#in fact i bet that distance is only leading her to believe that her echo chamber is all she has anymore

[rurinnfane]

A matchmaking app, but for families to seek out a person/people willing to befriend and gently broaden the horizons of their elderly family members who are rapidly descending into the rabbit hole of hyperconservatism/christofascism/bigotry as a result of their social isolation

[lordviridis]

Beach

This will eventually be part of a fic series in AO3, but as that’s still in the plans, tumblr it is. It was written between midnight and 2am due to me fucking my sleep schedule. So not necessarily the final version of the events.

Warnings for implied (but not shown on screen) domestic abuse, child neglect, and hate sex. Also implied on screen heavy alcohol usage.

Summary: Aleena didn’t enjoy visiting her grandparents, especially not when their dislike of each other was so clear for everyone to see. Especially not when she gets woken by her dad because grandparents are fighting.

The pool looks so tempting, the water clear and lovely, still. She wanted to jump in, to feel its refreshing coolness against her skin. A ball falls in, a quiet blomb in the water. Then another ball, more falling in rapid succession. That was weird. There were no clouds. “Aleena,” she turns around, hearing her name. It sounded so distant, but it was somewhere close by. She couldn’t see anyone. 

“Aleena.” Her body shakes slightly as her eyes open, they felt so heavy. 

“Dad?” Why was he here? “Is everything alright?” 

“Yes. But things will not remain so for the next few hours. Come with me.”

Aleena wants to ask why, but Mortis’ tone left no room to argue. She gets up, pulling a nightgown around her as she follows him out of the room and down the stairs. 

The noises become louder as they descended the stairs. They were still muffled, clearly coming from the office, but definitely two raised voices. Arguing. The tension from dinner seemed to have boiled over. 

Mortis doesn’t pay it any mind, leading her down the hallway, towards the patio. There’s a slave with a basket by the door, clearly expecting them. Aleena takes it, mouthing her thanks, not wanting her grandparents to hear them. Though based on how loud they are, she doubts that’d be an issue. A loud crack echoes the hallway, making her flinch. She was just glad she wasn’t in the room with them as she hurries after dad.

The stairs to the beach have never felt so long, but any distance she can put between them and her was ideal. She doubted they’d do anything to harm her, not with dad here, but things could happen when you got stuck between fighting Sith.

The sand is still warm from the sun under her bare feet. The air feels freer here, less oppressive. Those two were not good for her blood pressure. As she walks along the beach after her dad the house and the cliffs its on cut a menacing figure against the sky. She can’t believe dad had spent his holidays here. 

Halfway on their way to the beach house, he stops. “There should be some blankets in the basket.”

They are in fact laid on top of the basket. She quickly lays a couple down, sitting on top of one of them. Mortis sit next to her, looking exhausted. It was strange seeing him like this. There’s also few bottles of alcohol in the basket and some expensive snacks. She doubted this was the first time such a basket had been put together for him.

“A drink?”

“Please.”

Aleena pours him a glass of whiskey before looking at the sky. The stars were so bright, the waves gently hitting the shore. It was all so peaceful, quite different from what was going on inside. “This happens often?”

He hums, taking a deep drink before responding, “On occasion. It has been a while. One of the advantages of not living with them anymore.”

“I bet.” Her fingers dig into the sand. Her dad’s life made so much more sense now. Growing up with two people who despised each other. Who had to be together because of marriage that could not be annulled, who could not get away from each other until their son was old enough to take over running the family. 

“You should get comfortable, it will be at least few hours.”

“I was sleeping just fine in my bed.”

“Only because they had not moved to upstairs yet. Their later activities are even more aggravating than the fighting.” The disgust in his voice is audible as he finishes his glass. She shudders at the implication, rather glad not to be there to hear the aftermath.

Instead of filling his glass, she hands him the bottle, filling a glass of wine for herself. This family definitely drew one to drink. “Dad, I’m-”

“Aleena, I do not require your sympathy. I know how to handle my parents.”

If by handle he meant escaping to the beach… She lowers her eyes in shame, he hadn’t always been an all powerful Sith Lord. Once he’d been a child, scared of his parents arguing. The beach must have seemed like a safe place for him. Perhaps the slaves had prepared him care baskets back then already.

He sighs, “The sentiment is appreciate, but I am used to them.”

                                                         ***

Few hours later the bottle is empty next to Mortis. He knew he would pay for his choice in the morning, even if it made him forget the current situation. Peaceful huffs interrupt the otherwise quiet night. Aleena had fallen asleep just minutes earlier.

He takes a deep breath, letting the Force wash over him. It pushed away worst of the haze, he did need to concentrate. Aleena’s sleeping body rises from the ground, levitating just behind him as he makes his way to the beach house. He didn’t wish to wake her twice during a night and did not trust his ability to get her upstairs safely. Besides, his parents might still be awake and he had no desire to subject Aleena to that.

The beach house door slides open easily, nobody still seemed to lock it. Some things didn’t change. He sets Aleena on the bed, watching her eyes flutter. She doesn’t wake up as he tucks her in under a blanket. 

She seemed much more happy in her sleep than awake. He truly did wish he could change that, to make her see how what he was doing was best for her in the long run. Even if she did not enjoy their training sessions, they were necessary, he could not lose her again.

He pushes few fallen strands of hair back behind her ear, his fingers lingering on her face. She still reminded her of Indran, even if it was easy to see all the differences now. Both were forces of nature when they set their mind to something, stubborn to the last. But where Indran had been ruthless, a trait he did admire, Aleena had a softness and kindness to her. Something he could only blame the Jedi for. He could only hope in the end it wouldn’t destroy her.

He wished Indran was there with him, he was not cut out for single parenthood. Not that there was that much parenting when it came to having an adult child, but she did need guidance. The Jedi had certainly made her unprepared for the Sith society. Not only could it be seen in her behaviour but also in her choice of company.

Stenet was… for one of Imperial blood, he had made something of himself, but he was completely beneath Aleena. Yet he made her happy. Even Mortis could not deny that. But sometimes happiness didn’t matter. Aleena had a responsibility, one she clearly happily kept forgetting, as the heir of the Marwil family. 

A responsibly the weight of which he was very well aware off. It was not an easy burden to bear, one’s life already written out. His parents had certainly pressured him to excel in the Academy, given clear guidelines on acceptable behaviours and social circles. He’d never strayed from those, and it had paid off. He had risen to greater heights than his parents had dared to dream of. But Aleena… she didn’t fit to the pre-assigned mould. She would have, had she been raised properly, and he was sure she would have flourished in the position. 

He wished that when she eventually left for the Academy, she would find a social circle more fit for her standing. Perhaps even meet someone proper, someone more worthy of her than Stenet. Just so that he would not have to destroy what happiness she’d been able to find with the Imperial. Perhaps he should have kept her less isolated so that she had met other people, but… He did worry about her.

Was it wrong to wish it did not end with him breaking Aleena’s current relationship? He understood his duty as head of the family. It was up to him to keep the family and the lineage strong. To make sure people like Stenet were not part of it. To arrange an appropriate marriage if she was unable to strike such a match on her own.Yet… he can’t but think of his parents’ clearly unhappy marriage, how much they despised each other, how much more they preferred to be away from each other. Could he subject Aleena to that so that she might have children of proper heritage?

What about his duty as her father? Not only to protect her, but to ensure her happiness. Shouldn’t he let her have this, for however long it would last. Stenet was her first romantic relationship, those hardly lasted a life time. With any luck he would never have to say anything to her, time would do what it did best and separate them. She’d move on and meet someone proper, taking the choice away from his hands. He could only hope so. 

He sighs, it was far too late in the night to make any such decisions. He should get back to the main house, his parents must be done by now. He could finally get some sleep. Though before that he needed to send someone to bring Aleena fresh clothes for the morning and to clean the beach. As well as to inform Erland of planned departure for tomorrow. He had no desire to subject Aleena to his parents for longer than necessary. He could always cite Council business as to why they needed to leave. Even his parents weren’t foolish enough to pry.

[yelena-bellova]

Safe Haven: tfatws!Bucky Barnes x fem!reader - Chapter Ten

chapter nine - Chapter Ten: Heroes - chapter eleven

Series Masterlist

Plot: Y/n, Sam and Bucky make one final effort to stop the Flag Smashers.

Warnings: spoilers for episode.6, violence, character death (major), wounds, blood, ANGST ANGST ANGST, Bucky and Y/n are a badass couple, Sam and Y/n are a badass sibling duo, everybody’s a badass, inaccurate medical care (unless you consider google legit then it’s for real lol)

Word Count: 8.6k

A/N: GUYS. SECOND TO LAST CHAPTER. HOW DID WE GET HERE?!?! This one was challenging to write because I wanted to still make it mainly focus on Sam and not detract from his story while incorporating another one, hopefully I did it justice. Smaller amount of Bucky Y/n fluff purely because of plot. Imma shut up now and let you guys judge it for yourselves, hopefully you enjoy ☺️

----

I’d always wanted to visit New York, I just never thought that the circumstances in which I’d come would be so dire.

Surprisingly, flying from Delacroix to the city hadn’t been as draining as I’d thought, the adrenaline rushing through me was enough to keep my stamina up. Once I got into the state I shot up higher, the only way to pinpoint the city’s location was by sight alone. The mass of flashing red, white and blue lights served as a literal guiding light and I followed it till my feet made contact with the ground. I landed in between two buildings, a safe distance away from the commotion but close enough that I could intervene if needed. Sam had told me to go ahead of him and meet up with Bucky, the two of us would be on the ground while Sam took care of business with the senators. “Something’s different…” the voice I’d gone days without hearing announced from behind me, “New haircut?” I smirked and turned to face Bucky, “Do you get bulletproof suits for all the girls that catch your eye?” “Only the ones I really like,” he smiled, cradling my cheek in his hand and giving me an overdue kiss before pulling back to admire the suit, “Looks good on you.” The suit that Bucky had the Wakandans design for me was made almost entirely of Vibranium. It was sapphire blue, the same color of my energy with accent lines of silver running through it to define the shape. It clung tight to my body without showing off too much, the v neckline ended just below my collarbone. Hidden behind Bucky’s note in the case had also been a note from Shuri, the princess of Wakanda, listing that the suit was bullet proof and should I choose to channel my energy through a specific part of my body, the Vibranium would absorb and redistribute it to amplify my strike. The whole ensemble made me feel an official member of whatever club I’d decided to join.

I opened my fingerless glove adorned palm out to Bucky, offering him one of the comms Sam had given me and placing the other in my ear. “Ready?” he asked.

For once, I could answer feeling fully confidant in my capabilities. I reached out and squeezed Bucky’s hand, giving a single nod, “Ready.”

The two of us made our way out from between the buildings and headed into the heart of the chaos. There were news crews, police officers, soldiers and SWAT teams while innocent bystanders quickly fled the scene. 

“Sam, where you at?” I said into my comm.

“I’m almost there,” he replied.

“What’s the plan?” Bucky asked from beside me.

“Karli’s gotta be close, keep your eyes open.” “Well, it could be anybody…” Bucky said quietly as we passed by a group of officers.

We headed for the building in which the senators were being held, the SWAT team immediately parting to allow Sergeant Barnes and myself to enter. Whether or not he was paying attention to anything other than finding Karli, I wasn’t sure, but I smiled internally at the fact that they’d recognized him for what he should have been recognized for all this time.

“Oh, we also called in some backup,” I relayed to Bucky.

“Excuse me, sir, ma’am,” we turned to see a man in a beanie following us, “Are you supposed to be here?” Bucky looked stunned and slightly concerned while I stayed calm, recognizing the signal. Immediately, Sharon ripped off the technologically advanced mask that concealed her identity. “It’s me.” “Sharon, what the hell are you doing here?” Bucky asked.

I gestured to the woman, “Backing us up…” “Relax, no one’s looking for me here,” she said, pulling on Bucky’s arm in an effort to get us away from the crowd. “Is that Sharon?” Sam asked over the comms.

“Unfortunately,” Bucky answered, earning a light, disapproving smack from me to his chest.

“Hey, Sam, I thought I’d get the band back together,” Sharon said into her earpiece.

“Thank you, you’re risking a lot coming here.” I took a step forward towards the blonde, “If you want me to fly you out of here, now’s the time.”

She gave a little shrug, “I hear pardons aren’t all they’re cracked up to be anyway.”

“Depends on the therapist,” Bucky grumbled.

“They’re gonna move on the building soon. Be ready,” Sam’s voice flowed into my ear.

“Same goes for you,” I replied, trying to compartmentalize the constant anxiety that ran through me in regards to my brother’s safety. Though knowing he wore vibranium wings now did help ease my fears a little. I turned my attention back to Sharon and Bucky, “Let’s split up and do a perimeter check. Front’s clear so I’ll take the back, you two take the sides.” “Wow,” Sharon smirked, “Give you a suit and suddenly you’re Miss Take Charge.” I shot her smirk right back at her as she headed down her side of the building while Bucky and I went around the other way. “Somethin’ changed while I was gone,” he observed as we walked. “You made amends,” I replied, flashing back to my visit to the graveyard, “I made peace.” I expelled energy from my fingertips to float above him and fly to the back of the building, not a soul in sight.

“Y/n, Sharon, Bucky, what’s going on on your end?” Sam asked.

“Nothing, all quiet,” Bucky answered. “Same here,” I said, taking another look around me to be sure,

“No one’s moving toward the building,” Sharon added. 

“Karli’s not coming in. She’s trying to force everybody out,” Sam said, “It’s a misdirect, we gotta keep everybody inside.” 

I levitated once again and headed to the front of the building, finding Bucky and Sharon waiting for me. Once I landed, we entered through the glass doors. “You guys are gonna have to do something,” Sam panted through the comm, “Don’t let ‘em out of the building.”

We passed through the building’s metal detectors one by one with no issue, till the alarm sounded off on Sharon. “Oops,” she muttered unconvincingly. “Here’s one of them,” Bucky said, gesturing towards a man in a security uniform, a Flag Smasher, “We’ll get the evac.” Bucky and I winded around the halls but didn’t get far before a woman came walking towards us with a phone extended out in her palm, “Mr. Barnes, Miss. Y/l/n, it’s Karli.” How she knew my name baffled me, Bucky reached for the phone regardless and took note of the orange handprint projected on the screen. He placed the call on speaker, “Karli?”

“Aren’t you two tired of fighting for the wrong side?” the young girl asked.

Bucky scoffed as we stepped down a staircase, “I’ve done this before, kid. I know how it ends.”

“It doesn’t matter if I don’t survive this,” she replied, “I’m fighting for something bigger than myself. With all the bodies you’ve collected, have you been able to say the same?”

“You don’t think I ever fought for something bigger than myself?” Bucky asked, “That’s all I ever tried to do. And I failed twice.” I tugged Bucky’s arm so the phone was in front of me, “Karli, all I’ve ever wanted was to use my powers for good. I respect the fight you’re fighting but this isn’t the way to win it.” “Believe me, I know all about your father’s crimes,” she spoke back, “I looked you up after meeting you in Riga, and trust me, the side you’re on is no better than the one your dad was one.” My heart clenched at her words, I knew that she was a black and white person who only dealt in absolutes, but it didn’t mean hearing it didn’t hurt. “If you wanted to do any real good, you’d have joined us,” Karli continued, “You’d have needed to get your hands dirty, but you’d have made an actual difference.” “You think your cause justifies all this death,” Bucky stepped in and took the wheel, “But in the end, the nightmares won’t go away. You’re gonna remember all the ones you killed. Trust me. Don’t do this. Don’t go down this path.”

There was a hopeful pause over the line, followed by a disappointing response. “If that’s how the both of you feel, you should sit this one out.” I glanced over at Bucky, sharing the same tired, yet determined look I was displaying. “That’s not gonna happen.” “Well, thank you,” Karlie replied, “I’m glad you took my call, you’ve been a big help.” She hung up then, the realization hitting me immediately as to why she’d called us. “The evac,” I breathed, “It was a deterrence.”

“Damn it,” Bucky growled with a clenched jaw, “Come on!”

We raced through across the floor of the building, making for the winding staircase lit up with flashing emergency lights that would lead us to the parking lot. Since we were the only two fleeing the building that particular way, it was a safe bet to make that the hostages had already been evacuated. Once we were in the parking lot, Bucky took the lead and led me to a parked row of motorcycles, quickly hot-wiring one.

“Seriously, guys, you had one job,” Sharon popped out from behind a pillar to critique us.

“You worry about your guy,” Bucky grumbled as he swung his leg over to straddle the vehicle, I promptly did the same, “Good?” Locking my arms around his torso and scooching forward so my Vibranium chest was pressed against his back, I nodded. “Good.” Bucky floored the gas pedal and we rode off with an echoing screech, finding our way through the garage’s exit. A blockade of soldiers yelled at us as we quickly approached them, shooting through the gap between barriers and whipping around the street corner. On any other occasion I’d have enjoyed clinging tight to Bucky’s body as we rode through the cool New York evening air. Sadly, there was no time to savor the moment.

“That’s one down,” Sharon’s voice came through my comm. “How’d you manage that?” Sam joined in. “Mercury vapor, amongst other things.” Bucky made a sharp turn down one of the streets causing me to clutch his middle tighter, “Any idea where they’ll be headed?” “I thought you were the one in charge,” Bucky retorted over the engine’s noise. “You better speed things up, Sam,” Sharon said, “The chopper’s about to take off.” “Bucky, Y/n,” Sam called, grunts following directly after. Bucky halted at a light, determining the rest of our course. “I don’t fly, man, that’s your guys’ thing.” He revved the bike and turned down a different street.

I pressed a hand to my ear, “Meet you there.” Placing a reassuring hand on Bucky’s shoulder, I levitated off the motorcycle and watched him continue on his path while I turned in the opposite direction and headed back through the city. From across the way, I could see the silhouette of Sam’s wings as he jumped off of the building after the helicopter. The chopper had taken a nose dive and was headed for the street, pulling up just before it hit the overpass. I quickened the speed in which I was flying over the bay, catching up to Sam soon enough. He flew lower than me, his new wings dipping into the waters before he shot back up.

