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amateurenjoyer · 2 months ago

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Consequence

Consequence, Chapter One (?)

Astarion x The Dark Urge In my first playthrough, Astarion did not ascend, and when I finished the game I became deeply preoccupied with Astarion's relationship to all those vampire spawn. I also wondered how his still fresh relationship with my Dark Urge (Kryn--a name I didn't realize already had meaning in the D&D Multiverse) might fare under new stressors. So, I began writing this fic, which is truly my first piece of fanfiction. It has since evolved into a separate project of its own, but I've decided to post (some of?) the handful of chapters I worked on, because I like them, and because the new project only barely resembles this one. Perhaps I am just trying to give myself permission to return to this fic in the future? We shall see. This was written before most of the story/dialogue patches were rolled out, so it begins right after the scene on the docks, and deviates from the end of game content from that point on. I don't really know who this is for, but maybe it is for you? WC: ~2900 CW: BG3 Spoilers, Blood, Physical Injury, Immolation, Death of a Child

Fires still rage in the Upper City, casting their light toward the sky and leaving all in a suspended, crimson twilight. It is night, I think, but I am in no state to risk testing that assumption. The ashes of burning patriar estates—a notion both enthralling and perhaps a little heartbreaking, if only for the destruction of so many grand and beautiful things held within their walls—coat the broken skyline and city streets in grime and soot. Illithid bodies pile up in squares and on street corners as Flaming Fists sort through the dead. Sinew from shattered Nautiloids hangs from rooftops and towers, and where the ships were not sundered into pieces, city blocks and their former inhabitants lie crushed beneath their weight. Chaos reigns Baldur’s Gate.

A weary Manip in armor stained with red and silver blood alike rallies precious little sympathy for some frantic, baby-cradling father, explaining that they haven’t found anyone matching his wife’s description, not yet. Unsatisfied, the man pushes his way past her, lurching toward the mass of long, shiny skinned corpses stacked waist high beyond the Fist’s impromptu barricade. Two other officers stop him. The man twists and shakes himself away from their grasp, moving with such reckless desperation that I am momentarily convinced that he might lose hold of his child and drop it head first on the cobblestones. Hungry, that brutal thought overwhelms me. I can nearly taste the mineral earth of the road mingling with blood, and my hunger begs the man to continue his carelessness. Perhaps the child would be better off. It’s mother’s fate was certain—the man and the Manip knew this as much as I, but they were too cowardly to accept it: her life had been cut short by a violent transformation, every piece of her identity shredded in an instant as a mind flayer emerged from the soft cocoon of her body. She died a monster, unidentifiable and soulless. A horrifying end, and one seen all across the city today, again and again and again.

The baby’s cries turn into a painful ringing in what remains of my ears, and with great effort, I roll my head away from the scene playing out on the street.

The Illithid threat had been thwarted, at least; the mind flayer’s body snatching was put to an end by a cohort of unlikely and utterly strange allies who, up until a few hours ago, had counted me amongst their number. We had been traveling and fighting together—questing, truly—for a season, infiltrating the cult of Absolutists that had grown around the Netherbrain at the center of the invasion. The cultists thought that they were hearing the voice of a new goddess, the Absolute, a divinity that would see the remaking of the world. It was our band of misfits that discovered the truth: like every other divinity, the Absolute was a disappointment, a monster in god’s clothing. Nothing more than an Illithid on a mission of conquest.

I suppose that in the long book of history, or indeed on the pages of next week’s Gazette should it ever come to print again, our actions will come to be lauded with the same enthusiasm and reverence as any of the Sword Coast’s mightiest heroes. The Saviors of Baldur’s Gate. Laughable praise, if laughter wouldn’t crumble my lungs into dust just now. I was never motivated by such lofty ideals, and save one or two of my companions who harbor more saintly notions of self-delusion, the same can be said for the rest. We were survivors, it was as simple as that. Even Kryn, our de facto leader, sought freedom from the forces working to control us above all else. The ambitious conspirators who had set this whole ordeal into motion had threatened our continued existence with their squirmy little parasites, turning each of us into a living incubator. Well, some of us were doing more living than others. Thrust together by circumstance, we did little else than search for a solution that would prevent us from sprouting tentacles and getting ripped apart from the inside by a mind flayer. Heroism had been a by-product, and one that I certainly would not be reaping any benefit from.

If future generations of Baldurians try to imagine the pomp and parades that greeted us in the days following our heroic deeds, they should do so with the understanding that the vampire spawn was absent for such celebrations. That Astarion Ancunín was instead treated to a slow, final death in some dark Lower City alley, wretched and alone.

Where is Kryn?

How pathetic I must look, slumped here, waiting for strength I know will not return. I test one hand, moving slowly. The sight of my skin—now papery ash and cinders, flaking away in tiny particles, floating through the hot air around me—well, it isn’t a comforting sight. Radiant pain greets me with every effort, and though I know my face fares no better than my hands, I cannot help but touch my ruined fingers to it. The spot sears at my touch, my cheek is like charcoal, and my finger the charred end of a smoldering branch, scratching. Underneath the brittle, peeling mess of my skin, I can feel my muscles tense and pulse, urging me to act, to run, to find the one spot in this city consecrated to my name and dig until I find solace. But I cannot meet my body’s demands, so I remain hideous and limp, hand falling to my side.

Gods, it just isn’t fair. Why should I be suffering again, alone in the dark? I had fought alongside the heroes of the day, and whatever uncountable number of lives that had been ended here in this city, I was part of the reason that number was not infinitely larger. Wasn’t I?

I try to be very still. If a passing rat mistakes me for a real corpse, I might be able to catch it.

Cazador would have loved this. As my master, he always took great pleasure in my agony, particularly when it was administered directly by him. But this? This was my own doing, and that would have been another kind of delight entirely. The irony would have given him tremendous satisfaction. Of course, he is no longer of this world, having been rendered into a fine dust at the end of my dagger, but that seems less of a victory now that it was all but certain that I’d be stuck here until the sun rose again and finished me off.

I had known that our collective decision to command the Netherbrain to eliminate itself would end my time in the sun, that the parasite which had somehow protected me from many of the afflictions of my curse would shrivel once it’s master was no more. I was prepared to make the sacrifice. I had Kryn by my side, as devout a partner as I could have ever hoped for, and the prospect of a sunless life seemed more bearable so long as they were willing to share it with me. Even so, as we recovered on the docks, the sun beginning its descent over the horizon, I had half-hoped that perhaps something would intervene on my behalf. Maybe the little worm behind my eye would endure, maybe some divine entity was finally paying attention now that I had done the world a good turn—several thousand good turns, really, if we’re counting. Maybe Kryn and I could have a chance at a life without any more sacrifices, the kind of life we were owed. Weren’t heroes meant to be rewarded for their do-gooding?

I had stood there, and hoped, and was reduced to ash. It did not feel like a reward.

Were my companions looking for me? Kryn surely organized a search, but the Lower City is dense and winding, and I had stumbled my way well beyond the open air of the docks, desperately outrunning the sun at my back. If anyone had been paying attention to the elf flailing helplessly through the streets of the Gate, I’m sure they would have found me to be quite graceless. Pale and frantic, I careened into shadows hoping to find one long enough to keep me safe until night, but they all seemed to slip toward me, shifting unhelpfully, and my mind was too ablaze with panic to trust that these little shadows would remain on my side. I ran wildly, darting from thoroughfare to side street, seeking some place smaller, darker, narrower, where time and shadow would ally with me. All the while, I burned, lit by some invisible flame. My energy spent, my body crumbling, I finally spied a sliver of proper darkness in the form of a narrow and bent alley, and hurled myself into it, slipping over my boots in the process. The tumble took more from me than I realized, and half-destroyed as I had become, I knew there was little chance of me getting up once I hit the ground. I had vigor enough to prop my shoulders against the wall, keep some sense of my surrounds, maybe snap at some mostly dead pest, but it now seems that I have burrowed myself a little too safely, and will be found shriveled under tomorrow’s noon sun by some stranger before anyone comes to my rescue.

Time stretches strangely as night sets in proper—still lit red-brown by the burning city—and the street beyond my alley empties. Bodies are carted away, Fists get new orders, and fathers with their babies get escorted elsewhere. The city still churns with chaos, the night punctuated with shouting and wailing, grief and mischief, but the sounds slip further away the longer I remain here.

My hunger keeps me company, at least. It is greedy, but this is nothing new. A vampire’s hunger cannot be sated, not in the way mortals understand their own appetites. It might be brought to heel by will or a master’s command, but when one is weakened, hunger’s aching thrum can grow so loud it drowns out all other thought. This greed, this intensity, is not without purpose. Though I am too far gone for blood alone to save me, enough could give me the strength to get to the little cemetery on the border of the Upper City, where a grave bearing my name waits to be put to use once more, a bed of ancestral soil for some healing rest. As I watch barely there stars struggle against the smoky sky, it is my hunger that keeps me alert, focused on the potentiality of this one task, ready for the last chance at saving myself. I wait for life to chance upon me.

A shuffling sound snaps my focus to the darker end of the alley, opposite from the street, where the shadows are deep and spill around a corner. There, in the crook, a creature hunched on all fours, stalking. It is all elbows and bony limbs, spine arched high above its head, which it holds at a painful cant. The creature has seen me, and pauses, holding itself tightly as it waits to see if I will run. It does not know that I, too, am a predator—though perhaps not in this particular moment. Two red eyes, small but bright, cut through the darkness. The sight is a familiar one, and though the face is unrecognizable, the wave of undeath scent that follows it confirms my suspicion. Another spawn, like me, but smaller, wilder. A child, and feral at that. The ache at my core grows dense at the realization.

The thing had been one of Cazador’s. Another sibling, of sorts. A tenday ago, it had been locked in a cell under the city, waiting to be sacrificed by our master. I had saved it from that fate when I destroyed Cazador, but it was not supposed to be up here. I had sent them all away, thousands of them, to—well, to some place safe from the sun at least. Why aren’t you with the rest? Why didn’t you go?

I try to make a sound, but only manage to wheeze out a dusty cough, losing more of myself in the process. The spawn is not deterred and draws closer, until its face is level with my own. It twists its neck so that our eyes are aligned, bones cracking as it moves. Gods, was I ever such a beast? At last, I manage a warning, some kind of pained hiss, my fangs bared, but I am too ruined for the thing to comprehend what it is seeing. It does not yet know what variety of horrors may befall our kind, so it does not recognize what I am, or what I am not. It mirrors me, drawing its lips back to expose its own fangs, all putrid yellow and rust. A horrid smile, tense in the wrong places. Dried blood, days old perhaps, is smeared across its mouth and nose. It has been feeding.

It slinks across my body, arms and legs bent like a spider. Pain screams through the spots where its body brushes against my own, but I cannot cry out. The little corpse hovers above me as it searches, sniffing for blood like an eager hound. It could feed from me, but it would not be fed. Vampires cannot sustain each other. Nothing to be gained, save a little violent delight to occupy its time. Why doesn’t it know? The creature cannot find a hint of living flesh on me, but it senses that I am some kind of being, something that might be consumed, and looks into my eyes again, assessing. Had the beast any sense it would move on, and through my gaze I do my best to urge it to leave, to find better prey. There was plenty of it crying in the streets.

It mightn’t smell life in my veins but it sees the intelligence in my eyes and that will be enough. A whiny growl spins up in its throat and the tension in its posture releases at last, as it springs toward my neck. I summon the last dregs of my strength to roll us both before it can make contact, pinning the small thing under my weight. I feel a crack in its sternum, and it screams out, a terrible sound. Not the sound of a monster, but of a child. The kind of sound that by design summons even those least willing to rush to an innocent’s aid. I make myself as heavy as I can and try to smother the thing, frantically trying to quiet it, but it will not be tamed. Its nails, thick and long with neglect, dig into my ashen face, carving out pieces. The pain is hideous, but I will not be ended by this wretched little pest. I pull back, one hand pressing its face into the ground, the other planted on its broken chest, and bear down on the beast’s neck with my fangs. Its throat is so small that even with only a thread of my vitality remaining, I crush it with a single bite. Its blood tastes sour, turns my hunger wrong, and I let go, spitting. Something that feels like silence fills the alley as the two of us go still, the child’s blood, thick and slow, pooling with the cinder ash remains of my own flesh.

I am catapulted off of the little corpse by quick, successive blasts of force rocketing into my side. The world is upended and everything spins into true darkness. I feel my body crash into one of the stone walls that had been sheltering me, but I do not feel any pain. Nearly all sensation falls away, as I spiral away from awareness. There are voices shouting, how many I cannot say. The voices float through the darkness, far from me, distant tethers I cannot grasp. Only one comes through with any clarity, a panicked, hoarse whisper, half-familiar, “Shit, shit, shit.” It drifts by me, out of reach.

Several moments of interminable length pass. Then I am flooded by something iron and sweet, buzzing with power. Voracious, my hunger snaps taut, pulling my mind back toward my body. I remember my fangs, and beneath them I feel the warm press of skin, delicate, with veins and tendons pulsing. A quickening heartbeat. A wrist. Kryn’s, smelling faintly of rain.

They’re saying my name, I think, but I am lost to the stream of blood, bright and warm as the dawn. The most sensational taste I have ever known. I am biting down hard, chasing the thread of life that beckons from Kryn’s heart, a loving invitation. I am being asked a question. It is difficult to hear. I am so parched. They are asking me for help. Help? But I am so weak. The buzzing intensifies, and I feel resistance. My fingers tense, I am begging Kryn not to pull away. "Don’t leave me." The wrist is wrenched away from my fangs, but some of Kryn’s kindness lingers on my tongue. "Godsdamn it! What do I do? Astarion!" They sound so desperate. How remarkable, that they summon such emotion for me. I should try to remember. There’s somewhere I should go.

#bg3 fanfiction #astarion x durge #astarion ancunin #bg3 spoilers #fic: consequence #< my fic tag i guess?#i write fic sometimes #siri google how to tumblr for olds

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blorb-el · 11 months ago

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13 and 23 for the fanfic end of the year asks?

13. favorite writing song/artist/album of this year

I have songs that inspire me to think about the fic in question and the characters, but I usually need minimalism while actually writing. For inspiration: the Prisoner’s Chorus from Beethoven's Fidelio, the first movement of the Mendelssohn Violin Concerto in D minor, Peter Gabriel’s cover of The Power of the Heart, Leonard Cohen’s Recitation/A Thousand Kisses Deep, Regina Spektor’s The Call. For actually writing, long playlists/best of's of Arvo Pärt, Max Richter, and Ludovico Einaudi, and this random album of FNAF game music remixes

23. fics you wanted to write but didn’t

putting this under a cut because there are SO DAMN MANY GOOD GOD...........

the biggest would be finishing the Kryptonian superbat au, which would be (mild spoilers?) sort of a sequel to isostatic. It was my NaNo project in 2022 but I had to stop about 25k in for Reasons. I think once it’s done it’ll land in the 40k ish range? There Will Be Footnotes.

of course finishing we shall be free; we shall find peace, but tbh I was pretty damn sure I was never going to finish that in a year. I made about 45k of progress on it during NaNo this year, but, horrifyingly, that only got me about...halfway…through the plot outline. this mfer is a SLOW slow burn

I really wanted to participate more in bottom bruce wayne october with various superbat ideas and ended up with 4 drafts, one of which was done enough to end off to januariat to be beta read, but I just couldn’t figure out how a few paragraphs in that would flow, which is usually a symptom of being unsatisfied with a deeper issue. So the catboy pwp, the chastity belt dkos-ish au, the sex pollen, and the [redacted fic that shall remain undescribed bc I will never have the nerve to publish it except on anon] all remain in tragic stages of unfinishedment

speaking of various pwps, I really wanted to make progress on an immediate post-wf289 fic where the ashes of the Kryll give superbat low-level temporary telepathic empathy and of course they've been pining for each other for years and do it very tenderly and probably weep manly tears, because that's the bronze age worlds finest vibe <3

The claspers whumpfic where clark gets shrapneled and bruce has to do emergency surgery and oh no discovers his claspers remains one scene. I need to look up best practices in octopus physical therapy for this though if it gives you some idea of the intended plot. This would be a prequel/backstory to make this place your home and a home for my xeno clark headcanons in general

I really want to do an omegaverse fic that’s the opposite of the 'oh no, I’ve just gone into heat and I have no plans, you’ll just have to sleep with me' trope. like, bruce's contingency plans have fallen through yeah, but with two weeks advance notice and he's asking clark for a gentleman's favor and there's traditional style courting with cheese plates and possibly slow dancing. also maybe to incorporate xenomegaverse Delta clark and also how much more dangerous Poison Ivy would be in an omegaverse setting

I still have aspirations for a sequel to tacere featuring Kara acclimating to life on earth, but that’s on the back burner until I read more of her comics bc i know that plot's been done over and over and i want to be sure i know what the canon takes are

i fervently want a comfort (xen)omegaverse cloisbat set during the recovery in superman: lost

dragonclark aka the one where kryptonians all avoid magic bc they don't want the spells that shapeshift them into humanoid forms to be broken and they're actually (slightly fifth dimensional) dragons but otherwise tech based. don't worry about it. martha and jonathan found a baby six-limbed dragonlet in that rocket that blinked at them and then shapeshifted and they were like ok we are still gonna adopt

was contemplating a fic set in clark's sophomore year of college where xenoclark/mermaidlori get together but i can't decide whether i want it to be straightforward pwp hooking up or actual melancholy young love plotfic where they both have this impending separation hanging above their heads. i was vaguely thinking of having lori's mermaid tail be partially paralyzed but i'd have to do a hell of a lot more research into ableism related to wheelchairs and find a wheelchair using beta

old timey radio husbands ft. radio bruce getting blackmailed for having sexe pictures. need to buy a book to research the metropolitan american gay scene in the 40s. or perhaps the fic is just the excuse i need to order the book?

every time i watch any given jl episode i want to write a fic where dcauclarkie my problematic rectangular fave gets some god damn therapy. this has been the state of my brain for two years and it may in fact be time to pick up my first ever attempt at dc fic, which was post-stas pre-jls1 fic that attempted to explain why the US government would ever trust dcauclark again by lifting the plot of panic in the sky from the reeves show (ft. amnesiac clark)

speaking of reeves and watching shows every time i watch an episode of batman 66 I want to write an adamwest!bruce/georgereeves!clark because every time I watch 66bruce be a ridiculous dad to dick I’m like ohhhhhhh this man NEEDS to get [redacted] until [redacted] he DESERVES it. he is so husband material. and 50s Superman also could use [redacted redacted redacted]. Unfortunately this is not a plot, but as Jan so patiently reminds me, pwp is a thing, so...

that was so many. if you have read to the end let me know if any of these are intriguing and i shall perhaps move them forward to the front burner alongside wsbf

#thanks for the ask :^)#the thing about me is that i have. so fucking many fics in the wip drawer #my entire 'wip' folder in scrivener is. 248k words. as opposed to the 40k words i have published on ao3. its clownographic #dio-icarticaae #my writing

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everlastingdreams · 2 years ago

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Weeping Monk x Reader : The Patience Of A Heart Chapter 12

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Story Summary: After fire claimed the lives of your family, the monastery of your Uncle Carden becomes your new home. As the niece of a priest you are expected to behave prim and proper, but not even the watchful eyes of the Weeping Monk can see all. An ancient magic returns to life when love and duty begin to blur.

