard his voice… it made me feel..." She trailed off, trying to find the most fitting word.

"Gosh... I don't even know how to explain it well," she mused. “That’s how stupid I am,” she muttered, slapping a hard hand to her forehead.

“Hey, I don’t think you're stupid,” he answered her, making her shake her head, a small breathy chuckle leaving her, thinking otherwise,

“I know I don’t have any hope now... and I’m still stuck on it.” she admitted. “ I know I've already been kicked out of the race,” she sighed, “But I still feel this tiny hope, and if that isn’t stupid I don't know what is,” she told him.

“Don’t get me wrong, It’s not like I felt like he should have picked me because I’m better in any way,” she added, her right thumb scratching off the chipped pieces of nail polish from her left thumb as she spoke, “ She’s a good woman.

She is.

I have nothing against her,” (f/n) trailed off, “But...It just feels like I was pulled in his direction. Like, I was supposed to end up on the same road he was at, but when I got there, everything was suddenly working against me!” she explained.

“ It’s like I didn’t even have a shot to begin with,” she said softly. “And we’ll, I hate to sound like a brat, or some asshole here, but…but…” she shuddered, trying hard to speak through the harbored feelings of envy unfolding as they melted over the bitterness of the situation.

“ I deserved to be given an opportunity.” She hissed.” If not, then why in the hell did it feel so right to try and keep up with him?” she asked him, looking directly at the brunette with question.

“Another thing is, I begin to wonder if he ever noticed and just put me aside, you know? All this time, was he being the nice guy and trying to spare me? ” she said sounding weak, opening her mouth to speak more before she slapped her two hands over her mouth.

“ Oh no, I’m sorry for dumping all this on you!” she said while her head, looking at him apologetically.

“You know, “ Bucky started, skimming over her flustered embarrassment, “Steve’s pretty oblivious when it comes to this, much more when it’s obvious a woman is into him. He has never really known how to handle it,” Bucky revealed to her.

“He likes to act like they never looked his way, but I can tell you that a good percentage of the girls we took out actually liked him, but he was just too thick-headed to notice,” he added, shaking his head as he cracked a genuine grin.

“ Yeah?” she said with interest, a very small smile creeping over her face.

“Oh yeah, “ he mused, “ I’m pretty sure he doesn’t have a clue you like him,” he told her. “And who knows, maybe she was more forward with it than you were,” he assured her.

“ I’m sure if you would have gone for it, he wouldn't have been dumb enough to toss you aside,” He said with certainty, “After all,” he added, “You're a good catch,” he told her, his grin melting down with sincerity.

She rolled her eyes, a small giggle escaping her while being complimented.

Watching her grow lighthearted, he felt a rise of tenderness, the little sound of amusement making him feel a tickle of giddiness. Momentarily, he felt like he wasn’t being hunted down, and like everything was fine and dandy.

“Bucky, what makes me a good catch?” she asked him, the question coming out frail and hesitant enough that he could easily see she wanted some sort of validation, just a small thing to give her confidence back.

His eyes fell over her entire figure, watching as she began to grow a different shade, color rising over her face and he wasn't sure if it was because of the question itself, or the fact that he was taking her full image in.

“I’m sorry, “ she started, beginning to shake her head, finding him silent for too long, realizing the question was something strange to ask of someone she’d only known for a day.

“You don’t ha-”

“You have a pretty smile.” he told her. “ And your eyes look like they have little stars are in them,” he continued on, making her stare on wide-eyed.

“ And when you laugh it’s almost contagious,” he told her.

“You’re so welcoming… and you’re forgiving… so forgiving that it doesn’t feel right,” he admitted to her.

“You’re patient, “ he added, going on to say more when she held up her hand, stopping him. “I…I wasn’t expecting that,” she admitted, a rather cute chuckle coming from her as she blushed more.

“Well, maybe that’s the problem,” he told her, walking towards her, surprising her as he came close, his hand laying over her shoulder, doing what he had intended to when they were in the car.

He gave her a little touch to make her know someone noticed her, and that she wasn't alone.

“ Maybe you should appreciate yourself more,” he advised her, “ Because, between you and me, I think you’re the perfect catch,” he told her, stepping to the side, and walking past her, leaving her stunned with his words.

As she stood there reflecting on just what he said, he kept walking, but stopped a few feet away from her, turning back to look at her with expectancy, “ Well, Aren’t you coming?” he asked her, bringing her back down to earth.

And as she came falling back down, she felt something warm and sweet travel down to her stomach, leaving her filled with a soft, fluttery feeling deep within the pit of her stomach.

Nodding, she quickly caught up with him, trailing behind him as she adjusted her fingerless gloves, making sure they were on just right before she finally caught up with him.

She then matched his steps, both side by side.

She then began to look over at him, her (e/c) eyes peeking at him from time to time, every once in a while catching him doing the same.

The first time had left her startled, their eyes locking unexpectedly, but neither of them shied away from being caught.

He’d been first to offer her a soft smile, a small exhale of amusement leaving him as he tore his eyes from her and lead them back in front of him, and it made her crack a smile.

She smiled the second time it happened as well as the third and the next two that followed.

Each time they were caught, it brought the same result from the two, causing a fun, little loop, and it became a sort of mindless, meaningless game they played together, going unnoticed and unbothered by everyone else.