“Plan?” I called into the comms as I kept close to the rear of the chopper. “We gotta take out the pilot,” Sam answered, “Take the left side.” I flew to my designated spot and reached out a hand to grasp onto one of the bars of the plane. Reabsorbing my energy, I put full faith in my grip as I dangled off of the helicopter in mid flight. I poked my head out to the window on the pilot’s side only to be given a front row seat to his attempt to kill Sam, firing a machine gun till my brother was forced to pull back and off the chopper. The pilot whipped his head around to lay eyes on me, aiming his gun. Lightning fast, I let go of the bar and narrowly escaped the shots fired, throwing my hands out and expelling energy to resume my flight. Sam wasn’t far behind, we took off in tandem with one another with him sending Redwing ahead to see if any of the hostages had flight training. As the chopper plunged towards the water, we moved in synch with it, just a few hundred feet behind in a dance of sorts. In the distance, I could barely make out the shape of an almost identical vehicle headed towards the one we were tailing, this one bearing the logo of the NYPD. Our chopper rammed itself into the front of the police copter, sending it spinning in a spiral of smoke and fire. If we didn’t get there in time, it would crash into one of the skyscrapers or worse. Sam and I changed course and made a beeline for it. “Get the co-pilot,” Sam yelled as he swerved to my left. 

I flew up to the side window and shot an energy blast towards it, smashing the glass and startling the co-pilot. I then levitated him out of the chopper and flew the two of us down to the bridge below us, Sam was right behind me with the pilot. The plane was losing altitude fast and was headed straight for our rescue party. Before I could even think to build a force field, Sam shoved me and the pilots down and shielded us with his wings. I felt the Vibranium shake as the plane bounced off of us and over the edge of the bridge. Sam retracted his wings and the two of us rose to our full heights, him in all his red, white and blue glory.

“Go, I got this,” he instructed, taking off into the skies before I could put up a fight. 

I levitated high above the bridge to get a birds eye view of the city, “Bucky, where are you?”

“42nd Street, heading west,” he answered

“I’m a tourist, those words mean nothing to me.”

“I’m passing a building with white and red lights,” he modified his answer. My eyes searched for the building he was talking about, spotting it quickly and taking off toward it. I looked below me to see two humvees and multiple bodies running around them. “Found them, they’re trying to build a-“ “I see ‘em, coming in hot,” Bucky interrupted, I could see his motorcycle speeding down the street and toward the barricade the Flag Smashers had arranged. Taking a leap, or rather a fall of faith, I absorbed my energy and free fell, throwing my hands out and releasing it just before my feet hit the ground. Bucky wasn’t far behind, leaping off his motorcycle and diving forward to tackle one of the Flag Smashers. The man jumped to his feet and Bucky engaged him in combat, the two exchanging punches with Bucky having more favor. In a split second of separation between the two I shot a blast of energy at the man that sent him flying backwards into the side of a truck, creating a super soldier shaped dent in the car. A sudden explosion sounded off nearby, I turned to see that one of the humvees had been set ablaze. Bucky and I ran to the vehicle, I sent an energy blast towards the high tech lock that had been placed on the back doors. It did absolutely nothing.

“Hold on,” Bucky shouted to the screaming hostages as he used his Vibranium arm to pull on the door handle. Even he couldn’t get it open. “Help me!”

I focused all my energy on the lock, sending unsuccessful blast after unsuccessful blast. Letting out a frustrated cry, I backed away giving Bucky another chance to try. He began throwing a stream of relentless punches, his determination growing with each hit. Eventually he’d done enough damage that he switched to pulling at the door’s bar. The pain on his face as he pulled was heartbreaking, the tendons and muscles where his prosthetic met his flesh stretching to too great a length. Making one last ditch effort, I extended my energy towards the handle to help him in his efforts. Together, we strained and struggled until the lock finally broke and the doors opened. While Bucky kept his footing, I fell backwards doing a very ungraceful somersault and landed on my side. What I saw happening in front of me was almost too shocking to believe, and yet not at all. 

John Walker was getting his ass kicked by the Flag Smashers. 

With a replica of the iconic shield that was definitely not made of Vibranium and his suit, he was lying on the ground being pummeled by the super soldiers. With the vigor in which they were attacking him, I knew that the metal wouldn’t protect him forever. The man that I hated, who had tried to kill me, Sam and Bucky, who had shed innocent blood on Steve’s legacy…I could have let them kill him and I should have wanted to.

But even in my hatred, I couldn’t let a man die.

I rose to my feet and sent a stream of energy towards two of them, knocking them a few feet away from Walker. The third who I deduced to be Karli, came charging at me. I threw up a force field to act as a shield and met each one of her punches with the energy. She let out grunts of frustration, going for a roundhouse kick but giving me just enough time to drop the field and levitate her into the air. I held her there a second, watching her flail about trying to escape before tossing her several hundred feet away from us towards the end of the street. The two Flag Smashers that I’d knocked over came charging back toward me, it was time to test out just what the suit could do…

I focused my energy out through my elbow and hit one of them square in the jaw, the energy sending him rolling down the road far greater a distance that I’d have been able to cause without the Vibranium amplifying it. I turned around to the other one, dodging a quick punch before sending my energy down to my foot, landing a kick my attacker’s stomach that caused him to go airborne and land on top of one of the trucks. Unfortunately, the first guy didn’t stay down as long as I needed him to and came up from behind me and landed a kick to my back. I fell to the road with a groan, felt the burn of the asphalt as it shredded my cheek. I heard the man rip something metal followed by the sound of his thick boots coming my way, undoubtably he’d grabbed something to use as a weapon. As I rose to take another stand, I saw Bucky come running past me and turned to watch him knock the Flag Smasher over, the man dropping the toll meter he’d been holding as a bat over me. Bucky strode forward and they began fighting one another with punches and kicks while I looked around to see Karli welding the unattended meter. She swung it towards Bucky, his avoidance of the hit and my creation of a force field around him totally in synch. Karli took another swing at him and met resistance, unable to move the weapon as I froze it in place with my energy.

“You don’t have to do this,” I urged her.

With a yell she let go of the weapon and dove for me, being hit in the face with a chain that Bucky had picked up. Before I could stop it, the Flag Smasher who had originally intended to hit me with the toll meter landed a kick that sent Bucky flying backwards. His metal hand scraping the asphalt as he desperately tried to hold on before going over the edge of the nearby construction site. “BUCKY!” I cried as he screamed into the night air just before Karli kicked me down herself, and landed a punch to my abdomen. The Vibranium, while giving me protection, still allowed some of the blow to reach me and I was in just enough pain that I couldn’t go after the Flag Smasher that leapt down into the construction hole Bucky had landed in. I sent a blast of energy at Karli, throwing her back and allowing me the time to stand up and regain my footing. At the same time I rose, so did Walker, the two of us sharing eye contact that was oceans away from the last time we’d met on the battlefield. Separating once again, he turned to lift one of the Flag Smashers up by her throat while I landed a punch on one that was coming for me. The second van of hostages was brimming with horrified screams, both my and Walker’s attention being redirected to them. Karli, who stood a few feet away from us, made a run for the humvee and Walker and I chased after her. Walker braced himself with the shield and the two of them came face to face with one another. Giving another insignificant try, I sent a stream of energy towards the lock in an attempt to break it but couldn’t without Bucky’s brute strength. Behind me, I could hear the grunts and groans of Walker and Karli moving around as they fought one another. When the noises got too distant to still be close by, I knew I needed to go back Walker up.

I looked through the everything-proof glass window to the terrified faces of the senators. “We’ll get you out, I promise,” I yelled, taking off towards the fight. 

Karli came running out from where they’d disappeared behind, I sent another blast her way that she dodged. She leapt into the air with a cry and raised a fist, I threw up a force field that she bounced off of and rolled to the ground. “This isn’t change, Karli,” I spoke up over the noise of the fire, “It’s murder.” The only response I got was another yell, Karli came charging towards me forcing me to throw up another shield to deflect her punches and kicks. I didn’t want to hurt her, I didn’t even want to fight her. It was different than with Walker where there was a mutual disliking of one another since almost the very beginning, she was just a kid looking to fight anyone who got in her way. Her cause was even something I agreed with, but I couldn’t stand by her taking innocent lives in the process.

Karli caught my exposed neck, gripping my neck tightly and holding me in the air. The bruises from Walker’s assault hadn’t fully healed and Karli was squeezing far tighter than he had. Thinking quickly, I swung my legs around to the back of her knees and forced my energy out of my feet as I slammed into her legs. The two of us fell in a heap, Karli on top of me with her grip loose enough on my throat that I could get out of it and flip her over. I pinned her hands to the asphalt on either side of her head using my energy, “You can stop all of this right now,” I urged over her furious cries, “Karli, please.”

Karli snarled at me before moving her knees to hit me in my back, throwing me off balance and giving her the perfect opportunity to launch me down the same hole Bucky had fallen down. I caught myself mid air and looked down to see Bucky and one of the Flag Smashers fighting with a metal beam, Bucky gaining the upper hand. I dropped to the ground and ran to him as he landed a final strike against the man, knocking him to the ground. As my hand reached out for his arm, there was a violent crash above us. We looked up to see that the humvee filled with the hostages had been driven off the road and was balancing on top of the construction. It teetered on the edge, ready to slip at any moment and finish Karli’s plan. I extended my energy to steady the vehicle, I wasn’t sure what made me think I could keep a couple thousand pound vehicle suspended in midair but the fact that I’d never used my powers like this didn’t matter. I had to try. As it rocked back and forth against my energy, I took a stance and dug my heels in the ground, sending up the steady streams I’d recently discovered I could produce. They curved around the front of the vehicle, protecting it from falling any further. The screams of terror from the hostages were my motivation to keep going, to do everything in my power that I could do save who I could.

After a few seconds of bearing my teeth and groaning in struggle, the load lessened slightly. I opened one of my eyes that had been squeezed shut in concentration to see Walker’s homemade shield near my feet, the decommissioned captain above me pulling the truck from the back. For once, we were working as a cohesive unit. Who would have thought…

All was short lived though as the second we were making progress on getting the humvee away from the edge, Karli and two other Flag Smashers jumped Walker and attacked him. Unable to hold them off, they toppled over and fell into the pit alongside Bucky and I. I cried out as the full weight of the humvee became mine to bear once again, fighting harder than ever to keep it from falling. Every muscle in my body clenched as I kept the streams flowing while also slowly rising off the ground, wondering if it was possible for my body to run out of energy with how much I was throwing into my stand. I had to save them, so long as I was able to fight, I wouldn’t allow any more innocent bloodshed. My hands shook, causing my streams to shake and I groaned as my body sent every signal that it couldn’t continue on.

As I started to falter, I felt something come up beside me and some of the heaviness was taken away. Looking to my left, Sam was in the air bracing the weight of the truck alongside me. I felt renewed with his help to rise with him as we used our combined strength to steadily raise the humvee back onto the beams of the construction site. Once it was secured, Sam and I both landed on either side of the truck and faced the crowd. I made the easy decision to fly back down into the pit, the moment belonged to Sam and no one else. Bucky was at my side at once, his hands on my arms and a careful set of eyes watching to make sure I was okay. I rested my forehead on his shoulder for a too brief second and nodded through my heavy breathing. 

From in front of us, Karli launched a spear towards Bucky’s head that he easily got throwing it to the side as he stared her down. Sam’s shield came flying out of nowhere, hitting Karli and rebounding off of the other Flag Smasher before landing back on Sam’s wrist. Karli shed her mask, looking at him with disgust and shock. “You of all people bought into that bullshit?” she asked, examining his patriotic suit from a distance.

“I’m trying something different,” Sam answered, his voice steely, “Maybe you should do the same.”

A sudden explosion was set off, a grenade landing at our feet setting off smoke that blinded us. I quickly covered Sam, Walker, Bucky and myself in a large force field, as my eyes tried to make out Karli’s figure. “This way,” Sam directed, using the tech in his goggles to spot them. I dropped the shield and followed him, the only person I could make out semi-clearly in the haze. We ran down and through a nearby tunnel, weaving down underground hallways in search of the remainders of the group. “Hey Sharon,” Bucky said into his comm, “We’re underground. We entered the tunnel on William. Heading south.”

“Looks like they split up,” Sam announced, he pointed down a corridor, “Here.” Walker took off without a second thought, while Bucky paused in front of Sam and I. “I got it,” he pointed to my brother, brushing his fingers against mine before heading down the hall. Sam and I both watched them leave, my anxiety rising with each step Bucky took away from me. Shaking myself out of the spiral I knew I’d go down if I gave it any more thought, I followed Sam’s lead as we continued on our way. The sound of the Flag Smasher’s signature whistle echoed off the walls causing Sam and I to freeze, he determined where it may have come from and motioned for me to come forward. 

“If something happens, you get the hell out of here, got it?” Sam whispered. “Nice try,” I replied, having flashbacks to the various times in the past week or so that we’d had conversations like this, “I’m not leaving you.” Suddenly, two shots were fired nearby. Sam and I bolted in the general direction that the sound had come from, fear flooding my body at the thought of Bucky being on the receiving end of one of the bullets. The worry caused me to run faster. We made it into a wider room, Karli standing in the middle with a gun aimed at a helpless Sharon, laying on the ground with a hand over her abdomen. I spotted the blood staining her shirt and threw a force field around her as Sam clipped his shield to his back. “Sam, stay back,” Karli warned, her eyes flicking to him briefly before landing back on Sharon.

“So, what’s next, huh?” Sam asked, taking careful steps toward her, “You kill ten this time, then, what, a hundred? Where does it end? Please,” he lowered his tone, “Let me help you.” “Don’t try and manipulate me,” Karli replied, looking between the blue barrier I shielded Sharon with and me. She twisted her body to aimed her gun at me, my resolve to protect Sharon stronger than protecting myself. 

“Karli, don’t!” Sharon cried.

Sam dove forward and tackled the girl to the floor, somersaulting away from her as Karli raised a piece of cinderblock. She launched it at Sam who deflected the makeshift weapon with his shield. Karli swung at him and Sam jumped on top of a small staircase, his shield in front of him at all times. “I’m not gonna fight you!” he yelled, leaping off the stairs. 

Karli continued her attack, Sam dug the tips of his wings into the concrete and met her fist with the shield. “Karli…” he urged just before she ripped the shield away and walked him backwards, Sam completing a series of jumps and flips. Karli grabbed a metal pipe and swung it at Sam, knocking him to the ground. “Stay down!” she growled.

Every instinct I had told me to go after the person who was endangering Sam’s life, anybody’s would be. But I knew that it was pointless to fight her, it was only giving her what she wanted. The serum enhanced people’s personalities, Karli had always been a fighter but now, she was looking to fight anything and anyone and would do it ruthlessly. I couldn’t buy into it.

I retracted the shield I’d built around Sharon and flew around Karli, placing myself between her and Sam. “Karli, the fight is over,” I breathed. 

“No!” she shrieked, barely giving me enough time to throw up an energy shield before she threw a punch. Her fist bouncing off of it only angered her more and she began a relentless attack, banging her hands against the force field, taking swipes anywhere she could. I levitated over her head and landed a few feet away, luring her away from Sam. Karli was furious at the fact that she couldn’t touch me or get me to try and battle her. It didn’t take long for Sam to spring to his feet, throwing his shield out in between Karli and I. Karli focused her efforts on Sam then, punching the shield relentlessly as Sam walked her away from me. “Fight back!” she screamed in my brother’s face.

I extended my energy and pulled her away from Sam, throwing her a few feet away from us. Karli let out a battle cry and leapt forward, Sam and I coming side by side and holding up our respective shields. Karli’s fist rebounded off of my energy and spun around to hit Sam’s shield, he then grabbed her by the waist and turned on his thrusters, flying them across to room to slam Karli into a beam. “Stop it,” he ordered, gripping her by the lapels of her jacket. Karli replied by throwing him above her head into the ceiling, I used my energy to yank her away from Sam and in front of me. 

“Listen to me, Karli,” I urged, earning a super-soldier shiner to my cheek, “We’re not your enemies.” Karli dropped me to the ground like I weighed nothing, the vibranium suit creating a dent in the flooring. I let out a groan at the shock and she ran off to deal with Sam. “Fight me!” she screamed as she clawed at the shield, “Fight back!” She flipped him over.

He fell.

The shield fell out of his reach.

Karli picked up the gun and aimed it at Sam.

He rose, accepting his fate.

Gathering the strength I had left, I got to my feet.

With trembling hands, knowing what I was about to do, I levitated and landed in front of Sam.

Karli’s face shifted, though I couldn’t read it as my emotions overwhelmed me. 

A supercut ran through my mind.

Sam.

Sarah.

AJ and Cass.

Mel.

My mom.

My father.

A legacy rewritten.

Bucky. 

Would he forgive me for what I was about to do? I hoped so.

“Go ahead,” I whispered, staring Karli down and blinking away the tears before she could see them, “Do it.” Karli’s face scrunched up as her finger prepared to pull the trigger when suddenly, three gunshots went off from nearby, hitting her. The gun fell to the ground and so did she. My eyes flew to where the bullets had come from, the sight of Sharon holding the smoking gun awaiting me. Sam dropped to his knees to cradle Karli’s head, the young girl staring up at him wide eyed and afraid. I knelt down on the other side of her, slipping her still warm hand into mine and giving it a gentle squeeze. 

“I’m sorry,” she whimpered, staring up at Sam before looking to me. The only thought that ran through my mind was she’s just a girl, she’s just a girl…As I watched the tears well in her eyes before the life drained from them and they shut, the sudden innocence overwhelmed me. She was just a girl…

I didn’t let go of her hand even when it went limp, holding it to my heart as I wept over her. Sam cradled her cheek as we sat quietly, the only sounds were my soft sobs and Sharon’s labored breathing. I couldn’t face her right now, my feelings were too mixed about the way she had saved my life.

