#if it looks blurry open in new window to see full res :)

[onlymywishfulthinking]

BREAKING NEWS!!!!

[sirthisisa-wendys]

The Sacrifice: Part 1.5 (Geto Suguru x Fem! Reader)

synopsis: you meet your captors, but why are you really here?

wc: 1.8k

tw: none

masterlist

Giggling.

Giggling?

Do people giggle in heaven?

When you finally come to, all you can hear are muffled whispers and excited chatter around you.

“Mom? Dad?” You slowly open your eyes and take in the blurry shapes surrounding you, blinking multiple times so that they would take form.

“No mom or dad here,” a soft voice whispers, and cold fingers touch your forehead.

“No,” another voice echoes and finally, you can see who is circled around you. A gaggle of women surrounds you, each one having an unusual skin color - rose pink, cerulean, blood red, hunter green, and mauve - and sporting a set of unfamiliar-looking ears that came to a small pinched point at the tops.

“We’re glad you’re awake!” A woman with short black hair and green skin exclaims, clasping her hands to her clothed chest. “Everyone is shocked when they come here at first, but we’ve never had someone pass out,” she giggles and the other women do as well.

“You made quite a spectacle,” another woman sighs, shaking her rose-pink head. “We had to get the men to help us get you up here.”

Here? You look around the room you’re in, fully noticing your surroundings. You’re still in the clothes from the ceremony, and the pendant hangs neatly around your neck still, untouched by the women. But the room… it’s immaculate.

Every piece of furniture is either gold or white, and to your left, a set of open-air windows are covered by gauzy curtains that blow in the invisible wind. You’re laying in a four-poster bed, covered in white sheets and white fur that looks expensive. And when you run your hands over it, it feels expensive.

“Wait…” you exhale, looking around at the room again. “Am I in the Dragon God’s--”

“You’re not dead if that’s what you’re asking,” The blood-red-skinned woman answers, fingering her long braid. “But I’ll let His Holiness explain.”

“His Holiness?” you mutter, right as a sharp ripple runs through the curtains. All of the women turn to the archways and in one motion begin to scramble there.

“Move, Ariadne!”

“Serena, scoot over!”

“Danai, I can’t see!”

You cautiously slide out of the bed and pad over to where the women have thrown open the curtains and are leaning over the banister to look left and right.

“Do you see them?” Someone asks, and one of them replies,

“Up there!” Your eyes follow to the point in the sky where the mauve hand is pointing, and you can see two figures dancing about in the sky, flashes of gold and white passing between them. As they get closer, you can clearly make out that they’re...

“Dragons.” A black one circles around a white one, both of them exchanging fire in turn. All of the women begin to squeal, their excited chatter like the sounds of birds in the morning light.

“You came to just in time,” the tall, blood-red woman nudges you, smiling widely. “His Holiness and His Highness like to spar during the day, and it looks like they’re putting on quite the show.”

“Ah,” you answer, looking back up at the dragons, who were getting even closer, almost right upon the place where you all stood.

“What’s your name?” she asks, raising a brow at you.

“Y/n,” you reply, fiddling with the edges of your sleeves.

“I’m Clymenestra,” the woman offers her hand to you, and you take it, shaking it firmly. “But everyone calls me Cly. I’m the head of household affairs, so if you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to send for me.”

“Household affairs?”

“Food, drink, sheets, anything you associate with households, I’m in charge of it.”

“So… you’re not the Dragon God’s… wives?”

Cly laughs, tossing her head back and holding her stomach as her fox-like features slide into a wide grin. “Oh, y/n, you are so funny!” You turn back to the spectacle in front of you and watch as the two dragons engage in a death-drop, wrapping around each other in an endless loop.

“They’re going to do it!” Someone squeals and you all watch as they drop into the water right below them, neglecting to emerge for what feels like eons. As you scan the shoreline for any signs of re-emerging dragons, you wonder why two dragons - fire-breathing creatures - would descend into the depths of what appeared to be an ocean. But when two male figures emerge from the sea, you’re suddenly aware that it was just what Cly said: it was all a show.

“Oh! Cly, we have to get their robes!” One of the women shouts and the women break into a frenzy again, scurrying about and opening drawers and shutting wardrobes, hands suddenly filled with different articles of clothing. Clymenestra stands beside you, arms folded over her chest as she oversees the chaos, then opens a set of doors that leads to a large, long hallway. The doors at the end of the hallways open out to the outdoors at the same time, and you watch the women file neatly into the hallway in two rows. Cly tugs you to her side at the end of the line, holding your hand with an iron grip.

“Say nothing until I introduce you.”

When the two men who resurfaced from the sea stride through the doors, you swallow hard, feeling your palms become clammy at the sight of the muscles on display.

Oh, no. They’re hot.

“Your Holiness.”

“Your Highness.”

The women coo these words interchangeably as a black, long-haired man and a white-haired man take the clothing offered to them, wrapping the towels and silk robes around themselves. As the white-haired man gets closer to you, your knees begin to quake under your dress, his blue eyes piercing your soul.

“Clymenestra, it seems we have a new guest here,” he purrs, placing a hand on his hip. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“I’m--” Cly yanks on your hand surreptitiously, which stops your speech.

“Her name is y/n, and she’s the newest addition to His Holiness’ household, your Highness.”

“Ah,” the man sighs, looking away. “I was hoping they would send me a new plaything this time.” The black-haired man catches the end of this conversation, tying his black robe around him and raising a brow.

“Have you asked for a new plaything, Gojo?” he wonders as his black eyes slide to you. Your breath hitches in your throat as you catch his gaze, which is tender and curious. Not at all like the devouring gaze the man with the blue eyes gave you.

“No,” the blue-eyed man mumbles, walking down a different corridor and disappearing.

“I’m sorry about my friend, he’s a little touchy around this time of year,” the black-haired man mentions, and Cly bobs into a small curtsy.

“Your Holiness, this is y/n.”

“What a beautiful name,” he muses, and you bow your head slightly. “You can refer to me as Geto.” When he speaks to you - and so familiarly at that - you feel a shiver run down your spine and rest in the pit of your stomach. “You’re my guest here and I will treat you as such. Have you fully recovered from your episode?” he wonders, and you nod in response, words unable to be formed in your mouth. “Fantastic. Let’s have dinner, I know you’re probably famished after losing your horse.” Cly urges you to follow him down a separate corridor, and you follow obediently.

_____________________________________________________________

Two pairs of eyes are on you as you try to politely scarf down the food offered. When the smell of loaves of bread, meats, cheeses, fish, delicacies you’ve only dreamed of having for the past five years wafted into your nose, your rational mind switched off and your self-preservation kicked in. Now, you were sitting at a table for four in the middle of a large dining hall that could possibly hold twenty couples total. The room is the same white and golden color scheme, only this time, the chairs and table cloths are black.

“You would think the villagers would have fed her,” Gojo - his highness - grumbles as you shove a slice of bread into your mouth. Geto just chuckles, picking at his own food with little interest.

“No, Satoru. They were cruel enough to send her up the mountain, certain she would die. Why would they waste food during a famine?” The famine. You look up from your plate at the black-haired one and frown, mouth full of food.

“We sacrifice women to you so that you’ll send rain.” You mention, and he shrugs, shaking his head. “At least, that’s what the elders tell us.”

“He’s not a rain god,” Gojo replies, steepling his fingers together. “So there’s something wrong about that assumption.”

“But we’ve been doing it for--”

“Two decades.” Geto finishes for you, then looks down at his plate before clearing his throat. “What did you do in the village, y/n?” He wonders, changing the subject suddenly.

“I--” I stole some food. I lived on the streets. I was an orphan.

I am an orphan.

“What difference does it make? Obviously, she wasn’t valuable enough for them to want to preserve her life.” Gojo interrupts, rolling his eyes. “It’s not like she’s not better off up here, Suguru.”

“But--” you try to speak, but Geto speaks over you, holding a hand out so Gojo will stop talking.

“Gojo, I know that. I just want to know a little more about our guest here. Is that okay with you?” The blue-eyed man tosses his hands up in defeat, squinting at you after looking you up and down. “Y/n, tell me about your time in the village. What did you do before you were picked?”

“I was… an orphan,” you admit, and Geto leans back in his chair, humming softly. Gojo runs a hand through his white locks, averting his gaze.

“My condolences,” Geto murmurs, tilting his head to the side so his hair dangled to the left. “Were you very close?”

“Are you going to sacrifice me?” you blurt, and Geto and Gojo both frown. “I mean, am I going to die after eating this meal?” Gojo tries his best to hold in his laughter, but fails miserably, tilting back in his chair as the sharp sounds echo around the room. You turn back to Geto, who chuckles as well and is hunched over in his seat.

“No, no, no,” Gojo wipes the tears from his eyes and continues. “You’re out guest, y/n. We would be horrible hosts if we killed you.”

“So what am I here for?” you reply, and Geto whispers:

“You’re only here to repay a debt, y/n. It has nothing to do with you personally, but just know, you’re not going to die. Actually, I would go as far as saying that you have the opportunity to live forever.”

TAGLIST: @jotazinha @leanne-tamashi @brownskinnedgirll

[darkacademicfrom2021]

The Dark Team (part 6)

<<Previous part Masterlist   Next part>>

Join the taglist in here (Taglist: @lucywrites02, @louieboo87)

“What did you fuck up?”, you heard Loki’s sharp whisper through the earbud, while you frantically searched through papers and papers and some more papers.

“I didn’t fuck up. I have the guy. I have information”, cleared Bucky. “Hey, DON’T MOVE”, he shouted at the kidnapped, cocking his gun. He cleared his throat before talking again. “Good and bad news”.

“Must be Christmas”, you said.

“No, Christmas is when you only have good news”, said Bucky.

“Not in my family. Generally, there was only bad news and food. Food was the good news”.

“I love how professional and focused on the mission you two are. Stark would be so proud”.

“Wait, I’m invested now. Tell me more about your family, y/n”.

“For the Norns, I don’t have much time. The information, Barnes”. You could hear Loki's footsteps resonate. According to plan, he should've been walking through a hall full of burocrats, so he was right; he did not have much time.

“Okay, so, I know who has the stick”.

“Good”.

“He’s dead”.

“Not so good”.

“Not really, no”.

“What do we do now?”.

An alarm on the building had set off and every door locked down, with a man on a speaker announcing the disappearance of an important object followed by an awfully accurate description of the three of you.

“We run, that’s what we do now”.

You didn’t have to say more. Bucky threw himself off the window before it finished closing. You looked around desperately, trying to find a way to free yourself from that office. Two security guards entered the room screaming for you to get on the floor, and instead you made an unstable wall with the desk and chairs, avoiding getting shot and giving you enough time to figure out some sort of weapon to take them down.

The watch was already used, the knives were useless if they had guns, you didn’t have a gun yourself (silly you), and the parachute was apparently not working anymore, so you couldn’t jump off the window like your teammates. Damn.

“By any chance”, you whispered through your microphone “could you tele…”, but Loki gave you no time to finish the sentence and teleported himself to the office, still in the shape of a security guard.

“My dearest friend”, he said to one of the shooters, opening his arms welcomingly, “how’s the family?”.

“What the fuck, Robert?” asked angrily one of the real guards. “How did you…”.

Loki kicked off his gun and touched his head with a halo of green lights, making him fall unconscious to the floor. He looked up and down at the second security guard and formed half a smile.

“And what about your wife? Is she well?”.

“You ain’t Robert, ain’t ya?”.

“Mmh, nah”.

You grabbed the second security guard from behind and made him trip, immobilizing his arms and legs, and held his own gun to his head. Loki watched you amused, and then transformed back into himself.

“Oh, there you are”, you greeted him. “Did Buck say anything about the walking dead?”.

“The… what?”.

“The man with the stick. If he’s dead, who activated the alarm? Someone has to have it”.

“He didn’t say anything else. Can’t you track it down?”.

“If I could, why would we have done all of this for?”.

“Point made”.

“I need to get back to our room, take some things off the checklist before going all in for a new plan”.

“Alri…”, he started saying, but his gaze fell back on the immobilized guard you were holding down. “What are you planning on doing with him? He saw our faces”.

“If you let me live I won’t talk about this at all”, he pleaded, face squished against the floor. “I have kids, please”.

“He’s lying, he has no kids”, he said with a neutral face, and you looked at him trying to tell him to communicate telepathically. Surprisingly, he understood. “What?”.

“I’m not killing him, what do we do?”.

“Just kill him, what’s all the fuss about?”. You looked at him horrorized and he rolled his eyes “alright, just threaten him enough”.

You let him go, still pointing the gun at him, and gestured to the door so he could leave. When he reached for the door knob, you shot twice at the wall, mere inches from his head, and he froze in place.

“Talk and I’ll find you”, you threatened.

“I won't say a word, I promise”.

You looked at Loki and he nodded, letting you know the man was telling the truth. You kept your eyes fixed on him while he ran away, terrified. Must be new, you thought. Loki grabbed your waist.

“What the Hell are you doing?”, you pushed him away.

“Teleporting us, as you asked”.

“You have to grab me to do that?”.

“I don’t have to. It’s so you get stability”.

“Oh. Give me a big bear hug, then. No, better, let’s cuddle” you spat with sarcasm. He sighed annoyed, massaging his temples.

“Fine. I’m not even touching you”.

As he teleported both of you, you felt your whole body tear its own cells apart and dissolve, and then regenerate them. Your head spinned like it never has, and something hit your head; but you weren’t sure if it was the floor, a wall or the roof, for your sense directions were nowhere to be found. You took a few seconds to compose yourself before opening your eyes once everything stopped moving. When you finally managed to realize where your head even was, your eyes met with Loki’s, who was holding back a smirk with his arms crossed.

“Reconsidering that cuddle next time, are you?”.

“That was… hilarious. Such a shame I missed the previous part to give me context, though”, said Bucky from the counter of the hotel room, munching on some chips. “Look, the tiny fridge had these. You were right, they’re actually great”.

“Yeah. Grab whatever, they’re on Stark’s”, you said, still with your head a bit fuzzed. Loki offered his hand to help you get up but you did it yourself. He sighed.

“How do you fit your clothes with that huge ego of yours?”.

“I don’t, I walk around naked”, you answered, opening the nearest laptop and starting to work on the checklist.

That night was like the last one. Dark, silent and with your head full on the work. Bucky was barely snoring, and Loki was sitting on his bed reading a book. Every once in a while you glanced up your work to look at how painfully beautiful he was. You hated every thought about it, of course, but you couldn’t deny his sight grew on you a bit. He was an asshole, of course. A parasite on your head. An inconvenience. A distraction, sometimes. But the warm light of the bed lamp and the shadows it formed on half of his face enhanced his features, almost like a sculpture, a piece of art.

While you thought of that you checked on his expressions, making sure he wasn’t listening to your highly embarrassing thoughts.

After a few hours, Bucky had already woken up and you were still spread on the floor, surrounded by the files and laptops from before. The light conversation had caught half the attention of the God, who was still reading peacefully. He seemed so calm you wondered what kept him up anyways.

“You think he still has it on him?”, asked Bucky, changing his shirt.

“I think it’s a possibility. I’m tracking his body down. Should be in the morgue by now, maybe they haven’t taken off his clothes yet. But if not, the security cameras would have recorded who took it from the body”.

“Groovy”.

"Oh my God, James".

"What?".

"What does groovy even mean?".

"You know... it's like saying cool beans".

"Coo... alright".

After a while, you collected all the data you needed for tomorrow. You were so exhausted your eyes were getting dry and blurry. Loki was still reading in that same place, not even fazed by the amount of hours that had happened. You got up to clean the dishes from the last meal, and he lifted his gaze up from the book.

“Wait”, he stopped you. With a wrist movement, the dishes got as clean as they could get and arranged on the shelf. You chuckled.

“I wish I had that ability”.

“Are you going to sleep now?”.

“A few hours”.

“Sleep here”, he said from his bed. You looked at Bucky’s; he fell asleep back again.

“You haven’t slept yet. I don’t want to occupy your bed”.

“I won’t, don’t worry”, you nodded, kind of worried he might pass out of tiredness in the middle of the mission. Why the hell was he not sleeping? “If it doesn’t bother you, I’d rather finish this book on here too”.

“I think there’s enough space”.

He moved and gave you space for half of the tiny bed, and you laid by his side with your arms crossed and a leg on top of the other. He went back to his book, and even though he was sitting and your sight couldn’t reach the pages, you were sure it was in Old Norse.

“What are you reading?”.

He didn’t answer right away. Doubtfully as in to share it with you or not, he then proceeded.

“Hamlet. It’s a translation in Old Norse from an author I adore. I’d say it’s an even better version than Shakespeare’s”.

You felt yourself about to smile. You tried not to, but you probably did. That was your favourite piece of literature of all times. You wondered how could that have gotten to Asgardian hands, and why would he (certainly a Midgardian hater) want to read Earth’s literature. You were so curious in that version. Was it really that good, that would be better than Shakespeare himself? Sadly, you didn’t even know how to say hello in that language.

“Do you like it so far?”.

“I’m re-reading it. Brings good memories”, he said with a subtle smile he had hoped you wouldn’t notice. But you did. Something in your chest warmed up a bit and you shook it off. No, no. Not feelings. Don’t confuse your physical attraction, don’t feed your touch starved soul. No. You had to repeat to yourself a couple of times. You were just very, very tired.

“Brings good memories to me too. I love this book”. You figured it was alright to open up a little. The situation was relaxed enough. He wasn’t snarky or avoidant. He looked… melancholic. Sad, even. Like a facet of himself he didn’t allow everyone to see.

You connected with that. Maybe you could even relate to him in some way. For years, you had a feeling of something not adding up quite right. A longing for something you couldn’t exactly pin up. Melancholy for a blank space.

But there you were, barely knew him for three days yet felt close enough. Not too much. Just a feeling. Just the traces of something that maybe happened in another life. But in this one, you would get the mission done and leave. So don’t get attached, you ordered yourself.

“It’s a really good version”.

“Wish I could read it but I don’t know Old Norse”, you said slower than you intended. Loki chuckled at your tiredness. Maybe you could push your curiosity a little further. What was the damage? That he could just say ‘piss off’ or something like that? “What good memories does it bring to you?”.

He sighed and muttered almost to himself “I used to read it to my beloved”.

You almost gasped, surprised he actually answered you. You didn’t ask for more. It was already a lot he had just trusted you with. He told you he had a beloved. You didn’t even know he had a lover, but of course he had. He was nearly a thousand years old; why wouldn’t he? Did he lose that lover, in past tense?

Curiosity grew bigger on you, but fear pushed you aback. But the questions floated around in your head as a lullaby. Your head started to weigh a little more on the pillow and everything happened slightly slower. Loki closed the book and left it resting on his lap. He whispered “I feel you have questions”, and you denied it with your head. Your eyelids fell heavier than before.

“I’m mmnmnnhnm”, you managed to sort of say before getting knocked down by sleep. You heard his laughter, but nothing more after that.

[the-last-cuddlebender]

Blood In A Blacklight

Katara has a criminal empire to run, a family to protect, and plenty of shadows from the past who want to tear it all down.

Part 1: The Wind Howls (1/2) - She has him back, and everything should be perfect now, but it’s not. She’s more worried than ever. And she hasn’t slept in days.

********************************

A/N: Mafiosa!Katara and Gaang™ gang because I want it and am willing it into existence. Basically took “Sokka and I, we’re your family now” and made my take on a bending-mafia-families AU lmao

Words: 1,748

********************************

Katara punished her book for the weather and nearly tore it when she flipped the page. The words blurred again. She glared, hoping to become a firebender and burn a hole through the damn thing.

The door opened without a knock, and the frame of her vision shook, bordering on crimson. Mercy was still a foreign concept, and nearly ninety-six hours awake had mutilated her ‘moral code’ into watery dough. A few twitches of her fingers closed her hand around veins and arteries, but her bending recognized her intruder’s old blood and fresh wounds before she could register why her power wasn’t listening. It was worse than a tranquilizer. Worse than chloroform in a black alley. Aang’s heartbeat pinned her to her seat and ripped out her fangs like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Katara remembered that time was a thing that would still pass whether or not she kept breathing. Fresh rain met the wall of windows behind her. Her thumb dragged over the ear of the page. She crawled into the dull thump of his heartbeat and sank into her chair, hiding in his rhythm like it was a cave.

The soft click of the door startled her like it was a strike of lightning, stuttering her breath and rallying her instincts to probe for the nearest skein of water. She shifted, impatient for him to be closer, waiting for enemies to burst from the shadows.

She re-read the same paragraph until he limped — badly, on the left side — to her desk. He paused, thinned Katara’s sanity, and sat in one of the leather chairs across from her. His silence filled the room with static. The full moon taunted her with power for all the wrong problems. The storm put a distance of hisses and low rumbles between them, bleating her pulse against the drums of her ears.

“What are you doing?” Aang gently asked.

Katara propped her head on her fist, her voice like paint peeling from the side of an old ship. “I’m reading.”

“You’ve been staring at that page for seven minutes.”

“I’m reading slowly.”

“You’re sulking.”

She almost looked up. “I am not sulking.”

“And now you’re lying.”

Something made a spark, and Katara slammed her book, still open, on her desk. “I am not lying.”

Her almost-shout did things that the thunder could only dream of, but before Katara could retreat, Aang leaned forward, onto her desk, mirroring her posture and leaving inches between their faces. It brought the smell of the wind in his clothes, and his element tickled her frayed hair from her cheek. His presence was warm. In every way. Warm hues, warm feelings, warm heartbeat, warm memories—

It took longer for the crimson to leave her vision this time. The thin wound wasn’t the worst, but it was the most noticeable, crawling across his face and over the bridge of his nose like a comet touching from beneath one eye to under the other. It was a bleach-white horizon that his eyes sat just above, but what he leveled her with didn’t allow her the freedom to consider her to-kill list in detail.

Katara had been shot, captured, tortured, ransomed, and used as a bartering chip far more times than she dared to remember, but even oceans would part for the look that Aang gave her when she tried to dance around the truth with him and win. She scowled, not that it helped her. Intensity clouded his eyes in a smokescreen, and grey irises darted in short, sharp glances that wouldn’t have been noticeable if he was any further away.

Katara’s finger itched to turn the page. Aang’s breathing had been steady, but when he exhaled again, closing his eyes, it took the strength out of his shoulders and kicked her in the chest.

“You promised you would stop looking into this.”

Katara snapped the book shut and set it aside. “I told you to stay away from the hospital.”

“I had to see her. And you went there, too.”

He didn’t mention a name, but still, Katara’s nails dug into her hands and threatened to draw blood. She seethed, but her fire didn’t phase him. Always him. Only him. Even in her office she was powerless.

Lips pulled into a tight line, she took a calming breath and held it, waiting for it to start working. Aang didn’t look away. His smokescreen was looking more like a storm and shone lightning like steel blades clashing.

She knew what her glare did to good men, and she knew it didn’t work on him, but she looked away all the same. Her eyes found the book, and the pins and needles from her held breath suddenly became the cold gasps of a child who couldn’t run fast enough. She saw the splintering of ancient wooden doors and the darkness that spilled from them. She felt the ice of new irons and the strain they put on growing bones.

And the screams. There should have been screams…

Katara blinked and was back in her office, greeted by the sheets of bullets on her windows and the warm heat of Aang’s attention. She looked at him. He was the same as her gaze had left him.

She didn’t mean to sound so defeated, but she was so tired of losing. “What were you thinking, Aang?”

“Katara, you’re scared and angry and hurt and I get it, but you don’t have to save me anymore. I’m right here.”

“I can’t sit by and do nothing. If I don’t fight for you, then no one will.”

She had seen men recoil from a bullet through the heart, but Aang caught himself just before the stage of crumpling to the ground. His gaze dropped, staggering to her necklace and then to her desk. “…I guess you’re right.”

Katara scrambled to pick up his pieces. “That’s not what I—”

“I know.” He splayed his palm, pretending to read the lines. “You didn’t mean it.”

Lightning lit up the room, like a picture being taken. Katara combed back her hair, fiddling with her low ponytail, and gave up trying to keep her empty hands occupied. “Can you just—” She grabbed the air like she could hold onto the problem. “Can you just promise me that you won’t do something like that again? Please?”

It was the closest she had ever — ever — come to begging, but Aang kept his eyes on his palm. “I can’t do that.”