‘ Bucky Barnes… you’re a catch yourself,’ She mused, having found the man to be pleasant, and rather sweet.

- Something she hadn’t really planned to expect.

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ambrosiaicecreem · 4 years ago

Note

AH IM ABOUT TO GO TO SLEEP BUT I ASK ALL OF THEM FOR THE CHARACTER OF YOUR CHOICE. Goodnight ^_^v

AH thanks for the ask jade! good night! <3

I’m answering for the most controversial Montolvo child: Kassandra. All answers under the cut since this’ll be a LONG one!

🌹 Where in the world does your OC feel most at home? Is there any reason why? If it’s not the place they were born, where were they born? Is there a certain somebody that makes them feel at home where ever they may be? What does home mean to them?

Kass feels most at home back in Greece. She was the one that adjusted to the move to New Brando the worst, out of everyone in her family. Athens is all that she knows, and quite honestly she was happy to spend out the rest of forever there.

There isn’t really any certain people that makes her feel at home. So long as she’s with her family, that’s where home is for her and what it means to her. That’s part of why she reacted the way she did in regards to the divorce and Silas and Camellia’s relationship.

🍄 What are your OCs favourite snacks? Their favourite comfort food which always cheers them up when they’re down? Favourite meal to make? Do they enjoy baking and cooking and are they any good in the kitchen?

Kassandra is not the type of young vampire to mix blood in with human food to make special hybrid-like concoctions. She really likes sweets, especially cookies. Her all-time favorite snack, which also happens to be her comfort food, is kourabiedes (greek christmas butter cookies). It’s something she knows how to make by heart, all thanks to the years of making it with her father and siblings.

She enjoys baking, but very much NOT cooking. She believes in the whole “you’re either a baker or a chef. not BOTH” mentality.

🍁 Where does your OC go when they need to have some time to themself? Would they ever have their own “comfort corner” filled with all the things they like? Do they have a favourite spot outside that feels like its theirs and theirs alone?

Her room is her safe space. She totally would have a “comfort corner”. She kinda does, actually. Her nightstands are full of her favorite things (or they at least WERE her favorite prior to the last few updates): designer purses that were gifts from her mother, pictures of Greece and her family, and a journal. She doesn’t really have a favorite spot outside.

🍂 Does your OC enjoy hugs? What do they do as a show of affection for: their friends, their family, their significant other(s) or for strangers? Over all what are they like with recieving affection from others?

She’s been very... prissy, at this current point in the story. It takes a while for her to genuinely warm up to people. She’s an actions speak louder than words type of girl when it comes to affection, so she likes to do things for the people she cares about. Whether that’s doing them favors or surprising them with things they would like. When it comes to strangers, however, she can be very standoff-ish. She’s not all that great about receiving affection, though. Like.. genuine affection, especially when she isn’t expecting it. it catches her off guard.

🌻 What little things do they notice about people or the world around them that make them happy? What tiny little treasures do they find in the normal every day that makes the world seem a little brighter for them?

It’s honestly a little hard to think about what makes Kass happy, given she’s been pretty negative the amount of times we’ve seen her so far. She finds a lot of joy in pretty things, as superficial as it sounds. Very specifically, she likes pretty works of ancient art, from around the time her father was human.

🌾 Describe your OC through the eyes of someone absolutely head-over-heels in love with them

“Kassandra is... strong. She carries herself with such confidence and dignity. Every step she takes feels like she’s taking over the world. How amazing it must be, to be able to speak your mind and have other people listen. Sometimes I wonder.. if I’m even worthy enough to be by her side. I hope she knows how much she’s worth it.”

- from the eyes of someone coming soon... in season 2 ;-)

💐 How does your OC handle being unwell or forced to rest in bed? Who cares for them and in what ways? Does your OC enjoy being doted on or are they a terrible patient? Reversed: is your OC good at taking care of others who are ill or in need?

Kassandra absolutely refuses to stay still whenever she’s unwell. Usually it’s Silas who takes care of Kassandra, but if for some reason Silas isn’t there it’s always going to be her older siblings. She’s stubborn, but she loves to be doted on when you finally get her to just chill. It may come as a surprise, but Kassandra is actually really good at taking care of others. Considering she spent the most time with Serafina, she’s also studied the most under her.

🌿 What way does your OC show that they care without using words? What way do others show your OC that they’re cared about without using speech?

This was mentioned above. Actions always speak louder to Kassandra.

🌳 What is your OC’s favourite way to relax after a stressful day? Do they have a favourite book to curl up with? A hobby? Or do they have a nice bubble bath and have an early night to bed?

Kassandra loves a good spa day. After a stressful day, she puts on her music, takes over the bathroom with candles, flowers, and sweets, and has a nice bubble bath. After that, she’ll retire to her room, put on one of her favorite movies (she’s a sucker for romcoms) and do something like a face mask or her nails.

🌲 How deeply does your OC feel? Are they typically empathetic or do they have a hard time connecting with others in this way? What are they like when offering support and comfort to someone they care for?

Kassandra wears her emotions on her sleeve. She’s very passionate and everything seems to come to her intensely. When it comes to people she cares about, she finds it easier to be empathetic towards them versus a stranger. Kass’ way of offering support and comfort is trying to solve the problem, but sometimes, that isn’t an option. Or it can be the worst option: ie: the dinner.