Eventually, once an undetermined amount of minutes had passed, Sam lifted Karli into his arms and the two of us rose to leave. When I turned to tell Sharon to come with us, she was already gone, probably having slipped out a back hallway. Sam carried Karli’s body the entire way out of the building, I hardly registered when we made it outside in the night air.

“I’ll clear the way for you,” I mumbled, extending my energy and shooting into the air, Sam not far behind me. The wind blowing against my dried my tears off of my cheeks as I flew toward the glow of ambulance lights outside the building we’d started the night at. There were crowds of news crews, there were the senators we’d saved and officers cleaning up the wreckage that had been left behind. They all noticed as I flew up, landing in the midst of it all and scanning the crowd for Bucky. Once I spotted him and Walker towards the very back near the ambulances, I ignored the reporters asking me questions as I weaved through the chaos. Bucky strode forward as I neared and wrapped me in his arms, I let go of the breath I’d been holding in my chest as soon as our bodies met. He was okay. My hands held the back of his neck as I dug my face into his shoulder. He tapped my waist and I turned to see Sam flying in, resembling the an angel with his outstretched wings as he landed. He carefully passed off Karli’s body to the paramedics who placed the girl on a stretcher, carrying her off to who knows where. 

Sam walked towards the crowd, doing the same as me and ignoring the reporters flooding him with unimportant questions. He had flown in carrying the dead body of a kid and here they were, asking him if they should refer to him as Captain Falcon. He stopped in front of the senators who were busy thanking him for dealing with what I heard one refer to as ‘terrorists.’

“Are you still going forward with resetting the borders?” Sam asked.

They answered, and while I couldn’t hear their words, I could read Sam’s face well enough to know it wasn’t what he wanted to hear.

“You have to stop calling them terrorists…” “What else would we call them?” one of the senators asked. “Your peacekeeping troops carrying weapons are forcing millions of people into settlements around the word, right?” Sam continued, “What do you think those people are going to call you? These labels, terrorists, refugees, thug. They’re often used to get around the question ‘why.’

“Those settlements that happened five years ago, do you think it is fair for governments to have to support them?” another senator asked. “Yes,” Sam said plainly. 

“And the people who reappeared only to find someone else living in their family home, they just end up homeless?” the bearded senator pushed back, “Look, I get it. But you have no idea how complicated this situation is.”

Just as he prepared to walk away, Sam spoke up. “You know what, you’re right, and that’s a good thing. We finally have a common struggle now. Think about that. For once, all the people who’ve been begging and, I mean, literally begging for you to feel how hard any given day is, now you know. How did it feel to be helpless? Now if you can remember what it was like to be helpless and face a force so powerful, it could erase half the planet. You would know that you were about to have the exact same impact. This isn’t about easy decisions. Senator.”

“You just don’t understand,” the senator replied, probably the most ignorant response I’d ever heard.

Sam scoffed, “I’m a black man, carrying the stars and strips. What don’t I understand? Every time I pick this thing up, I know there are millions of people out there who are going to hate me for it. Even now, here. I feel it. The stares, the judgment, and there’s nothing I can do to change it. Yet I’m still here. No super serum. No blonde hair or blue eyes. The only power I have is that I believe we can do better.”

Holding onto Bucky a little tighter, the tears that I shed had morphed to those of joy. There my brother stood, in front of the government and the entire country saying what we all needed to hear. He spoke without reserve, unapologetic in his stance, and I had never been prouder of him.

“We can’t demand that people step up if we don’t meet them halfway,” Sam’s voice rose with passion, “Look, you control the banks. Shit, You can move borders. You can knock down a forest with an email. You can feed a million people with a phone call. But the question is, who’s in the room with you when you’re making those decisions? Hmm? Is it the people you’re gonna impact? Or is it just more people like you?” he paused, collecting himself before gesturing to where Karli’s body lay in the ambulance, “I mean, this girl died trying to stop you. And no one has stopped for one second to ask why. You’ve got to do better, Senator, you’ve got to step up because if you don’t, the next Karli will. And you don’t want to see 2.0. People believed in her cause so much that they helped her defy the strongest governments in the world. Why do you think that is? Look, you people have just as much power as an insane god,” Sam’s voice broke for only a second, “Or a misguided teenager. The question you have to ask yourself is how are you going to use it?”

With that, he walked away from the crowd that had been watching him so intently and made his way towards us. He stopped in front of Walker, the two of them sharing a look before nodding to one another, a non-verbal truce being declared. Walker also turned to me, in the end he had stepped up and done the right thing, but I knew that the two of us would never be on good terms. I’d never forget his tightening grip around my throat, nor would he forget that I wasn’t afraid of him and would tear him apart if he ever tried anything like he had in the warehouse again. But I had saved the guy’s life and because of that, his stare softened for only a second as he nodded his thanks to me. I watched as he disappeared into the crowd, off to whatever his next mission may be…

“Sorry, I was, uh, I was texting and so, all I heard was, um, “a black guy in stars and stripes,” Bucky broke the tension of the moment as Sam approached us.

The three of us shared a chuckle before Sam and I locked eyes, not having spoken a word yet about what had happened underground. I threw my arms around his neck as he wrapped his around my shoulders, sharing probably the best hug we’d ever had. Our shared goal of keeping one another alive had been achieved. “Love you,” I whispered in his ear. “Love you too,” he replied, a hint of emotion choking him up. He squeezed a little tighter before releasing me, the three of us walking off together.

“Nice job, Cap,” Bucky said, patting Sam’s back that displayed the shield before sliding his hand back around my waist. A few feet away, hidden behind one of the ambulances and leaned up against the car was a familiar blonde figure.

“Sharon?” Sam called.

“Blocking my light,” she retorted, holding a gauze pad to the gunshot wound on her abdomen. “We need to get you to a hospital,” I strode forward, examining her injury as best I could.

“She’s not gonna listen,” Bucky grumbled as he looked over his shoulder to make sure nobody was following us. Sharon panted as she shrugged, “Hey, it’s not the worst thing that’s happened to me all week.”

“Told you…” Bucky said at my side. “Yeah, I don’t care,” I shook my head, “We’re take care of this.” “Uh, Cap?” an interruption came, the senator that had been on the receiving end of most of Sam’s impassioned speech. “I think he’s talking to you,” Sharon said before turning to both Sam and I, “Look, I’m sorry for how things ended down there. For what it’s worth,” she looked Sam up and down and genuinely smiled, “Suit looks good on you.”

Sam chuckled, “Thanks.”

Bucky nodded along, humoring the conversation for as long as he could. “All right, look, can we get out of here, please?” he asked, placing a hand on Sharon’s back to urge her forward. Giving up, she allowed him to lead her away. 

“I didn’t forget my promise,” Sam called to Sharon, referring to the pardon I hoped he could secure for her. 

I turned to my brother, “Meet you back home?” 

He gave a long sigh, his eyes flitting between Bucky’s departing figure and me, “Why don’t you stay here a couple days?” I knew what he was offering and how hard it was for him to say the words, he was trying to give me time with Bucky. I did my best to conceal my smile, “Are you sure?” “You risked your life all week, you almost died trying to protect us,” he stated with a scoff, “I think you deserve a little time off. Now go,” he looked back to Bucky and scrunched his face up a little, “Before I change my mind.” Unable to hide my grin any longer, I reached out and clasped hands with him, bringing each other in for another hug. “Go get ‘em, Cap.”

The two of us let each other go, off to tend to our business before eventually reuniting back in the house we’d grown up in. It was crazy to think that I owed almost every great thing in my life to the boy who’d sat next to the lonely girl in first grade. Now here we were, dressed in Vibranium off saving the world, or at least doing what we could to make it a better one.

——

“Superhero, nurse…you’re full of surprises, Y/l/n,” Sharon commented before sucking in a sharp breath as I placed another suture.

I laughed softly, concentrating on my work, “I took a first aid class a couple years ago. When you’re living with two boys, trust me, it comes in handy a little too often. But I’ve never had to remove a bullet.” We were seated on the floor of Bucky’s Brooklyn apartment with me tending to Sharon’s wound using his first aid kit. Bucky was waiting in his bedroom to give us privacy, Sharon had her shirt pulled up and her pants unbuttoned to give me full access to her stomach. I’d had to place sutures once when Sarah had accidentally sliced her finger open with a knife, pulling out a lodged bullet was entirely new to me.

“I saw you tonight, with the truck,” she said as she watched me work, “You did good.” 

I supposed now that I had shown my powers to the world, I’d have to get used to people paying me compliments but for now, I still didn’t know how to take them. “So are you gonna stick with it? The hero thing?” Sharon asked.

I tied another suture, closing the sterilized hole in her abdomen. “I think so. Captain America needs a right hand man, why not have it be his sister?” Sharon hummed in agreement, a beat of silence passing. “You don’t think you’ll strike out on your own? You seem a little too independent to follow orders.” “Yeah, well,” I started working on the last stitch, “Sam and I work better together than I would with anyone else. Maybe one day I’ll do my own thing but for now, I’m fine where I’m at.” “Well, I guess you’re finally in a position to do all that good you said you wanted to,” she sighed, “Just don’t forget to keep your eyes open, opportunity’s everywhere.” “Alright, Miss Madripoor,” I chuckled, sterilizing the wound one more time with an alcohol wipe, “Your hustler side is showing.” 

Sharon shrugged and gave a little smirk, “All I’m saying is there’s a lot of ways to effect change, but I’m sure you’ll find that out.” Storing her advice away in my head for a later time, I placed a gauze pad on her abdomen and secured it. “Alright, you should be good. Just promise me that you’ll actually get checked by an actual doctor or whatever you have in High Town?” “Sure thing, Doc,” she replied with a smile as she adjusted her clothes again and rose to her feet, “You’re good, Barnes!” Bucky stepped back out into the room, peering around the corner carefully before entering fully. Despite the fact that he was in his own apartment, he still hadn’t changed out of what he’d worn to the fight. “What happens now?” I asked, looking to Sharon, “Hotel? Hidden apartment in some dodgy part of the city?” Sharon chortled at my suggestions, “I’ve got a plane waiting to take me back to Madripoor. The longer I stay here, the more of a chance they’ll find me,” she gave a small smile, “It was good seeing you guys again.” “It won’t be the last,” I confirmed, placing a hand on her shoulder, “Sam’ll get that pardon, you’ll be back before you know it.” “That’d be nice,” she sighed longingly, clearly thinking about all the freedom that would come with coming back home. Coming back to the conversation, she patted my arm and regained her full voice, “But until then, keep them in check. God knows they need it.” “The hell does that mean?” Bucky grumbled from his position outside his bedroom, leaving Sharon and I to share a laugh before she walked to the front door. “I’ll do my best, and hey, thank you for what you did for me...” I called out just before she shot us one last knowing smile and left, the door shutting behind her. While I wanted to worry about her walking the streets of New York and possibly getting caught, I’d seen enough of her in action to know that she could handle whatever came her way. 

Bucky slowly made his way to the door, locking it and turning around to face me. It was the first time of the night we’d been completely alone. Our eyes met, tired and traumatized but still alert and seeking one another out. Bucky crossed the room in a few long strides, taking his time in approaching me as if he was savoring the moment. I reached out once he was close enough and interlocked my hand with his, tugging him close to me. He dragged two featherlight fingers over the nasty bruise that Karli had given me, his brow furrowing as he examined the side of my face. I ran my thumb over the long red bruise across the side of his forehead, the pressure increasing when he leaned into my touch.

The night could have ended so differently. If Karli had pulled the trigger, if Bucky hadn’t fought on such high alert, we could have ended in tragedy. Such thoughts were better buried away and not thought of, but I couldn’t help it. Lucky, blessed, whatever word you wanted to use…we were it. With no battles on the horizon to fight, we could focus on figuring out just what spark there was between us. 

No words needed to be spoken, not for now at least. Tonight, all I needed was to hold Bucky in my arms and remember that despite every odd and every trouble thrown our way, we were alive. And as he leaned down and pressed his lips to mine in a tender but still passionate kiss, I had never felt more alive.

----

A/N: Oh, but we’re not done yet...We still have some time off and a cookout to attend 😉 I really can’t thank you all enough for sticking with this series the past few weeks, it means the world to me that I’ve been able to bring a little joy to people’s days. Let me know what you thought and if you’d like to be tagged for the LAST CHAPTER. 

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[cl-01-kestis]

My Little Rebel - Inquisitor!Cal Kestis x Female Rebel!Reader | Part 13

Summary: The Jedi temple is full of traps and a high security system, can you and Merrin get past the nightmare that awaits?

Warnings: Violence, dismemberment, injury

The trip to the temple was tense, you felt your stomach churn in angst at the thought of stepping foot in it once more, but this depended on the lives of the Jedi children that had not yet been found by the Empire. You knew most of the holocrons had gone missing during the purge but most of them had been controlled by the Empire and have been used as trackers to destroy the remaining force wielders. You were positive you were on one of the holocrons but you weren’t so sure if it had been destroyed or was still being used, you couldn’t be sure.

Neither you, Merrin or BD wasted time as you left the taxi and approached the temple which had now been changed into the Imperial palace. Your stomach was tense and every second that passed by you were getting closer to throwing up.

You hid your face with a mask Merrin had provided you along with her spare uniform you were also wearing. The grey paint on your face thankfully didn’t rub or wash away, you still looked believable but you were still paranoid in case there was a chance your real skin colour was revealed.

“Which way do we go?” Merrin asked in a hushed tone as you entered the main hall, your gaze switching to every corridor attached to the hall and mentally navigating your way to the holocrons.

“This way” You said quickly, looking to BD-1 on your shoulder and noticing the way it was trembling slightly, it was scared.

The three of you charged towards the hallway you pointed to, avoiding glances from every stormtrooper that guarded the entrances to each hallway and the exits, trying your hardest to slip by without any suspicion. Merrin held onto your hand out of angst, she felt nervous around such an establishment and you didn’t blame her. The temple had been transformed into a place of darkness, something the Jedi were not and never will be.

You got to the elevators in the temple and checked both sides, BD-1 and Merrin both guarding you as you pressed the button with an arrow pointing up on it. Even though there was no one coming you felt so much stress, you were begging for the elevator to pick up it’s speed already so you could get to the holocrons quickly and quietly.

With a small ding from the panel on the wall, the elevator doors to your left opened and you didn’t waste a moment to go in, but just as you were about to, an Inquisutor stepped out along side a Senator who had his arms clasped behind his back. You and Merrin froze completely but stepped aside out of manners as the Inquisitor looked at you both before shrugging his shoulders and resuming his chatter with the Senator.

You side glanced Merrin quickly before filling into the elevator and pressing the button that lead to the holocrons, the one that required your card and details. You quickly slotted the card into the small inserter beside the buttons and it quickly validated your card, another soft bing echoing in the elevator as the panel turned green, granting you access. The doors closed over and you finally let out a sigh of relief, pressing your palm against your head which was drenched in sweat.

“Thank Maker for that, I thought we were going to get caught” Merrin placed a hand on her chest and gave herself a few reassuring deep breaths, her chest heaving up and down in settling panic as she looked at you from across the elevator. You nodded at her statement and gulped, coughing slightly due to how dry your throat was and trying to wet it with saliva as you waited for the elevator to stop.

BD chirped out to you on Merrin’s shoulder, lifting one leg and pointing it at your face. You cocked your head to the side and realised a piece of your hair was beginning to fall out of your hood. Alerted about the situation, Merrin immediately pulled the hood off from your head and re-tied it right in time for the elevator to finally come to an eventual halt. You hid your natural hair behind the hood once more and cleared your throat as the doors to the floor opened, revealing a long strip that was at least half the distance of the temple, leading to the holocrons which the entrance you could see.

“There it is” You whispered, taking a cautious step out of the elevator and creeping out into the desolate hallway which seeped with eerie silence. The lack of noise got under your skin and you felt uncomfortable, but you still kept a brave act up and started jogging down to the entrance of the high security holocron chamber, Merrin and BD high on your tail.

You looked at the corners of the hallway to check for any cameras and thankfully there wasn’t any, maybe they removed them after the purge...

You stopped once you arrived right in front of the large door leading into the chamber, looking to see any way of entrance as you took out your card once more and checked for any slots or panels.

Next to the door there was a small almost missable panel which required a security code. Your heart dropped, this wasn’t part of the plan. The original security system of the door was by security card, not a passcode.

“Shit” You cussed under your breath, putting away your card and taking a step back, trying to see if there was a chance you could pry the door open without the systems going off. Merrin looked at you wish wide eyes.

“Can we get in?” She asked.

“No... this wasn’t what I expected” You answered truthfully, inspecting the panel with the numbers on it, underneath them was a green button which probably meant the confirmation of the code.

You couldn’t risk typing in any old number, the security systems were smarter than that. Maybe with some practical thinking, you could cut through it with your lightsaber but then again, it’s been a long time since you’ve been in the chamber and managed to get through It’s security.

“Do you have any detonators on you? I have an idea but you’re not going to like it” You said, turning to Merrin who gave you a suspicious look but removed the bag she was hiding beneath her cloak.

“Greez thought it would be necessary to bring some, so I guess it’s our lucky day” The Nightsisters hand came out holding a large detonator and reaching out to pass it to you. You took it from her carefully, making sure it didn’t slip and accidentally detonate, that wouldn’t be good.

“Here’s my plan, I’ll place the detonator on the door and hopefully it’ll crack it open, you and I will head inside and get the holocrons and you call for Greez” You were quick at explaining everything but you could see the hesitance in Merrin’s face. She was scared.

“Are you sure this’ll work?” She felt the need to ask and you understood why.

“I’m not sure, but hope isn’t lost yet” You replied to her before sticking the detonator against the surface of the door and pressing a few buttons on it before taking many steps back and taking Merrin with you.