Chapter Title: In Between Worlds

Notes: I’m still nervous for every chapter of this fic. ;_:

Warnings: There’s a list of warnings for this story: Murder. Violence. Death. Angst. Sexism. Strong Language. Trauma. Childhood trauma. Survivor’s guilt. Mentions of child maltreatment. Threat of Sexual assault. PTSD. Misogyny, Self-flagellation. Gore.

Other warnings: Jealousy. Forbidden Love. Romance. Pining. Smut. Spicy content. Little Slow-burn.

Word count of this fic: +120K

Chapter: 12 / lol Gonna keep the chapter count a secret until the end.

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Anne returned before dawn and had brought an undershirt and aketon, she was also kind enough to bring a basket with food so the three of you wouldn’t grow hungry.

The second she stepped out the barn to return to the abbey for the day, Squirrel was going through the contents of the basket, it looked like he had not eaten in quite some time.

You tried to dress Lancelot in the undershirt and when you lifted his left arm he emitted a faint sound “Lancelot? Can you hear me?”

His eyes remained shut but hope returned when he nodded very shallowly.

He brought a hand to the large bruise on his waist and winced in pain.

He had never felt so weak. Was he even awake? Was he even alive? Were you even really here?

You took hold of his hand, wishing there was something you could do to take the pain away “You’re safe now. The boy you helped, Squirrel, is here too.”

Squirrel had just stuffed his mouth with some berries and was still chewing when he went to sit close to the wounded Ash Man “He’s awake!”

The smile grew on your face “That’s good news, he’s improving.”

Lancelot could hear Percival too and picked up the Fey scent next to him now, he forced his eyes to open, the headache it brought had him draw a couple of deep breaths “Y/n? Where I am I?”

Hearing him speak your name had your heart take a leap of joy “It’s me.” you could barely contain your happiness “Sister Anne and I found the two of you in the woods. We brought you to a barn close to the abbey. She has sewed your wounds as best as she could.”

A barn? The abandoned one?

The blood loss caused him to shiver, he felt so cold.

You took the shivering as the prompt to take of your cloak and drape it over him to warm him up.

Your hand was embraced by his, he turned his head to look at Squirrel.

When he had felt himself grow weaker, he had feared for the boy’s safety if he were to succumb to his injuries “Percival, are you alright?”

Percival?

The boy grimaced at the sound of his real name being spoken “I’m alright. Are you?”

Lancelot’s attention turned to you, aiming the question at you “Am I?”

You didn’t dare answer it yet “You lost a lot of blood.”

He looked down at his chest, commenting “And clothes too.”

That cheeky comment made your cheeks burn “We had to treat your wounds, you twit.”

He would have smirked if it did not hurt to do so “Did Percival explain what happened?”

You gave a nod “You wanted to help him but were stopped by the Trinity Guard. Was it Wicklow?”

There was a bitter scoff at the mention of the name “The coward ran after I killed them.”

It came as no surprise that the Abbot was too much of a coward to do his own dirty work “Was my uncle not there to stop this?”

Lancelot shook his head “No. I waited until Father had left for Uther’s camp with most of the paladins before I went to free the boy from Brother Salt’s kitchens.”

You were disgusted by the news that they did not just intend to hurt this boy, but actually torture him “They send a child to Brother Salt?!?”

The disgust he had felt upon hearing that the boy would be tortured had pushed him to do what had lead him here.

Percival chimed in “That paladin scum had his throat cut by Lancelot.”

He would have spared you the details…

Your brow arched “I am gone for a little while and it all went to hell.”

Well, it was not far from the truth…

You feared for his future “And now you have fled with a Fey boy. I don’t know how my uncle will respond to it.”

The admission was close to a whisper “I will not return to Father. He is going down a path I cannot follow, a path I no longer believe in.”

The whisper was matched by you “I think you never believed in his cause, not in the way that he does.”

The doubts had always been there, your uncle’s actions stemmed from hatred and a hunger for power, his had originated from being manipulated from a young age into believing that killing the Fey would save their souls from evil.

He did not meet your eyes, it must still feel like he was betraying your uncle.

You gave his hand a squeeze “It will take time and it might not be easy, but you have the perfect opportunity to learn so much of your heritage now. From someone who knows what it is to be a Fey, and not from the words of those who don’t understand it.”

It took a moment for Squirrel to understand who that would be “Me?”

You nodded at the boy, who shared a look with Lancelot.

He started “I do not expect anything-”

Percival cut him off “Fine. But if he wants to learn, he needs to stay.”

He understood what the boy had meant, to remain by his side and with the Fey.

It was a reasonable request.

Lancelot did not know what the future would bring, only that he would not mind the boy being in it “I owe my life to your bravery, it would only be fair to spend the rest of it making sure that you are well.”

With the Green Knight gone, the young Fey knight had little friends left. Percival wondered why Lancelot would even wish to be one, had he forgotten how he’d cursed him out for hours that day he’d been captured by him?

Still… the tall oaf was brave enough to be one and perhaps he could convince him to gift him one of those swords he always carried with him…

And yet, it was hard for the boy to confess how he longed to have actually friends “I can take care of myself. But, I’ll let you stick around if that makes you feel better.”

His eyes narrowed at the boy, there was so much pride mixed with a fear of rejection mixed into that one sentence “Very well then.” then he asked “Is that food in that basket?”

The boy had clearly eaten something, there were purple stains around his mouth and chin.

Percival just nodded.

He had hoped the boy would understand why he was asking “Could you bring me something? Preferably soft if there is anything of the sorts.”

His chin hurt after receiving the heavy blow from a flail against it during the fight.

The boy looked back at him with suspicion but did as asked, taking his sweet time for it too.

Lancelot reached for your arm and felt the bangle you still wore “Wearing the tunic of the abbey I see…” his fingers moved the sleeve up until the mark was visible “You still have it…”

Instantly the mark’s silver pattern grew brighter and you jested “What? Did you expect I would cut a part of my skin off to remove it?”

He was dead serious “It would just grow back on a different place of your skin.”

What?

WHAT?

It wasn’t something you knew could happen “Even on my face?”

The expression on your face was what let the smile break through on his face “Of course.” his fingertips touched the mark “Do you want me to remove it?”

Quietly you shook your head and pulled your arm back.

His mouth was a little agape, he breathed the approval “Good.”

Then his attention fell on what was draped over his legs, eyes searching yours for confirmation on what he believed it was.

You pointed at it “It’s uh…my cloak.”

Those blue orbs remained on you for so long that it made you flustered.

He could barely hold back the lopsided smile “I suppose mine was still wet with blood.”

The reply came a bit too fast “It is.”

Percival returned to his side and offered him a piece of cheese and some of the softest part of the bread. When the items were handed to Lancelot, you put your attention on the boy.

You stood up and gestured for the boy to come closer “Let me look at those bruises, sweetling.”

Percival would have declined had you not spoken the term of endearment, shyly he came closer and lied “They don’t hurt.”

He could detect the lie from a mile away and took a bite from the food.

You gently touched the skin close to his blackened eye, right away the boy winced in pain “I’m going to put some ointment on them. Is that alright?”

It was barely a nod, it was enough for you to grab the ointment again and gently apply some to the bruises.

It was the first time he had seen the boy so quiet for so long. No witty remarks or jests. Nothing.

And just when Percival glanced in his direction, he tilted his head and saw the boy’s cheeks turn a little redder.

You noticed the redness on Percival’s cheeks and brought your hand to his forehead to feel his temperature “You’re a little red, I don’t think you have a fever. Maybe you’re tired?”

The boy quickly nodded “Yes.”

Lancelot had known you long enough to see that it wasn’t just the boy “So are you. Have you not slept well?”

You admitted to it “The mark kept me awake.”

He gestured to the swords out of his reach “Will you hand me those, please?”

Of course Percival was quicker, taking any chance he could get to touch the weapons that you and Anne had taken from his hands while traveling here.

The swords were returned to him and he told the boy “Go rest.”

Percival was less reluctant to sleep now that the Ash Man was conscious again and gave a nod before finding a place in the barn not far from him to sleep.

It was close to sounding like an order “You too, y/n.”

The protest came instantly “What? No. I can’t just sleep when you’re-”

He would not be swayed and spoke firmly “You look as if you have not slept in days. I will be on my feet again soon enough. Please, do not argue with me over this.”

Well, you were indeed very tired…

Your slight glare was met with the determination in his eyes, you would not win this “Fine. I’ll rest for a while.”

You went to where the boy had found a comfortable spot and asked Percival “Want to share?”

The boy just shrugged his shoulders and you took it as a ‘yes’.

That ‘resting for a while’ turned into hours, the sun had already began to set by the time you woke again.

And when you opened your eyes and felt disoriented by the time that had passed, it took a second to realize Lancelot was on his feet already. He was holding his waist while taking slow careful steps around the barn. When you sat upright a little, your cloak slid down from your shoulders.

He had covered you and the boy with it…

Quietly you moved from under the cloak, making sure you did not wake the boy.

Lancelot saw you approach “I need to start walking again. It will be my only way of traveling until I find Goliath again.”

It dawned on you that you had not seen the horse at all when you’d went to find him “What happened to Goliath?”

It pained him to think of it “Someone stole him the first night, I was too injured to track the thieves down.”

You hoped to console him “Fear not. We’ll find him. Goliath is not the kind of horse that doesn’t draw attention.”

He sighed a little “That is what worries me. If they know he is my horse, they could take their anger out on him. It is the same with you and Percival. The Church will never stop hunting for me. And if it is known that you have helped me… I should not be here. I am endangering you and the Sister who helped me as well.”

It was difficult to see him so troubled, the weight of the world was on his shoulders again “I refuse to let fear rule my life, Lancelot. Please, don’t push me away, even if it were to protect me.”

The plea struck a chord, he reached for your arm and brought you closer, using you a little to keep his balance “I have made a terrible mess and I do not know how to solve it. The Church has excommunicated me and the Fey will never accept the monster that hunted them.”

You had heard his voice break… the sky in his eyes barely withheld the threatening rain.

Out of instinct, your arms wrapped around him protectively, an embrace meant to remind him that there was still someone who would be his home if he’d allow you to be.

The reciprocation came fast, he held on to you like it was the only safe thing in a world that was collapsing around him.

The tears you did not see, his face had found it’s comfort on your shoulder.

Your hand brushed along his back slowly, soothing him while he struggled to compose himself “That little boy over there would not be here now if you had not been so brave. A Fey boy has accepted you. Nothing is impossible, perhaps unlikely, but never impossible.”

You felt him lift his head, nose resting near your ear now.

The confession was a pained whisper “I fear what the future holds.”

Carefully you pried “Do you think there is room in it for me?”

His voice dropped lower “Does it feel like I wish to let you go?”

Your breath caught in your throat when he moved to stand flush against you.

His nose drifted from your temple to your cheek, your neck was cupped and your chin steered.

You hummed and coyly asked “What do you think you’re doing?”

It halted him, the confidence left and all that remained was the look of a man who believed he’d made a mistake.

The look in his eyes now could be compared to those of a young boy that had not a clue how to solve a puzzle put in front of him “I…”

Had his intention not been clear?

What had he done wrong?

You pinched some of your tunic between your fingers, tugging at it so it caught his attention “I am quite surprised to see that you would consider kissing a nun.”

He released you just a little bit “But… you are not a nun.”

Your brow arched “You can’t know that, it has been weeks.”

Lancelot kept his focus on your face, trying to spot the lie.

And then he realized.

The mark would not still be there if you were telling the truth.

He almost fell for it.

What came out of his mouth was a mixture of a scoff and a chuckle “I had almost forgotten your antics.”

Your head tilted “Did the blows to your head erase them?”

Instantly his eyes narrowed and darkened, his own fingers gave the sleeve of your tunic a light tug “You have already unleashed chaos into a monastery. Spare the abbey.”

This time it was you who scoffed “Oh, please. They love me here. I knitted socks for every single one of the Sisters. And I am really good at selling flowers too.”

The pride flew from your words.

For a moment he said nothing, only grinned.

“What?”

“Socks?”

“Shut up.”

“I know you are not a nun.”

You challenged him “How?”

He took a breath, then fired his observations “No veil. No cross hanging around your neck. And-”

Suddenly your arm was in his grasp and it felt like the mark wished to crawl from your skin, through your sleeve and unto him.

Cockily he pointed out “-there is this.”

You both hated and loved how smug he could be “Fine. I’m not a nun. I can’t really seem to adjust to a life where I have to follow many rules.”

Lancelot did not let go and purposely taunted the mark for it’s inability to get past the fabric of your sleeve.

It sends a tingling up your arm and neck that was both ticklish and very pleasant.

You quietly squeaked at the growing sensation “Lancelot!”

The sound of it only made him pull you closer again by the arm and he flashed a smile “Neither of us are good at following the rules. If we were, we would not be here. And I would not be doing this.”

Your throat went dry when he slowly leaned in, you would not deny him again. Not when that tingle had warmed your whole body and made you feel so light and airy.

Just when you felt his hot breath tempt your lips, a loud yawn had the two of you breaking away from each other.

Percival was rubbing the sleep from his eyes “I’m starving.” another yawn “Where’s the basket?”

Your voice was unstable while you pointed at the basket “It’s over there.”

Lancelot saw the boy look him up and down while passing him, as if it finally clicked that he was on his feet again “I believe you have slept well.”

Percival was confused “What?”

You gently smacked against Lancelot’s arm “Don’t.”

He did not listen “I thought a wild animal had gotten into the barn, only to find the true origin of the continuous growling.”

Was he truly teasing a child for snoring?

You were quick to comfort the boy “Don’t listen to him, a lot of people snore. He’s just messing with you and-”

But little did you know how quick of wit the young Fey child could be as well…

Percival did not let the comment from the Ash Man slide “At least I don’t talk in my sleep.”

It was all the boy said before walking over to the basket with a grin on his face, it left the Ash Man speechless.

What?

Surely this had been a jest by the boy? If not, how long had he been talking in his sleep?

Had he ever spilled his secrets to the paladins this way?

Your sympathy switched to Lancelot “I never heard anything.”

It was not a lie, that night he’d spend in the monastery with you, he had not said a word during sleep.

He could barely hide his anxiousness over it “Others could have.”

That boy had rattled him so easily…

Now it was him you tried to comfort “Don’t think too much about it. It is probably incoherent mumbling.”

He sincerely hoped it was…

The opening of the barn door drew both your attention, Anne walked in and shut the door again.

She kept a distance upon seeing Lancelot on his feet again “Brother. I am glad to see you are doing better.”

The spoken title made him cast his eyes to the ground “You must be Sister Anne. Am I correct to believe you are responsible for treating my injuries?”

Anne confirmed it while putting down the jug of water she had brought “I am. And yes. Although I am afraid I cannot help you more than I already have. I do not possess the experience of a healer.”

He waved away the modesty “You have done more than enough. For which, you have my gratitude.”

She gave a nod then gestured for you “Y/n, can I speak to you for a moment?”

You stepped towards her “Of course.”

Anne quietly informed you “The Abbess asked about you. I was able to divert her attention from your ‘illness’. I don’t know how long I can keep her from finding out that you’re not in the abbey.”

Lancelot was overhearing the conversation.

