#hate calling him that he will always and forever be hot priest in my heart

[burnthatbridge]

forgive me, father (for i feel no sin)

eddie/father brian (+ kinda buddie) | E | 4k | hot priest hookup Eddie finds religion in a gay bar. Or, rather, he finds a man of religion in a gay bar.

Because Eddie is trying this new thing where he doesn’t blame himself for everything, he would like to blame it all on Buck instead. And, honestly, what happens probably has a whole lot more to do with Buck than he’s ready to acknowledge. But, as much as he wants to say it is, it’s not Buck’s fault. The night out might be for him, but Eddie was the one who suggested it.

Only, when he’d said they should all go out for drinks, as way to cheer Buck up after allowing him a couple of weeks of sulking over the breakup, he’d thought it would be their usual: he and Buck and Hen and Chim and maybe Bobby at a badge and ladder joint, drinking beers and splitting fries and shooting the shit. Casual, relaxed, familiar.

He hadn’t expected to end up at a gay bar.

Bobby isn’t in attendance but in his place are Karen and Maddie and Ravi and his boyfriend, Seb, and — to Eddie’s minor displeasure — Josh. It’s been a lot: the music loud and the lights colorful and the energy around them electric.

It’s been a lot, but it’s also been fun.

They had crammed into a booth together and done shots with outrageous names that Eddie would have blushed to say aloud. Thankfully Chim had been all too happy to order for them and get Maddie a soft drink with a somehow even cruder title. Buck has been well and truly pep-talked by a drunk Karen and a tipsy Ravi and an always shrewd Josh, sober or not.  And they’ve all had a turn on the dance floor: Buck demonstrating that he has two left feet, Maddie proving it’s an affliction that doesn’t run in the family.

Buck’s still out there now, with Hen and Karen, though Eddie’s lost track of them amongst all the other patrons, bumping and grinding to the music, the strobe lighting casting everyone in frozen snapshots. He’s retired back to their booth after fighting his way to the bar for a glass of water, sweat dampening his armpits, the small of his back, from his prior dancing and the hot, humid air of the club.

Maddie and Chimney have gone home — Maddie lamenting that the morning part of morning sickness is a big fat lie — but Seb and Josh are seated in the booth, chatting — or almost yelling, really, to be heard over the blaring pop music. Their glasses are almost empty of the cocktails Josh had left the dance floor to order them about the time Buck was boogieing to Beyoncé and no amount of fruity juice could have tempted Eddie away from the sight. There’s no sign of Ravi and Eddie wonders if he’s off braving the battle to the bar that he’s just been through, trying to win them the victory of another round.

He collapses onto the padded seat of the booth, perched at the end, unfortunately on Josh’s side to leave space for Ravi to sit next to his boyfriend when he returns. Downs his water, maybe a little too desperately — feeling some of it spill from the side of his mouth, track down his jaw — but he’s parched, fluids sorely needed to replace those lost while twirling Karen around, while proving he has better moves than Josh, while shouting along to the NSYNC song he knows all the lyrics to because Sophia was obsessed with them when they were kids (and maybe, secretly, Eddie liked them too — just a little bit).

Ravi appears as he’s setting his empty glass back on the table, but with no cocktails in hand. He looks freshly sweaty enough to have been out on the dance floor but, with the heat in the building, that could simply be the result of a walk to the bathroom. He leans into Seb’s side, says something that Eddie doesn’t even try to hear with how loud the intro to the Katy Perry song that the DJ has selected is playing.

Josh shifts closer to Eddie, conversation interrupted by Ravi’s return. He speaks loud enough and with his mouth close enough to his ear that Eddie hears every word, clear and fully intelligible. “That guy is watching you.”

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[jaeclerc]

my maxiel demon WIP that is mostly just vibes rn LOLLLL but i wanted to share:

if max had known that having gay sex in the catholic church would have cursed him to an eternity of bullshit, he would’ve just gone to confession and prayed away the gay like the rest of his peers. but instead he decided to fuck in one of the confession stalls in the mid 80s and then pass away shortly afterwards from a very untimely grape to the airway, which cursed him to an eternity of doing the devil’s bidding. the devil liked to call himself daniel, but max hated calling the devil anything other than The Devil because if he gave him a name then maybe he’d be a bit more personable. max would have to admit that daniel (the devil) wasn’t too bad of a guy.

he himself told max that he didn’t tempt him to fuck in a church, he didn’t even have time to deal with max, too busy dealing with actual sinners. max was just gay and had an insane amount of catholic guilt. but hell was punishment and max’s punishment was to be the dynamic demon duo with another gay 19 year old, only this one was from monaco and obnoxious. he had apparently committed the sin of fucking the priest and then managed to have a very early in life heart attack.

(“he was so hot, max. i had to!”)

max had been working with charles for 40 years. that’s a long time to spend with someone when both of you had passed away at 19 and were forever demon-ized in those bodies and minds. if he looked super deep within he could even admit that charles was his best friend.

daniel, the devil, had them working on the sinner example enforcement division (SEED for short much to max’s chagrin), going out and seducing Actual Real Life Sinners in order to entrap them and enforce that they made terrible mistakes that were actually important to the devil. like trafficking and abusing people. many of them, much to charles’ chagrin and disgust, resided in monaco, which meant that max and charles had to go there often to perform their jobs. they often donned the skins of socialites in order to properly entrap them.

daniel, despite popular opinion, was not the ever eternal enticer but rather the ever eternal enforcer. he was not the opposite of the upside (what he called Heaven) but actually their guard dog, making sure that humans didn’t stomp over each other’s free will. in the event they did, they were swiftly met with punishment, one that hopefully set them straight enough to run tail tucked back to church and having morals.

he sent charles and max out to do the dirty work before he came in, dressed like the worst millennial one has ever seen and met. he was always floating for some reason, maybe to really pack the punch that he was The Devil and he was alive (kinda) to deliver holy justice.

often, the Big Sinners would proverbially spit in his face and brag about what they’ve done. that usually brought in the wrath of daniel, red horns sprouting, tail whipping faster than a human eye can see as he struck them, lashing them. the end of his tail was like a hot poker, searing into their skin and lasting longer than humanly possible.

most gave in after that; some didn’t. so he would lash them again, telling them to repent. if they didn’t repent, he would continue to do it until they did or until their soul joined the three of them, which they would drag back to Hell and throw into the fiery pits.

while charles and max had committed sins, they never hurt anyone. they just offended God. that’s why they were demons rather than spirits, they had the ability to exist even if they had already passed. most souls that came to Hell were souls that needed to be sent up the upside, a few were those who needed to be sent to neutral grounds while the angel courts debated their lives. an even smaller few were those who needed to actually be thrown into the pits. the smallest few would be turned into either angels or demons.

when max met his first angel, a boy named lando, he was shocked to learn that lando was also gay, like him and charles. and had acted upon it. the difference was that he had not offended God, but rather had acted graciously in his name for his entire short life.

max was even more shocked to learn that daniel had selected both him and charles to be demons.

(“i had a soft spot for you both! two gay boys who had both done something homosexual and personally offended toto within days of each other. and then died? sign me up!” god presented himself as a 6’5 austrian dilf. it was very odd, the first time max had met him. god was hot.)

the minor Big Sinners would usually just shit themselves at the appearance of daniel, even without his horns and with his dorky backwards hat. but the whole floating bit did probably help, as well as his candy red tail being held up menacingly, threatening even if daniel had his dimples out and smile on. max doesn’t know if he’d personally be scared of daniel in that form, but he thinks he’s probably biased based off the fact that he watched daniel sob over the notebook a few too many times to count.

(charles tells max that it’s actually probably because he wants to have sex with daniel. charles doesn’t know what he’s talking about. max tells him so, but charles counters that he has a boyfriend and max doesn’t. max personally thinks that the angel that charles fucked after a session of angel court doesn’t count, but who is he to actually say. that angel has been around for like. at least 10 years.

actually max is pretty sure that the angel, who has a name that max refuses to ever acknowledge that he remembers, has been living with them for the past 5 years. he does see sebastian often. like every day after his shift as daniel’s PA.)

their duties after they repent are usually done. some of them take another enforcement session. most of them have the fear of toto put into them and don’t ever commit a big enough sin to ping on their radar.

most of being a demon is just: sit around with charles, being daniel’s assistant, and enforcing the laws of heaven. it’s pretty boring, which is probably the actual punishment to his offense of toto. he gets to be out of his mind bored for eternity or until daniel dies. daniel is a young devil incarnation, but he’s still going to die someday, once society has evolved for a new god, devil, and court. the demons that he created will go with him. nobody wants to serve a new master, especially demons. especially max.

if he reaches deep down, even past the part that admits charles is actually his best friend, he sees that he quite likes daniel. daniel made sure that he always had a friend, daniel always made sure that he knew that his sin wasn’t being gay, it was fucking in a church, and he made sure that max felt comfortable in his after-life. as comfortable as a demon could feel.

if he reached the deepest, most barren hidden parts of himself, he could admit that he wanted to kiss daniel. what type of demon decides that he wants to fuck the devil? not for power but just because he thinks that The Devil is quite sweet and always makes him laugh.

The Devil is delightfully immature while also guiding max through the after life and an infinity of service to the heavens and earth with a maturity that surprises.

max had once asked daniel when he had become The Devil. daniel had looked away before saying he wasn’t exactly sure of the year because it was the middle of the war. the war to end all wars, and he was deep in it, fighting in the Australian army when he got taken. he woke up to toto staring at him with a curled lip and rolled eyes, muttering about the previous devil and his choice of a protégé. he was the new incarnation, as there was a new extreme evil that had been brewing. they never really said what but it was easy to tell the implications, the way the world had seemed to be falling apart.

corporate greed and exploitation was probably what called about a new incarnation, of god, the devil, and all the heavenly figures. who knew, for sure? all they could say was that the universe had decided that it was time, and when it was time for them to go, they would know.

daniel had seen the way the world moves. the way it evolved and devolved. it reflected on his bright red eyes, the mirroring of the flames. that was also the natural appearance of the devil, a reflection of fire in cherry red eyes, but daniel’s eyes always seemed to take on more a brown tint when he spoke of his past, turning slightly sad and dark.

and then he cracked a dick joke and max laughed so hard he wheezed and these moments were over, but max imagines that it probably made his heart ache when he saw how his death, the death of his peers, and those he killed were all for nothing with the second war came. and then all the wars after that. the way the world changed vastly with the evolution of human invention, creating ways for humanity to become even more depraved. ways for humans to suffer even more.

[tma-ficrec]

Five All Time Mod Recs

To start off this blog, we decided to submit ourselves to the mortifying ordeal of being known and show y’all our TMA top fic recs!

These are fics of very different premises and categories that stayed with us and soothed our souls. Feel free to ask for more recs (or more specific stuff) because we’re definitely not done. Enjoy!

Mod Ami:

Statement Ends  by @martivist 4k words. Jonmartin. Angst. Post-canon AU. Ending Speculation. Lore speculation. S5 AU.

"Final statement of Jonathan Sims. The Archivist. Statement given… I think it’s June? We haven’t done very well counting time since the days stopped. Summer 2019, call it that. Statement begins.

We’ve found a way to send them back where they came from. All of them."

Forty-some years after the apocalypse abruptly ends, the final acts of Jonathan Sims and Martin Blackwood come to light.

Mod note: This fic... goddamit this fic. I read it halfway through s5 and I genuinely think this is one of the best endings the show could have had. It hit all the points Jonny made and then some. This fic is pain, yes, but the best kind.

Ninety Feet To Home by @judesstfrancis 33k words. Jonmartin. No Powers AU. Baseball Players AU. Fluff. Pining.

Jon isn’t really Martin Blackwood’s biggest fan. And he knows it’s a him problem, because it’s not like Blackwood is a terrible person or like he loses on purposes just to ruin Jon’s life, but he can’t help it. In his defense, if you were on a hot streak and the same person kept coming in and ruining it for you every single time, you'd harbor a bit of resentment towards them, too.

Mod note: I’m so obsessed with this AU that I broke my vow of not making fanart for TMA and made fanart of it. Yeah. Sue me. It’s the perfect levels of pining, ridiculousness and it brought me (an argentinian whose only baseball reference is the HSM musical number) tremendous joy. As the us-statians would say: home fucking run. ALSO, MARTIN BLACKWOOD IS LATINOOOOO.

Maybe not the stuff of legend by imperfectcircle. 14k words. Jonmartin. Post-canon AU. S5 AU. Ending Speculation. Lore speculation. Angst with a Happy Ending.

Martin forgets slowly at first, and then all at once. One moment he's grasping at memories, desperate without knowing why to retain even a single image of an angry, scarred stranger saying incomprehensible things about eyes, and the next, nothing. He can't even remember what had him so anxious just now. A car alarm, probably, or a dog barking in the distance. He's always startled easily.

Mod note: I still quote it to myself from time to time. ‘’Martin, you ate the megalodon’’ makes me giggle and also terribly sad. This is an excellent way of exploring entities lore, as well as grief and hope. 

the garden of forking paths by @bibliocratic. 49k words. Jonmartin. Post-canon AU. Ending Speculation. Angst with a Happy Ending. Use of Spiral Doors.

Whatever he had predicted might happen, Jon wasn't expecting to survive upon demolishing the Panopticon. He certainly wasn't expecting to be rescued.

Instead, he wakes up in an alternative universe where he's never been the Archivist, and Martin Blackwood doesn't exist.

Martin Blackwood wakes up somewhere else entirely.

Mod note: I’m argentinian and the major element in this story is a Borgues book. OF COURSE IT’S HERE. This fic is an absolute ride and so so so beautiful - multiple universes and Jon and Martin doing the same thing over and over and over again, with hope of finding each other.

Family, Found  by Dribbledscribbles. Gen fic. 9k words. S4 Divergent. Canon Divergence. 

It’s Basira who catches onto it.

The collective shift that seems to come over them when heading in or out of the Institute. Not just the oppressive sensation of being observed, their every move catalogued for the voyeuristic cravings of some unseen Eye(s). That feeling remained with them even when they left the Institute these days, but it was always stronger inside its walls. That wasn’t the change. Nor was it the point.

The point was: making life worse for Jonathan Sims.

Mod note: Do you want to hit the Eye? Do you want all the Entities’s plans to be twarted by the power of found family? Do you want everyone who blamed Jon for everything in S4 to sit down and apologise? This is your fic.

Mod Ebby:

the apple of the eye by  gocrazygostupid. 2.8k words. Fluff. Lore speculation.

TELL ME, ARCHIVIST

WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE SONG?

i'm not sure. i don't really get the chance to listen to music

if i told you, what would you do with it?

Mod note: I am absolutely weak towards any fic that gives the Entities some form of sentience, no matter what canon said. Especially when these interactions are so surprisingly soft. 

I WOULD PLAY IT

I WOULD LISTEN

in the chillest land and on the strangest sea by  imperfectcircle and raven (singlecrow). 19k words. S4 Divergent. Canon divergence, in the space between 159-160

Jon remembers a statement he read years ago given by a Jesuit priest, who said that the shortest prayer he knew was, just, fuck it, as in fuck it; it's in God's hands. He takes Daisy's hand and trails on after her.

or; hope is a thing with feathers.

Mod note: Everytime I read this fic, I end up at least a little teary eyed. It’s not exactly happy, more bittersweet, considering, but I still love it.

Come Love This World (Come Hate It, Too) by cedarbranch. 3.3k words. Character Study, fluff and angst, spans s1-5. Canon Compliant. 

Jon never liked poetry, until Martin.

Mod note: Yes I am picking fics that personally came for my heart one way or another, not much else to say, besides that “it feels like loving you” haunts me still to this day, in a good way.

i love you, i'm glad i exist by kissyourlocalmoth. 1.7k words. Scottish safehouse period. Fluff.  Established relationship.

Martin was thinking of a poem. It’s name sat on the tip of his tongue, aching to get out. It was a lovely one, too: something about how life felt easy now, at peace; how the small things felt like everything, a poem about… the importance of the little moments. These last few days had been like that, he thought. He couldn’t stop smiling to himself recently, and even Jon teased him about it sometimes, though he was hardly less giddy. He thought of the immense joy the little things brought him now, the mugs of tea they made for each other, how he would lay in their bed late at night staring at the ceiling, his love nestled against his chest, overflowing with so much contentment and fondness he did not know what to make of himself.

Mod note: Short and sweet, it was the first time I read that particular poem, and now it’s forever intertwined in my head with little scenes of jon and martin in the scottish safehouse before 160 happens.

exit wound by autoclaves. 3.1k words. Post-canon AU. Ending speculation.

Suppose there is a house on a hilltop. Suppose there is a story. There is always a story, and every universe is always expanding.

Mod note: I would’ve liked to tag this more, but it would probably spoil the twist it has. Reading back on it, the narration reminds me of the statement from 196, which I find fitting and a funny coincidence, considering. 

[justfrozenthings]

I Have Loved You Since Forever

Pairing: Anna/Kristoff

Rating: T (just to be safe)

Word: 2,641

Notes: This was just an idea that popped into my head so I figured I would write it because why not. Sorry for any grammar mistakes I have made because I know for a fact that there are some.

Summary: Church bells tolled for a wedding Kristoff has been dreading ever since he received the invitation in the mail.

He sat on a bench in the park absentmindedly running his fingers through Sven’s soft silky fur; the exact bench where he and a particular redhead would meet up to vent about all their troubles and get them off their chests. He remembered the many nights she had called, asking him to meet her at their place so that he could hold her as she cried. Sure, it usually meant getting out of bed at some ungodly hour, but damn he would do it for all eternity if it meant he could bring a smile to her beautiful freckled face. This time, however, instead of his ears being met with the heavenly sounds of her laugh; they were met with the sound of bells from the church nearby, sounding like death tolls with every breath that racked his body. 

There was a wedding being held today; one that he had been dreading ever since he received the white envelope decorated with intricate golden scrolls. 

 Today was the wedding of Anna Arendelle, his best friend and love of his life. Yeah, you heard it right, he, Kristoff Bjorgman, was deeply and utterly in love with his childhood best friend. The friend he had told that he was unable to make it to her wedding during one of their daily park bench meetings. He could still hear the pain of her voice in his head.

 “And why not?” Anna said sternly, trying to hold back the swell of tears in her eyes. He hated that he was the cause of them. “Don’t you want me to be happy?” 

“Anna you know I do but-”

“Then come. Please Kristoff,” she croaked. “It wouldn’t be the same without you there.”

 He stared down at his feet before he gave a deep sigh and stared back into her beautiful blue orbs again. She was wearing the pink beanie that he had gotten her one year for Christmas, and the matching scarf that came with it. Her button nose tinged with a light hue of red from the chilly autumn breeze that spread to her cheeks, her freckles looking like little stars twinkling in the night sky. “I’m sorry Anna, but I can’t.” And before she could say anything else he got up from his spot on the bench and left.

 He couldn’t bear to hear her sobs as he walked away and he wanted so much to turn back around and tell her he was sorry and that he loved her and that he would do anything to never make her cry like that again. But he couldn’t, because he didn’t want her to see the tears that had formed in his own eyes. 

 Kristoff hadn’t noticed, but those same tears that had formed in his eyes the night before came back to visit him. He blindly wiped them away with the sleeve of his old high school hoodie; the purple letters were faded out and hard to read. He had told her he couldn’t make it to save his own heart, but he ended up breaking hers in the process. 

Unable to last another minute on the bench any longer, he got up and whistled for Sven; who, at some point during his flashback, had trotted over to chase the frogs in the creek. He shoved his hands in his front pockets and walked with a slight hunch in his back from all the grief he was holding in as leaves of reds, oranges, and yellows danced and swirled around him. He needed to find solace, and there was only one other place he could do that.

 Bulda’s was the local cafe owned and run by Kristoff’s adoptive mother Bulda and was another place he and Anna often found themselves visiting. At the beginning of their friendship, Kristoff was too afraid to tell Anna that he had been adopted because he was worried that she would judge him. Anna was his only friend at the time, besides Sven, still is in fact, and he didn’t want to lose that friendship with her. She eventually found out through some people at school, though this wasn’t until they were seniors in high school, and when she had asked him about it he figured that there was no reason hiding it. As he readied himself to lose the only human friend he had ever had, Anna placed her hands on his and told him that there was nothing wrong with that. It was at that moment when he realized that he had fallen hard for the feisty redhead sitting next to him.

 Kristoff had smiled back at the memory; if only he had told her his feelings then maybe he wouldn’t be here wallowing in his own self-pity. 

Maybe coming here was a bad idea, he told himself mentally. But before he could leave, Bulda attacked him with a big bear hug. 

 “Hi Krissy!,” Bulda exclaimed as she planted dozens of little kisses on his face. 

He returned the hug causing him to smile only a little bit. It seemed no matter how dire or sorrowful the situation was, his mother always put a smile on his face. “Hey Ma’.” 

 Beulda unwound herself from her son’s embrace, “The usual I’m guessing?” 

“You got it.” He tried putting on the happiest tone he could muster, but it was no use. He knew she could see right through.

“Okay,” Bulda said, eyeing him cautiously. “I’ll be back in a jiff.” 