“Yes, you can.”

“I’m not one of your goons to boss around,” he said, still without looking up, though his brow furrowed with a small crease.

“At least they know their limits. None of this would have happened if you had just let me handle it. This is my family, and that includes you, whether you like it or not.”

“I don’t belong to you.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.��

“Then why are you still here?”

“Because you need me, too,” he said, with a soft voice that could shake a stadium. “And I might just be a speedbump to knock you on your ass and make you think twice before you do it anyways, but you’re my family too.”

The silence yawned, hissing with a thick but fine sheet of rain. If it weren’t for her desk, Katara would have hugged him. Probably. Doubt opened a pit in her belly, and her throat threatened to seal shut. Instinct and intuition went to war and left her with the sinking feeling that touching him would just prove how far away he was.

Aang still didn’t look up from his hand. Katara tried to find the right words and, more importantly, how to say them, but all she could manage after so many years of lying was a tender inflection of his name. “Aang…”

“They made me forget your face,” he said, deflating like saying it out loud finally made the scars real. His voice was watery, broken on the last vowel, and took a sledgehammer to Katara’s chest. “And now you…” He gestured. “Now you’re there and I’m here and…” The word died. He paused, then dragged his eyes up to hers. “You think of them when you look at me, so I see them, too. They scare me. And now you scare me. And I don’t want to be scared of you because I don’t want to stop looking at you. But it scares me. A lot.”

“I…Aang, I’m sorry—”

“I know. I know,” he said as he stood. His eyes roamed her empty desk, trying to find something of hers and settling on the book, which broke what was left of him. “…You didn’t mean it.”

Katara stood, but the desk was still in the way. “Aang, wait—”

“I'm going to take a walk to…,” he trailed, more in his own thoughts than in her office. “…I’ll get Zuko so you don’t worry.”

She should have gone after him. She should have done something, but her legs were pillars of cement. The door bled fluorescent yellow light into her twilight and took him, in his red and orange robes from across the world, with it.

Something cold crawled out of the old attic of where her heart was supposed to be. It cracked, weaving thin white scars — like his — in a web across her vision. She braced herself on the desk. There was nowhere to hide. No heartbeat. Not even a wound to distract her with its pain. She closed her eyes and bared her teeth and wished she had the strength to cry without him. Just this once, without him. She was so full and so empty and on the verge of combustion—

Something broke, something small, like a cornerstone, and Katara plopped into her chair. She breathed just like he taught her and eventually rubbed her face. Her bones ached. Everything ached. She was so tired of losing. She just wanted to sleep without knowing that she would wake up, still stuck in her worst nightmare.

Thunder growled above the city. Katara picked up the book. It was blurry, no matter how much she blinked. She dragged her nail over the scuff marks, feeling the minute pilling of old leather like a topographic map of the past.

Aang’s absence reminded her why she was reading, but she wasn’t sure if she could anymore. The book took on the weight of a planet, her arms even moreso.

Realization dawned slowly, like a dog attack in slow motion. The thought was a shadow bleeding out of the tall grass to fill her stomach with ice.

She peeled open the pages, praying to whoever would answer.

It burned. It burned like fire never could. It ate her away from the inside out, like cinders consuming a dry leaf in the time it took to blink.

The raindrops became smaller, like a mist, and gently brushed the windows. Standing was a miracle, but Katara dragged her feet around her desk, falling into Aang’s chair.

It was warm, like his shadow always was. She crawled into the footprint his life left behind, imagining his heartbeat in the hug of plush leather and the smell of salt and sand that reminded her where home was. Katara told herself to breathe and sank into the reasons why. Her legs curled beneath her, like when she was a girl, back when she wore her mother’s dresses to imagine herself a hero and not in three-piece suits to mask bloodstains.

She read the book slowly, from the beginning again, trying to love even the words that hurt. When lightning struck, she held it closer, trying to protect it, even though she knew that she couldn’t.

********************************

.

.

Don’t know if I described it well enough, but Aang’s ‘scar’ (quotes because it eventually seals up into a thin line) is supposed to be like the bottom arch of the Yu Yan archers’ tattoos.

[junicai]

RELAY CAM; 3am - 4am

| warnings | none

-> aria gets to show an hour of her morning/night routine, feat. some star-talk and a plushie

the camera turns on, facing the floor before it is twisted around to capture Aria’s smiling face, looking far too chirpy for the hour of the night 

“hello~” she chirps, speaking in a whisper, waving at the camera. it takes a moment to focus, before her aria comes into view, wearing a small t-shirt. when she steps back from the camera her black workout leggings become visible on the small screen

it appears like she has just come in the door from somewhere, the little light barely illuminating the front door behind her 

“good morning, or good night?” she giggles, already moving away from the room she is standing in

from the looks of her surroundings, she is in the dorms’ hallway, the members’ shoes lining the doorway. she passes through the kitchen, giving the camera a quick glimpse of the clean counters before she is moving swiftly into another adjacent room

the door creaks open quietly, and aria shuffles inside before shutting it behind her slowly as to not make a loud bang

the camera focuses again, the decorations in the room brought into view by a burst of yellow light when aria flicks the light switch on with her free hand

by the fake flowers on the wall and the soft yellow covering on the bed, it is clear that this is her bedroom - the soft winnie the pooh plushie on her bed being a dead giveaway

the room is small but cosy, the yellow blankets complimented by the plants lined up along her window - the room looks well lived in and comfortable

“everyone, i’ve just come back from the gym so i’m going to clean up before i continue, ok?” she looks to the camera before checking the time on her phone 

“i’ll be back quickly!” aria blows a quick kiss from her palm, before placing the camera down on her bedsheets 

aria re-emerges from the bathroom with slightly damp hair and a large sweater on, her eyes void of contacts and instead framed with gold wire glasses

aria picks up her phone to check the time before showing it to the camera

her lock screen is a picture that is slightly blurry from her hand’s movement, but appears to be a group of people standing in front of the sea, all making various dramatic gestures 

“only seven minutes! i was quick right?” she looks proud of herself, although the shower definitely made her sleepier by the looks of her drooping eyes 

she looks down at her sweater before laughing softly at herself, fingers pulling at the material

“i thought this was one of mine, but i think it might be mark’s one,” she explains, but makes no move to take it off. “i’ll take care of it markie~”

aria props the camera up on the small table beside her bed, making sure it was resting against several books so it wouldn’t fall before she settles herself against the opposite wall

she takes the yellow blanket and tucks it over her legs, pulling a pillow into her lap to hug as she talks. 

“ah, my room is so quiet, right? i’m used to rooming with someone else now, but here i don’t have a roommate so i get to decorate the entire room. i like the space, but i miss jisung’s laughter a bit.”

aria looks around her room, eyes scanning for something before they land on the small plushie beside her

she picks him up with a small delighted gasp, face splitting into a cute smile

“czennie, this is pooh-san,” she begins, holding the plushie close to her chest after holding him up to the camera so it could focus on his face. “he was a gift from donghyuckie when i first moved in; I made him watch the Winnie the Pooh movie even though he complained.”

aria pet the plushie on his head softly, smiling cutely at the black button nose

“is it, six years now? nearly six years? woah, it doesn’t feel that long.”

aria looks down at the plushie in her lap. “i was really thankful to oppa at the time, because i wasn’t sure how i was meant to live with the others - but he tried his best to make me comfortable.” 

aria tilts her head up from the downward angle she was holding it at, holding out pooh-san to make the stuffed toy wave goodbye to the camera before she was tucking him in beside her beneath the blanket. 

“what shall we do today?” aria ponders, fingers tapping against her chin.

“i had wanted to take you skating with me, but all the rinks are closed right now, so i can’t,” she pouts, fingers curling in the blanket. “i wanted to show off to czennie, is that bad?”

aria is laughing now, the tops of her cheeks going slightly red. “all the other members have talents that they can show whenever, but i need ice to show mine.”

she turns her head to look out the window briefly before refocusing her attention on the camera

“like taro! shotaro, his whistle through his nose? he tried to teach me, but i just kept sneezing in the middle of it, i didn’t realize it would tickle that much,” aria looks fond as she remembers the memory

aria trails off with a hum, pressing her lips together

“ah!” she exclaims, holding up a hand. “i’ve been reading a book~ it’s really interesting, let me show you.” 

aria leans forward out of view of the camera and a few seconds of fumbling can be heard before she pulls back with a book in her hand

she lifts it up to the camera with two hands to hold it steady, one underneath 

“this is Pachinko by Min Jinlee; jungwoo recommended it to me and i’m really enjoying it,” she explains, letting the book come down so the camera re-focuses on her 

“i wanted to improve my reading skills in korean, but i wanted to try a book of a new genre, and jungwoo said this one might be interesting for me.”

"jungwoo, i asked him to help me with my korean, because i want to be able to communicate myself better - so he's trying to teach me when he has the spare chance."

aria talks about the plot and the book briefly, before stopping herself “ah, i can’t talk about the book anymore, i don’t want to accidentally spoil something.” 

she leans down again to replace the book from where she had got it, before coming back up and picking the camera up in her left hand

as she stands up, her back audibly cracks and aria giggles at the noise

“i think my back is sore from the gym everyone,” aria pouts to the camera before putting it down on the windowsill 

she turns around as if looking for something, her sweater riding up against her back as she lifts her arms above her head, before she drops them to her sides and turns back around

she’s looking at something over the top of the camera, a small smile finding its way onto her lips 

“from my window, you can see the stars tonight,” she starts, hands reaching to spin the camera around “that doesn’t really happen often, normally it’s too cloudy here.”

her voice sounds sadder, softer, when she speaks about being unable to see the stars

“when i was younger i learnt a lot about astrology and constellations, so i used to lie in my back-garden on the grass and see what constellations i could find in the sky.

“i think there’s another full moon in a few weeks, so i’m hoping i can see it when it happens. it’s called the snow moon, did you know that czennie?”

aria turns to the camera to pose the question. 

“when i want to see the stars - i can never see them from my window here, so i found a place where i can always see them, no matter how cloudy it is.

“they help me relax, because if i can see the stars then the pictures in the sky are there then i’m not the only one looking at them *unconfirmed translation*  

aria turns back to the window, picking up the camera and flipping it around to show the stars outside

“czennie i hope you can see the stars from where you are; i’m looking at them too”

she waves out the window excitedly, the camera shaking slightly with her enthusiastic movements “hello czennie~” 

a timer going off on her phone distracts her from the window, pulling her away and into the centre of the room

“oh! oh its four o’clock now, which means i have to stop recording,” aria explains, holding up her phone to show the time. 

“czennie, i hope you enjoyed my relay vlog, and say hello to Xiaojun-ssi for me!”

the vlog cuts out after aria waves goodbye, scrunching up her face into a smile

replay? [yes]

[season12cas]

there’s a ghost in the back of this room

summary: Dean has a nightmare and Castiel comforts him tags: platonic bed sharing, angst, not a lot of dialogue word count: 1.8k

I gotta say, it’s hard to be brave when you’re alone in the dark I told myself that I wouldn’t be scared, but I‘m still having nightmares

Castiel’s missing need for sleep doesn’t bother him most of the time. Having a couple hours to himself every day (night?) isn’t the worst thing he can imagine. It can get boring, sure, but he keeps himself busy reading books or catching up on movies that Dean recommends to him.

The bunker at night is pretty much exactly the same as it is throughout the day, thanks to the lack of windows and sunlight. It feels different, however, more quiet and peaceful with everyone else asleep.

Castiel is halfway through an old novel he found in a dusty book shelf, when he hears something. A ticking, fast and heavy. It‘s pounding and seemingly speeding up every second. Castiel can feel it in the back of his head and after all those sleepless nights, he can quickly place what it is: Dean is having a nightmare. Again.

It’s not like Castiel is alway listening in on him, a normal heartbeat from another room is not something he instantly picks up on. A pounding noise like this, though? He physically can’t ignore it. Castiel is sure that if Dean knew this, he‘d tell him to stop being a creep and let him sleep in peace.

Problem is, Dean rarely sleeps in peace. It’s not unusual for him to wake up in the middle of the night, heart racing and beating like a drum against his chest and consequently, Castiel’s ears.

He sighs and wishes Dean would let him do something about it, but Castiel remembers that he‘s not supposed to watch over Dean when he‘s sleeping, has told him to back off and mind his business more than one time. However, Castiel can’t help it and every now and then, when he‘s certain that Dean won’t hear him, he’ll sneak into his room make sure he‘s okay, make sure he’s sleeping and not suffering through a nightmare.

Castiel waits and listens for a couple minutes, Dean‘s heartbeat not showing any signs of slowing down, but he knows that it will soon enough. Some nights it takes longer than others, but Dean always manages to fall back asleep at some point. Just when he decides to get back to his book, another noise catches Castiel‘s attention. The sound of breaking glass, accompanied by an angry scream.

This is new, Castiel thinks and gets the odd feeling that something is wrong.

He puts the book down and gets on his feet before quietly walking down the hall to Dean‘s room. He can hear him breathe heavily, heart beating against his chest.

Castiel knows he shouldn’t bother him, should just leave him alone and give him time to cool off, but he’ll take the fact that Dean left his door open just a tiny bit as an invitation. He grabs the handle and slowly sets one foot over the threshold, peaking his head through the crack.

The lamp on the bedside table illuminates the room just enough for Castiel to see Dean sitting in the middle of the bed, blanket over his legs and his head in his hands. His chest is heaving and his fingers are pressing into the top of his head.

Castiel‘s gaze shifts to the other side of the room. The desk is full of shards of glass and broken ceramic that Castiel recognizes as a coffee mug from the kitchen. There is a puddle of water that is slowly being soaked up by a book lying in the middle of it.

The door creaks and Dean looks up, visibly surprised and confused, maybe even a little embarrassed . “Cas? What are you doing here?“

Castiel needs a moment to take a good look at Dean, not his face but his soul. Something is different. It‘s dimmed, shining not nearly as bright as it usually does, restless like the beat of Dean‘s heart. Castiel can feel its distress, a dark shadow looming over it.

“Are you okay?“ he asks softly, trying to keep his voice down.

Dean frowns for a second before he remembers and glances over at the desk. Drops of water are falling over the edge and forming a second puddle on the floor. Looking back at his hands in his lap, he seemingly forgets that Castiel didn’t really answer his question. “I‘m fine.“

Castiel doesn’t believe it, but nods anyway. “Do you want to talk about it?“

A small scoff comes out of Dean‘s mouth before he shakes his head just the tiniest bit. He doesn’t answer and Castiel takes the silence as his cue to leave and steps back out. The door is nearly shut when a quiet call of Castiel‘s name stops him. After a short moment of deliberation, he sticks his head back into the room and sees Dean staring up at him with a soft face. He opens his mouth as if to say something, but then he freezes. “Nevermind,“ he mumbles, breaking eye contact.

Strange, Castiel thinks. The way Dean‘s words contradict Castiel‘s perception of his state of mind and soul. He can read neither thoughts nor feelings, obviously, but Castiel does pick up on both of those things if he‘s involved in a way. It’s similar to praying, just more subliminal and implicit without actually voicing anything. He’s never had a particularly hard time receiving these kinds of blurry prayers from Dean, given the strong connection the two of them share.

Right now, the feeling in Castiel‘s guts is loud and clear, it’s like Dean is calling out for him, begging him to stay, trying to pull him back into the room, like Dean might as well say Stay with me. The desperate look on his face surely doesn’t convince Castiel otherwise.

However, no matter how very clear it seems in Castiel‘s mind and how badly he wants to stay, he has been wrong about situations like this before. There have been several times when Dean has told him off although Castiel could sense a definite kind of... longing, he figures. Not in any specific way, just like he’s being needed. Or missed.

Castiel is unsure of what to say as not to misinterpret things again, while at the same time, he would feel terrible leaving Dean by himself in a state like this. He fumbles with words. “I could... keep you company. If-If you like, or-“

Dean is already nodding his head before Castiel has even finished speaking. He fully steps into the room and quietly shuts the door behind him before he heads towards the chair by the desk. Halfway there, he notices Dean‘s hand flat on the free space next to him, as if inviting Castiel to join him on the bed. Castiel complies and sits down at the top of the bed, leaning his back against the headboard, his legs stretched out in front of him. Dean shifts into the same position next to him, their shoulders brushing and their knees almost touching.

In the quiet of the room Castiel can’t help but listen to the beat of Dean‘s heart. He realizes that it hasn’t slowed down the way Castiel expected it would, still beating much faster and stronger than a calm heart usually does. Castiel tries not to think about it too much since he knows that, apparently, Dean‘s heart always races a little more than the next person‘s. Obviously, Castiel can’t speak for all the times he’s not around to listen to it, but he assumes it must be like this all the time. It wouldn’t make sense for Dean‘s heart rate to have anything to do with Castiel‘s presence.

Dean suddenly speaks up and rips Castiel from his thoughts. “I get these dreams sometimes.“ He stares straight ahead and doesn’t notice the way Castiel looks at him to show that he‘s listening. “And I-I know they’re not real, but- It fucks me up. Every night.“

I know, Castiel thinks, the words on his tongue, but he’s not sure if Dean wants him to say anything at all. He knows that Dean gets nightmares more often than not, knows the way he tosses and turns and wakes up covered in sweat. He��d never let Dean know that he checks in on him sometimes because he‘d just try to re-explain the concept of personal space that Castiel thinks he‘s finally starting to get behind.

You don’t deserve this, he wants to say because it’s true. Dean has never deserved any of the guilt and the pain that has been dumped on him. His soul, with all its scars and all the damage it has taken, is still the most beautiful thing Castiel has ever seen. He wishes he wasn’t so painfully aware of Dean‘s self doubt and the way he can barely look at himself in the mirror. He wants to tell Dean that he deserves more than this life but he’s scared that Dean wouldn’t agree.

I wish you’d let me help you. Castiel doesn’t know what nightmares are like, he doesn’t need to sleep and whenever he does doze off, he doesn’t dream. All he can see is the pain they inflict upon Dean all those nights, but of course Dean rarely talks about it. Castiel can’t take away the blame Dean carries with him all the time, but he can spare him from the nightmares at least, Dean just has to let him.

Instead, Castiel stays silent and wonders when exactly he learned to read Dean so well, when he started to know Dean better than himself. He stares at his hands in his lap and hears Dean take a deep breath when he finally finds his voice. “I‘m sorry.“

Dean lets his head fall back against the wall and closes his eyes. “‘s not your fault.“

Castiel, once again, doesn’t know what to say, and neither does Dean, so they remain in comfortable silence for a while. Castiel looks at the broken glass on they desk and wonders what Dean dreamed about tonight, what upset him so much he threw a book across the room. He thinks about the fact that Dean sleeps not in the center but on the side of the bed. He takes in Dean‘s heartbeat, now at a healthy rhythm, his steady breathing, the way his soul seems to slowly regain its usual glow. He doesn’t realize that Dean has fallen asleep until his head falls on Castiel‘s shoulder.

Castiel smiles and turns off the lights. He carefully lays his hand on top of Dean‘s, softly wrapping his fingers around his sweaty palm. He lets his fading grace work its magic and makes sure to protect Dean from any more haunting dreams for the rest of the night.

ao3 link

[lalalacriminal]

[trans] <GQ Korea> 2021 Feb Issue - Minho Interview

source: http://www.gqkorea.co.kr/2021/01/21/%eb%af%bc%ed%98%b8-%eb%9c%a8%ea%b2%81%ea%b2%8c-%eb%8b%ac%ec%95%84%ec%98%a4%eb%a5%b8-%eb%a7%88%ec%9d%8c%ec%9d%80-%ec%97%ac%ec%a0%84%ed%9e%88-%ec%a7%84%ed%96%89-%ec%a4%91%ec%9d%b4%ec%97%90%ec%9a%94/

* do not re-translate to other language.

-

I heard that you had a schedule until this morning, but you’re still lively. No matter how tired I am, I feel better when I wake up and take a shower. It’s a routine that starts my day.

You’re confident that you’re second to none when it comes to fitness, right? I remember what you said in the past. It’s not pride, but I know that I have stronger fitness than others. Being full of energy is my strength too.

Besides, it hasn’t been long since you got back from the Marine Corps. Well, I think my fitness did get better. Hahaha.

There must have been so many things you wanted to do. What are you enjoying the most these days? I’m spending a lot of time with my family because we can’t go anywhere freely. We spent Christmas and New Year together. I think it’s good because I haven’t been able to do this since my debut. When I was in the army, I wanted to see my people. That feeling was the strongest.

That’s why you showed up to Taemin’s waiting room in the music show on the day you were discharged. Still in my military uniform. I ran straight from Pohang. All the SHINee members gathered to support Taemin and there were staff members who have been with us for over 10 years. SHINee’s activities felt vague like a fun, pleasant memory when I was looking back in the military, but it felt real that day. That this is the reason why we’ve been together for a long time.

What do you talk about with the members? Since we’re preparing for our album, we talk a lot about the team. About SHINee’s directions, the things we need to show.

Are the pieces coming together? SHINee has often made unique and new attempts in terms of music and style. Some things were derived from what we started, and some were so bold that we asked ourselves ‘Is it okay to do this?’. But there were prejudices that were inevitable since we are an idol group and we didn’t ignore that view either. But now, our members have a consensus that we should show our music colours more clearly by playing to our artistic sides.

I agree. Can you tell me a song that represents that kind of identity by SHINee? The title track of our 4th regular album, ‘View’, was SHINee’s turning point. Before that, there was a strong perception that we are a group with a strong focus on performance. But we were able to show the music colours that we pursue through this song. We tried the deep house genre, which was unfamiliar to K-pop at the time. There were concerns but we achieved what we hoped. The album that contained that song has that kind of meaning itself too.  

Other than music or performance, what do you think of as a scene that shows the group SHINee well? It’s hard to define ‘this is us’ just by one thing because we’ve been through a lot. Instead, if there was to be a documentary made about SHINee, it would be better to have members showing their true sides in the opening scene rather than showing our glorious moments. With me for example, it would show me saying what I want without hesitation. Without worrying, without caring too much about what other people think.

Do you tend to save your words? I play pranks easily but I try not to spit out my words easily. I’m more of a listener than a talker.

You spent your time entirely as Choi Minho at least in the army. Have you been yourself as much as you can? Or did you get to see a lot of your new sides? Both of them coexisted. I had a lot of time to think deeply about myself. I thought about what was good and what was disappointing looking back on the past, and found a new side of myself that I didn’t know about while working as Minho in SHINee. It’s not that something has changed, but I am clearer about myself. I became clear about the things that I can be honest with others and the things that I should be careful about, and understand that what I thought as my strength could be my weakness.

In what way, did you think like that? I thought that I am an extrovert but it turned out, when I looked deep into it, that I cared more about others than myself. I realized that other people would feel comfortable only if I am too. I was busy being considerate and I was stressed, knowingly or not, because I thought I should be that way.

Minho reminds me of a good and sincere image, but it seems like the circumstances were complicated. Even I didn’t know. I think it’s a part that I have to work on to become a better person than now. It’s similar to the reason why I am looking forward to my 30s. I’m curious about what parts of myself that would mature in the future.

Some words that describe Minho are ‘passion’ and ‘trying one’s best’. When do you think the hottest time for you was? When I debuted as SHINee, I felt like I was lacking a lot of skills because I was practicing and promoting by blindly following, so I lost confidence. But after our first concert, I was able to feel less anxious and worried. I realized that there are so many fans who support me. The only thing that I was able to think about was that I should try my best. That heated heart is still ongoing. I feel that it hasn’t cooled down and has been going on so far.

What does passion mean to Minho? Does it mean that you’re greedy? Passion and greed. I thought the two words have similar meaning in the past. I was convinced that anything would come true if I worked hard by being greedy (overly ambitious). I think I hypnotized myself because I really wanted to be that way, rather than trying to be reckless. But as I gained experience, I am able to distinguish their meanings. If passion is the attitude of trying my best in what I can do, then greed is when I question myself ‘Can I really do this?’ and setting limits. So confidence is important. If you gain confidence, then you can boost your greed to positive energy.

Are you used to acting and promoting SHINee activities at the same time now? At first, I thought I would be able to do it even if it was hard. But it wasn’t easy like that. It’s not easy to handle both. I don’t want to let it go. This is a homework that I have to work on, rather than complaining that it’s hard or the results are disappointing.