It would not be long before you would be in trouble too if things went on like this…

You put her at ease “I’ll try to come and do some of my chores tomorrow. It will lower suspicion.”

She questioned Lancelot’s health status “Do you think he is well enough to be left alone for a while?”

It was what worried you “I…I’m not sure.”

Lancelot decided to share his opinion “I shall be alright. Some more rest and I will be back to normal.”

You were far more concerned about his health than he was himself “Alright…”

For Anne, the matter was settled “Alright then. I’ll see you at the Abbey tomorrow. Try to be there at noon, I’ll smuggle you into the kitchen so you can help me there. We’ll be able to put some food aside for them again then.”

You gave a quick nod “You’re a saint.”

She waved that away “The Abbess would disagree.”

There was still something she was holding in her hands, it was covered in a piece of cloth and you pointed at it “What’s that?”

She tilted her head in the boy’s direction as an answer.

Anne walked over to Percival and handed him what she had stored into the cloth “For you.”

Percival of course accepted the unidentified gift, he folded the cloth open and found a slice of bread that smelled quite delicious “I don’t know what it is…”

She explained it to him “I baked it with some milk and eggs, then added some honey on top.”

That sounded tasty and the boy took a bite, his mouth was still full when he enthusiastically praised Sister Anne’s cooking “It’s delicious!”

It warmed your heart to see the child look so happy with it.

Lancelot cleared his throat and caught the boy’s attention, head tilting a little to get the message across.

Percival understood what was being told “Thank you!”

Anne let out a soft laugh “You’re very welcome.” she turned to you “I’ll be heading back now. Are you going to be alright for tonight?”

Your gaze sought Lancelot for the answer, he gave an encouraging nod “We’ll be alright. Thank you again, for everything.”

You didn’t let her leave before giving her a hug, she had a kind heart the size of a village.

She returned the hug “When I became a nun, I swore to help those who needed aid. I consider it my purpose.”

The embrace ended and Anne gave Lancelot a quick reminder to try and not rip the stitches, then she left the barn once more.

Percival returned to the place he’d been sleeping at and where the cloak still was, clearly he must not have gotten much sleep in a while, or perhaps he finally felt safe enough to do so.

The boy crawled under the cloak again, curling up to make himself nice and comfortable.

Lancelot returned to the bale of straw you had covered with the wool to sit, he lifted part of his undershirt to see how the stitches were holding up.

It was beyond your control that your eyes dropped to what was being bared.

Of course all that training and fighting had given him the physique that had your poor heart roll around in your rib cage as it tried to free itself from it’s cage.

It was when he winced in pain that you pulled in the reins of your wandering thoughts and went to his side.

He let the shirt fall back into place “I will never forget how it felt to be struck by a flail.”

The scars alone would remind him of it daily…

You plopped down to sit beside him “I know you want to get back on your feet again, but I don’t want you to hurt yourself by going to fast. They nearly killed you, no one will mind if you choose to rest.”

Even though he wished to rest, the worry kept him from doing so “There is no time to rest properly. They will be searching for me, it is only a matter of time before they come to the abbey and pass this barn. And I need to bring Percival back to his people.”

You stated the fact “Lancelot, you are part of his people…”

He buried his face in his hands “I was taught to forsake what I am.”

Your hand squeezed his shoulder to offer some encouragement “And that ended with you bringing along a Fey child. I’d say you have never truly forsaken the Fey.”

The jest fell “Who says it is not he who brought me along?”

It could be correct “Good point. Percival does look like the kind of boy who would acquire a dangerous pet and insist on keeping it.”

The side-eye he gave said it all “Pet?”

You ignored the slight smirk and proceeded to offer some advice even if it would be difficult to hear it “And believe it or not, I don’t think that boy will give you up without a fight. Besides, considering your previous occupation, I think you owe it to Percival and the Feys to find your way back to your people.”

The response was a stubborn one “Why would they want me? Other than to slaughter me?”

You let your gaze trail to a sleeping Percival, then back to him “Because they need you, I have seen you fight, Lancelot. This war has begun and it will know an end. If the Church eradicates the Fey, there is no hope left for all those children you have spared. Do you believe it will end with the last Fey? No. They will kill everything and everyone who will share a different view. The world as we know it will seize to exist and the freedom of the mind will too. Help them, before all is lost, you owe it to the Fey to try!”

It was close to a scolding, rightfully so.

There was a shaking breath and nod from him, he barely dared to look you in the eyes.

It seemed like he was willing to try, the praise fell before you could stop yourself “You’re off to a good start. Small steps will get you there too, you’re not alone.”

He looked past your shoulder to the sleeping boy while letting his hand snake around yours.

The comforting words were more than welcome.

Those weeping eyes remained fixed past your shoulder, he brought your hand to his chest, holding it to where his heart resided.

You knew he was being careful not to cross a boundary, weeks had passed, there was a child nearby.

It was understandable.

You asked “Is he asleep?”

He confirmed it “He is.”

You took his word on it, leaned forward slowly until you were able to place a kiss to his cheek “You should sleep. I will stay awake and wake you if anything is wrong.”

His hand was tightly clasped around yours now, blue orbs couldn’t resist darting down from yours to your lips.

The restraint he showed…

He breathed it out “Alright.”

With an approving nod, you withdrew your hand and stood up from the bale of straw.

You wondered if his heart was racing too…

This time you didn’t go and risk waking the boy, instead you went to sit against the straw Lancelot would rest on “Can I sit here?”

A hand found your shoulder and caressed it “Of course.”

It was hard not to respond to the touch, it was like a cat trying to claim attention “Try to sleep.”

He hummed and gave your shoulder a squeeze before letting go to lie down.

His movements were careful, mindful of the thin threads that held his skin together to heal “Are you comfortable there?”

Your shoulders shrugged “I’ll live.”

Should he ask for you to join him? Would it not raise questions from Percival?

Would you even want to?

His eyes were fixed on the roof, spotting more than one crack in it, but a hand wandered off on his own and still sought a physical connection with you “If I begin to talk in my sleep, wake me.”

A smirk was tugging at your mouth “Not a chance.”

His attention moved from the roof back to you “Interested in my deepest thoughts?”

Your reply was a perfect mixture of playfulness and flirtatious “I’m pretty sure I can guess some of them.”

He did not respond to that, it only further confirmed the guesses you made.

It was quiet for a while and you believed he’d fallen asleep.

But sleep had not yet claimed him and he voiced what was going through his mind “Father will have heard of what has happened by now.”

You could almost hear his thoughts in that moment “Do you hope he will defend you against the punishment of the Church?”

He dared not admit it, it pained him too much.

All that he had been to Father and the paladins was gone. The night he left with Percival, he knew he would have struck down anyone that would have tried to prevent it.

He had turned against them, betrayed them and killed Brother Salt. There was no going back.

And then there was you, still Father’s niece and as a traitor he would never be allowed near you again…

The silence continued and you looked over at him, he looked exhausted and haunted by the burdens forced to carry “I wish I could give you hope and say that my uncle would choose to defend you. But from what I have experienced with him and from what I have seen, I fear my uncle will only protect himself. And he might even sacrifice another to do so.”

It reminded him of what Father had said to him…

~“If I burn, I won’t burn alone.”~

It hurt him so to realize it had been true. He had served and risked his life countless times. With the love a son had for a father, to earn that same love in return.

His eyes fell shut, the pained admission followed “He will know I will try to come to see you and prevent it.”

You had already thought about it too “Perhaps. But I would like to see him try to prevent me from doing the same. I may be his niece, but I am not his to control and I will never be.”

You turned to sit on your knees, elbows on the straw to look at him.

Or maybe you were staring a little…

One eye opened and the cheeky smile that you had missed returned to his face.

Why did it feel like you were looking at him in childlike wonderment? He did love to be looked at in this way.

Your own soft smile was one only reserved for him “Sleep.”

There was something wicked present in that smile “Yes, ma’am.”

To avoid distracting him further, you laid your head down on your arms and simply let yourself relax while staying awake.

It must have made him feel more comfortable to sleep, as it wasn’t long before he drifted off.

The full moon shined it’s light through the cracks and into the barn.

There was no sign of sleep-talking coming from Lancelot as he slept, perhaps it only happened if he was under distress during the day beforehand.

You stood up from the ground, careful not to wake him.

Percival still slept soundly, looking quite content under that cloak of yours.

For two fearsome people, the two were rather adorable when they slept.

A soft sound coming from outside the barn drew your attention and you went to the door, creaking it open just a bit, enough to look outside.

You couldn’t believe your eyes when you saw the horse standing there, his horse “Goliath…”

How had he found it’s way here?!? Was the bond between a Fey rider and their horse so strong?

Quietly you walked out of the barn and towards the horse, with slow steps you neared “Don’t be frightened. Do you remember me?”

Lancelot would be so happy to see that his loyal friend had returned to him.

Goliath did not move when you reached for and took the reins.

And you did not move when you sensed someone standing behind you.

While pretending to pet Goliath’s flank, your hand slid to the axe that still sat secure on the side of the saddle.

You heard them come closer and grabbed the axe, spinning around with it to defend yourself against whoever thought it was wise to try and trick you.

Taglist:

@ourlazydetectivekitten @the-great-adventures-of-me @linkpk88 @fxrchxldws @elenaoftheturks @slytherlight @beananacake @crystallizedtime @moonlightaura03 @angrygardendeer @have-aheart @5am-cigarette @arcanenature @thewinterskywalker @notyourwildestdream @coloursforyourportrait @koressecretidentity @nike90 @n1ghtlux @rachlovesactors @luckyzipperscissorsbat @morena-doing-stuff @the-fangirl-diaries @gipsydanger17 @heavenly1927 @phantasmalbeiing @labyrinthonmymind @asarcastic-thiamstan @rainyv-skies

Please let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist of this story.

#theweepingmonk #weeping monk #weepingmonk #weeping monk x you #the weeping monk x reader #lancelot #lancelot x reader #reader x lancelot #lancelot fic #Cursed Netflix #cursed #netflix cursed #lancelot cursed #cursed fic #Daniel Sharman #daniel sharman character #reader x weeping monk

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marinaiguess · 2 years ago

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a sonic rush rewrite, inspired by my paper crown au (in which blaze’s backstory is a little bit different as implied/stated in the fic below). been listening to “pretending” by alec benjamin for the past hour while writing this lol hope this is a good one. ANYWAY (there’s no way i’m editing this now, it’s past 1am)

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She’s laying on the cold hard ground, her ragged breaths serve as the only thing that fight off the otherwise utter silence. The only thing that can be heard. That, and the voice inside her head, reminding her of how she failed to fight, to keep people away from her.

Her duty, her curse, her burden. How could she trust anyone else when she could barely trust herself with it?

Next thing she hears are footsteps. Slow and careful but determined, clanking against the metallic surface. She tenses upon realizing what it means. The person is appraoching her. He is there, he is real. The battle was real. The battle between them actually happened. Her breath catches on her throat. It shouldn’t have happened, she shouldn’t be using her curse at the expense of others.

Her view of the stars and the upper floor of the building that she paid no mind to until now are quickly blocked by a hedgehog, whose name she knew very well but would rather forget. He looks at her carefully, the small, reassuring and hopeful smile he was wearing until now quickly replaced by concern as he watches her abruptly sit up and shuffle backwards. She remains mindful of her environment, since she doesn’t want to possibly fall of the edge of the ledge.

“Hey.” He walks closer despite that, raising his hands to indicate he doen’t have bad intentions. “Not bad. Can you stand up?” he smiles as he offers her his hand, while leaning forward, not invading her personal space.

She can’t stand up. And it isn’t because of how badly she is beat up; she will overcome the injuries sooner or later. But it is the view in front of her that renders her helpless. She scrutnizes him, from head to toe, and a pained gasp escapes her. He seems pretty banged up too. The burn marks cover a good chunk of his fur and she knows a few of those will leave scars as well. Her throat tightens and she opens her mouth to say something but she doesn’t have the courage to. Just like back then, she hurt someone. This time, she did it while fully conscious. It was a decision she made. Why? Why did she have to resort to this? Why did she need to use her curse against him? What if she had hurt him in a much worse way?

Despite it all, he is smiling. As if he doesn’t mind the scars or the pain. As if nothing can bring him down. Even if she burned him to ashes, he would find a way to rise again, she is sure. The hope in his eyes is unmistakable, something she hasn’t noticed in years. Admirable even.

She gulps and blinks rapidly, clearing her vision that had been blurred out without realizing. “I must-” she croaks out. “...I must get the Sol Emeralds.” She turns her head to the side, unable to look into his eyes anymore. “I must...” She must find them and retrieve them to leave this world.

To protect this world from a catastrophic disaster that her own kingdom had to suffer through thanks to them. Thanks to her.

No one had to get hurt. No one else. Sonic is already hurt and she hates it. She hates herself. She hates the idea of putting anyone else in danger beacuse of her flames, of her burden and curse. So, she has to leave as soon as possible. Find the Emeralds and stay away from them until she finds the way to leave this dimension.

“A bit overzealous, aren’t we?” Sonic snaps her back to reality.

He’s still there, waiting for her to accept his offer, his helping hand. He should have kicked her out of the ledge by now, he should have taken his revenge for what she did to him and get everything over with, but he didn’t. He waited patiently. His smile softens a bit more, it saddens almost, as a single thought crosses his mind. She doesn’t have the time to question it though, as a newfound grin adorns his expression.

“Listen, don’t bite off more than you can chew.” He steps forward and she doesn’t dare to flinch. “And be yourself.”

She wants to laugh at him. Herself. She’s lost herself ages ago, a part of her burned into ashes along with her kingdom on that cursed day. But maybe...maybe a part of her was still there, the part of her that was fighting to keep both worlds safe.

‘Carrying the entire world on your shoulders?’

The memory feels so distant even though it’s just from a few minutes ago. Sonic seemed more...agressive, as if he tried to get his point across by all means necessary. Even if they were in the middle of their fighting, he still attempted to reason with her. Whatever he did -- jumping into this battle, trying to talk her out of it, to convince her of the best course of action without hurting her -- he did it for her, to make her realize that a feat like that is impossible, that she can’t carry the world on her shoulders, much less two worlds, all on her own.

She eyes his hand and reluctantly reaches for it. She doesn’t know what this action means but she hopes she doesn’t regret it later, like she already regrets their battle. They meet halfway and Sonic uses both his hands to hold hers, nodding at her, almost like he thanked her for accepting his help. And he does help her to get up.

She manages to sit up straight, ignoring the throbbing pain that overtook her body. Sonic steps back, taking her with him, leading her slowly away from the edge she was sitting close to. Step by step, they reach a safe distance and he lets go of her hand, just to quickly outstretch his arms around her, to prevent her fall in case she hasn’t fully recovered yet.

“Perhaps...” she speaks and she startles him, but he nods to let her continue. “Perhaps you’re right.” She admits, an image of Cream momentarily flashing in her mind. Her eyes widen at that. She is afraid. Afraid to approach people, call them her friends. But....”I can rely on friends. If I let myself...”

It doesn’t mean much, she tries to convince herself. She said it to convince Sonic and get it over with as fast as possible so she can leave. She can’t afford to have any friends, not at their own expense. How could anyone be her friend when there always was the risk that she would burn them? How could someone want to be friends with her after injuring them?

“Great.” a tooth bearing grin appears on his muzzle as he steps even closer to her, relaxing his arms before offering his hand again. “I am Sonic. Sonic the Hedgehog. It’s nice to meet you.”

She squints at him, as if that would help her answer the questions that were multiplying by the second in her head. One thing she knows for sure is that this guy sure has a fun idea of a ‘nice meeting’.

At that thought, she smiles, slightly, but she does as she grasps his hand, giving it a firm handshake. “I-I’m Blaze the Cat. It’s nice to meet you too.”

And if Sonic’s grin turns even bigger, Blaze doesn’t think too much of it, too caught up in looking inside his emerald eyes to analyze what it meant, if it meant anything at all.

#somehow. i feel more creative after midnight lmaooo #whatever hope this is decent #paper crown au #sonic #blaze the cat #sonic rush #sonic the hedgehog #sth #sonaze #fanfic #fanfiction #sth fic #sonic fanfic #my drabbles

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dogueteeth-fhr · 1 year ago

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Tagged by @silvery-bluish to look for orange, hand, shout, and run in my WIPs! Thanks for this, it was so much fun, even if it was surprisingly difficult to find "shout" anywhere in my fics, meanwhile, hand(s) were everywhere!! Guess my fics are subconsciously channeling my obsession towards hands and aversion to shouting. What an odd and fun discovery!

I'll tag forward.... uhmmm... @wonda-fhr ! I can't think of many others who may be up for sharing WIP snippets since I'm still trying to match tumblr faces or AO3/discord. No pressure to participate and even if I didn't tag you feel free to mention me if you want to do the prompt below anyways!

Forward prompt: Sky, teeth, hate, red

My Prompts

orange

She wants to scream. Wants to down the bottle, wants to smash it on the ground, wants to grab a gas pump and coat the asphalt, wants to set a match and watch it explode and hear the screams echo into a silent, desolate world that will never hear them. Trees don’t make a sound when they fall. Not when there’s no one there to hear them. No one would know. It’s a back road in the middle of nowhere, in a nowhere town with nowhere people, people like her. People who the government pretends don’t exist.