Not even five minutes later, Bulda had returned with a large slice of her famous Chocolate Eruption cake and a cup of hot cocoa with whip cream, chocolate drizzle, and chocolate shavings. It didn’t take long for Kristoff to notice that Bulda had only brought one fork. Usually, there were two, one for him and one for Anna. He had never been too much of a chocolate fanatic. He liked it just fine, but he’d choose something like vanilla over it any day. At least that had been true, he had realized before he met Anna. No matter what, he was always amazed by the amount of chocolate that such a small person could consume. It was impressive really, he wasn’t going to lie.

 “So,” Bulda sighed as he plopped down in the booth next to him. “What brings ya’ here?” 

“Well, I was in the park and decided to grab a bite to eat.” 

 “No,” Bulda shook her head. “What I mean is what are you here instead of at that church trying to stop that wedding?”

 Kristoff let out a frustrated sigh and buried his face in the palms of his hands before bringing one of them up to run through his golden locks. “Ma’ I can’t just go crash someone’s wedding just because I have feelings for them.” 

“Sure ya’ can. When it’s someone who loves ya’ back that is.” Noticing that her son was still not picking up on what she was saying Bulda continued. “Listen baby, I may be old and crazy but I know true love when I see it. And let me tell ya’ whatever Anna and that Hans guy have ain’t it.” 

Annoyed, Kristoff shoved a forkful of cake into his mouth. “What exactly is it that you're trying to say Ma’?” 

“I’m saying that Anna loves you and that you have a chance to win her over before it’s too late.” She rested her hand on his shoulder, “I know you love her Kristoff. And Anna loves you. Deny it as much as you like, but it’s the honest truth.” 

“What makes you so sure?” he asked, still not buying what his mother was saying. 

“Because I’ve seen the way she looks at you, and I’ve seen the way she looks at him. It’s not the same. She loves you Kristoff. She just needs help seeing it.” He stared at the cake, deep in thought as he ran his mother’s words through his head over and over. “And plus I’m never wrong,” Bulda winked before giving him a peck on the cheek and leaving to go wait on another table. 

He sat there contemplating what his mother told him as he watched cars pass by through the window. He knew it was crazy, but he had to try. If things went wrong? Well, then at least he gave it his best. At least she would know that he loved her. 

Quickly glancing at his watch, he sprinted out of the diner ignoring the honking horns and shouts of angry drivers as he made his way to the church. There wasn’t much time left.

Running up the steps of the church two at a time he burst through the two grand wooden doors. He couldn’t hear any music, which was a good thing he thought until he heard the priest prepare the couple for their “I do’s.” 

“I object!” Kristoff practically burst through the doors of the nave sprinting past the pews and up to where the young couple stood. 

“Kristoff? What are you doing here?” Anna’s brows were furrowed and a look of bewilderment spread across her freckle-painted face. 

Kristoff’s chest heaved up and down, his voice labored with heavy breaths that shook his entire body. “I’m sorry Anna. But I can’t let you marry him.” His honey-brown eyes bore into her glittery blue ones, a small twinkling of hope reflecting in them. “Not before I told you.”

“Told me what? Kristoff, what's gotten into you?” 

“Anna, there's something I need to tell you. I was too much of a coward to do it before and because of that, I missed my chance. So before you marry Hans I just need to let you know that I love you Anna Arendelle.” Gasps spread throughout the crowd and everyone sat there, mouth agape, including Anna. “If the feelings aren’t mutual then that’s fine. We’ll still be friends and nothing will change. I just had to finally get it off my chest.” 

Anna blinked, her shocked expression never left her face. “Kristoff I-”

However, before she could say anything Hans had stepped in between them, he looked at Kristoff like he was some kind of fool. “Gee thanks for stopping by buddy, but unfortunately for you, it was a waste of a trip. Now if you��d please kindly leave so I can marry my fiancée that would be greatly appreciated.” Hans gave him a pat on the shoulder.

“No.” 

Hans, who was currently heading back to his place next to Anna, turned on his heel. “What did you say?” Hans’s eyes shooting daggers into his. 

“I said no. I’m not leaving unless Anna says so.” 

This only seemed to make Hans angrier causing him to fist his hands. However, before he could lay a punch on Kristoff a streak of white ran past him. He was confused at what was going on at first, that was until he turned back to look at Kristoff, the scene before him sending him into total shock. 

Anna had run over to Kristoff and had meddled her lips with his. “I love you too Kristoff. Always have.” 

Hans shook with anger. In a flash, he grabbed a gun from the inside pocket of his tux and aimed it at Kristoff. Then, as if by some kind of miracle Sven came running in biting Hans on his rear end before he could pull the trigger. He cried out in pain, dropping the gun as he did so. 

Everyone was evacuated from the building as soon as the fiasco was over. Fortunately, one of Anna’s friends she had invited worked for the local police station who had called in asking them to send a deputy over with a car so they could bring Hans in for questioning. 

Wedding guests stood outside of the church conversing with one another as if nothing had ever happened, waiting to hear from Anna to see what was going to happen now that the wedding was obviously not going to continue.

“So,” Anna said from where her head sat on Kristoff’s shoulder. “Did you really mean it when you said you loved me?” She looked up to gaze at him, his eyes so welcoming and warm.

 He placed a kiss upon the crown of her head. “Every word.” 

“For how long?” 

 She smiled up at him and he had fallen in love with her all over again.“Since forever.” 

“Me too.” They held each other tighter, relishing in their moment of bliss. “I just can’t believe I was about to marry a complete psycho. I’m just lucky my true prince charming came and saved the day.” Kristoff only responded by stroking her hair, hoping that this would bring her some ease. “Everyone’s still here. What should I tell them? I’d hate to send them back home, I feel like I should give them something.” 

Kristoff tried to think of ideas. “Hmm…we could all go to mom’s cafe.” He nuzzled into the soft skin of her neck and a tiny giggle escaped her dainty pink lips.

“I’d love that.”

  ———

  2 Years Later

Church bells rang throughout the town, but this time they made Kristoff’s stomach swell with happiness instead of sorrow. 

As he stared at himself in the oak framed cheval mirror straightening his bow tie, he smiled at himself. He’d never been a tuxedo kind of guy, quite frankly he’d never been all that into dressing up in general. For today though, he would put up with it. 

While he was excited, he wouldn’t ignore the fact that a tinge of fear had somehow peeked its way through. There was no denying the butterflies in his stomach.

 A knock came from the door and Elsa, Anna’s older sister, peeked her head through once she got the “okay” that it was safe to enter. She asked him if he was ready before mussing up his hair a bit from its slicked-back style and adding any last-minute touches to his tux. “She always did say she preferred your hair when it was wild and free.” With that, she gave him a hug and left to go make sure everything was running smoothly. 

Glancing at himself in the mirror one more time and letting a nervous breath, he left to go take his place at the altar. Kristoff walked down the aisle, which had been decorated with sunflowers, lace, and cream-colored ribbons, each step feeling heavier with anxiousness and exhilaration. The sun hitting the stained glass windows cast colorful hues on the cherry wood pews filled with family and friends. And as the music began Kristoff felt his heart flutter.

There was a parade of bridesmaids and flower girls. Even Sven got to join in having the very important job of being the ring bearer, carrying both rings tied to a white ribbon around his collar.

Suddenly people stood from their seats and the long exciting wait was finally over. Anna turned the corner, arm in arm with Elsa, her bluebell eyes swelling with tears of happiness. Her wedding gown was simple, nothing too extravagant. Its sleeves were made of lace with intricate flower patterns showing off her creamy freckled arms. The dress reached the end of her knees and buttermilk yellow satin ribbon had been tied around her waist. Sunflowers and baby’s breath had been woven into her ginger locks, the sun’s glow giving it a halo effect. She looked like a redheaded goddess. 

She took his hands in hers, promising a vow of everlasting love. They slid their rings on one another’s fingers, thankful for there not being any kind of interruption. It was then, Kristoff realized, that confessing his love to Anna, two years prior, had been the best decision he would ever make in his life. Well, creating a child together from their love, who would be due in nine months time.

Ao3

[advena87]

Keira and Lambert's love story because we need one!

.

Here is Part 2

.

Keira: You must be Lambert. I've heard so much about you.

Lambert: All bad, I’m assuming.

Keira: Uh, yes.

Triss: And all true.

***

Keira: I love this whole "good witcher/bad witcher" thing you two have going.

Eskel: It's not really a thing. It's more like I'm nice, Lambert is not.

***

Lambert: I would never say this to Keira's face, but she is a wonderful person and really smart.

Geralt: Why wouldn’t you say that to her face?!

***

Lambert: So, did it hurt?

Keira: What?

Lambert: When you fell down from heaven.

Keira: No, I'm fine.

***

Keira: What can I say? I'm seductive and irresponsible.

Lambert: You mean irresistible?

Geralt, sighing in the background: No, you heard that right.

Lambert: Wow, she is perfect.

***

Keira: This guy has been bothering me. And he always disagrees with me.

Lambert: Kill him!

Keira: No.

Lambert, softer: I kill him for you?

Keira: Lambert no. Just listen up, there are three ways to argue: words, proof and-

Lambert: Murder!

Keira, sighing: See? This is why your brothers hate you.

***

Lambert: I don't understand women.

Geralt: Nor do I. But they understand us. Well, maybe not you.

***

Lambert: Yeah, I've been doing a lot of thinking. And, I've come to realize that Keira is the only woman I want to be with.

Geralt: You mean today?

***

Keira: I’m not gonna say it was love at first sight with Lambert. No, it was more like oh, hell-yes-please, I’ll have that. With a helping of right-the-fuck-now on the side.

Triss: Oh my god! I'm not judging you or anything - but, oh my god!

***

Keira: When I was six years old I sprinkled sugar on my head, convinced myself it was pixie dust, wished myself invisible, and walked into the boys' bathroom at school.

Lambert: I fucking love her so much.

Geralt: It starts to make sense now.

***

Keira: It is nice to see you again.

Lambert: Are you talking to my butt?

Keira: Yes.

***

Keira: Lambert is a good man, if you ignore all the things he does on purpose and concentrate on all of the things he does by accident.

Triss: Okay. I’m going to picture Lambert without his personality.

Triss: ...

Triss: OMG, Lambert might be hot.

Keira: I know, right!

***

Triss, speaking of Lambert: Ok, he is king of jerks but he does have a terrific ass.

Keira: Perhaps that's why you're always making him leave.

***

*Lambert and Keira just had sex for the first time*

Lambert: Promise you won't tell Geralt?

Keira: I gonna tell everybody!

 ***

Triss: Is everything alright? It sounds like you're having sex in here; which I know can't be true due to the fact that you have a homosexual boyfriend.

Keira: Bisexual, Triss, Lambert is BISEXUAL!

Triss, dramatic, without even listening: Lord tells us to love everyone, even the whores and the homosexuals. But it's so hard, it's so hard because they keep doing it, over and over again.

Keita: Did you just call me a whore?

Lambert: Aw, don't be jealous Merigold, someone may one day fuck you too.

***

Lambert, with an arm around Keira: I was lost... but then I met the love of my life.

Everyone: *collectively awes*

Lambert: But he died, and now I'm with Keira.

*a few hours later*

Lambert: Are you STILL ignoring me? Babe I was kidding-

***

Keira, texting Triss: I’m begging Lambert not to do stupid shit and guess what’s doing?

Triss: Are you surprised?

Keira: No.

Keira: Update: He’s doing more stupid shit.

Keira: And somehow it makes me more attracted to him.

Triss: You say that like that’s not the number one thing you’re attracted to.

***

Keira: What was the most inspiring thing I’ve ever said to you?

Lambert: “Don’t be an idiot.” Changed my life.

***

Lambert: Keira isn’t just some bitch, she’s the bitch I love!

Lambert: And don’t tell her I called her a bitch, or she’ll kill me!

***

Lambert: Babe, do the thing.

Keira: *Glares*

Lambert, breathless: Oh my god.

***

Lambert: Keira, there's something else I've been wanting to say, but before I do, I just. I want you to know you don't have to say it back. I know you're not ready and I don't want you to say it just because social convention dictates-

Keira: I love you, too.

Lambert: You said it.

Keira: Oh please, social convention? Not ready? I'm Keira fucking Metz, and I do what I want!

Lambert: I'm so fucking in love with you.

***

Eskel: Lambert, how do I ask someone out?

Lambert: Well, first, you-

Keira: No, don’t ask him. He asked me out in a Kaer Morhen bathroom.

Eskel: 

Eskel: And you said yes?

***

Eskel: So, Lambert, what'd you get her? Earrings? A little bracelet?

Lambert: No, I got her way more than a piece of jewelry. I got her a gift that really says something - a diamond engagement ring.

Geralt: As a joke?

Lambert: No, you guys, I'm gonna ask Keira to marry me.

Eskel:

Geralt:

Geralt: As a joke?

***

Eskel: Did you guys hear about Lambert's and Keira's engagement?

Ciri: Yeah, isn't it great!

Geralt: For him. She could do better.

***

Keira: Did you tell anybody we’re engaged?

Lambert: Yes, Keira, I have no self-control and I told all of our friends we’re engaged.

Keira: Okay, no need to be sarcastic.

Lambert: No, seriously, I have no self-control and I told all of our friends we’re engaged.

***

*Lambert and Keira’s wedding, during the marriage vows*

Priest: Now, I’m gonna need you to swear--

Lambert: FUCK.

Priest:

Keira:

Keira: Swear as in promise, you idiot!

Lambert: But I’m your idiot *pointing at wedding ring* FOREVER.

***

*At Lambert and Keira’s wedding*

Vesemir, raising a glass: To my new daughter-in-law, I say this:

Vesemir: You have released me. This monster is yours now.

***

Geralt: How was the honeymoon?

Keira: Lambert got drunk and tried to set our marriage certificate on fire while screaming "good luck trying to return me without the receipt".

***

Lambert: I love her.

Lambert: Do you think she knows I exist?

Eskel: Well, you’re married so I’d hope so.

***

Lambert, at 3 AM: I think cheese is better than cake, because you can have cheesecake, but you can't have cakecheese.

Keira:

Keira: I can’t believe I fucking married you.

***

Lambert: What are you doing?

Keira, standing on the chair: I live here, you know. I can stand wherever I want, thank you very much.

Lambert:

Keira:

Lambert: Where's the rat?

Keira: Under the table.

***

Keira, trying to get Lambert into yoga: It's a symbol for rebirth-

Lambert: I'm not interested in being rebirthed, thank you. I'm still recovering from being birthed the first time.

***

Lambert: WHO THE FUCK ATE MY POPTARTS I’M GOING TO KI-

Keira: I did.

Lambert: -kiss you and tell you how much I love you.

*later*

Keira, hugging Lambert and whispering in his ear: Drink my coffee again and we’re fucking done.

***

Keira: Why is your back all scratched up?

Lambert: *flashes back to chasing a raccoon around the house after Keira specifically said to leave it alone*

Lambert: I'm having an affair.

***

Geralt: When Keira’s mad at you, how do you make her not mad?

Lambert: First, I apologize. Then I get her whatever she wants.

Geralt: Even when she’s wrong?

Lambert: She’s never wrong.

***

Keira: Be safe.

Lambert: DON’T TELL ME WHAT TO DO!

Lambert: … But okay.

***

Keira: I bet I can fit the whole world in my hands!

Lambert: Keira, that's physically impossible.

Keira: *cups his face* Are you sure?

Lambert: * blushing *

Lambert: Stop it  woman, I have a reputation.

*later*

Lambert: 911 I'd like to report a robbery.

Lambert: It's my wife, she stole my heart.

911: Sir, I told you to stop calling this number.

***

Vesemir: No Lambert.

Lambert: Yes Lambert.

Eskel: Lambert no.

Lambert: Lambert yes.

Geralt: Prick NO!

Lambert: Prick YES!

Keira *quietly*: Lambert...

Lambert: Lambert no :<

***

Lambert: Keira is finally coming home from her week long Brotherhood of Sorcerers meeting, so you know what I’m getting tonight,

Lambert: Yelled at. I’m gonna get yelled at.

***

Geralt: My goal for tonight is to get Keira drunk enough to tell us embarrassing stories about Lambert.

Keira: Why would I have to be drunk to do that?

***

Lambert: *returns home in the morning, from the contract, after a long absence.*

Keira, grumpy and half sleepy: Either get out of bed or else take your clothes off. I'm not in the mood to compromise.

***

Lambert: Send dudes.

Keira: You mean nudes?

Lambert: That's later. Now I’m in a fight. I need more men.

***

Lambert, holding a big box: If i came home with a child of surprise what would you do?

Keira: What? Why?

Lambert: ...

Keira: Whats in the box?

Lambert:

Keira: Lambert, what is in the fucking box?!

Lambert: I think you know...

Keira: For the fuck’s sake, you moron, do you keep a child in a box? Take it out before it suffocates!

***

Keira: Our daughter keeps getting letters from boys.

Lambert: What? Why?

Keira: Because she’s charming and beautiful.

Lambert: Trace the sender, end his lineage, salt the earth.

Keira: I’m pretty sure he’s 7.

Lambert: Then it should be easy.

***

Keira, teaching their daughter to dance: So remember, the guy always leads.

Lambert: And if his hand slips any lower than your back, call me. I’ll brake it.

***

Lambert: Well, I want it on the record that if the kid was running a gwent game for money under the bleachers, she didn't necessarily get the idea from me.

***

Kid: Dad if I ask you a boy question, will you promise not to be weird?

Lambert: I promise.

Kid: So, there’s this boy-

Lambert: You can do better.

***

Keira: Remember, kid: the only difference between screwing around and science is writing it down.

***

Keira, about their daughter: She can't go in the water this weekend, she's got an ear infection. So no swimming.

Kid: Awwwww, Mom...

Lambert: No, it's OK, princess, we'll have a great weekend. We can go to Disneyland, we can play gwent, go sword fighting, horse riding, whatever you want.

Keira: Lambert, relax. You're starting to sound like a tampon commercial.

***

Lambert: We can't go out tonight. We're getting up early to go to Disneyland.

Keira: "We"?

Lambert: Yeah. I thought maybe you'd want to come with us.

Keira: Lambert, I'm terrified about having one small rodent in my house. Why would I drive 50 miles to see their kingdom?

Here is Part 2

[merigreenleaf]

Unexpected Inspiration Character Backstory: The Twins’ Past

The crisp snow crunched under Etri's feet in a sickening way reminiscent of the rough gravel floor of the Sanctuary's acolyte quarter. His skin burned every time he sunk into a knee-high drift, the pain a constant reminder of the flames that waited for him should they be caught. His fingers were numb under thin gloves meant for concealment, not warmth, and his robe was nigh-useless outside the cavern city. It had been cold underground-- every day of his life had been spent shivering-- but nothing had prepared him for this overwhelming numbness spreading through his body. If he couldn't find shelter soon, it wouldn't matter that they had escaped. They would die anyway.

-Excerpt from “Stuck With You”

As their lingering accents and pale features can attest, Sol and Etri weren't originally from Concordia. They come from Montglace, a place far to the north where the population lives in a single city deep below the mountainous snow and ice. At one time, long ago, people lived on the surface, but this was so long ago that the rest of the world mostly assumes the population of Montglace died out, if they're reminded of its existence at all. Possibly this would have been for the best, considering what Montglace has become. The twins do not have a happy backstory.

Montglacian culture is dominated by a dual religious order of light and shadow; the twins were born into and raised by the Sanctuary of Shadow. Within the carved stone walls of the temples, there is no concept of family and children never know who their parents or possible siblings are. Being identical twins granted Etri and Sol some insight, although it took years for them to work this out. While Etri was delivering a message for one of the high ranking priestesses, he came across a mirror for the first time in his life. It was then that it made sense why people had always called him by the wrong name-- he looked identical to one of the other boys. Since their language has no word for brother or twin, the closest they could come up with was "person who looks like me," but this was enough for them to realize the other was important. 

[More]

Etri's shadow magic manifested soon after this and he was allowed a small room of his own. This offered a little more security from the dangers of the temple, but it meant that it was harder to sneak around to spend time with Sol. In working out a way to do this safely, Etri discovered that his magic could turn his body into a shadow, much like the elementals the priest/esses controlled. This brought its own kind of danger in keeping it secret, but Etri has always been careful. He made sure that they were never caught together and when Sol began showing signs of light magic, Etri made sure no one else found out. If this was discovered, Sol would have been sent to the Sanctuary of Light and it would have been unlikely the two would see each other again. Sol played dumb, which was easy when the priest/esses never guessed he could have light magic and instead only tested his control over shadow elementals. To this day, shadows still terrify Sol.

Only one other person knew the truth about Sol having magic and he took it to the grave... but I'm getting ahead of myself. Sol fell in love with another boy in the temple and this needed just as much care to avoid detection since any kind of relationship was forbidden. Knowing how important this boy was to Sol, Etri took a risk and befriended him. Etri tried his hardest to keep both of them out of trouble, but this wasn't an easy task. Sol had a tendency to become easily distracted and not notice a threat until too late. Pierre constantly talked back to his superiors and made himself a target all too often, usually as he tried to divert someone's attention long enough for Sol to get away. Pierre always stood his ground, refusing to be quiet and accept life as it was in the temple. He hated the Sanctuary and while he and Etri were able to give Sol happiness as best they could, both hated seeing him scared so much of the time. There had to be a way out, even if leaving was forbidden. So the three made plans for Sol and Pierre to sneak out of the city and out of the mountain. Etri disliked the idea of losing the people he cared about, but he knew they would have a better chance of escaping if he stayed behind to distract or try to stop anyone who followed them. With his ability to shift into a shadow and avoid being seen, he had a level of protection the other two did not.