“This won’t do much damage to us but it’s designed for this kind of stuff, Greez was smart to give us some” You smiled, looking to Merrin who simply nodded her head in reply and said nothing.

“Notify Cere, send her the signal to head up here now” You ordered Merrin quickly before seeing the detonator sizzle up and eventually rattle the barriers around the door, sparks flying and a loud cackling noise ringing out in the air.

Just as you hoped, the detonator melted through the door and made a hole which was big enough for you and Merrin to fit through. The only issue was the fact that the alarm had been set off and deafened you and Merrin.

“Come on!” You exclaimed through the noise, grabbing Merrin’s hand and jumping through the hole of the door, the smell of metal pervading your senses and causing you to choke out a strangled gag. Merrin followed close behind you and you immediately raced to the wall full of holocrons.

“Is this all that’s left?” You asked mostly to yourself in disbelief, realising there was only 10 holocrons in total left, the last remaining force sensitive children were right here.

“Open up the bag” You demanded urgently, your voice starting to shake as the alarm continued to ring around the whole of the temple, alerting every single trooper and temple guard near by which didn’t help the stress you were feeling.

Merrin immediately started taking whatever she could and so did you, filling the bag completely and zipping it up before standing back up and following you to the window. Without a choice, you smashed your elbow into the glass and let out a pained cry as the window shattered and pieces of glass cut into your arm. You could see the Mantis approaching from a distance, your heart dropping when you realised how much time you really had until someone arrived. Regardless of your bleeding arm, you drew your lightsaber and pushed aside Merrin who approached the window and waved out to Greez.

You ignited your lightsaber rapidly, your body trembling from the anxiety you were experiencing. ‘Hurry up hurry up hurry up’ was all you were thinking, praying to the Maker the Mantis would pick up the pace considering you and Merrin’s lives were at stake.

“Bet you wish you didn’t come on this mission now!” You joked to ease the tension, earning a sharp chuckle from Merrin who shook her head and looked behind to notice that the door was being unlocked.

“Behind you!” She called out, dragging your attention to the door which was thrown open, a dark figure entering the room which you identified to be an Inquisitor. It wasn’t Trilla, nor cal, or the Ninth Sister. Excusing your thoughts, you inhaled sharply through your nose and waited for him to charge at you.

“Jedi scum!” He growled in disgust, igniting his double sided lightsaber which made you flinch. Keeping your cool, you got into your fighting stance and met the Inquisitor half way.

Your lightsabers clashed, sparks flaring into the both of you as you shoved him back forcefully and charged towards him rapidly, your lightsaber coming down on him only for his own to block it off. He wasn’t as fast as Cal, you were thankful to notice, but that didn’t mean you were powerful enough to defeat him unfortunately. Even so, you continued to clash your blue lightsaber with his own red one, creating a strong purple hue everytime the nasty sound of cackling rung out in the air.

You heard the echo of the Mantis and Merrin calling behind you but you couldn’t leave the fight just yet, the Inquisitor had you pinned to the floor and you drew your leg up to kick him in his lower stomach, pushing him off and standing up.

Just as you were about to run towards Merrin, the Inquisitor regained his position on the ground and raised his lightsaber, the red blade cutting right through your thigh and causing you to let out a blood curdling scream. Merrin’s eyes flew wide open immediately and she took off her bag, throwing it to Cere who managed to catch it whilst balancing herself on the ramp. You dropped to the floor, your detached leg lying next to you as you gripped the red carpet and clawed your way towards the exit. You could feel Merrin’s anger, she let out a scream of rage as green spirals started surrounding the Inquisitor and crushed him, the sound of bones cracking making you wince before Merrin returned to her natural state and immediately picked you up, managing to lift you like a groom would with his bride.

“Come closer! I can’t jump!” Merrin said quickly, alerting Cere who’s eyes landed on you the moment the Nightsister came back into view at the shattered window, her eyes widening at your injured state. Cere could only creep closer to you and Merrin and stretch her arms out.

“This is the closest Greez can get, throw her to me- I’ll catch her!” Cere said in an insisting voice, looking behind Merrin and noticing that stormtroopers had begun to make their way through to see what was happening.

“Hurry!” Cere cried.

Merrin took a deep breath and chucked you over to Cere, the woman dragged you to her with the force and Merrin quickly jumped onto the ramp not long after. Cere grabbed onto Merrin’s hand and the three of you made your way into the Mantis, the ramp closing behind you as Cere ran over to the lounge area and lay you down on the couch.

“Get us out of here Greez!” Cere yelled, her heart pounding violently in her chest as she stared at your unconscious state with teary eyes, wishing she was with you on the mission to prevent you from missing your whole leg.

“I-I could’ve stopped him” Merrin seemed to be feeling the same as she paced around the room, her dark eyes never leaving you as she started crying out of pure fear and trauma. Cere stood up and immediately brought Merrin in for a hug.

“What matters is that she’s still alive, if it weren’t for you she’d be dead” Cere reassured Merrin, stroking her grey hair as she continued to sob at her failure.

Greez zoomed away from the main city of Coruscant and put in the navigation for the lower levels. He knew something bad had happened to you, he was worried sick but made sure the crew was far away enough from the empire to finally tend to what went wrong. He didn’t hear you at all, that made him worry. Usually when you’d enter his ship he’d always hear about anything you’d have to say, but now it was silence.

Only Merrin’s cries and Cere’s reassurance was the only thing heard, only then did he realise something bad had happened.

-

Cal sat in his chambers silently, wearing nothing but a pair of breifs and an oversized black T-shirt. A strange sensation of pain clawed at his heart and he felt as though something bad had occurred. He was sensing multiple disturbances in the force including the dark side. He sat cross legged on his bed with his eyes closed, expression concentrated as he shuffled through the different things he could sense and feeling as though it might’ve had something to do with you.

He felt sick to his stomach when he heard the distanc echoing of a scream, not in real life but in his mind. Your scream.

He opened his eyes immediately and jumped up of his bed, heart hammering in his chest as he quickly pulled on a pair of black joggers and walked out, eager to find out answers. He needed to find you.

Cal roamed around the station on Nur for what seemed like yours before finally coming across another Inquisutor, the Seventh Sister. She seemed to notice Cal immediately due to all the stress he was giving off, she stifled a mischievous smirk and faced him whilst crossing her arms.

“Lost, are you?” She asked with a playful tone in her voice.

“I’ve sensed a disturbance in the force, what’s going on?” He asked urgently, taking a step closer to the Seventh Sister who in return took a step back, her expression becoming more hostile.

“No idea, ask Trilla” she spat, her hands on her hips as she walked away from the young Inquisitor who in response growled, deciding to let her go and take her advice.

Cal walked around the Fortress Inquisitorius for some time before stumbling across the training rooms. He took notice to Trilla who was training with a purge trooper, she was out of her Inquisitor uniform and instead wore black half length yoga pants and a loose fitted white vest, underneath was a black sports bra. She threw kicks and punches at the trooper who in response was blocking them off skillfully and managing to keep up with her unlike the others.

Cal entered the large training facility and sat down cross legged to continue watching her fight. He was wondering if she had heard your screams too, if it’s through the force then maybe Vader even heard it. But Cal was too scared to even approach Vader, nevermind ask him about something so insignificant.

He kept his curiosity at bay but the pit of his stomach was churning in angst. He was so incredibly worried, the force wanted him to hear you. Something happened to you and he was eager to know, you sounded like you were in intense pain and it made him want to cry. There was a sting in his eyes and a lump in his throat as he remembered what your scream sounded like, it only made him want to ask Trilla sooner and stop the fight just to get to the bottom of what he heard.

As if the force heard him, Trilla won the fight and laughed as she kicked the purge trooper go the ground, keeping her foot hard against his chest as he panted out of breath and surrendered, raising his hands up to either side of his head.

Cal stood up, not caring whether or not he was intruding as he cleared his throat, approaching Trilla with caution like anyone else would. She slowly turned around to meet his gaze, her dark eyes unphased as she scoffed and let the purge trooper take a break.

“What do you want?” She asked with her usual monotone voice. Cal followed her as she walked to the side of the training room and picked up a black water bottle.

“Have you sensed it?” He asked, straight to the point and knowing he’ll waste his time if he warms up to the question.

“Sensed what?” Trilla turned around and faced him, raising her brow in growing curiosity as she leaned against the wall and crossed her arms. Frowning, Cal leaned against the wall next to his superior and let out an emotionless sigh.

“I heard a scream just about half an hour ago, I was curious as to know if you or any of the other Inquisitors heard it” Cal said, looking over to the purge trooper to see if he was listening in, thankfully he wasn’t as was currently wiping himself off with a clean black towel.

“Come to think of it, I was informed at the same time that one of our own was taken down in combat by a female Jedi... know anything about it?” Trilla taunted, looking to Cal with narrow eyes as she took another sip of her water. Cal’s eyes widened and he was about to say something, but ultimately kept his mouth tight shut before saying anything he’d regret.

“No, what happened to the Jedi?” Cal had to ask, he had a gut feeling the Jedi trilla was speaking of was you but he couldn’t be too sure.

“According to stormtrooper witnesses, she was killed, others say she was fatally injured, but all we know is that she didn’t come out in good condition” Trilla grinned at that, letting out a sharp chuckle as her shoulders bounced with each noise she made. Cal balled his hand into a fist, unable to fully comprehend what Trilla had said before turning around and beginning to make his way out.

“Thanks” Was all he said before opening the facility door and leaving as quickly as he could, leaving a smirking Trilla alone in the room.

[comicreliefmorlock]

#WomenInHorror - Relic - Oh, the Thoughts

I bet you thought @tlbodine would get to this first, huh? HAH!

So as part of our ongoing quest to inflict doctorate-level studies of horror film on ourselves for... the sake of doing it, Wuffie and I have been watching a lot of horror movies. Having finished our #HorrorThruTheDecades quest, we moved on to #WomenInHorror, focusing on horror films directed by women.

She's written quite a bit about the movies we've been watching. However, this last week, we watched a film that inspired me into a long-winded post-mortem after we finished it.

Relic is a 2020 Australian horror film directed by Natalie Erika James, focusing on a three-generation family struggle between a grandmother, a mother and a daughter.

Edna, the grandmother, has been missing for several days when her daughter Kay and granddaughter Sam arrive to check on her. We get a little from Kay hinting that her relationship with her mother has been strained, and alternatively, defense of Edna by her granddaughter Sam who has a completely different relationship with her. (As tends to happen with grandparents and grandchildren.) Clues are laid out to hint that Edna may be succumbing to Alzheimer's and quite honestly, the movie does a very good job in showing how absolutely difficult it is to deal with that. Especially in the family situation involving the shift in power dynamic that happens when a parental figure suddenly needs a lot of careful, supportive care.

And Robyn Nevin as Edna? Fantastic. Sympathetic and terrifying all at once.

I won't spoil the film's ending here--you've got to go below the cut for that--but it's at once poignant and plays fair emotionally with the film's overall tone.

Now, for what I went off at great length at Wuffie about... [#triggerwarning for child abuse discussion]

Relic is pretty clearly intended to be a film about grief, aging, the inevitability of death and how part of dealing with health issues in older generations involves facing that you yourself one day may be in that exact situation.

What it also does really, really well--albeit unintentionally but strongly enough that it hit me across the face with a shoe--is create a solid metaphor for intergenerational child abuse.

Fairly early on in the film, the granddaughter Sam discovers a black mold staining a wall inside of a cluttered closet. This black mold becomes a consistent visual element that shows in nightmares, in the house and on Edna herself, staining her skin like a bruise. This mold, through the nightmares, is visually tied to a now-demolished smaller house that'd once stood on the family grounds and was the home of a "great-grandfather" mentioned once directly and alluded to in several nightmare sequences.

This mold grows on stained glass windows that were transplanted from the former house, spreads across the interior of the house itself and spreads across Edna's skin.

Several visual cues tie the black mold to the "great-grandfather" who, in one nightmare sequence, is shown sitting on the edge of a narrow bed before collapsing forward, out of sight. When the camera pans over, a human figure is etched in black mold on the floor.

At the end of the film, after Edna's transformation--you really ought to watch the movie to know what I mean--and the joining of three generations of women in silence together, Sam spies a black spot on her mother Kay's back, hinting at that same mold that destroyed Edna.

Incestuous child abuse is insidious and yet, from the memoirs I've read, always seems to be something the family "knows about" and simply doesn't discuss. A grandparent, a cousin, an aunt or uncle is abusing the family children--sometimes singling out one child, sometimes abusing every child--and the family is aware of this, but no actual steps are taken to bring the abuser to justice.

The cycle of abuse is fairly commonly known, but the long-term effects of child sexual abuse aren't always as easily identified by the public. Alcohol and drug abuse are extremely common amongst child sexual abuse survivors, as well as an inability to develop healthy, trusting relationships with other adults. Difficulties in parenting can also arise as the person who suffered abuse may fear the same thing happening to their child or be struggling emotionally and not able to show their child the affection they need.

Much like the insidious spread of black mold in out-of-sight places, causing illnesses that can't be immediately identified and threatening the structural integrity of a house, incestuous child abuse absolutely threatens and even destroys lives. It's hard to spot at a glance, hides in plain sight--in closets, cupboards, under stairs, behind furniture--and causes illnesses that can be attributed to more "acceptable" causes.

With the clear visual tie to the once-mentioned "great-grandfather" that isn't mentioned between the family members again, it's not hard to go a bit further and consider him the unmentioned, unnamed family abuser. His actions tainted the house he lived in, the remnants brought from it--Edna says later in the film how much she hates the stained glass windows, how cold and scared she feels when she passes them--and spread not only through the house but through the family itself.

And this mold--and the effects of intergenerational incestuous abuse--hits all three women in this family differently.

Edna, theoretically the member of the family who suffered direct abuse, is physically tainted by the black mold to the point it literally degenerates her body. Aspects of her behavior--disliking having "help" or needing to ask for it, offering a token to her granddaughter one day, demanding it back the next, trying to save photo albums from 'the house' by burying them--seemed strikingly like a woman whose coping mechanisms are now failing her.

She mentions believing someone is breaking into her house, stating it only began after the death of her husband. Alone in a massive house with visual, physical ties to the location of her abuse, feeling vulnerable and struggling to push away memories, Edna's actions feel like a cry for help that she can't verbalize because to do so would be to admit not only the vulnerability she feels now, but the fact that it's equivalent to how vulnerable she was as a child, being abused.

Fairly early on in Relic, Kay makes it clear that she and her mother are not particularly close. She makes attempts to stay in contact, but isn't invested in her mother's day to day life and has actually distanced herself to a degree. Her daughter Sam has a closer and more openly affectionate relationship with Edna. Kay mentions her mother threatening to lock her in the old house "when she was a brat" and seems to want a comfortable distance between herself and her mother.

A parent who has endured abuse as a child can have profound difficulty in bonding with their own children. Healthy sexual intercourse and adult relationships are tainted by child abuse experiences, and some memoires have mentioned being pregnant making them feel "dirty" as if they'd committed some great sin. Bonding with an infant while struggling with those emotions can lead to distant parenting and leave a child with an insecure emotional attachment.

Sam, the granddaughter, is the least damaged by the intergenerational abuse at the beginning of the film. She has an affectionate relationship with her grandmother, seems actively interested in doing what she can to help Edna and scolds her mother for not taking a more prominent role. When Sam finds a sketchbook with a sketch of the 'great-grandfather's' house, she doesn't know what it is or to whom it belonged. The cycle of abuse has been broken; Sam isn't even aware that abuse happened.

What she does is learn of it through a visual metaphor for unearthing family history. Discovering the black mold in the closet and pursuing a ghostly figure into what becomes a nightmarish labyrinth that has echoes of the home she'd always felt safe in plays very well as the realization for an unabused member of a family learning about the abuse that happened. What was loving and familiar is suddenly alien and terrifying, threatening and tainted.

By the end of the film--rather an emotionally poignant moment--all three women have been hurt by this black mold (i.e. incestuous abuse) and have come together in a moment of quiet rest. Edna, completely altered into a shell of who she once was, with Kay, accepting that what happened is fact and had effects on her as well, and Sam, who now understands a great deal about her mother and grandmother.

Every generation in the family has been affected to some degree, even if the cycle of abuse was fortunately broken. The black mold not only completely transformed Edna internally, expressed in a striking visual moment, but also tainted her daughter. Even the granddaughter, although physically unharmed by the mold, has been permanently changed by learning about what happened in her family and feeling her perceptions twist (frighteningly so) from what she once held to what she now knows.

While I don't think the film intended to be such a great visual metaphor for the horrific effects of incestuous family abuse and the intergenerational damage it causes, it did an incredibly good job of being one.