The FEZ’s own not-people that they dump nuclear ash on top of because they’re virtual uninhabitants. People who exist where they shouldn’t because it’s inconvenient, in the middle of nowhere in nuclear testing grounds, and people who don’t exist because of that very fact. Still more ‘people’ than she ever will be. Still ‘people’ enough to make her angry. Make her bitter. Make her crave match and flame and ash on her tongue, on her clothes, hot and burning enough to peel the lines of neon orange from her flesh. Hot enough to melt through and eat everything beneath. Bite. Lash out. Tear.

Tearteartearclawriptearkilltakescreamwhydidn’ttheycomeforme—

An excerpt from stray. , a chronological collection of shorts surrounding Cerrísa Becerra and her times after the first & second escapes. This one is set after the second escape. can you feel my environmental studies training peeking through lol?

shout(s)

“Oh, yes, yes, we fucking do,” she growls, finally twisting around to face him, the movement harsh enough that it makes him pause. She’ll give him what he wants. He wants her to face him? Wants her to open up, tell him everything that’s wrong? Why she never told him? Fine. Ortega should have learned long ago to be careful with what he wishes for, because she’s going to make sure it blows up in his face spectacularly.

“I didn’t tell you because it could never happen!” She shouts, all thoughts of proximity discomfort tossed out the window as she lunges forward, her face almost directly against his chest and her neck twisted uncomfortably to glare up at him through foggy eyes.

This snippet is from an untitled WIP I never finished. Ortega and Isa talking about why she never told him that she loved him, post-guilty and potentially post-faker. I initially made it back when Isa had the Anger Motivation, but it's since been abandoned as I no longer feel that it's very accurate to her character.

run(ning)

How did they even make it out alive back then, running blind and recklessly? He doesn’t know, not anymore. Did they? Make it? Alive? Is he? alive?

He supposes that he never really left. He stands somewhere on the Palos Verdes coastline, the shore too damaged and volatile after The Big One for any houses or communities to remain or be rebuilt. Abandoned. Isolated. Too remote for most things to survive. His body, physical, impermeable, is here, but his mind is elsewhere. It always has been. Even out here, where he can spread his wings and live, he still doesn’t feel alive. Still feels trapped in that tiny cell of four white walls, isolated from the world. From others. The change in scenery hasn’t helped. The grass isn’t greener. The frog still remembers the well. He still doesn’t feel alive. Still doesn’t feel free, a butterfly that sacrificed its wings to escape the web. Still doesn’t feel real, not in the way that matters. But then again, he’s never felt that way, never felt that self-confidence and assuredness that his handlers would carry. The confidence that comes from knowing that you’re human. From knowing that you matter.

Excerpt from palos verdes blue, the prequel to another WIP (below). Since this WIP may be published very soon, I won't elaborate much other than it's in FHR universe separate from Sidestep's story! :3

hand(s)

Instead, Dennis’ hands carefully travel up his arms, slow enough that if Larry wanted to, he could pull away, bat his arms aside and run but he doesn’t. He doesn’t want to run. He’s so tired of running. A small, delirious part of him wonders if he’s going to die like this, in the hands of a small, fragile human who could ruin his life in a heartbeat with the flick of a lightswitch, because he doesn’t have it in himself to kill, not this one, not this person, who, for a few small seconds, made him feel wanted, made him feel alive before his demons caught up to him. There’s nervousness and worry tinting Dennis’ motions as he convinces Larry to lower his hands. His thin, frail fingers rub small, soothing circles into the inside of his wrists, soft fingers smoothing over scars

Excerpt from sargasso sea. I debated on including the previous paragraph for context but. Ah. Hmm. Too spoilery? This will be published soon, anyways, after palos verdes blue.

Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it!!

#wip #fallen hero retribution #fhr #fallen hero: retribution #fhr sidestep #fallen hero: rebirth #sidestep #my wips #wip fic #fanfic #oc #isa becerra #larry the regene #yes I know it's a lame name #don't judge him ok he wasn't decanted for his creativity

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zaungwrites · 11 months ago

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I wrote a thing

Was trying to just stretch my writing muscles after months of not. Inspired by Nora dipping back into Exy, and poked at a fic I was trying to write set at Edgar Allen. It took me a couple goes, but I'm p happy with the tone and characterisation of Link.

On the way home to and from college, Link has to walk by Castle Evermore. He holds his breath for the time it takes to move past it and is ever so careful to keep his eyes averted. Every time, he wonders why his aunt chose to live so close to the exy court when they both know of her mostly ambivalence, sometimes hatred of the game and the place. Why she chooses to work for an institution that tried its best to bleed her dry.

Then again, he supposes she probably wonders why he would choose to study in a place that reveres a game that had equally ruined his childhood. They are a little similar that way, like to pick at cuts and press on bruises. Reminders that they remain in one piece despite everything.

"Hey! Link!"

His head jerks up and for a moment his heart is racing. He is still unused to too loud noises and his name being yelled brings memories he would rather burn to ashes. His therapist tells him he might never be rid of his body's response which seems pretty pessimistic for a therapist but what does he know.

His eyes register that it's only Jack, one of his few friends in college, but his heart takes a little longer to catch up. Breathing slow and deep like his therapist taught him, Link summons a smile. "Hey, didn't see you there."

Jack jogs up to him and slings an arm around his shoulder with a wide grin. Link has trained his body's reaction to stop flinching to touches but it never fails to make his freeze or fawn response flair up. He makes his smile wider and makes his mouth say, "What's up? You're looking way too happy for first day of class."

"We won the Kariya lottery, dude. Everyone's hyped."

"The what?"

Jack lets out a theatrical sigh. "One day I'll make an exy fan out of you. Benjamin Kariya, this generation's exy jesus chose Edgar Allen as his college of choice. There was literally thousands of money betting on where he'd go. Everyone thought he'd go to the Trojans or somewhere with, you know, a fucking chance. But for some fucking reason, and like I'm not gonna look a gift horse in the mouth, he's chosen here. Everyone's going nuts."

"Oh," says Link, unsure of what else to say.

Jack doesn't notice his reticence. He's a good friend, but not the most observant. Probably why Link likes him actually, it's nice to talk to someone who thinks his fucked up maladaptive responses to things is just him being quirky.

"The whole fucking summer that's all people were talking about. News literally came out last night. Shit, it's gonna be so fucking surreal to see him around campus."

Link makes a noise that he hopes conveys agreement. The name is familiar, he probably heard about the guy in passing back when he used to care about exy. Now all he can think is this probably means exy will become more of a fucking thing than it was before. And it was a pretty big thing even with Edgar Allen regularly placing last in the division for the past five years.

"Well," Link says with a trace of irony, "Maybe the team might become known for more than possible mobster connections."

"Hey, that was never proven."

"Yeah, okay," Link says with a shrug. Sure, never proven. That's why his aunt got a squirelly look the one and only time Link asked her about it. Whatever, not like it's going to affect Link's life.

He's spent two years so far avoiding exy and exy avoiding him, he just has to keep his head down and get through the next two. Then he could go be a fucked up adult somewhere else.

Easy.

-----

Who wants to guess that it won't be that easy and that Benjamin might make more of an appearance in Link's life? I actually have another snippet that I'm pretty happy with that I might post later? Dunno. As always credit to Nora for creating this world.

#Exy #nora sakavic #my writing #Fucked up bois and their fucked up emotions #aftg #all for the game

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graciereadshannigram · 7 months ago

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Hannigram recs s’il te plaît- (I prefer fluff lol but anything works!)

Thank you for the boops (Your favor will be returned in large quantities)

ahhhh! currently kicking my feet, giggling, twirling my hair, etc. over this ask!! the boops (given and received) were my honor <3

but okay *whips out the fic spreadsheet* these recs are gonna be a little all over the place and i'm fairly certain all of them are rated Explicit, so i'm sorry if that's not your thing!

If you're looking for a quicker (ish) read:

Kindling by gleamingandwholeanddeadly (something_safe) Word Count: 10,281 Summary: “You should take a date to your fundraiser." “Yes, perhaps you’re right. It would be improper to invite someone under false pretence, mind, and for my patient to understand, the evidence would need to be… compelling.” “Perhaps an ex-girlfriend,” Will says, unsure why the thought makes him feel flat and remote. “That would be incredibly inappropriate.” “A friend then. Someone you can explain the problem to. You could take-” “You,” Hannibal interjects. The words belly-flop into silence. Will’s mouth opens, and then closes, and then opens again. When Franklyn's advances of friendship become too much for even Hannibal to politely ignore, he enlists Will's help. Nothing For It... by phenobarbital Word Count: 10,281 Summary: ...not thinking to consult Hannibal on the matter, Will went ahead with venting his anger and he thudded the headboard against the wall again, before pressing his lips together and letting out a loud humming moan, which he trailed off into an ‘aaah’ sound as he parted his lips. He didn’t even glance behind him, totally missing the startled and intrigued look on Hannibal’s face as he made another humming moan and thudded the headboard lightly again.

if you're looking for medium (ish) reads:

The Good Cannibal by MrGnome Word Count: 42,219 Summary: Hannibal Lecter is accidentally placed into the Good Place (heaven) instead of the Bad Place (hell) due to a filing error. Alongside his supposed soulmate, Will Graham, they have to lie so that he isn't found out by the Architect of the neighborhood: Frederick Chilton, so that he can stay in the Good Place. d A Broken Cup by GhostIsReading Word Count: 47,135 Summary: Dr Hannibal Lecter, Chesapeake Ripper and Serial Killer owned a Bentley. Used said Bentley to cart around the bodies of his victims and had thus far been uncaught. Of course that is if you didn't count Will Graham, profiler and FBI Criminal Psychology Professor, discovering him when he was hiding a corpse of his own.

if you're looking for something to dig into and really spend some time:

I Didn't Know It Could Be Like This (orphaned on ao3) Word Count: 66,376 Summary: Will and Hannibal make their way to Hannibal's safe house in New Hampshire a couple days after their plunge off the cliff and plot their next move, Will coming to terms with the fact that he is committed to it this time. If The World Burned To Ash, Still We Would Remain (orphaned on ao3) Word Count: 115,395 Summary: Hannibal and Will leave the safe house in New Hampshire and sail to the Côte d’Ivoire. Navigating the combination of their mutual dark appetites, can they avoid mutually assured destruction? Is everything aligned perfectly for once? Part 2 of a series. Not absolutely necessary to read the first part, but it does of course help with character development and understanding the established relationship.

hope there's something here you like!! xoxoxoxo

#hannigram #hannigram recs #hannigram fics #gracie reads hannigram

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generalluxun · 2 years ago

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Fanfiction: Wind and Fire Chapter 2(of 2)

The musician heads once more into the wastes, carrying with him a heavy heart and a means to trap the Jinn forever.

Link to AO3 in the bio, Text below the cut. I loved doing this fic :)

His songs matched his heart. The Jinn did not dance. She sat and listened until she was barely taller than he. By the night sky he even believed he could see features beneath the winds. As he finished a dirge she spoke.

“Boy, what makes you play such tunes? They remind me of when I would travel unchecked throughout the land, but they are not the songs that match your gentle features.”

“I am human. We are short-lived creatures, unsteady of character and purpose.”

He brought out the bracers.

“I have for you a gift.”

She stood and scooped them up, delighted. She had fastened one into the zephyrs of her right wrist before turning back to him, the diamond-toothed smile blinding in its joy.

“You had these made, for me?”

The boy curled against his oud and thought of home. He could not look at that smile.

“I did.”

She donned the second bracer and held them up to the starlight. In response the stars seemed to twist and dance. They formed new patterns and these patterns had power. The Jinn was lifted from her feet, struggling. She screamed in a language long dead. The earth rose up and gripped her. Water fell from a cloudless sky and doused her. Lastly fire streaked down from the havens and blasted her.

The boy had thrown down himself as the elemental forces clashed, and raised his head with a nagging fear in his heart. There was not silence in the wake of the spell, instead there was panting, and a dull roar.

From the ground rose not a caged being of wind, but one of fire. Cracks in her bronzed skin shone a deep red. Her hair was a high ponytail that flickered and flared with yellow flame. Only her eyes and teeth, gemstones forged from heat and pressure, remained the same.

The boy gaped, backpedaling before the heat that radiated from her very being. The strings of his oud snapped and curled. The hem of his robes and the ends of his hair were singed before he could scramble free. The intense heat had created the winds that hid her true nature. Now she looked down at herself and screamed in rage anew.

“What have you done?!”

Sands melted to glass beneath her feet. The boy’s guards had moved slower than he and they burst into flames, screams cut short as they turned to ash. The boy found his feet and ran into the desert alone, light and fire growing in his wake.

By the time he walked through the city gates and collapsed in the square, the sky was dark with smoke and ash. Where there had been winds there was now fire, burning rock flowing like water upon the lands between. The boy was revived in the Emir’s presence and questioned harshly. When he had explained all he knew, the wise men wailed and tore at their clothes.

“An Efreeti! Who could have guessed such a creature still walked the world? We are lost!”

They boy inquired of them through parched lips as to their meaning, and they explained.

“As we have among men those who are cruel and selfish without end, so too among the Jinn are creatures of hate and greed alone. They are the Efreeti, cast out among their kind to languish until their magic dissipates. When Jinn were a more powerful people the Efreeti were ripped to the four corners of the earth. An Efreet is a being of fire. Our spell sought to capture a being of air. It is incomplete!”

The men wailed and panicked among themselves but the boy spoke curiously.

“She has not left the sands, why?”

One of the wise men turned to him with disdain.

“Boy, you know nothing. The spell still worked to a degree. She is bound to a place, but her power is so great it will continue to spread across the land, choking all with ash and smoke!”

The boy asked, “Can you not contain fire?”

The wise man raised his hand to the boy, but paused. He turned and quickly conversed with his peers. Together they hit upon a plan of burying the Efreet to contain her fire. Yet, even as they discussed the proper incantations, a problem arose. They turned to the boy.

“Boy, this spell must be cast in proximity to the Efreet. None may approach her save you. You must carry it into the desert.”

The boy sighed. He did not wish to carry a second trap to one who had bargained faithfully with him, no matter her origin. Yet he could not let the cities burn.

“I will go, though I do not know if she will trust me. Allow me to return to my village to say goodbye.”

The wise men looked among each other, the advisors shrank back, and the Emir sat heavily in his throne. One of the wise men asked him.

“Do you not know? Your village is gone. The encircling deserts consumed it and all within it long ago.”

The Emir would not meet his gaze. The advisors mumbled overlapping apologies. The boy thought of his sisters and his home. He heaved a deeper sigh.

“I can see why she did not trust my safety in the bargain. Prepare your spell quickly. I do not wish to linger within the walls that made ghosts of my kin.”

Normally such words would bring a swift death, but all present held their tongues. Soon the boy was sent out into the wastes once more, given the fastest horse they could find, and all the water it could hold.

The wastes were a changed land. Sand once bright and loose had turned black and thick. Soot settled heavily upon everything, disguising slow flows of boiling rock and earth. The boy covered his mouth with a wet cloth, and protected the strings of his oud as well.

He descended into a valley of obsidian, picking his way carefully among the razor sharp rocks. He could scarcely breathe even with his water-mask. His presence was announced by his horse pitching him free as it collapsed dead from the poisons.

He raised his head and pulled down his mask.

“Jinn! I would speak with you, but if you do not curb your anger I will die before I utter another word!”

The boy felt the ground rumble. Rocks cracked around him and the earth heaved. He was borne up into the sky in the palm of her hand, lifted up among the clouds, above the smoke and ash. In the protection of her curled fingers he gulped cool air. She gazed down at him, a mountain of fire.

“Why have you returned? I spared you once for your songs in spite of your treachery. Do not expect me to extend such kindness again.”

The boy sat up and called up as best he could from tortured lungs.

“I have come to play again, and I bring you something.”

She rumbled with the tenor of an inferno.

“Another ‘gift?’”

“No, not a gift, a trick. When I give this to you, you will be trapped deep within the earth, bound truly this time.”

Up up up he rose, carried up to lips as wide as a cavern, but more sculpted than a sultan’s palace.

“Why would you admit such a thing?”

“I have no people any more, I could not protect them. So I have come to protect the people who will die if you are not caged. Yet I cannot bring myself to lie to you. I did so once in my foolishness and would cut out my tongue before doing so again.”

From mouth to eye she raised him again. That blue orb was an entire oasis he could not swim the length of.

“What is the price of my remaining freedom?”

"If you will not be calmed, you will destroy all the lands in your rage. I appeal to the nobility in your blood, Jinn."

Sapphire flashed briefly red.

"Did they not tell you, boy? I am a wicked Efreet, cast out by the Jinn."

The boy did not falter.

"I know little of such heady things. I only know that names are not people. Do you?"

Her fingers closed over him like a tomb. Lines of light flared beneath her burnished skin. He clasped his hands over his ears as a scream rent the skies. Voice turned to volume and the heavens shook. The lines flared and heat surged within his prison. The boy wrapped himself around his oud and prayed to the only higher power he knew, the one who held him in her palm.

After an eternity outside of time, the sound waned, the light faded, and the heat ebbed. The boy felt himself falling, a slow descent even as his prison crumbled around him. The fingers blew away on the wind and he blinked up once more into a night sky, this time shrouded by clouds of ash. All around him the land was still, buried in a thick layer of black.