Their plan almost worked. At the last moment, their escape was discovered, and both were locked up. Etri tried so hard to break them out, but couldn't succeed before Sol and Pierre were dragged out to the surface of the mountain with Etri following close behind in shadow form. With no witnesses around, the three knew the type of punishment the priest/esses had in mind. What was essentially an elemental firefight went down. Etri, doing the best he could with magic that had never been fully trained, blocked the elementals long enough to give Pierre time to summon shadows of his own to use against the light elementals. Sol, absolutely terrified of everything happening, lost control over his magic. He flared hot and bright like a small sun, which took out a portion of the elementals before he fainted. This was a losing battle and the other two knew it. Pierre urged Etri to get away with Sol, then used every ounce of his strength to buy them time. Etri, in turn, threw all he could into wrapping his magic around the other two to try to shadow them to safety, but he wasn't strong enough. He was able to grab his twin-- just barely-- and pull him away before Pierre drained his own magic dry.

The twins got away and made their way south into Galanvoth and eventually into Concordia. It wasn't easy and they struggled at first, both in terms of controlling their magic and with life in general. As Sol grew more confident with his magic, he decided to change his name as a way of claiming his power for himself and also to get rid of the birth name that reminded him too much of his past. He earned what income he could through his skill in fixing and inventing things while Etri stole what else they needed to survive. This, though, is a story for another day. Seven years have passed since they fled Montlgace and both have grown up and found happiness. They now have safety, security, and friends in their carnival troupe. When they meet Blythe and later Adair and Dray, they gain a family they never had in anyone but each other. Forever at the back of both of their minds, though, is guilt and regret that they weren't able to save Pierre, too.

————————–

This is the next (and possibly last, although I might do secondary characters later) in the series of backstory moodboards I’m doing about the dorks. I have one for Blythe here, one for Addy here, two for Dray here and here, and one for Rosalie & Camille here.

This was made for @homesteadchronicles theme of “mountains” although I started it weeks ago for a theme that might have been “desperation”-- it took me that long to iron out their backstory because I realized I’d broken it as I’ve been outlining the trilogy. Also I swear I’m still writing comedic/lighthearted fantasy despite how depressing this post is. The twins most definitely had the hardest childhood, but it improved drastically after this low point as teenagers, I promise! 

(For the moodboard, most pictures are pretty straightforward, but I’ll explain a few. The pictures represent them in this point of their past-- Etri is naturally blond, believe it or not lol. I liked the heart shape of the guy breathing fire because that’s so very Sol. The necklace represents the one Sol made for Pierre; he put some of his magic into it so it served to protect Pierre a little while they were living in the temple. While Pierre was telling Etri to leave, he passed the necklace back because it was the only thing he could give Sol to remember him by. The crescent moon tattoo on Etri’s side represents the branding he was given when his magic manifested; everyone in the Sanctuaries is branded when they develop magic. In case you can’t see the images, like if tumblr isn’t letting you click them bigger, Sol’s quote thing says “Play Dumb! Not That Dumb!” and Etri’s says “Always have an escape plan.”)

Tagging my series tag list. Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the list and please definitely tag me in writing things you share, too!

@homesteadchronicles @ageekyreader @lynnafred @the-gay-hufflepuff @oceanwriter @desperatlytryingtowriteabook @muffindragon227 @theguildedtypewriter @toboldlywrite @wchwriter @dreameronthewind @shadow-maker @pen-for-sword @loopyhoopywrites @emptymanuscript @madmoonink @perringwrites @megan-cutler @elliot-orion @thatwriternamedvolk @indecentpause @writer-on-time @ravenpuffwriter @siarven @musicismymoirail @lady-redshield-writes @bluemartlet @reeseweston @worldbuildingwren @hiddswritingrefs @cay--scribbles @focusdumbass @enasroterfaden @missrobinswritings @joshuaorrizonte @zofiehelen @kainablue @kalis-scribbles @inspirited-goddess 

[afewmarvelousthoughts]

Violet Skies

Pairing: Bucky X OFC

Summary: When Bucky tries to get away from yet another moment of chaotic change he’s faced with a reminder that fate, sometimes, is kind to those that wait. 

Warnings: Smut and a truckload of feels. 

A/N: I don’t know how @littledarlinhavefaithinme does it but for the second time one of her writing challenges has sent me on a journey I didn’t expect but am so happy to have gone on. (Prompt in bold.)

I hope y’all can forgive the lack of series updates in lieu of this (lengthy) one-shot.

Oh and I finally said, “Fuck it,” and made an OFC so feedback is very welcome. ALL the thanks to @wonderlandmind4 for being my beta to make sure I stayed on track with not slipping into my insert habits. She's a goddamn blessing y’all. 

I hope you love it pumpkins! 

Tags are open!

@mywinterwolf @disagreetoagree @breezy1415 @peachthatdrinkslemonade @wonderlandmind4 @stevehesaidabadlanguageword @buckysstar @for-the-love-of-the-fandom @siriuslycloudy2 @wildmoonflower @cutie1365 @handplucked @jewelofwinter @whiskeywinter89

(If you should be in my perma-tags and you’re not here let me know so I can fix it!)

Bucky needed to get away.

It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate the new friendships he was forming or the posh new digs he’d been granted courtesy of Pepper Pots and the Avenger’s Fund. He was deeply grateful. Even so, it was all so much so fast and he desperately needed to disappear to clear his head.

As he tears down highway mile after highway mile heading south, memories of another time when he needed the same freedom, fill his mind.

Unbeknownst to him, the summer of 1943 would change his life forever. In July they informed him that he was one of the best shots they’d seen in a while—he’d be an invaluable asset in the field. All Bucky heard was that they wanted him to be a killer. That knowledge sat like a brick in his gut for weeks.

When they gave him leave to return home for a stint in August he couldn’t bring himself to head straight back to Brooklyn. After all, how could he look his Ma in the eyes and tell her what they wanted him to do…

Instead, he’d done the same thing he was doing now. He ran south.

The New Orleans he pulled into would be different than the one he encountered all those decades ago. He knew time and the brutality of nature would have changed the city forever, but as he rode into the French Quarter he was pleasantly surprised to see so many things had remained the same—on the outside at least.

The last time he was in this city he had stayed in the cheapest hotel he could find. To say it was questionable would be giving it too much credit. This time, he decided he’d give himself the benefit of a decent stay. The Soniat House was central and nice, but it still had an older feel that soothed him. He liked knowing he wasn’t the oldest thing around.

It’s too early to check-in when his bike pulls up, Sunday morning. He didn’t have a plan, no sites he necessarily wanted to see and no memories he’d allow himself to seek out. All he wanted was peace. The easiest way for him to find that was to move, sitting still too much—especially alone—let his mind wander to things he’d prefer to forget for now. So, rather than linger in the lobby, he leaves his bike and heads into the Quarter on foot.

Despite it being fall the warmth and humidity are still heavy—he loves it, if he never had to be cold again in his life he’d be happy.

After a few blocks, he finds himself in Jackson Square, staring up at the beautiful facade of the St. Louis Cathedral. A steady stream of locals and tourists head into the sanctuary for Sunday morning mass. He can’t help but laugh at himself—once an altar boy.

He hadn’t stepped foot in a church since he’d been free. Some part of him felt unworthy, maybe even a little afraid. After everything recently he longed for something familiar though. With slight hesitation he joins the flow of people, taking a seat as far back as possible.

A few things were different in the ceremony but for the most part, the cadence was as he remembered. He ignored the automatic urge to take communion, watching others with just a touch of envy. Would he ever feel like he deserved to do such a thing again?

The homily was oddly fitting. The priest spoke on forgiveness—not the kind that comes from some benevolent being but the kind from within.

“We must all forgive ourselves, especially in the wake of The Blip, for the things we did to mourn, heal, and survive. After all, if our heavenly father can forgive us these things, who are we to stand in defiance of his wisdom?”

And who says God has forgiven any of us anything? Bucky thinks, bitterness filling his mouth.

When the service ends he tries to slip out without having to shake the Father’s hand. The size of the crowd prevented that though and he found himself face to face with the kindly man.

He grasps Bucky’s hand, a genuine smile on his face. “Thank you for your service soldier.”

Bucky’s heart kicks up, “How did you-”

The priest laughs a little, “You’ve got the look son. Have a blessed day.”

“Thank you, Father.” He forces a weak smile and heads away from the crowd.

An all too familiar restlessness had settled over him since the priest had clocked him for a soldier. It was the feeling that came over him before a mission, similar to the feeling that hangs in the air before a thunderstorm, itchy and electric. He hates it.  

Heading for the hotel once more he handles check-in. Since he rode his bike down he’d packed light but this also meant that settling in took not nearly long enough.

He showers, hoping the steaming hot water will wash away this feeling of anticipation but it does nothing. Staring at his reflection in the foggy mirror, tired eyes, grey dusted bread, long hair dripping with water, he comes to a decision.

With a plan in his mind, he changes quickly—slipping into a pair of dark slim denim, a black v-neck tee, and his light bomber jacket—sure it was warm but he’d rather not deal with the stares.  

It only takes him a few blocks to find an open barbershop. Swallowing his nerves he steps in.

In a little over an hour he stares, dumbfounded, at a reflection, he can’t quite connect to. This is a different man, someone who died in 1945 and couldn’t possibly be sitting here. This was the James Buchanan Barnes in the Smithsonian, the one in history books.

No, he says to himself, this is me. He still has his beard, albeit groomed, he’d never had a beard back then. The hair is similar, short on the sides and long on top.

This is me, he repeats. Like Sam said, he’s not either Sergeant Barnes or The Winter Soldier—he’s both, all the experiences, good and bad, coming together to make him who he is.

“You clean up real nice son,” the man, who couldn’t be more than 50 says with a smile.

He returns the smile, “This is all you, sir.” All while thinking, I’m likely old enough to be your grandfather.

Despite the man’s protest, he pays him three times the cost of the services plus a tip. What was the point of having money if you didn’t use it like this?

Some of the anxiety lifts after he walks from the shop. He feels lighter like he left something behind there to be swept up and tossed. The rest of the afternoon is spent eating, poking his head into a few shops, enjoying not having anything he feels he has to do.

Evening begins to fall as he watches the Mississippi from a bench in Woldenberg Park. There’s a touch of pleasant coolness to the breeze now, lifting some of the dense humidity he’d grown used to throughout the day.

He breathes in the air, curling his fingers behind his head as he leans his face up to the sky, eyes sliding shut. Being by the water always brought him a sense of peace.

It’s not that he’s tired but closing his eyes feels nice. Soon his muscles relax and he allows himself to doze just a bit. When he opens them once more the sun is just peeking above the horizon, a swatch of orange beneath a violet sky.

Instantly his mouth goes dry as a voice from the past whispers to him about another lifetime and a violet sky.

—

Sweat drips in rivulets down his back. The brass band chases away all other thoughts that could fill his mind. Cigarettes, whiskey, and the smell of the woman next to him fill every other sense.

He’d lost track of time. Was it day two or three? Was this the fifth gal he’d take back to his squalid digs? When did he have to leave? He had to leave right?

His head began to spin.

“James?” The woman next to him tugs on his sleeve. He doesn’t respond, unused as he is to hearing that name. “Hey, James?”

“Huh?” He looks down at her. “Sorry.”

“I don’t wanna bust your chops soldier but you’re lookin’ pretty sauced.”

“Guess I am,” he slams back the remains of the whiskey in his glass.

“Why don’t you take me back to your place then?” She coos the question against his ear. Her hands wander down his torso, grabbing his belt to tug him close.

This isn’t what he wants. Sure, she’s pretty enough but he’s too warm, too drunk, and too morose for this. He needs air.

“I hate to ditch a dame like you but,” he pushes her back, “I’m gonna have to call it a night.”

“What? Are you serious?” She looks so offended, he wished he cared.

“Yeah. Have a good night, Carol.”

“It’s Mary!” She yells to his back. He doesn’t acknowledge her as he makes his way through the crowd to the door.

Once outside he’d hoped for relief but in this southern climate, the sun being down didn’t do much of anything for the heat in August. He barely makes his way down the street before stumbling into an alley to relieve his stomach of the whiskey sloshing around in it.

“Fuck,” he groans pressing his forehead against the bricks. They’re barely cooler than his skin but it feels good none the less. He heaves once more before stumbling to the other side of the alley and collapsing.

A lump rises in his throat. He forces it down along with the nausea, cradling his face in his hands. Home. He needed to make his way home. But home meant facing the future…

“You doin’ alright down there?” A velveteen voice croons from somewhere above him.

With effort Bucky forces his eyes open locating the source of that sweet voice. A woman leans over the edge of the second-floor iron balcony of the building he just wretched on.

“Been better. Sorry.”

“Stay there,” she calls down before disappearing.

He very much wished he had the gumption to run and hide. But his dignity was just going to have to withstand this particular embarrassment because there was no way he was going anywhere fast.

In a few minutes, a woman steps onto the sidewalk. Once he gets an eyeful he feels a little soberer and a whole lot lousier. This wasn’t just some bland bird. The woman swaying toward him was, simply put, stunning. And she had undoubtedly just watched him hit bottom.

Excellent, he thinks.

“Here,” she kneels down holding out a glass that looks damp with condensation.

He does a double-take, unable for a moment to think about anything but caramel skin, freckles, full red lips, and the most fascinating eyes he’d ever seen. At a glance, they could be called grey but truly they were silver, rimmed with coal-black lashes and filled with tender concern.  

“I’m so-sorry ma’am,” he stutters trying to force himself up straighter. “I don’t mean to be a nuisance.” Right now he’s happy he could blame the whiskey and heat for his burning ears.

“You’re not a nuisance.” Her voice wasn’t exactly the predominant southern drawl he’d been hearing in the city. There was something else to it, softer, foreign even. “Drink this, it’s just water.”

“Thank you.” Gratefully he takes the glass, gulping down the contents with relief.

“Better?” He nods. “Good. Now,” she pulls the stopper off an unmarked bottle and hands it to him, “drink this. It’ll take the edge off.”

He eyes her suspiciously for a moment, searching for some kind of malice, as he takes the small bottle. Cautiously he sniffs it. The contents don’t smell bad, a mix of mint and a smell that made him remember summer lightning. Strange, but honestly he didn’t give a damn. Without any more hesitation he drinks it.

There’s a moment of zinging through his whole body and then… nothing. Not even the uncomfortable drunken haze remained. Yeah, he still felt a little intoxicated and his abdomen was a touch sore from vomiting but all in all his faculties seemed restored.

“What the hell is that?” He studies the bottle, looking for some kind of identifying mark. There’s only a little wax from where it had held the stopper and a slight greenish tint from the liquid that was once inside.

“Magic,” her voice sounds mischievous. He looks up at her and she winks.

Bucky laughs a little, “Well, whatever it was you could make a fortune selling it.”

“Maybe,” she stands, extending a hand to help him up. Once on his feet, he dusts his trousers off, more to buy time as he searches for something to say than thinking he could actually fix his rumpled appearance.

“Apologies for chucking up on your place here…” Smooth, Barnes. Real smooth. He chides himself.

The woman only laughs, “Oh this isn’t mine. I was just at some awful party. Really, you did me a favor by picking this spot to lose it.”

He grins, “Well, in that case, I guess we’re almost even.”

“Almost?”

“Let me buy you a drink and we can really be square.”

She raises an eyebrow, gesturing to the other side of the alley. “Haven’t you had enough booze?”

He shrugs, “You worked your magic. I’m ready for another round.”

Those fascinating eyes narrow then soften. “Alright. But you only get one magic potion a night so if you end up in another alley you’re stuck there.”

“Fair,” he flashes her a wide smile.

“Let me take this back inside,” she holds up the glass. “I’ll be right back.”

Without a word, she hustles into the building. Honestly, a part of him doesn’t expect that she’ll be back but in just a few minutes there she is, tucking one of her tight dark curls behind her ear as she heads out to meet him.

“Glad you came back,” he smiles at her as she approaches.

“What, think I’d run off?”

“Wasn’t sure if a lamb like you’d really wanna go grab a drink with a drunk you met in an alley.”

“How d’you know I’m such a lamb, huh?” Her eyes glint with the kind of moxie that really gets his temperature up.

“You did just come to my rescue back there,” he thumbs back to where he’d been sitting.

“That makes me a hero, not a lamb.” Multiple rings glint on her fingers as she sets her hands on her ample hips.

“True,” he concedes. “Ya know, I didn’t catch my savior's name.”

She smiles, “Antoinette.” She pronounces it in the French style, the first syllable making a soft sound as it crosses those lips. “But you can call me Toni.” It’s beautiful, perfect for her.

“Pleasure to meet you, Toni,” he holds out his right hand. She takes it, soft skin sliding against his callouses, “I’m Bucky.”

“Pleasure,” she nods. “Come on, let’s get that drink.”

She takes a few confident strides forward as Bucky stares at her retreating form for a moment. The open back of her halter dress is as tantalizing as the sway of her hips.

“Damn,” he whispers under his breath.

Pausing she swings her head back, a broad grin on her lips, “I know it’s a fine view but it’s rude to keep a lady waitin’.”

Bucky laughs, “Must’ve left my manners with my dignity in the alley.” He catches up, taking her proffered arm.

The joint she leads them to doesn’t look like much of anything from the outside. There’s no street entrance, instead, they wind their way back through an overgrown courtyard and enter through a door that’s seen better days—in fact, Bucky was a little worried the thing was going to fall off the hinges when she swung it open.

As soon as they’re in, he hears low notes of a sax playing a smooth song. Down the dim hall, they follow the music until reaching an intricate wooden door guarded by a doorman.

“Wondered if we’d see you tonight Miss Toni,” the dark-skinned man flashes her a broad smile before giving Bucky the once over. “We do have a dress code ya know,” his tone far harsher than when he’d spoken to her.

Bucky’s not sure what to say. He looks like he’d been rode hard and hung up wet and he knows it.

“Oh come on, Cal. The Yanks havin’ a tough time is all. Make an exception for me?” She pats the man's lapel, batting her eyes up at him.

“Fine, but only cuz that cure-all you gave my mama has her up an’ about again.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Her tone is sincere.

“But if the boss wants him out-”

“I’ll handle it, Cal. Thanks!” She grabs Bucky’s hand and pulls him into the bar.

Violet shades cover all the lamps, paired with the haze from the cigarettes the room has an ethereal glow. People murmur quietly around small tables and in cozy booths, not a one speaking so loud as to interrupt the lone man on the stage playing that sweet melancholy sound.

Bucky doesn’t even realize that she left his side, nor that he’s been watching the man play for so long until she taps his shoulder, two drinks in hand, and nods her head toward a back corner booth.

“Thought I was the one gettin’ the drinks,” he says as soon as they slide into the booth next to one another.

“You seemed to be enjoying the show, didn’t seem right to interrupt.” Toni sips her martini, a satisfied look crossing her features before continuing. “Besides, not like I paid for it.”

“Got another beau up there,” Bucky tosses her a grin and takes a sip of the whiskey. It was fine stuff.

“Hardly,” her eyes slide around the patrons, “bartender owes me several.”

“Seem to have a lot of people in your favor.”

Her shoulders lift in a shrug, eyes diverting to the olives in her glass.

Bucky decides it’s a sensitive topic and switches tracks. “What’s this about me bein’ a Yankee anyway?”

“You are, aren’t you?” Her gaze slides up to meet his, a little smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

“What gave me away?”

“Oh come on,” her shoulder nudges his, “with that accent? How could you be anything else?”

“I don’t have an accent!” He plasters a look of mock offense on his face for emphasis.

“And neither do I,” she says with a snort.

“What is your accent anyway?”

“Creole. Don’t hear too much of it in the city these days.”

“Not from the city?”

“Not exactly.” Those shadows again. “Smoke?” She reaches into her purse and pulls out a cigarette case.

“Don’t mind if I do.” Bucky pulls his lighter out before she has a chance. “Let me,” he lifts the flame to her cigarette before his own.

She takes a drag. “The boy does have manners,” tendrils of smoke accenting her words further.

“A few. Don’t get your hopes up.”

On the stage, a small band has replaced the lone musician. Just a bass, drums, sax, and piano. More than enough though. They begin a slow but swinging tune that gets a few folks on their feet.

Bucky notices you watch them, a serene expression on her face.

“You happy just watchin’?” He asks as she finishes her drink.

Immediately she looks at him as though she forgot he was there for a moment. “I… yeah, usually. I… Well, I come here alone a lot.”

“That’s hard to believe.” He touches her fingers gently with his own as they both stamp out the remains of their smokes.

“On the house, Miss Toni,” the bartender says, depositing two identical drinks on the table.

“Thanks,” she smiles at the man.

“At this rate, I’m not gonna get to repay my debt.”