🌺 What does your OC do to calm down when they’re scared or after a nightmare? Do they have any special comfort items or need to be reassured by a specific person? How do they handle this if they’re alone?

This may come as a shock, but Ajax is the one to calm Kassandra down when she’s scared. Growing up, their rooms were right next to each other, so he would always be the first one to react when she’d wake up from a nightmare. Nowadays, if Kass is scared in the middle of the night, all it takes is for Ajax to stay in the same room as her while she sleeps.

If she’s alone, she just doesn’t sleep until sunrise.

🌸 What are some of their favourite things and why? List as many as you can think of!

High fashion, photography, cats, the color pink, romantic comedies, sweets, the ocean.

🥀 How would your OC decorate a notebook or journal? What kind of things are written in there? Could you give an example of a nice entry?

Kass’s journal is moreso a journal of designs, given her interest in high fashion. It’s pink, filled with cursive handwriting and very neat illustrations with their respective labels. She’d definitely go over things with pen. Pencil is NOT allowed in her journals. She’d also fill her journals with pictures for inspiration. Moodboards, basically.

🌼 Who are this characters friends and found family? How did they meet, how long have they been friends for, could they ever be something more than just friends? What do they look for in a friend or a romantic partner?

These two have yet to be introduced properly, but will be in Season 2! Their names are Zaira Melendez ( @simpink ) and Roselyn Lu and they are Kassandra’s two most trusted best friends. Shortly after the Montolvo family moved to New Brando, Kassandra was enrolled into DB Academy, which is where she met the two.

Kassandra met Zaira first. It came at a time where Zaira was truly in need of someone who can guide her after the unexpected loss of her father. Kassandra just so happened to be that person, and the two lost souls connected with each other almost instantly.

It was soon after when Roselyn joined the two and they became a trio. Rose was just a quiet and shy student council student when Kassandra and Zaira stood up for her against a male student that was harassing her. Rose is Kassandra’s voice of reason simply because of her kindhearted nature compared to both Kass and Zaira’s sometimes brutal bluntness.

At the point of the story from when I’m writing this, they’ve all been friends for a little over 9 months now. Personally, Kass couldn’t see herself being with either of them romantically, given that she’s straight. But when it comes to a partner, she’s honestly just looking for a guy that will genuinely accept her, flaws and all.

💫 What is your favourite fact about this character and why?

So obviously I know a lot about Kassandra that you guys don’t know about yet. Without giving away too many spoilers, I honestly love the arc that Kassandra is at. As we’ve seen so far, Kass has been nothing but a rotten, spoiled, bitchy young teen. And just like any young stereotypical teenager, she thinks she has it ALL figured out about herself. But ooh girl, after the truth came out, her world has turned UPSIDE DOWN. She’s got a lot of soul searching to do, to put it simply.

☄️ Does this OC deserve better treatment from you? Do you make them suffer just a little bit too much? Be nice to them!

Girl, for what she did to Camellia? I should make her suffer MORE. She was a straight bully. What goes around comes around.

🌠 On a scale of 1 - 10 how Baby is your OC? BONUS when asking this question rate the OC yourself as see if the reply matches up!!

10/10. Kassandra is the biggest baby.

💦 If you as the writer could erase one traumatic event from this OC’s life what would it be and why?

Honestly? I don’t think I’d erase anything. Kass has had an easy life so far. The most traumatic things she’s had were the divorce and finding out the reason for it, which are two things that greatly affect her character. Without them, she just wouldn’t be the same Kass.

#lazysunjade #answered asks #kassandra montolvo #aic: the montolvos extras

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storytimefromthecreed · 5 years ago

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Mary Had A Little...

Annoyingly loud and not at all funny, he laughed with his crew and chugged what little remained in his cup. Tilting the handle back and finding it empty, Edward motioned for another and allowed his head to hang while he waited. Drunk Edward was irrational, loud, and unpredictable; but beggars weren’t choosers.

She had been watching him with as much amusement as she could muster before raising from her table at the other end of the bar and blending seeminglessly into the loud, rowdy patrons. Ignoring the yelling men who threw down their mugs and began to brawl by ducking under the barmaid’s tray of drinks, she reached him. Gently resting a hand on his shoulder, Edward turned to face her. His smile immediately dropped until he was fully frowning, and the table began to quiet.

“We need to talk.” Not wanting to give too much away surrounded by so many, she had hoped this was the most appropriate approach. Instead, Edward growled and got up without a word; leaving the table and staggering out the door. Feeling the eyes of the crew on her watching him, she looked at them with a raised brow. The crew went quiet, attempting to return to their drinks and conversation. They had seen the Assassin hood before and knew what it meant.

Stepping out of the bar was a relief as it was hot and smelled dirty, though, to be fair, it was just as hot outside. Thankfully, the airflow allieviated this by bringing in the smell and coolness of the sea. A wave of it washed over her, and she closed her eyes to embrace it. Once open, she scanned the area, admiring the moonlight coloring the water and shoreline silver, and listening to the sound of lapping waves.