Your first work after your discharge from the army was also acting. You guest starred in the drama ‘Lovestruck in the City’, what was your first line? “Wear this”. I can’t forget it.

What was it like? One of my favourite words is ‘first’. The first time, within many experiences, sticks to your mind strongly. Your second experience is blurry. That’s how much it means to be the first. When I first stood in front of the camera after I was discharged from the army, if felt like I was starting anew. It wasn’t a difficult scene but I was very nervous. Just like the first time I acted on the set, I vividly remember the situation, people, atmosphere, and the weather of that day.

Even the first scene you ever acted? It’s been more than a decade. It was a short drama, and it was a scene filmed inside a tow truck. I don’t remember my lines well but the actors next to me, the busy staff outside the car window, the sunlight beating down, the appearance of the first tow truck that I rode in, all are still very clear. Even if you tell me to forget it, it will not be forgotten.

Do you remember the first compliment you heard while acting? Well, a lot of people around me say good things to me but I’ve never thought of it as a compliment. It’s because I think I haven’t achieved anything that deserves a compliment yet. So I’ll just say that there’s nothing I can say as my first compliment yet.

It’s a very cool-headed and a cool answer. Then what are the things that you need to pluck up your courage in order to do it? There are a lot of everyday things… Cooking. I didn’t even dare to try it but I was wondering if I could try it before it was too late.

Anyway, somehow you started your social media. You revealed that you didn’t feel the need for a social media in an interview. What made you change your mind? I received so many letters from fans when I was in the army. I read every single one of them and many asked to share my everyday life on social media. I jokingly said that I’d rather open a personal photo exhibition than having a social media, but I started one because I wanted to give a present to fans who have been waiting for me for two years. But I don’t know if I can maintain it well.

Do you record your daily life as much as others do? Not at all. It’s what I’m trying my best these days.

When was the profile picture on your social media taken? When I was 3 or 4 years old. I thought about all sorts of things even with this. Like, should I upload a selfie or act cool?

[bubbashawn]

High School Musical

author: This is really not that great but I wanted to share a little something so here it is.

synopsis: Quarantine is upon you but you don’t know where to stay until a friend sets you up with Shawn Mendes himself.

warnings: it’s 1.9k of really bad writing. I’m sorry. Better news is I’m almost 3k into Fine Line part 1 and 800 into Vanity Fair part 2. Hope y’all have a little bit of a Shawn fill from this 😂 mention of anxiety and a corny pickup line.

“You know the university isn’t gonna be open for too much longer right?”

You love your best friend. Really, you do. But if Maddie mentioned the fact that you could be homeless soon, you might strangle her. The news was a constant reminder saying how colleges and schools across the world were being closed and everyone is expected to self quarantine.

You might be a bit dramatic in saying that you’d be homeless but after your mother kicked you out after you told her you’d be going to Toronto on a scholarship for literature and not her alma mater Cornell Law like she had planned, the idea of returning to your little boring hometown wasn’t an option.

“Tell me again why I can’t come stay with you?”

“You know I don’t have space plus my family can barely support itself much less another person.”

“I don’t need support financially, I just need shelter.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” she sighed at your crestfallen expression, “ask Brian?”

“He’s quarantining with his girlfriend in Los Angeles, they left a couple days ago.”

“He has hot friends, right?”

You started to ignore her as the ringing in your head increased. The headache of trying to find shelter caused so much stress and anxiety. You didn’t even notice the two of you were outside your room’s door until Maddie’s arms were wrapped around you. Whispering words of comfort.

“Give Brian a call,” she gave you a pointed look, “he grew up not far from here, so he probably has some half decent friend who’ll take you in.”

“I hate this.”

“I know, me too. I love you alright? Call Brian!”

She walked away offering one last squeeze on your shoulder before heading towards her room down the hall.

You groaned before opening the door in front of you. It’s not that you hate your roommates, it's just they can get loud and the pounding pain in your temple wasn’t going to ease off with all the noise. Grabbing your chunky knit blanket before smiling softly at the two girls partying in your room, you headed to the common room.

The space was awkwardly set up and left little room to stand when more than ten people were there but it was well past nine when you got there and no one seemed to be bothered to leave their rooms. You settled into the ugly green couch because it was by far the comfiest and pulled out your phone.

You hadn’t noticed how late it had really gotten until the soft glow of the sunset was gone and your face was illuminated by your phone screen.

Your phone ringer was going off with notifications. You ignored the texts from both Brian and Maddie to focus on the email quickly swiping your device open pausing the music immediately.

“Dear students and their families,” here it was, the from line reading University of Toronto, “We regret to inform you,” you could barely mumble the words much less read your eyes were watering too much. Everything was too blurry, “we regret to inform you that as of today March 13, 2020, all classes are canceled until further notice due to the virus…” your voice cut out while your eyes rescanned the email for key pieces you had missed. Canceled classes. Pack your things. Move out.

Everything was crashing and you huddled further into the armrest of the banged-up furniture you were sitting on.

“Fuck,” your phone was ringing again but you ignored whoever was calling you, too distracted by your breath closing in and the eerie question you couldn’t answer. What were you going to do?

You were freaked out, clutching your hand to your stomach trying to feel the rise and fall of your breath. Your eyes desperately opening and closing. What were you going to do?

“Shit,” your hand finding your phone when it started buzzing again and again, you threw it onto the ground, curling into yourself.

The panic had subsided barely when you realized your poor old phone was probably cracked if not broken from your frenzied tantrum. Your shaking hand grabbing it to assess the damage done.

“Fuck,” seeing multiple missed calls from friends, all aware of your situation, “fuck, fuck.”

You hesitantly answered when Brian tried you again.

“Y/N? You okay?”

“B-Brian? What am I, oh god, what am I going to do?”

“Hey, take a breath yeah?”

“Brian, I don’t have anywhere to go.”

“Yeah, that’s why I called,” he smiled softly when your breath started evening out, “I’ve got this friend who’ll probably go mad if he’s alone during quarantine. He gets in his head and stuff. He’s not some serial killer and is one of the nicest, genuine people I know. You might end up in Pickering, y’know where I grew up? But he’d be happy to let you stay.”

“I feel like I’d be imposing.”

“Don’t worry. He probably needs this more than you, believe me or not.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he chuckled when you sniffled, “I’ll give him a call, eh? Hold tight.”

Brian hung up.

-

To say you knew you’d end up outside an apartment building in downtown Toronto, you’d be lying. You had just slid out of the cab and found yourself enjoying the distant sight of the CN Tower praying that Brian’s friend had a decent view. More so that this friend wouldn’t kill you. As you moved closer to the doors, the glass showed a simplistic yet expensive interior and that was only the lobby.

The elevator had mirrors and the halls were so clean you’d probably be fine living in the hallway instead of the condo on the other side of the door you were staring at. Everything will be fine.

You knocked.

“Just a minute!” The shout was muffled from inside the room.

The door swung open not a moment later to reveal a young and astoundingly attractive male staring down at you. His curls were looped around his fingers when his hand brushed through his hair, a silver ring reflecting a flash of light. You took in his soft eyes, a scar on the apple of his cheek, his pillowy looking lips. In sweatpants and a knitted sweater he looked like pure heaven. You recognized him, of course you had, Shawn Mendes was not one to glance over even for an overworked student.

“Hi honey,” he looked down at you, “how did you get through? I thought the security was keeping out fans, it’s really not okay for you to be here.”

“Oh, um no. The security was very prompt so you shouldn’t run into any problems. And I’m not a fan, well I-I mean I am but that’s not why I’m here. Brian said you were expecting me? I have a keycard to your apartment which is how I got through the lobby. I didn’t want to just intrude by walking in though, I, um, I can come back later or call Brian for a different arrangement.”

“No,” he was smiling sheepishly, “no, sorry. You’re Y/N, right? Sorry I wasn’t thinking.”

You smiled and bit your nail shyly when he opened his door to let you into the spacious living room.

“I’m Shawn, by the way, and sorry for being an ass back there. We’ve had some run-ins with fans because of security issues the past few months so I was being cautious. Not that that’s an excuse or anything.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he was staring down at you, “really it’s okay. I should’ve had Brian let you know of my arrival or something. Honestly I didn’t know you were, well you…” you trailed off not knowing where that sentence was going.

Your eyes continued flitting back and forth between his enjoying the crinkles of smile lines you couldn’t see through a screen. You were so focused on the giant in front of you that your gaze almost missed the open floor to ceiling windows.

He definitely had a view.

You felt his eyes follow you when your figure shifted past him to stand closer to the sight of the city.

“Like the view?”

Your eyes snapped back onto him startled by his presence standing mere feet away. You smiled softly.

“It’s insane.”

“Yeah it’s the best view I’ve ever had. Especially right now.”

His eyes were on you but you let his stupid cliche and corny joke just giggling at his antics before turning back to his window.

-

It was in the early hours of the morning when Shawn started apologizing. Again.

“I’m so sorry. I feel so bad about earlier and you’re absolutely the sweetest person. I should’ve known and thought about the situation before jumping to conclusions. I swear my ego hasn’t gotten to my head that bad.”

“You need to stop apologizing,” he chuckled with you, “seriously it’s okay. And you’ve been nothing but kind to me since I’ve been here. I mean housewarming muffins? That’s the best. Plus I’m staying here with you so really I should be thanking you not listening to you say sorry.”

“It wasn’t okay for me to assume anything. Also brave of you to think the muffins were for you!”

“I’m enjoying them nonetheless,” he was smiling at you again, “stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“Smiling at me like that!”

“Like what?” He was chuckling again, “like what, Y/N?”

“Like that. You’re making me nervous.”

“Why?”

“Because you're way too kind and not hard to look at, I’m bound to be flustered by you.”

He just kept smiling down at you, his head tipping closer to your own. Jerk.

“I like making you blush.”

“You’re good at it. I barely know you and I’m probably in love with you.”

His head tilted back when he broke out in laughter exposing a perfect neck. He was literally perfect. The definition of perfection.

“You’re not,” his smile was full of mischief, “but I’ll get you to love me by the end of this.”

You leaned in your head enjoying how his breath hitched at your close proximity because he might affect you but you affected him just as much.

“Is that a bet?”

“Nope. A promise.”

He pressed his pillowy soft pink lips against the corner of your lips and enjoyed the taste of your coconut lip scrub that was now in his bathroom. He felt giddy.

“What will happen after quarantine?”

“You’ll move the rest of your stuff in, duh.”

He was being sassy.

“Mmhmm? And when will I meet the family?”

“I was thinking we could go there in a couple of days? I want to spend some time with them.”

“Wait really?”

“Yeah, I want to see them before we really hunker down. Is that okay with you?”

You smiled putting your arms around his neck the two of you far more comfortable in each other's presence than expected.

“Sounds good.”

“Ok,” he pressed his nose to yours lightly eyes gleaming in excitement, ecstatic at the idea of telling his family about the awesome girl in front of him “we’ll just stand six feet away.”

You both chuckled.

“Like we’re doing right now?”

“Baby, we’re in this together.”

“Yeah? Like High School Musical?”

“I’ll be your Troy.”

“You’re more of a Ricky.”

He gave you a look. Shawn’s ringlet curl flopping onto his forehead. Definitely a Ricky Bowen.

“I’m serious, we’re in this together.”

“I’m okay with that.”

And you were being truthful. You knew this situation was bringing you two closer much faster than normal but you hadn’t felt this safe in so long. Shawn was a stranger just hours ago but now he was already affecting your heart. You could see yourself falling in love with him by the end of all this. He might just keep his promise.

permanent taglist: @wholesomemendes @fallinallincurls @ashwarren32 @mendesficsxbombay @haute-shawn @turtoix @prncsnee @http-isabela

[wincestisasincest]

2000 Man (A beatle!reader story) - Part 4: If Love is a Drug

She is back! And better than ever.....

Not really, sorry it’s been radio silence/lurking, she’s had something of a depressive episode recently, but she’s getting back on her feet. So yea, I don’t want to promise anything, but I’ll try to post more.

And finally get a masterlist at some point with this series, for goodness’ sake.

So yea. 

When should I stop crediting @casafrass for this? I feel like it’s getting annoying, but it’s only fair. 

Description: It’s the year 2000, and y/n, the fifth member of the Beatles, is advertising her new book, Madam Beatle, in her first interview of the year. We see snapshots of her life, from when she joined the band, to the trials and tribulations, to the death of the band, and everything in between. Loosely inspired by Slumdog Millionaire.

Part: 1, 2, 3, 4

Headcanons: Based off of this one, though like, not really, just the general vomit theme. 

Words: 3,951 (woop, she’s a long one, get ready for some TEA)

Pairings: Honestly, just let me know if you would like me to put some pairings in here, because most of all of the ones that I’ve written, you can read it either way, so please, just let me know! 

Warnings: Vomit, drugs, pills, violence, swearing

“So I understand that at one point you talk about a conversation that you had with Judy Garland.” 

“Yes, she and I met, actually I don’t remember where, but it was one of those random ‘high society’ parties, and we struck up a sort of conversation. I think we found each other’s stories interesting, because, as women in the entertainment industry, even across film and music, there were some startling similarities.” 

“Would you care to expand on those similarities a little?” 

“I mean, besides the fact that so much of the focus is on our bodies, which we’ve already discussed, the zeitgeist of the time seemed to be that women simply weren’t ready to handle all of the pressures that that sort of system put on us. Of course, this meant drugs, particularly amphetamines, which were quite vogue in the US at the time. Judy and I were both familiar with that sort of concept, however, the difference lied in that Judy chose to go on amphetamines, and I was given them.” 

“Given them by...?” 

“EMI, mostly, but everyone, including me, was complicit in a way. Though, it did slip more into self-regulation in the Beatles’ later years, and I even fully recovered by my solo career. But yea, especially in the earlier ones, during our massive concert tours, a lot of it was... very strong suggestions.”

“You were known for being very strong-willed, though.” 

“Yeah, but y’know, it’s my career. I guess at the time, even if EMI had let me go, I could’ve gone somewhere else on the name alone, but I was young, stupid, and scared of non-existent threats, so I really did put up with it for quite long.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“She hasn’t come out of that room since last night.” 

“It’s called sleeping, Rings.”

“It’s past noon! She came straight up here after dinner last night.” 

“And she locked the door.” 

“Very suspicious.” 

“You think we could get Mal to break it down?” 

“What if there’s a guy in there?”

“Then we’ve got to break it down.” 

“She’s an adult!” 

“What if she’s DEAD?” 

“Someone get Mal.” 

Your eyes fluttered open. With friends like these, who needs an alarm clock? 

Through blurry eyes, you could read the actual alarm clock: 3:17. 

Everything was alright for about 20 seconds, and then all of the crappy feelings had re-settled into your wakened state. Your legs felt like they were filled with cement, your nose was congested, your hands were clammy, you were extremely sweaty even though it was absolutely freezing, and you were stilled tired, even though you had gone to bed at 7:30 last night. 

You sauntered over to the door, pulling on a pair of sweat pants over your bare legs. 

You pressed your sweaty fingers down on the cool lock and pulled it open. 

“Do not! Call Mal! I am here.” Four blank faces gawked back at you, all far more spritely than you cared to admit that you weren’t. The suits were on as well. 

“Is that what you look like without makeup?” John quipped in mock-surprise. He knew damn well what you looked like without makeup, he just couldn’t give up a chance to be his sarcastic asshat self. You sighed.

“Not now, please, John.” The light in the main suite was too bright, so you pushed your head into the doorway and closed your eyes. You wanted to sit down again. 

“(y/n), love, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it is 3:30, and you’ve got to get your act together at some point.” You couldn’t see his face, but you knew that was Ringo.

“I know what time it is, I’m just... eurgh,” You didn’t bother opening your eyes, “This shit is exhausting.” 

“We can’t can-” 

“I know, I know,” you interrupted Paul, “I’ll be out in fifteen minutes.” 

- time skip brought to you by I am very tired - 

“(y/n), do you want me to carry that?” George appeared at your side, holding his hand out near yours, grabbing at the guitar case. 

“Nah, I’m fine.”

“I don’t know if I believe that.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You chuckled weakly. 

“Your playing was off. You missed a few chords. You didn’t smile as much, and your voice was weaker. I can tell.” 

“Rough night is all. Remember, we can’t cancel even if I am sick. But I’m fine.” Your grip on the guitar case loosened unconsciously as your arm felt weaker. 

“Sure.” George swung his hand in and grasped at the handle of your case, before taking it in his own. You sighed, but still didn’t feel like answering. 

“What a gentleman you are, Georgie.” John ruffled his hair with his free hand. 

A pattering of very angered footsteps approached behind you, and you instantly knew who it was. Only one man could angrily footstep like that.

“What the hell was that, (y/n)?” Brian spun you around to look at him. Though you could tell that there was some softness in his eyes, and that he was perhaps worried just as much for you as for your reputation, he was still fuming. 

“Whaddya mean?” You fumbled out. 

“Don’t think I didn’t notice. You were out of it tonight. Well? What was it? Weed? Cocaine? Alcohol? All of them?!”

“Scout’s honor, Brian, it was just a weird night.” Brian’s grip loosened on your shoulders, as he facepalmed. He looked back up at you sympathetically.

“You’re a little pale, (y/n), perhaps you should take an early night.” You peered over your shoulder, only to catch the lads instantly trying to pretend like they weren’t listening in on your conversation. You were going to go to a very fancy club tonight, and you had been looking for a chance to dress up. You looked back at Brian, who was almost sweating. Anything to ease his worry. 

“Alright, just this night. Even though I swear I’m fine.” 

“Right, right. Why don’t you head back with the equipment, and I’ll head out with the boys?” 

“Sounds like a plan.” You sighed and could feel your eyes droop. You trudged back to the black van and hauled yourself in the back, giving a small wave to Mal in the mirror. He nods understandingly. You shut the van doors. 

“Where’s she goin’?” You hear John bug Brian like a petulant child.

“Back to the hotel, I think.” 

“Killjoy.” Paul muttered.

George just watched the van leave over Ringo’s shoulder, whom he was deeply in conversation with. 

- time skip - 

It happened again. You had fucked up again. You’d missed some of your chords, your voice had cracked at one point, and not in the hot way, and your energy on stage was no longer a bubbly bounce, but a gentle, almost sleepy, swaying. 

Your fuck-up only really hit you after, though, as you had zoned out while you were on stage. 

You couldn’t go out to face the boys. You just couldn’t. You sat in your locked dressing room, head in your hands, as you stared at your knees trying not to pass out. Everything was blurry. 

You were awakened from your thoughts by a loud thumping. You could feel your stomach drop. It was an angry knock. Why did men always have to be so angry? 

“(Y/n), I know you’re in there.” It was John. Of course it was John. It was always John. He never knew when to stop. 

You leaned back in your chair, dazed, knowing full well that you didn’t have to let him in if you didn’t want to. You shakily pulled a cigarette out of a pack on the table and it it with your delicately engraved lighter while the pounding continued. He would die out there if he had to. 

“Whaddya want?” You blew a plume of smoke and coughed.

“Why are women always so dramatic? Just let me in, damnit!” 

“Not if you don’t stop acting like a petulant goddamn child!”

“Call me a child, will you? I’m not the one who can’t handle every goddamn concert. What? Are you too tired? Awww, I’m sorry. Do you need a nap?” 

You could feel your eyes brim with tears. You put out the cigarette, grabbed your bag, and opened the window. The wind blew in your face, and it was almost calming. Using the gymnastics skills that you had honed as a kid, you slunk out the window and onto the open street, your heels clacking on the pavement. You pulled a coat over your face and called a taxi, only offering cash but making sure to keep your looks relatively obscured. Back to the hotel, where you could sleep it all off.

- Time skip - 

You slept for 20 hours, and yet, you still woke up feeling all the worse. The clock read 4:00. You were about to be late for call. There was no shuffling outside, so you could assume that the lads had already left. Awesome. 

You fixed your hair, grabbed your guitar, called a limo, and added small touches of makeup on the ride there. You could barely feel anything anymore, and your body had gone completely numb. You chunked on foundation way more than usual as to hide the cold sweat and incredible paleness that your face had broken out in. Some of the powder drifted over your lips, and you felt a welling of stomach acid churn. 

You swallowed, took a deep breath, and your stomach calmed down once more. You were backstage. 

You thanked the cab driver before slipping through the back door, barely being able to make it open. The first thing you met was Brian having a panic attack, which actually made sense for once, as there was about 15 minutes until you were on stage. 

“(Y/n)! Where the bloody hell were you?!” The rest of the lads were behind him, speaking and looking at you like some high school girl’s clique. You shot them an angry, but weak, stare.

“No one woke me up.” 

“You look like death.” Paul piped up from the back.

“You’ll meet death very fuckin’ soon-” You had no time for any of the sass anymore, but a hand clamping on your shoulder cut you off. You looked up to your left, and were greeted by the face of Neil Aspinall. 

“That’s enough of that, (y/n), we have something to do.” He didn’t wait for your answer, but simply lead you backstage. You were far too dazed to resist, so you simply let him steer. 

“So, the company, not me, heard that you haven’t exactly been on your A-game lately, and they recommended something.” You nodded, still not listening.

“Apparently, a lot of rockstars use it, they heard about it from the manager of the Animals or something, so I thought we could give it a try. It’s supposed to help you get that burst of energy that you need.” He patted your shoulder joyfully.

“Now, this is all of the company’s doing, so, if you don’t want to take them, then I completely understand, and I’ll just tell them that you did, but I am supposed to mention them.” Neil’s voice drifted off. In front of you was a table with several small white pills and a glass of water. 

“No. I’ll take it. We gotta a show to do.” You were sure that Neil said something, but you didn’t hear, as you were too busy downing the pills and the water in one determined gulp. 

- Time skip - 

That night was the most energetic that you had been. Almost too energetic. Your eyes were shot and pink, though fortunately all of the audience was too far away to notice. Your playing was erratic and very harsh, though the screaming was too loud to hear. Your vocals, well, those would not be matched until some actual crackheads took the stage later. 

None of your actions felt deliberate, everything felt at the whim of the surges of energy jolting through your body, while your actual mind just felt more and more disconnected, and your stomach churned. The lights gave you a pulshing headache. 

Three-quaraters through the show, you began to come back to Earth again, though not because the drugs were wearing off, but because something else was beginning to emerge. You could feel it. The wave rising up in your stomach. You swallowed. You shouted the lyrics into the microphone. You put your all into the song, even though you no longer felt the energy. You were not going to mess up on stage again. 

Paul gave you some side-eye. Though the fans were absolutely eating up, he wasn’t buying your shtick. 

Finally, you made it to the last number. The crowd screamed. Your heart pounded in your chest. You were sweating like crazy, and your hair was sticking to your face. Your legs felt wobbly, but you thew a hand up and waved goodbye to the crowd, as well as to any sense of calm in your stomach. 

As you shambled off stage, Ringo scrambled up behind you and put an arm around your shoulder, steadying you. Oh god, even he knew and he couldn’t see your face. Your guitar was slung around your shoulder, but you forgot that it existed, and slammed it into a poor stagehand. 

With your last sense of control left, you removed our guitar the minute that you got off stage and handed it to said stagehand, who was highly confused, while you grabbed the nearest trashcan and heaved your entire stomach into it. Mind you, since you had slept for the last day, there were hardly contents to begin with, just raw stomach acid.

Your throat burned, you sweat, and your eyes wanted to do nothing but close. You could feel gentle hands pulling your hair back, while startled screams and yells rose up backstage. You didn’t care. You had fallen to your knees, taking the trashcan with you, still completely retching your stomach into anything that would take it. 

“What the hell did you do ta her?”

“It wasn’t me, it was that stuff that EMI sent over?” 

“What stuff?”

“I don’t know, pills, something!”

“You gave her pills? She’s clearly had the fucking flu, on top of dealing with your ridiculous schedule. 

“I just did what they told me to do!”

“Brian! I want you to end the contract with EMI right now.” 

“John, you don’t mean that, sit down.”

“I second.” 

“Paul, John, why don’t we all just-”

“No! If this is how they choose to treat people, to treat (y/n), then I don’t want anything to do with them. Look at what you’ve done to her!

“What I’ve done?! This is not just me, and you know it.”

“I never said give her fucking pills!” 