“I’m sure you can think of some other way to repay me.” She leans a little closer, moving her hand to slide her fingers between his.

“Hmm,” he hums, running his thumb across the surface of the rings on her fingers. Slowly, giving her time to pull away, he lifts her hand, placing a kiss on her knuckles. Beneath the table his free hand sliding just above her knee.

Eyes locked on hers, lips still hovering over her hand he says, “Why don’t we start with a dance?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

As the two of them dance one, two, three dances the bar fills with patrons. He’s not sad for it. The more people on the dance floor the closer he could hold her, the more excuses he had to breathe in her intoxicating scent of woodsmoke, roses, and a spice he can’t name.

No one’s doing the Lindy here. Everyone is dancing slowly, moving to the rhythm of the music and their partner.

Sometime in the middle of the fourth song the two of them stop moving, save for a slow sway. Those eyes of hers drawing him in. He lowers his lips, catching hers. To his relief, she returns his affection.

Eagerly she pulls him from the dance floor and back to their secluded booth. The larger crowd makes this space feel even more private, hidden. He’s glad of it.

Bucky presses her back into the corner of the booth, kissing her hard. Those soft lips open to him and he tastes her, something sweet with a hint of gin and smoke.

With effort he pulls back, smirking at the little pout on her face. She wouldn’t be pouting long.

He slides close, lifting one of her shapely legs over his. He curls an arm around her shoulders, drawing her into him. With her cheek on his shoulder, his body angled just so, and the privacy afforded by the booth he trails his other hand up her skirt, sliding his fingers around her underwear.

When his thumb slides across her bud he can just make out the little gasp she releases over the music and the crowd. Steadily he strokes, her body reacts, hips pressing up, demanding more.

Toni lifts her face up to his eyes glassy with desire, and kisses him until a small moan trips over her tongue.

“Hush now doll,” he croons into her ear, “don’t want anyone to come ruin the fun.”

He can feel her breath quicken, feel her shudder a bit beneath him.

“You like that,” he nips a little at her ear. A hand flies to her mouth to catch the sound. “Thought so. Come on sweetheart.”

Just a little more and… She buries her face in his shoulder, hand gripping his shirt tight as she comes hard.

Bucky moves his hand, wrapping her trembling form in his arms. For some time he holds her like this, comfortable, and admittedly a little self-satisfied.

Suddenly he feels her hand grab him, fingers deftly caressing his cock through the fabric. His breath catches as he looks down at her smirking face.

She lifts her lips to his ear, applying just a touch of pressure, “You think that makes us even?” Her teeth sink into his ear lobe causing his hips to thrust up, pressing into her grip. “Nowhere close.”

In moments they’re in the courtyard. Bucky presses Antoinette against the crumbling brick wall, pinning her arms to her sides as he trails kisses down her neck and collarbones.

“Bucky,” she groans pulling at his restraint.

“Come to my place,” he says in a gravel tone after kissing his name from her lips.

“Bet mine’s closer.”

“Lead the way then,” he releases her.

The block to Toni’s digs takes several times longer than it should. Neither of them able to go more than a few feet without pausing to taste the other. There’s a moment when Bucky isn’t sure they’re going to make it to her place before having one another.

They do make it though.

Toni stops in front of a shop, the sign above the door reads: “Madame Antoinette’s: Palmistry, Cards, Assistance.”

“You’re a… fortune teller or somethin’?” He asks as they walk through the suspiciously unlocked door.

“Or somethin’.” She pulls him by the arm through the small waiting area lit by the street lights to a room filled with bottles, pouches, herbs, and other strange paraphernalia with one lamp glowing in the corner. The next room is clearly where she tells her fortunes, dark, save for one thick candle burning in a lantern.

Bucky freezes, an entirely new desire overtaking him.

When she takes a step to head out of the space all she manages is to stumble, anchored by his unmoving form. Confused she looks back to him.

“Did you wanna gawk at the decor or me?”

His gaze slides from the velvet covered road table to her face, trying his damnedest to keep his features and tone even. “Read my fortune.”

“No.” Her tone is final. Once more she pulls at him but he doesn’t budge.

His hand grips hers tighter before tugging her into his chest, “Come on.” He gives her what he hopes is a confident grin.

“I said no,” she pushes against his chest and takes a step back.

“Why not?” His brows knit.

Toni looks at the floor, at the table, and finally back to him. “I don’t tell soldier’s fortunes.”

“I didn’t-”

“You didn’t have to. I knew.”

He doesn’t want to know how. “So you’ll take a soldier to bed but not read his palm?”

“Because I know my bed holds nothing but good things,” she spits. “The fortune of a soldier is almost always bad news.”

Silence hangs, the air between them crackling. “Besides, if you need the cards to tell you what the product of war is maybe you should reconsider, soldier.” It’s his turn to look away.

She strides to the doorway they’d been heading for. “You coming or not?”

“Please,” his voice is thick with emotion. When he’s able to meet her gaze again he can feel the tears sting the backs of his eyes. Closing the distance between them he grabs her hands in his, immediately her expression softens.  

“Even if it’s bad. Please, Toni. I just… I gotta know.” He’s begging, likely losing any shot he has with her too, but it doesn’t matter. “I don’t even care if everything you tell me is bullshit. I just… I need somethin’…”

“It won’t be,” he cocks his head in confusion as her eyes drift to the table. “From me it won’t be bullshit. It will just… be.”

“Ok. I can take it. Better than not knowing.”

Subtly she shakes her head, pulling free from his grip and walking toward the candle. Bucky doesn’t move as she lights a thin stick, using it to light another white candle on the round table.

“Sit,” she commands. He does as he’s told.

Taking a deep breath Antoinette lays her hands on the table, palms up. “Give me your hands.”

He stares at her hands, suddenly nervous. “Don’t you need cards or-”

“Do you want this or not?” He nods. “Then give me your hands and shut up.”

When her hands close around his her eyes slide shut. For a few seconds everything seems normal but then he’s overcome with the strangest sensation-it’s like he’s floating and yet weighted down all at the same time, his whole body feeling the way a limb does after you’ve sat on it too long, numb yet tingling with sensation.

She releases his hands and he recoils instantly. When her eyes open he could swear that just for a second they were… glowing. It happened so fast he couldn’t be sure. What he was sure of was the steady stream of tears flowing down her freckle dusted cheeks.

“Tell me…”

Her voice is low, resonant, “You will become everything you fear. Ice will live in your veins. But only one hand will drip with blood, the other will remain snow white.” His breath leaves him. “But they will never know these things.”

Somehow he knows who she means—his family.

He almost doesn’t ask, almost doesn’t want to know… “Do… do I die… there?”

“No.”

“Oh, well… I guess that something right?” He tries to force a half-smile, he’s pretty sure it just looks like a grimace.

True sorrow filler her eyes before she has to look away from him. “There are far worse fates in this world than death, Sergeant Barnes.”

Bucky tries, he really does, to keep it together, to be a man. He’s not strong enough though, not for this. The sob bursts from his lips before he can stop it. Desperately he covers his mouth as if he could put it back.

Before he can protest his face is enveloped in the soft black fabric of her skirt, one hand holding his face against her abdomen, the other wrapped around him. He doesn’t resist, flinging his arms around her allowing the tears to take him.

Toni’s soft hands pull his face up to look at her once his sobs quiet a touch, “Come upstairs, Bucky.”

He shakes his head, “I’m sorry, Toni, but I don’t think-”

“Shh,” she slides a finger over his lips. “Trust me. Please.”

Stepping back she grips his shoulders, guiding him up from the chair. In a haze of emotion he follows her blindly out of the room and up a narrow staircase. It opens into a large open room with windows and balconies on both ends.

Past a screen toward the back balcony is a large, brass fourposter bed. Beside it she stops, fingers making quick work of his shirt buttons, sliding the garment off his shoulders and pulling his undershirt over his head. He doesn’t stop her when they wander to his trousers. In moments he’s in nothing but his shorts.

Wordlessly she unties the neck of her dress, letting it fall to reveal her chest as she unzips her skirt. In another situation he’d never be able to resist those curves, but right now, how good he’d feel between her thighs is the furthest thing from his mind.

She removes her underwear and steps past him, climbing into the unmade bed. Turning he sees open arms beckoning him to join. Understanding dawns along with an immense wave of gratitude.

He makes his way into her bed, glad to press his back into her soft warmth, allowing her to hold him tight.

Toni presses gentle kisses against his left shoulder and begins to hum a pretty, soothing song. The melody accompanied by the soft whirr of an unseen fan and her reassuring presence soon rock Bucky into a deep, dreamless, sleep.

Soft morning light filters through the lace curtains casting intricate shadows on her sleeping form. One arm is curled tight against her chest while the other is tucked under her pillow. Through lids still heavy with sleep Bucky takes in the features of her serene face.

A mahogany curl lies over her closed eyes. Ever so carefully he tucks it back into the red-brown mass splayed across her pillow. Despite his best efforts, her brows knit for a split second before her lids slide open to reveal those silvery eyes. They remind him of full moons.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he lets his finger trace the line of her high cheekbone. Her lips curl softly in response, reaching one and caressing his rough cheek in kind.

Closing the small space between them in one motion, Bucky kisses her tenderly. Turning her body to fully face him she returns his affection. He runs a hand down her side and around her back pulling her close against him, the warmth of her body making him ache.

She slides a hand between them, lightly scratching her nails down his chest and abdomen. When she reaches his hips she grips him, pushing him to his back as she rises to her knees.

He doesn’t resist her—deft fingers coaxing his shorts off before studying the planes of his abdomen, the curve of his hips, the tense muscles of his thighs. Not once though does she touch the one place on his body that is begging for it. Each touch elsewhere causes his cock to jerk painfully, desperate for contact.

Lips curled into a coy smile she leans over him, the tips of her breasts barely touching his chest. Lowering herself, she presses her body against him. He ruts against her, the soft flesh of her abdomen driving him wild.

She lets out a low purr, close to a laugh, “Patience.”

With her mouth teasing the tender flesh of his neck he lifts his hands to feel the curve of her spine down to her ass. Gripping the supple flesh there he tries to lift her, wanting to take her now. She reaches back, grabbing his wrists. Compliant, he allows her to pull them away, pinning them by his head.

Bucky had been with other women in the past. Never had he found himself in this position—he was utterly besotted.

When she covers his mouth with hers, he can’t help but groan with desire. Her lower body shifts thighs lifting to flank his.

Rising onto her knees the light shines on a bit of moisture on her stomach. A tiny touch of embarrassment rises in him but is obliterated when she catches it with her middle and ring fingers, brings them to her lips, and slowly sucks them clean. He can’t even breathe.

Those same fingers descend the length of her body and slide between her legs. Her lashes flutter, hips rising to her own touch. She removes them, glistening.

Before she can stop him he takes her wrist, drawing her hand to his mouth. Much as she had done, he tastes her, his tongue flicking the tips of her fingers. He holds her eyes with his, watching them widen as her breath hitches.

Toni leans down to him once more, shifting her hips forward. This kiss is unlike anything else he’s ever felt—he buries his fingers in her hair, not wanting her to stop, not wanting the humming in his chest to stop.

He can feel the heat of her hovering just above him. His cock twitches up and just barely touches the soft hair.

Lips still locked together, she reaches back to guide him into her.

Bucky thrusts up, the warm tight feeling of her sending tremors through his body. Their eyes open when he does so both frozen mid-kiss, breathless from the feeling of being joined like this.

Neither move at first. The connection somehow enough to satisfy for a time.

Untangling his fingers from her curls he grips her thighs. With a fluid swoop she rises, holding her hair back with one hand. Never looking from him she begins a steady rolling motion with her hips. He’s slack jawed with the feeling, unable to fathom anything better than this.

She runs her hands down to her breasts, taking her dark pink nipples between her fingers as he pushes himself deeper inside of her. He releases one of her thighs, wanting nothing more than to make her feel as good as he does.

As his thumb moves over her clit her head falls back, a dark moan filling the room. Her body arches, one arm braced behind her back the other holding onto his forearm, silently begging him not to stop.

“Bucky,” she whispers, tongue thick. Her hips move into a faster pace.

When her orgasm crashes into her he sits up, twining his arms around her back to bring her shaking body closer to his. Toni lifts herself just enough to wrap her legs around him, allowing him to push deeper within her.

As he moves slowly, his fingertips trace goosebumps on her spine, the feeling that they’re one being is otherworldly.

This is what it should feel like, he thinks, what it should always feel like, like magic.

“What are you?” He whispers, feeling her walls tighten around him.

“Yours,” she responds.

That’s all it takes to tip him over the edge.

His fingers grip her ass, pushing their pace a bit faster. She braces herself against his shoulders.

“Antoinette,” he breathes, unable to make another word rise to his lips, unable to ask.  

“Yes,” she answers his unspoken question.

His whole body tenses, brows knit, a low groan rumbles from deep within him as his muscles release. With a need he can’t quite name his mouth seeks hers again before they fall—panting, sweat sparkling on their skin—back into the embrace of the bed.

“You don’t have to go, not yet,” she says as her fingers absently run through the hair on his chest. Rising on an elbow she turns those bewitching eyes on him, “Just stay until tomorrow at least.”

He tries not to dwell on how she knew where his thoughts were without him saying a damn thing. The truth was he didn’t want to go.

“Ok, tomorrow,” he agrees before catching her lips with his.

Tomorrow turned into another tomorrow and before he knew it he’d been falling asleep in Antoinette’s bed for four nights.

In truth, it was all a sweet blur. Languid days spent exploring New Orleans by her side. She’d tell animated stories of the city as they walked—painting such a vivid portrait of events and people from decades prior that if he didn’t know better he’d think she lived it.

Bucky couldn’t help but smile as folks from all walks would stop them to thank her for some cure she’d provided, some guidance she’d offered. Without hesitation she’d stop anything she was doing if someone made a request of her. More than once someone had whispered how lucky he was to be in her company as if he could somehow be unaware.

He’d seen people in his life who wore their goodness like a badge of honor, something they hoped people would laud them for. Not her. It was just who she was. Each time he was reminded of this it also served to remind him that she’d never be his, not really. He wasn’t destined for such goodness.

When the sun lowered beneath the river they danced in clubs he’d never have found otherwise. Drank in music, and liquor, and each other like they’d have all the time in the world to do so.

Now, he lays in her bed, studying the curves of her body through the open French doors, unable to fathom how he’d just had her and yet his body is already begging for more.

The new moon kept the sky dark and little light from the city touched the back balcony—even so, her caramel skin seemed creamy, almost luminescent.

He rolls from the comfortable confines of her bed, padding out to join her. Without hesitation, she leans her body into his as he comes up behind her. Plucking the cigarette from her fingers, he takes a deep drag, his free hand caressing the soft skin of her abdomen.

“Tomorrow,” she sighs, her head falling back onto his shoulder to be able to see his face. “You’ll leave tomorrow.”

He had decided to do so earlier that day, he just hadn’t known how to tell her. “Yeah.” She nods in acknowledgment, turning her gaze back to the summer night, twining her fingers tightly around his.

They make love slowly almost reverently the next morning. He doesn’t want to forget a single thing about her.

As he sits on the edge of the bed his stomach flops over at the thought of getting on the train that evening. He rests an elbow on his thigh, leaning over to cradle his head in his hands.

“Don’t go.” Her tone is suddenly frantic as she turns him back to face her, sitting on her knees in the middle of the mattress.

“I have to Toni,” he shifts his body to be more squarely on the bed. “I gotta see my family before…” He can’t manage to finish the statement.

“But you don’t have to go. Not to Europe.” She grabs his hands, gripping them with all her might. “We could run. I have enough money tp go-”

“Where would we run, Toni. The whole damn world is-”

“Not the whole world! We could go to Mexico City. Or maybe Saint Domingue, live on the beach, spend every day in the water…” Her fingers trace the outlines of his face, “Please. Don’t go. Don’t… you don’t have to…” He knows what she can’t bring herself to say.

“I’d be yours you know. I’d say yes.” The twin moons of her eyes are huge, imploring, tempting. Tenderly he takes her hand, placing a kiss on her knuckles, shaking his head.

“You deserve someone much better than me, Toni.” Someone better than what I’ll become…

“Don’t assume you know what I deserve,” shadows darken her expression. “You’re a good man, Bucky, you deserve better than what you believe, better than what fate has given you.” Her hand covers his heart before her eyes squeeze closed as if in pain. He feels that same tingling as he had when she’d told his fortune.

“Toni?” His tone drips with concern.

When she looks back to him her eyes brim with tears. “Please,” she says once more.

“I can’t darlin’. I’d never be able to forgive myself if I went AWOL. I got a duty and I’m gonna do it.”

“Then promise me something,” she takes his hands in hers.

“Anything, Antoinette, anything.” He means it.

“Remember, they can’t take this from you,” her fingers poke above his heart. “Nothing they do, nothing, will stop you from being James Barnes in here.”

“I’ll remember…” He kisses her softly. “I promise.” Even if he doesn’t believe her.

Even though he has to leave soon he can’t resist pulling her to the bed again.

Just one more time, one more and leaving will be easier, he tells himself.

He’s wrong.

Just before evening they stand outside the train station, holding on to one another so tight it almost hurts.

“It’s not too late,” she says against his lips after another hard kiss, “you can change your mind.”

He just shakes his head, smiling sadly.

Under the light of sunset, she’s radiant. The orange’s picking up the red in her hair and the warmth of her skin. He’d never meet someone like her again.

There’s something he needs to know, even if it’s not an answer he wants.

“Will I ever see you again?” Speaking the question aloud makes his heart constrict. Her gaze is distant, as she seems to look through him, the tingle beneath his skin there again.

Toni looks up and the sky, voice far away, “Under another violet sky, in another lifetime, our paths will cross again.”

“I’ll look forward to that lifetime then,” because clearly it would be better than this one. Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes.

An announcement cuts him to the bone. Final boarding.

She grabs his face in her strong but delicate hands, the metal from her rings pressing to his skin. “I will never forget you, Bucky Barnes.”

“I won’t forget you either.” She looks away as if in doubt. He decides one final kiss will convince her. “I won’t.” He stares into her eyes, willing her to believe him.

“Until the next time.” He’s relieved she didn’t say goodbye, there were too many goodbyes coming for him. She kisses him once more releasing him.

“Next time,” he nods and runs to catch the train.

Once in his seat he looks out the window seeing her. He slides the window open.

“Don’t forget your promise!” She yells up.

“I won’t, Antoinette. I swear!”

He watches the tears slide down her face until she’s out of sight… forever.

-

A tear slides out of the corner of his eye before he can catch it.

He’d broken every promise he made to her. They took his heart, they took her. When he’d come down here, she wasn’t even on his mind. Hell, had he even remembered those extraordinary five days with Antoinette until now?

He doubles over on the bench, arms wrapped around him.

Memories were a double-edged sword. They connected him to who he was, who he’d been before, but fuck they tore at his soul in a way that made him long for nothingness again.

Here was someone else to mourn, someone else to ache for. She was probably resting in one of New Orleans’ elaborate cemeteries now, next to whatever man got lucky enough to hear her say yes.

Maybe he’d find her. Bring flowers, say he was sorry…

Her home had been in the Quarter, he could find that easier, faster, than a grave. It was as good a place to start as any.

Hands shoved in his jacket pockets he begins to walk in a direction that feels right, eyes glued to the sidewalk. Looking at the sky just made the ache worse, made her sweet voice ring in his ears again.

Turning a corner, not paying attention to anything but putting one foot in front of the other, he careens into someone.

“Shit! I’m so sorry!” He hustles to grab a can of coffee rolling toward the street.

“It’s ok,” a soft voice says. “My mind was a world away.”

The coffee can’s metal body creaks a bit as his left hand closes a little too tightly around it. Slowly he turns to see a mass of mahogany curls and ring covered fingers gathering the other fallen groceries into a reusable bag.

Every bit of breath is sucked from his lungs when twin moons look up at him. He staggers back like he’s been struck.

“An - Antoinette,” he stammers.

A massive smile lights her face, “I told you our paths would cross under a violet sky, didn’t I?” His jaw hangs open, eyes blinking rapidly trying to clear her from his vision, as she steps toward him. She grabs the coffee can from his grip before he breaks it.

“Trying to catch flies, Bucky?” One bejeweled finger lifts his chin.

There are a million things running through his mind as he tries to make sense of this—but nothing will come out.

She turns, “Come on, my place isn’t far.” Before she walks forward she throws a smile his way and gives him a wink.

Of their own volition his feet trudge after her.

It’s the same building he remembers but the sign advertising fortunes is gone. Instead it seems the bottom shop is a specialty bookseller. Patronage by Appointment Only read the letters on the still unlocked door.

His head spins as he follows her through the strangely familiar yet different space and up the back stairs.

Her living space was still open and airy though it now sported a proper small kitchen close to the front. And when he looked toward the back he saw the light glint on a familiar brass bed frame.

“Coffee?” Toni asks, as though this is just a normal thing.

He stares at her for a minute, stuck at the top of the stairs, as she moves about the kitchen. She sets a brass kettle on the island burner and pulls a French press from the open shelves. After scooping coffee into the container she finally looks at him.

“Did you like chicory? I don’t remember.”