“You have no right!” His slurred words cut through the peace, and she found him at the end of the stairs casting a dirty look. Edward saw her move towards him, and turned his back to her. She bound down the steps to keep up with him, but rage fueled him and his strides matched twice of hers. Whichever the reason, he was heading back to the ship and she was hot on his tail.

“You did call for me.” She justified when caught up with him and he stumbled.

When she caught his arm to steady him, he yanked it away, glared at her, spitting, “Months ago.”

That stung.

Not caring to see if his words held the desired affect, Edward muttered and continued on his way. Edward always had a weird affect on her. Working in stressful situations with a clear head was her job, and yet he always managed to make her feel so vulnerable, like the layers of armor she wore were merely paper and he could cut through it without a thought. With a shake of her head, she took off after him again.

The Jackdaw bobbed in the gentle sea with a halo of moonlight emanating behind it. A pleasant sight that flooded her with more feelings and memories. This was where she got over her fear of the sea, where she learned more about herself and her morals than in her entire life as an Assassin, and where Edward confessed his love for her. Where she confessed hers for him.

Luckily, the crew would be in bars or beds tonight, leaving Edward and her in privacy. Their footsteps echoed over the wood of the empty ship, and a shiver passed up her spine. The Jackdaw was just as she had remembered it, and yet the ship and it’s captain radiated an older and wiser feel, both having gone through terrible ordeal.

Edward was heading towards the captain’s quarters, and she paused to take in the ship. The mast creaked, the ropes hung loosely and moved like ghosts in the breeze, and the ship rolled with a groan. There was a strange tension in the air. It was silly, but she felt a presence watching her. It was as if the ship itself was angry at her, and didn’t like her onboard or following it’s master. Another shiver went up her spine, and this one she couldn’t repress. Sailors were superstitious for a reason. The need to watch her back felt overwhelming, so she did. All this she watched her as she ducked into his room, and closed the door behind them. Edward had begun to light some candles. Once both parties could see, he took a seat at his desk and continued to glare at her.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” Edward’s voice was low, and his eyes were bright and intense. Before she could answer, he said, “I called for you months ago, and where were you? Hm? Where were you when my friends, my family, were being murdered? With the Assassins? No, even they showed up. You, on the other hand, nowhere to be found. Avenging them? No, that was me. Setting them free. Again, that was I alone. God! I thought you were dead!” Edward’s voice broke. His hands covered his face a moment before he exploded, “What the hell did you think you were doing disappearing like that?! You disappeared! What the hell was I supposed to think?!” Edward calmed himself by closing his eyes, his nostrils flared. “Where. Were. You?”

The hairs on her arms rose, and she suddenly felt very small. Edward blustering as he did was just him putting on an act for how he wanted to be viewed, but the low, controlled voice he used now was truly a cause for fear.

“I looked for you, you know.”Edward continued, his nose scrunched and his lips moving quickly while his fingers dug at the wood at his desk. “Must have searched the seven seas, but when an Assassin doesn’t want to be found then I guess there’s no helping it.” His eyes slowly returned up to her. Edward’s voice caught in his throat, so he cleared it. “That’s what I get, aye? Trusting the Assassins, trusting you,” he spat, “but that’s not why you’re here. No, my troubles have never been enough to get your attentsion, so I’m guessing you need something, Perhaps my ship? My crew? Know it’s not me you’re after, so what brings you to my side of the world? Must be good if you’ve come back from the dead.”

She opened her mouth, but quickly shut it.

This made Edward chuckle. He reached under his desk, pulled out a bottle, and proceeded to drink it’s contents. Edward eyed her scowl while he did this, and this only made him chug more and smirk when he was finished. “Ah, refreshing to see you still think you’re better than me.”

“That’s not what I think.”

“Can’t look at me.”

Not knowing what to say, she just said nothing. Half of what he said held weight, and did what it intended. He hurt her. Just as she hurt him. She stood at the doorway with her arms crossed, not in anger but moreso holding herself together. Nervous energy began deep within her, making her vibrate. Edward noticed this, sighed, and got up. Picking up his coat from the back of the chair, Edward dragged his feet to her and draped it over her shoulders. His hands pressed against her shoulders, but the slight contact was gone before she could register it. Then, he peered down at her with watery eyes. His blonde hair was tied back, but a few strands hung loose and brushed against her forehead. The smell of rum drifted between them. If she got on her tiptoes, she could press her forehead to his.

That’s what they would do when things got hard. Edward would just hold her and they would rough it together. God, they thought times were hard then! Causing trouble for the British and giving the Assassins a run for their money seemed fun in comparison to what they were dealing with as of late.

Now was not the time. Tears welled in her eyes and choked her, but she swallowed her feelings, squared her shoulders back, and said in a strong voice, “I am so sorry I wasn’t there when you needed me, and I know that nothing I say or do will every be enough for the pain I caused you, nor in earning your trust again.”

“I thought you were dead.” Edward repeated, his eyes misty. “Did you know how hard that was? After Blackbeard? After Mary? I- I didn’t want to think that I lost you too.”

“That’s why I’m here.”

“I don’t follow.” Edward searched her face, but she was staring at his chest, unable to meet his eyes.

“That task you wanted completed? It’s done.”

Edward blinked once. Twice. Slowly processing what she had said before asking, “Wha- are, are you sure?”