“You never say anything, you just yell!” 

“Mal, can you call an ambulance?”

“Already done, Georgie.” 

The vomit stopped, and you lifted your head up, wiping your mouth with your sleeve. Ringo’s hands gently fell from your hair. 

“No, no ambulance, I’m fine.” Your voice was so raspy, like your throat had been torn out. 

John, Paul, Brian, and Neil froze in the middle of their argument while George and Mal cocked their heads to look at you from the side. John only stayed quiet for a second.

“You’re not fine, you’re on fucking drugs!” He lurched forward, approaching you. You could feel your stomach quell again. You swallowed. 

“Any drug that I was on,” you breathed deeply, “is in there.” You pointed to the trashcan. 

“You’re being ridiculous, I-” 

“No! Fuck you! You don’t get to say shit!” that come out far louder than you expected. You stood at your full height, willing to handle the discomfort if it meant telling him off. You’d even surprised John/

“How the fuck can you pretend like I’m the one acting ridiculous right now considering all the shit that you said to me yesterday? How far does your fucking double standard go? Of all the sins you’ve committed, John Lennon, I never thought that hypocrisy would be one of them. Get a grip, goddamnit! This is just as much your fault as it is mine, and I know you know that, so look me in the eye and for a goddamn second confront the consequences of your actions!” You were breathing very heavily now, whether with anger or exhaustion, and you could feel a surge of energy come through you yet again, though this time you weren’t sure if it was the drug.

You lunged at John, aiming your fist at his face. Everyone suddenly shifted into action all of a sudden, with George and Ringo holding you back and Paul pulling John away, though you noted that Paul refused to look John in the eye. 

“Woah, woah, (y/n), take it easy. Calm down. It’s alright, it’s alright.” You could hear George softly try to calm you, though your heavy breathing continued, and at some point along the way, you ended up crying into his shoulder as Ringo patted your back. 

“Come on, you’ve done enough.” You heard footsteps shuffle away, followed shortly after by another pair, leaving you, George, Ringo, and a very awkward Mal.

You cried until there were no tears left to cry. Your legs got tired from standing at some point, so you simply sat down, with George and Ringo joining you as Mal left to explain to the ambulance that they wouldn’t be needing their services today. 

You swallowed, and you could feel the tears begin to stick to your cheeks.

“We should probably go back to the hotel.” You leaned against George’s shoulder pensively.

“If you’re up to it, Birdie.” 

“Yeah, I’m alright.” 

You stood up weakly as Ringo wrapped his jacket around you. The three of you returned to the hotel without another word.

- Time skip -

You, George, and Ringo, slowly creaked open the door to your shared massive suite. Paul sat in the middle of the room, a beam of moonlight illuminating his face, legs crossed, just as he was waiting for you. John was nowhere to be seen.

“There you are!” he said in a stage whisper, “I was worried sick!” He rose from his chair and approached your trio. 

Before you could even anticipate what he was doing and protest, he wrapped you in a very warm hug. He was always good at those. He held you like he was afraid to lose you, and you used what strength you had left to return it with all your might, as if you were afraid to lose him. The two of you stayed like that for a minute, without words, before he separated. 

“You best get some sleep. All of you.” His eyes traveled to George and Ringo, and it was clear that there was no more room for negotiation.

The three of you gently drifted into your rooms with Paul watching you all leave. The minute your face touched your pillow, you fell into a dreamless sleep. 

- Time skip -

God only knows how long you had slept, but the growling of your stomach woke you up next morning. You felt a lot better, at least, and the mothering of Paul, making sure that you ate and drank enough, and that you didn’t need anything, made sure that you were gradually on your way to some form of recovery. 

Paul, as you had learned, was originally the one who had postulated that you had some form of the flu, and the symptoms proved his predictions correct. Thankfully, he was well equipped to care for people with the flu, having done so for his family growing up, so he knew all of the common remedies. 

John was still nowhere to be found, but George and Ringo emerged from their rooms one by one, and the four of you lazed around, reading papers and watching the news, for the rest of the morning. 

When you finally asked where John was, Paul answered that he had gotten up early and gone for a walk. Pretty long walk, you guessed, but didn’t pry. 

At noon, there was a gentle knock on the door. Paul admitted a very sheepish looking Brian into the suite. He approached the table. 

“How are you feeling?” 

You took a long sip of water.

“I’m alright, better than yesterday.” 

“That’s good.” His hand rubbed the back of his neck. There were other things on his mind. 

“Um, I wanted to apologize, on behalf of me, and Neil, who is speaking to the company at this point, he’s trying to-” 

“It’s fine,” you interrupted, pausing to gather your thoughts, “No, really, it is. You didn’t know, and neither did I, and neither did Neil. And I’m alive. Now we just know not to do it again.”

“I suppose you’re right,” you shifted in our seat to grab the tea pot, though Brian shook his head, “No, no, I must be going, we’re traveling again today. But, enjoy your tea, and I’ll see you in a few.” 

You nodded sagely. Brian began to take his leave, but halfway through the door, he turned around to look at the solemn crowd.

“You know, you all really do mean a lot to me. I promise you that. Not as clients, but people. This will not happen again.” And with that, he left.

- Time skip (last one, we’re almost done folks) - 

“I’ll take that.” John grabbed the large box off your hands, and you squeaked with surprise. His face twisted into an unfamiliar expression of damaged concern almost instantly.

“Oh, sorry, I just didn’t hear you come in.” 

“Yeah, I was on a walk this morning.” He continued to struggle with the box. You’d finally had enough of it, and leaned in to help him haul it to the top of the shelf in the crate. 

The two of you stood there awkwardly, both refusing to look the other in the eye.

“I-”

“You-”

You both began speaking at the same time, interrupting eachother. 

“You go first. “ He offered.

“No, no, I’ve said enough.” You waved your hands defensively.

“So have I.” He chuckled. 

Another awkward silence. 

“I guess,” he began, “I’m sorry for saying that shit to you. I was stressed, angry, and I know that’s not an excuse, but then you got on the drugs, and I was so worried, and I guess I just never realized...” he trailed off, realizing that he was just on the verge of not making sense. He took a deep breath. 

“I guess, what I”m trying to say is that I would never, ever, want you to do what you had to do there. It wasn’t fair of me to put that kind of pressure on you, and everyone else. And, you didn’t hear it from me, but I’ll try to do better.” 

You chuckled lightly. 

“That sounds like a plan. And, I guess I’m sorry for not coming to you sooner.”

“You don’t have to apologize.”

“Yes, I do. I just let you get worried about me, stupidly thinking that I could handle it all by myself, and I just totally forgot about everyone else. It’s kind of ironic that I, uh, snapped at you about how  your actions affect others, when I did the same exact thing. So, uh, I’ll work on that too.”

You swore you could see the smallest bit of a smile on his face. The first one in a while.

“Well then,” he thrust out his hand, “let’s make that a deal. Mutual forgiveness, and hopefully, mutual progress”

You took his warm hand in yours.

“You got it, John.”

[lorenzodemedisi]

Mother’s Love.

PAIRING. 

Steve Rogers x Enhanced!Reader; Stephen Strange x Enhanced!Reader (enemy?); Avengers x Enhanced!Reader. 

SUMMARY.

After the battle in Wakanda, Thanos didn’t use the stones. No him and his army just disappeared and now he awaits, hidden in the shadows. 

The Avengers and others heroes decide to re-group at the compound, and think of a new strategy to finally defeat their enemy. Dr. Strange had a plan but is something that you might not like...at all. 

A/N.

Angst and Fluff. 

This is my entry for @captain-kelli, Captain Kelli’s 500 Fam Writing Challenge. Congratulation on your milestones girl! Prompt;  “I could do it better! And in heels.”. The theme is Strong Women, and today I really wanted to put a light on strong Mothers; their power and love. Don’t hesitate to give me your thoughts, message, and comments. Hope you will like it and thank you for reading!

Gifs are not mine, credits to the owner and maker. 

A lots of love. Lex!xxx

WORDS.3020ish. 

°°°

You felt your heart beating hard inside your chest, hurt, confusion and anger pressing your from inside out, making your body shaken hard, standing beside your husband. You felt his hand taking yours, his skin pressing your fingers together, reminding you that he was here with you but you couldn't acknowledge him right now. Not after what Strange just announced to everyone.

" You must be mistaken, Stephen. " You took a step forward, breaking the contact you had with Steve, your eyes only on the face of the man who just turned inside out your world. " Unfortunately, no. I wish we would not come to this - " " You wish! " You hissed your fuming gaze inside his regretful blue eyes, you make a fist of your hands, already feeling the energy gathering under your skin. " I will make you wish to never cross me. " You argued, your voice hard as steel, your breath ragged, but determinate to beat his ass. " Alright let's put everyone on a time out and tried to consider for a bit. " Tony interjected the little fight between the wizard and yourself putting his body in front of you. " I think we all need time to re-group and think of this new strategy-" " There is no " new " strategy to think of. " You interrupted the billionaire frowning at him before glaring toward the doctor once again. " Besides, a hard and final; no. " You snarled between your teeth, unfazed by the different gaze of other superheroes coming from other galaxies or planets.

You turned around on your heels, and quickly started to walk out of the room, leaving the other in shock, surprise but also understanding your reaction. The click of your heels echoed inside the hallway as you distance yourself from doing something stupid to the wizard or anyone else. Actually, you didn't care what they were all thinking back there, your only preoccupation was on the only person who mattered inside your eyes right now. 

"Y/N?" Steve called behind you, following you through the corridor of the compound. " What didn't you say anything? " You sharply turned around, surprising him as the blond-man froze dead in his tracks. " Y/N…" Steve sighed, his voice full of sadness and exhaustion. " This is a delicate situation and-" " No. It's not, Steve! " You cried out, furious with the lack of his reaction. "There is no need to think about it or even discuss the fact with the other. " You vaguely pointed the door behind him, where were gathered a high amount of heroes. "The answer is no. A hard no. " You declared loudly, panting. Your hands starting to shake more from anger and frustration. Why everyone acted like it was normal to consider this sacrifice and you were the only one seeing the truth? " I know that. We have to consider another alternative…" Steve tired voice told you while making a step toward your angry frame. " So why, I felt like the only one in there being alone against everyone? Why don't you had my back? " You continued to shout, interrupting him once again, tears threatening to fall on your cheeks. " I have your back, Y/N. " The Captain also yelled at your face, outraged of your accusation. He took a deep breath, calming his emotions looking down on his shoes, for a minute. " I have your back. " He repeated calmer, rising his head to look at your face. " And I already told you, this fight his a delicate one. We all need to be on the same page and threatening an ally is not how we need to handle this. " He explained, making another step and gently took your hand inside his big one.

You let your blurry sight looking away from his blue eyes, and watched the compound's ground behind the huge glass windows. The sun was almost up, and you realized that you've been locked inside the room at the end of the hall for almost all night. Exhausted you closed your eyes, and bit your lips while Steve pushed on your hand to make you take the one last step that separated both of your bodies apart. You face collied on his tone chest, and his protective arms enlaced your trembling figure inside a thigh hug.

" I will never let anything happen to our baby girl or you. " He murmured leaning his head inside the crook of your neck, his lips brushing your ear. " I promise you with all my heart that I will be long dead before someone touches her head." He added, pressing a soft skin on your skin.

You sniffed against the fabric of his shirt, holding on your tears as hard as you could, the reassuring words of your husband playing inside your brain and appeasing your worries inside your mind.

" Let's go join them. " Steve whispered, pulling his figure away from you. " We have to take a decision, together. Something which will suit everybody. " Steve declared, in his deep and firm leader voice.

It was easier to say that to accomplish.

°°°

Because of your different personalities, different historical backgrounds and also deep and true nature, it was difficult to make a conclusion of what would be the best approach to win against Thanos and his army.

" So, after hours of deliberation, we all conclude that we can't take him by force, surprise or with subtlety. " James Rhodes enumerated reminding everyone of what you haven't decided to do within these thirteen hours of searching. " So, we all going to die. That's fun. " He nodded, taking a seat next to an annoyed Clint at the huge table inside the room. " Maybe if we go with my idea…" Dr. Strange mumbled under his breath not looking at anyone in particular, standing a little bit at the edge of the group.

You snarled and glared at him, ready to cut his irritating head from his irritating body if he mentioned his horrible idea once again.

" Maybe the wizard had a point. " The One who names himself Star-Lord, winced crossing his arms on his chest. " Excuse me? " You sneered, turning your dark eyes toward the brown-haired man. " All I'm saying is that maybe it worth a shot. " He shrugged his shoulders, grimacing, even more, feeling all the eyes of the room were on him. " No, it's not. " You firmly replied to him, before Steve could defuse the situation. You raised yourself from your seat, your angriness growing once again inside your core. " Come on, Y/N. I'm sure your daughter could do it. " The wizard remarked striding toward the table, purpose inside his eyes. " She's only three, Stephen. Stop this nonsense and lets us think of something more conclusive who doesn't involve my daughter's safety. " Steve raised his voice inside the room covering the little chats amongst the different groups seating at the table.

His features resolved and set, showing no discussion could change his or your mind, but when the magician had something in mind he was ready for anything to accomplish his purpose.

" I don't agree. " Stephen grinned eying you, and only you. " She would be fine." " And I would be better. " You affirmed him, blowing your fists covering in brigh force field against the wooden table in front of you making everyone jolted inside their seats. " Good. " The wizard concluded, taking his hands away from his pockets. "Because he's here." He announced taking a deep breath.

Nobody had the time to fully understand the meaning of his words before the ground shook and devastated started to wreck everything on the building.

°°°

Dark smoke everywhere made you coughed inside your hand, while walls shooke the grounds by falling down on everything and everyone. You couldn't see anything only heard cries, here and there from people trying to free themselves from this nightmare. You closed your eyes, feeling a headache beginning to ponder inside your skull, but suddenly you felt a hand griping your arm hard and raised your body from the holes you were lied on to the surface. You gasped for air, your eyes opening wide as you felt warm hands on your face and a distinct familiar voice calling you.

" Y/N? Y/N? Can you hear me? "

You shifted your eyes toward the voice, your eyes catching Steve's blue one. He sighed seeing you alive, a faint smile creeping on his face but quickly the sharp sound of weapons clashing against one and other, guns and other powers drowned toward the enemy made him looked away. Toward the battlefield. 

" He's here. " You moaned, putting yourself into a seating position, crunching your nose when you felt the injuries inside your rib cage and thighs burning you. " Yeah…" Steve nodded faintly, raising his eyes on the battle ahead of you, looking through for the Titan. " Great. " You sighed, biting your lips hard realizing that the final battle had knocked hard on your doorstep. All of sudden you realized something, that made your blood boiled with madness. " Where's Strange? " You demanded, turning your eyes toward the battle scolding your eyes at all the individuals.

You didn't wait for an answer from your husband to raise your body from the destroyed ground and started to run. You felt all your limbs were heavy with exhaustion and injuries but you continued to run, without thinking about anything but about the teleportation abilities of the wizard and his knowledge of the location of your daughter. You passed by many Dora Milaje fighting aliens, quickly your eyes caught Tony in his suit flying above your head, followed closely by Sam and the Valkyrie. Your eyes were everywhere but you couldn't find the wizard anywhere. You groaned frustrated, unaware of being the target of aliens weapons, you heard the sharp cries coming closer, and your eyes caught sight of them, but it was too late. They were upon you a second and being thrown away from a large hammer, the next. You pushed the next wave of monsters with a wave of your hand, craning your neck to look at Thor behind you.

" Where's Strange? " You asked him, yelling over the battle shout around you. " A thank you would also be nice. " He raised an eyebrow, his hand opened in front of him to get a hold of his hammer coming back toward him, knocking a few aliens along the way. " He's over the barricade, holding down the water. Why? " The God of Thunder asked, making out a bolt of lightning with the tip of his fingers and hit with it another bunch of your enemies.

You quickly searched for him, behind your back but found yourself blown away by a huge amount of power. And this time no one was there to save your ass as your body got thrown on the ground, hard. You felt bone-breaking because of the blow you received, colliding against the rough soil.

" I heard quite a tale Miss Y/N. " A deep and mocking voice told you reaching your ears even if multiple battles screams were all around you. You groaned, feeling your injuries tearing you apart all your frame, and rose your head opening your eyes to watch the dark purple head of the Titan smirking at you. " Here we meet again. " He smiled, his dark eyes filled with mischief and darkness.

You groaned, even more, feeling the copper taste of blood on your tongue, your wobbling legs getting your body up. You stood awkwardly, patches of dirt and dry blood on your skin, your hair all messed up. It was only you and him, apparently. Good.

" Maybe I should pay a little visit to your dear daughter of yours. The wizard thinks highly of her. " He started advancing on you, still smiling. 

Oh no he didn't. At the mention of her, your eyes widen in shock but also anger and hatred. Rage started to grow inside of your body erupting inside your heart.

" She's three right? " Thanos asked, still grinning. You felt the hot flame of outraged growing inside your stomach, your legs started to shake feeling warm wrath emanating all over you. " And he really thinks she can be the key to beat me and this. " He chuckled raising his arm strapped into the gold gauntlet, all the Infinity Stones bright with glow and colors. " That's a bit…too much, don't you think?" " H-He w-wanted to make an s-s-sac-crifice of her or s-somethin'. " You stuttered, your voice trembling from the boiling emotions that were exploding inside of you. You watched him stop into his tracks, just a few meters away from you, looking at you from up-down. " That's funny. Maybe I should start by killing you and then go make a little visit to her. " He suggested, starting to make a fist of his hand wearing the most powerful weapon in the world. " And, I would get to see if she's actually good enough to… destroyed me. " He shrugged his shoulders, his eyes catching the magic trick of Dr. Strange was making with his hands, standing a few feet away from you. Gold lines were appearing everywhere between his fingers.

Your eyes were only on the man who had utterly threaten your daughter's life. You couldn't feel anything, nor the ground under your heels, nor the floating glow around you but only the anger. The fury coming from you was unyielding love of a mother, that would do anything to protect her little one from this sick monster. Stephen Strange tried to hold on the Titan for a long time but with a flick of a gem, he got knocked out on the ground.  

" You really think you could have a shot to defeat me, you lower rank magician," Thanos chuckled, shaking his head at the man lying. " No…" The dark-haired man shook his head looking up at the figure in the sky. " I could do it better! And in heels. " You declared high in the sky, your eyes glowing like flame ready to destroyed and burned everything on his way. "Goodbye, you freak. "

Quickly you rose both of your hands and let the anger pondering inside of you for hours wreak havoc on the battlefield. Time stop, body froze, some felt on the ground, some raised their head to look at the firebird bright in the dark sky. You were nothing but, power. Raw power, destroying, ruining and killing the opponents by shattering their body in pieces. Your eyes were only on the man who had menaced your child, feeling the deep pool of your power breaking the smirk of his face made you pulled inside of it, again and again, your rage, protectiveness and love never-ending if it meant the safety of your child. You continued to ruin everything until nothing was left of his body, his army and his ships in the sky. Until you felt no more pain, anger or any feelings at all.

°°°

Something smooth was stroking you. Light and as soft as a feather. You slowly opened your eyes, feeling the caress trying to pry on your neck and tickled you. Bright light through the windows made you close your eyes quickly but the little sensation on your skin put a faint smile on your lips. You were awake, alive and... well had some company. You tried again to open your eyes once again, slowly this time and turned your face toward the little disturbance. The little girl opened her blue eyes wide seeing you smile at her.

" Awake! Mommy is awake." She cried out in a delicious laugh, her face lightened up. She rushed her small body against yours her little arms enlacing your neck.

You chuckled, your nose brushing her little head. You raised with difficulty your arm to stroke her back. You rose your head and caught the sight of your husband smiling at you. You licked your lips, feeling a little bit sore, your injury not completely healed and winced a bit as you pushed yourself into a seating position, your back against the bed headboard.

" Hi, baby. " You whispered, your voice hoarse and dry. " How's my baby girl? " You murmured as she pulled away from your neck and put a gentle kiss on your cheek. " Alright, Audrey let mummy breathe a little bit. " Steve announced walking toward the bed you were resting, before stroking the hair of his girl. " No, it's ok." You murmured smiling at the blond-man. " Mummy wants another cuddle, come here. " You proposed opening your arm the other still numb. " Yeah, cuddle! " Audrey exclaimed, pushing her body against your collarbone, her hand enlacing your neck once again. She closed her eyes, her head resting on your shoulder.

You put another kiss on her head, and breath, your nose pressed against her skin, reassured that she was here, with you. You opened your eyes and slid your face to look at Steve.

" What happened? " You inquired shifting your eyes toward your husband while holding on your breath waiting for his reply. One hand protectively on your Audrey's back. " Everything and everyone is fine. " Steve smiled, before pushing his body to hover yours and your little one. " Thanks to you, mama bear. " He murmured, his clear eyes bright in the natural light of the room.

Steve put a soft kiss on your lips and sat on the edge of your bed, reaching for his daughter to put her little body on his lap. The little family was reunited and started to enjoy their moment after complicate and dark times.  However, the wandering eyes spying on them through the clinic window was a colorful addition to the mix.

" Don't look like me like this. " The dark-haired man scoffed, arranging the collar of his cap. " I do what I had to do for us to win. Mother's love is the most powerful and dangerous thing out there." He shrugged his shoulders at the two soldiers glaring at him. " I had to make her angry, and that was the only way. " He continued to justify himself, as he started to walk outside the room, following by the desperate look of Sam and angry stares of Bucky. "Desperate times need desperate measures, soldiers. " Stephen Strange told them still striding to the exit, his back to them.

°°° Tag List; @jtargaryen18 @princessdancingonthesunshine @captain-kelli​ @fckdeusername​

[maddestzoomer]

that photograph.

summary - 

a death, a photograph, and endless white walls.

warnings - 

mentions of death, also (not really sure if it counts considering he’s already dead lmao, but whatever) technically suicidal thoughts. 

authors note - 

i haven’t written for a while, but this is a story i recently found scribbled in my notebook from a few years back. i figured i’d edit some and post it here. feel free to give me any feedback you may have :) 

The last picture, dark and blurry, sat crammed in between two pages of his favorite book. It was a photo from the cross-country trip Billy had taken with his family last year.

The negatives were long gone, but one grainy picture remained. It had been there for almost a hundred years, long forgotten, but well protected within the lines of verse.

Billy had died on July fourth.

When it happened, it much more of a bigger deal than he thought it would be. He was nineteen, impaled multiple times by a fucking monster only to die in his sobbing sister's arms.  

But in the newspapers, it was nothing more than a freak accident. No-one knew how or why what happened happened, and just about everyone agreed it was strange, but there weren't any real answers supplied.

It was one of those awful things that no one expected and shouldn't have happened. It shouldn't have. He had done a lot of wrong in his short life, but maybe he didn't deserve to die.

People cried for him, sang for him, wished for things to have been different.

Billy was still dead. His ribs were broken, lungs were punctured, and his esophagus was filled with blood until he could no longer breathe. It wasn't short and it wasn't painless. But it didn't matter how he died.

It wasn’t a loss of life, persay- it was more of a transition. On to the next world, the new beyond.

The next world had started with a line. Hundreds of people waited in front of a single window. Surrounded by endless white walls and equally white floors, Billy had slowly made his way to the back.

Some people hugged their knees and sobbed. Some muttered and stared off into space. Some looked genuinely bored. One woman, a pretty brunette girl, had run up and down the line, frantically asking questions.

“Where am I?” She’d shrieked, hazel eyes wild with fear. “What happened?”

She had been met with shrugs and vacant stares. She was not the first, nor the last.

The line took ages. There was no way of telling time- it could’ve been a year or an hour. But when Billy had finally reached the window, he’d asked the question many screaming and terrified before him people had asked.

“Where am I?” He said to the woman behind the window, who had been busy typing something into an archaic computer system.

“You’re dead, honey.” She murmured, not looking up. “Billy Hargrove?” He’d nodded, not sure what else to do.

“Hand,” she’d instructed, holding out her own. Once he’d placed it in hers, she turned it over, palm facing down, and stamped the back.

It was a triangle, tiny and solid black. Billy’d looked back up to ask where he was, or where to go, or what was next, but the window was gone. So was the line when he turned around.

Instead, he was in a small room. White walls and a white bed stared back at him. A bookshelf sat in the corner. Next to it was a small, black desk with a lamp.