“I,” his voice cracks. He clears his throat, “I don’t remember either, honestly.” Trance like he makes his way to the small round table close to the front balcony, collapsing into the wooden chair.

“It’s good. I promise.” The kettle screeches. She pours water into the press.

When she sets it on the table she doesn’t look at him. She turns back to the kitchen. He can’t stand it. His left-hand shoots out, grabbing her wrist with cool metal fingers. Languidly she looks back at him, meeting his eyes full on.

“Is this real?” Bucky knew that dreams could feel as real as anything. The terror that this is a hallucination grips him. Toni’s expression is soft as silk as she gently touches the side of his face, he fights to keep his eyes from closing at how good it feels to be touched like this.

“I am very real, Bucky.”

Despite how insane this is he believes her—knows she’s telling the truth, that he’s here, she’s here, this is real. He releases her wrist and she unflinchingly takes his left hand for just a moment before heading into the kitchen for mugs and cream.

She sits across from him, sliding a mug over, “That needs a few more minutes. Worth the wait though.”

Coffee is the furthest thing from his mind.

“How… how are you still alive?”

A smirk makes her eyes sparkle a bit. “Well, technically the Antoinette Desmarais you knew is dead.”

“Oh?” He laughs a little at the ridiculousness of this whole thing, “So… How long have you been dead?”

Her smirk turns to a smile, “Roughly 70 years.”

“Damn,” he forks his fingers through his hair. “Guess I missed the funeral then. Wouldda sent flowers but, pretty sure I was technically dead then too.”

She shrugs, “It was a small private affair. Most of my funerals are.”

“Had more than one?”

“A few,” she presses down the plunger on the French press before pouring the coffee. “That was my second. Had my third in ’96.” He watches her put a splash of cream in her coffee, normally he took it black but he follows her lead.

“The government gets a little suspicious if you just keep goin'. But if you die and leave your estate to your namesake, well, that’s fine.” She sips her coffee, “Guess you don’t have to worry about that though.”

“Nah,” he tastes his own cup, remembering that he did like this unique flavor back then. “For better or worse they’re pretty damn aware of me.”

Silence hangs for a few moments before he can’t bear it any more. “You didn’t answer my question, Toni… How?”

“Would, ‘I’m a witch,’ be sufficient enough?” She looks up at him through her thick dark lashes. He narrows his eyes, she sighs, “Didn’t think so.”

“Long story short… I was young, stupid, had power, thought I could do anything I wanted…” Her shoulders hunch forward, eyes on the coffee in her cup. “I… I went too far. Crossed a line. Someone came to stop me and I… I killed him.”

Bucky studies her, unable to imagine her doing harm to anyone.

“Just so happened he had a lover, someone far more powerful than me.” She shields her eyes a bit, cradling her forehead, “Bit of life advice, don’t piss off an ancient powerful sorceress, never ends well.” Leaning back, she tries to force something like a smile.

When he doesn’t speak she continues, “She punished me. In a way that, at the time seemed like a gift-”

“Immortality,” Bucky says in barely a whisper. He remembers the fortune she told, that there were worse fates than death. She would have known.

“No,” she shakes her head, “immortality is—well that costs far more than I was worth to her, no she cursed me with life. A long, long life. I called her a fool, a bald hag--childish nonsense. But… well, I guess you’ve discovered for yourself.”

Tears sparkle in her eyes when she looks back to him, “There are few things more painful than to watch everything and everyone you’ve known and loved die.”

“I didn’t watch,” he slides his right hand over hers, “but I do understand.” That’s why he’d ran down here, the weight of loss was too much.

Her fingers slide through his and for a time they stay like that, linked across the table, across decades, sharing an experience few would understand. It would have been enough to sustain him through another lifetime he thought.

“You’re taking this all rather well,” she lifts a perfectly shaped brow at him.

“A few months ago I woke up face down in the dirt to a wizard telling me that somehow five years had passed and that I needed to go through a glowing portal to help save the world again…” He chugs the remains of his coffee. “I also met a talking raccoon and tree. So… yeah… I’ll roll with just about anything after that.”

She laughs, “Well, I’m glad you had a primer on weird before we met again.”

He lets out a small laugh too, he left out meeting a god and the million other small things that still felt unreal to him in daily life.

“How long?” He asks sliding his thumb over the rough surface of her rings.

“Lose your manners again? It’s rude to ask a lady her age.” She smiles at him before finishing her coffee. “I was born here in 1821, one month to the day after Napoleon died.”

“So when we met you were…”

“‘Bout 120? Yeah.” She pours more coffee into her cup, releasing his hand, “Close enough to your age now I bet.” He nods.

“And you’re still here…” He motions around the space.

“Well, I wasn’t born here-here. I was born in New Orleans though. And I didn’t stay here the whole time, I just come back home when I need something-”

“Familiar,” he finishes the thought, knowing the feeling far too well.

“Yeah. The city changes but the Quarter, she’s kinda like me—we get older, get get a little rough around the edges, a little worn down, but we’re still standin’.” Toni’s expression is almost wistful.

As her expression is focused out the French doors, Bucky argues with himself. He’d gotten off that bench earlier with the intention to apologize to dust and bones because he thought he owed her that. Now here she was, as beautiful and alive as the day he met her, and the thought of admitting his failure seemed impossible.

“Don’t,” she says in a voice like velvet. He stares into her knowing eyes. “You don’t owe me a goddamn thing Bucky Barnes.”

He shakes his head, “I do though. I broke my promise.”

“No,” she sets her cup down, grabbing both his hands fiercely, “you didn’t.”

Weakly he tries to pull back but she won’t let him. “Antoinette… I… If you only knew what I’ve—I forgot you, forgot…” he pulls one hand free to point at his heart, “Forgot this.”

“No,” she says again, “you didn’t. If you did you wouldn’t be here.” He looks away, unable to find the words to tell her just how wrong she is.

She sighs, “You do know I have the internet, right? I may be over 200 but I’m not dead.” He looks back, confused.

“James Buchanan Barnes fell from a train in 1945, was presumed dead. After the events at the Triskellion, he’s now known as the longest-serving POW in history, forced to take the mantle of the Winter Soldier and commit heinous crimes in the name of his captors.”

His stomach drops. Faster than any normal man could manage he shoots from the chair, sending it screeching back. Unable to leave her yet though, he leans his head against the frame of the French door, attempting to breathe.

Almost soundlessly she comes up behind him, placing a soothing hand on his lower back. He flinches at the gesture.

“But you fought back,” she takes a shaky breath. “If they had taken your heart you’d still be The Winter Soldier, but no, Bucky Barnes is standing right here in my kitchen. Because you kept a promise you made all those years ago, to a woman you hardly knew.”

“You don’t know,” is all he can manage without breaking.

“I do.” She lifts a hand to cup his cheek, turning him to face her. “I didn’t see exactly what would happen to you, prophecy is never that simple nor clear, but I felt the void, the despair, the cold. I felt it then and I can see the scars in your heart now.”

He covers her hand with his, eyes closing. “I shouldda gone with you. Should of listened.”

“Yeah,” she huffs out a dry laugh, their clasped hands lowering, “lived out your days on a beach, peacefully. But fate will have what she wants, I knew it couldn’t be.”

Something occurs to him, “You said you’d say yes then. But…” She looks like she’s hardly aged, “You would have stayed the same and I’d be…”

“Dead? Likely so.” Her smile is tender, “But living one lifetime with you would have been worth the pain of lettin’ go I think.” He shakes his head, eyes sliding shut, unable to fully comprehend why he’d be worth that.

“And for what it’s worth. No one said that offer had an expiration date.”

“What?!” His eyes shoot open in disbelief.

Toni’s rich laugh fills the room, “Mexico City is still there, there’s plenty of beautiful beaches around the world to see too.” She presses close to him, “And, it’s a little old fashioned but… I believe I would still say yes to this,” she points at his heart just as she’d done before.

Bucky’s chest constricts. Without thinking he cradles her face in his hands and kisses her. She tastes like coffee and memories, her scent of roses and wood smoke and spice filling his nostrils. Her body melts into his, wrapping her arms around his neck, kissing him back with just as much intensity.

He breaks the connection, pushing her back just enough to look into her face.

“Antoinette, there are things…” how can he tell her all the reasons she should run, all the reasons she should take it all back.

“You can tell me everything or nothing in time, Bucky,” she traces his lips with her fingers. “It seems that, for once, time is on our side.”

As the violet sky above them faded to navy and a fall breeze filtered through open doors—the two of them relived the feeling of hot summer nights from years past and dreamed of a future together that, though far from perfect, would maybe be a little less lonely.

[organicloser]

An open letter to the boy:

Last November, we met. We saw each other and two days later, we were sitting in the same living room talking and laughing together. It was the first time I had actually been semi-interested in someone since my brutal breakup with my boyfriend of two and half years. We went downtown that night and had long sober walks and talked together. Thanksgiving was the next day and you said you didn’t have anywhere to go, and I invited you to spend it with my family.

Two days later, Friday, we drove out to Cour D’Alene and you met one of my best friends DeLaine. We watched the lights light up the town and we drove home. There was a crazy snow storm and we pulled off on an exit and you asked me to dance. I was still so hurt in this time and was afraid to even like another person. I declined and we kept driving. *still regret it to this day*. We slid off the road once, and you laughed about how you could handle my stress 😂. When we got home, you said you wanted to kiss me and all I said was “I can’t”. I wish I had said yes.

The best couple of weeks, we went climbing together and talked about skiing and how I was going to re-learn how. You were always so kind to me. Always. Throughout this time, you were unaware..but I still looked at my ex boyfriend’s feed everyday, his Twitter, his insta, his tumblr. All of it. He would post sad pictures and it was so cling onto what had left. I watched his follow count, his mentions, any girl that liked a picture, I watched. I was obsessed. In a terrible, negative way, I was obsessed. And I could not let go.

A couple weeks went by and we decided to go to your house and do a collab painting for our friends birthday. We laughed and created and it was magical. I loved every second of it. When we finished out masterpiece, we sat and listened to music. I turned to you, and you turned to me..and we kissed. It was perfect from the start. Everything about it, I loved. We made out for hours and I was so happy. But still had the lingering feelings of what heartbreak I had been though.

For the best couple of weeks, we spent a lot of time together. Almost everyday was spent with you. I went to Missoula for Christmas, but we gave each other our gifts beforehand. You got me an amazing book (that I have read twice), and drew me an incredible painting. I was so fulfilled. At this point, my ex stopped talking to me, unfollowed me, starting seeing someone, and it broke me. I thought I was happy..but it killed me that he had moved on when I had tried to not date until April.

I was happy with you. I seriously wanted to love you. Something kept holding me back. Maybe it was the fact that I still thought of my ex all of the time and dreamt about him at 3 nights a week. I’m so sorry. You were everything I’ve ever wanted, and it broke me. I started to become more distant. Irritated. You annoyed the shit out of me. You were perfect. Always sweet and genuine and I was a bitch. And I’m so sorry for that.

In April, before leaving for Arizona, I told you that I was done. We couldn’t ever be together and there was no future. It was probably the hardest thing I had to do. I went to Arizona and I thought about you the entire time. Everything I did, I wished you were with me. We barely talked.

When I came home, I went to Jam for Cans. I watched you ski hard and win. I stood by you in your victory, and it felt amazing. That night, I had missed you so much. We talked and we were stoked that you won, and I kissed you. We talked a couple days after that about how we were going to “date”. I was finally okay with everything. It had been 6 months and I was ready for you. I loved you. I was head over heels for you. We had such a fun time together.

We went on a hike one day. At one time, you bent down to pick up a rock tha you thought was a seashell. I laughed so hard and jokingly said “there are no shells in the forest!”. A couple minutes later, you bent down to look at a flower, and beside it lay a seashell. I have never laughed so hard in my life. I probably laugh, cried for 30 minutes. The shell from that day on was a sign of my love for you.

You left for Mount Hood and I missed you terribly. One of my friends was talking to me and tried to convince me that I wasn’t happy and that it was just a facade and that I was never going to be truly fulfilled. My parents unfortunately said the same thing. They loved you. My dad still talks about you and reminds me of you at least 3 times a week. They just didn’t see how I was going to ever make you happy because of how much you love to travel around. I was always going to be a ball and chain..which I feared for a long time. 

I did a lot of thinking, but continued to come to Mount Hood. When I got there, i was so unbelievably excited to see you. I had been waiting for three weeks to see you and it was finally here. However, the instant I got there, you were immediately annoyed with one of our friends and how he had been acting. I don’t need to go into detail for this week, because it sucked. I hated myself after this week and I did not have a good time. On a Tuesday, the day before I came home, I cried to you in your van I told you I didn't love you. I told you I was afraid for the future and that I didn’t know what to do. I felt forced to love you and it killed me. 

Then I came home the next day and we both barely talked. I called you the next day and we went climbing and that night, we ended things. We were done. I felt relieved. I felt trapped with you and it hurt me to the core. So everything was fine! Right?

That next day, I took you out to eat for your birthday, we went to Mongolian Grill and had some noodles. Then you dropped me off at home, and went to a party. I felt so hurt because it was the first time I had not been invited to something for the past 9 months. 

The next day, your birthday, we hung out a little and went to Zeke’s house. We hot tubbed and Zeke left us alone to go to the store. Our chemistry boiled. It is undeniable. I can’t not be in enamored when I’m with you. We drove home and I lay awake until 2am and cried. I missed you so much. I didn't know what to do. 

The next day we barely talked again, and you texted me at 8pm and said that you were going to the ocean. It broke my heart. You just left. You barely texted me while you were there and it was an escape from me. I get that. Still broke me honestly. I had become fast friends with Rylee. She and I lay on a crash pad for a couple hours and talked about our relationship and she laid out her troubles in hers. We decided to hang out one night, and it was the night you got home. You texted me and asked me how I was and then conveniently showed up at Matt and Paul’s house, where I was. I drank. I smoked. And then I lay into you and was not very happy at all. You left. I needed you and you left. It hurt me. That night, we kissed and made up. 

We spent the next few days liking each other, kissing and cuddling and sleeping next to each other and we were in a weird place. It felt right, but at the same time, something was holding us back. 

You moved up to Priest Lake and I drove up to see you often. I enjoyed sleeping with you in your cabin and loving an off grid life with you. Just us, music and yoga. I enjoyed every second. In this moment, I realized I didn’t need kids, a big house, a big family, nothing. All I wanted was a small hidden cabin, music and you. You. 

After a few weeks, you tried to convince me to move up to Priest, and I couldn't. I just got promoted and had a solid job as a caregiver for foster children. Then you came home, we went climbing, and it ended that day. You told me you couldn’t do it anymore. It just wasn't meant to be. As much as I wanted to say it was’t true, it was. It was never going to happen for us. It just isn’t realistic. 

Summer killed me.

I felt so alone and all I wanted to know is how you were. It broke me. 

I still miss you Gabe. Everyday, I miss you. I see your posts and all of your friend’s posts and it hurts. I wish we never dated. I knew it wasn’t going to work and I still pushed it. I am so sorry because it ruined us. It still hurts and I miss you dude. Love you forever. 

[overcompensate]

home is just a room full of my safest sounds

It’s the third time this week that he’s found himself gripping the ceramic of the sink countertop in the bathroom/kitchen/laundry of Monmouth Manufacturing. It’s not morning yet and not really night anymore, and every breath he takes sends pain down his spine. Ronan Lynch is misshapen words and broken bones and anger meshed into a skin that doesn’t fit quite right.

Most days he fills the emptiness gaping in his chest with alcohol and pills and the squeal of rubber tires against asphalt. It’s the third time this week that he’s found himself retching into the toilet; the world outside him still, silent. Chainsaw pecks at the one of the metal bars of her cage and he can feel the sound ringing in his mind.

Third time this week, Gansey stands just outside the bathroom/ kitchen/ laundry, forever awake, forever standing one door away from Ronan, his hand the shape of a knock, his lips the shape of pity. Outside, Gansey leaves. Today, he will let Ronan fight his own demons. He will let Ronan drink himself to death if that’s what he wants to do. Inside, Ronan passes out on the floor.

***

Sixteen was the age that he went to too many parties. His mother was alive and worried. At sixteen he made out with girls he didn’t like and watched boys he liked from far away. At sixteen his mind was too loud and the lights in the room were too damn bright, and he had to get out, damn it.  

He ended up on the roof. It was cold and the wet air whipped at his face. Ronan thought he might kill himself that very day, jump off the roof and let himself be carried far off. At sixteen he felt that kind of itch often, it was always easier to leave before things got too hard.

The priest had dedicated last week’s sermon to afterlife, and Ronan thought about the devil in his backyard and felt himself slipping further from heaven. And then, because he was scared and his ears were ringing, Ronan pulled out his phone and called Gansey.

It was Adam who picked up.

Ronan felt cold slide down his spine.

“Ronan? There better be good reason to this.”

“I- fuck.” Ronan checked the caller’s ID. He had accidentally called trailer-boy. Ronan thought sand eyelashes and freckles. He thought wrists and bruises and greased overalls. The devil smiled, Ronan slipped more. “I’m at Kavinsky’s place.” Silence. Ronan felt himself jumping off the roof. “Please.”

Adam arrived soon after. He was out of breath. Blue-green spread out from below his right eye to his nose. Downstairs the party raged. Now that Adam stood this close, Ronan felt stupid for calling him.

“Why’d you call me?”

Ronan grinned, wild. “Why’d you come?” The air whipped, wilder. Neither of them spoke. Adam shifted his weight from one foot to another, uncomfortable. That had shut him up.

It was Ronan who spoke next. “How long are you gonna let him do that?”

Adam’s fingers went to the bruise staining his face, Ronan watching closely. “However long it takes for me to graduate.”

“However long it takes for me to graduate.” He snickered. “However long it takes for him to kill you, more like.”

“If you called me here just to be a condescending brat, I’ll be on my way. I have work early.” Adam crossed his arms, a timid impersonation of anger.

Ronan leaned back at the railing. “Get your head out of your ass, trailer trash. If you must know, I called you here because I was contemplating jumping off. As in killing myself. As in not caring about your dickhead of a father and how you refuse to let yourself leave,” Ronan spits out. He said it more for the dramatics, because everything he says has to be one big ha-ha joke, a punch or a smirk. He says it before anyone can catch him caring, makes it a snide remark before it becomes serious.

Adam tensed and Ronan knew he had hit a nerve. Downstairs, the song changed to a slower one.

“Fuck you, Lynch,” Adam spat. He stormed past Ronan.

Ronan smiled wider.

***

“Lynch. Lynch. Ronan. Calm yourself, princess.”

The lights keep flashing. Blue. Red. Blue again. Fourth July can go fuck itself, Kavinsky was celebrating himself tonight.

Kavinsky with all the bravado of a drunk seventeen year old hit Ronan across the face. “You done being a fuckin’ pussy now?”

For about twenty seconds Ronan stared at his hands, which he noticed were shaking. Ronan shook his head. His cheek throbbed. “Not yet.” He brought his fist down on Kavinsky’s nose, smirked like he had done him a favor. “You can continue now,” he said, the picture of nonchalance, as if he hadn’t come stumbling and stuttering Joseph Kavinsky’s name like a prayer. His father’s brains painted the driveway to the Barns red. Ronan didn’t know what to do with himself at nights. He tried to remember why he came here.

“Goddamn. Goddamn.” Kavinsky put his fingers to his nose, licking the blood that had flown onto his lips. “Goddamnit Lynch, did daddy not give you your pills today? Damn, that hurts, goddamn it.” And then, like he only now realized that words other than various combinations of god and damn exist, he shoved Ronan by the shoulders. “I’m gonna put a fuckin’ ban on you man, why’re you coming to my parties and punching me in the goddamn face?”

Ronan merely shrugged.

“Yeah, Lynch, act like you didn’t come in here sobbing like a fuckin’ baby. Gansey, oh Gansey, wherefore art thou Dick? I wish to hop on it. Or is it trailer-boy you’re fucking these days?” He snorted unattractively. Yeah. That’s why he came here: Because Kavinsky simplified everything to a few incorrectly quoted lines and an innuendo, because Kavinksy was superficial and idiotic and. And.

And he had drugs.

“Ha- fucking- ha. Take a medal for you’re a-grade Shakespeare skills, Joseph.” Kavinsky flashed him a smile. “You know what I’m here for. Give me the stuff so I can leave.”

Ronan passed out that night with his clothes off on Kavinsky’s floor, his nose burning.

***

They lay in Ronan’s parents’ bed in the barns; skin sticky and hearts thudding, coming down from the high but not enough for the world to make sense yet. In these moments of unguarded love Ronan would admit he wants to kiss every freckle on Adam’s shoulder. Ronan would let himself look at Adam’s eyes, his lips, his hands, at Adam without red-hot shame running down his spine.

Here was Adam; skin glowing golden in the setting sun, head back, neck arched. Here was Adam; fingers running lazy spirals across his tattoo, eyelashes brushing cheekbones, mouth parted. Here was Adam unwary, Adam perfect and peaceful and—

“I don’t deserve you.” The words are out before Ronan can stop them. His neck goes red.

Adam laughs, slow and easy. “Yeah? Why d’you think that?”