[purgatoryandme]

Fade-touched. With no magic of her own, the Fade still dictates Hawke’s every move. It forces her to become a better escape artist near-daily - a runner from the moment her feet could first stay steady under her wobbling legs. Fade-touched. Fade-held. Fade-crushed. Her mother thinks the Fade is something they can run from. Maybe she’s right. Maybe if it were just the Fade, Hawke could tip it a crooked grin, do some fancy footwork, and then put it behind her like so many towns and Templars. From the moment she laid eyes on her twin siblings, though, and then again from her sixteenth year onward (a weight at her back briefly lifted, hefted into her arms like the twins so many years ago - begging to be spun, slashing through ozone and salt), Hawke knows there are some things that can never be escaped. Fade-touched. Fate-marked. She was always going to be a story.                                              ____________________ Fade-touched and fate-marked. Sixteen years old with a long sword strapped to her back (freshly cleaned and swaddled in oilcloth), Hawke contemplates that which cannot be escaped. On the long walk home she laughs bitterly over the irony of it all. A life spent on the run, perfecting the skill until it was second nature, and she can’t escape this one thing. She doesn’t even want to. She doesn’t know what she would be without it. (A person, perhaps) (Certainly not a story)                                             ____________________ Varric hears about her long before he sees her. Of course, that’s usually how his introductions go. His ears are open long before his eyes. None of his informants are terribly good with paints or charcoal, you see (useless bastards - he should get them to practice portraiture so he’s never caught so thoroughly off-guard again). The Amell siblings did not enter Kirkwall quietly. There was a lot of kicking and screaming and wailing. Business as usual, really. Most people didn’t enter Kirkwall willingly, and those that did were usually desperate enough for the usual theatrics to apply anyway. Still, the Amells made a splash. Disgraced (by an affair with an apostate no less) ex-nobles returning to an estate that’s been gambled away by a drunk?Juicy. Well, juicy to thieves. Until they proved to be dirt-poor Ferelden refugees barely worth whatever fee Arenthel was paid to get them into the city. Then, THEN, one of the siblings turned out to BE the fee Arenthel was paid. Just the one. Intriguing, but Varric can think of a lot of reasons Arenthel would pay for a pretty face - dark hair and blue eyes. Probably not the boy, too brawny and sour to be good at collecting information. The girl could be useful - her walking stick wasn’t fooling anyone, but those delicate features sure could. He’d overlooked the third Amell child entirely. A rookie mistake, really, her chosen last name notwithstanding. He let himself look (well, let his informants look) without really seeing. And when you were just looking...well. Hawke didn’t look like much. Or rather she didn’t look much like her siblings, who stood out in the way that you’d expect any purchase to in this city. In the way you’d expect a dirty secret to. It hadn’t occurred to anyone not in the know that Hawke was related to any of them. For all intents and purposes, coming from nobility as the Amells did, Hawke seemed to be a bodyguard (just like the red-haired guardswomen). She wasn’t the product of careful Kirkwall breeding. She didn’t even look Ferelden. Hawke’s nose seems certain to be her namesake. Prominent and high-bridged, hooked in a way that was unusual for people of her colouring (and, if Varric is being honest, the kind of thing that would prevent her from ever having a career at the Rose. Or, he’ll think later with ink and paper in hand, from ever being forgotten). Her skin is dark enough to look Rivaini, which, coupled with the russet-dark of her hair and her build (broad shoulders and hips, thick thighs, tall enough that his neck ached), is almost enough to make him forget the distinctly Ferelden nature of that nose. What makes him remember, what forces him to see the slightest family resemblance in the siblings he’s spying on, are her eyes frosty pale and narrow, or seemingly narrowed by thick heavy lashes, in the way only human eyes ever were (elves were always wide and guileless. Dwarves never seemed so...pointy. Qunari didn’t count - he didn’t look them in the eyes. Couldn’t at his height). Sharp, like ice chips, and made sharper against the warm tones of her skin. Wraith-like. Later, he’ll realize her eyes aren’t the same glowing Amell blue as the twins or her mother. Instead, they’re a shade of green so pale it’s nearly grey. He’ll only realize this when Carver makes it clear they consider her no sister of theirs, however, and he’ll wonder how he missed it over a week at her side. He’ll wonder that often about Hawke - how he missed things. How he missed her. 

She’s a stunner, that’s for sure. Just not in an entirely good way. She cuts an intimidating figure, larger than life somehow, with features so bold that Varric can practically hear the nobles waxing poetic about her ugliness for years to come. Choppy dark hair and mismatched armour over dense muscle just make her seem more boyish and boorish, adding another layer to the tableau. Adding another layer to the distance between her and her picture-perfect siblings.

She’s certainly something - maybe something he hadn’t learned the words for yet (something that will send him, drunk and careening, to his library time and again. Paging cover to cover through poetic epics for a hero that had even a fraction of the something he wanted to describe). Not at all what he expected from the whisperings or from keeping tabs on the mage Amell in case the Templars ruined something interesting before it got to be INTERESTING. He’d expected a catlike rogue or some Feredelen beauty. Something for the history books, you know? Tawdry and bawdy and fitting to the tales he’d later spin in the Hanged Man for drunks and gentry alike. Varric’s forgotten that first impression a thousand times over and reread it on an old ledger just as many times. Hawke has a way of doing that to him. Making him forget the past, replacing it with their present (visceral like a knife to the gut. Which he’s experienced with her. More than once). Hawke also has a way of being underestimated at first glance. Maybe that’s why Bartrand refuses her and the little cutpurse thought he could get clever. Varric puts on a show with Bianca. Hawke is alone - no siblings in sight. She’d only volunteered herself for the expedition. It’s jarring to suddenly have the woman he’s been watching for hours watch him back. Even as she makes quips with the best of them, Varric can’t help but feel like she’s waiting for a blow. Hawke’s guarded in the way a kicked dog is. Unpredictable in the same sense. It makes Varric nervous, but also makes it impossible to walk away. He wants this one on the expedition. He thinks she’ll make it worth his while (just like Arenthel earned her money four times over with just one of a set of three. She passed up on an apostate beauty who knew healing magic. Hawke was definitely someone he’d take a bet on). She does. Creators, she does and then some, wrenching Varric and Anders, the Grey Warden she’d blackmailed and cajoled into accompanying them, through the Deep Roads with an animal glint in her eyes that increases with every day spent in the dark. She jokes with them often, but it isn’t until the near-endless battling with Darkspawn drains even her to the ends of her reserves that she begins to tell them stories to keep their long march going.  “My father was an apostate.”  She tells them, not meeting their eyes, likely anticipating and disliking their knowledge of this fact (Anders, through his willingness to come along at all. Varric because he was Varric - no stone unturned),  “He was never contained in the Circle. To hear him tell it, he was never escaping anything. He moved because he felt like it. Because there was a great plan that he was following, and if it lead him away from the Templars? So be it.”  Garrett Hawke was a man who did not exist, at least according to every record Varric had scoured (and he had, he believed, scoured them all). Varric had thought, up until this point, that the name was simply an alias. He still thought that, but now...  Well, he had to wonder. Hawke’s sibling had never been caged. Perhaps her father flew free, too?  Anders certainly seemed to think so (the animal glint in Hawke’s eyes was fever-bright in his own, near-glowing against the dirt and Darkspawn blood smeared on his skin).  “Freedom isn’t free.”  Hawke says, a sardonic little twist to her lips causing her teeth to flash in the torchlight as she glances at Anders,  “He paid for it in destiny and a dragon was the shopkeep.”  Varric would laugh at the frustrated befuddlement on the mage’s face if it wasn’t echoed on his own.  “My father made this blade.” Another day, another story. The long sword on Hawke’s back stayed wrapped, no matter the fight to be had, twin daggers finding themselves home in her hands and her enemies throats. It was only exposed in moments like these - where she carefully oiled it as they made camp. “We forged it together, but the materials were things he had for years. It was mine to carry the moment it was finished. I’d never heard my mother so angry with him.” “Were you just a pipsqueak?” Varric asks, struggling to imagine her as something so small and soft as a child,  “Not quite as tall as your sword was high?”  Her eyes crinkle, or at least he thinks they do (torchlight stopped being an option in the morning, and Anders’ mage light was a dim and eerie substitute).  “I was thirteen.”  She tells him, lifting a hand to indicate how tall she’d stood then (about his height, he was chagrined to see),  “Beth had just come into her magic. Father took me on a hunt the moment he realized, deep enough into the Wilds that nobody stood a chance of finding us. We came back with a blade, no meat to speak of, and to a little girl who had half-incinerated our cottage. My being a child bore no mind in her anger.”  She snickered, despite the flicker of something Varric felt at the image she’d painted (a child standing apart from their siblings, pushed there by a parent declaring their favourite, widening the chasm with the gift of a weapon handmade and crafted in a moment no other family had witnessed - an intimacy impossible to intrude on and rendered in steel),  “Carver also flew into a bitter tantrum about wanting a sword shortly afterwards. Both her angels were little hellions for years after that hunt.”  Despite knowing they were being baited, Varric still asked the question that had taken root in his mind; “What made them stop? I’m certain it wasn’t from maturing - the very idea would probably bring your brother to tears.” Hawke’s calloused hands caressed the edge of the blade, skin just barely splitting (a cut so thin blood didn’t even bead. Or at least, that’s how the mage light made it appear). Her face was carefully blank no matter how Varric strained his eyes as she replied,  “They realized what it was for.” 

                                            ____________________ Varric tucked Hawke’s stories away for later contemplation. He embedded them into the skin of his arms with quill and ink, determined to remember their exact wording, on the night (or day or midmorning or whatever passed for time under the blasted Darkspawn damned ground) when Anders finally allows Justice out to play, emitting enough light and power that they can struggle their way to the surface, and Hawke mutters something about the Fade that has the spirit’s pupilless eyes settle on and see her. There’s something there.  A story.  He pieces it together in fits and starts. Junior, Carver Amell (who doesn’t deserve to go by that name, not with the sharp distaste he displays whenever Hawke calls him Carver like he’s asked), trails after them post-expedition and post-Bethany (sweeter than her brother, her bitterness reminiscent of dark chocolate instead of stale beer and regret) entering the Circle. Hawke doesn’t turn him away - Varric suspects she can’t after her sister turned her back on her protection and willingly joined the one thing their family had run from for years - and so Varric has a source of information.  He’s somewhat loathe to use it, though. He doesn’t love the way Junior wields his words. They’re such clumsy weapons - he’s liable to hurt himself just as badly as he intends to hurt Hawke. 

Still. Still - Varric is shameless in his pursuit of a story. He’s done more disgusting things (though sometimes...sometimes Hawke looks at him, ice-chip eyes warmed by firelight and wine and Wicked Grace, and her mouth twists a little. That same sardonic grin he’d seen underground when she told them freedom isn’t free. And he doesn’t like that look sitting on her face, not when it’s turned his way).  And it’s worth it. It repulses him to think it, but all those little bits of information he’s hoarded are worth it. Because their party is chased down by Tevinter thugs in a set-up orchestrated by a magic-hating elf tattooed in lyrium who can physically reach into a person’s chest to crush their heart, and the most fascinating thing to happen was little brother’s subsequent freak out.  “Chase him off!”  He hissed into Varric’s ear, bent double to do so and no doubt rendering himself a comical image (red-faced under Fenris’ cool scrutiny and Hawke’s stiff-backed refusal to turn to him).  “He can literally tear my heart from my chest. Forgive me if I’m not inclined to chase him off my lawn.”  Varric hissed back, half-hysterical as Fenris’ gaze drifted between them.  “You’ll have bigger things to worry about if he sticks around!”  Junior fired back, shaking Varric by the shoulders and gesturing at Fenris’ bristling armour and weapons.  “Hawke’s ‘I murder dragons and also really big spiders’ sized sword is almost the same size as his. While you’re all busy seeing which is the bigger thing to worry about, I’ll just run off to High Town in a set of heels where you lot will never think to look for me.”  Varric mutters, much more careful than little brother (the littlest, with his petty attitude - a little dog barking at some junkyard Mabari) to keep his voice down, though Fenris’ lips twitched anyway.  “Don’t talk about it like that.”  Junior snarled viciously,  “Her using it near him is exactly what I’m worried about. I don’t know what it will do.”  Now Fenris’ shoulders were drawing up, impossibly spiky pauldrons growing dangerously close to his ears as his gaze flitted over to Hawke, who sighed unhappily.  “I’m not going to stab you, Fenris. Not even in a fun way.”  She said, sliding her daggers back into their sheaths and rolling out her neck with a crooked grin (one that didn’t reach her eyes and sent another stab of dislike rolling through Varric towards her bratty little brother that rose in sharp competition with his curiousity).  “Is it enchanted?”  Fenris asked, gravelly voice walking a knifes’ edge between interest and distaste that mirrored Varric’s own thoughts too well for comfort (he was pretty sure Fenris was crazier than a nug on lyrium - the comparison wasn’t flattering).  “I’m pretty enchanted with it.”  Hawke replied, sweeping the oilcloth bundle off her back and resting her weight on the pommel, driving the tip of the blade against the cobblestones below,  “Most people find gifts enchanting, though.”  A not at all smooth or subtle evasion, though Varric had to admire the way she’d managed to imply that if it was enchanted, it certainly wasn’t her who had done it. Fenris had cottoned on to the same idea, but Carver looked like he was about to burst a blood vessel.  “Your...brother certainly seems to think there is something I would find distasteful about it. I doubt he’s worried about my wellbeing.”  The humour in Fenris’ voice didn’t quite cover his unease, but it did reflect a desire to please. Varric was certain the elf meant to stick around if he could  now that he was certain Hawke was no mage. “Distasteful?” Hawke laughs, leaning more heavily on the blade and flicking her gaze to Carver on time to see his wince,  “No, he only applies that word to our kinship. He thinks you’ll turn out to be a thief.”  Fenris’ jaw set and Varric’s heart quickened in response. Carver’s fingers practically crushed his shoulder.  “Of a blade?” Fenris asked, taking a menacing step forward.  Hawke chuckled again, though her knuckles had gone white where they wrapped around an exposed silvery green pommel.  “No,” She shook her head, sardonic twist of the lips in place as she tutted, “Of a life.”  Offence coloured Fenris’ sharp retort of,  “Yours?” Making it blunt and threatening as he drew even closer.  “Not mine.”  She shrugs,  "One that can’t be stolen, bought and sold. It’s a pointless fear related to those.”  She taps a single finger against Fenris’ exposed throat, directly over a silvery green line, before leaning back and hefting her blade back to its resting place between her shoulders. Carver abruptly lunged forward, fingers still buried in Varric’s tunic (dragging him a stumbling step towards Hawke despite his dwarven weight. Quite the feat for little brother).  “Don’t let her touch you!”  He snapped at the elf,  “Or she’ll kill you, too!”  Turning on her heel, Hawke's face disappeared from view. She began to stride away, heading off to the Hanged Man most likely, without a single glance back. Instead she called out over her shoulder: “Maybe my poison touch doesn’t affect dwarves, because Varric’s not dead yet, Carver. I think you might actually beat me to that particular punch.” Needless to say, the elf followed. Varric did, too, unable to walk away when his last sight of her was her back.  Junior didn’t.                                               ____________________ “She’ll kill you, too.”  Words meant something to Varric. Even the ones spilled from an imbecile’s lips (one who had realized Varric was not his friend, unfortunately. He couldn’t mourn the loss much, though something in his chest felt slightly out of place when Hawke cast a look about the Hanged Man on Wicked Grace nights and sighed at the utter lack of her brother’s presence. He’d come crawling back eventually, as unable to ignore her and she was him).  “Too.”  Meant something. It meant something in the context of that damnable blade, that sardonic twist of Hawke’s lips that meant she was telling a story, the one that meant honesty and a certain resignation (an animal glint in her eyes in the dark, a cornered animal that always knew the tunnel had an end, that always knew it was going to fight to its bloody last).  “What made them stop?” “They realized what it was for.”  “She’ll kill you, too!” Not enchanted, but enchanting. Apostate-forged in the Wilds by a man who bought his freedom for the price of destiny from a dragon. The answer was obvious. Somehow, though, Varric couldn’t quite put pen to paper. Couldn’t write down a new observation in one of dozens of journals dedicated to Hawke, the only way to keep track of all that made her her before she talked her way into making him forget.   Sighing, Varric pushed his unbound hair back from his face. Slipped his glasses from his nose. Pressed his forehead to the page as he closed his eyes.  He was shameless for a good story. Ruthless in its pursuit. He wanted - no, needed - answers.  And yet.  He could wait for this one. For another sardonic twist of the lips. For more crumbs that Hawke would drop at his feet, knowing he would pick them up, finding their reassembly as inevitable as her brother’s dislike and her mother’s silence (living in a manor Hawke had purchased with children Hawke had been bought and sold for).  Pressing his face ever further into the paper, Varric groaned in horror.  He didn’t want to be another inevitability in Hawke’s life.  He wanted to be a choice.                                      

[francesderwent]

part three: fatherhood and faith in August Rush

/ part one // part two /

A day before the concert at which both Lyla and Evan are due to perform, Arthur sees August’s name on a poster, and Wizard turns up at Juilliard.  He rails at the Juilliard professors for daring to think they had anything to teach Evan, for believing that they could give music to him when music is “out there”.  Evan says he doesn’t want to go, he likes it here, the professor says Wizard doesn’t have any right, but Wizard says, “I have every right, I’m his father.”  And when Evan stands frozen, wishing to contradict this, Wizard whispers to him, “I know your real name, Evan…Evan.”  Evan doesn’t want to lose this new family – but he doesn’t want to be sent back to the group home, where there is no music at all. He tells his professor, “He taught me everything I know,” and he lets Wizard lead him away.

The next day finds him playing in the park again, while Wizard argues on a nearby payphone, trying to eke out as much money as he can from whoever’s on the other line in exchange for August’s performing.  Arthur reassures Evan; Wizard isn’t that bad, he’s just been in a mood, and Evan’s the only one who could make him feel better. Arthur couldn’t get Wizard’s favor, so he did the next best thing and won himself second-place by leading him to the chosen one.  Evan knows better to be satisfied by Wizard’s favor, now, and he plays morosely, putting all his frustration into the music.

Louis walks up and puts a handful of change into Evan’s guitar case.  He asks about Evan’s guitar, and Evan looks nervously over at Wizard, but Louis reassures him, “Don’t worry, I’m a musician, too.”  He hands Evan his own guitar, and Evan passes him the one he got from Wizard; they sit together on the grass and experiment.  They improvise a duet, Louis in a typical combination of strumming and fingerpicking, Evan in his signature style of hitting the strings. It’s both like and unlike Louis’s unwitting duets with Lyla, like, because the two different styles weave in and out of each other, allowing both to shine, and unlike because they’re both guitarists, both improvising.  It’s fellowship and mentorship embodied in the music, rather than complementarity and romance.  Evan comes back to life; he smiles again.