“Hello?” He’d asked to the walls. No one answered.

He’d found out later- hours later- that the door was unlocked. Outside, there was a single potted plant next to his door. He touched the leaves, breathing in the stale air. They were plastic.

Fluorescents reflected off of white walls as he walked down the hallway, searching for another soul.

There was a common room about fifty doors and three turns down from him. When he went out of the hallway on the other side, there was an identical hundred doors and common room. He sat down in a puffy chair, mind overwhelmed.

Emotion had left his body. He wanted to feel anything- scared, excited, nervous, lost, angry- but all he felt was empty. As empty as the rooms around him.

As time passed, he saw other faces. None he’d recognized. Initially, he’d hoped he would reunite with lost family members and friends, but it was quickly apparent that that would never happen. He would never find them.

He could talk, but no one was interested. Once you talked about your life and death, there was nothing really left to speak about but the uncertainty that plagued every soul in the place.

Where were they? What was next? Was this hell?

It wasn’t really hell as much as it was boredom. The bookshelf had every book you could ever want, and endless paper appeared on the desk. He tried to keep himself entertained, but the endless walls and fluorescents shot daggers into any creativity he could have mustered.

It turned out the bed wasn’t for sleeping- it was so he could lay down and stare at the perfectly white ceiling.

He did a lot of that. There was no food to eat, no shit to shit. He probably could have had sex, but finding other people was the last thing he wanted to do. He just wanted to be alone. To think about the life he could have lived. He just sat and stared, not knowing how or when or if time passed.

After re-reading a random book for the third time, Billy decided to try to kill himself. He wasn’t sure if it was possible, because he was already dead, but he could definitely try.

He’d begun to try to fashion a length of paper into a noose when fresh air caught his nose. It was bright, sweet, warm, and it danced into his brain, lighting up parts that hadn’t been touched since he’d died.

It was coming from under the door. Slowly, trying not to scare the hope away, he crept towards the door. The air was intoxicating- better than any vodka he could have bought when alive.

Emotions sprung to his chest for the first time since he’d gotten in line. Dry pine smoke and bird cries flew in on the air, bringing promises of a forest.

Was he hallucinating? Was it a dream? Had he finally killed himself? He touched the handle, fingers shaking. It was electrifying, the feelings that filled him. He felt alive again.

He opened the door to a forest, lit by softly flickering candles. Sobs echoed through the needles, carrying to his ears.

He saw his friends hugging one another. Saw Max silently sobbing into her hands, his Father staring drunkenly at the ground, and his Step-Mother, Susan, gently rubbing Max's back. Sitting on a table was a picture of him, smiling brightly with a surfboard at his side and an endless blue ocean behind him.

Billy had just walked into the anniversary of his death.

Being back in the real world filled him to the brim with long lost emotions.

Life danced within his eyes, as transparent as he was. He found out quickly that he couldn’t communicate or interact with anything- he could only watch.

And when he stared at his hands, he could see the fire-lit carpet of pine needles beneath him. He ached to speak to his mother (even though she wasn't to be found at the funeral...), to Max, to his friends, but even complete silence was better than the room.

Anything was better than the room, the four walls and the plastic plant guarding his door. Anything.

The worst thing in the world, even worse than the room, was having to return to it.

He felt the ground leave his feet as he was thrust back into the four walls, the life leaving his chest as quickly as it had come.

It felt like being socked in the stomach with the force of an entire lifetime. But worse, because he couldn’t cry about it. He couldn’t cry about anything.

Everything- the joy, sadness, nostalgia, content- left his body in a snap. He was left in the room again, with the hallway beyond the door.

He couldn’t even feel upset. He could just sit on the bed and wait.

He waited for another year, only living for the time that the forest would sneak in under his door.

Sometimes, he feared it would never come back, but there was nothing he could do. So he just waited. Re-reading books, walking the endless halls. There was something to look forwards to. He didn’t want to kill himself. He wanted to go back.

He continued going back for a decade, and then another. Slowly, the mourning of his death became smaller and less widespread as his parents died. His picture still existed in old family photos and friends’ diaries, but the memory of him slowly dropped existence.

Eventually, everyone he'd once known was death. Every year he went back it seemed another friend was gone.

Pictures kept getting lost or destroyed- thrown away by accident, or torn in broken picture frames.

Slowly, his descendants died, only to give way Max's great-great-grandson, Arthur, who had the last remaining picture of him.

It had been almost a hundred years since Billy had tried speaking with anyone connected to him. He’d never been able to find any of them within the long halls of the Place- but he seldom left his room, anyways.

The only time he stepped outside the door anymore was when he went back to earth, when he felt the grass beneath his feet and the sun in his hair.

Billy knew, from seeing his hallmates disappear, that when no pictures of him existed he’d never be allowed to go back to the real world. He’d also leave the Place, but no one knew what was in the Beyond.

Billy, when he could feel emotions, was terrified. The last picture of him sat in an ancient book of poetry, on a bookshelf in the attic of Arthur's house.

Max had kept the picture of Billy when he died, cried with it even when Billy had been gone fifty years. She had kept the book with her treasures, a ratty red book cover covered in dust. Almost no one had touched it since she'd died.

Arthur looked like Max. Skin full of freckles, head wild with red hair. The two even shared a similar smile.

Billy found himself following Arthur around when he could almost as much as he followed his own descendants, just to see how he lived his life.

Arthur was, unlike Max, incredibly forgetful. He’d leave his wallet on the counter or forget the dog was outside.

Watching Arthur was almost like watching his step-sister. Even though they were incredibly different, the two shared the same laugh and the same wit.

Then, one day, Arthur forgot to put out a candle when he went to bed.

He’d set them up for a date, but the boy he'd invited had stood him up.

Billy had wanted to comfort him, but he just sat on the couch and watched. After crying and eating almost an entire tub of ice cream, he’d blown out most of them and headed up to bed.

All except one.

One, hanging by the curtain, greedy flame licking at the fabric.

Billy stared at it. Watched as it grew, climbed up to the wall. There. It had to end there.

But it didn’t.

It grabbed the ceiling, expanding up and around the window. Billy glanced at the fire detector. Surely, it would go off?

It was silent. Another unlikely event. Billy was beginning to get nervous.

He tried to touch the fire, to stop it, but of course, his hands went straight through. He tried fanning the smoke to the detector. He grabbed for the phone, tried to shake Arthur awake.

Nothing was working.

Flames greedily ate up the living room and expanded to the upstairs, finally waking up Arthur.

Red hot pain suddenly lanced through his back, ripping a scream out of his mouth. He bucked as the pain forced its way into his mouth. It was similar to the pain he felt when that creature had impaled him.

His entire body felt like it was on fire, lines tracing and crossing over his skin. Billy arched his back, where the pain was concentrated, heat searing his skin. He screeched as if it would never end, because it felt like it never would.

It only got worse. His forehead erupted with slicing agony. Collapsing to the ground, he grabbed onto his blond curls as he screamed, wishing for death. But he was already dead? Dead twice? He was gone. Wishing it was over. Wishing he didn’t exist. Simply wishing.

As quickly as it had come, the pain left. He laid on the ground, softly gasping as his muscles unconstricted. Flinching at every sound, he waited for the agony to come back.

Minutes dripped by. It didn’t come back. He was sore, his body didn’t feel like his own. But he wasn’t being hurt.

Slowly, he stood. When he looked down at his hands, the black triangle had multiplied, spreading over his skin. His veins were black and pronounced over thick, corded muscle.

His tongue prodded his canine teeth, only to find they were long and sharp. Fangs. Billy had fangs. His fingers shook, fear pounding around his mind. He needed answers.

He tried to run his hands through his hair, but something stopped him. Big, bony horns curled out of his forehead. They were solid and sharp at the end, and he cut his finger as he ran it over.

A shard of glass on the floor caught his eye. He glanced at it slowly, scared at what he would see.

Dipping around the side of his back were wings, heavy and black. He reached back to feel them, wincing at the pain that started through his body. They felt leathery, cold.

Blood dripped to the floor from his cut finger.

By the door rested an iron pitchfork, tips covered in dried blood. He shuddered as he felt the very tips of his wings, now hyperaware, brush against the ground.

“Mr. Hargrove?” A voice called as the door creaked open.

Another demon, freakish and unworldly, stepped through the door. He was tall, powerful, with long black horns and a mane of thick, flowing hair.

A pencil rested behind his pointed ear, and he held a staff in his left hand.

Leaning against the stone wall, he looked Billy up and down.

“Where the fuck am I?” Billy asked, knowing full well what the answer was.

“Well, Mr. Hargrove,” the demon laughed, tapping a pencil against his equally pointy teeth.

“You’ve got a triangle on your hand. If you have a circle, you get to go up there,” he pointed to the ceiling, “and live in eternal peace.” He laughed, lip curling into a mocking snarl.

“Here, though, we are not brown nosers. We do not believe in total harmony. We wage war where we see fit, defend ourselves and those we love. We are honest about what we want. We have dignity, courage, and pride. “ The demon smiled, tossing his pitchfork to Billy. It glinted in the low light.

“Welcome to Hell.”

[descendantofthesparrow]

Harry Hook x reader - save me.

@newtshairdryer

set after D3, everyone is in first year of college/university. Reader is an auradon native but never went to the main ahools so no one really knows her (parents are whomever you choose). She's strong when needed but mostly quiet and shy since she knows nobody. Has a crush on Harry cause she's seen his soft side around the Sea 3. Harry thinks she's pretty but they've never talked. Reader has a massive fear of loud thunder because of childhood trauma and gets caught in a deafeningly loud thunder/lightning/rain storm on campus that wasn't forecast. Everyone runs inside but she's terrified every time there's thunder so disoriented. Harry "rescues" her somehow and takes her back to his dorm since its close and helps her out. You can add in wet clothes tropes and having to change into his clothes or not idk. Clutter fluff and sexual tension whatever you want. Sort of like a first meeting scenario but they bond/click and become comfortable quicker than they're used to

you hated thunder and lighting, you hated it since you were a kid, ever since…it happened. No im not going to tell you what happened, use your imagination.

You were…new to Auradon, Auradon college at least, you had been homeschooled due to your intense anxiety. And now, you wanted to try your hand at real school, at Auradon state college.

For an art degree of course.

You had been drawing all your life because, with your weird inability to make friends, you had a lot of free time, so you spent it drawing. And you had gotten very good.

Enough to get a scholarship at least.

It had been about a month and a half since your arrival to the school, and you were alone as you had ever been, everyone already seemed to be friends with everyone, many knowing each other since childhood or school.

You haven't really tried to talk to anyone though, you tried once, but they ignored you, so you stopped, and no one else had caught your eye.

Well, one person did, harry Hook, son of captain hook.

He was really really, freaking pretty.

God his voice too, his height didn’t help either.

He had a very diffract personality around his friends uma and gil, sweet, kind, full of laughter, and selfless.

Every time you tried to talk to him your shyness and anxiety prevented you from really talking to him, so you would walk over to him, and he would turn slightly at the sound of your footsteps and instead of, I don’t know, smiling and saying “ hi harry”? Nope, you would duck your head and walk past him.

God, you had it bad for the 19-year-old pirate.

Too bad he didn’t even know you existed.

Your teacher called your name, in your art history class, and you jumped, focusing in on him, you nodded, a blush filling your face, seeing everybody's eyes on you.

Please stop.

Your breathing turned heavy, curling into your self, begging silently for the teacher to call attention off of you.

“Just wanted to make sure you're with us, okay now-“

Everyone slowly started to turn away, but you didn’t see a pair of ocean blue eyes stay locked on you.

You sighed looking down at your sketchbook, squeaking softly at the familiar face staring off in the distance.

You quickly turned the page, even as just a sketch in your book, harry did things to you.

You looked out the window, seeing a large dark cloud in the sky, about to overtake the sun, checking your phone for the weather, it said cloudy with a chance of rain, 0% chance of thunder/lightning storm.

Thank god, you thought as you sighed, turning back to the teacher.

You didn’t want to get caught up in that, you would freeze up and be unable to move till the thunder stopped, with no one to help you.

---

This is bad, this is really really bad!!!

The first rumble of thunder left you frozen, standing in the middle of the courtyard. Your breathing picked up, tears burning in your eyes.

Get somewhere safe now!

You started to stumble forward, pacing into a run, before another crash of thunder made you trip and slam into the ground, feeling a sharp pain in your side and wrist.

You whimpered, forcing yourself to stand and looked around, harsh rain beginning to fall, obscuring your vision, there was no one in sight, no one to help, no one to get you to shelter.

You curled up, hearing the crashing thunder surrounding you, you sobbed, covering your ears and hoping the storm would end soon.

You didn’t see someone spot you from inside the dorm buildings and rush out, crying out your name, only to be shut out by the thunder and rain.

You felt two strong arms wrap around your torso and legs, lifting you up into a built chest.

They started to talk, but the noise in your head prevented you from recognizing their voice.

“I've got yeh lass, hold on”

The person started to run to their dorm, keeping one of your ears pressed to their chest, allowing you to hear their fast heartbeat, calming you down a little.

They kicked open their door and stepped into their room, walking into the bathroom and setting you down on the floor, wrapping a warm towel around you.

“im going teh start a warm shower lassie, is tha’ okay?”

You nodded, your teeth chattering from the cold setting into your bones. The thunder crashed loudly, making you scream and latch onto the warm body in front of you.

They let out a surprised yelp, falling back with you on their chest, slowly wrapping their arms around you.

“Hey, hey I gotcha lassie, im right here”

Your breath was fast and uneven, so the person started to instruct you to breathe with them, one long deep breath in four 4 seconds, hold it for 7, and release it for 5.

You followed him, slowly gaining control of your breathing and mind, finally registering who you were laying on top of.

The one and only harry hook, who was looking at you in such a way that you had never seen before.

You couldn’t place it, but your mind went crazy again, you scrambled off of him, slamming into the wall and stuttering apologies.

“oh god-im-im so-im-sorry!”

Harry blinked in surprise, before sitting up and shaking his head “(y/n) no, it's okay, yer scared and im okay with you using meh as a pillow, its okay, I don’t mind”

He-he knew your name? “you know my name?”

Now it was Harry's turn to blush, he rubbed the back of his neck as he bit his lip.

“uh yeah, um…okay I might have an itsy tiny little huge crush on yeh?” you blinked in surprise, jaw-dropping as you stared at harry.

He? Harry hook himself, the hottest boy on campus, who had almost every single girl and boy who swung that way, and those who were attracted to boys, drooling over him.

And he liked you.

Your face lit up in a blush, you felt like you could have evaporated the water on your face.

You sat there, faces dark with a blush, before harry cleared his throat, eyes trailing down to your….revealed bra through your soaked top, he stood, turning and hiding his front.

“ill get some dry clothes fer ya!”

He bolted out of the room, making you raise your brow, before looking down and seeing your (f/c) bra showing right through your shirt, you squeaked, curling in on yourself and covering your chest.

Harry re-entered the room, a red sweatshirt and black baggy pants in his hands, and an unopened box of briefs.

“uh here, the unders are unused, just so yeh know” he set the clothing in front of you, turning and walking out of the bathroom once more.

You started at the clothes for a moment before standing and getting undressed, drying off with the towel you had been given earlier.

Putting on the warm and comfy clothes harry gave you, you opened the door to the bathroom, seeing harry sitting on his bed, looking down on his phone, he looked up as you stepped out, holding your soaked clothes.

“yeh can put those in the hamper”

Nodding you did just that, before standing in the room awkwardly. Harry gave a small awkward smile, messing with his fingers as you stared at him with those glinting (e/c) eyes he had gotten lost in too many times to count.

He glanced at his phone, which was now displaying a message,

Do not leave dorms/classes you are in, blackouts inbound and it is adviced for students to stay indoors, classes dismissed for the rest of storm.

Harry sighed, turning to you, only to see you on the floor, hands covering your ear and tears streaming down your cheeks, whimpers of fear spilling from your lips.

That’s when harry noticed the thunder crashing outside.

You-you were afraid of thunder?

He didn’t know, and he didn’t care, he stood from his bed, picking you up once more, ignoring the harsh beating of his heart, and carried you to his bed, setting you down and grabbing his noise-canceling headphones, before placing those over your ears and connecting it to his phone.

The soft music interrupted the panic in your head, making you breathe a sigh of relief, you looked up at Harry, the tears in your eyes making him slightly blurry.

“thank you” you whispered, scooting closer to him and leaning your head on his shoulder, snuggling into him.

“no-no problem lass”

-

Uma stormed into he dorm hours later, ranting loudly “harry you have been ignoring my texts wha-oh”

And there were you and harry laying in his bed, the blanket tossed carelessly over the two of you, legs intertwined and your face in the crook of his neck, your right hand gripping his shirt, Harry's right arm around your waist.

Uma smiled, seems like harry finally confessed~

She slowly walked out, closing the door behind her.

---the end---

[wordywarriorwrites]

Chapter 18: On Va Voir

Masterlist: The Boss of Brooklyn A03 Story Link Author: @wordywarriorwrites​ Summary: When it comes to being The Boss, James Buchanan “JB” Barnes rules with an iron fist. For him, there’s no room for sentiment, and certainly no time for distraction, even if it is in the form of an old flame. Steve Rogers had bowed out of the life a long time ago, but a twist of fate brings him right back into the fold, and face-to-face with a man he once loved. When a game of cat and mouse turns into a matter of life and death, both will be forced to decide whether they’ll be loyal to the business, or faithful to each other. A/N: Bucky Barnes Mob Boss AU. Stucky. For: @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan Star’s Multi-Fandom Follower Celebration with the prompt, “Why did you do it?” & @sherrybaby14 Sherry’s Fall Into You Challenge with the prompt, “Show me. Prove that you can handle me.” Warnings: Language, violence, drug use, alcohol, smoking, explicit sexual content, illegal activities. *Re-blogs are welcome. Plagiarism isn’t. *

Steve had only been in France for four months, and while he hadn’t exactly unpacked his bags, he was already starting to feel at home. The apartment he’d rented in Île Saint-Louis was small, but comfortable, and suited his needs.

The island was quiet, intimate, and full of centuries-old architecture. Eight streets, four quays, and far removed from the capital. An awe-inspiring place that beckoned one to stroll along the docks, stop and take pictures of the statues and stained-glass windows, and indulge in famous ice-cream from Berthillon.

He’d moved to Paris, not only to get the hell away from everything and everyone, but also to get back into the very lucrative art smuggling industry. Steve hadn’t been in the game for some time, but it was something he knew, and could easily fall back on. Paris was the art capital of the world and he’d earned his stripes in some of the best galleries in New York; he’d also kept tabs on the movers and shakers over the years and still had connections and contacts.

Steve was already looking to get back to business, and while the fresh start, new surroundings, and exciting job opportunities were more than enough to keep him occupied, he wasn’t fully engrossed. He’d unintentionally become distracted by Mason Dubois and had been seeing him for a little over a month.

When Wanda introduced them, Steve had been curt, and too preoccupied to care if he’d come across as impolite. Whatever bad first impression he may have made on Mason hadn’t deterred him, and about a week after Steve got the keys to his new place, he’d found a welcome basket of cheese, bread, fruit, and wine on the doorstep. The note that accompanied it had been tongue-in-cheek flirtatious, and Mason had included both his number and an invitation for coffee.

The first meet up had been informal, with no expectation, pressure, or false promise. Then, they started texting, and eventually, breakfast dates turned to brunch, and lunch to dinner. After that, it was wine-tasting and bar-hopping; movies and junk food; early morning trips and late-night phone calls.

Mason looked at him unflinchingly and directly; he didn’t shutter his emotions or hide his intentions, but he wasn’t pushy, either. Smart as a whip and completely forthright, Mason was honest about what he got up to when he was away and just as truthful when he was present. A mop of curly brown hair; dark, bedroom eyes; closely-cropped beard; and a body that proved he both enjoyed and took care of himself. He was the real deal, the complete package, the quintessential dream man...

But Steve hadn’t slept with him – hadn’t even kissed him -- and couldn’t account for the hesitation.

“I need you to come clean, mon bel ami.”

Steve looked away from the view and arched an eyebrow, “About what?”

Mason sat back and tilted his head slightly to the side, “What’s wrong with you, exactly?”

Steve paused with his wineglass halfway to his lips and laughed, “Looking for flaws already?”  

“Just trying to understand what’s going on inside that head of yours.”

“You don’t want to know – trust me.”

“Au contraire, I want to know everything about you,” Mason countered teasingly. “What makes you smile, what makes you mad. What you dream about at night and what your mouth tastes like...”

“You’re shamelessly persistent.”

“Oui. And you assertive, and yet, très réticent. You’re a contradiction. Like a petit chaton.”

“Did you – did you just call me a kitten?”

The arrival of their main courses meant Mason couldn’t respond verbally, but the mischievous wink and smirk spoke volumes, and he was pretty sure it wasn’t the 1967 Dmaine Romanee Conti that made him blush. Steve listened as he spoke to the waiter; he understood bits and pieces of the politely-toned commentary, and when the server departed, Mason picked up his fork, and placed his napkin in his lap.

A perfectly balanced vintage and amazing food kept them both focused on something other than coy banter. Lighter conversation centered around what was on their plates, which they exchanged a couple of times, followed by a chocolate soufflé that was the pièce de résistance of the meal.

They were served their after-dinner cognac out on the veranda. Far away from the door, in a barely illuminated corner, Mason reached into his pocket, and pulled out a pack of Gauloises. Even though the brand was no longer manufactured, and there was absolutely no smoking on the restaurant’s property, he got away with having his way because he was the type of man people made allowances for.

Mason lit the cigarette with practiced ease, tossed the box and jewel-encrusted lighter down onto one of the concrete side tables, and took a seat. While he got in his nicotine fix, Steve sipped, and stared out at the water. The air was brisk, but did little to clear his head or calm his thoughts.    

“Who hurt you?” he wondered, breaking the silence. “And is the connard still breathing?”

Steve looked down the balloon glass in his hand and sighed. The question was a loaded one and not at all benign. Rough and deep-timbered, Mason’s voice resounded, and loathe as he was to acknowledge it, the accent and hard-edged intonation sent a shiver up and down his spine. He wasn’t used to this; had never been wined, dined, or seduced, and didn’t know what it was to have a man’s utter and complete attention outside of the bedroom. It was awkward, thrilling, and deeply unnerving.

And he just wasn’t ready for it.

“Beneath it all, I believe you are a cautious, shrewd man,” Mason asserted. “That is why you make me chase you. Vous aimez jouer à des jeux.”

Steve jerked his head up and turned to face him, “I don’t play games.”

Mason stared back at him for a time before he put his cigarette out. The Beauté du Siécle was something to be savored, but he uncharacteristically gulped it like it wasn’t worth nearly three-hundred thousand dollars a bottle and poured from a decanter made of crystal. He set the glass aside, got to his feet, and closed the distance between them.

The drink Steve had been holding to his chest like some sort of protective fucking barrier was pried out of his hand and put down on the flat cap of the balustrade. Mason caged him in by placing his hands on the railing on either side of him; he’d effectively trapped him, which meant there was no avoiding or escaping the fierce look in his dark, dark eyes.

“You’re worth pursual, but all running must stop eventually, oui?”

Another inquiry, but also one he could not provide an answer to. One hand transferred to his hip, anchoring, and vice-like. The other, tender and gentle against his cheek. A caress that moved down his jawline and a thumbpad that swiped whisper-soft across his lower lip.

“Are you going to stand still and let me kiss you, Steve Rogers?”

A careful, tentative brush – like a wide-eyed, expert painter who had already picked a hue, but was still trying to decide where to begin on the canvas. A shared breath that tasted of candied fruit and nutmeg. Tongue slipped and dipped between parted lips that were pliant and supple. Steady, steady, steady, until it wasn’t. Swaths and strokes and starbursts of vivid color. Pressed up together; thigh-to-chest; palms roving; and fingers dug in like claws.

Steve didn’t understand half of what rasped in his ear and against his throat – all he knew was that his heart was pounding and that Mason knew how to fucking kiss…

In the distance, someone cleared their throat. It took a forceful ahem and an additional cough before Mason growled low in his chest and lifted his head.

“Si ce n’est pas une question de vie ou de mort, partez,” he snapped.