"It wasn't an easy task to confuse.” A weak laugh escaped her, and lightly tapping his chest she pushed away from him to walk around. Securing the jacket around her, she hid the bottom of her face in it, chewed on her bottom lip while she paced. “I didn’t want to tell you before because I couldn’t stand hurting you if I was wrong. Looks like that didn’t matter either way. The Assassins didn’t know where I was because I took a break to follow a lead, which lead to another lead, which lead to another.” Edward held his breath. She unholded her arms and ran a hand through her hair. “Didn’t want to come back until I had something, Edward, and I can’t tell you how sorry I am that it took so long. The short of it is, I got into some trouble which I got out of and quickly headed over here. I-I’ve been looking for you too. Meaning to tell you all this.”

Edward exhaled, deflating completely, even staggering backwards. Before she could catch him this time, he had already regained himself and stalked off to his desk. Placing his hands on it to steady himself, Edward kept his head down and took deep gulps. “Where?” When she didn’t answer, he asked again. “Where?” His head snapped up, and his eyes bore into hers.

“England.” Edward shook his head, stood straight, and kept his eyes on the far wall. Both knew going into this relationship that either the tasks of the Assassins or the pirates would keep them apart and they hoped differently, neither thought they would be the ones pushing each other away. Not knowing what else to say, she secured his jacket around her and burrowed her nose in it. It smelled of spice.

When he faced her, he was composed. "I’d wager you’d want an early start tomorrow.”

"That depends on you, but Edward-” But he was already pushing past her, suddenly very sober and almost manic as he walked around the room. A map was pulled out of the desk and laid atop it, and he began muttering to himself.

"If Mary’s child is in England, then that’s where we’re going.” His focus was no longer on her, and that also stung.

“Edward, I think we need to take a step back, and think. I’m not even completely sure. The last time I got my information was months ago. Hey, Edward, are you listening to me?”

“Few days, would have to dock here or here for supplies unless we...” Edward rambled on, so she came to the desk and watched him work. The weight of her travels suddened bore on her and she yawned once. Edward quickly thumbed to his bed on the other side of the room without looking up.

“You know where the bed is. Grab a few, and then I’ll. Oh!” Edward nodded to himself, “What about, oh yes, that actually works better-”

"Edward? Edward!” He jumped at his name, coming to his senses. Slowly, she said, “The last I heard, the child was in England. My information is good, but outdated. Look, I want to join you on your journey, but I need you to understand that this might take some time.”

“All I want is to fulfill my promise to Mary.” Edward declared definately. “That’s all. The child’s wellness needs to be ensured, and I need to bring...” He paused, his brows pulled together. “Did she have a son or daughter?”

“I’m not sure.” She confessed, “The documents didn’t indicate and my informants didn’t know.”

Edward nodded once to himself before looking at her and, for the first time, smiling. “Let’s find out.”

#Assassin's Creed #Assassin's Creed Black Flag #Edward Kenway #my writing #Mary Had A Little

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altherei · 6 years ago

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A Bargain of Grief

((Note: I meant to post this before I left for a short holiday trip, so the events of this post actually took place on 12/22.))

*******

The summons from her father had come somewhat surprisingly- even more so with how urgent his missive seemed. Immediately concerned something was amiss in her family, Altherei hurried back to the small house her father kept in the heart of the Ghostlands. While it’d been a while since she’d been in the blighted end of Quel’thalas, she had never been afraid of it. The roads were familiar, and she didn’t fear the creeping shadows made by dead branches dipping under the light breeze.

When she arrived at her father’s estate, he was quick to welcome her in and give her a warm embrace. It didn’t take long, though, for her to see the deepened creases in his skin- the past few months had been rough on them all, and none moreso than the patriarch of their family. There was a weariness in his eyes that she hadn’t seen since the death of her mother, and his usual warm smile- the one she’d inherited by all accounts- wasn’t present.

“Sit my dear, sit. We have.. much to discuss.” He lowered himself onto the couch, setting down a kettle of tea and two mugs. He filled hers first, then his own, and the gentle scent of honeymint slowly wafted around the living room.

“What’s wrong, Ann’da? Your letter seemed.. rather urgent. Is everything all right?” Altherei blew over the top of the mug, sending the steam flitting away for a moment as she eyed her father.

“No.. no, little one. I am.. frightened. For you,” He added with a nod of his head for emphasis.

“.. For me? Why?” While she could quite easily guess a few reasons.. it would be better to hear it from him.

“We’re at war, Altherei. I know you hold great distaste for it- and so do I. So do Salaras and Maelus. .. So did Eldwin.” His voice fell- the loss of his oldest son, his firstborn, was still hard. He cleared his throat and continued.

“And I am proud that I raised you- that your mother and I raised you- to have the compassion that you do. That you look around and see this world, and its people, for what they could be. But.. I worry you do not see them for what they are,” His brows creased together, leveling a stare at her.

“You think I’m being idealistic. Naive,” She surmised, but not bitterly.

“Yes. And while I will never tell you to stop looking for the good.. quite frankly, it terrifies me what you’re doing right now.”

“What- with the Outreach? You know about that?” It was hardly a secret, but her father had also kept himself largely shut away since Eldwin’s death. Many of her worst habits, including hiding away in her work during times of stress, she inherited from her father. But many of her best traits, too.