“Just do.” The red travels to his shoulders. “You want a fucking essay?”

“I’m good. Just strange for you to say that, that’s all.” Strange of you to say that. Ronan toys with the words in his mind: strange as in Adam disagrees? Strange as in Adam might even say the same for him?

He shifts to press his mouth against Adam’s skin. “You’re just too damn perfect, that’s all.”

Adam lifts his head up just enough to look at Ronan through half-lidded eyes, his eyebrows raised. He laughs, quietly, and falls back with a thud. Ronan flushes three shades darker. “So are you, you know,” Adam says. “Like I can’t ever tell you properly, but you really are.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty dang great.”

Adam laughs again. Ronan crawls up till his head is on Adam’s shoulder and falls asleep like that; fingers buried in his hair, his cheek warm where it touches Adam’s skin.

***

They fall into patterns after the Second Death. There’s mornings in the barn where Adam would be gone to work or school before Ronan even had the time to blink the sleep out of his eyes. Some mornings Adam would stay back and they’d sit on the porch steps while Opal would run in the knee high grass of the fields. In the evenings those who went to school would do their homework on the floor of Monmouth. Ronan would sit in his bedroom and let it all wash over him.

He told himself it was comfort, this everyday normalcy. That it’s okay they weren’t talking, even if they were fucking traumatized, and that it’s okay Adam pulls away from him and wears seventy layers of clothing every day and that they all have the same ghost look in their eyes. They are fine. He chants it to himself like a mantra. Fine. Fine. Fine.

One night they’re lying there on the couch: Ronan on one end, Adam on the other. Adam’s doing that thing where he watches his hands for hours on end, flexing and unflexing them, turning them one way and the other, reminding himself that these are his hands, and Ronan’s doing that thing where he watches Adam for hours on end trying to remember when he got replaced by this skeleton.

The clock ticks from the hallway. Ronan snaps. “Can you fucking stop?” His voice comes out harsh. Adams backs away from his own hands, blinking.

“I’m—I’m sorry. Sorry.” He puts his hands on his lap, and then on second thoughts, he sits on them instead. “Sorry.” He looks small, pitiful. His eyes sunken into hollows, and from where Ronan sits he can count about three sweaters on him even though it's just the middle of September.

“I didn’t mean it like that. Goddammit, why can’t you just tell me what’s wrong?” He reaches forward and touches Adam on the shoulder, a ghost of a touch, but Adam snaps backwards like he’s been punched. “See what I mean? Why can’t I touch you anymore, Adam? Why don’t you just leave if you hate me so much?” Ronan’s voice is pleading and his eyes are wet.

“Because I almost killed you, that’s why. Don’t you remember? Or did you make yourself forget that part?” Adam’s words come out in heaving sobs and he’s rocking himself back and forth. “I almost killed you Ronan, I’m a monster, I almost killed you, I almost. Fucking. Killed. You.”

They’re both crying, and it’s all a mess and really, Ronan at any other point in time and history would have just gotten up and left, but he needs to fix this. He reminds himself he’s fine, and he breathes even though he’s still crying.

Ronan Lynch is a creature of great wonder and bad chosen words. He walks towards Adam and kneels to where he’s sitting, takes both his hands in his and places them on his neck. Adam’s fingers tremble against Ronan’s throat, and Ronan can barely get words out between all the tears but he keeps saying it again and again to Adam. “I’m not afraid, it wasn’t your fault. I love you. I love you. Iloveyou.”

[hyper-fixate]

All my love, sacrificed

Is this super late? Yes. Is time also a social construct and I have transcended all such barriers? No, not really, but let's pretend shall we?

TW - violence, blood, death (temporary & permanent), being buried alive, starvation, and drowning. As usual, my descriptions are pretty sytlised. More at the end.

AO3 link

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

The desert takes. It takes and takes and takes. She is a creature of water. Her childhood is spent by a river, framed by lush mountains and green forests. She grasps at slippery fish with her hands, builds lithe muscles as she dives and swims. In the water, she is at home. She is weightless. She is free. When she lays on the burning sands, her whole body alight with agony, she feels every press of her skin against the ground. She is no stranger to heat, but not like this. Home is warm but humid. Sometimes the water lays so heavy in the air, she feels as if she is swimming instead of walking. It clings to her hair, slides down her skin, fills her mouth. And the rain. Oh, the gloriously, blessed rain. She is cursed. A water spirit, trapped to wander where there is no water. Only heat. She falls. She dies. She wakes. She rises. Again and again and again.

She cannot mark days, cannot reliably track the slide of day to night to day again. How long does she stay dead? How long does she lay there, face pressed to the sand? She wakes, sand instead of air in her lungs. It does not matter, she always wakes. The shadow is welcome. Shade is a half formed memory. A dream. This is a dream. She is a dream. She is her dream. The dark hair, light eyes, sharp cheekbones. This woman has haunted her dreams and the space between life and death. She is an angel. They share no words, no languages in common. But the soft questioning touch of comfort and the shouldering of her weight, these are universal. These are human. I have you. Lean on me. You are not alone. The woman of steel and stone presses her hand to her chest. Andromache. The woman of rivers and water replies. Quỳnh. ---- The thoughts are dizzying. Too much. Too many. Blood is a familiar sight now. She knows the smell of it, the slick hot touch between her hands. But this is overwhelming. It flows between her hands. It does not stop. She cannot remember how to make it stop. She presses and he moans and she screams. Andromache, help me! She has spilled this blood before. Through action and inaction, time and time again. What does it matter? The skin knits. He washes clean. He draws his hands along her in soft, determined motions. Tonight, tonight they will laugh around the fire. They will kiss. They will love. It will be as the hundreds of nights before. It will be as the thousands of nights yet to come. They cannot die. But he is dying. She can see it in the tremor of his limbs, the shake in his voice. Her fingers slide against Andromache’s yet they cannot fuse him back together. It's time. It's time. That evening, they fuck. It cannot be called making love when they bite and tear and grip to bruising. They are feral in their grief. They are rough in their terror. Mine, she screams at the universe, mine. They are trying to crawl inside one another's skin, burrow in one another's hearts. She cannot leave marks on the alabaster skin and it enrages her. How dare this blessing, this curse, give her this woman and that man and not let her claim them. Mine mine mine. The pyre crackles long into the night. Andromache is finally calm and sated in her arms. But she cannot rest, her mind is reeling. She sees the cuts, the bruises, and the deaths she has marked upon Andromache’s skin. Time has wiped them all away. Death came for them and it could not hold them. But it seems death is not done taking from her. She had forgotten and it took Lykon. And some small, vicious, hateful part of her is thankful. Because she had forgotten and she needed to be reminded. Because if death can still touch them, truly and forever, then death could have taken Andromache instead. That thought drags the air from her lungs. Please. She feels broken, as though there is a great chasm in her chest. No more. She clutches at Andromache. No more. 

---

He is singing to himself. A tune she can barely place as one he sings around the campfire. She does not know the words. She's not sure any of them know the words, not even Nicolò. She has no doubt Yusuf has taught his lover many words in his mother tongue, but there are some things that one keeps for themselves.

Not knowing the words is of no importance. The melody is sweet and his voice only slightly off key. She feels the tension drop from her shoulders. Yusuf is here. She can hear him. Which means she is not too deep and that he could hear her.

She shifts slightly, feels the earth move and rearrange. A trickle of dirt brushes past her cheek, sticks in the corner of her mouth. 

Panic bubbles up in her chest but she tamps it down. She was lucky, when she fell. Her body had curled upon itself by instinct. Centuries of gasping alive after every death had still not trained out the sense of preservation that is innately human. It’s how she finds herself bent like a child in her mother's womb, earth and darkness wrapping her.

She manages to carve out a small pocket of air in front of her lips, one hand cupped against the onslaught of dirt. She draws a deep breath, knowing she has one chance. The edges of her vision darken. Her lungs ache. There is not enough air. It will have to do, it must do.

She screams. Then she passes out.

There is air. There is air. She draws it in, choking on dust but she doesn't care. Something presses on her face, her back. It's warm and solid and not dirt. She draws in more air. 

She opens her eyes to Yusuf. Her brother speaks often and freely; words of poetry, words of anger, words of love. Words spill from his lips as easily as breath. And the universe's grand joke is that they do not need to. For one can read the entirety of Yusuf al-Kaysani’s mind in his face. Fear, love, tiredness and exasperation flash before her eyes as tangible as his warm skin beneath her fingers. Emotions that crash against her last wall of resistance. The stoicism that blanketed her as surely as the earth she had slid upon and tumbled into, crumbles now. She allows herself to shake apart in his arms with great, wracking sobs.

An hour later, after she washes the dirt from her face and arms in a freezing stream, he cards the debris from her hair and plaits it. He teaches her the words to the song he was singing and when the nightmares come, as they always do, she whispers it to herself till she calms.

---

Her captors do not seem to follow any rhythm or schedule, but she marks the passage of time by the growing gauntness of her frame. She has begun to die, she thinks, waking still tired and hungry and cold. Her body is exhausted. She can barely crawl to the corner she has designated as her privy, not that there is much to expel. She tries to rest as her body tries to replenish what was lost but some days she wakes with the deep, painful gasp that follows her heart stalling in the night. She guesses many weeks have passed, at least.

She wishes to tell them of her immortality. That their plan to beat and starve information out of a human woman would have failed many times over. She wishes to tell them their rods and whips have no effect on her. Their sting has fled from her skin before the echoes of her cries drop from the air. Her clothes hang off her and smell of sweat and blood and piss. She is, somewhat, thankful she is not allowed to bathe so they cannot see the whole skin beneath the grime. She counts her ribs with her fingers, as she lays on the dank floor of her cell. She closes her eyes and imagines the cold brush of skin on skin is Andromache’s hands, piecing her back together.

Her eyes feel weak in the torch light and it takes her a moment to recognise the man. He has grown a beard, a small scruffy thing that barely hides the line of his jaw of the beauty mark on his cheek. His hair is longer, pulled back from his face. His lips are tightly pressed and almost white. There is the tightening of his jaw. It undoubtedly looks like disgust or anger to those around them, but not to her. They have had over a century together and she knows all the emotions Nicolò hides behind a face of impassivity. 

If she could muster up enough energy to open her mouth, she may laugh. But there are no reserves left to draw upon so she hangs limply between the two men holding her. The other’s plan is startling in its simplicity. It is almost too simple. 

I am a priest, he says, in rather abysmal spanish, I am here for your confession. She does laugh at that and falls into his arms as the men at her side crumple. It is so fast, she almost does not see him move. Her guards certainly do not. She blinks back tears as he takes her face in his palms and kisses her forehead. There is a smear of blood up his cheek and over his eyebrow. She tells him so and he wipes it with the underside of his stole.

His eyes are clear and deep as the ocean and she wishes to fall into the endless warmth she sees there. 

He marches her out, taking all of her weight for his own. His hand forms a tight band around her arm. If she could bruise, she would. She says nothing to him. She is lightheaded with fresh air that does not smell of rotting straw and her own decay. 

He whispers to her under his breath. He slides through various languages with the ease of practice; hers, his, Yusuf’s, Andromache’s, dialects long dead and languages known to so few. They have long perfected this manner of speaking to ensure they are not overheard, but she struggles to keep up with him. He must notice her effort and the words melt away for a moment. He loosens the grip on her arm and soothes his palm down her shift instead. An apology.

Outside the gaol, there is a carriage waiting. She only sees a flash of the driver before Nicolò bundles her inside. She sees enough to recognise the tanned skin and bright teeth against a dark beard and sags with relief. Nicolò tucks her head against his shoulder and holds her tightly against him. She must smell but he makes no mention of it. 

She fiddles with the stole about his shoulders, the ties of his alb. She idly wonders, out loud, where he managed to get a priest’s outfit. The dark flush of his cheeks and the flick of his gaze to where Yusuf is sitting say enough. She instantly knows that the costume was not acquired for this mission. The laugh that startles out of her only makes him blush harder.

She quivers with laughter. Tears stream down her cheeks until she hiccups and even then she can barely catch her breath. The absurdity of it all. Nicolò, dressed as a priest, merely walked into her cell, killed two guards, and walked them back out. She is free. Her brothers have come for her and they are taking her to Andromache. She rubs her face into Nicolò’s shoulder and he strokes her back. She sleeps.

---

Her first death, millennia ago, had been to the water. A flood through her village that had caught her unawares and swept her away. She had drowned.

She drowned. She is drowning. She will drown, again. 

In the moments, mere moments, of clear thought, she remembers her childhood home. She thinks of the river, carving a wide path through the plains. She hikes the mountains, carpeted with green. She laughs with her sister as they splash through the shallows. She brings Andromache and Lykon here, centuries after her death. Their bedrolls lay out beneath the trees, overlooking a valley both familiar and foregin to her. The sunlight dapples across their skin as they tangle together.

She gnashes her teeth and slams her hands against metal. It does not bend. She cries. It makes no difference. The whole of an ocean presses down upon her. She drowns.

In a cruel twist of fate, she dreams of the desert, of the warm sand and blinding heat. She dreams of the land where she first saw her Andromache. She sees the bloodied sand where Nicolò and Yusuf spilled one another’s blood. She feels the warm air of a different desert, where they came together for the first time. Andromache and her awoke from the dream together, blood pounding in their ears. They made love. When they finally meet her brothers, Nicolò blushes as she mentions the dreams with a waggle of her eyebrows.  

She laughs, but there is no sound. There is no air. There is only water. It pours into her mouth and into her lungs. She drowns.

She tries to count the seconds. How many before her chest aches? How many before the pounding in her head becomes unbearable? How many before the world goes black? Her body learns not to gasp awake. She holds on for longer and longer. She dies. She wakes. Nothing changes. She opens her eyes, but there is nothing to see. The salt stings her eyes. She heals. It stings again. She keeps her eyes closed for hundreds of seconds, thousands. She begins again.

She drowns. 

Her thoughts and memories and dreams blend together. Nicolò laughs with Lykon. Yusuf speaks the language of her youth fluently and teases her in her grandfather’s voice. They crowd around a fire. She sits in Andromache’s arms, but when she looks, they are Lykon’s. She feels a hand on her shoulder. But it is cold and slimy. It slithers. Yusuf was warm, so warm. Is warm. He is alive. He is dead, trapped in earth and rotting away. No, Lykon burns on the funeral pyre. He opens his eyes and they are Nicolò’s eyes. She reaches out for him. The fire is cold. It is hard steel. It is wet. Her hand scratches till her nails bleed.

She drowns.

Time has lost all meaning. There is no day and no night. There only is. The moments she counts. The lives she beats and screams. The lives she lays still. The lives she dreams of Andromache. Andromache fighting. Andromache laughing. Andromache kissing. Andromache touching her. Touching Andromache.

She drowns.

She forgets the feeling of sunlight and fire. She forgets warmth, the feeling of skin against her own. She forgets Yusuf’s song. She forgets the colour of Nicolò’s eyes. Lykon’s laugh. 

She drowns.

And then, she wakes and she cannot remember anytime but this, anywhere but here. There is a name on the tip of her tongue and it floats away with salt water. She forgets.

She is alone.

She screams.

She drowns.

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

The Whumptober prompts that sparked this little ditty, in order of use (not date):

No. 7 I've got you (Andromache) Support & Carrying

No. 6 Please... (Lykon) No more & 'Stop, please.'

No. 4 Running out of time (Yusuf) Buried Alive

No. 5 Where do you think you're going? (Nicolo) Rescue

No. 8 Where did everybody go? (Quynh) Abandoned & Isolation

[lilbreck]

AGoT Prologue - Chapter 3: Daenerys I

Notes:

Since I’m going to be more than likely addressing GRRM in a… less than praising manner a lot of the time, I’m going to call him Mr. Martin here. It’s my way of trying to soften my attack.

To the people who refer to the chapters only as the POV [insert number], what did chapter numbers ever do to you? Did they poison your dog, dry up your well, and run off with your girl? What the fuck did they ever do to you? To whoever didn’t put the chapter number in the actual chapters of this book: I fucking hate you.

Mr. Martin, have you ever actually interacted with children? Because, going by your writing, it doesn’t seem like you have. While Dany’s advanced mental age could be due to a life the run due to her brother’s paranoia and his probable mental, emotional, and physical abuse, I side eye why Bran is written so old.

Having said all that. I have the maps open, the appendix with children’s ages a click away, and I am ready to read.

Prologue

Royce is pretty much a young Hot Topic manager that everyone who works with him secretly (and not-so secretly) thinks is fucking useless and full of himself. He also apparently has the survival instincts if a particularly stupid rock.

But, hey, he’s a sharply dressed pretentious idiot!

They do a really good job of describing how it feels to freeze to death. Damn. I also like the that Others don’t appear to be mindless. It makes them far more threatening, IMO. I also like that it’s not just the dead coming back, there’s that supernatural cold that comes with them that just adds an edge of terror to it all.

Question: To those who use this prologue to speculate on Jon’s future (because of how it kind of mirrors his death), does the fact that Royce was blinded before he died change the idea for you that Jon might lose an eye? Just curious.

Chapter 1: Bran I

Age 7

And we’re going to have a seven-year-old see a man beheaded. Life’s hard, y’all. It’s the third guy from the prologue so I guess he ran fast enough for the Others not to get him? It’s interesting that, apparently, Ned didn’t tell them any of what was going on, just that they were off to behead someone. I say this because Robb was under the impression they were going to kill a wilding sworn to Mance Rayder. Speaking of wildings, can I just say, there is some major anti-wilding propaganda coming from Old Nan. I wonder how much of it is close to what they’re like. Obviously not the laying with Others bit.

You have to wonder, if it’s not even winter yet, and their breath is already showing… how fucking cold does it get in the North? Also, how many thirty-five-year-olds is Bran seeing to recognize that his father may look older than thirty-five? Most kids I know either think their parents are forever the same age, or always old. Or, you know, both.

Theon (who is about five years older than both Jon and Robb) is an ass. He just straight up laughed when a man got his head cut off and then kicked the head away. I’m with Jon.

I see we have the first sign that Jon sees a lot that others don’t (the man was afraid). Also, I wonder how long he’s been calling Robb “Stark”. I wonder if this is only under certain circumstances, or if it’s all the time. It’s been a long ass time since I’ve read this.

I’d like to take a moment to say that I’ve been thinking a bit more harshly of Cat than I possibly should have. I forgot that Jon and Robb are the same age. What this means is that, as far as Cat knows, as soon as Ned got her pregnant, he fucked off South and got another woman pregnant. Now, we know that’s not what happened, but still.

I also completely forgot that the direwolf they found had been killed by, presumably, a stag. Damn, but Theon was fucking eager to kill the pups. I mean, it’s easy to say “of course” since when know what happens now, but still…

And Bran noticing that Jon had deliberately excluded himself as Ned’s son, even called him “Lord Stark”, in order to save the pups. I’m all emotional over here.

This chapter we see that Theon’s an ass, Jon is willing to draw attention to what probably hurts him the most to save even puppies lives, and Jon either has some freaky sensitive ears, or there’s already a call between the direwolves and the Starks. I’m guessing the latter.

Chapter 2: Catelyn I

Age (32 or 33, IIRC)

Married to Ned – 15 years.

I really like how the differences in religion really say a lot about the mindsets of Southern houses and Northern houses. Now, when she (and everyone, I assume) refer to “the children of the forest”, I’m assuming they mean a people, not just actual children roaming around the forest. I’m putting that out there, because you can never really tell in fantasy.

I think it says a lot that, even after years, and a political marriage turned to love and trust, she still doesn’t seem comfortable with their religion. She even talks about how the eyes of the heart tree followed her. She still very much views herself as a Southerner. I wonder if, when she married Ned, she brought any lady’s maids or anything of that nature with her. Other Southerners to help her feel less isolated. I’m thinking not, and I feel so much for her.

Chapter 3: Daenerys I

Age 13

Okay, give that she’s a year younger than Jon, I want to know the timeline for Rhaegar’s death, Aerys’ death, and the birth of these two. I’m sure there’s a timeline somewhere, I’ll look it up later.

I like that Dany is smart enough to question what Illyrio wants from them if he’s giving them so much, though I have to wonder what she went through to make her ask that. Also, I don’t like Viserys right off that bat. He fucking twisted her damn nipple, painfully.

Okay, so I’ve got a bit of the answer to the timeline question I had. During Robert’s Rebellion, Viserys was eight, but Dany was still an early stage pregnancy, if I’m interpreting “only a quickening in their mother’s womb” correctly. So, while not exactly a year younger than Robb and Jon, it’s close enough. And she’s going to be riding to “reclaim” a home she’s never had, seeing as she doesn’t even remember Dragonstone, and she was still with a wet-nurse when they fled there. Already I just want this poor girl freed from her brother and taken some place safe and warm where she can be a child like she obviously wants to. Maybe find a w ay to return to Braavos.

It’s also interesting to see the different views that we have on the Rhaegar and Lyanna story. The first we hear of it, he was battling and dying for the woman he loved. Of course, Dany’s only getting her information from her brother, so everything has to be taken with a grain of salt. Also, how much of their wondering was actually because of people after them, and how much was her brother’s paranoia. After all, Dany does say she never saw anyone.