“Désolé de vous déranger,” came the reply. “Vous devez prendre cela.”

Steve opened his eyes in time to see one of Mason’s personal security detail walking toward them, phone outstretched, and face placid. He stared at his feet, as if not making eye contact would minimize the intrusion somehow, and even went so far as to turn his back when Mason accepted the cell and began speaking.

His words were clipped at first, but then, they became cold. Rapid-fire French that Steve had no hope of keeping up with. The first words that made sense were, “Steve is with me,” and then, something about his apartment that he didn’t quite follow.

“Are you expecting a visitor?” Mason asked after he hung up.

Steve furrowed his brow and shook his head, “No, why?”

He tapped the screen and handed over his phone. The photos were unfocused and a bit blurry, but the car parked beneath the streetlamp just outside his building revealed a driver with an all-too-familiar profile. There were a few more in the series that showed Bucky appeared to have been there awhile and hadn’t budged.

Mason was a man with many enemies, and when they started dating, he’d asked Steve’s permission to put a guard on standby outside his place. It was for his own peace of mind as well as Steve’s protection, and it was only supposed to be when he wasn’t home. Steve hadn’t protested at the time – after all, he was in an unfamiliar city, and didn’t have anyone to watch his back, so, it was better to be safe than sorry.

It made sense that whoever was on duty would take pictures of anyone or anything unfamiliar or out of order. What didn’t make sense, however, were the candid shots of Steve himself. They were too close up and far too vivid to have been taken from a cell, and they’d also been taken while he was at home and out on the town. The private moments had been captured without his consent, and the shock of Bucky being in France and parked outside his place paled by comparison.

Something in Steve’s body language or expression must’ve tipped Mason off, because the cell was suddenly snatched out of his hand, and quickly stowed away. Mason was on the short-list of people nobody ever dared to take a swing at, but Steve did, and he issued a sharp jab to his nose. Mason didn’t stumble, but he did grunt, and the blood that bloomed was as red as Steve’s vision. The guard immediately stepped forward, but Mason raised a halting hand, and the man stopped in his tracks.

“I deserved that,” he muttered.

“You think?” Steve scoffed.

“Mon chat, I can explain--”

Steve didn’t ask the guard to move or stick around to listen to any excuses; he just turned on a heel, hoisted himself up and over the railing, and landed in the sand a few feet below. A quick, one-block jog saw him onto a busy street, where he hailed a cab, and told the driver there was an extra one-hundred euro in it for him if he put the pedal to the floor.

The incentive prompted a direct-route, wild ride that got him home in record time. Steve paid, hit the pavement, and made a beeline for Bucky’s car. He pounded his fist on the window, told him to get lost, and hot-footed it to his front door.

“Wait!” Bucky shouted after him. “Please, would you just--”

Unsteady hands meant the key missed the lock a few times, but he got there eventually, and darted inside. Once past the security door and inside the vestibule, Steve bypassed the elevator, and took the stairs three at a time. Eight flights later, he was in his apartment, and the first thing he did was out his cellular and pulverize it beneath his heel.  

The go-bag was on the top shelf in the closet. The gun, passport, burner phone, and cash were hidden beneath a loose floorboard next to the bed. On the back of a take-out menu, he scribbled out a note for the landlord, counted out enough money to cover the lease-break and cleaning fees, and dropped it on the kitchen counter.

In, out, and down the back fire escape in under three minutes. Behind the building, there was a loose brick in the façade, and all it took was a slight tug for it to come out. The set of keys he’d tucked away were still there, and Steve had just put the brick back in place when the sound of his name, squealing tires, and gunfire echoed in the air.

Translations:

Mon bel ami – My handsome friend. Au contraire – On the contrary. Très réticent – Very reluctant. Petit chaton – Little kitten. Connard – Asshole; motherfucker; bastard. Vous aimez jouer à des jeux – You like to play games. Oui – Yes. Si ce n’est pas la vie ou la mort, partez. – If it’s not a matter of life or death, go away. Désolé de vous déranger. Vous devez prendre cela. – Sorry to bother you. You have to take this. Mon chat – My kitten.  

Chapter 19: On the Line

Everything: @jennmurawski13​​​ @nerdy-bookworm-1998​

Steve Rogers: @patzammit @hearttoearth​ The Boss of Brooklyn: @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan​ @jamesbarnesappreciationsociety​ @captain-rogers-beard​ @lilliannaansalla

[hwalovs]

Humanities Wings | San

Pairing; San, Reader Warnings; Mentions of gore and death, Attack on titan Au! San’s a baby boy, You’re a fat bitch oops Genre; Angst, fluff Word count; 2k Summary; San decides to drop in while you’re doing paper, taking it upon himself, he decides to bring up an event from the recent expedition. 

A/n; i wrote this randomly while re-watching attack on titan edits over bts’ Not Today. 

The sun from the large window behind you wasn’t casting light in as it once was, and the soldiers once in the training grounds below were inside the mess hall eating the same boring food they got everyday. 

Your back and neck hurt, pains shooting down to your legs and hands cramping from the continuous paperwork Hongjoong insists you have to do as the captain. Commander Hongjoong was a great guy, the perfect person to be called Commander, truly. He had a stern gaze, did what was best for the rest of the regiment, and always knew when to call it quits while on expeditions outside the walls. 

You were the captain of the Special Operations squad, a squad containing soldiers that were more talented than the others; stronger, faster, more intelligent during expeditions. Your squad was the first made, you always picked between the top two from the top ten soldiers fresh from training. It wasn't a surprise that you’d lose one or two members from your squad every expedition. Always having to add a new person or two every spring after the most major expedition in the winter. Between the 5 members on your squad, one was never killed, always making it back by your side with only a scratch or two. His name was Seonghwa, top of his class and extremely skilled in all categories. 

Being said Captain of the Special Operations squad, it made you extremely important in the regiment. Being dubbed ‘Humanities Wings’ and Hongjoong’s closest friend. 

The other squad leaders didn't mind not being on top, they were all ranked by talent, the lowest being Squad Wooyoung. Wooyoung and his squad focused solely on experimenting and collecting data on the titans that lurked outside the walls surrounding the cities. Above him was Squad Yunho, Yunho was a quiet, gentle giant. Being one of your close friends and always giving the best hugs, he always lost the most squad members while on expeditions, some leaving a mark on his heart more than others. 

Last but not least, the man that came a close second to you, was Squad San. San was dubbed ‘Humanity's Strongest Soldier’ and with good reason, he was once a criminal in the underground city, fighting everyday to live. You were the only one that was able to beat him in hand to hand combat, which made his ego deflate just a little every time. His squad barely had any casualties, maybe once every two years. He got to choose his squad members just like you did, but got to choose from the top ten, not the top two like you. 

Glancing to the top of your desk, there laid a large bulky yellow envelope. Inside contained the two patches from the fallen in your squad, you reached up and grabbed said envelope. Opening it and holding the two bloodied patches in your hand while leaning back in your chair. One belonged to a new recruit, she looked scared before the expedition, and screamed bloody murder while being chewed in half by a titan. She hesitated going to kill it, causing her own doom. The other belonged to a boy you picked a few years ago, you didn't think he’d die, you blocked off how he died in your memory. 

Leaning down and opening the last drawer on your desk, you dropped the patches in, letting them lay with the other patches that already occupied the space. Sighing, you grabbed an empty sheet of paper and began writing a letter to their families, saying how they served humanity strongly and bravely. 

A knock at your door took your attention away from your writing, saying a quiet and rough “Come in,” before looking back down. 

The sound of the door opening echoed throughout the room, clicking of the uniforms leather boots against the floor coming closer to you before you heard them sit down in a chair in front of your desk. 

“You’re going to permanently form your neck like that if you continue to sit like that,” You sighed, looking up and meeting eyes with San. 

“I cant write sitting up straight like you can, you idiot. Now, what do you want? I have paperwork to sign and letters to write and send out before dinner,” You replied back, looking over his attire. The light brown cropped jacket every soldier is required to wear is nowhere to be seen, most likely propped up on the back of his office chair down the hallway. The cravat he wears around his neck blends into the crisp white shirt he wore. Contrasting deeply against his pale, yet healthy, skin. Usually after expeditions, every squad leader is assigned a mountain of paperwork, taking their attention away from social events, like meetings with their squad, and food, causing the usual glow they give off to fade into a pale color. 

“Just came to check on you- after all, you are my favorite squad leader,” he says while giving you a wide smile. His pearly white teeth on display, you glared at him, lips turned down into a sneer. 

“I’m your captain, higher ranking, you better remember that.” 

“Oh, I remember. I just really, really, like to tease you,” he said, arm coming up to drape over the back of the chair, leg coming up to cross the other. You shook your head slightly, sighing out softly before leaning back down to continue writing. 

Some days, San would bring in a book and sit down on the sofa, which was positioned along one of the walls in your office. He’d sit and read until you were ready to go eat, you always thought nothing of it. Other days he’d come in with arms full of packaged sweets and two cups of tea, exclaiming how you needed to cook off and to replenish your sweet supply so he wouldn’t have to worry about his own supply. He’d drop all the sweet on your desk abruptly, yet carefully put down the two elegantly decorated cups filled full tea. Each time he brought a cup, it would be different for you, yet the same for him, always black tea for him. 

“I was worried about you this time, you know,” he broke the silence, speaking softly. The pen scratching against paper stopped suddenly, breath coming short. Never, ever did you like talking about expeditions. It was a waste of time thinking back to how your comrades died gruesomely, grieving over people who you weren’t close to. San notices when you stop, not bringing your attention back to him.

“You shouldn’t have gone after him, you know, you both couldn’t die. Seonghwa would’ve been fine-“ 

“He would’ve died if I didn’t do what I did, he would’ve been torn apart and devoured if I didn’t push him,” you glared hard at him, he knew he shouldn’t be talking about it, he knew that you always get harsh and close yourself off anytime he brings up a close death to young Seonghwa, you always managed to save him. 

“How do you know? Maybe he was luring it so he could make a clean kill, maybe-“ you cut him off once again,

“Wooyoung checked his gear when we came back, it was broken, must have locked up when he went in for the kill. If I didn’t do what I did, he’d be dead right now. My best- my top soldier would be dead, and I cannot have that,” you stressed out, finally looking up to San. His lips pursed, looking down to the floor and grimacing slightly at how dirty it was.

“I know you did what you thought was right, but it would’ve cost you your life. Don’t you see that? The regiment would’ve lost their best soldier,” San said, his voice rising slowly as he continued. You narrowed your eyes, leaning back once more. 

“And what if It did, hm? I bet you’d be damn happy if I was gone, at least you wouldn’t have to fight for my title anymore,” you sneered, voice staying level. Sans featured morphed then, eyes narrowing and mouth opening slightly while scoffing. He rose from the chair, slamming his hands down on your desk, a loud ‘bang’ resonating around the room.

“My god, (y/n), you really think this of about some damn title?! I almost had a heart attack when I saw you go after him, I almost lost you. And for the love of god, I am not fighting for your title. I think you rightfully deserve it, not me. I came in here to tell you that I was worried and I was happy you’re alive, but you’re always that bitch aren’t you? Making everything about everybody else,” he yelled, you sat in shock, San never yelled at you like this. 

“Let me worry about you for once! Let me care about you because I want to, not because we’re comrades.” He stated, pushing up from your desk. He ran a hand through his dark hair, pushing it back from his eyes. 

You felt your chest contract then, heart dropping at what he was saying. Your stomach did a few flips, taking in how his eyes were full of hurt and anger. Have you taken it too far this time? 

Silence filled the office, his gaze casted to the floor. Either he was trying to find something to say, or waiting for your reply. 

“You know I don’t want anybody to worry about me, not with our line of work, San” you said softly back, finally finding your words. He chuckled softly, hands finding his hips. He looked back at your, red beginning to rim his eyes. You felt a bolt of worry shoot down your body, mind blurry and feet getting cold from blood loss. 

“Then I guess I should’ve found a different line of work, huh?” He sounded so hurt, so lost. 

“What did you come in here for, San, really,” you spoke softly, the thought of being any louder scared you, for the first time something scared you. 

“I came to talk to you, about this,” he gestured between you both, “but it seems like you don’t feel any type of way I do,” voice cracking, San takes a step back. You stand suddenly, and his eyes shoot up to yours as if you suddenly screamed out. You rounded your desk at the speed of light and wrapped your arms around his middle. You could feel his breathing stop, he didn’t move. 

You and San, captain and squad leader. There were unspoken feelings from between you both, you did take note in it all, in all of his hints. From the way he glanced at you during meetings, the way he sorted the candy so that you got all the good kind. How his brows furrowed when you took it too far during training, how he seemed close to tears when he saw you get smacked out of the air like a fly on an expedition years ago. How he would be the one waking you up when you slept in, making sure you got the best looking bread and the hottest soup during meals. How he would offer to take some paperwork so you didn’t have to overwork yourself.

“You never know what another person feels, San,” you began, cheek pressed against his chest. 

“I didn’t say anything since I wanted to protect us both, I didn’t-don’t-want to start anything if it means one of us will get hurt in the end,” his check collapsed with a sob, taking in your rejection hard, beginning to pull away. You quickly tighten your grip, fear lacing your veins. 

“But that doesn’t mean I don’t feel anything for you, because I do. I feel for you as strongly as you feel for me, but the last thing I want is for you to grieve over me,” finally he wraps his arms around you, holding you tightly against his chest. 

“I could protect you, we could protect each other, we could make it work,” he pleaded, tear dropping from his nose to your cheek. You felt your eyes get hot, you never cried. 

“I just don’t want to lose you after this,” he whispered softly, leaning his chin on top of your head. 

You knew it was wrong, wanting to start something with him when the possibility of death was inevitable, but the never ending thought of having him, holding him, finally basking in the feelings you kept locked away in a cage so long, felt too good to let slip away once more.

“Okay” 

A\n; oops

[juliussneezerfics]

Blood Red Lilies and Baby Blue Cornflowers: Chapter 8 - Confrontation

Angsty confrontation between my OTP? In my fic? It's more likely than you think.

Ao3

(Sorry I haven’t updated in so long! Another chapter’s coming today!)

**************************

Germany opened his eyes, once again relishing the feeling of being able to take full breaths. Relishing the luxury of unimpeded oxygen. He turned his head, grunting as the cricks in his neck gave way. He froze as he spotted Prussia sitting in an armchair, his arms crossed and his brows furrowed.

“You sent me away.” There was no other way to describe Prussia’s tone and body language other than ‘royally pissed off’.

Germany sighed. “Is it too late to pretend I’m still dead?” Ah, his voice. Gruff and yet so much smoother than it’s been in months. 

“Ha ha.” Prussia deadpanned. “Why didn’t you let me stay with you when you died?”

 “Is it shocking that I didn’t want my brother to see that?”

Prussia rolled his eyes. “Don’t be a hero, West.” “I’m not-.”

“Stop.” Prussia snapped. “Listen, I get it. It’s hard to do this. You don’t like to be taken care of.”

 “It’s not other peoples’ fault that I have a disease. I should deal with it by myself. I got it myself.”

Prussia stood. “There you go again! God, I never thought I’d have to actually be your big brother again. Is this how you’re going to be when you face conflict? Are you going to push away people who care about you, people who love you, just because you’re the always-suffering Ludwig? The fallen hero who is doomed to be alone? Is that who you’re going to be?”

 “I’m not a fallen hero.”

“Then stop acting like it, for the love of God.” Prussia snapped. “I can’t believe you’re steeping this far in self-pity when the people who love you have to watch this happen to you. Sit up.”

Germany pierced Prussia with his gaze, but he sat up.

 “Back straight up.”

Germany straightened.

 “There’s my brother. Who are you, anyway? You’re no fallen hero, who are you?”

 “Ludwig Beilshmidt. Personification of Germany.”

Prussia nodded. “Then you better damn well act like it.”

Germany studied the man in front of him. “All this because I sent you away?”

“You’re missing the point.” Prussia shook his head. “Because I watched you turn into someone else. Ludwig from a decade ago would never lose himself to self-pity. I don’t want you to forget that.”

Germany stood. “… thank you.”

Prussia gave a single, proud nod. “You’re welcome. Now make me pancakes. I can’t cook for shit and I've lived off canned soup for the past twenty-four hours.”

This continued for a long time. A very long time. Forty-five long, difficult years. The length between each bout of hanahaki shrank until he was dying once every other week. He ignored invitations from his friends with excuses of being busy, only agreeing to lunches and events that took place right after he woke up from his last death. He spent the majority of his time in his house, staring out the window longingly. Thinking of the people he missed the most. He pondered on how Japan spent all those years so long ago in complete solitude. Germany would call himself an introvert, but this was pure torture. He missed out on the past three annual world meetings due to unfortunate scheduling. The fact of the matter was, he could only hide so many coughing fits from his peers before they realized what was wrong. Before the people outside the former axis and allies realized that there was something terribly wrong with Germany.

He spent his days trying to forget Italy. To not think about his smile, or his laugh… about his desire to try new things and dress however he felt like. Trying not to think of his unrestrained joy and his frank ignorance of social norms in the pursuit of happiness. To forget how his hair in the sunlight looked almost red. Trying not to think about his eyes… God, his eyes. How he grew to miss those eyes. It’s been almost three months since he had seen him. Germany and his friends scarcely went a month without seeing each other. He was running out of excuses.

Until the year 2000, the start of a new century. Germany and his brother had been invited to a New Year's party America was hosting. Germany opened the texted invite with a resigned reluctance, already knowing that he would be unable to make it. That night, he made the excuse of having a bout of hay fever. Did people still get hay fever? He barely had time to think about it before he choked out the excuse over the phone to Japan. He sent Prussia to go have fun with his friends. Prussia left with much reluctance, but nonetheless agreed after Germany promised he could take care of himself. He lay in his bed, reading a book. He was certain that today he would die. How fitting that he would die on New Year’s Eve and wake anew on the first day of the new century.

He reached over with a shaky hand and grabbed the handle of his mug. Lifting it, he realized it was empty. If he had been willing to spare the breath, he would have sighed. He debated internally, deciding whether it was worth the effort to get up and grab some more tea. Heaven knew it could take twenty minutes just to walk there, make the tea, and stumble his way back up the stairs. Curse those stairs. Twenty minutes to accomplish a five minute task. It was only Germany's pride that kept him from taking Prussia's offer for him to sleep on the couch, several yards from the kitchen. The rawness of his throat screamed at him to just throw off the bed covers and get to it already.

So he summoned his strength and he did. He threw off the covers, lying for a couple seconds to regain his breath. He sat up. Another ten seconds of staying still to catch his breath. He grabbed his mug, noticing that it was about twenty minutes past midnight. His brother would be home from the bar any minute now. Here to take care of him. Perhaps he could go without tea…?

No. No, definitely not. Germany was far too tired of being unable to do anything. He was tired of reading and re-reading the same books, remembering days that passed and memories that were dangling forever out of reach, never to be replicated from lack of energy. He took a deep breath and stood. Vertigo. The room spun in front of him, him stumbling over and clutching the edge of his bedside table until his vision stilled. He dimly registered the sound of a doorbell as he released the bedside table. Germany heard the dogs’ barking. Registered the scratching of their claws against the wood of the downstairs floor. Wasn’t it odd for Prussia to be ringing the doorbell to his own house?

His head spun as he took the first few steps. He tried to stumble toward the door out of his bedroom. He missed the frame, falling through the open door. He fell on the ground, the floor seeming to cut into his back. The coffee mug shattered against the wooden floor, but this didn’t register as another coughing fit began. He heard the door open and the dogs settle. He heard footsteps come up the stairs. “Gilbert.” He croaked. His voice was barely audible, even to him. He gave up his pride. He just needed to be hoisted back to his bed. He was going to die any minute now. God, why didn’t he just keep Prussia here?

“Germany?”

Germany’s heart stilled. No. No, no, no, no. This wasn’t happening. He summoned his strength and turned his head.

Italy was stood there, his brown eyes wide with fear. Both hands were held up to his mouth.

“Italy.” What was he supposed to say? Surely this was a bad dream. Surely he would wake up any minute now. Perhaps it was an illusion from a lack of oxygen. Surely that was it. “You need to leave.”

“Germany!” Italy kneeled next to him.

Germany winced away from Italy’s close proximity like it burned him. “Get out of here.” He didn’t want Italy to see him. Not like this. Not when his skin was so pale. Not when his hair was uncombed. Not when his face was this gaunt. Not when any minute, surely, he would die.

“No, no, I’m not going anywhere.” Italy breathed. He shed his coat and tossed it to the side. “This isn’t hay fever, is it? I’ll call someone. We’ll call someone. They can help us, okay?”

“Italy…”

“Why are you out of bed, Germany?” Italy asked as he dialed a number on his phone, his panic barely concealed.

“I wanted… I had to do one damn thing by myself.” He felt something deep within him. A warning of what was to come. Germany would have given anything to keep it from happening now. “Leave. Now.”

“What was Prussia’s number again?” Italy asked to himself, panicked. Either he hadn’t heard Germany, or he didn’t care to listen.

“Ita-” His sentence was cut off by a cough.

Italy looked up from his phone with a start. He looked unsure of what to do. “Germany, what do I do?”

The words didn’t register as he continued to cough, trying to loosen that dreaded blockage in his throat. He was desperate for oxygen now. Just as he thought he was about to black out, he coughed out a full lily. He heaved for breath as well as he could with his shallow breaths.

“Germany, what…?” His eyes widened. “A lily. Oh, Germany… no, no, no, no.”

“Italy…”

“I did this to you.” Italy realized, his eyes growing glassy with tears.

“You didn’t-” Germany was cut off as he felt the flowers inside his body writhe and grow. God, so this was it.

“Germany? Germany, what’s wrong?!” Italy cried. The tears spilled over his eyes and drew salty tracks down his cheeks. “You’re dying! It’s okay, I can fix this! I can fix it!”

Germany looked up at Italy as his vision grew hazy.

Italy leaned down and grabbed Germany by the shoulders, touching their lips together.

Germany’s first kiss. In the middle of a tragedy. In a war with a predetermined winner. He shut his eyes as he knew that the edges of his vision were blackening. In a last moment of consciousness, he reached and grabbed Italy’s forearm with his weak grip.

As Italy felt something like a stick press against his lips, he lurched away. Through his blurry vision, he could see Germany. He was facing up, his lips slightly parted as a long stem curled from his mouth. Blooming at the top was a large lily, the edges of the petals bordered in a deep maroon. Italy’s hands floated up to his open mouth. It was a beautiful kind of morbid. Under another circumstance, Italy may have been tempted to paint it. But now… oh, God, now. He turned around as he heard footsteps on the stairs.

Prussia stood behind Italy, his violet eyes glinting with something sharp. Something deadly. “Italy.”

“Prussia, I- I’m so sorry, I didn’t know… I’m so sorry about your brother.” The words came out in harried spurts. Heavy gasps littered the sentence, each gasp for air a stab in his own heart. What he wouldn’t do to give Germany the oxygen he so greedily stole from the air as he sobbed.

“What did you do?” Prussia asked in a toneless voice.

“I didn’t know, I- I just- I wanted to visit him- I didn’t want him to be- to be alone on New Year’s. And- and he was on the floor.”

Prussia shook his head. “Why didn’t he just stay in bed?”

Italy curled in on himself, his arms wrapping around his middle as he bowed his head. To an outsider, it would have looked like a sobbing mortal was begging a standing God for something that seemed impossible. Begging for something long past gone. Perhaps he was.

Prussia kneeled at eye level with Italy. “Italy, this is not your fault.”

“I never wished so much that I could love someone, Prussia. I’m so sorry I can’t.”

Prussia’s steely expression melted into something entirely different. Something softer. “I know, Italy.”

Italy lurched forward and captured Prussia’s middle in a desperate hug as he sobbed into his chest.

Prussia, never a toucher, relented just this once. He wrapped his arms around Italy, giving him a hug he knew Italy wished came from Germany instead.

Germany had no idea how much time had passed when he finally opened his eyes. He was able to stretch himself out and release the cricks in his neck before he remembered what happened the day before. Before he registered the person sitting where Prussia usually sat. “Italy?” His voice was gruff from sleep.

Italy looked from the window and to Germany, appearing surprised. “Hi, Germany.”

“Italy, I’m..” Hopelessly in love with you? Upset that you could never love me back? “Sorry.”