“Well, boy, give me your gift.”

The Efreet stood before him, diminished so greatly that it was only by the grace of her yellow flaming hair that she could match him for height. She held out her cupped hands.

The boy took out a bottle from within his robes and set it in her hands.

“You need to open it for their spell to work. You will be ensnared and bound to it, then buried within the earth.”

Her hand hovered over the stopper. With small sapphires she now looked up at him.

“Men can do what the Jinn could not.”

She pulled the stopper and from within the bottle a cloud of golden mist rose up. It settled upon her and she seemed to shimmer and become less solid. The very fabric of her legs and Salvars began to drift in the shimmering cloud, pulled by a thin stream linking it back to the bottle.

More of the mist settled upon the ground and spread. Soon a rumbling began as the walls of the valley shook and shifted, rising higher around them both.

“Go, boy. Your words have won you the day, true or false.”

The boy instead sat himself upon the ground. He brushed ash off the neck of his oud and touched the strings.

“They were true, and in truth. I said I would play for you.”

Play he did, as the walls closed in. It was not the song of the winds that he played, for there were no winds to hear him. The air was still, and when the walls met overhead, becoming the ceiling, the only light was from the Efreet herself. The boy played as the earth swallowed them up. He played in the darkness. He played songs he had never dared, songs no one else would ever hear now. He played long after the rumbling stopped and his tomb became real.

Above, the world moved on. Thick black ash swallowed water and put forth sprouts of green. The waste became lush and people moved in. Villages became cities. Stories became legends. People quested for the bottle, and the Efreet who, rumor said, could grant wishes.

She could, such was her power. When a soul brave and clever enough found her, she would grant them one wish each as the spell required of her. It cost her power to do so, snuffing her flames and leaving her in darkness until her strength returned.

One day came a prince, bold and clever like the rest. He wormed his way in through the barest of cracks, past magical traps the spell had conjured, and stood before the Efreet as she sat upon a dias carved by time. Her dull blue eyes watched him without interest.

“What wish would you have of me, adventurer?”

“Nothing! Nothing at all!”

He laughed with boisterous delight.

“I am a prince, I am wealthy beyond reason. I have companionship of any kind I wish. I have never known hunger. My thirst for knowledge drives me and if I were to slake it with your wish, what would I do with my life? I came merely to gaze upon the last of the Jinn. You are beautiful, a diamond in this prison of coal.”

She bowed her head mechanically. There was nothing more to be said. But the prince did not go. Instead he stepped closer and ducked his head, finding those eyes in the dim light of the Efreet’s fire.

“What would you wish for? Freedom? Revenge? I have a wish, and I may give it away as easily as I may keep it. Tell me, what is it you want, spirit of another time.”

Her head snapped up, and the prince grinned with satisfaction. A singular glint danced within dull sapphires. She gestured to a corner, to dust and the barest hint of bones.

“Him.”

“I thought a wish could not bring back the dead.”

“Bring back, no. Time cannot be unwound. Yet all things turn on the wheels of time, and what has left will return. A wish can turn a wheel. A wish can make then, now.”

The prince straightened and swept off his headdress. He ran a hand through thick hair as he considered.

“There is a story here. I will trade you my wish for this story before I go.”

Sapphires flashed and dim fires flared yellow for a moment. Light crazed off obsidian walls. Her voice lifted for the first time from a whisper.

“Done.”

The prince left the tomb hours later and returned to his journeys. The Efreet remained in her prison.

In a small village with no distinctions, a baby boy was born into the world. Where most babies cried, he cooed. As his mother rocked him he soothed her to sleep rather than the opposite. When he grew older the boy spent any money given him to buy cobalt, and rubbed the crushed powders of it into his hair.

His father worked a furnace, turning ore into metals. As his father worked, the boy would sit for hours, plucking the strings of an oud. At times soft music would rise up from the instrument, and at others it was silent. His father would look over at him in confusion during these silences.

“How is it you play and do not make a sound?”

The boy answered his father.

“There is a sound, but it is not for your ears. I play for the fire; that it will glow brightly but not rage out of control.”

The boy’s father stopped mid-swing. He turned to look at his son, but said nothing. In the silence, the boy touched his strings and bowed his head in deference, unsure of his error. His father turned back to his work without comment.

That year at harvest time the father called to his son.

“You are going with me today to see the tax collector.”

The boy merely nodded. When it was time to leave he had his oud strapped to his back. They traveled in silence.

At the storehouse, the tax collector sat fanning himself in the midday heat. He was a large man with rings aplenty and an eternally bored expression. The boy’s father walked up to the collector, and past him. He spoke instead to a small old man who sat behind the collector with an expression both barely awake and infinitely exhausted upon him.

The father bid his son: approach and play for the man. His son played the songs that were loved far and wide. The man showed not the slightest reaction. His father bid him play the other songs he knew.

The man’s eyes opened wide. He clasped the boy's hands and giggled with the glee of a child.

“It is you! My master spoke truly, and I, the fool for doubting him all these years! Oh how I cursed his name for sending me to every village in the lands.”

“That I would see such a thing in my life. Oh, we must go now. We must hurry. He will want to see you, he will need to see you. He has thought of little else. Come! Come!”

The man was up, and suddenly spry. He paid the boy’s father no notice, tugging the boy along with a feeble but insistent strength. The boy tugged his hand back.

“Why do you care about me?”

The old man turned, his eyes alight.

“My master knows for whom you play.”

The boy’s hands reached for his strings again. They trembled.

“Take me to her.”

#ml fanfiction #ml fanfic #lukloe #Chloe bourgeois #Luka couffaine #ML au #Arabian nights #Jinn!Chloe

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shadowsong26fic · 2 years ago

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2 and 9 for the writing asks

2. Share a snippet of an old wip that you never posted.

Since this specifies an old project that's never been posted, here's a bit from one of my original stories (although this is an AU). I ended up posting a different version of it, that was less...lyrical? Stylistic? I'm not sure what word I want to use here. It's not a way I write often, but I do like the way it turned out. That being said, this is definitely a. Basically, this is a story about sacking a city, in a mythical/Ghost Story kind of style. CW for references to mass murder and genocide.

(Also I spent the last couple hours on a trip down Memory Lane which was honestly kind of Delightful, thank you for that ^_^)

9. Share an off screen headcanon/scene for a fic of the asker's choosing

Since you didn't specify a fic, I'll go with the Selkie AU I posted the other day (as it's the most recent one in a fandom I know we share, and there's a Not Insignificant Chance I'll come back to it, lol).

The full details of both answers are behind the cut.

Ask me a writers' question!

2. Share a snippet of an old wip that you never posted.

The one-great city of Feredar is a burnt-out shell, a ghost town, all but deserted. There are people in the city, still, drifting from charred ruin to charred ruin, finding ways to survive. No outsiders dare approach the weeping, ashen ghosts who remain, avoiding the monument to a woman's burning grief as if, after all these years, it could still burn anyone who touches it. People still speak of her only in whispers, as if doing so aloud might bring her back to take what little she left behind.

Some say she was a goddess, sent to punish the city for the crimes of its kings.

Some say she was a ghost, the vengeful spirit of one of the mages slaughtered in the Purge.

Some say she was a princess: of the desert, or the North, or even Heartwood, and there was a boy who died there; her brother, or perhaps her lover--but no one really believes she was only human.

What they agree upon is this: a woman wreathed in wrathful fire destroyed the city, in a way that war and the Purge and a punishing siege could never hope to achieve; and a shadow sang at her feet, pleading with her for reason, but she burned, and she burned, and she burned, and the rest of the world watched in horror but did nothing to save them.

The once-great city of Feredar is a devastated ruin of ashes and grief, and threads of shadowed song drift on the wind, calling the ghosts to witness.

9. Share an off screen headcanon/scene for a fic of the asker's choosing

There was a version of this same sort of moment/concept that I toyed with that had the POV flipped--one where Caprica did end up seeing his skin somehow. She didn't recognize it for what it was immediately, but it stood out in the context of his house.

So when she left, she did some digging, and came across the legends of river brides and river children of Aerilon.

And then she thought about it--she could find the skin again and steal it, if she wanted to. It would make her mission easier, and it might even be...a kindness, in the end. If he was compelled to betray his people, then he wouldn't have to feel guilty for it, right?

But she ended up deciding not to. Partly because the idea of compelling him to do anything is Horrifying to her, for reasons she can't quite articulate, even to herself; partly because, even if it takes her death to make her actually Realize it, maybe a little piece of her is starting to doubt her mission/the planned attack, and if she keeps going about it the slow way, she'll have that much more time with him--and humanity will have that much more time to live.

And I know how I would've ended it (maybe not these Exact words, but something along these lines):

Besides, she reasoned, even if he figured it out, in the end, he wouldn't have to live with the guilt for long, anyway.

#asked #answered #fracktastic #shadowsong writes original fic #shadowsong writes bsg

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death-munchkin · 2 years ago

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In the End

Inspired by a song of the same name by Beth Crowley, I’ve decided to write a Sofia x Katya fic of Sofia’s last thoughts in that tragic gun scene, going over her reminiscing about meeting her dear friend, now soon to be her killer, her lover, her Katya. 720 words, on the short side I'm not used to writing Song fics. Sofia POV, Katfia

CW: Major Character Death (Canon Compliant) CW: Unreality

I saw you and recognized right from the start, we're both ruined, with matching insatiable hearts. And I knew that one day we'd take this too far.

That’s what she told herself. Every day, from that late winter’s night, too drunk, stumbling into one another, catching each other's eyes, arms, attention. She knew that one day it would lead to this. To the taste of copper on her tongue, the smell of smoke lingering in the air. Gunsmoke, sharp, dangerous, black. Mixed with cigarette smoke, soft, gray, safe, Katya. So distinctly Katya. Her Katya.

It was only a matter of time before the two intermingled, she knew. She knew, and some would say she should have acted. Should have ran. Fled. Found safety in the arms of another. But such thoughts, they weren’t realistic, she would think. There was no safer place for her than with her Katya. And even now, with her own blood, crimson, staining her lips, Katya’s lips, a different shade from her usual sharp lipcolour, darker, duller, she still felt safest here. Better to be dying in her arms than by the bed, alone.

It was always going to come to this, and she welcomed it.

My misgivings fade into nothing when I touch your skin and feel your heart beat next to mine. I'm not living if I don't have you at my side. Our twin flames could ignite the whole world for each other.

And they did. Oh how their hearts blazed when together, when perfectly in sync. They would burn so bright, brighter than the fires they set, brighter than the gasoline they’d pour, and the matches they’d strike. No building, no car, no man would ever burn as bright as their souls would together, searing, releasing fumes they both drank up gladly, intoxicated together by their own mutual self destruction. It was glorious. Nothing could compare to the scent of her Katya, to the high of inhaling the combustion of her very being, intermingled with the ashes of her lover.

Even now, as her senses start to fade, death creeping, eating at the corner of her mind, her vision, her hearing, she could still feel it, the fire, their fire, still burning. It always will. No god, no bullet could ever end it. It will burn and burn until there’s nothing left, not of her, not of her soul.

Even her Katya’s tears couldn’t douse the flames then, as she lowered her to the ground. Her eyes, crystal blue, stained red and damp with unspoken grief. Her Katya would never speak up. Not now. Not like this. And neither would she. There was nothing to be said. The taste of salt mixed with metal and they both knew, it had to be done, it had to be her, it had to be Katya. And the fire would still burn.

I don't want to stay away from you

So I won't even try

You say you will stay away from me

We both know that's a lie

There was no dividing them. The world had tried. Fate pulling them every which way. Wars and men would come and go, giving and taking, like two ends of a rope being pulled to and fro, but in the center they remained. Shifting but never separating. Burning and cutting and screaming and crying, hurting and loving and hating and clinging together with the desperation of children in the dark. They would bleed, themselves and one another, they would bind and kick and fight and do everything in their power to mend and break and mend again, like a bone unsplinted.

She said she’d leave, she always did. But when she was away, she was dead. Her soul snuffed out, empty. Cold as the winter’s frost. And she’d crave the flame. Over and over she’d never stay far, she couldn’t. They were bound. Two ends of the same wick, burning to blend together.

And here they were. Together. Blood and spit and tears and smoke, together on her tongue. Intermingled, intertwined. The last thing to fade from her awareness. The last flicker of her flame before it consumed itself. The last breath of her Katya, filling her lungs with the smoke of her soul. Together.

I can tell that we're going to destroy one another

In the End

#goncharov #katya goncharov #sofia goncharov #katfia #unreality #major character death

2 notes · View notes

whatever-lmaoo · 4 months ago

Text

Okay so I had to come out of tags for this one and I apologize for how long it is🥹💖

#“But I’m not good enough for you, Bucky, am I?” We just started and you’re already playing with my heart😭😣

#“kindly fuck off” me personally I would’ve excluded the kindly part🙅🏾‍♀️

#“He hardly looked at you.” Nuh uh if we’re breaking up at least have the balls to look me in the eye🙁

#“Your world didn't fall to pieces. Instead, you floated slowly in the air. Bucky remained on the ground as you drifted away, just out of reach when you tried to touch him. That was when you felt the first crack in the foundation.”

“A slow destruction with the man you love at the root.” MS.NAVY 🙉 you and literature are like soulmates with the way you create such beautiful phrases🥹

#“Are you asking me to choose between you and my family?” Stop it right now😭 it shouldve been us against the world, like who are you in a relationship with???me or your father🙅🏾‍♀️

#“…he said dismissively, jerking his hand away so quickly you almost fell forward.” I can’t lie to you girlie…he’s really pissing me off😭 and I know it’s probably to show the wall he’s built to keep from giving in, but apart of me wants to be like …get out😐

#“Why isn't he fighting for me? For us?” THIS!!!! Like WTF if you’re not going to fight for me then what was the point of getting involved with me🙉

#I can’t take the emotionless attitude 😣😣😣 like be sad or angry or happy even but don’t act like our relationship was a spec of dust that you flick off😞

#“You could take rage or sorrow, but not his indifference.” Omg we are literally the same🤧 I promise I’m writing as I go😂

#“…but the bitterness crept in as more tears fell.” We’re allowed to feel bitter girlie🥹😤

#“You were crashing down, the shards of his words piercing you so deep you weren't sure you'd ever get them out.” Imma have to come up with a system for every time you prove my point about being a literary genius 🥹😍

#“Get out. Get out!…” THE WAY I JUST YELLED YESS, he doesn’t deserve to see us breakdown😤

#“Love is sealed by a kiss, but he broke it with his words.” THE GASP I LET OUT, LIKE OMG YOU ARE TOO GOOD 😍🙉 A NATURAL POET!!💖💗

#I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned this but I love your little italicized thoughts, and I feel like they add a glimpse of you in the story if that makes sense 🥹 if someone were to put one of your unreleased fics on a document amongst other stories and we have to guess who wrote it I would totally go “without a doubt that is Ms.Navy’s because her thoughts are one of a kind😌”

#“Maybe in another life, we could have had our happy ending, Bucky.” You’re gonna make me cry and i don’t like crying 😞

#“Maybe you were a phoenix, burnt only to rise from the ashes anew.” You already know why i brought this up😂 although I’ll try to refrain from mentioning all of them so this wont be too long🤧

#“…James plans to take you as a mistress.” I had to read this twice🙉 whatever you do, do not demote yourself to being someone’s mistress🙅🏾‍♀️😤

#This is probably a terrible thought but I hope George has a bounty on his head😍

#“And when you go to Hell, I hope you aren't burned by the flames. I hope you drown in the tears of everyone you ever wronged. And when you ask for their help to save you, they'll watch you sink to the bottom. Your son included.” GIRL BOSS, I AM SO PROUD, THIS COMEBACK IS GOD TIER🙉

#There’s nothing I hate more than a man who hits women 😡 would’ve lost my job as his guard if I were one of them

#“I hope your neck breaks from looking down on me.” I love us, don’t take bullshit from nobody 🙅🏾‍♀️

#“You wished you felt numb as you looked at him. This was the man who once told you he'd burn the world if anything ever happened to you. The fire within him was long snuffed out and he took the warmth with him. You were tired of feeling cold.” I know what I said previously but this just had to be brought to light🙉

#Help he’s still pissing me off😭 I hate when they wait till the last minute. When they tear your heart into pieces and watch you crumble from the inside out, just to come back and say they regret their decision and act like you’re supposed to bounce back up into their arms like some inflatable😤 I know that’s not Bucky but still😭

#“Perhaps you had in his heart, a claim that no one else could see but one you both felt.” Againnnnn, it’s too good my heart can’t take it🥹

#“Why is everyone being so cryptic and not saying what they need to?” LITERALLY, I just want some real answers, like is that too much to ask for😭

#“Bucky was a prisoner in his own life.” Stoppp I literally can’t cuz now I feel bad for ever being mad at him😞

#OMG OMG OMG IS THIS REAL

#“I object,” Bucky spoke.

A small smile appeared on Sophia's face as people around you gasped. “As do I,” she said, handing her bouquet to her maid of honor.