“Of course,” He laughed softly in response. “How could I not? The trips I take into the city are few and far between now, but I see your flyers up, and every so often I see a stranger wearing one of those armbands you’re so proud of,” He gestured to the one she kept on her arm at almost all times.

Altherei smiled a little. She was proud of them- the armbands, the flyers, the Outreach- and certainly the people in it, too. But Darsamane’s smile left as quickly as it’d come.

“But your openness with all this.. I wake up at night wondering if I’ll lose you next. If some rogue loyalist to the Warchief will see fit to take matters into their own hands and hurt you- or worse- just because you choose to try and make the world a better place.” He peered down into his tea, untouched still. Alth took an uncomfortable sip of her own. He continued.

“This world is cold and unforgiving, little one. It will take and take from you until you have nothing left. These factions are much the same. Our leaders care nothing for their people, only furthering their selfish goals. And while you may have found a small pocket of like-minded individuals..” He drew in a long breath, and let it out on a heavy sigh. “I fear there are far more who would sooner take you and your group out of the picture in the name of continued war.”

Altherei frowned. “That may be true, but I’m not afraid of the-”

“You -should- be.” Came his cold reply. Altherei was shocked into silence for a moment.

“Your desire to help, to make the world a better place.. I.. I couldn’t be prouder of it. Really, that’s the truth,” He was quick to begin, “But it is that same desire that landed Eldwin in an early grave, made his wife a widow, and his son fatherless.”

“It was the unethical orders of a power-hungry loyalist and a rigged trial-” She tried to argue.

“Semantics do not matter, Altherei!” He almost shouted, then quickly caught himself and lowered his voice. “I..” His voice caught in his throat, and he reached over to take her hands within his own.

“I cannot lose another child. I have lost two already. Please don’t make me lose my little girl.”

She looked into his eyes, and saw just how tired he was in that moment. They had all suffered loss, but to him.. to a parent, it was different. He lost two of his own children, buried before their time. He’d lost the love of his life, buried her too. And when she considered it all from that lens.. were she a parent, she’d be terrified too. To know that she was almost quite literally staring war in the face and refusing to fight back.. of course it would terrify him. Were her mother still alive it would terrify her too. She had a feeling of what her father might ask of her, and her ears fell back.

“.. I.. I’m sorry, Ann’da. But I can’t abandon this work. I know it’s dangerous, but.. but I have good people around me. People who care about this work, and protecting those of us who chase it.”

“Then let someone else chase it, my daughter- please. Why does it have to be you?”

“.. Because if not me, then who else? You always taught me that I should never wait for someone else to take up the mantle when I could do it myself. That it was every person’s responsibility to stand up against injustice when they face it.”

“Yes, but that was before our Warchief took up the mantle of the future Lich King!” His voice rose, and it was clear he held as much rage and disdain for Sylvanas as she did- perhaps more.

“She had no issues taking a torch to a World Tree- no issues bombing- BLIGHTING- her own city and soldiers to prevent its loss. She may’ve once been a great leader for us but she abandoned our people long ago to serve the dead! Do you think she’ll have any qualms squashing the Outreach? Do you think her loyalists would bat an eye before calling your actions treasonous and leaving you to hang?!”

Startled, Altherei stared at her father with wide eyes. Seeming to understand he crossed a line, Darsamane dipped his head, and the fire that had overtaken his words fizzled underneath the weight of his worry. It all came from a place of love.. she knew that.

“Please.. please, Altherei. Let someone else take this burden. It doesn’t have to be you.” His voice was quiet, pleading as she knelt before him and wrapped him in a tight hug. He knew her mind was made up- perhaps it was why he was so desperate not to let go of her.

“I’m.. I’m sorry, Ann’da- really, I am. But.. if I do nothing.. I could never forgive myself. I have to do this. I’m sorry.” She stood then, and having nothing else to say, dipped her head once and threw her cloak around her shoulders. After she left, Darsamane could only hold his head in his hands. Gone were the days of easy troubles- tending scraped knees and soothing childish nightmares. Now the problems his family faced were intimately, frighteningly real. He couldn’t lose his daughter- but how could he protect her? He was no spellblade, no ranger.. just an old man of science. Surely he’d think of something.

As Altherei departed, her heart was heavy. She understood that her father’s concern, and even his anger, came from his love and his grief. A parent should never have to bury their child, after all- and he’d buried two. In a way, it was selfish to continue the Outreach’s work. But what was more selfish- continuing to aid others despite the grief it brought those closest to her.. or refusing to help the many to bring peace of mind to the few? It was a cold equation, yet simple. If she died for the cause of peace, then so be it. But at least she would have died as she lived- for something.

She continued down the path that lead to Tranquillien to catch the flight master, on her way to handle more work at the ruins of what would soon be Haven. But neither she nor her father had been aware of the two yellow eyes that had been watching their conversation from a distant hill, peering through the windows of his estate. A guttural growl came from a sneer as the eyes disappeared into the shadows.

#current #story

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writteninparables · 6 years ago

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Eidolon: The End of the Olympians

Chapter 5: Acts of Forgiveness - Hermes

The pain was still there. Breath still felt difficult. And that weight, even greater weight sits upon my chest in these moments. Something about collecting two of the most coveted weapons in the Olympian dynasty will do such a thing to you. At least finding them may be easy.