Italy shook his head insistently. His face was unusually sober. “Don’t be. Please.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Since last night.”

“I’m sorry you had to see that.”

Italy shuffled in his seat. “You already said that.”

Germany nodded. “Sorry.”

The two sat in an awkward silence for a long moment, each wondering what they should say. Each thinking of what they wish they could say.

“Is it okay if I ask-”

“No.” Germany interrupted.

Italy leaned forward slightly, his hands clasped in his lap. “Please, Germany. I have to know. I have a right to know.”

“Oh, do you?” Germany challenged, glowering at Italy. Perhaps this anger was undeserved. But it settled, coiled like a snake deep within his stomach. Whether he was actually angry at Italy, he didn’t know.

“Yes. I do.” Italy challenged right back. His gaze and tone never faltered. “I’m the one who did this to you. I want to know what damage I inflicted.”

“You didn’t do this.”

Italy frowned levelly at him but said nothing.

“Since the end of World War Two.” Germany answered, staring at the wall opposite of him. “When you came to visit my tent.”

Italy’s frown loosened into something sad. Something pitying.

Germany resented it.

“I’m so sorry, Germany, I never knew.”

“Don’t be.”

Italy continued to look at him, his gaze assessing.

It was a look Germany was not accustomed to. Not when it was directed at him. He had an overwhelming desire to make Italy direct that gaze upon something else. "It was very kind of you to stay overnight. I’ll see you at the meeting next week.”

“Germany, please don’t-”

“Make sure to bring your notes. We can combine them with Japan’s and-”

“Don’t pretend nothing happened, German-”

Germany raised his voice over Italy’s. He had no idea why he was doing this. He didn’t know why he was pushing Italy away when he wanted nothing more than for him to stay. “We can come up with a plan to increase tourism between our nations-”  Was he really so desperate to stop this conversation that he was spouting nonsense?

“Are you really going to kick me out?!” Italy shouted, his shrill voice on the verge of breaking.

Germany stopped his panicked rant out of shock.

“Is this it, then? Are we- we’re just pretending that this didn’t happen? Are we pretending that you’re not going to die again later? We’re just going to be Italy and Germany, good ol’ buddies going on adventures with Japan?” Italy stumbled over his words. He wasn’t sure why he was angry. He didn’t know what he was feeling. He didn’t know what he was saying. He knew he didn’t love Germany. That’s the start of this whole mess in the first place. So what did he even want?

Germany blinked. “Make sure to have a presentation prepared on the current financial status of your nation.”

Italy’s mouth gaped open before he recovered. He glowered at Germany, pulling his coat from the back of the chair. “Fine, then.” He jammed his arm into a sleeve, slamming the bedroom door behind him as he stormed out.

Germany gazed at the slammed door. He swallowed. He huffed out a sigh, resting his forehead on his palms. Why did he handle that like such a child? Why couldn’t he just… talk it out? He couldn’t imagine what would happen if he had, of course, but at least there would have been something. Italy would… well he never thought he could love him in the first place, but now his chances were even more diminished.

 “Sounds like you dug yourself into quite a hole there, West.”

 “Don’t.”

Prussia huffed out a breath as he leaned against the doorway. “Don’t push away people who care about you when you’re in pain. Especially people who care for you as much as Italy.”

 “He doesn’t care about me enough.”

Prussia glared. “Don’t you dare say that like he has a choice. You know that if he could, he would in a heartbeat.”

“If he…” Germany huffed out a breath as he looked up at his brother. “I don’t actually blame him. Really. I know this isn’t his fault.”

“Good.” Prussia looked down at the ground. “How he looked after you died... he was devastated.”

“He kissed me.” Germany said suddenly. He had no idea where that came from. He didn’t know why he let that escape him. He didn’t know why he needed someone to know.

Prussia hummed, redirecting his gaze over Germany's shoulder and out the window. “Was it some attempt to save you?”

 “I suppose. It just made it worse.”

Prussia hummed again but said nothing.

Germany sat up and walked out the room, avoiding Prussia’s gaze as he brushed past him. He walked into the bathroom. Opened the cabinet and pulled out a comb. He brushed his hair, not bothering to gel it. He then set off for his room, determined to change. Prussia was not there when he went back. He changed into his usual black tank top and a pair of old fatigues. They were not needed at that moment, but it felt good to slip into something he was used to. He didn’t want to eat. He didn’t want to sleep, and surprisingly he didn’t want a drink of water. He walked down to the basement and turned on the light. He paced over to a metronome on a small table and got it started. Taking a deep breath, he listened to the familiar rhythmic ticking. Like a heart beat. He turned his head upon his drum set down in the basement. It was a secret habit of his. One that no one outside of him, his brother, and a couple others knew of. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and plugged it into the speakers. He started the guitar intro to a rock song and sat himself at the drums. Picking up the drumsticks, he waited for his cue. He slammed the tip of the drumsticks on one of the drums, relishing the feel of the stick on the taut skin of the instrument. He picked up his pace with the speed of the drum, losing himself to the pounding and got totally invested in the music. He could spend hours doing this. He has before. The feel of the drumbeat in his hand. The way it worked through his arms and shoulders. It was an exercise of the total upper body. The steady alignment of his heart beat with the beat of the drum. The way the sound almost drowned out the rest of the music. The steady ticking of the metronome falling into time with the sticks in his hand. He scarcely noticed as his brother came down the stairs. He didn’t cease drumming as Prussia strode over to his phone and stopped the music. Germany continued anyway. He knew the beats of the song by heart and wasn’t one to let a single beat fall out of the measured timing. He watched as Prussia walked over to his electric guitar and plugged it in.

Prussia drew the strap over his head and waited for a point in the song where he could jump in with the proper chords. The sound of the guitar filled the basement and echoed off the walls and ceiling.

Germany lost himself further to the music, enjoying the unity between his instrument and his brother’s. His arms began to develop a burning, satisfying ache. But nonetheless, he didn't stop. He couldn’t. Him stopping would stop the music. Stop the beats and the flow he had going. It was the ultimate stress reliever. It helped him even more than his usual workouts did. He stopped drumming where he knew the drummer in the song did, allowing Prussia to finish the last notes on his guitar.

Prussia did a final strum, smirking as the last notes of the guitar faded into nothingness. His chest was heaving as he looked over at his brother. “Awesome guitar skills, right?”

“You didn’t even practice, did you?” Germany knew his brother was virtually unmatched in guitar skills. Even before the electric guitar was invented, he was proficient in acoustic guitars. He was always more musically gifted than Germany, but it was still apparent to him that Prussia hadn’t spent much time practicing.

“Are you kidding me right now? I did that song perfectly! How could you tell?!” Prussia gaped at him.

Germany shrugged, wishing for a drink of water.

“You boys are really drumming up a storm down here!” A feminine voice said.

Germany turned toward the voice.

Hungary was standing in the doorway, clad in a yellow sundress and heels. Her hair was pulled back in a braid, a yellow flower tucked behind her ear. “Hello, Ludwig.”

“Elizabeta?” Germany asked, slightly surprised.

Hungary raised an eyebrow. “You sound surprised to see me!”

Germany also raised an eyebrow before he, along with Hungary, looked at Prussia.

Prussia sheepishly shrugged his shoulders. “This seemed more like a problem for your older sister than your older brother! I’m not good with that… mushy-gushy… un-awesome feeling stuff.”

Hungary furrowed her brow. “Yes… Gilbert, why don’t you make Ludwig and I a cup of tea and then we can talk?”

Germany stood and sighed, steadying his metronome. “Here we go.”

Hungary nodded. “We have a lot to talk about.”

[sinsbymanka]

Update: Girl with the Arrow Tattoo Chapter 36!

Full fic is over at AO3! Modern Thedas AU with magic, demons, and so much angst and pining. Just... so much. 

Well, Maria thought to herself, she’d been a semi-decent Inquisitor for approximately seventy-two hours. In all honesty, a better run that she expected to have before she finally ran into the one thing she could not do. 

That one thing was reading a fucking speech. 

She buried her face in her hands, ignoring the scattered notecards all over the floor, the ones she’d thrown there in a fit of pique. She couldn’t meet Josephine’s anxious gaze one more time, but she felt it on her shoulders anyway. The silence hung over them like miasma, poison she was going to choke on. 

“Alright, Inquisitor.” Harding kept her voice carefully light. “Maybe we need to try something a bit different.” 

Maria looked up, spearing Harding with a glance she hoped conveyed her complete exasperation with the entire situation. She’d had it with the camera pointed at her damn face, the notecards containing Josephine’s carefully chosen words, and Harding’s disappointed little wrinkling her brow. She felt like screaming.

Instead, Maria sighed and bent down, sweeping most of the cards back into her hand, shuffling them back into order without thought. She stared at the neat, precise handwriting until her eyes ached. The words flowed when she read them in her mind, but the second she tried to push them into the air, they turned to lead weights and awkward silences. 

“Let me see those.” Harding plucked the cards from her hand and frowned at them. 

“Perhaps I should rewrite it. Again.” Josephine stepped forward over Maria’s shoulder. “Allow me…” 

Maria wasn’t certain that rewriting the speech she was supposed to be giving would help any more the third time around. She’d still be nothing more than a wooden puppet, dull and lifeless, stumbling over the simplest words, unable to look at the camera without turning red and stuttering. 

“Good idea! I’ve got a better one.” Harding grinned and held Maria’s gaze before tossing the cards over her shoulder where they fell like a deck of cards, scattering in all directions. Maria huffed a small laugh, shaking her head. 

“Does that mean we give up and I can go do something productive?” Maria asked. She had a little under a thousand things on her to-do list. Re-establishing connection with the outside world came with a cost, after all. 

It turned out, everyone thought they were ghosts. Orlais and Ferelden had rescue teams scouring the area, the meager forces either country could spare with Ferelden trying to clean up from the witch rebellion and Orlais in full scale civil war. The would-be rescuers were more than a little confused to discover that so many people had escaped Haven, found a magical fortress, and flourished in the aftermath. 

But it was Maria’s continued, implausible, survival that really astounded the world. Unfortunately, she was trending across all the social media channels. Again. Harding’s footage of the avalanche that buried Maria had gone viral almost immediately. Memorials sprung up in the most unlikely places, from Denerim’s chantry to the docks at Ostwick. Josephine released a statement, but it became increasingly clear it wouldn’t sate the appetite of Thedas. They wanted Maria, more than just the photographs of her greeting the rescue teams. More than the stolen video clips of her wandering Skyhold carrying supplies. They clamored for her to speak, to tell her story, to shine her attention on them. 

Maria didn’t really think even her sputtering on camera would be enough. She worried the world wouldn’t be happy until it swallowed her whole, honestly. 

“No more reading off these cards.” Harding stated, fiddling with her camera for a moment before putting it back on it’s tripod and dragging her chair over to Maria’s. Harding sat down and leaned forward, lightly placing her fingertips on the back of Maria’s palm. “To be honest, you suck at it. A lot.” 

“The honesty I need to hear.” Maria joked weakly, sagging back in her chair. “Tell Josie to give it up.” 

“Inquisitor…” Josephine sighed. Harding shook her head and smiled apologetically. 

“Sorry, we’ve got to try one more thing before you’re off the hook.” Harding tapped her finger lightly on Maria’s skin. “Tell me what happened.” 

“Fuck, Harding.” Maria raised her marked hand to her forehead and rubbed away the impending headache. “You were there. You know what happened.” 

“I know.” Harding said softly. Maria fixed her gaze on Harding’s and watched as the woman swallowed some great emotion, a shudder passing through her. “Hard to talk about, isn’t it? I swear every time I try to remember, I can hear the people we lost screaming. Smell the smoke.” 

Maria gulped down her own panic, the fear that she’d look up and see the dragon’s wings darkening the sky through the pretty windows. She sounded like she was begging, but she didn’t care. “Harding…”

“What happened first?” Harding pressed softly. “I was back with Varric, I couldn’t see. I heard the gunshots, they said you were on the frontline.” 

She’d been. With Solas, then Bull. The girl who died beside her, choking on her own blood. Maria never even knew her name. They’d lost so many people, and Maria never knew any of their names. She flicked her eyes to the camera and Harding squeezed her hand. 

“Don’t look at it.” Harding directed. “Look at me.” 

If she looked at Harding, she may cry. She blinked several times, trying to bring her expression under control. The silence stretched on until Maria let out a long, heavy breath. “The Templars came in armoured SUVs. We barely had any warning, so we erected barriers out of anything we could get our hands on. They’d been poisoned by the red lyrium, like we saw on the news in Kirkwall with the Knight Commander, but there were so many of them. They didn’t care if we shot them, they kept coming out of the darkness like a nightmare.” 

“But the Inquisition had explosives.” Harding supplied softly. Maria nodded, focusing on Harding’s hand on hers. 

“Yes.” Maria’s voice sounded a bit more sure. If she ignored the camera, ignored Josephine’s silent presence, and just focused on Harding it was easier. “Yes. They’d been left there. The Inquisition requisitioned your drone to deliver the explosives…” 

Harding gently prodded Maria through most of it, but the words flowed when she spoke. The templars. The dragon. Corypheus. The avalanche. One rolled into the other, but by the time they got to Skyhold, Maria felt raw, scraped clean on the inside. Harding pulled back, looked at Josephine expectantly. 

“We will need to edit it for length and clarity.” Josephine nodded, all business, but Maria saw her hands shaking as she typed something into her tablet. “But…. forgive me.” 

Josephine wiped her face briskly with her sleeve, shooting Maria a watery, wan smile. “I was not prepared to be so moved. I will remember that you should not be scripted. For the future.” 

“Well, Inquisitor.” Harding smiled, tears in her own eyes as well that she dabbed away. “How was that interview you said you’d never give me?” 

Maria laughed, the sound relieved and choked. “Maker.” She wheezed. “Did you get me saying that on camera the first time? If so, you should tack it onto the end.” 

“I’ll keep it in mind.” Harding stood, extending her hand to Maria. “Not bad, Inquisitor. Not bad at all.” 

“I try.” Maria reached automatically for her phone in her pocket, frowning at the ever present notifications while she allowed Harding to hoist her up. She skipped the emails, those she needed to pick through at night when she wouldn’t be interrupted and they wouldn’t keep multiplying on her. The text messages usually were more urgent.

Usually being the key word. The first one, of course, was from Sera. It consisted of a string of nonsensical emojis (fried shrimp? Who actually used the fried shrimp?) plus a blurry photo that could have been Cullen’s desk chair on top of one of the turrets. She sent a simple thumbs up and moved to the next one. 

Varric. Again. She opened up the message, hunching her shoulders defensively as Hading and Josephine talked over her, to read the string of messages. 

Varric: Let me know if you get this. I made another minor adjustment. Maria: Stop fucking with it before you fall off the walls. We don’t have health insurance here. Varric: Let me guess, no worker’s comp either? Maria: Negative on the workers comp. We may have beer, though. Varric: That’s the best medicine. Hey, do you have a minute? Maria: Also negative. Cullen wants me to meet his senior officers and introduce myself properly. Varric: Right, when you have a second. Maria: Sure. Varric: How about now? Maria: Leliana’s explaining Orlais to me. Varric: Right. Let me know if you figure it out.  Varric: Later tonight? Maria: I can’t, I’m going over supply manifests with Josephine. Maria: Maybe tomorrow. Varric: So, it’s tomorrow. Just in case you haven’t noticed. Maria: I’ve been told. I’m sorry, I’m swamped. I’ve got a speech to memorize and give for Harding and Josephine. Varric: Alright, Princess. I’ll stop bothering you - come by when you can. Varric: And in case nobody told you yet today, you’re knocking this Inquisitor thing out of the park. Best inquisitoning I’ve ever seen by far. 

Fuck. Fuck. Why was this so fucking hard? Three days of messages, three days of ducking around Varric wherever and whenever she saw him. Three days nursing her bruised ego and railing against her own stupidity for believing for even a moment Varric fucking Tethras truly… 

He’d be what she needed, if she asked, because he was kind, because he felt bad for her, because she wasn’t bad to look at. But she could never be what he actually wanted, and that… that stung. That stung far more than she could deal with just now on top of everything else. She certainly couldn’t spend time in his orbit, smelling his cologne, listening to his sinfully rich voice, waiting for his smiles and his laugh. 

But she couldn’t ignore him either. She couldn’t.

Maria: Wait until you see whatever just happened on TV later then decide my prowess.

As she typed the message, another one popped in. She swiped to view it and fought back a smirk. 

Dorian: Fasta vass, come here.  Maria: Where are you?  Dorian: Follow the sound of wailing and gnashing of teeth. 

What did she do to deserve Dorian Pavus’s histrionics today? Maria simply pulled up the group chat, typing one simple question into it. 

Maria: Anyone point me to our favorite neighborhood magister? Dorian: I am not a Magister, you heathen. Bull: Have you tried following the trail of spilled wine? Sera: or smell of hair wax Vivienne: Second floor rotunda, darling. You can’t miss his ostentatious shirt. Maria: Thanks Viv. 

She slipped her phone back in her pocket and frowned at Josephine. “I’ve got to go.” 

“I will email you the final footage for your approval.” Josephine declared smoothly, making a note in  her tablet. Harding simply saluted lazily.  

“Don’t.” Maria groaned, making a bee-line for the door. “I’m not going to watch it anyway. Just… whatever works. Do that.” 

She fled before Josephine could argue, flying through the crowd in the great hall before anyone could stop and catch her attention. She found that speed was the key for moving across Skyhold, because if she slowed down for even a moment, she got roped into a hundred different projects of varying degrees of importance. She slipped into the rotunda and turned toward the stairs…

“Inquisitor.” Solas called. “A moment?” 

Well, at least it was just Solas. She paused and turned to look at him. The elf was studying the blank wall in front of him, frowning thoughtfully. “What’s up?” 

“I find the act of painting meditative and I wish to design some murals for this room. I asked Skyhold, but I believe the spirit wishes you to make the final determination.” Solas turned his back on the wall and pierced her with his gaze. “Would you like to see some sketches before I proceed?” 

“You can paint?” She asked instead, curious. Solas simply smiled. 

“I can.” He admitted. “I think I do so rather well. One of my few true talents.” 

Sera could draw too, although she sincerely hoped Solas’s paintings were much less provocative. Sera’s most detailed sketches seemed to feature big breasted women in various states of undress. Maria wondered, momentarily, if it was an elf thing. Then, she internally winced and scolded herself for being a bit racist. 

“Yeah, sure. I don’t need to see them. This is kinda your office, isn’t it?” Maria waved at the room, empty of all but a neat little couch and a tidy desk littered with papers. “Whatever you want to do.” 

“A dangerous offer.” Solas smiled warmly down at her. “I shall try not to abuse the privilege. I thought, perhaps, to create a visual history of the Inquisition? The destruction of the conclave, the Inquisition’s formation, recruiting the witches at Redcliffe and…” 

“Haven.” Maria whispered softly. Haven. She ached with it’s loss and all the fallen they’d left, so raw and fresh again after the interview. She feared she would carry it with her the rest of her life like a scar on her heart. 

“Haven.” Solas repeated. “It weighs on you. I am sorry.” 

“I think we’re all still reeling.” Maria tried to make her tone light, shrugging. “How did you ask Skyhold? About the murals? Varric keeps trying to talk to her through Cole but I don’t think it’s going well.” 

“It is not, but Varric is a child of the stone. He does not understand such things.” Solas muttered, examining the walls.

Maria flinched just a bit. Well, maybe she should have asked about the painting skills being an elf thing then. If ‘children of the stone’ was getting thrown about so casually, it certainly would have put him in his place. 

“I want to understand.” She insisted instead. “You know about spirits. You said some of them were your friends. Can you… can you introduce me? Is that how it works?” 

“You wish to learn? About spirits and the fade?” Solas asked, incredulity lacing his voice, piercing her with his eyes. 

“Yes.” Maria answered sternly, lifting her chin. “You’re the expert. I can clearly do… something with this mark on my hand. Teach me about the fade before I shoot myself in the foot.” 

Solas continued to look down at her, blinking slowly, before he shook his head. “You are full of constant surprises.” 

It wasn’t a no. Maria smirked. “So… you will?” 

“Cadash!” Dorian shouted from above them. “I can hear you distinctly not making your way up here. Solas can wait his blighted turn.” 

“If you wish.” Solas smiled, hesitant. “But Dorian is right. We will do so at another time.” 

“Great.” Maria grinned, waved her hand at the walls. “Have fun. Don’t let Sera help.” 

With that parting bit of advice, she sauntered to the stairs, leaving Solas to his quiet contemplation. She made sure to take her time, lingering an extra second before emerging onto the next floor.

Which… had sprung bookshelves. Apparently. She blinked, looking around, taking in the rows of empty shelving. Dorian stood in one of the new alcoves, scowling and tapping his fingers on the wood. “Was putting me on blast in the group chat strictly necessary?” He asked grimly.

“Next time, you’ll answer my question instead of being so dramatic.” Maria tipped her head to the side, examining his tailored black shirt with the intricate silver embroidery over the shoulders. “I don’t think that shirt is so bad at all.” 

“Because you have proper taste.” Dorian sniffed. “You also have an empty library.” 

“Odd.” Maria agreed, tracing the nearest plush armchair with her fingers, taking in the rich velvet upholstery. “Wasn’t this Cullen’s office yesterday?” 

“That’s over on the battlements now, under his bedroom. Frankly, I think he’s happier.” Dorian waved Cullen’s migrating office away dismissively. “This lackluster excuse for an archive is outrageous. And Fiona will not see reason.” 

Maria finally noticed the other figure on the floor, the elf glaring holes into Dorian’s back. Fiona stepped forward, pleading. “Inquisitor, you must understand, I cannot simply agree to hand over our history for the perusal of…” 

“Ethnocentrism at it’s finest!” Dorian sniffed. “She’s concerned I’ll find something useful her people missed.” 

“His people tried to enslave us!” Fiona lifted her chin, icy and regal. “I will not…” 

“Dorian did an awful lot to prevent that from happening.” Maria wouldn’t sit here and just… let Dorian be slandered. Not when he was the only one who knew what Fiona’s idiocy nearly cost them. “What’s the issue?” 

“All the knowledge of the southern circles is sitting, abandoned, in their shoddy little prisons.” Dorian pointedly didn’t look at Fiona, but stared imploringly at Maria instead. “It should be here where it can be studied, where perhaps we can use what we find. Even Madame de Fer agrees, but unfortunately Fiona is rather distraught that my grubby little Tevene hands will be all over it.” 

“Those tomes are quite valuable!” Fiona insisted. “They must be left in…” 

“The circles you ran out of?” Maria broke in, raising an eyebrow. 

“Until they can be collected by the witches and catalogued appropriately…” Fiona persisted. 

Maria fought the urge to roll her eyes and balled her hands into fists, hunching her shoulders. She bit out the words like bullets. “Grand Enchanter, your witches joined the Inquisition because it wasn’t a very good idea to keep going it alone. May I remind you, now is probably an even shittier time to strike out solo.”

Fiona bristled. “Are you saying we would no longer be welcome if…” 

Balls. Who the fuck had time for this? Maria rubbed her forehead, attempting to soothe the headache returning with a vengeance. She lowered her voice to a steely command. “I’m saying that maybe you should remember you are part of a team and act accordingly. Which includes treating everyone here with the same respect you insist on receiving.” 

Fiona set her jaw and looked like she had every intention of continuing to argue, so Maria turned to Dorian instead. “I’ll get Cullen to see if we can spare some people once we’ve got a clear path in and out of Skyhold.” 

Maria paused, shooting a disdainful look back at the elf. “Unless that’s going to be a problem, Fiona?” 

“Of course not. Inquisitor.” Maria could feel the acid on the other woman’s tongue. “I hope this decision proves wise and that you are not judged harshly on your… trusting nature.” 

With that, the woman rotated robotically on her heel. She reached the nearest door and pushed it. The door remained resolutely shut even as she struggled. It finally fell open only once she pressed her entire weight into it, leaving Fiona scrambling in a rather undignified manner to regain her balance. Maria heard Vivienne’s voice drifting from the other room before Fiona slammed the door shut behind her. “Careful, darling. A fall at your age would be disastrous.” 

Maria barely covered her laugh with her hand, immediately looking up to see Dorian not even bothering to hide his smug satisfaction as he spoke. “Well. That felt rather vindicating, didn’t it?” 