TALK ABOUT A PLOT TWIST🙉 I was not read for that, I feel like I’m suffering from whiplash rn

#STOPPP I LOVE PROTECTIVE STEVE🥺

#This just keeps getting crazier and crazier, Bucky boo I apologize for all the things I said about you😣🥺

#“I should've cut out your tongue for suggesting it.” I think he still should but that’s just my opinion 😗

#“You could've told her something! 'I broke her heart to protect her' bullshit,” At least someone gets it😭 I understand doing what you think is best but I feel like a lot of heartbreak could’ve been avoided if someone had told us even the tiniest bit of information, like a note or something 😭🙉

#“I hope we can become friends, if only to piss him off.” Would be the best of friends

#“Our place sounds like a dream come true.” Eeeeeee😍🥹🥰

#OMGG the ending🥹😭🌸✨💖 I literally can’t this story was so amazing; angsty, heartbreaking, and overwhelming yes but amazing nonetheless🥹 This is definitely one of your best fics (that I’ve read so far) with all of the different elements you touch on and how you layer them all together like a painter to create one big picture in the end🥹 and the writing was beautiful as always 🙂‍↔️🌸✨💗

Forever Hold Your Peace

Pairing: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader, Mob!Bucky Barnes x OFC Summary: You're in love with Bucky Barnes, but he's marrying someone else. Word Count: Over 11.1k Warnings: Explicit sexual content, unprotected vaginal sex, angst, breaking up, cheating of sorts (not between Bucky and reader), arranged marriage, violence, minor character deaths, miscommunication, talk of becoming a mistress, slight twist, George Barnes is the worst, feels, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?). A/N: Lovelies, I'm FINALLY submitting my fic for @sweeterthanthis 's Bittersweet Symphony Writing Challenge. I went back and forth on how I wanted to do this. Struggled. Changed it (right, @sgt-seabass?). Dragged my feet. Here it is. Finally. Thank you to @flordeamatista, @targaryenvampireslayer, and @whisperlullaby who not only beta read this ages back, but gave me insightful feedback, direction, and suggestions to help make it even better than my vision. It is very much appreciated and only helps me continue to grow. I'm proud of this. Also, any and all mistakes are my own.❤️ Dividers by the talented @saradika. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You never wanted to have an over the top wedding, it wasn't your style. A small ceremony surrounded by close friends and family would be a much simpler, but happy, occasion in your eyes. As long as you married the man you loved, that was what mattered.

But it didn't matter because you love Bucky Barnes.

And he was marrying someone else.

You stared out the window from where you rested in bed and watched as the sun brightened your room. The rays danced around the space and cast a brilliant glow as it tried to wrap you in a warm embrace. It was a false sense of comfort as it did nothing to soothe the eclipse that had taken over your heart.

Of course, it was a beautiful day. You expected nothing less for the wedding of the year. The Barnes family demanded the best life has to offer and even Mother Nature seemed to listen.

But I'm not good enough for you, Bucky, am I?

Your phone had gone off numerous times since you woke up and you grudgingly reached over to check it. You probably should've shut it off. With a bittersweet smile, you read through one of your group chats.

Monica aka Cap: Hey. You doing okay?

Helen aka Doc: Do you want us to stop by?

Brunhilde aka Valkyrie: We can kick Bucky’s ass first. Just give us the word.

A watery laugh bubbled up. Monica, Helen, and Brunnhilde were three of your oldest friends. Brilliant, beautiful, strong women who were ready to defend or help you without a second thought. They were practically family at this point. You knew they’d be bridesmaids in your wedding one day.

But today wasn't that day.

You: I love all of you, but I just need to be alone today. Sorry.

You refused to look at any of the other messages. Talking wouldn't make you feel any better and you weren't looking for sympathy or comfort. The only plans you had today were to cry over romantic comedies and eat a pint of ice cream.

What better way to celebrate than to wallow in your self-pity?

The creak of your bedroom door made you turn your head. You weren't expecting anyone, but it didn't surprise you when Natasha wordlessly walked in. Her younger sister, Yelena, was right behind her with a garment bag in her hand.

They had become your friends thanks to him.

They would've been bridesmaids, too.

“Good. You're awake,” Natasha said, crossing her arms when you didn't acknowledge her. “Are you getting up?”

You imagined sinking into the mattress, but you couldn't hide them. “No, I'm fine right here.”

“Not fine. Get up. Big day ahead,” Yelena urged, mimicking her sister's stance.

You slowly sat up and glared at the two women at the foot of your bed. They were friends, but they were also dangerous. Not many had the guts to stare them down, but you were too upset to care. “I don't have a big day ahead, so what exactly are you doing here?”

“We need to get you ready for the wedding,” Natasha answered.

You huffed and put your head back on the pillow. “I'm not going. I'm sulking alone. So sorry you wasted your time by coming here.”

Yelena tugged on the blanket before you could cover yourself up. “Why not? Could be fun.”

You weren't sure whether to burst out laughing or burst into tears at her joke.

“I RSVP'd that I wouldn't be there,” you pointed out.

“You wrote 'kindly fuck off' instead of checking off yes or no,” Natasha said.

Yelena snorted as her sister raised an eyebrow at her. You tried to avoid anything Bucky related, as difficult as it was. And then you got the invitation. Your reaction wasn't your finest moment, but receiving it was like reopening the wound.

If you went to Bucky's wedding and watched him marry someone else, you'd shatter. Even if you managed to put yourself back together, you wouldn't be the same. How could they ask that of you?

Why couldn't they let you mend your broken heart on your own terms?

“I'm not going, Nat,” you whispered, wishing she would drop it. “It's cruel that I was invited and you're making it worse.”

There was sorrow in her eyes as she regarded you, a look you didn't see often. It shook your resolve. One of the reasons Bucky valued Natasha was because of her ability to get things done. Whether by words or force, she knew how to push to get people to go in her direction.

“You have to. Please, he needs you,” Natasha said carefully.

Your eyes flashed with rage as you swung your legs over the side of your bed to stand. “He needs me? Are you fucking kidding me?”

The redhead held her hands up, but the gesture didn't calm you. “Please, listen.”

“No! He dumped me. Why the hell should I go to his wedding?”

“She makes a good point.”

“Not helping, Yelena,” Natasha grumbled.

“Bucky doesn't need me in his life,” your voice cracked before you swallowed the lump in your throat. “He made that very clear.”

Bucky didn't kiss you when he went into your apartment that day.

Ever since you started dating, he always greeted you with a kiss. The way his lips moved against yours indicated what kind of day he had. Judging by the haunted look in his eyes, you expected him to smother you with a needy, demanding kiss. But he bypassed you completely and sat on the other end of the couch like he was trying to put distance between the two of you.

“What's wrong?” You asked as you moved to sit beside him. His hair was disheveled like he had been pulling at it. He did that when he was really angry or upset. “Bucky?”

He brought a hand up and touched your cheek, your own hand moving instinctively to cover his. When he leaned like he was going to kiss you, he only rested his forehead against yours. His breath tickled your lips, but the shudder that wracked his frame worried you as he pulled away. It felt like a wordless goodbye.

You didn't want to experience that ever again.

“Talk to me, please.”

He clasped his hands together and stared straight ahead. You wouldn't have known he was breathing if you hadn't seen the slight movement in his chest. The silence began to get uncomfortable, which was a first. The quiet moments were usually serene.

“I'm getting married.“

Was it possible for someone to pull the rug out from under you if you weren't standing?

“You're what?” You asked.

“Please, don't make me say it again.“

“I don't understand,“ you said, trying to make sense of the bombshell he dropped.

“My dad. He arranged it.”

You bristled at the mention of his dad. He was the head of one of the most powerful families in the city. Most feared him, but you couldn't stand him. When he realized that while your family had some wealth and power, it wasn't enough for his firstborn son. He told him you were nothing more than a phase. A bed warmer. He didn't even wait until you left the room to voice his disdain.

Bucky didn't bring you around much after that, which you didn't object to. The one meeting was more than enough. He assured you that the wedge between him and his father started long before you entered the picture, especially after the death of his mother. He also promised his dad's opinion wouldn't change a thing about how he felt and that his mom would've adored you.

“I take it he didn't arrange for you to marry me?” You asked, doing your best to crack a smile.

He didn't smile back. He hardly looked at you.

“Sophia Genovese is going to be my wife,” he answered neutrally, but his jaw clenched. “Her engagement fell through, so my dad arranged for me to take her ex-fiance's place.”

Bucky mentioned her in passing. Not only did she come from an extremely powerful family, but she was beautiful, sophisticated, and as close to perfection as anyone could get. His dad had everything to gain from a marriage like that.

Everything he couldn't get with you.

“You can say 'no', right?” You asked hopefully. Stupidly. “You don't have to go through with it.”

“Yeah, I do,” he said, pushing himself up as your stomach churned. “Which is why we can't see each other anymore.”

Your world didn't fall to pieces. Instead, you floated slowly in the air. Bucky remained on the ground as you drifted away, just out of reach when you tried to touch him. That was when you felt the first crack in the foundation.

A slow destruction with the man you love at the root.

“No. No. We're not breaking up,” you said.

“We have to,” he said, still not facing you.

It took you a moment to get to your feet with how your head spun. “No, we don't. I-I can talk to your dad? I know he doesn't want you to be with me, but if you don't want to marry her-”

“Talk to my dad?” He cut you off as he turned toward you, a flash of panic in his eyes before a soft laugh crept from his throat. “Are you kidding?”

“No, I'm not. Maybe he can see reason?“ You asked as he shook his head. “Or we could leave.“

“Leave?” He repeated, looking down at your hand as you reached out for him. The panic you saw in his eyes moments ago resurfaced, which he quickly blinked away to replace his expression with a hardened mask. “Are you asking me to choose between you and my family?”

“We can go anywhere we want. I don't care where,” you said. You'd live in a shack as long as it was with him. “And I'm not asking you to choose between me and your dad. If anything, I'm asking you to choose love. It wouldn't be forever if we left. It would be until we can figure it out.”

“There's nothing for us to figure out. The deal is done,” he said dismissively, jerking his hand away so quickly you almost fell forward. He couldn't mean that. “And so are we.”

You wished for a moment that you could go numb to not feel the piercing pain in your heart.

Why isn't he fighting for me? For us?

“Bucky, we love each other,” you whispered as tears sprang to your eyes.

“And we were naive to think we could be together,” he stated, his voice void of any emotion.

You could take rage or sorrow, but not his indifference.

“So, that's it?” You asked as the tears spilled over. “You're giving up on us? You're walking away?”

“It's better this way,” he said, hesitating as he lifted his hand. He quickly dropped it when you began to wipe at your cheeks. “I know you don't think that now, but it is. You'll find someone who can be with you and I'll find a way to make it work with Sophia.”

“Oh, yeah, I'm sure you'll find it really easy to make it work since she's perfect,” you mumbled. You tried to hold it together, but the bitterness crept in as more tears fell. “Don't make it seem like you're getting the raw end of the deal when you're not the one ending up alone.”

Bucky flinched and you savored that he showed some sort of emotion. “I owe it to her to try.”

“Oh, you owe her that? What about the future you promised me? A home? Marriage? A family? Was it all bullshit?!” You snapped, shoving his chest with both hands. You were pushing him more than physically, but you were past the point of caring. “Why are you giving up on us? Why aren't you trying?!”

“Because there's no point! This was never going to work!” He shouted, raising his voice for the first time and making you jump back. He never yelled at you. You never expected him to break your heart either. “You don't belong in my world. You never did and you never will.”

The room spun as you tried to take a breath. It wasn't like you were floating anymore. You were crashing down, the shards of his words piercing you so deep you weren't sure you'd ever get them out.

I was a phase. A bed warmer. I'm not worth fighting for. I never was.

Whatever wounded sound you made had Bucky stepping toward you. “Fuck, I'm sorry.”

“Get out,” you ordered, not recognizing the sound of your own voice as you moved out of his reach. “You said we're done, so we're done.”

His eyes flickered with sadness when he invaded your space. Why did he suddenly want to be close to you? “I'm so sorry. I didn't mean that.”

“Yes, you did. And I don't want your bullshit apologies. I want you gone,” you hissed, pushing him again. He didn't budge. “Get out. Get out! Get…” you steadied yourself, using every ounce of power you could manage to push him out of your home and life. “OUT!”

He didn't say a word or put up a fight when the shoves turned to smacks against his chest. Maybe he felt like he deserved your wrath. That broke you a little more. You weren't sure how long it took to shove him toward the door, but it exhausted you by the end of it. You wanted to curl into yourself and cry until there were no tears left.

“I love you, Bucky. I hope you have a nice life.”

His mouth fell open as you shut the door in his face.

As you sank to the floor, you realized he hadn't said he loved you once during the time he was there.

Love is sealed by a kiss, but he broke it with his words.

Maybe he never loved you at all.

“I think we can all agree that Barnes can be an idiot,” Natasha said, moving out of your way as you walked toward the bathroom.

“Is an idiot,” Yelena corrected.

“But whatever he said to hurt you, it was to push you away.”

“Mission accomplished,” you mumbled.

Bucky knew how to hurt people. He also knew you better than anyone, which meant he knew exactly where to put the knife in and twist it. You never expected him to inflict any sort of pain on you though because he swore he wouldn't.

Why do people make promises only to break them? Promises made in love should not be broken.

“Look, he hasn't been the easiest person to be around since he stopped seeing you. Everyone has noticed, even his father. He needs to see you, okay?” Natasha explained, gently nudging you through the door before you could reply. “Quick shower and we'll help you get ready.”

“You don't have to dress me. I'm not a child,” you snapped, slamming the door so you were left alone.

Guilt swirled in your gut as you stripped and went to the shower. You hadn't meant to snap when she was only trying to help. Or was she trying to help James? You didn't know anymore.

The cascading water did little to soothe you as you tried to push your despair aside. You hadn't allowed yourself to properly grieve from your broken heart. Why couldn't you just get over the man who abandoned you? Why did you have to keep loving him?

“Don't fall asleep in there!” Yelena shouted, almost making you slip on the tile as you shut the water off. “And no window escape.”

You thought about it more as you dried off. If Bucky went through with the wedding, it would be the end of the line. And maybe this would be the closure you needed to move on.

Though the love you have for him will never fade.

“Okay,” you said as you walked out of the bathroom in your room. “If you two are really going to make me go, I want to look perfect. Make him see what he's missing.”

“Don't worry. We'll make him look,” Yelena promised, nodding to your bed where the dress was waiting for you.

It wasn't exactly a wedding dress, but it was beautiful. It looked like the dress you wore on your first date with Bucky, only fancier. You didn't want to know where they got it or how they decided to pick that.

In the back of your mind though, you wondered if it was from Bucky.

“Thank you,” Natasha whispered.

“Don't thank me yet,” you said as you sat down at your vanity.

If you squinted, you could pretend they were getting you ready for your wedding day.

Maybe in another life, we could have had our happy ending, Bucky.

Natasha and Yelena should have become personal stylists or makeup artists. You almost suggested they should do it as a side hustle. They managed to transform you while still making you look like you.

Maybe you were a phoenix, burnt only to rise from the ashes anew.

“He'll look,” Yelena promised again as she slipped a ruby necklace around your neck. “Finishing touch.”

You brushed a finger along one of the gems, trying to shake the memory of when you received it. Bucky had given you the necklace at his private birthday dinner. When you reminded him that he was supposed to receive gifts on his birthday and not give them, he said he had the best gift of all with you. He said it again after he made love to you.

The only thing you wore was the necklace.

“I know heaven's a thing. I go there when you touch me, honey.“

“Isn't this a bit much?” You asked.

Natasha met your gaze in the mirror. “We should go,” she said, ignoring your question.

The girls effectively boxed you in as they led you to the limo, a subtle reminder not to run. Even in heels, they'd catch you. They were that good.

Clint wordlessly opened the car door, but gave you a sympathetic nod as he helped you in. Observant and sometimes sarcastic, you almost wish he would've said something. Maybe it was better that he kept quiet.

What comfort would he be able to provide you with?

Once again, Natasha and Yelena were on each side of you as you sat in the middle seat.

“Do you plan on sitting beside me at the wedding, too?” You asked, staring straight ahead once Clint got in and took off.

“Yelena will sit with you. I'm standing,” Natasha answered.

You weren't sure what to make of that. Maybe Sophia decided to have her in the wedding party in some capacity. Or maybe she'd keep watch to make sure there was no trouble on Bucky's special day.

“Guess I'm not allowed to speak when asked if anyone has any objections?”

“You can if you want to cause a scene,” Yelena said, shrugging a bit. You were considering it. “Again. Could be fun.”

“Stop being a bad influence,” Natasha warned when you snorted. “We'll have the car ready for you to go once you're allowed to leave.”

“Allowed? I need permission to leave?” You asked. “And where am I going?”

“Wherever you want,” she replied.

You would likely go home for the time being. Instead of sulking, maybe you could take steps toward leaving the city for good. A new job, a new apartment.

It was up to you to create your own happy ending.

One that you deserved.

“We'll see if I actually make it through the ceremony first,” you said.

Silence stretched on in the vehicle after that. You'd take the quiet over useless small talk, but you found it more difficult to breathe as you got closer to the venue. It was like a vice closed around your throat. Natasha reached over and gave your hand a squeeze when you sniffled. Yelena did the same with your other hand. It was comforting, even if they were the ones forcing you to endure this day.

“Do any of you plan to stop the wedding?” You asked, your curiosity getting the better of you. Was that why they were so adamant that you had to attend? The glimmer of hope within you wanted that to be the case.