It may have been long since I've played messenger to the gods, but that doesn't mean my calls don't still get answered. I found myself approaching the place where Poseidon told us to meet. Peculiar to say the least. The land was a mostly uninhabited island captured somewhere in the Atlantic. The few inhabitants it did have were intricate creatures—there were no creatures friendly to land that weren't equally as friendly to the sea, swinging straight from branches to dive under the water. There were many varieties of creatures, but not one I'd seen before.

I massaged my neck trying to forget the images of Phobos and Deimos. Meanwhile, my breastplate still sat uneven from Zeus' foot. I debated how I would address the situation or if I should at all. Poseidon hasn't been seen in ages, who is to say he will even care of Olympian affairs anymore? Though, that does not mean he does not care for the power. Taking that Trident is basically taking half of the man's livelihood. I am a fool to think he will be the slightest bit indifferent to its loss. Does he even know his brother is awake?

Well, I could wonder no more. The water swelled as Poseidon approached the surface. His demeanor was that of someone awaken from a peaceful sleep, one that should've fit his brother. I eyed his trident in his left hand, as he made his way to the shoreline. He twirled it in his hand. Loose, relaxed, immune to stress, it must be true what they say, no tension sits below the surface of water.

"It has been long, has it not?" Poseidon said with open arms.

I embraced him as I responded, finding comfort in his strength. "Yes, that it has been." Still, I had not figured the best way to tell him what I came for. I just know that his movements made me welcome, moreso at ease. As I juggled with many words in my head, he pinched the edges of my neck shaking my body slowly.

"You are tense. And if I may recall this stature looks quite familiar. My brother wasted no time getting reacquainted with you I see."

"So you know he walks among us again," I said.

Poseidon laughed, "You speak of him like he was a dead man. As much as you may have wished it, he was not."

"Never would I wish such a thing." At least never would I make the claim in times like these. "He asks something unnatural of me and the weight alone slows me in times like these."

I explained to him the situation as he stood in front of me and listened. His eyes never broke from me the whole time, holding as much sorrow as curiosity. The very mention of Ares gave him disgust. His brother, Zeus evoked something worse.

"Zeus moves differently now. And there is no need to take chances, not with you." Poseidon said. "Do what he asks, take this Trident with you. And when you see Hades, tell him to do the same, by my wishes. This is a matter among us three. We will speak to him." Poseidon walked back to the shoreline twirling his Trident once more in his hand. As he took a deep breath he stabbed it into the ground below him deep enough the waves couldn't shift the sands that held it. He stared at the ocean, somewhat nostalgic. This mixture of pride and pain. Guilt and angst. Love and more love.

Meanwhile, my gridlocked body stood there in jealousy. How, how could he really stand there so nonchalantly. You would think I asked him for him to do nothing more than make a wave in the ocean. I yearn to be him, I yearned to be—untroubled.

"Come here," Poseidon said waving me over, breaking me from my thoughts. "Take it." As I pulled the Trident out the sands, the ocean became clear as day. I could feel waves as the wind and the very air I breathe. Only when you can see the full depths of the ocean does the ground seem so high up. I could've fallen 27 stories, but it would never compare to the descent of me taking one dive anywhere in this vast sea.

Poseidon grabbed the Trident, snapping me out of my mesmerized state. We each held one hand on it, but he was guiding me. He pointed it out in front of us, not too far from this isle we sat. I finally saw what Poseidon was staring at. The pieces all fit together now. I turned to Poseidon. "They tell stories of Atlantis, still, 'til this day. I must tell them how little their stories uncover."

I looked at the country that it seems Atlantis has become. Vast cities, gracious towers, exquisite design. It was as if I uncovered the last marvel of the world, and yes the best is saved for last. I looked Poseidon in the eyes admiring him just as much as I feared for him now. "You've been here this whole time."

"Why after, all those years, did I find myself still stuck wanting more and more in this Pantheon?" His tone was regretful, spoken with pain. "When his sleep came I noticed just how unsatisfied I was. They spoke to me many times about taking Zeus' place after his sleep, and the more I thought about it, the more I wanted his seat at the throne."

Poseidon's hand slowly coarse the length of the trident as he continued his story, "That is —until I noticed it wouldn't be mine. No matter how much time passed it still would've been Zeus' seat. A seat made for him, waiting for him. So I reclaimed my time, making a place I could call mine." He walked out slowly towards Atlantis as if the waves were pulling him in. "Here, I could be King and God. To a Pantheon of my own." I looked out still captured by the city, the empire that was Atlantis as his fingers fell off the tip of the Trident.

"Will you all be fine without this? Are they safe?" I asked.

"We will be fine, boy. You get to Hades before Zeus finds himself uptight."

Poseidon looked back at me, gave me a wink, and then jumped into the ocean—where he belonged. Where he belonged...

It's something we've all dreamt of. We still get jealous. Jealous of Zeus. Jealous of Prometheus. Even at times Hades. Even Hades has a land of his own. What do those humans say? 'It may not be much, but it's home.' And that it was. I ran over land and sea dragging Poseidon's Trident behind me. It was heavier than I expected. It hindered my movements as I made my way towards Persephone's Garden—making for a trip far longer than I wished. Persephone's Garden was, by far, my favorite way to enter the underworld, and for many of us, it is the way we must choose if we wish to speak to Hades. Persephone has saved many lives guarding that gate, turning us away on days Hades plays more like his Father in Tartarus—ready to snap on anyone at first sight.