Just going by Dany’s descriptions, Viserys has been full on mad for a while now. IIRC, in the show, the bath scene with Dany was mean to show that she was resistant to heat. However, in the book the servants/slaves never comment on the heat. Dany does, but she only says she likes the heat because it makes her feel clean and her brother is telling her that it was never too hot for a Targaryen. So, yeah, I’m thinking that “heat resistance” in the show has nothing to do with the book.

Poor Dany doesn’t even have a moment to pretend this is anything other than her being sold. She quickly makes the connection between the young slave’s comment about Drogo’s slaves wearing gold collars and the gold collar that’s put on her. Fuck Viserys.

Oh, I didn’t realize we got a reference to the red priests and the Lord of Light this early on. Heh. Wow, they are spread far and wide, aren’t they?

I’d like to point out that Dany has a far better bullshit detector than her brother. She’s probably had to develop a habit of being able to read people because her brother seems quick to lash out. Also notice that Viserys claims to be the last dragon… while his sister is standing right next to him. He is damn far gone.

Okay, there is obviously so much wrong with the Dany and Drogo pairing. Let’s skip over the fact that her brother is selling her to him, because that’s a common thing through this series / time. Dany is thirteen here, Drogo is about thirty. Aren’t we all glad they aged a lot of the characters up for the show? Another thing that should set off red flags is how much Drogo frightens Dany just from how fucking mean he looks.

“I’d let his whole khalasar fuck you if need be, sweet sister, all forty thousand men, and their horses too if that was what it took to get my army. Be grateful it is only Drogo. In time you may even learn to like him. Now dry your eyes. Illyrio is bringing him over, and he will not see you crying.”

Yeah, everyone involved in this (save Dany, of course) needs to die painfully. Like, you know how Vlad would impale people and the pole would go through them from ass to brain, but sometimes it wouldn’t get the brain and they’d be left up there to slowly die? I want that to happen to these people.

 We’ll leave off here and read three or four more chapters tomorrow. Hell, maybe more. We’ll see. However, feel free to comment away. Let me know if there’s something I missed, or if you want to talk about any specific thing.

Just remember, it’s been a long time since I’ve read this, so I’m only familiar with the first three chapters so far.

[leftmyurlinmyotherpants]

hi i wrote a thing “Why did it have to be this way?” ~ Albert

hi so yes this is really heavy and requires trigger warnings for death, self harm and suicide. if theres any warnings that i missed PLEASE tell me. i dont want to be that person who doesnt tag something that could really mess with someone’s day. i care about you guys a lot and would hate to do that. if i knew how to do the “continue reading” thing, i would do that. if anyone wants to let me know how to do that, that’d be awesome.

@timesarehardfornewsies (you asked to be tagged so here we go) 

"She was always there when I needed someone. She was everything I ever wanted and needed but never what I deserved. She could have done so much better than me but she always stayed. No matter what. I was never able to provide her with anything more than a proper date every once and a while but she never thought it mattered. She was absolutely everything to me and I wouldn't be the man I am today if it weren’t for her presence in my life. I love you to death, sweetheart. I don’t understand why it had to be this way. Rest easy, beautiful, I’ll be seeing you soon.” Albert said as he stepped down from the podium and walked around the altar. He stops by the love of his life’s casket and completely breaks down. Tears begin to pour from his already red, puffy eyes and continue to follow the stains left down his face from the past few days and the event that brought this about. He leans his head against the head of the casket for a split second before mumbling a quick “I love you baby” before hugging her family and returning to his seat next to Race, who wrapped an arm around his shoulders before the priest continued with the final blessing.

She was gripping the bathroom sink with such grip that made her knuckles go white. She couldn’t find a way to get out of her own head. She lost control. Not even the boy who is normally able to bring her out of any funk she’s in or be able to just let her get it out of her system while still making sure she knew he was there for her. Taking her final message to him off the edge of the bathtub, she slips it under the locked bathroom door. She takes a deep breath before starting to run the bath water, hot. While that’s running, she begins to rummage through their shared medicine cabinet looking for anything strong enough to do damage. Spotting Albert’s pain medication from when he had broken his wrist the most recent time, she begins to realize what she is about to do. As she mentioned in her note, she knew that she couldn’t go back now. 

She grabs the pain medication as well as her own prescriptions and empties the already nearly empty bottles into her hand. She stops the water before she begins swallowing the pills four at a time. She swallows the final few before shrugging off Albert’s sweater, after all, she wouldn’t want to stain it. She steps into the bath wearing her pajama shorts and a loose tank before taking the blade that she hid under her shampoo bottle into her hand. 

One, two, three, four. She eventually lost count of the deep and painful slashes that she inflicted onto her wrists. She began to slip between consciousness and unconsciousness as she began to see memories playback behind closing eyelids. The good times with her family, the times with the boys, the first time she told Albert she loves him. Everything was flooding back and as soon as she felt the regret of what she was doing, it was already too late. What was going to inevitably happen is already setting in. She tries her hardest to scream out her help but nothing leaves her lips.

The only thing that left her lips were “I love you, Albert. I’m so sorry.” Little did she know, that would be the last thing to ever leave her lips.

Albert was banging on the door while she was slipping away. As soon as he gets in, he hears her final words. He runs to her and takes her out of the tub and tries to listen for a heartbeat but instead of getting more, he ended up hearing her last breath and the last time her heart, the heart that she knew only belonged to him, would ever beat. He called for an ambulance as he tried to keep her heart going until emergency services arrived.

Once the paramedics arrived, everything became a blur to him. He blindly followed along with everything and gave them all the information they required with a heavy heart, knowing that there would be nothing they can do for the girl who is...was his entire world. 

The news came just as he figured it would. “I’m so sorry for your loss.” There was nothing anyone could say or do. He had lost his entire world, his entire reason to live. He lost everything he loved.

He forced himself to call her family and be the bearer of the news but hung up as soon as they knew. He wouldn’t be able to handle hearing them try to make sense of something he couldn’t even make sense of himself. He remained generally silent during the planning process, only breaking the silence to say that he and the boys are carrying the casket and that he wants to speak at the service.

The entire service remained mostly a blur. Even the eulogy he delivered was a blur. The only thing he remembered saying was that he will see her soon. He knew of a world where the pain would go away, where they could be free. He just wanted to be with the girl he loves more than life itself and he didn’t know what else to do. So he did the only thing he could think of doing: he followed in her footsteps. 

He stayed with Race because it wasn’t a good idea to let him stay in the apartment where his world fell apart. He left a simple note on Race’s counter, explaining why he did what he was about to do and that he was sorry before retreating into the guest bedroom which had become his own over the past two weeks. He grabbed the pills he had accumulated over the past two weeks from Race more or less suicide-proofing the entire apartment to make sure his best friend wouldn’t do anything stupid. 

If Albert ate (which he rarely did), Race wouldn’t let him cut it himself. If Albert needed any sort of medication for anything, Race administered it so he wouldn’t be able to do anything stupid. The one slip up was that Race left before Albert took the pills. Instead of taking them, he stashed them in a small box that he kept hidden between the bed and the bedside table. Race also made the mistake to allow Albert to shave on his own, which resulted in the redheaded boy breaking apart the razors until he was left with just the sharp slivers of metal that allowed for self-punishment.

Albert began to lose control once his hand wrapped around his little stash. Before he could catch up, he had already swallowed the twnety-some odd pills that he had accumulated and had already inflicted multiple gashes on his wrist with little to no remorse. He had started to slip out of consciousness when he heard the door to the apartment close. As his eyes shut, he saw Race on the phone.

Behind closed eyelids, he saw his girl standing in front of him. She looked as beautiful as ever and looked as inviting as she always had. He stepped closer to her but every step he took toward her, she backed away. He began to grow frustrated that he couldn’t hold her as Race’s voice began to invade his mind.

“Come on dude, wake up. You just gotta, they’re thinking about taking you off and I don’t think I’d be able to handle that. Albert, she wouldn’t have wanted this. We love you here, Al. You can’t do this to us, you can’t do this to me. I can’t handle losing another brother.” Race pleads, gripping Albert’s hand before eventually breaking down into tears. It’s true. Doctors weren’t expecting him to wake up from this. He has been in this coma for nearly three weeks and never showed signs of improvement.

“Albert, baby, you can’t leave them just yet. Keep going for me.” His girlfriend’s voice took the place of Race’s.“Sweetheart, I only want to be with you. You’re not here anymore so I decided to go be with you. I can’t handle the pain of living without you.” Albert says, pleading to his girlfriend to take him with her. 

Her image reappears where she stood before Race rudely interrupted. She was shaking her head. She steps closer to him and takes his hand and turns him to face away from her.“Now open your eyes baby. There’s a world down there where people love you. I never saw it. In time, I know you’ll see it. I’ll love you forever, Albert. Now wake up.” She says, her voice fading as she repeats her command for him to wake up. 

He begins to feel things again.

He feels his hand being squeezed and tears drip onto his left hand. 

He hears hitched breathing and Race’s broken voice asking him to come back to them. Albert tries to speak but nothing comes. He tries to squeeze Race’s hand back. That must have worked, considering he heard Race’s voice utter “holy shit”. He feels another hand grab his right hand before hearing Jojo ask him to squeeze his hand, which he does. 

As quickly as Jojo took his hand, he had let go, Albert assumed he went to get a doctor, considering he heard him yelling for one. It was a blur of events but Albert eventually opened his eyes. He quickly shuts them because of how bright it was in the room he was in. He slowly opens them again, to find that the light had been turned off and to see that Race, Jojo and Mush were all by his side, all with tears in their eyes. 

“Hey assholes, miss me?” Albert tries to say, but it comes out more like a mutter. Race breaks away from the group and engulfs him in a hug, scolding him for ‘scaring the shit outta him’ and saying that he’ll ‘kill him if he tries this shit again’. The rest of the boys present begin to join in the hug. 

“I’m sorry it had to be like this, fellas. I’m sorry it took this for me to realize that you guys really love me. I love you idiots. You’se my family, I can’t desert my family.” Albert says, finally finding strength in his arms to hug them back.

In the back of his mind, he knew this was where he had to be right now. As usual, his girl was right.

[melody-hall]

lost & (somewhat) found | mel & dash

Melody had agreed to talk to him after she managed to settle him. Even though she had rented an AirBnB - maybe one of the few changes that happened in the time she was gone - she had accepted his invitation to stay at his apartment - her old apartment, in fact - with him. It was familiar and it gave her a chance to talk to him. “You still know the way. I’ll be in the kitchen” Dash opened the door for her. Melody nodded and walked down the hallway. Her son had fallen asleep on the car, so she had to carry him to her old room, something that happened too often, holding him perhaps a bit too tightly. Her room was just as she left it, more dust but in 10 years what can you expect. The bits and bobs that she left behind because she simply didn’t have anymore space. She only took the essentials with her. She didn’t expect to stay there ten years. She pulled the covers down and gently placed him on the bed. She pushed his hair away from his face and smiled. Perfect. She would talk to him. She had to. Melody tucked the sheets around him and placed a soft kiss on his temple before closing the bedroom door. She rubbed her face trying to wake up, she knew Dash wasn’t going to let anything slide. He had moved from the kitchen to the dining room, where he sat with two glasses and a bottle of whiskey. This was going to be rough. For light discussions, Dash brought out lemonade, for sad ones - hot chocolate, and for the ones that even him had a hard time pushing through - whiskey.

She sat in front of him, waiting as he poured into the glasses and handed one to her. One sip, then a question “When did you find out?” He didn’t have to spell out every word, they knew each other well enough that even a glance spoke a thousand words. Sip, answer “One month after I left. Almost exactly”. He hummed at the reply “Did you tell him?”. She shook her head “No.” He looked up at her, he was older now, he was always older than her but she could see the lines in the corner of his eyes were slightly deepened. “How did you do it?” Melody took another sip “Started working as a waiter in a diner, Betsy was an older woman who also worked there, her husband owned the diner, his name was Roger. I told her when I found out and she took me under her wing. I moved in with her and her husband, they had a son who had moved to Europe so they had a spare room. I had him. On Halloween. That’s always a fun birthday, or a cruel joke from the universe” Another sip and she continued “They helped me. Roger died 2 years later. Betsy died when he was about 6. I continue to live in their house, they passed it down to me on their will” Mel always felt undeserving of everyone’s kindness towards her, if they only knew. “Their son is now the manager of the diner. An asshole but I get a decent pay. The house is fully paid off, only need to pay water, electricity and food. He’s in the honors roll, top of his class” Melody described almost every notable moment of her 10 years. Dash nodded, he drank the rest of his drink in one swift gulp and Melody followed him bracing herself for his next question. Dash filled the glasses again and took a deep breath “Why did you do it?”. The million dollar question. “I thought everyone’s life would be easier without me. I th-”. Dash interrupted “Mel…”  his voice was stern and clearly holding back, he was gripping the glass too tightly and Mel feared it might break in his hand “I thought I was doing you all-” Dash looked up at her “You could’ve said something” he interrupted. “I couldn’t- it was too late- I didn’t want anyone to come and be dragged down by me once again. I thought I was saving everyone from myself. I didn’t want -” Dash slapped his hand on the table, the force making Melody jump in her seat “We thought you were dead!” his voice raised.

His face quickly turned to worry as he stared at the hallway waiting for the kid to come see what happened. He took another deep breath. Melody sat there in shock, the thought hadn’t cross her mind, how selfish of her to not even think that. “For months, even years, we searched for any police file, medical record, court document t that Tip could get his hands on to see if there was any trace of you” Melody took in a shaky breath “I’m sorry” what could she say to that? Dash rubbed his tears away “We even called morgues, Mel. I don’t want to ever do that again. Do you even imagine the feeling that is calling a morgue in search of your best-friend, your sister?” Melody could feel the tears bubbling up “And the relief when they said that no one fit your description but then also followed immediately by utter panic that you were lying dead in a ditch somewhere god knows where or involved in some scheme” He covered his face with his hands and let out a cry. She had never seen Dash cry, tearing up - yes, but full on crying, never. She got up from her seat and rushed to him, hugging him tightly on the neck. His arms quickly held her, tight almost afraid that she would disappear. “I am so sorry” she cried. He buried his face in her shoulder while she stroke his back. The pair stayed like that for a few minute until they felt their emotions simmer down into a small flame, still there but not burning.

Melody now sat beside him, with her hand gently resting on his forearm “If you were feeling so bad that you felt your only option was to leave I wish you would’ve talked to someone. Me, him, anyone, a priest even, for all I care” he looked at her with caring eyes and Mel felt like she didn’t deserve his love, his affection and his friendship “I felt like I wasn’t a good friend. Because what good friend doesn’t see that his best friend is hurting this much” that made her cry again. “I’m a terrible person, Dashy” she sobbed “Hey…” with his fingers underneath her chin he moved her face so he could look her in the eyes “You are not a terrible person. You’re a good person. You have a good heart. But you’re also stupid, impulsive, stubborn and way too proud to admit you did something wrong” Melody didn’t believe his words, she felt like the worst person on the planet “You are a good person, Mel. Starfish” she nodded silently. He moved to fill the glasses once more. He looked at her once more, trying to decide if he should tell her or not “I kept an eye on him. For you” this took Melody by surprise, but then again, knowing Dash, she knew he would do something like that “Thank you” she managed to say. Dash shrugged “I tried to keep my distance. I guessed he wouldn’t like me to smother him. I just wanted to be sure he wouldn’t hurt himself. I could make sure at least one of you two were alright. Alive at least” the way he spoke about her and Barrel, as if they were a unit, and it was true, they were. “Oh Dash, he must hate me so much” she sobbed again, as soon as she felt like she was done crying something else bubbled up inside her and spilled over. “He might. For now” Dash tried to reassure her, forever the romantic optimist. He cleaned her tears with his thumbs, rising from his seat and placing a small kiss on the top of her head. “You can sleep in my bed, I’ll take the couch” Melody looked up at him, with his height he would never be able to sleep well in the couch “Can you stay with me? Please, I don’t want to be alone”. He nodded. After they lying down in bed, both staring the ceiling with a million thoughts on their minds, Melody turned in bed to face him “Thank you Dash. I don’t know what I did to deserve you. Any of you” a few more tears threatened to fall. “Shh… It’s okay” he smiled at her and she tried her hardest to believe him. He took a deep breath “Just one more question” Melody looked up at him expectantly “What’s your plan for after all this?” She thought for a few seconds “I don’t have one”. “Good” Dash replied and Mel could almost hear a smile in his answer, forever the optimist.

[kap2448]

Vash the Stampede’s Words of Wisdom

Episode 2 Truth of Mistake "There's something that cannot be expressed in words, human emotion. Emotions of the heart can't be just tucked away in a closet. There's a way to know the emotions. Look into the eyes. The girl lied to me, and I believed her. The gentleman lied to me, when I trusted him, but the moment I looked into his eyes the angel of destiny began to unravel the truth. Just look into their eyes. There is only one truth." --- Vash the Stampede (Trigun) Episode 3 Peace Maker "Those who make mistakes blame themselves and close their hearts. It's impossible to fix the mistake. Men can't return to the past. That's why they drink. Lushes, drunks, sliding alcohol down their throats to dilute the memories that can't be forgotten. Frank Marlon, the gunsmith, does nothing but drink & he questions the glass after it's empty. ‘Am I wrong?’ ‘Was I wrong?’" --- Vash the Stampede (Trigun) Episode 4 Love & Peace "A past that can't be forgotten & can't be buried. A past that can't even be shaken for just a little time. The sentiment deep inside each of their hearts is strong & equal, for beloved parents & for a beloved daughter. Two men can only find the answer from behind their triggers. The moment the sentimental bullets flew towards each other the men stood silent, yet were weeping. The past, enslaves..." --- Vash the Stampede (Trigun) Episode 5 Hard Puncher "Whenever something is gained, something is always lost. It's difficult to live after something like that. What is lost will never return. Important things, irreplaceable things, but what is needed to keep those things is in the firm will packed into one bullet. Man knows, he knows nothing will begin unless he speaks, & that nothing will change, unless he moves." --- Vash the Stampede (Trigun) Episode 6 Lost July "The longer one holds on to a memory, the longer one lives in the past. The deeper the memory they hold onto, the more beautiful the past will become. The beautiful memories will eventually turn into hate. Even if they look ahead, they lose the ability to walk. As long as the heavy chain called revenge continues to bind the heart, the tears of sadness will continue to flow." --- Vash the Stampede (Trigun) Episode 7 B.D.N "The tragedy endlessly repeated in order to fulfill desires. The lust for conquest, making people bend to your will, a thrill intense enough to make you shudder. There's a man who is a slave to that ecstasy. The leader of the Bad Lads, a man who shines: Brilliant Dynamites Neon. The sandsteamer will shake at the moment the huge dynamos on each of his shoulders start to spark. In the pitch black darkness, the gruesome party begins." --- Vash the Stampede (Trigun) Episode 8 And Between the Wasteland and Sky....... "People who sin say this, ‘That they had to, to survive.’ People who sin say this, ‘It's too late now to stop.’ The shadow called sin dogs them steadily from behind, silently without a word. Remorse & agony are repeated only to end up at despair in the end, but the sinners just don't know that if they'd only turn around there's a light there, a light which keeps shining on them ever so lonely. A light that will never fade." --- Vash the Stampede (Trigun) Episode 9 Murder Machine "I met a lone man in the desert, a traveling priest, Nicholas D. Wolfwood. He smiled and then he told me that I'm a troubled man. Faced with his all seeing smile there was nothing I could say in my defense. Did I meet this man because I was destined to or, was it simply by a small jest of God? The man's name is Nicholas D. Wolfwood, a traveling priest I met in the desert." --- Vash the Stampede (Trigun) Episode 10 Quick Draw "I think I'd like to do something nice for somebody. I think it's good if you smile at someone, and they smile in return. Voluntary love encourages people to create a sense of friendliness. Love that is unconditional gives us respect as people, however, it's wrong to force love, to try to keep it alive. If the strain goes on eventually it will bloom into the flower called Lie. The deceptively thorny flower that hurts people." --- Vash the Stampede (Trigun) Episode 11 Escape From Pain "A choice between two things. The forked road, a crossroad, where men given life must take in order to stay alive. Whichever end they live on, they lose something. Whichever end they live on, they are unable to find happiness, but are there really only two paths to a forked road? No, there are infinite paths we must take. There is more than one path. There is more than one path to the future." --- Vash the Stampede (Trigun) Episode 12 Diablo "All people have a sanctuary which must never be touched. A scar of sadness which must never be tred upon. The cooperation formed by the living to realize a dream or achieve an ideal. The man with the white coat told me in a quiet voice that he had finally found me, that he wanted my life. That man smiled a smile deeper than darkness. Legato Bluesummers, a man fascinated by death, only spoke quietly." --- Vash the Stampede (Trigun) Episode 14 Little Arcadia "If you only face forward, there is something you will miss seeing. It is a virtue to devote one's self to something, firmly believing in one's own ideals. But that does not mean it's all right to belittle the ideals or feelings of others. If you lead such a busy life, & you don't realize how your parents feel, it's only for self satisfaction. It's all right to stop every now & again. If you want a moments rest, if you want to feel what other people feel." --- Vash the Stampede (Trigun) Episode 15 Demon's Eye "People judge people. Lives are being cut short because of someone's personal logic. Mothers, fathers, friends... their entire paths instantly vanish into thin air. The question is, should this take place at the whim of one individual? A beautiful woman stood before the corpses of the Roderick thieves. She told me that she was merely discarding some useless garbage. Dominique the Cyclops told me to just think of it as 'Spring cleaning'." --- Vash the Stampede (Trigun) Episode 16 Fifth Moon "A fragment of memory lost in the gap between life & death. Is it something which will point the way towards spiritual awareness? The silver metallic gun crushes and my right arm metamorphosises. My past, my people, my mother... the moment I was reunited with everything I ever protected, the light took Augusta. The Humanoid Typhoon, the $$60 billion man, Vash the Stampede. This is the beginning of my past. This is the end of my journey." --- Vash the Stampede (Trigun) Episode 17 Rem Savrem "Rem told me, that someone she loved died on Earth. She told me she boarded this ship so she could start over. What does it feel like to have someone you love die? I tried thinking of what it would be like if Rem died. When I did, hot water came out of my eyes & it wouldn't stop for a long time. Rem, I'll always be there for you. I won't leave you alone." --- Vash the Stampede (Trigun) Episode 18 Goodbye For Now "Let us regard the fifth moon, shining down upon us from the sky, stained red with blood. And let us remember his name, his legend. To do so, you only need to look up. Like it or not, his legend is chiseled into the fifth moon, a permanent etching from a terrible past. The legend of Vash the Stampede, chiseled, forever, & then the time comes... you only need to tell of the tracks, which lead to the future." --- Vash the Stampede (Trigun) Episode 19 Hang Fire "Strong will can stir the heart, but a will too strong can cut off the heart's visibility. The sorrow of a man bereaved of his family turns into hate, which eventually metamorphosises into the intent to kill. The man's finger reaches for the trigger. Sins change people. Sin begets sin, but I, I still want to believe. I still want to believe in the heart. The heart that feels the sin." --- Vash the Stampede (Trigun) Episode 20 Flying Ship "In times of hardship, in times of sadness, there's a place a traveler can let his mind return to: home. I still don't know what kind of a past the traveler abandoned when he left his home behind. I still don't know what kind of sorrow he bears. But the traveler can keep walking forward because he has something which sustains him... a place which accepts him. He can walk forward, step by careful step." --- Vash the Stampede (Trigun) Episode 21 Out of Time "There is something you can't give up. There is something you want to protect. There is a time you must take a stand, no matter what kind of pain awaits us. The man clad in the red coat took up his gun once again in order to stop the sadness, in order to stop the hate. I keep the word of the red geranium, which I was taught so long ago. I keep the courage and determination deep in my heart." --- Vash the Stampede (Trigun) Episode 22 Alternative "Self protection: the means of protecting one's self. People expose the weaknesses which pain them, & thus form a group. Before they know it they begin to exclude those who are not one of them, but what becomes of those who have been excluded? I smiled at the children who lived in a tight group in their rickety house. Sure, let's live today, let's live tomorrow, & let's live the day after that, even if it means living in eternal pain." --- Vash the Stampede (Trigun) Episode 23 Paradise "To realize a mistake, to not lie, to love one another, to not kill. Those are very simple things, but these times won't allow for them. There is no green on this planet, even though we want it, & want it so badly. A place where we can live peaceful days with no wars, nor stealing, a sacred place, where people can live as people. Yes there, that place is called..." --- Vash the Stampede (Trigun) Episode 24 Sin "Repeated tragedies, repeated pain, the wishes of man are so strong & yet so frail and weak. To live, to stay alive, who would have known survival was this hard...this painful? I must choose. I must make the choice, in the moment that intertwines life & death. Can I choose to remain a human?" --- Vash the Stampede (Trigun) Episode 25 Live Through "I was dreaming Rem. Everything was so horribly dry, there on that planet, even people's hearts. As I watched the people who lived there from far away, I kept wondering why they went on living, how they kept on living. Rem, listen to me Rem. I did a bad thing. I did a bad thing. Tell me? What should I do?" --- Vash the Stampede (Trigun) Episode 26 Under the Sky So Blue "That day, that time, 130 years ago we were born, weren't we? There was nothing but peaceful days, & Rem was always close behind us. But our disagreeing thoughts changed each of our ways of life, didn't they? I don't regret it. I will vow once again not to kill, not to betray, but to find happiness, to talk about my dreams, because the ticket to the future is always blank." --- Vash the Stampede (Trigun)