“Is that why you wanted me? To make her give you books for our new library?” Maria asked, trailing after Dorian as he settled into one of the plush chairs at a rather sturdy table. “I’m guessing we can’t just order the ones you want online and have them shipped?” 

“If only. Although I do wish to place an order for some items from my homeland. Nothing illegal to get southern panties in a twist, I promise, just some charts. I confess I’m not entirely certain what our address is, however. Not to mention whether or not we’re eligible for two-day shipping.” Dorian’s fingers continued to tap, anxiously, on the wooden surface of the table. Maria wrapped her arms around her waist and waited. “You know. Corypheus claims to be Tevinter himself. A Magister, in fact.” 

“He didn’t look human to me.” Maria replied, shrugging. “He looked like a demon. Don’t demons lie? A lot?” 

“Perhaps.” Dorian mused. “They say the blight is punishment for the sins of our Magisters who dared to walk in the realm of the Maker.” 

“They’re also rather convinced I’m the Herald of Andraste.” Maria shrugged her shoulders a second time. Humans were strange. Fuck if she knew what the truth was behind Corypheus. Honestly, she didn’t see how it mattered one way or the other. 

“Not Andrastian, I take it?” Dorian teased, but the longer she listened, the more she heard something wrong under his light tone. He continued talking regardless, the words meaningless. “Not that I blame you. Boring stuff. I was raised Andrastian, of course, but I’m afraid that I’ve been lying about attending services to my eternally disappointed mother for…” 

“Dorian.” Maria interrupted. “What’s wrong?” 

Dorian’s fingers lost their rhythm, the incessant tapping ceasing while his dark eyes bored into hers. “You’re rather observant today.” 

“Survival instinct.” Maria claimed. One she’d finely honed. “Don’t change the subject. What’s happened?” 

If it was bad news, Maria wasn’t sure she could handle any more. Dorian simply sighed, slumping in his chair. He was silent for a moment before meeting her eyes again. “I received word from a few of my remaining friends back in Minrathous. Do you remember Felix?”

How could she forget Felix? Their, admittedly few, interactions were branded in her mind. Him stumbling against her, him pleading with his father, the ghoul with the unseeing eyes and Leliana’s arm around his neck…

“I never asked...” Guilt churned in her stomach. She hadn’t asked, she’d fled and let the Inquisition deal with it because she’d been choking on Varric’s blood and Hawke’s inferno. She’d been a weak, spineless thing good for nothing but being led back to Haven by her nose. 

She couldn’t. She couldn’t do that again. She was the Inquisitor now and she had to deal. She choked down the memories and took a deep breath, clenching her hands into fists until her nails cut into her skin, the pain a stark reminder of where she was, whose eyes were staring at her. “I never asked how he was. What happened to him and…” 

And his father. The man who would have killed them all.

“You were exhausted and there was no need for you to manage the fallout after… after everything.” Dorian frowned. “It was my mess to clean up, after all. We packed them on their plane and sent them back to Tevinter. Alexius was arrested as soon as he stepped foot in Minrathous on the King of Ferelden’s insistence, although I’m sure he’ll be quietly released once it’s diplomatically safe to do so. Felix…” 

Dorian’s voice grew hoarse with emotion, his eyes dropping to his hands. “I’m afraid Felix has passed. He pulled a thousand strings to get in front of the Senate, to deliver a rousing speech denouncing the Venatori cult and warning the Magisterium, and… then I suppose he laid down his sword.” 

Maria felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room, leaving them both floundering as Dorian struggled to bear the grief written all over his face. Maria’s numb lips asked the question before her brain could process it. “He was sick?” 

“The blight. He was on a research expedition with his mother into the abandoned Deep Roads. She… she passed several months ago. Alexius is alone now. I suspect all he really wished was the power to save his son.” 

Dorian’s raw devastation was the only thing that prevented her from pointing out that he’d nearly killed the entire world and everyone Maria had left in his mad quest to save Felix. She couldn’t forgive him. Not even for Dorian. 

But she knew better than to say it. Particularly when Dorian covered his face with one hand, the slight tremor in his shoulders the only sign of the sobs he struggled to hold back. Maria unwrapped her arms from her torso, hesitating only a moment. With Dorian sitting and her standing, she stood just a bit taller than him. She stepped forward, tentative, and rested her marked palm on his shoulder. His free hand reached up almost immediately to cover hers, a silent gesture of gratitude while his long fingers wrapped gently over her hand and squeezed. 

“He was the best of us, you know.” Dorian murmured beneath his hand. “You could always count on Felix. If he had not been my friend, I… I don’t know what I would have done. I don’t know if I would be here now.” 

“He clearly thought you weren’t half bad either.” Maria offered, at a loss for anything else to say with that weighted confession in the air. “He went along with your crazy plan in Redcliffe, didn’t he?” 

Dorian’s laugh sounded broken, laced with unshed tears, but it was still warm and unbearably soft. “Of course he did. It was a brilliant one.”

Dorian dropped his hand from his face, eyes shining with emotion. His fingers gripped hers again. “At least Felix wasn’t the only decent sort kicking around Thedas.” 

xx

Varric tried not to be overly obvious in his leisurely stroll to the rotunda. Up the courtyard steps, through the gallery where Vivienne set up her alchemy table because she claimed the light was ideal. Fiona nearly ran him over in her hurry to escape past the other witch, her face blotchy with fury. 

Maker’s balls, what did Dorian do? The last thing Maria needed was Fiona deciding to cause trouble because Sparkler stepped on a few toes. Varric scrubbed his hand across his jaw, casting his eyes back down at the group chat while he ambled past Vivienne holding up a glass beaker to the light. 

“Leave Dorian to his tantrum.” Vivienne advised, lifting her eyes from her work. “I’ve found the Inquisitor is the best one at talking him down. She’s more than capable.” 

“And miss the material for my next book?” Varric asked cheerfully. “Never.” 

Vivienne shrugged her elegant shoulders. “Suit yourself.” 

He would. At first, he’d been… understanding of Maria vanishing into the ether. He even tried to convince himself it was better, tried to talk himself into some gratitude that she wasn’t rubbing her rejection in his face. She was being kind, that was all, and sensible. Extremely sensible.

Except Varric needed to talk to her about an over growing list of items. He’d prefer to make his confession about Hawke in person, after all. He still needed to explain how the new AI on her phone worked and assuage any worries about robot eavesdropping, which was always better done face-to-face. The wi-fi in the castle was still spotty and she seemed to be the only one who could reason with her damn… 

As if it knew the direction of his thoughts, when he placed his hand on the door leading to the rotunda and shoved, Skyhold kept the door stubbornly shut. A gloating declaration that the group chat messages didn’t say Maria Cadash was looking for Varric Tethras, did they?

“You learn to read?” Varric grumbled quietly, praying to the Maker himself that Vivienne couldn’t hear him. He pressed forward again. 

The door didn’t budge. Varric knelt to examine the lock, frowning, but the knob rattled. It was, he thought, like a snake warning someone they were getting too close to its territory. 

“If you think I won’t pick this lock, you’ve got another thing coming.” Varric threatened. He had damn good lockpicks, and nothing but time. At the very least, he’d put some good scratches into… 

The door slid open silently just a crack, relenting to his whims. Or so Varric thought. When he went to shove it the rest of the way, it held fast. Varric could see a sliver of the room, now filled with empty shelves and plush chairs. One of those chairs contained Dorian Pavus, Maria standing in front of him, close enough to fall into his lap. She had her hand on his shoulder and as he watched, Dorian dropped the palm that covered his face to the table beside him. Varric could see the traces of lingering emotion etched into his handsome features. Maria smiled, a tenuous thing, but still there. She shook her head in silence, refuting whatever he’d said. Dorian took the hand he had trapped on his shoulder and lifted it, bringing her knuckles to his lips and placing a chaste, courtly kiss on them. 

The door closed gently, like a mother tucking their children into bed. A clear signal that Varric was interrupting a moment. One he had no part of. 

And the author in him, at least, could see the beauty in it. Dorian playing the part of an exiled stranger chased from his homeland, a prince in all but name trying to do the noble thing and fighting evil despite losing his family fortune meeting. Maria starring as a former criminal with a heart of gold, one who found herself lifted from the gutter to lead the righteous in a fight for the very soul of the world. It was a damn fine story. Varric almost wished he would have come up with it himself. Almost. 

The rest of him felt sick with envy. A monster inside him desperately craved the right to place a kiss on Maria’s skin, the opportunity to have her lean towards him with that same sort of careless intimacy, to have her fall against him the same way she had their doomed night in Haven. 

But it wasn’t him. Yet again, it was someone else who had that privilege. Varric turned, blindly stalking past Vivienne. He tried to ignore her sharp, lingering gaze on his shoulder blades. It didn’t burn as much as the jealousy in his stomach anyway. He threw the door open and emerged on the walls back above the courtyard. Down below, he could see children drawing on the ancient walls with brightly colored chalk. Their laughter rang brightly, full of sheer joy. 

It hit him like shrapnel and he ran from it, back up the battlements. He wasn’t sure, entirely, where he was going. He just needed to keep walking, to put the picture of Maria and Dorian firmly behind him until he could look at it with some distance. Until it didn’t feel like holding a bleeding heart…

“But it’s not like that!” 

Cole’s furious protest from behind him made Varric stop short, turning to watch the kid scramble after him. The kid’s cheeks were flushed pink like he’d run halfway across the castle to catch Varric. He huffed to catch his breath, staring down Varric with panic. “No. She wanted to show you, but it knotted up all your strings. He needed her. Loss comes in waves, a small smile sneaking snacks into the study. Gone. He’s gone now and he was one of the last bits of home that didn’t cut the wrong way. She knows grief. She understands how to carry it.” 

“Kid, it’s fine.” Varric pinched his nose, hard, hoping the pain would clear the image from his head. Maria’s flushed cheeks, her shy amusement as Dorian’s lips brushed her skin. His princess in her castle with her devoted knight at her feet. Not him. Never him. 

“But it’s not.” Cole protested vehemently. “You’re both so scared. But the fall isn’t far and it’s soft underneath the walls. Alone isn’t safe. If no one knows you’re alive, you aren’t.” 

The kid’s imploring tone softened, his eyes bright with emotion. “Tell her. You have the words and she’s been silent for so long.” 

He had a million things to tell her. But having her shoulder his bruised heart wasn’t on his list. “It’s alright.” Varric repeated. “It’s complicated, kid.” 

“It isn’t.” Cole protested. 

Varric’s phone vibrated in his hand and he looked down, the unknown number flashing across the screen. It could only be one person. “I gotta take this.” 

He transferred the call directly to his earpiece, answering with a small amount of wariness while he turned his back on Cole to stare out over the mountains. “Hello?” 

“I’ve got good news.” Hawke’s sanguine voice was just what he needed to hear. He closed his eyes to bask in it for a second. “And I’ve got bad news. Which do you want first?” 

“I could use some good news.” He looked back over his shoulder, but found Cole had vanished as suddenly as he appeared. That… probably didn’t bode well. He sighed and leaned on the battlements, looking out instead, ignoring the prickling in his gut. 

“The smuggler you sent me didn’t slit my throat on the freighter to Jader. Which, by the way, rhymes.” 

Varric chuckled almost against his will. “And the bad news?” 

“You know that sleeping thing I said I’d do on the ship? Well, guess who forgot how much she hates sea travel. I hope you’re not expecting me to be in working order when I climb those damn mountains, Varric, because I’m going to need a nap.” 

Guilt twisted inside him uneasily. He didn’t want Hawke exhausted, falling prey to red templars or Venatori on the road. “You can stop and rest, Waffles. A day or two isn’t gonna kill us.” 

“It may.” Hawke joked. “The way your luck’s been lately? I won’t chance it. Besides, the more distance in between me and Fen I can get is best.” 

If someone didn’t know her well, they’d miss the hitch in her voice, the careful lightness almost smoothing it over. Varric sighed. He hadn’t heard a word from the elf, but he hadn’t expected to. It wasn’t exactly Varric asking Hawke to come that caused the problem. It was Hawke declaring she was coming alone. 

Varric wasn’t entirely sure how that fight played out, although he knew it ended with Bethany sealing the lovers in separate rooms for a good long while. Hawke had her way, like she usually did, but Varric knew that wouldn’t last long either. The second Broody stopped brooding, he’d be off like a rocket on Hawke’s tail. It might take him a bit longer without Varric’s contacts smoothing the way, but Broody had experience smuggling himself out of and into places. He’d make it, eventually, Varric was certain.

“Should’ve just taken him with you.” It’s what Varric said the first time. And every time he’d spoken to Hawke since. 

Hawke gave varying reasons why he couldn’t come. The first, that Bethany needed him (patently false. Sunshine was perfectly capable of defending herself). The second, that he was just as much a fugitive as she was, clearly also false. 

“Bring him into a hotbed of Tevinter magic?” Hawke scoffed. “I’d never hear the end of it.” 

Another lie. Hawke wasn’t telling him something and she was hiding it from Broody too. That meant it was almost definitely going to bite them all in the ass. Eventually. Hopefully after they dealt with their Corypheus problem. 

“Any idea what your ETA is?” Varric asked. “Your trusty dwarf would very much like to get all the yelling and threats against my life done and over with.” 

“Depends on whether or not I can steal a car, how far that car can get me, and if I have to walk through snow up to my tits to get up there.” Hawke mused. “I’m in Jader now. Bet I can make it by tomorrow night.” 

“Take a nap.” He ordered. “Then you can start back up again.” 

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead, Varric.” Hawke teased. 

For some reason those words sent an icy shiver of dread through him. They felt like a bad omen, and Varric wouldn’t count himself superstitious, but… 

“Be careful, at least.” Varric pleaded. “I know you don’t want to hear it, but we’d be lost without you.” 

“Varric!” He could see Hawke’s extravagant reaction in his mind, her fluttering hands, her mouth dropping into a startled, theatrical o. “I didn’t know you cared.” 

“Of course I care.” This was closer to honesty, to vulnerability, than either of them cared to go. But he’d called her here. Pulled her into danger again. His best friend, maybe the truest friend he’d ever had. If there was a time to be real, this moment with them standing on the edge of the end of the world was it. “I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to you.” 

Especially if she got hurt trying to save his ass. 

“It’s gonna be alright, Varric.” Hawke soothed immediately. “No need to get sentimental on me now. Besides, you need to save some of the good shit for my kickass memorial service, remember?” 

“Yeah, I remember.” He laughed weakly. “Pyrotechnics are already ordered, just like I promised.” 

“Excellent!” Hawke cheered. “Now, let’s see if I can remember how Fenris taught me to hotwire a car. See you soon, Varric.” 

The line clicked dead before he could get another word in. He huffed a laugh, shaking his head, staring out over the mountains. His head felt quieter already. Hawke was coming, fuck, maybe she’d know what to do about… 

“Cole told me I needed to find you.” Maria’s quiet voice was almost lost in the wind. “He said it was important.” 

Oh yeah, he knew the vanishing spirit kid was gonna be an issue. He spun, gluing on a smile, trying to replay the conversation. He hadn’t called Hawke by name, had he? Maker’s breath, how long had Maria been standing behind him, silent as a ghost, still as one of those statues of Andraste. Her eyes were unfathomable, the sky during a storm and she wore an expression Varric couldn’t quite read. It could have been anger, but it seemed to lack any heat. Maybe it was just weary resignation, a woman preparing for her eventual martyrdom.

Her eyes flicked to his earpiece and she jerked her chin at it. “Bianca?” 

Bianca. Hell, if she thought he was talking to his AI, he’d take it. And it was an excellent segway to the things he actually needed to talk to her about. 

“Nice to see you too, Princess.” He greeted, softening his smile into something more real. “Speaking of Bianca…”

Maria shut her eyes a second too long, opening them on a shaky exhale and plastering a wooden smile over her features before she interrupted him. “You seem fine. Cole thought you’d be jumping from the battlements, but I can see he was wrong.” 

Maker’s ass, Varric was going to have a talk with the kid. The last thing he needed the woman whose dad ate his gun worrying about was who’d be swandiving off the keep. Varric wasn’t that dramatic by a long shot. He grinned playfully. “It’s a long way down and we’ve got Netflix again, so I’m off the danger list.” 

“I can see now why you were so eager to get it up and running. I’m glad it worked.” Her facade was far too brittle, he felt like he’d shatter it with just the wrong word. She wasn’t even looking at him, but past him, into the abyss beyond. “I’m glad you’re feeling better. Listen, if you’re okay I’ve got to go. I’ve got a million things and…”

She impatiently shoved her hair back from her face. Varric watched, wary. “Maria…” 

“Varric.” She snapped. “It’s fine. It’s fine, everything is fine.” 

Cause anything that had to be said three times was clearly true. But Varric couldn’t think of the right words to say to fix… whatever had just gone sideways. He wished he was brave enough to take her hand, intertwine their fingers together, make her stay put until he got to the bottom of it. 

She knows grief. She understands how to carry it.

His tongue froze inside his mouth while he tried to find his words. But really, he only wanted to say one. Just one. Stay.

Instead, Maria’s false smile seared itself into place. “See ya, Varric.” 

And as he watched, Maria fled back into her castle, leaving him bereft. Again. 

xx

Varric: In case nobody told you yet today, you’re knocking this Inquisitor thing out of the park. Best inquisitoning I’ve ever seen. Princess: Wait until you see whatever just happened on TV later then decide my prowess. Varric: Let’s forget whatever happened on the walls. I didn’t mean to get you worked up. Varric: I watched your interview. You did great. Varric: Talk to me, Princess. Please. 

Varric stared, morosely, at his phone. He’d been assigned a tiny broom cupboard off the side of the courtyard by Josephine, although he swore it had been larger. Now it seemed to barely contain his desk, bed, and a dresser with enough room to walk from one to the other. It also, Varric thought snidely, had some sort of issue with the heat. His crackling fireplace looked quaint, but it served no functional purpose. His room constantly felt somewhere just above freezing. 

He tore his eyes from the accusing light of his phone, his unanswered messages, and looked back at his tablet. He forced himself to watch the whole interview twice, even though it felt like rubbing against sandpaper to see Maria’s mouth spin the story of their desperate fight for survival, their half-baked flight into the void. 

Her own near brush with death before she stumbled into his arms. She left out that part, the way he held her, the way she tried to fight him off before relenting. Maybe she forgot. Maybe she didn’t remember it at all.  

The last five minutes were easier to watch. He hit play again, watched the last of the clip begin to roll, Maria’s voice quietly spinning magic as she spoke to Harding. “I want Skyhold to be a safe place. Not just for the people who fled Haven, but for everyone. The world is in danger from magic we don’t understand and we have to work together to take care of people who can’t fight on their own.” 

“Before the attack on Haven, people were frightened of what the Inquisition represented. Do you think the purpose has changed?” Harding asked calmly. 

“The attack on Haven did change us.” Maria insisted, a flicker of fire in those stunning eyes. “It changed everything. The Inquisition will unite Thedas around a common goal, protecting our people. Not just from Corypheus, but from the worst parts of these wars. Starvation, homelessness, and disease can kill as many people as a dragon. We have to be ready for that too. The Inquisition will serve everyone who needs us. Regardless of what they believe.” 

Maker, she was good. But the best part was what happened next. Whoever made the decision to leave it in was a genius. Her whole interview she’d been calm, although at times her eyes gleamed with both fury and unshed tears. There’d been no trace of nerves, Harding gently soothing them away as she was being interviewed. 

“Thanks Inquisitor.” Harding said, easily casual, falling back into reality. 

Maria’s eyes flicked directly to the camera, then back to Harding. A slow, small, triumphant smile tipped up one side of her lips, her eyes still glimmering with emotion. She looked heart wrenchingly vulnerable, easy to adore, and at the same time recklessly, amazingly brave. 

“Thanks Harding.” Maria breathed, shoulders relaxing, just before the image cut away to Ruffles. 

Judging by what he’d seen of the coverage, it was nothing short of a rousing success. A near miss that made their Herald a hero, made her an Inquisitor with just enough blazing courage to delight the masses. 

Varric hit stop on the video again, spared a chagrined glance at his phone. His own messages lingered pathetically. 

Bianca.

She didn’t know. She couldn’t know. Nobody knew. 

Except, of course, that probably wasn’t technically true. Somebody in Rogue Tech, Bianca’s secretary at least, had to have some idea. Hawke knew, although she was very good at pretending she didn’t know anything. What's-his-name might know. Varric didn’t care that much, but he might. 

How good was Nightingale? Good enough to ferret out his darkest secret? 

But even if Nightingale discovered their sordid affair, it’d been cooling for years. Fuck, he hadn’t even seen Bianca for at least a year. Kirkwall going to shit really ruined any furtive liaisons. Nightingale did know about Bianca’s digging in Maria’s past, of course. Was that enough for both women to draw their own conclusions?

Varric ran through his phone call with Hawke, again, listening with an outside ear. 

Of course I care. I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to you.

He could have been talking to anyone, but she’d thought he’d been talking to Bianca. Maybe the real Bianca. If she’d heard what he’d said. If…

She heard. She definitely heard. That’s why she thought he’d been working on the communications so hard, to contact a lover. After, of course, attempting to seduce her in Haven. No wonder she wasn’t answering, no woman would. Even if she didn’t care about him, even if she’d rather keep him as a friend, the thought that he’d been lying or using her… 

His journal was open beside his phone, lines scrawled unsteadily on a blank page, the Lovers tucked in between the pages.

I never tasted the stars before your kiss Never relished the flavor of the universe imploding But now I’m watching from the center of the flames Awash in the uncertainty of oblivion Wondering if this is what it feels like to burn.

Fuck. Fuck.

It was getting late, but not so late that she wouldn’t still be awake. Varric needed to fix this, the longer it festered, the worse it would get. He’d already waited over a day and… 

He stood, knocking his chair back into the bed, grabbing his coat from where he’d thrown it on the comforter. 

Thank Andraste he did 

The trickle of dust from the ceiling was barely visible in the dim light of his shoddy lamp and inefficient fire, he barely had time to recognize it for what it was before the stone above him cracked open, dumping plaster and stone and one sputtering, irritated woman on his bed.

He blinked, shocked, down at Hawke’s sprawled form. She squawked, sitting up, coat askew, backpack slung half off, covered in snow and rubble. 

“Maker’s balls, Varric.” Hawke asked, inquisitive blue eyes skipping around his room, a teasing smirk twisting her lips. “Why did they stick you in a closet?” 

He didn’t bother answering. He pointed up at the rapidly closing hole above his head. “Explanation, Hawke?” 

“I was a bit lost. Maybe it’s the castle’s idea of a shortcut? You weren’t kidding about it being a bit of a diva, hm?” Hawke stretched, examining his repaired ceiling with a good deal of curiousity. “I like it when impressive medieval fortresses come with attitudes.” 

“Why didn’t you text me?” Varric demanded, exasperated. 

Hawke simply grinned, sitting up in the mess that had been his bed, extending her arms. “I wanted to surprise you! And look, I did!” 

She certainly had. And, as always, her timing was horrid. Varric chanced a glance back at his phone. The second he did, he watched Hawke’s sunny smile drop from the corner of his eye. Without her mask, Varric realized how fucking exhausted she looked, how brittle her own bravado was. 

“Varric?” She asked softly. 

“It’s fine. Let’s see if we can clean off the bed. You look like you’re running on empty. We can wait until tomorrow to…” Varric thought it would be excellent if the castle decided to clean it’s own mess up, but somehow he doubted that would happen. 

“I’m fine.” Hawke protested immediately. “I’m good to go, I swear. And I wanna meet her.” 

Her. Her. The inspiration for his latest shitty attempts at poetry. The woman he couldn’t get out of his head because she’d gotten under his skin. 

“Tomorrow.” Varric promised. “When’s the last time you ate? Real food, not candy bars and coffee.” 

“Varric.” Hawke repeated. And in that moment, he knew she’d seen. Somehow, he’d let his guard down long enough that she’d managed to glimpse his battered, broken soul. His insecurity and his vulnerabilities all laid bare. “What happened?” 

“Food first.” Varric muttered, tugging his coat on. “And fucking beer if I can find it. I’m gonna need it if you’re expecting to hear how badly I’ve fucked this one up.”