You made eye contact with Clint in the rearview mirror before he focused on the road ahead. You didn’t dare glance at the girls, but you felt the weight of the answer before Natasha said, “No.”

As quickly as your hope grew, it disintegrated. It fell into the soil within your soul, ready to grow again when you were naive enough to believe. It was silly to ask in the first place.

“What’s the point of dolling me up then if nothing is going to change?”

“To make him look,” Yelena reminded you. “And maybe you’ll see your future husband today.”

Silence resumed again after that, but it wasn’t long before the car approached a private entrance. You half expected that the wedding would be at a church when you received the invitation, but it was an address you didn’t recognize. Maybe it would be their new home.

You felt slightly ill once the car came to a stop, Yelena helping you out before Clint had a chance to come around and open the door. You saw a massive and beautiful estate in front of you surrounded by a rich landscape. Gazing at the front door where two guards stood, you didn't have to step inside to know that the place was elegant with meticulous attention to detail.

Somewhere you didn't belong.

Forcing a smile on your face as Natasha urged you to move forward, she said something you couldn't make out to the larger of the two guards. His eyes settled on you only for a moment before he let you through and didn't bother to look in your clutch to see if you had a weapon. Like you would use one anyway, but you thought they'd be more careful.

I'm clearly not a threat.

It was quieter than you expected as you stood in the entrance way, a couple of women bustling by with flowers. No way Bucky chose those himself. They were far from his favorite.

“The ceremony is going to take place in the back garden,” Natasha explained. “The fence will have guards in case anyone tries to get in.”

“Or get out,” Yelena added.

“I need to have a quick chat with Steve,” Natasha said. Steve Rogers, Bucky's best friend and heir to the Rogers empire, was every bit as handsome and ruthless as his best friend. “Yelena will take you to your seat shortly. Try not to wander off.”

You scoffed as you gestured in front of you. “Considering I have no clue where I'm going, I'll stay here.”

Natasha smirked before she left, the echo of her heels eventually fading once she was out of sight.

“Stand up straight,” Yelena ordered, pressing against your back. “Show no fear.”

“Why?” You asked before you spotted a large man walk toward you, two men hot on his heels.

George Barnes.

“Well, well. You made it. I wish I could say it was nice to see you,” he said, his gaze lingering on your necklace as you bristled. You covered the jewelry with your hand, worried he might rip it off. You wouldn't allow him to take that away. “At least you had the decency to not wear white. Would've been extremely tacky and useless to try and upstage Sophia.”

You knew he was trying to get under your skin at the mention of his soon-to-be daughter-in-law. “Believe me, Mr. Barnes, the feeling is mutual. Honestly, I’d be happy to live out the rest of my life without us having to cross paths,” you said, giving him a sweet smile when his eye twitched. He likely wasn't used to women insulting him. “But if you want me to leave-”

“Nonsense. I want you to witness a union of power. Something you’ll never have,” he boasted, making a show of smoothing out his expensive jacket. “I also hope you're on some form of birth control since James plans to take you as a mistress. He doesn't need any bastards running around now, does he?”

You gaped at him, trying to figure out if he was kidding. “Just so we're clear, I'm good enough for your son to fuck, but not marry or have his kids?”

“I'm glad we understand each other.”

“I don't understand,” you said, your voice cracking as Yelena took a step closer to your side. “Your son loved me.”

Maybe part of him still does.

“It isn't for you to understand why I do what I do. What you need to understand is your place,” he snarled in a low voice as he crowded your space. You almost stepped back, but he probably wanted you to be afraid and you weren't about to let that show. “All that work I put into my son and you almost unraveled it. Even after leaving you, he's been difficult. Sullen.”

“I'm so sorry to hear that,” you said, elated that he pretty much confirmed that Bucky missed you.

“I'm sure you are. But that'll change. He's going to marry Sophia and make my empire even stronger than before. And I hope you cry yourself to sleep knowing he didn't choose you in the end.”

Rage pulsed through your veins at the audacity of the grinning man in front of you. “Are you done talking? As much as I'm sure you love the sound of your own voice, I'm tired of hearing it,” you said, his smile slowly fading from his face when you didn't break down. “And when you go to Hell, I hope you aren't burned by the flames. I hope you drown in the tears of everyone you ever wronged. And when you ask for their help to save you, they'll watch you sink to the bottom. Your son included.”

Under different circumstances, the shade of red Mr. Barnes turned would’ve been comical. A man who liked to dish it out, but was unable to take someone throwing it back at him. Maybe he had power in name, but he was weak in heart. “You little bitch,” he snarled, raising his hand.

You didn't flinch or look away from his rage-filled eyes as you braced yourself from the impact. Maybe you shouldn't have run your mouth, but you didn't care. Let him hit you. Let him prove himself to be the monster you believed him to be, especially after he insulted you first.

But the blow didn't land. Yelena caught his arm before it could. Neither of the men behind him reached for a weapon nor did they make a move to throw you out. Were they waiting for a signal from their boss?

“No fighting,” she calmly spoke, using her other arm to help you back away. “Your rule today, right, Mr. Barnes?”

“Belova,” he said through his teeth, yanking his arm back. You wondered what kind of trouble she'd get in for helping you. She didn't deserve it. “That rule is-”

“No fighting,” she said again, nodding to you. “I made her look pretty. No messing up her makeup.”

“She looks like a whore,” he said.

“I think she looks pretty,” Yelena said with a shrug before she turned her attention back to you. “Down the left hall. Second to last door on the right. Wait there for me.”

“Thank you, Yelena,” you whispered.

Mr. Barnes grabbed your arm as you tried to walk by. “When my son seeks you out to take you as a mistress, you will say yes. Be that as long as he does what needs to be done. Keep his bed warm and his dick wet, but don't think for a second that you'll be anything more than a whore.”

You calmly shook him off, even as your stomach turned. To speak so callously of you, of Bucky, of what you meant to each other. To suggest that you would be a kept woman. How did a man like Bucky spawn from someone as disgusting as him?

“Mr. Barnes, you may have power and you may think you have control over your son, but you're nothing more than a pathetic excuse of a man who gets off on bullying people you deem beneath you. I hope your neck breaks from looking down on me.”

A shaky breath left your lungs as you quickly walked past the men and went down the left hall as instructed, not looking back to see if anyone went after you. It was careless to run your mouth again, but you just had to get the last word in. What the hell was that man going to do to you once the wedding was over? Maybe he wouldn't do anything at all. Surely he had bigger fish to fry.

The hall seemed to stretch on and you wondered why Yelena sent you down here. Was it a restroom? She obviously knew the estate well enough if she-

Your breath stopped as Bucky walked out of the last room on the left, his gaze landing on you as you froze. It was cliche that your heart skipped a beat, but how could it not? This was the first time you had seen him in person since that fateful day and he looked every bit as handsome as before. Between the black tuxedo tailored to perfection, trimmed beard, and not a single hair out of place, he played the part of the son who would one day rule the city. Except for his cerulean eyes.

They were lined in pain.

“You're here,” he breathed, like he couldn't believe you were in front of him.

You wished you felt numb as you looked at him. This was the man who once told you he'd burn the world if anything ever happened to you. The fire within him was long snuffed out and he took the warmth with him. You were tired of feeling cold.

And you were so tired.

“Not by choice,” you said, proud that your voice stayed steady as he moved toward you.

“You look so breathtaking,” he said, like he was seeing you for the first time. As much as you liked his gaze sweeping over you, it hurt. “You're wearing my necklace.”

“Natasha and Yelena's idea,” you told him, not returning the compliment by telling him how handsome he looked. “Apparently you needed me today, so here I am.”

He lifted his hand as if to touch you before he lowered it. “I do need you.”

Your gut wrenched, your heart and mind raging over whether or not to believe him. “I'm sorry, but I don't exactly see how that's possible. You dumped me. You're getting married. Chapter closed. Move out of my way, James. Please.”

He flinched at the use of his first name, but recovered quickly as he stopped you from moving around him. Your shoulders tensed when he touched your arm, the familiar jolt of electricity running through your veins at the contact. You wanted to resent him for still making you feel something, but how could you when he made you feel alive? Even the crushing weight of the emotions was a reminder that you didn't break.

In many ways, he helped you become stronger.

“You're going to try and sneak out,” he guessed. You didn't disagree. “Don't. You can't leave yet.”

“Yes, I can. I'm not one of your subordinates or soldiers or whatever the hell you call them. And if you won't get out of my way, I'll just go back the way I came. Yelena will find me.”

Before you could protest, he gripped your arm a bit tighter and dragged you into the very room Yelena sent you to. It appeared to be a study, which you wish you could've taken the time to appreciate. You almost screamed for help, but who the hell would come to your rescue?

This was Bucky's world and you were just a pawn in it.

“Let go of me!” You demanded as your clutch fell to the ground, smacking his hand hard enough for him to loosen his hold. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

“I'm sorry,” he said.

“Sorry for what exactly? Making me come here today or breaking my heart? Or maybe you're apologizing for your dad and his clear disdain for me? It doesn't matter because I don't care.”

“I care. You don't understand,” he said, effectively blocking the door when you tried to get past him. His eyes flashed with a dangerous glint, making you take a step back. “Wait. You saw my dad? What the fuck did he say to you?”

He looks like he's about to commit a murder.

“No, I don't understand. Not your father or this situation. I likely never will,” you said, clenching and unclenching your fists. Nothing could ground you. “He said you planned to take me as a mistress.”

Bucky's jaw clenched. “That's what he told you?”

“Yes, among other things. Is that why you wanted me here today? To make that offer?” You answered, your palm itching. Was that why Natasha and Yelena really forced you to come to this? “You know what? Don't answer that. I'd be too tempted to smack you.”

“I've already beat myself up for the both of us,” he muttered.

“I'll save you the trouble of asking: No, I won't be your mistress. I won't stay here and be your whore. I'm sorry,” you said.

Whether or not he'd grow to care for Sophia or if he was doing this strictly out of orders from George, he would be a married man at the end of the day. Even if there was a chance down the road that he would divorce Sophia, could you condone carrying on an affair with him? Could you contribute to him breaking his vows? Both of you deserved better than that.

He ran a hand through his hair and messed up the style. “I'm asking you to forgive me at your own pace and stay,” he said.

He sounded sincere and on the edge of breaking. You were there with him. “I can forgive you, but you're still marrying someone else, Bucky. And what would we be if I stayed? Friends? We can't be friends.”

He grabbed you by the shoulders when you attempted to step around him again, a wild look in his eyes. You couldn't recall ever seeing him so untamed. “You really think I want this? That I would want anyone besides you?”

Tears filled your eyes by that point, wishing that were true. “Yes! You broke my heart, remember? You said I didn't belong in your world and that you owed it to Sophia to try. Those were your words. So, no, I don't think you want me. At least not all of me.”

“I broke up with you because I had to. I know I was hurtful, but I had to keep you from going after me,” he said, your chest tightening when he pulled you closer. “If you leave now, I know you'll run.”

Would you chase me if I tried to run?

“So what if I do? I'm not yours anymore.”

“You'll always be mine,” he spoke with such reverence that your lower lip quivered. “Just like I'm still yours.”

“Fuck you, James,” you seethed, struggling in his grasp as a tear slid down your cheek. You cried so many tears because of him and you were ready to be finished. “This is cruel and you know it.”

“I know you hate me-”

“That's just it. I don't hate you. I don't think I ever could,” you said, your chest heaving as you tried not to choke on a sob. “But you know what I want? My heart. You took it from me and I want it back, along with my love for you. Every smile, every laugh, every kiss. Give it all back and let me go.”

“I won't do that,” he whispered after a beat. “I love you too much.”

Bucky reached up to cup your cheek and draw you closer, his breath fanning over your lips as you trembled. You wanted so desperately to meet him halfway, but how could you cross that line after vehemently denying that possibility? Would it shatter your heart all over again if you did?

“We can't,” you whispered when his mouth brushed against yours, a small taste of the now forbidden spreading through you like a wildfire. But your mind urged you to lean back even as your heart screamed for you to give in. “Bucky, we can't.”

“Yes, we can. Please,” he gently argued, your heart pounding over the voice in your head as he pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth. Your head spun when you inhaled, his cologne adding to the dizzying feeling as he moved his mouth to the other side. “We love each other.”

You hesitated once more before you sighed in resignation. You did love Bucky. It may have been wrong at the moment, but he had the key to your heart. And you would allow him to unlock it one last time.

You weren't sure who leaned in first this time, but your mouths met in a familiar dance. He led as he parted your lips with his tongue and you followed with a moan. Eagerly gripping his hair, uncaring that he'd have to fix it later, you melted into him and prayed he'd catch you if you fell.

“Please, Bucky,” you whispered as his mouth left a warm trail of open mouthed kisses along your neck.

You didn't know what you were pleading for as he backed you against a wall. Was it for him to let you go? To fight for you? Or to take you to paradise one last time?

Love me like you're going to lose me.

“I love you so fucking much,” he murmured, your heart pounding as he moved his hand along your chest. His fingertips dragged along the necklace, a shackle of the ownership he had over you. One you'd wear forever if he only asked. “Killed me to be apart from you, doll. Hated every second of it.”

Guilt began to sink in. You just told him you wouldn't be a kept woman, but you allowed him to kiss you. Touch you. Was it because he hadn't gone through with the wedding yet? Was there a chance he'd back out of it?

“You hurt me,” you reminded him, but didn't stop him from gliding his hand down your torso. “You broke my heart.”

“I had to,” he said again. You expected him to say more, but he only hiked your dress up and dragged your underwear down far enough that you could spread your legs. And you didn't need to pour more salt in the open wound by saying again that he hurt you. He knew. “I'm sorry.”

“Then show me how sorry you are,” you demanded, your hands shaky as they reached for his belt. You didn't have much time. “Even if someone walks in-”

“I'm not stopping,” he said, helping you with his pants. You wrapped a hand around his cock the second it sprang free, the familiar hardness only making the ache inside you grow. You needed to feel him. “I don't care if the world's on fire. Won't stop me from being inside you.”

“Just shut up and fuck me.”

He chuckled as he pressed his lips to yours, warmth blooming from your core when his fingers teased your folds. One touch and you melted, your pussy wet and ready for him to make himself at home again. He swallowed down your moan as he explored, like he was memorizing you all over again.

“Bucky,” you whined as he pulled his fingers away.

“I've got you.”

Your hands flew to his shoulders as he wrapped one of your legs around him. You dug your fingers in almost hard enough to bruise him as he lined himself up. Part of you wished you could leave your mark on him. Perhaps you had in his heart, a claim that no one else could see but one you both felt.

Heart and soul.

Your heart pounded as he slowly buried himself deep, relishing in the burn from the stretch. The breath punched out of your lungs as you surrounded him, his cock filling you to your limit. It was far from the first time he had you, but it felt even better than before. More raw, passionate. You wanted him to stay inside you and never leave.

Clenching around him was the wordless order for him to move, almost afraid to open your mouth and speak. You were afraid if you did that he'd slip through your fingers. That this would be just a dream and you'd wake up alone again.

“Fuck, I love you. Wanna make you feel good,” he moaned, his eyes hazy with pleasure and face a mask of euphoria at his movements. It was a beautiful sight. One you wanted to remember for the rest of your life. “Wish I could tear your dress open and get my hands on your gorgeous tits.”

“Oh, fuck,” you moaned, pushing your chest forward and wishing for the same. You wanted him to pinch your nipples and soothe the sting with his tongue.

“Always so pretty when you play with them, especially when I fuck you with my tongue,” he went on, canting his hips to thrust deeper. He always made you feel beautiful no matter how he had you. “Tell me you love me.”

You bit your lip, realizing that he begged to hear it. A man as strong as him pleading for your love nearly tore you apart. “I love you, Bucky,” you panted, your chest rising faster as you moved your hips down.

His eyes devoured you, devotion and adoration in his gaze before he brushed his nose against yours. You shared one breath as you moved together, the slow and firm motions making you leak around him. His hand came to the side of your face, tilting your head to kiss you. It made your heart flutter wildly, the slide of his lips and tongue sending shivers down your spine.

It left you dizzy, like you were unable to breathe.

“Missed this sweet cunt,” he grunted, reaching under your dress as he picked up the pace. You didn't have to beg for him to touch you since his thumb found and teased your clit. “Missed how tight you got around me right before I came inside you.”

“Come in me,” you whimpered, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I need it.”

“I don't wanna stop,” he groaned as you trembled, the head of his cock hitting that spot inside you that made you see stars. He was taking you to heaven. “I can't. We can't be done.”

You shut your eyes as you rested your head against his, quiet whines falling from your lips as he kept rubbing your bundle of nerves. You wanted to whisper that it wasn't the end. That was the beginning of a new path after being apart. But that wasn't your destiny. He was meant to rule with another queen.

“Please, Bucky. I'm close,” you said, opening your eyes as heat coiled in your gut. “Come with me. Show me you love me.”

One last time.

Placing a hand on his chest to feel the beat of his heart, you let yourself fall over the precipice. Your blood turned to lava in your veins as you breathed his name like a prayer. He recited a litany of praise in return as you clamped around him, doing your best to soak up every word as your spirit threatened to float away. Twisting your fingers in his hair, you didn't want it to end either.

“Fuck. I love you,” he groaned as he emptied himself inside you, his lips moving along your chin, lips, cheeks, anywhere he could reach.