Louis asks him how long he’s been playing; “Six months,” Evan says, matter-of-fact.  “Six months??” Louis repeats, “How’d you learn to play like that in six months?”  “Juilliard.” “Juilliard,” Louis says, no doubt thinking about his lost love who graduated from there herself.  “I have my own concert tonight,” Evan says.  “Reckon I should believe you?” Louis asks, teasing. “Yeah,” Evan says, simply, but then adds, “but I can’t go.”  “Why’s that?” Louis asks.  Evan says, “It’s kind of a long story.”  He’s closing himself off again, hiding.  Louis says, “Well, if I went to Juilliard and I had a concert tonight, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”  “Yeah,” agrees Evan wistfully, “but what if something bad would happen if you did it?” Louis smiles, and tells him with the certain authority of experience, “You never quit on your music, no matter what happens.  Because anytime something bad happens to you, it’s the one place you can escape to and just – let it go.  I learned that the hard way.”  You can’t escape the perturbations of love by giving up love; you can only find peace by turning from failed love to true love, from fallen human love to divine love. “Anyway, look at me,” Louis says gently, “nothing bad’s gonna happen.  You gotta have a little faith.”  Evan stares back at him thoughtfully, and then plays two notes in answer.  Louis laughs – he understands.  “I’m Louis”, he says.  “Ev – August. August Rush,” Evan says, remembering only halfway through to use his new name.  Louis makes him feel safe; being found and known for who he is by this man is not something he naturally fears – he has to remember to hide.  Wizard yells for August; Louis admits he has to get going.  “Bye,” Evan says.  “Yeah…” Louis says, looking at him with his head cocked, wondering and worrying and caring. He reaches out and tousles Evan’s hair, which Evan allows placidly.  

Louis didn’t recognize Evan on sight, like Lyla did – granted, he didn’t know Evan existed, but there is a sense in which he is inherently more “distant” from Evan than Lyla is.  He didn’t carry him for nine months, and so his “recognition” of him is different.  Evan is an individual to him, in some ways an equal; they speak the same language; Louis gives him advice like he’s a peer, teaches him from his own experience, leading by example.  But he is not distant from Evan in the way that Wizard is; he cares about Evan for his own sake, he’s not trying to manipulate him or string him along emotionally.  The distance is for the sake of allowing Evan to flourish as himself.  This is fatherhood.  Before Louis even knows he is a father, let alone Evan’s father, he gives Evan the first true image of fatherhood he’s had.

Furthermore, Louis’s last word to Evan, “nothing bad’s gonna happen, you gotta have a little faith” is the antithesis to Wizard’s system of pessimism, fear, and self-protection.  It seems like naivety; Louis doesn’t know what Evan’s situation is, and what if something bad does happen?  Bad things happen to people all the time.  But here’s the kicker: good things happen too.  And faith is believing that, ultimately, good has more weight – even when you can’t see it, even when the bad is right in front of you weighing you down. There’s a great quote from Ratzinger in Introduction to Christianity:

[The word “credo] signifies the deliberate view that what cannot be seen, what can in no wise move into the field of vision, is not unreal; that, on the contrary, what cannot be seen in fact represents true reality, the element that supports and makes possible all the rest of reality….Man’s natural inclination draws him to the visible, to what he can take in his hand and hold as his own….He must turn around to recognize how blind he is if he trusts only what he sees with his eyes. Without this change of direction, without this resistance to the natural inclination, there can be no belief. Indeed belief is the conversion in which man discovers that he is following an illusion if he devotes himself only to the tangible…and because our inclination does not cease to point us in another direction, it remains a turn that is new every day; only in a lifelong conversion can we become aware of what it means to say “I believe”.

I think a part of what it means to turn from the tangible to the spiritual is to turn from despair because it feels like all we see is suffering, to faith and hope because the divine plan is real though unseen.  To say, despite the lack of empirical evidence, that if you choose love no matter what, nothing really bad’s gonna happen, nothing so bad that it will make the choice a mistake.  Louis gives Evan an example of faith, and he gives him encouragement and kindness, with no ulterior motive.  Because of this encounter, Evan is given the strength to choose faith himself.  

When Wizard is counting their earnings in a subway station at the close of the day, Evan tells him he’s leaving, and he’s not coming back this time.  Wizard scoffs.  Why would Evan leave?  To find his parents?  “I bet they don’t come, because they can’t hear you,” he says cruelly. Evan stands poised, ready to run, but caught in Wizard’s lies and the fear that comes from them.  And then Arthur hits Wizard, hard, with the guitar that used to be his – he’s giving up his own hope that Wizard will be his father in order to set Evan free.  And Evan runs, but even when he’s gotten away from Wizard, the man’s words weigh him down. He’s underground and he can’t get to the surface.

This is when a faint music starts to echo through the vents above him.  Lyla and Louis are both playing, just as at the start of the film, each of their pieces weaving in and out of the other.  Lyla is pouring everything into her playing, her love for her son and her pain at missing him and her wish to be reunited with him.  And Louis, who doesn’t know that he has a son, is singing to Lyla.  But unlike in “This Time”, where he returns to their moment over and over, wishing every time that it’ll be the last and he won’t have to go back again, he’s reflecting on what brought Lyla to him in the first place.  Instead of focusing on the loss, he remembers the hope: “you wanna reach out, you wanna give in, your head’s wrapped around what’s around the next bend…something inside you is crying and driving you on”.  He comes to the conclusion that though their love was imperfect, there was something truly good in it, and he doesn’t regret that goodness, he wouldn’t take it back: “‘cause if you hadn’t found me, I would have found you.”  In freely affirming the love he had for Lyla, he also affirms the fruit that was borne of it; in affirming the goodness of an imperfect love, he affirms the goodness of Evan’s very existence.  He opens his heart and sings to Lyla, he doesn’t regret being found by her, and he would go out of himself to find her if he had to do it all again, and Evan’s deepest wish is fulfilled: he is found.  His mother’s love for him, and his father’s affirmation of his existence find him in the music, and they draw him out of the dark.

Wizard is left alone, underground.  He pulls out his harmonica, and plays a melody, letting it rise into the vents, hoping that Evan will hear it.  It is the melody that Louis and Lyla heard the night they fell in love – Wizard played a role in the intertwining of all of their stories, and he played a role in Evan finding his way back to his family.  In the mercy of God, great things were done through this broken man.  But no one hears him, now; his role is complete. Everyone else has learned to play a new song, and he’s trapped in the past by his refusal to hope for something greater.

At last, Evan takes the stage in the park to conduct the rhapsody he composed, the piece he wanted to play to as many people as possible so that maybe his parents would hear.  It’s the response to all the music he has heard in the world around him, in the fields and in the city and in the church, unified into a whole; he takes what sounds like chaos to the untrained ear and turns it into beauty, so that we, too, can hear it.  Lyla, who is walking across the grass in her white dress, pauses, listening, and then turns around and strides back towards the stage.  Louis hears the music in his cab with his band, but it’s not until he sees the poster, recognizes August’s name, and then sees Lyla’s name below it that he moves.  He jumps from the cab and runs through the streets toward the concert, Lyla’s “marriage” totally forgotten.  Lyla is looking for Evan; Louis is looking for her.

Evan is facing the orchestra, Lyla can only see him from the back, but she’s mesmerized by the music.  Louis catches sight of her across the crowd.  She walks forward as if drawn by an unseen force; he weaves through the crowd parallel to her.  She steps out in front of the people, stares up, her entire person attuned to the music, and she knows.  This is her son, who has been in her heart for so long.  She’s found him.  Louis steps up beside her silently and takes her hand; she looks up at him, and there’s no surprise.  Of course he is here; of course he was drawn, just as she was.  Everything is falling into place; they are, all of them, where they belong now.  She smiles at him, and looks back up at Evan; Louis follows her gaze, and realizes what he recognized in the boy he met in the park.  Wonder fills his face.  This is his son – this is the fulfillment of his love, the fulfillment that he’s been searching for his whole life, without knowing it.

Abruptly, Evan looks up into the sky, listening. He pauses in his conducting, and slowly, slowly turns around, while the orchestra continues to play behind him. He’s apprehensive.  What if there’s no one there?  What if what he heard isn’t real?  But he’s hopeful as well.  

In front of the crowd stands a man and a woman, holding hands.  The woman is looking at him with such love in her eyes and in her smile, like nobody has ever looked at him before.  And yet it is recognizable.  Nobody but his mother could look at him like that.  Can it be true?  He looks at the man – Louis, from the park, who told him to have faith.  Louis nods.  It’s true.  Evan laughs.

He’s been found.

Because I’m a tiresome person, I’m going to spell it out one more time: music is love.  The belief that you come from love, the cry of your heart that says the meaning of your life is love, is true.  Because August Rush is a fairytale, it shows us this in a fairly literal sense.  Evan believes that his parents loved each other and that they love him, and they did and they do.  But Lyla and Louis’s love is not perfect – and even if it were even less perfect, so flawed that it was no longer love at all, Evan would still be right.  We all come from love, because we all come from God.  Even when mothers do not want their children, like Lyla wants Evan, and even when fathers do not affirm the love they have for their children’s mothers, like Louis affirms his love for Lyla, God wants us, and God affirms the love that is built into creation.  Even if created love is imperfect and incomplete, it can still bear fruit, and that fruit always bears witness to the love of God which is at the origin of everything.  Love always speaks of the one who gave us love.  It might be hidden by suffering and fear, it might be mediated to us by selfish and broken people, but love is there and it is real, invisibly and powerfully.

You just gotta have a little faith.

[mvrcutios]

— INTRODUCING:

➺ Alexandre Preston as  M𝔢𝔯𝔠𝔲𝔱𝔦𝔬

Hi everyone! I’m Olivia, 24 from the pst timezone !! I love romantic foreign films and every incarnation of Skam ever created. Also, tik tok. Way way too much tik tok. This is my interpretation of Mercutio (loml tbh), Alexandre! A pretty boy with charm and brains and you bet your ass he knows it. Portrayed by the beaut that is Maxence Fauvel,  i’m genuinely filled to the brim with muse for this boy so, without further ado, time for the main event! (as he prefers to be lbr )

name: alexandre henri preston

age: 21

birthday: July 28th, 1998

gender: male

pronouns: he/him

degree: double major of business & music composition (father currently aware of the 1st)

zodiac: leo.

languages: fluent in french & italian, attempting to swear in russian and japanese.

hobbies: piano, cello, running, sex, parties, reading

vices: whiskey, gin, socialites, card games, fast cars, midnight symphonies, menthol cigarettes

pinterest is here !!

the aesthetic: Dom Pérignon, lipstick stained shirt collars, blue eyes with darkened circles, menthol cigarettes, 2am melodies on a piano down the hall, bruised knuckles, hotel balconies, strobe lights and heavy bass, macarons flaked in gold, lips pressed to cheeks, 3am club invitations, lingering eyes, too bright smiles, bitten bruises soothed with a tongue,shattered mirrors, ripped fingernails, screaming into the silent night, laughter whispered into skin, pills pressed to tongues,  platinum amex cards, chewed on pens, eyes growing distant, texts left on read, ink over his heart for his maman, naps under campus oak trees, flasks sipped in a lecture hall, hands on hips, backs, and his own throat.

           ➺ but what is in a name?

➺ { Alexandre } : The french translation of Alexander. Defender of Man. The irony of a name is not lost on him, nor the man who’d held it. He was named for his maternal grandfather, a man who had sold his soul (and his eldest daughter)  for money, power, name, all under the guise of the importance of family. A name meaning man of honor. Certainly a strong name for a boy who’d been born to rule a soiled throne, but content to find ways to sneak sweets from the kitchen, trick a smile from his mother as she stared out the window yet again. But defenders are not born, no.They are made, and from the moment blue eyes opened for the first time he was destined to be just that. Made. Into his father’s visions, his mother’s dreams. And Xandre is no fool. All he wants — no, rather. All he desires from life is simple. Everything.

➺ { Henri } Ruler of households. Once again nothing but irony for a boy who grew up wanting for nothing in life, but knowing the expectations were to be just that. A leader. Who would be the one to tell him that the throne he was set to rest upon was built on the blood and bones of the lesser fortunate? More importantly, who would teach him to care?

➺ { Preston } Meaning priest, settlement, enclosures of God. Carried to England from Normandy after the great conquest. A name befitting to the family who in some circles considered themselves holier than most. Gods among men. Who turned whiskey to gold, words to bank notes, and blood into power. If you were a Preston, people knew it. And what could be better than that?

   ➺ for he  is the devil in every detail                

➺ ( + ) He was a boy of pressed shirts and dark windswept waves. Blue eyes that sparkled of mischief and peels of laughter that echoed down marbled halls. He was Alexandre Preston, a boy with the stars in his eyes and the world at his feet. Who when he smiled, his entire face lit from within and led to that hint of the  devil sparkling just so from that gaze of his. Who smelled of citrus and whiskey and a bite of mint. Who adored beauty, in life and what it had to offer him. A man who’d grown into his looks and was taught by a wise mother just how to use them, a well placed kiss to a cheek or brush of skin, eyes meeting across a room enough to give them what they desired and more than ever, what he craved. He was tall, dark and oh so handsome, and knew how to get just what he wanted. Born with his father’s intellect and drive for more, padded by his mother’s beauty and ability to wield it for the weapon it could be. It made him anything but a bore, a useless first son too afraid to grasp what was before him. No, Xandre knew his fate. But in the meantime, he lived his life how he chose. If dearest dad was none the wiser, well. What’s the harm?

➺ ( + ) But let’s go back to the beginning, shall we? Born on a warm evening in late july, Alexandre Henri was destined to be the only child of Simon Preston and Violette Dupont. A product of two passionate individuals and a loveless marriage, Xandre’s mother was the eldest daughter to a man of debt. The Dupont family had in name what they lacked in capital and with a marriage between Violette and Simon, had everything to gain. Xandre’s birth was a bright burst of fleeting color for a mother who felt caged into the world she’d sold herself to, doting on the little boy and doing what she could to leave him with a part of her, a piece of her own waning soul. Where Simon was boastful, she was wicked, demure. Where he was aggression, she was soft sighs and whispered curses. Two sides of  what lead to be a machiavellian son. Destined to rule with a gilded fist and fleeting, passionate heart.

➺ ( + ) He was put into lessons as a boy to dwindle that energy that thrummed with his every step, sports and arts and languages but they were fleeting moments of time, hobbies cast aside once the obsessive grip of his mind released them. But his mother’s love of piano rang true to his blood, picking up the instrument even with some difficulty. It bothered him so, to have something he couldn’t master with minimal effort. It required a honed drive, a passion and ethic to create something magnificent through nothing more than hard work. It fueled him, the boy almost manic with the late hours he spent alone in the sun room, fingers dancing along keys and cursing with every missed note. As he grew, so did the realization that it was not something you could master. The great composers themselves went mad with trying. It was a never ending race, and one he still holds steadfast this very day. It is as much a part of him as anything could be. Alexandre is meant to be a leader, Alexandre blows thousands on parties and card games, Alexandre needs music like air to rattling lungs. His current double major at Ashcroft is a direct result. If he’s to live out this new version of day to day, he’ll do as he pleases. As long as his father remains where he belongs, ignorant as the rest are.

➺ ( + ) if music was a stronghold, most everything else in his world was a passing fancy, aimless ways to spend time and money and have fun in this life he was so destined to lead. High school meant parties and fun, learning the intricacies of the body and passion as girls and boys alike came and went from white rumbled sheets. For his mother had taught him to wield beauty for what it was; a weapon. And oh, did he learn with the best. A university career begun at Oxford (if only to spite his father), where the real fun began, nights spent in club after club until the sun rose again, liquor fueled nights of passion and fun, barred from certain clubs and embraced at others, heavyweight card games and street races with a bottle of dom in hand. Started a gambling ring in his dorm hall until the RA caught wind a year later. (But he eventually joined, so no harm no foul) He was at an all time high, never fearing the inevitable crash to follow. He welcomed it like an old friend, navigated the highs and lows with a long learned finesse. Now in Edinburgh, he chases the residual high with his normal vigor, finding drinking buddies to waste an evening with, occasional bodies to slip into his too high thread count sheets.

➺ ( + )  The very definition of love ‘em and leave ‘em. Xandre doesn’t do true relationships, has never truly given his heart to someone in any form. He doesn’t believe in it, the type of love that makes people do such foolish things. He does foolish things just fine on his own, heart be damned. He can be passionate, charming, attentive lover at the best of times, possessive fool at the worst of times. He loves to feel desired, wanted, needed even. But never aims to be someone’s entire world. That type of need, that type of love does nothing but wound. And every wound he will ever have will be of his own creation. Has had more than a few flings, even reoccurring instances of women or men a few times in a row. But the connections are shallow, surface deep. You don’t need to witness his soul to get into his bed, afterall.

➺ ( + )  It was all a beautiful distraction from the blood that stained every letter of his name. His cousin was allowed to live in blessed ignorance of the family means, but Xandre, he was thrown headfirst into the lion’s den and came out grinning, the truth of it never leaving past blood stained lips. He isn’t resentful of that fact. A part of him feels it was always meant to be this way. If his cousins were the sun, he was the endless night, the whispers of shadows and secrets meant to withstand. For he could take it, surely. Right?

➺ ( + ) while his fate may be anything but up for debate, he is anything but a too willing participant. Being at Oxford meant enough distance to gain a bit of the freedom he craved. The night his father was arrested, Alexandre was doing what was normal, even on a tuesday evening. Partying at a local hotspot four bottles deep in champagne and whiskey, pills pressed to lips in between fevered kisses of a woman who’s name escaped him the next morning. Sweetened black coffee in hand as he watched his phone buzz over and over, the news blaring the headline of what he’d always known would come to fruition. But his father was still kicking, and so the heavy head who bears the crown was not yet his own. So he went about his day, his week, his months. Until, octavia.