[newmayhem]

Demon In My View Reread Review

Check out my other Den of Shadows reviews HERE.

Pre-read

I haven’t read this in over a decade, guys! I remembered really looking forward to reading this after I had first finished ITFOTN. At the time, I was just dipping my toes into my middle school goth phase, I really wanted to be a writer, and I was also hard core thirsting for Aubrey, so this book was all the way up my alley. I also remember really liking Jessica because she was very different from other YA heroines that I had been reading about at the time. I liked that like Risika, she was not a ‘nice girl’. She was confident and beautiful and had a bit of a mean streak. And, of course, I swooned at the romance. Also, it had a cool cover.

Specific scenes/images I remember:

Jessica being really hot and having black hair, pale skin, and green eyes

Jessica noting that the kid who made fun of her is reading her book

Jessica seeing Alex/Aubrey for the first time and he's wearing his upside down cross

Caryn offering Aubrey her blood

Jessica coming across a black rose bush

Pregnant Jazlyn at her husband's grave

Fala's in this, too

The ending scene where Jessica's says that she can't write without her laptop

Post-read Thoughts

I liked it. It has its problems and I’m definitely well beyond the target age range that this is intended for, but it was a fun time.

In terms of its formal qualities, I think that it was a good call to write this in 3rd person pov in the past tense (as opposed to 1st person pov in the present tense in ITFOTN). I think the 1st person narration was fine in ITFOTN because it added an extra layer to the story in having the reader question Risika’s reliability as a narrator, but DIMV would’ve been kind of insufferable if told from Jessica’s pov just by virtue of her being an abrasive teenager.

Even though, like ITFOTN, a lot of the relationships and characters needed more time to be fully fleshed out, and I noticed that the storyline did feel more complete than ITFOTN’s. I think this is mostly because it was all told sequentially (as opposed to being told in flashbacks), so it was necessary for the plot to have a clear arc.

There are a lot of digressions that explain more about vampires and witches and the histories of certain characters, and while I appreciated that as a fan of the series and as someone who’s doing research on it, it did distract from the story and I wish it had been folded in more seamlessly. There’s a lot of telling when there should be showing.

As with ITFOTN, I liked how fast-paced it was, but I also wished that it was maybe a hundred pages longer so everything could be better developed and there would be more room to show rather than tell. Like, I wished we could’ve had more time with Caryn and Hasana so that we could learn more about the witch world through their experiences rather than through all these digressions. I also feel like Fala (notably, the only unambiguously nonwhite character in the book) got shafted. I’m all for letting villains be villains, I don’t think we needed to give her some sort of sympathetic background or anything, but it felt like her motives were too petty to take seriously. She only popped up in the book to give some quick over the top threats or taunts a few times before the big showdown to remind us that there was a villain, and that made her feel very cartoonish and less like a real threat.

I also didn’t really buy the whole Jessica/Aubrey relationship. I mean, I could definitely buy it as a really strong attraction/infatuation, but once it was labelled as ‘love’, I got confused. Maybe vampires/immortals have a different definition of love? Like, maybe they take love less seriously (and use it as a catchall term) because they’ve been around for so long and they know that relationships don’t last forever? I might do a post on that actually.

I think both my favorite and least favorite part of this book was Jessica. She’s an asshole and a half, I hate her as a person but I kind of love her as a character. I love a good mean girl and for me, it made sense that she would be really abrasive as a reaction to the chronic rejection she felt from the community she grew up in. I normally hate reckless/impulsive characters, but I liked that Jessica was able to back up her impulsiveness with being smart and having some sort of survival instinct. On a side note, I also appreciate that all of ahar’s heroines so far are confident, unapologetically hot, and know that they’re hot.

That said, I really wished the narrative called Jessica out on being a menace rather than constantly give her what she wanted without having it cost her anything. I think it would’ve been better if the story showed that Jessica’s whole abrasiveness-rejection thing became its own self-fulfilling prophecy rather than blaming everything on the vampire blood and always justifying Jessica being an asshole to everyone. I also think that it actually doesn’t make sense for her to reject her adoptive mother and treat her so terribly. This was the one person who ever made an effort to get close to her, after all. I think that developing this relationship further would’ve made Anne’s death much more impactful. And generally, while I liked that she was this cool, snarky badass...she lacked nuance and complexity, which ultimately made her less interesting.

I’m not going to call Jessica a Mary Sue, but I do think that she’s overpowered (which, I guess is fine because boys get to have their ridiculously overpowered characters). I don’t like how Jessica never had to give anything up in order to get what she wants. I mean, she loses her adoptive mom, but they weren’t even that close. She had no other ties to the human world, no human friends or anything, so she didn’t really have to give that up, either. There's even a loophole for her to get around the big caveat of needing to fight the change/be changed unwillingly in order to be a strong vampire. Generally, she didn’t have to go through any real character development to become the person she needed to be in order to get her happy ending. It makes for a less satisfying/compelling story. Like, the reason why the ending of ITFOTN was satisfying was because (even though it wasn’t perfectly executed) Risika had to finally give up the last vestiges of humanity that she had been holding onto (the only thing she had left of her brother) in order to win against Aubrey and get her revenge and it actually hurt her to do that.

You know, this gives me a fic idea. I’ll do a separate post on it.

My other favorite part of this book were the references to how it’s been a few years since Aubrey lost against Risika but he’s still not entirely over it. Like, all it took was seeing a somewhat accurate artistic rendering of Risika on the cover of Tiger, Tiger to get him so angry that he had to leave the room. Just one quick taunt about it from Fala and he’s ready to kill her over it.

Speaking of Risika, this book also gave some insight into Aubrey’s involvement with Risika’s story, revealing that Aubrey had been drawn to Risika before Ather had even taken notice of her.

Additionally, I noticed some interesting parallels between Jessica and Risika:

They both have mysteries surrounding their birth mothers

They, as natural-born supernatural beings, grew up in an all-human community

Aubrey was drawn to both of them because they exuded a great strength that mirrored his own and because of that, he played a big role in their respective vampire origin stories

Most importantly, they both slapped Aubrey and lived to tell the tale

I’m not sure if this was intentional on ahar’s part or what I might do with this information, but it feels significant. And I think that it’s pretty significant, too, that Aubrey used Alex as his alias, even though I (and apparently ahar, according to the Nyeusigrube discord) don’t know exactly what that is.

Also, I just thought of this- has Risika read any of Jessica’s books? If she’s read Tiger, Tiger, does this mean she now knows about what happened to her mom?

And to close this out, I spotted a bunch of continuity and factual/logical errors:

In ITFOTN, Risika walked by Jessica’s house and called her ‘Concord’s young writer’ and saying that everything she writes is true. How would Risika know this if Tiger, Tiger was Jessica’s debut novel and was just published at the beginning of DIMV, which takes place a few years after ITFOTN? Also, Jessica doesn’t start writing until after she moved to Ramsa.

Kala’s death via vampire hunter was noted in ITFOTN, which doesn’t make sense because DIMV made it clear that it happened recently and as a result of Jessica’s writing, which hadn’t been published until the beginning of DIMV, which takes place a few years after ITFOTN.

If Ramsa is so full of vampire energy, as Caryn states, then why are the humans not used to it? Why do they reject Jessica because of her vampire energy?

Moira is stated to be ~500 years older than Aubrey, who, according to Word of God was from Sparta (which stopped being a thing around 192 BCE)...only the text says that shortly after she was changed, she ripped out the heart of an Aztec priest. The Aztec empire didn’t exist until the 1400s CE.

But that aside, this was all in all a fun read and it gave me a lot of valuable info that I can use in the fanfic.

[dailyofficereadings]

Daily Office Readings January 03, 2019 at 11:00PM

Psalm 85

Psalm 85

Prayer for the Restoration of God’s Favor

To the leader. Of the Korahites. A Psalm.

1 Lord, you were favorable to your land; you restored the fortunes of Jacob. 2 You forgave the iniquity of your people; you pardoned all their sin.Selah 3 You withdrew all your wrath; you turned from your hot anger.

4 Restore us again, O God of our salvation, and put away your indignation toward us. 5 Will you be angry with us forever? Will you prolong your anger to all generations? 6 Will you not revive us again, so that your people may rejoice in you? 7 Show us your steadfast love, O Lord, and grant us your salvation.

8 Let me hear what God the Lord will speak, for he will speak peace to his people, to his faithful, to those who turn to him in their hearts.[a] 9 Surely his salvation is at hand for those who fear him, that his glory may dwell in our land.

10 Steadfast love and faithfulness will meet; righteousness and peace will kiss each other. 11 Faithfulness will spring up from the ground, and righteousness will look down from the sky. 12 The Lord will give what is good, and our land will yield its increase. 13 Righteousness will go before him, and will make a path for his steps.

Footnotes:

Psalm 85:8 Gk: Heb but let them not turn back to folly

New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (NRSVCE)

New Revised Standard Version Bible: Catholic Edition, copyright © 1989, 1993 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Psalm 87

Psalm 87

The Joy of Living in Zion

Of the Korahites. A Psalm. A Song.

1 On the holy mount stands the city he founded; 2 the Lord loves the gates of Zion more than all the dwellings of Jacob. 3 Glorious things are spoken of you, O city of God.Selah

4 Among those who know me I mention Rahab and Babylon; Philistia too, and Tyre, with Ethiopia[a]— “This one was born there,” they say.

5 And of Zion it shall be said, “This one and that one were born in it”; for the Most High himself will establish it. 6 The Lord records, as he registers the peoples, “This one was born there.”Selah

7 Singers and dancers alike say, “All my springs are in you.”

Footnotes:

Psalm 87:4 Or Nubia; Heb Cush

New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (NRSVCE)

New Revised Standard Version Bible: Catholic Edition, copyright © 1989, 1993 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Psalm 89:1-29

Psalm 89

God’s Covenant with David

A Maskil of Ethan the Ezrahite.

1 I will sing of your steadfast love, O Lord,[a] forever; with my mouth I will proclaim your faithfulness to all generations. 2 I declare that your steadfast love is established forever; your faithfulness is as firm as the heavens.

3 You said, “I have made a covenant with my chosen one, I have sworn to my servant David: 4 ‘I will establish your descendants forever, and build your throne for all generations.’”Selah

5 Let the heavens praise your wonders, O Lord, your faithfulness in the assembly of the holy ones. 6 For who in the skies can be compared to the Lord? Who among the heavenly beings is like the Lord, 7 a God feared in the council of the holy ones, great and awesome[b] above all that are around him? 8 O Lord God of hosts, who is as mighty as you, O Lord? Your faithfulness surrounds you. 9 You rule the raging of the sea; when its waves rise, you still them. 10 You crushed Rahab like a carcass; you scattered your enemies with your mighty arm. 11 The heavens are yours, the earth also is yours; the world and all that is in it—you have founded them. 12 The north and the south[c]—you created them; Tabor and Hermon joyously praise your name. 13 You have a mighty arm; strong is your hand, high your right hand. 14 Righteousness and justice are the foundation of your throne; steadfast love and faithfulness go before you. 15 Happy are the people who know the festal shout, who walk, O Lord, in the light of your countenance; 16 they exult in your name all day long, and extol[d] your righteousness. 17 For you are the glory of their strength; by your favor our horn is exalted. 18 For our shield belongs to the Lord, our king to the Holy One of Israel.

19 Then you spoke in a vision to your faithful one, and said: “I have set the crown[e] on one who is mighty, I have exalted one chosen from the people. 20 I have found my servant David; with my holy oil I have anointed him; 21 my hand shall always remain with him; my arm also shall strengthen him. 22 The enemy shall not outwit him, the wicked shall not humble him. 23 I will crush his foes before him and strike down those who hate him. 24 My faithfulness and steadfast love shall be with him; and in my name his horn shall be exalted. 25 I will set his hand on the sea and his right hand on the rivers. 26 He shall cry to me, ‘You are my Father, my God, and the Rock of my salvation!’ 27 I will make him the firstborn, the highest of the kings of the earth. 28 Forever I will keep my steadfast love for him, and my covenant with him will stand firm. 29 I will establish his line forever, and his throne as long as the heavens endure.

Footnotes:

Psalm 89:1 Gk: Heb the steadfast love of the Lord

Psalm 89:7 Gk Syr: Heb greatly awesome

Psalm 89:12 Or Zaphon and Yamin

Psalm 89:16 Cn: Heb are exalted in

Psalm 89:19 Cn: Heb help

New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (NRSVCE)

New Revised Standard Version Bible: Catholic Edition, copyright © 1989, 1993 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Exodus 3:1-12

Moses at the Burning Bush

3 Moses was keeping the flock of his father-in-law Jethro, the priest of Midian; he led his flock beyond the wilderness, and came to Horeb, the mountain of God. 2 There the angel of the Lord appeared to him in a flame of fire out of a bush; he looked, and the bush was blazing, yet it was not consumed. 3 Then Moses said, “I must turn aside and look at this great sight, and see why the bush is not burned up.” 4 When the Lord saw that he had turned aside to see, God called to him out of the bush, “Moses, Moses!” And he said, “Here I am.” 5 Then he said, “Come no closer! Remove the sandals from your feet, for the place on which you are standing is holy ground.” 6 He said further, “I am the God of your father, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob.” And Moses hid his face, for he was afraid to look at God.

7 Then the Lord said, “I have observed the misery of my people who are in Egypt; I have heard their cry on account of their taskmasters. Indeed, I know their sufferings, 8 and I have come down to deliver them from the Egyptians, and to bring them up out of that land to a good and broad land, a land flowing with milk and honey, to the country of the Canaanites, the Hittites, the Amorites, the Perizzites, the Hivites, and the Jebusites. 9 The cry of the Israelites has now come to me; I have also seen how the Egyptians oppress them. 10 So come, I will send you to Pharaoh to bring my people, the Israelites, out of Egypt.” 11 But Moses said to God, “Who am I that I should go to Pharaoh, and bring the Israelites out of Egypt?” 12 He said, “I will be with you; and this shall be the sign for you that it is I who sent you: when you have brought the people out of Egypt, you shall worship God on this mountain.”

New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (NRSVCE)

New Revised Standard Version Bible: Catholic Edition, copyright © 1989, 1993 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Hebrews 11:23-31

The Faith of Moses

23 By faith Moses was hidden by his parents for three months after his birth, because they saw that the child was beautiful; and they were not afraid of the king’s edict.[a] 24 By faith Moses, when he was grown up, refused to be called a son of Pharaoh’s daughter, 25 choosing rather to share ill-treatment with the people of God than to enjoy the fleeting pleasures of sin. 26 He considered abuse suffered for the Christ[b] to be greater wealth than the treasures of Egypt, for he was looking ahead to the reward. 27 By faith he left Egypt, unafraid of the king’s anger; for he persevered as though[c] he saw him who is invisible. 28 By faith he kept the Passover and the sprinkling of blood, so that the destroyer of the firstborn would not touch the firstborn of Israel.[d]

The Faith of Other Israelite Heroes

29 By faith the people passed through the Red Sea as if it were dry land, but when the Egyptians attempted to do so they were drowned. 30 By faith the walls of Jericho fell after they had been encircled for seven days. 31 By faith Rahab the prostitute did not perish with those who were disobedient,[e] because she had received the spies in peace.

Footnotes:

Hebrews 11:23 Other ancient authorities add By faith Moses, when he was grown up, killed the Egyptian, because he observed the humiliation of his people (Gk brothers)

Hebrews 11:26 Or the Messiah

Hebrews 11:27 Or because

Hebrews 11:28 Gk would not touch them

Hebrews 11:31 Or unbelieving

New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (NRSVCE)

New Revised Standard Version Bible: Catholic Edition, copyright © 1989, 1993 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

John 14:6-14

6 Jesus said to him, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. 7 If you know me, you will know[a] my Father also. From now on you do know him and have seen him.”

8 Philip said to him, “Lord, show us the Father, and we will be satisfied.” 9 Jesus said to him, “Have I been with you all this time, Philip, and you still do not know me? Whoever has seen me has seen the Father. How can you say, ‘Show us the Father’? 10 Do you not believe that I am in the Father and the Father is in me? The words that I say to you I do not speak on my own; but the Father who dwells in me does his works. 11 Believe me that I am in the Father and the Father is in me; but if you do not, then believe me because of the works themselves. 12 Very truly, I tell you, the one who believes in me will also do the works that I do and, in fact, will do greater works than these, because I am going to the Father. 13 I will do whatever you ask in my name, so that the Father may be glorified in the Son. 14 If in my name you ask me[b] for anything, I will do it.

Footnotes:

John 14:7 Other ancient authorities read If you had known me, you would have known

John 14:14 Other ancient authorities lack me

New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (NRSVCE)

New Revised Standard Version Bible: Catholic Edition, copyright © 1989, 1993 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.