You clung to him as he pulled out of you, some of his release sliding out with yours as he caught his breath. You couldn't do more than make a small noise as he lowered your leg and bent down to pull your underwear back up. They were ruined now. You were ruined.

“You really are so fucking beautiful,” he said, tucking himself back into his pants as you braced yourself against the wall.

“And you are so fucking-”

“James?” An unfamiliar voice spoke, nearly making you collapse.

Oh, shit.

“Fuck,” he huffed, both of you turning your heads toward the open door.

The post-sex afterglow disappeared as a woman in an elegant bridal gown stepped inside and closed the door, her beautiful face twisted in disgust as she stared at Bucky. Even in anger, Sophia Genovese was a vision. You put a hand to your stomach, willing yourself not to get sick as she turned her gaze toward you, the anger visibly lessening. Choice or not, this was Bucky's fiancé. You were the other woman. Did it matter to her that you loved him? Did she care for him? Maybe George was right about you after all.

You were a whore.

“You really couldn't keep it in your pants until after the ceremony?_ She asked, turning an unimpressed stare back on Bucky. “Honestly, James. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“What the fuck are you doing in here?” Bucky asked, helping you fix your dress with gentle hands and a soft kiss to your forehead. “You're supposed to be in the east wing.”

“And you're supposed to be ready for the ceremony and not sticking your dick in her,” she said harshly enough to make you wince. “Simple instructions that you should’ve been able to follow. Or can you not comprehend basic orders?”

“Shut up, Sophia,” he snapped, zipping up his pants as she rolled her eyes.

There was no lost love between them, but you still felt terrible as you looked at the woman. “I'm sorry,” you said softly. “I love him, but that’s no excuse.”

“You’re sorry for what? For fucking a man you love? Though I don't know why you love him. He's an idiot,” she scoffed, shooing Bucky out of her way. You stood your ground as she walked close, but she didn't slap you as you expected. She turned her back to you. “Lace up my dress so my tits don’t fall out of this.”

What?

It took a second for you to move, but you carefully laced her bodice. A beautiful gown fit for a queen. “I really am-”

“Save it. I don't want or need your apologies,” she cut you off before she pointed at Bucky. “But you will get your ass to that altar. I don’t care what it takes. Don't you dare ruin this for me, James, or I'll make your life a living hell.”

Bucky opened his mouth as the door opened again to reveal Yelena. She surveyed the scene before she went over and grabbed your arm. “You stink like sex,” she commented. “We must go.”

With misty eyes, you looked at Bucky. “I know nothing I say will stop you from getting married, but is this really it for us? I become your mistress or nothing at all?”

Is this the end?

Sophia shook her head when he didn't answer you. Yelena didn't speak either. “Mistress? You fucking-”

“Don't say another word,” Bucky ordered her.

“We must go. It's almost time,” Yelena said.

Bucky snuck in one last kiss as a tear slid from your eye, the feel of his lips lingering on yours. “I love you. I’ll never stop.”

That wasn't an answer to your question, but you weren't going to get one, were you? “I love you, too,” you said before Yelena dragged you away, needing him to hear that as your heart began to break again.

“I can’t believe you,” Sophia said before the door slammed shut and blocked out the voices.

Is Sophia going to rip him a new one?

You hastily wiped your cheek and had a hard time keeping up with Yelena as she dragged you down the hall. “I didn’t expect to bump into him,” you told her, like it would excuse your actions.

“You’re lucky no one else saw,” she said as Natasha came into sight near a pair of glass doors. The redhead didn't look pleased. “She slept with him.”

“Yelena,” you hissed, though you were sure the redhead already knew by your guilty expression.

“Of course, you did,” Natasha said under her breath. “Get to your seats.”

“Wait! I really don't know if I can do this,” you told them. Not when you could still feel the sweet burn of Bucky inside you. Not when your heart told you he didn't stop loving you. “How can I watch him marry her?”

Natasha exchanged an unreadable look with her sister. “Because when this is all over, he’s going to need you by his side more than ever.”

Why is everyone being so cryptic and not saying what they need to?

“By his side as his whore you mean,” you said. “Isn't that it?”

Is that really my future?

“As the woman who has his heart,” Yelena said, surprising all three of you. “Come. We must sit.”

Yelena led you outside to the gardens where most of the guests were already settled. It was a smaller amount than you expected, the flowers lining the chairs just as bright as the aisle runner. She practically shoved you into your chair on the groom’s side before she took a seat. The low buzz of excitement around you would’ve been contagious had this been any other wedding.

“I can really leave when this is over, right?” You asked. You weren’t sure you could handle a reception, even if Bucky wanted to see you. Maybe you’d see if Monica, Helen, and Brunhilde could meet up after all. “You won't stop me?”

Yelena gave you a curt nod. “If you really wish. Just know he'll find you,” she said, pouting a bit as she stole a glance at you. “Please, don’t hate us.”

“I could never,” you assured her as she nodded again. No matter what happened after this and even though you despised the situation, you could never hate Natasha or Yelena. They didn’t let too many people close and it was a privilege that you were part of that small circle.

It was like you were in a daze when the ceremony began. You blinked tears away as Bucky entered the garden and stood tall at the altar, looking pristine and powerful once again. He spotted you easily as the music began, ignoring Steve as he walked down the aisle with the maid of honor. You didn’t take your eyes away either.

It was as if you were the only two who existed.

Even as Sophia began to walk down the aisle with her father, he didn’t take his eyes off you. Tears surfaced again when you realized he didn’t actually look happy or proud. Not at all.

He looked trapped.

Bucky was a prisoner in his own life.

Your heartbreak forgotten, you were beginning to understand why Natasha and Yelena said he needed you. It wasn’t his fault he wasn’t in control of his life. While your parents gave you freedom, his dad shackled him. And you knew you could never walk away from him. Not when he needed someone in his corner.

Someone who loved him unconditionally.

“It’s okay,” you mouthed to him, smiling through your tears. “I love you.”

A sad smile touched Bucky’s lips before Sophia reached the end of the aisle. His attention was now on his bride-to-be. You could only sit and watch as the man you loved began a new path.

Yelena silently handed you a handkerchief as the officiant began. “Dearly beloved…”

Blocking the words out as Bucky and Sophia faced each other, you looked around at everyone else. Steve appeared a bit stiff, like he was anticipating something going wrong. Natasha and Clint weren’t smiling either. They were observing.

“If there is anyone who feels these two should not be wed, please speak now or forever hold your peace.”

This is it.

“I object,” Bucky spoke.

A small smile appeared on Sophia's face as people around you gasped. “As do I,” she said, handing her bouquet to her maid of honor.

You held your breath when George stood up. “What the hell do you think you're doing?!”

Bucky ignored him as he faced everyone. “I'm in love with someone else,” he announced as you held your breath, holding out his hand and beckoning for you to join him. “She's the one I want to spend my life with and beyond.”

“You unworthy-”

Yelena stood up faster than you could blink, pistol in hand. Where did she pull that out from? “You sit and listen,” she ordered, giving you a rare smile. “You go to him.”

Steve, Natasha, and Clint all had guns aimed at Bucky's father as your mind screamed at you to move. Your legs nearly gave out as you ignored the stares and walked down the aisle, but you made it to Bucky and took his hand. Why weren't any of the other men stepping in to stop you? What the hell was happening?

“This is the only person I want to be with. You will know her name and you will respect her,” Bucky announced, your name falling from his lips a heartbeat later.

It sounded so beautiful.

“Little fucking whore-” George began before Steve moved forward and smacked him in the face with his gun.

Hard.

“Don't use that kind of language when you talk about my best friend's girl,” Steve said, backing away slowly as George spit blood in the grass. “Go ahead, Buck.”

“When my dad ordered me to marry Sophia, I objected because I already found the love of my life. He said if I didn't go through with the ceremony, he would have my girl killed in the most dishonorable way. He threatened the same thing if I tried to leave the city with her or if she tried to interfere in the wedding plans. He even threatened to kill her closest friends,” Bucky said, gripping your hand a little tighter. “So I had to break her heart to protect her.”

You exhaled slowly, almost collapsing. Bucky told you he had to hurt you, but you didn't know your life was at stake. Or the lives of your girlfriends. That was why he looked so frightened that day when you suggested talking to his dad. He would've had all of you killed. The only reason he didn't hurt you today was because Yelena stepped in to defend you.

And deep down he likely thought he already won because today was the wedding day.

“I don't think I ever loved you, but I never hated you more,” Bucky spoke, his eyes narrowed in hate as he finally acknowledged his dad. “I almost killed you then and there, but you had your men watching her, and I had to wait until I swayed them to my side.”

“They're my men,” George snapped, snatching a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his mouth.

Bucky smirked when the guards took their guns out and trained them on his father. “Not anymore.”

That was why no one was jumping in to defend George. They worked for Bucky now. They had a new leader. A better one.

“I didn't want to marry James either. I don't care for him. In fact, I can't stand the sight of him. I have someone I love waiting for me,” Sophia added unapologetically as Natasha pointed her gun at her fuming father. The only reason he wasn't rushing toward the altar was because someone else had a gun against the back of his head. “You'd think after the first engagement fell through that you would've learned your lesson, but it doesn't matter now. James and I both had something to gain from each other. So while you thought we were planning our wedding day, we came to an agreement and made our own plans.”

“We share the power of the city without marriage,” Bucky said, nodding to the surrounding men and women. “We stay in our territories, continue our work, and help each other when necessary.”

“Most importantly, we're free to be with a partner of our choosing with no interference,” Sophia said.

Bucky cocked his head at his dad. “Did you really think me keeping my girl as a mistress would satisfy me? Mom probably rolled over in her grave and I should've cut out your tongue for suggesting it.”

It was like another blow to your chest. You assumed Bucky wanted you as a side piece when he didn't say otherwise. He had to keep up the facade. You should've known better.

Heartbreak made you blind.

“So, I'm afraid none of you are here today to witness a marriage between the Barnes and Genovese families,” Sophia shrugged.

“You're here to witness an execution,” Bucky said, giving his dad a bittersweet smile. “Enjoy rotting in Hell while I'm in heaven on earth with my girl.”

It all happened so fast, but it felt like you witnessed it in slow motion as Bucky shielded you with his left arm. Sophia with a gun in her hand fired a bullet between George's eyes. Bucky shot Sophia's dad in the head as well. In the blink of an eye, the leaders of the Barnes and Genovese families failed to take another breath, their blood spraying on nearby patrons. Taken out by the very children they tried to force a marriage on.

Their own flesh and blood.

But blood isn't always thicker than water.

You felt like you were floating underwater when the guards ordered the bloodied guests to get to their feet. This was the world you knew Bucky lived in, but you hadn’t witnessed him kill anyone until now. In a strange way, you felt closer to him because you saw this. You knew exactly what he was capable of.

And just how far he’d go to keep you by his side.

“Let that be a lesson for anyone who tries to hurt the ones we love,” Sophia said, sweeping over the small crowd with a cool gaze. “Get them inside to clean up,” she ordered the guards, who quickly ushered them away.

I might pass out.

“Take it easy,” Natasha said as Clint brought a chair for you to sit on. “I know this is probably a bit of a shock.”

“You think?” Yelena asked as she put her gun away. “Get her a water. Or vodka.”

“We’ll get this cleaned up. Clint’s getting the car,” Steve assured Bucky, nodding over to you. “Go tend to your girl.”

His girl.

Bucky holstered his gun under his jacket and crouched down, cupping your face with a tender touch. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't want to leave you in the dark, but I had to. I couldn't risk your safety.”

Sophia hit his shoulder. “You could've told her something! 'I broke her heart to protect her' bullshit,” she said, making your eyebrows shoot up. “I knew you were a bit in the dark, but I didn't realize he didn't clue you in at all.”

That must've been why she was surprised that I questioned being a mistress. She knew it would never get that far, but I didn't.

“I couldn’t warn her with the men watching her. They would’ve known and I had to make it convincing,” he said through his teeth.

“Even after they were on our side? You couldn't have given her a clue?” Sophia pressed.

“Her place was bugged,” Natasha said, causing a wave of nausea to hit you. His dad had your home monitored, too? “George would've known the moment Bucky tipped her off. Today was the first day he stopped having anyone listen in and Yelena and I got rid of the bugs while she showered.”

Oh, my God.

“Everyone had to play along, no matter how much it hurt us to do so,” Bucky said before concern filled his eyes. “Doll?”

You threw your arms around him, feeling a bit dramatic when you dissolved into tears. It was so much to take in, but relief flowed through you as he held you. He didn't go through with the ceremony.

He loved you.

Bucky never stopped loving you.

“I've got you,” he whispered, leaning back to search your face.

“I’m fine. Really,” you said after a second, allowing him to wipe your tears away. Everything made sense now, like why the girls were so eager for you to be here today. “But you really couldn’t have slipped a note to Natasha or Yelena to warn me? Even a, 'Hey, doll. Your place is bugged!' sort of thing?” You added, just to make a little light of the tense situation.

Sophia snorted when Bucky's face fell, like that idea hadn’t dawned on him. “Told you that you’re a fucking idiot,” she said, her eyes more sympathetic as she looked at you. “But I get his apprehension. My father had measurements set in place for me as well to go through with today, including trying to incapacitate the man I want to be with.”

“I'm sorry,” you said. Bucky and Sophia had to endure a lot of pain thanks to the men who should've respected their wishes.

“None of this is your fault. And I got a call before I found you two and he's okay. My men are bringing him to me now that it's safe to do so,” she said, smiling to herself. “The ceremony was the only way to take our fathers out. And I won't shed a tear for that sperm donor now that he's gone.”

“Neither will I,” Bucky said, glaring at his dad’s dead body. “And I’ll spend every day making it up to you, doll. If I could've made him suffer more, I would've. A cut for every tear I made you shed.”

“That's a lot of tears. He would've bled out.”

“It's the least he deserved.”

“I need to get out of this gown,” Sophia said, dismissing one of the men who went to check on her. She slipped the engagement ring off her finger and handed it to Bucky. “Until next time, James. And you? I hope we can become friends, if only to piss him off.”

You laughed a little at the absurdity. She just murdered Bucky’s father and watched as he executed her own dad. And she extended a hand to you in friendship. You had to both admire and fear her. Brunhilde would love her. “I’d like that.”

“Take care of her or I’ll hear about it and I’ll make you sorry,” she warned Bucky before she walked away.

‘I told you that you'd see your future husband here,” Yelena said before Natasha nodded to the bodies. “What? They're not going anywhere.”

“Let's let the lovebirds be,” she said, slipping into the big sister role.

“Thank you for dragging me here. And for everything,” you told them before they let you be. You wished they would've told you, but understood why they couldn't. You wouldn't hold that against them. “Are you okay?” You asked Bucky. Whether or not he hated George, that was his father. Between that, lying to protect you and everything else, it was a lot on his shoulders.

“Do I have you?” He replied, a hopeful look in his eyes.

“You have me,” you said without hesitation.

“Do you love me?”

“Yes, I do,” you smiled. “With all my heart and more.”

“Then I’m okay,” he smiled back.

“I'm sorry for how I acted. I’m so sorry,” you said. It was selfish in so many ways to focus on your own pain. “I should've known-”

“No, don't apologize. You had every right to be upset and couldn't have known that everything was a charade. I'm just thankful you're safe,” he said, taking your left hand and slipping the ring onto your finger. “And I know this isn't romantic at all and you deserve a better proposal, but this ring belonged to my mother. Now it belongs on your finger and you belong at my side. I know the world I'm a part of is dangerous, but I will love, cherish, and protect you above all else.”

You softly laughed. There was nothing conventional about the impromptu proposal, but there was love behind it. Wasn't that all that mattered? “You may need to convince me to say 'yes',” you teased, gazing at your finger.

“You're the main reason I had my dad killed. Is that a good enough reason?” He smiled, his eyes a bright shade of blue when you smiled in return.

“That's true,” you nodded. He committed murder so you could be together. That was love. “And I know this world is a dangerous place, but there's no one else I'd rather be with because I love you, too.”

Bucky didn't hold back as he thoroughly kissed you, leaving your head spinning by the time he stopped. “I'm never letting you go.”

“You better not. And lucky for both of us, you don't have to get rid of any new boyfriends of mine. Though you may need to apologize to my girlfriends, too.”

“Good because I know you thought you were single, but I may have had to kill another man for touching you. And I think two deaths is enough for today,” he half-joked, pressing one more kiss to your lips. You wouldn't dream of anyone else putting their hands on you. “I will apologize to the girls, but first we need to make up for the time apart. Maybe start in the car? Show you why you should marry me?”

“That's a start,” you said as he helped you to your feet. “Where is the car taking us?”

“Our place if that's what you want,” he answered.

Our place sounds like a dream come true.

“We can go anywhere as long as I'm yours.”

“Told you that you're mine,” he smirked. “And I'm yours.”

As his lips met yours, you knew you would always belong to each other.

WHEW! Did you lovelies make it? What do we think? Love and thanks for reading! This was a whirlwind! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

#a real work of art right here🥹💖🌸#you will get whiplash but it’s the wonderful kind of whiplash 🥹#10/10 would read again🥹#author rec pookies👻🌸#top tier writer🙂‍↔️#top tier writing🤞🏾#one of my faves😍

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