➺ ( + ) his cousins were the siblings he’d never had, and for a man who doesn’t truly believe in intricacies of love he loves them with all he has in him. Wolfie the brother he’d craved, the two stirring trouble with every laugh as they raced down the cavernous halls of their homes. Days spent listening to his whispered dreams, his own a hollow echo in response to the passion that thrummed from his cousin’s. The lectures of his poor influence never bothered him, his role had always been rather set after all. The shadow to the sun. Was he ever to be a leader? Possibly. But he was never born of the responsibility and dreams that lingered over his cousin, never expected to amount to anything rather spectacular beyond the built business reputation and blood that soaked the name Preston. He was too impulsive, too passionate to have it beaten from his bones, just always a little too much.

➺ ( + ) And Octavia – she held a special place in his heart. Daddy’s little girl, it was easy to see how she could bat her lashes and smile her smile and let the world fall at her feet. He admired it, respected it even. Game always has to appreciate the game. She and her brother leaving for Ashcroft was a blow he hadn’t anticipated, for they’d always had one another, the two musketeers and the girl who fought to be anything but a shadow. It was an unfamiliar ache, missing them. And with Octavia now gone, that ache has grown tenfold. Morphed into anger for what he knew she was up to, for somehow somewhere, she’d pissed off the wrong people to where even the Preston name couldn’t quite save her soul. But her essence is everywhere, haunting the halls and whispering in ears. It’s all so very dramatic, so very her. He’d pour one out for her if he didn’t think she’d simper about his distaste for wasted wine. Her spirit was a mild comfort, a balm over a roughened wound. a bigger amusement than anything, a middle finger to those who’d ended her bright existence. A Preston knew how to fuck you over, that was made all the more clear with each report of her sightings. And god, did he love her for it.

➺ ( + ) and that at the very crux of it all, is what has brought him to ashcroft. A new scene for parties, new faces, and a remaining cousin who could use a shoulder to lean on. & those all look lovely on paper, but the fine print? Always read it carefully. For the smiles and charm are all Violette without a doubt. But the danger that lingers, the passion and fire that fuel his soul and border on the precipice of mania? Alexandre is Simon Preston’s son, that was never to be denied for long. And someone has wronged them all, taken things they had no right to take. Someone he considered to be a part of his heart. He doesn’t take kindly to such things, and so to Ashcroft he’s come. He is passion, recklessness, a hidden grief fueled by fleeting love wrapped in a shiny veneered package. He’s here to revel, to discover, to maybe even punish. If deemed necessary. Blood will always be blood, and for a man who’s always willing to go a little too far? It is all that remains.

➺ ( + ) as for what has qualified him for such a prestigious society upon his enrollment well, that is a mystery to some and a hard headline to others. His family’s connections? His relation to Wolfie? His letters of transfer from his classical composition professors back in London? As far as Xandre is concerned, it’s nothing more than a certain Oberon Ashcroft seeing he has a role to play, and one he plays rather well. Unassuming at first, a disarming charm soothing the blunt edges of his words. He says what he feels, and what he knows must be said. And due to that, he knows his worth, what he brings to the table. Knows how poorly it would look if he hadn’t been inducted. He brings a good time, a laugh, a chance to rebel against the societal norms and oppressions that leak from every pore of Ashcroft. But he also brings a weighted name, a wicked ability to decipher through the purple prose people can preach, to the truth at the core of it all. And he plays a mean Chopin, what can he say?

➺ ( + ) there is no way to wrap up all that he is, to summarize a man who is nothing short of a dichotomy, a symphony in fractured parts. Perhaps a jekyll and hyde of his own making, two heads of the same beast he wielded within his soul. for there was something to be said of being seen, eyes drawn to your every move, to feel the power of being adored, desired, craved. He is the devil on your shoulder, crooning saccharine words and screaming in triumph in a breadth. A gleam of mania tinging those baby blues when he pushes just so to get his way. He is that very symphony, a concerto who’s pace continues to drive faster and faster, upward and onward until its very PEAK, a cacophony of beauty and agony as notes ring out, clash, COLLIDE. and then, the briefest moment of silence. He has discovered the distractions his body can wield, but also the power to be found in stillness, in silence. At his lowest he craves it, aches to be surrounded by masses just once more to drown out the roaring in his mind, to draw it to ecstasy, to blissful silence. All leading up to the final, ringing note. Before the applause, of course. never deny yourself the applause. That had always been Lesson One.

                          ➺    A LETTER TO OCTAVIA:

Tavia —

Where do I start? You always knew how to make an entrance, tav. should’ve figured your exit would be the same. But…why the fuck wouldn’t you call me? Why wouldn’t you tell me the extent of just how bad shit had gotten so quickly? You knew no matter what I said, or how I complained or warned you off to be careful I would’ve been there in a heartbeat. You didn’t have to do this alone. I should’ve seen that and come the first time you called. Don’t haunt me for that. And that police chief mentioned a baby, Tav. You never– me of all people would have understood. You were the only one I ever told about Clara, how my dad paid her off. You never judged me for him, you understood. Let me get wasted and cry it out in that shitty suite in London. We could have made a club of it, you and me. Poor little Rich kids with secret kids. Poetic, no?  Poetic justice is bullshit in hindsight. And I just really, really miss you.

I’m sure everyone in these letters are telling you the reasons they adored you, how they’ll never forget you, the wild memories they’re sharing with you, that they say they’ll never forget. I don’t need to say all those things. You know I do, and you know I won’t forget. You’re a part of my heart, as battered and shriveled as we liked to joke it is. But apparently death makes us sentimental fools, so here’s this for you, because it’s 4am and the memory won’t leave my mind no matter how many times I close my eyes. That summer we spent, all of us, vacationing in that house on the riviera. Remember? I spent the day running around the grounds with Wolf and we’d laugh and tease like elder brothers do when you’d seek us out, pouting those lips and crocodile tears until we included you in our games. But when the sun set and dinner was long gone, you’d drag me into the tea room with that baby grand in the corner and demanded I play. You always were a determined thing, you brat. But you’d smile that smile and even I couldn’t fight the urge to sit and play your favorites.You sang along and danced and danced and danced until you were breathless with it. Only you could make dancing to britney fuckin’ spears look like an artform you know? You’d call me your co-star, and never let me hate myself for the mistakes, never laughed if I stumbled on a note. You were my biggest supporter that summer, but I was only one of your many adoring fans. That’s how it was supposed to be. That won’t change, I promise.

( A few tears stain the edges of that previous paragraph, angry, bitter droplets that he wipes away and slips the paper further to defend the onslaught of them. He sighs deeply, clears his throat. )

And look at you now, huh? Haunting your friends and your brother with the best of ‘em. Leave it to you to find a way to remain the star of the show even in death. I can see how it’s unravelling them. The ones who look too pale to be innocent, everyone here has a fucking secret. Thanks to you maybe we’ll see them all sooner than later. And what fun that’s gonna be. But do me a favor and haunt some hot freshman for me, will you? Whisper sweet nothings of my beauty in their ears, make it a good one. I’ll owe you one. You know I’m good for it.

I’ll watch over Wolfie. Of course I will.  I’ll get him piss drunk at that club you mentioned last time we talked, bring a few lines and a bottle of dom all just for you, gorgeous. I’m here now for him, for you. I’m here for what I should have done from the beginning. If you had to leave him —had to leave us, it won’t be for nothing.

I miss you, cherie. Visit me tonight in my dreams, alright? You can dance for me, I’ll play you a song.

We’ll make it a happy one, for old times sake.

                                                     -Xandre

[deepdaleducks]

Slow Burn - Dele

Author’s Note So I got the idea for this based on a conversation @forza-atleti and I had this morning so I kinda had to write it asap. Idk if I have much else to say, I have some ideas for a second part of this so if you want more, let me know. I didn’t proof read any of it so if you see any mistakes, point them out nicely. I love getting feedback from you guys and I’m really enjoying writing at the moment so thanks for enjoying reading it!! Love you all x

“Hey erm, I kinda have to bail on tonight. I know we said we’d stay home and watch movies but, err, something’s come up and I can’t anymore. I’ll defo see you Sunday though, yeah? I’m sorry and erm have a good weekend.” You’d listened to the voicemail he’d left on your phone what felt like a million times. You knew exactly what the something that had come up was. Or who it was for that matter. His ex-girlfriend, Ruby. They’d broken up about a month ago, but it had been long and drawn out. He would still call her at night and sometimes she’d go to his place. And in the mornings, he would be at your front door, regret on his face, ranting about how he just can’t seem to leave her. How unfollowing her on Instagram didn’t seem to work because his car still knew the exact route to her house, even if he wasn’t planning to drive there. How he’d memorised her number, so deleting it was no good. How she was his biggest weakness. You would make him a cup of tea and some toast and tell him that with time and distance things will heal. That moving on to other people will help him get over her. How spending time with other people would distract him from thinking about going to her house.

That’s how your Valentine’s Day plans had come about. No boyfriends or girlfriends, no exes or drunk dials, just the two of you, friends, together with a movie and a take away pizza. It wasn’t going to be a date, and you weren’t going to tell him. Not that it didn’t hurt when you got his message. Not that it didn’t break your heart a little when you realised that he was choosing her over you. So instead of pizza and movies, its wine and Grey’s Anatomy. And if he shows up tomorrow, its ‘I’m late for work’. But from the look of her Instagram story, a fancy restaurant in the city, he won’t be showing up in the morning anyway.

Your phone buzzes with a text, pulling you from your third episode of the night.

Chlo: Soooooo, how’s your night going?? If you don’t reply I know what you’re up to😉😉 get it girl!!!

When you’d told her about your plans for Valentine’s Day she’s shrieked in excitement. She had been begging you to reveal your true feelings to Dele for weeks and when she found out about his break up, she’d called you immediately saying that this was your chance. You’d insisted that this wasn’t your chance and that if you told him now, you’d just be a rebound and everything would fall apart. Instead you went for the option of being a shoulder to cry on and letting your friendship grow. You typed in a quick reply before turning back to the tv.

Me: He bailed. Back with her, I guess.  

Her reply comes through almost instantly. You pause the tv and head into the kitchen to fill your wine, figuring that if you were gonna be texting for a while you may as well get another glass.

              Chlo: Oh babe.

              Chlo: ….

Before she has the chance to type any more, you change the subject quickly.

              Me: It’s fine. How was your night with Jesse? His leg doing okay?

The two of you had become friends at the World Cup last summer. You’d bonded in the family and friend’s area of the stands over being two of the most outraged people there. You were both yelling over the referee’s poor decision. Somehow that led to you talking and becoming friends. When you’d introduced yourself as Dele’s friend, she’d quickly joked about how she thought Dele had gotten a new girlfriend, and you could tell she’d regretted it. “She doesn’t like me, either” You’d replied, and her face was flooded with relief. Since then, you were constantly texting, meeting up in each other’s city, watching the boys at games.

Chlo: Oi oi, don’t try to change the subject. We’re just having the night in, Jess is fine. Are you okay though?

Her text flashes up and then seconds later a call is coming through. You answer, sipping on your wine before talking.

“Chlo, I’m fine honestly. It’s Valentine’s Day, of course he’s gonna go back to her, I don’t know why we didn’t see it coming.” You say before she can even begin to rant about how shitty his actions were.

“Nah, that was a shitty thing for him to do. Imma be having words, swear down.” You hear Jesse’s voice echo in, realising you were on speaker phone, you chime in a ‘hey Jess’. You laugh at his threats.

“Yeah, babe, everyone and their grandma’s cat knows that she treats him badly. I don’t get why he can’t see that.” Chloe sighs. The three of you were biased for sure, with neither of you being her biggest fan, but it wasn’t hard to deny that she did treat him badly. And you would treat him so much better.

“There’s not much I can do about it though, is there? Like hey Del, break up with your girlfriend I love you more than she ever could. He’s not exactly going to fall into my arms. He’s wrapped around her finger, for fuck’s sake.” You reply, trying to push down any feelings for him that were rising in your heart.

“What are you doing this weekend? You wanna come up and stay with us?” She asks impulsively. Despite your usual plans to see Dele on Sunday, you agree, planning to make the drive up tomorrow after work. “I know your heart is hurting right now, babe, but he’ll see the light eventually. We’ll make sure of it.” She finishes.

“Hell yeah, we will!” Jesse yells from the background. With that you hang up and head upstairs to pack a small bag for your impromptu weekend away.

 When you get out of work on Friday night, you immediately get in the car and begin the four hour drive up to Manchester. The traffic delays don’t phase you, the promise of a warm home cooked meal keeping you on.  Your car pulls into the drive of your friend’s house, the warm lights from inside welcoming you. Inside you find Chloe and Jesse, taking your bag and coat.

“Surprise!” a familiar voice yells, emerging from the living room. You turn to see Marcus walking over to you with his arms open to hug you. “Been way too long, chuck,” he says, squeezing you tightly.

“Yeah sorry, I couldn’t come to see you at Fulham the other week. Work’s been so busy recently.” You respond pulling away. “Alright, not to be rude, but I’m starving so where’s the food?”

The four of you head into the dining room, engorging on a meal prepared by Chloe. Jesse claims to have helped with the cooking but you and Marcus both return with jokes about how Jesse has absolutely no cooking ability whatsoever and that the boy couldn’t even chop a carrot if he tried.

The night passes by with ease, as you share jokes and stories. Marcus talks about the girl he’s been seeing, and Jesse teases that she’s so out of Marcus’ league. The boys tell stories from training and talk about how rough its going to be now Jesse is injured. And Dele doesn’t cross your mind once. No thought about how she was probably in his bed right now. About how things should be different.

 In the morning, Chloe takes you to brunch and then you head out for some retail therapy.  She forces you to buy a new black dress, claiming that you should find a date for next weekend and wear the dress to knock the socks of your suitor.

“You now I’ve tried dating other people, Chlo. I have. Do you not remember Jake? Or Ben? Or that guy I went out with like a month ago!” You protest. Dating other people hadn’t been successful albeit. Every time you found something that felt that it could work, Dele would show up at your door in the night, eyes puffy from crying, voice hoarse from yelling, and you would let him in again. He would fall into your bed, and you’d hold his hands whilst he slept.  He would tell you that he was never going to find anyone else like you. And then he would leave in the morning and go back to her. Like clockwork.

“Yeah but Jake was the opposite of everything you want so that was never gonna work, and Ben was a dickhead anyway. Besides, if Del sees you dating someone else it might make him a little jealous. Remind him that he’s not the only guy in your life, yeah?”  She gives you a look that says I’m right and you best believe me, so you slowly nod your head in response, convincing yourself that her plan is good one.

She’s called into work in the afternoon and you’re left at home with Jesse, who’s still resting from his injury. You flick through Sky Movies together trying to find a film that suits both of your tastes. You want romcom and he wants action which leads to the two of you bickering like siblings over the remote. Pausing as you flick past The Proposal, you turn to look at him.

“I noticed you still didn’t put a ring on Chloe’s finger this Valentine’s then.” You tease, eying his response carefully. They’d been together for a while and you and Marcus had made bets on when they’d get engaged before Christmas, with him thinking it would be in the summer and you insisting it had to happen soon.

“Nah, nah, Valentine’s proposals are cringing as fuck man. That’s so typical. I don’t want her to be expecting it, so I’m skipping Christmas, Valentine’s, her birthday, our anniversary, none of that.” He defends himself, shaking his head.

“Christ, Jess. At this rate I’m gonna be getting married before you and I’m in love with a guy who is constantly going back to his ex.” You joke, the words stinging a little as you say them.

“It’ll happen soon, I swear. Maybe next month, who knows? March is nothing important, right?” He pauses to look you over, “Do you, though? Love him?” His question puts you on edge. No one had ever asked you that before. Sure, Chloe had teased you about your crush and about the fact you liked him. But the word love had never come up. Especially not in this content. Your mind spins as you think, but quickly enough, you have one clear thought.

“How could I not?” You ask, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

 It’s 9pm before you finally hear from him. You never replied to his voicemail on Thursday and since then the two of you hadn’t interacted.

              Del: We still on for brunch tomorrow morning? I’ll pick you up at 10 x

              Me: In Manchester so I can’t.

Your reply is blunt, but worthy. He bailed on you, so you’re bailing on him. As much as he could have you like butter in his hands, you wanted to show a little distance. The distance crumbles when his face flashes on your screen displaying an incoming call and you answer immediately.

“What the fuck are you doing in Manchester?” He asks with a tone of anger in his voice. “Were you just not planning to tell me you were cancelling on our weekly brunch?”

You scoff in response, “That’s a little rich coming from you right now, Dele. Chloe and Jesse called me on Thursday night and invited me up for the weekend, so I happily accepted.” Throwing in the detail that they invited you on Thursday was done to spite him. You were supposed to see him on Thursday, and hopefully him realising that you had other offers would hurt a little.

“Oh right,” he mutters in response. “I guess we’ll have to do it another time then.”

“Yeah maybe…” You trail off, “Look, I gotta go. I, erm, I’ll see you when I’m back sometime.” Hanging up the phone you leave it in the kitchen, heading back into the living room to watch more tv with your friends. When you retire up to bed you leave your phone downstairs, happy to not be distracted by any social media or messages. Your phone sits on the kitchen counter, 10 unread text messages and 3 missed calls unnoticed on the screen.

 You’re sound asleep when you hear a banging on the door downstairs, followed by three more rings of the doorbell. You slowly pull yourself from the comfort of your bed and throw your dressing gown on, heading out in to the hall to see what’s causing all the noise. Jesse emerges from the master throwing a t-shirt on.

“You stay here, I’ll go see what it is.” He says sleepily. Waiting at the top of the staircase, you hear him open the door and mumble a “what are you doing here, it’s the middle of the night”. Straining your ears, you try to make out the other voice. It sounds familiar and the pieces of conversation you hear help you to piece it all together.

“I need to speak to her…”

“Look bro, it’s the middle of the night.”

“No but I need to see her.”

“I don’t know if she wants to see you… Come back tomorrow maybe, man.”

“I need to tell her it’s over.”