I came to a halt just before reaching the garden. As one enters Persephone's Garden, it must never be done with haste. A blessed hand has touched all that has grown here and these days there is nothing that doesn't grow here.

The path she made was laid purposely, lovingly, patiently; berries, fig, sage and such—forcing the air to hold an aura, a beauty, a distinct scent so unknown. My steps were soft, as to not disrupt their growth around me. I dare not be a hindrance to their day. My breaths were deep, knowing that I couldn't pick from the garden so these whiffs must do.

After winding down this single path of the garden where the foliage limits all view except for these marble slabs and greenery, I find myself at the arching gate that welcomed you to where, at most times, Persephone lies. With her garden so close to Hades there is little reason for seasons of change. They've made their peace and she gained much of her freedom.

As I walked towards the lawn I was given a sight not many would be granted, even in delusion. There sat Persephone, berries in hand, under the same the shade of the tainted tree that grew the pomegranates that poisoned Zeus. And laying down in her lap was the Lord of the Underworld himself, "Hades."

My voice startled him and he proceeded to wipe the juices that leaked from the corner of his mouth. He was smiling. It is wrong to interrupt someone, but even moreso when in their sanctuary intoxicated and embellished. Who is this man before me, and "What are you doing up here?"

Hades slowly rose to his feet brushing himself off as if he could get dirty. With every brush, his black cloak of ash spewed smoke the source of which will be ever unknown. He rose his rigid head full of grey hair up to me, "Mad Gods and Dead Titans, my boy."

For some reason I played confused, even though I knew what he meant. The face was really just a response to his diction. "A dead Titan came to my doorstep looking for asylum from Tartarus." A long pause proceeded before he continued. "He told me much. But the gist was that the underworld would not be worth watching for much longer. So I decided to take my leave early, and it could not be better." Hades looked back and Persephone, who once stood behind him but now draped herself over him, continued to feed him once more.

"Gods don't die, especially not Titans."

"We used to live by rules. The lengths you must go through to kill a god. No one would dare. But times have changed."

More than tipsy, Hades was obviously drunk as I walked towards him. The lust lingered from the two as Hades now babbled towards Persephone. I was trying to find a place to interrupt, but not soon after he abruptly turned returned to our conversation.

"I see you have paid Poseidon a visit. Tell me how does Atlantis look?" I was surprised he even knew. "Atlanteans may live long, but even they must die. They are few, but they all speak so well. They tell such great stories about the city—well cities now, I guess. Have you heard of..."

"Hades!" I said tired of the stale conversation. "I have come for your scepter."

I was trying not to be rude, but every second here angered me. Zeus has gone mad, Titans are being killed, wars are gearing to be waged on the surface, and this was all he could talk about. So much insignificant matter. Everyone is just so relaxed—so comfortable.

Hades shifted his demeanor. Pushing Persephone off his shoulder, he leaned forward—eyes looking straight through me. I silently regretted my outburst but committed to it on the outside.

Hades' cloak smoked no more. He raised his left foot and stomped the ground, splitting the earth between around his very foot. Hades kneeled, reaching his arm down into the abyss, searching for something. As he rose, I saw the scepter rise with him, and suddenly I could breathe again. But the relief I felt quickly escaped as he brought that scepter straight to my throat.

I tried to speak, "It is Poseidon's wish..."

The specter pierced into my chin as he shut my mouth.

"This is not your time to speak." His voice seemed to come not just from in front of me, but beneath the earth. My knee shook as the vibrations moved up from my feet.

"You are too tense for days like these," he said, slowly lowering the scepter just enough to make it comfortable to swallow again. "That is the problem with you gods who have never seen war. Are you ready to die? Gods live and gods die, but in war we all die, and in the most gruesome ways. Man is still learning to maneuver like us."

Hades released the scepter from me and continued to speak.

"I know I must give you this, but are you ready for what comes next. I would recommend you relieve yourself, treat yourself, because this will be the last time life will be as you know it. Enjoy it, enjoy these last moment."

His voice faded as he walked away. Meanwhile, he let his scepter fall, not caring much where it fell or if I would catch it.

I stepped over the crease in the earth to pick up his scepter. I hesitated before I would touch it, contemplating his words.

"Is this how you think it all ends, Hades?" I asked.

"This is war. Whatever comes from it will be anew. What be the Olympians without Zeus, or all forbid, just Zeus? Nothing. Nothing the same as before." Hades said.

Hades was one of the oldest of his generation and his years surrounded by souls facing eternity has him embodying even more wisdom. With that being said, why would I not trust him?

I walked away from the scepter and sat with Hades and Persephone to simply forget about everything that was coming—for just one moment. Besides, the clock starts by my hand. I couldn't avoid it forever, but there was time for me to enjoy it all before it was lost. So together we drank, we laughed, and we ate—but only from the fruit that were overjoyed with the best juices. And as the sun set, my legs became too heavy to move, and my heart finally felt contentment. Tomorrow, tomorrow will be a much better day for it all.

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