The last thing you hear sends you down the stairs tentatively. He stands there in the entrance hall, joggers and a t-shirt, bags under his eyes, presumably from driving all night, hair a mess, eyes pleading. Jesse looks between you and notices his que to leave, heading upstairs with a whispered shout if you need me.

“It’s over?” You ask, not stepping any further in his direction. He nods weakly in reply. You feel like you’re having déjà vu, flashing back to this exact situation a few weeks ago. You remember him crying, saying those same words. Then you remember him going back to her, and again and again. A bitter taste appears on your tongue and you feel a sudden urge to get a glass of water.

“Good for you,” you mutter, walking straight past him towards the kitchen. He follows you instantly, keeping his distance on the other side of the room.

“Good for me?” He hisses quietly, careful not to make any noise. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means I don’t think you’re telling the truth.” You huff, looking at him tiredly. “It means that I’ve been down this road so many times with you recently, Del, that I’m just bored of it.”

“No, I’m serious. It’s over.” He pleads with you, moving closer. You don’t respond and a silence settles between the two of you for a minute. You stare out the window into the garden and he stands behind you at a distance, facing in the same way. He eyes your reflection in the mirror and your eyes meet. “You know how I know it’s over? Friday morning, we wake up and we agree to go to dinner in the evening, right. And she calls me later saying, she’s invited to some club event and she’s gonna have to skip the dinner, am I arsed about it? No, not really. But then yesterday, hearing that you’re not coming to brunch and that you’re all the way up in Manchester and I had no idea. That broke my heart. Because I pushed you out of my life, and I don’t ever want you to not be a part of my life.” When he pauses to breath you turn around to look at him, leaning back against the counter. “I’ve been pushing you away to be with her and she’s not worth me losing you.”

Everything he’s saying sounds sweet. Perfect, in fact. But he’s still not saying the one thing you want to hear. He’s not saying he loves you, that he’s in love with you. And right now, as much as you want his attention, every second of his time isn’t worth it if he doesn’t love you back. The pain of him being your friend, but not yours, would be too much.

“Okay, well. I, um.” You stutter, lost for words. “I don’t think I can be your friend right now because…” The words are right there on your lips. Because I’m in love with you. You drop your eyes to the floor and attempt to move past him, out from where he’s trapped you in the corner of the kitchen.

“Because what? Because you’re in love with me?” His words echo your thoughts.

His words stop you in your tracks. “How do you know that?” you ask, not turning back to look at him.

“She pointed it out. Ruby. She’s the one who noticed it.” He stops for a minute, hoping you’ll lift your head, or turn around in interested. “She said she could tell by the way you looked at me, or the way your face would light up whenever you talked about me. It’s, uh, why we broke up actually. She was constantly scared I was gonna leave her for you, and I could never see it and thought she was just being jealous.”

If what he was saying was true, and he knew that you were in love with him, why was he constantly falling back into her bed. Why was he still putting her above you in his list of priorities?

“So, what? You know I’m in love with you, you break up with your girlfriend over it, cry on my shoulder and then still go back to sleep with her? None of that adds up, Dele. I don’t know what you’re doing, but whatever it is, it’s fucked up.”

He falters whilst processing your words. “I thought it wasn’t true. You never said you were in love with me and I didn’t wanna just spring it on you and ruin everything. I don’t know what I was doing, okay?” He says louder in frustration, throwing his hands in the air. “I’ve been in love with you since the day we met. But you were dating some guy, and she came along, and I just told myself to forget it. Then she goes and makes statements like that and it messes with my head.”

“You’re in love with me?” You ask, the new realisation sending excitement through your veins. Eyes finally meeting his for the first time in minutes.

“I am so fucking in love with you.” He grins cheekily. Hearing those words come out of his mouth dissipates every negative emotion that you’d been harbouring in the last few weeks. You feel the immediate pull of his gravity, drawing you across the kitchen into his arms. His lips crash against yours in an instant, lighting your entire body on fire. Its urgent and fierce and screams we’ve waited years to do this. When you part for breath, he rests his forehead against yours, and your eyes flutter open to meet his.

“What does this mean?” You ask, hesitantly.

“It means that we’re gonna go upstairs and sleep. Then tomorrow, we’re gonna wake up and I’m gonna take you on a date to get breakfast. And then I’m going to pay to get your car sent back to London, because in the afternoon I’m gonna drive you home.” He gives you another short sweet peck.

Your fingers find his and you drag him upstairs to the spare bedroom you’d been staying in. You fall into bed together, not for the first time, but when he reaches out for your hand like always, this time he uses it to pull you closer to him, and you know that tomorrow, he won’t be leaving.

READ PART TWO HERE

[faveficarchive]

The Secret Histories: Part 3

Shadows of the Living

By Vivian Darkbloom

Pairing: Mel/Janice

Rating: Mature

Synopsis: Set soon after All the Colors of the World, an old flame wanders back into Mel’s life, and threatens a relationship already wrought with unspoken problems. Janice is sent off to Bavaria to work with the Monuments Men, and Mel isn’t far behind. Will their shaky relationship withstand the test of distance, violence, and ancient obsession?

Life itself is but the shadow of death, and souls departed but the shadows of the living....The sun itself is but the dark simulacrum, and light but the shadow of God.

—Sir Thomas Browne

November, 1945

Fall. He brooded, watching the leaves gently disengage themselves from the trees outside his townhouse window. He loved the season when he was younger, welcoming the crisp air, a renewed feeling of purpose, of vigor. Now, as an old man, he dreaded it—it meant the onslaught of the cold weather that would settle in his bones, and the painful chilblains he would get...and now, recovering from his recent stroke, Anton Frobisher truly felt the season of aging, of death and decay was upon him. He could only groan in response.

"Are you all right?" The voice was gentle, soft. With a Southern accent. Before he could look in her direction, Melinda had laid a hand on his arm.

And here, inside his home, a young woman he loved was about to gently disengage herself from his life. Perhaps not permanently; who could tell? The war was over, they kept reminding themselves, but the world was just as unpredictable, violent, and crazy as ever. With the bombs dropped on Japan only a scant two months ago, he was more than convinced of that fact.

Anton looked at Melinda. Her familiar frown, that serious, intent look that she always wore, except in the presence of Janice Covington, was directed at him. Damn you, Covington, you better not get yourself killed.

He gave a wry smile. "I'm fine," he rumbled in a deep voice, hoping to convince her. She managed a small smile in return. "By God, it feels good to speak again." Slowly, after his stroke, his ability to speak—to formulate sentences—had returned.

"I bet it does."

He eyed the small black suitcase that sat in the corner of his den, near the door. "So you're off, then?"

She nodded, then pushed her sliding glasses up along the ridge of her nose with a long index finger. One of her "nervous scholar tics," as Covington called it. He could still see and hear—quite vividly—the golden-haired woman laughing gently as she teased her tall and sometimes too-serious companion. "I'm...off," she said quietly.

"I shall miss you very much, you know," he said, with David Niven bravado, the fighter pilot going down nobly in his fiery plane.

"Yes, I will miss you too. But I'll be back." Optimistic words, but the chasm of doubt in her voice threatened to swallow them both.

"You will," he said, taking her hand, "and so will Janice."

After the stroke, when he could not speak, he felt as if he had been trapped underwater, under an ice floe, separate from the world, his senses refracted. He could witness everything going on around him, but could neither understand it clearly nor express himself. When he could finally tell Melinda—or rather, show her, via the report—what he had discovered about Catherine Stoller, he felt that he had finally broken through. But it took almost a week before he could tell her of his discovery, and how he had come to it: How he had been more than a little suspicious of Stoller when she showed up at his office; how she seemed to know exactly what she wanted, and how her single-minded intensity sent off alarms in his head. He had called in a favor from a friend in the OSS, and obtained a file on the elusive agent. The war, he thought cynically, had been, for him, nothing more than trading favors to obtain information and get his way.

But that wasn't the worst of it. "They knew," Anton had told her one evening as they sat in his den.

She didn't want to believe it. "What?"

"The OSS knew about her activities. Did you look at the date of the report I showed you?"

"No," Mel had admitted guiltily, knowing she should have noticed such a crucial detail.

"It was written approximately two weeks before she came to my office, looking to 'recruit' you."

Anton saw the change, saw the blue eyes darken, saw the muscles in her jaw ripple. She was greatly mysterious to him at times; as much as he loved her, he saw depths in her that he was afraid of—afraid he could never reach them, or understand them. Only one person seemed capable of that. "How could they?" she whispered.

He carefully continued his discourse. "I don't know exactly what the agency is up to, Melinda. Obviously, they want something from Catherine. They're watching her, hoping that she will lead them to something. What, I have no idea."

"Lead them to something?" She fought her rising panic. Like Janice's dead body? she thought.

"Yes. That's all I can get out of my contacts. Right now their orders are simply to monitor Stoller." He blew on a cup of steaming tea. "Unfortunately, they were simply unaware of her relationship to you—and, now, Janice."

She sat in an overstuffed chair in his study, her longs legs drawn up against her chest, chin on her knees. In such instances she reminded him of the lanky girl she used to be. Despite the girlish pose, her body emanated a strength and grace she was barely aware of. Absentmindedly she bit into the dark wool trousers covering her knee, deep in thought. "Do you think the OSS could use some help in watching Catherine?" she asked softly.

He raised an eyebrow. He admired her determination. "My dear," he replied, placing the cup back on its saucer, "it never hurts to ask."

And that was how she ended up in the halls of the OSS headquarters. pacing, awaiting a meeting with an OSS official. Mel wore her best suit, a somber navy blue wool skirt and jacket with a white blouse, dark stockings, and black heels. Much to her chagrin Janice had always referred to the ensemble as "the librarian outfit." She found it uncanny (and annoying) that both Janice and the archaeologist's former girlfriend, Mary Jane Velasko, had similar reactions to this particular suit.

The rhythmic, ringing echo of her heels against the hard, shiny floor soothed her. When in doubt, pace. Janice always did so when agitated, and perhaps, just perhaps, mimicking the archaeologist's habits would somehow bring her back, and fix everything that went wrong between them. She folded her arms against her chest as she walked, remembering the time just after they had met, when they were in the U.S. Embassy in Athens. Mel had lost her passport, and was nervously awaiting new papers as she paced in a similar cavernous hallway. Melinda the metronome Janice had called her, as her heels had clacked along the marble hallway with stormtrooper precision. It hadn't been that she was really upset about the passport—she knew the officials would find some way to ship home an essentially useless (in their eyes) American woman—but that her feelings for Janice...were moving beyond mere friendship, engendering an intensity that she felt powerless to stop. As she waited that day in the Embassy, she had wondered to herself how it all happened. She had reached no answer then. Three years later, despite all that she had learned about Xena and Gabrielle, she still didn't have one.

***

1942

Well, missy, you wanted some excitement, she thought to herself.

Mel stood in a dusty road devoid of travelers, deep in the agrarian heart of a unknown country, in torn and sweaty clothes, exhausted. To her right, alongside the road, was a motorcycle that refused to operate. And her new friend, Janice Covington, who was rather...attractive in a unique way, was throwing a somewhat butch version of a what was known among Southern ladies as a hissy fit.

The engine of Janice's motorcycle, after a sudden spurt and gasp, died, and they had coasted to a gentle stop along the barren road (thanks to Janice's skill in handling the thing). The fair-haired archaeologist had jumped off the bike and unleashed a barrage of obscenities. Actually, first she threw her fedora on the ground, stomped around it a bit as if she were attempting some bastardized American version of a Mexican hat dance, and angrily kicked at a tire—she missed, and fell down. Then the swearing began in earnest. Mel had not heard such cussing ever since the time she encountered a group of sailors on leave one time during a trip to the French Quarter in New Orleans. (Which had prompted her 12-year-old self to innocently ask her father what a "cocksucker" was. She had been quite pleased at making her verbose father speechless.)

Mel was, on one hand, relieved at the motorcycle's death: She had hated sitting in its sidecar. It was ill-suited for someone of her height, and she had gotten terrible cramps in her calves from being in it for a mere hour, exacerbated by the fact that she'd had Janice's heavy rucksack on her knees as well. But now they were without transportation. And Janice didn't even seem to be remotely close to regaining her senses.

"Janice—" she attempted.

"Motherfucker!" screamed Janice Covington.

Mel blanched. Oh, that's a new one on me. Rather awful sounding. "I know you're upset—" she pressed on.

"Shit!"

"But we have to think about how to get to Athens."

"Goddammit to hell!!"

"I recall there was a farm a couple miles near here. I saw it on the drive down. Perhaps I should walk there and see if I can get us some help."

Mel's calm, reasoning tone finally managed to seep through Janice's fury. The small woman caught her breath, and swallowed. She picked up her hat, and banged the battered, dirty fedora against her knees. "Yes. Melinda. Mel. That would be terrific." She leaned against the defunct motorcycle, panting lightly from the exertion. "I'm sorry about that. I don't usually—well, actually, I do lose my temper on a regular basis—but this was different."

Now that Janice was acting a tad more normal, Mel gingerly approached her. "Why?" she asked gently. "What's bothering you? Other than the fact we're stuck in the middle of nowhere."

Janice chuckled in spite of herself. "I didn't tell you...I guess I didn't know how to tell you...." She took a deep breath. "Jack Kleinman took the scrolls. I don't know if it was by accident or on purpose. But I need to catch that dumb bastard and get them back."

"What?" Mel was surprised at the admission; Jack, while certainly a little on the duplicitous side, did not seem like the type to deliberately do something so blatantly...wrong. But if he did, I think I'll kill him myself. "Oh my, Janice...I'm...sorry. I know it took a lot of work for you to find them."

"I know." Her clear green eyes clouded over in anger. "Son of a bitch. My father spent his whole life looking for those things. And I had them, Mel. I had them." She closed her eyes in an effort not to cry in front of this woman she had just met.

"You did, Janice. And you'll get them back. I'll help you in any way I can."

The words of the Southerner—and the warm hand that touched her forearm—were a tonic. She did not cry. "Thanks," she said wistfully. "Because you know something?"

Mel shook her head.

Those green eyes ensnared her in their gaze. "They belong to you as much as to me."

Mel smiled. And Janice returned the smile. My, what a beautiful smile. And I think we're having a moment! One of those girl-bonding things; yet instead of talking about makeup or clothes, we're talking about...scrolls. Well, you take it however you get it, I suppose. But the Southern scholar's courage gave out and she looked away. "Well! I best get going then!" she declared in her best "go-getter" tone, developed at Miss Evangeline's charm school in Columbia.

"Wait a minute." Janice pulled out a handgun from her leather jacket, and offered it to Mel, handle first. The scholar could not contain her aghast expression. "Go on, take it," Janice, oblivious, encouraged her. "For protection."

"Ah, no, thank you anyway," Mel said politely, as if refusing a plate of pig's feet.

"Come on, now, I'll worry about you if you don't have something." Mel shook her head vigorously, like a wet dog. "Okay, okay, but...be careful, Mel." Tucking the gun back into her waistband, Janice took off the worn jacket and rolled up her sleeves, revealing the subtle musculature of her tanned arms. Mel blinked. Okay. I didn't notice that. I am not noticing that. "I don't think the Krauts have penetrated this deep into the countryside, but you can never know for sure." The archaeologist discarded her hat for a moment and ran a hand through her red-gold hair, just the color of a sunset, Mel thought giddily. She hadn't realized before how lovely Janice's hair was...uh-oh. The archaeologist scrunched up her face in concern as Mel suddenly grew pale. "Is something wrong? You want me to come with you?" she asked.

Yes, come with me, you blonde devil! Let’s drink ouzo and dance barefoot under the sun. I’ll whisper to you how lovely you are.... "N-no, I'm fine. B-but you keep the gun. You need protection too," Mel added. Protection from me, if I keep this up. What is wrong with me?

Janice grinned, and spun the .38 around in her hand, like an outlaw. "Don't worry. Usually I just wave it around, fire off a few shots maybe, and people leave me alone."

"Nazis aren't people, Janice," Mel replied sternly, in her best schoolteacher-spinster mode.

The archaeologist continued to flash her too-dazzling white teeth, as if auditioning for a toothpaste advertisement. "Really?"

"Well, you know what I mean," the Southerner amended stupidly.

As the light hit Janice in all the right places, illuminating the red highlights in her blonde hair, making her green eyes glitter like rare emeralds, and deepening the golden tone of her strong, smooth forearms, Mel felt dizzy. And ditzy. I hate feeling this...unbalanced. So she’s attractive. So what? She turned on her heel and started walking as fast as her long legs would take her. Which was pretty fast.

It was a classic pastoral scene: A young shepherd, tending his flock. Except that the boy, who looked about 16 or 17, was cursing violently in Greek at the immobile animals, who blocked the road. The shepherd, with his curly black hair and huge dark eyes, framed by silky long eyelashes, was very attractive, Mel admitted to herself, and he almost made her forget Janice.

Almost.

Mel came across him about 3 miles away from where she had left Janice. And she was never so glad to see sheep in her life. Her feet ached with blisters, and she had no illusions about how she must have looked to this boy: Torn dirty clothes, limping, and I don't even want to think about my hair. When he first saw her, his mouth formed a wide "O" of surprise. He cried out for protection from God. But then she rapidly began to explain, in Greek, her predicament.

It didn't take much. Her beauty (he saw past the obvious, quite fixable flaws) and her peculiar accent (a mishmash of ancient and modern syntax, superimposed by a Carolinian drawl) charmed him, not to mention the fact that she waved around a wad of cash. He eagerly agreed to drive them to Athens. First he had to borrow his uncle's truck; it would only take a few minutes, he said. "Wait with the sheep," he ordered her, as he ran up a hill and disappeared over its sloping crest.

His departure triggered some distress among members of the flock: There were bleats all around, and one angry ewe kept butting her head against Mel's hip, as if trying to displace her from their simple sheep lives. At one point it succeeded in knocking Mel down. Perhaps it was all some sheep-plot to kill her? She imagined the gossip this would engender among the D.A.R. back home: Did you hear about Melinda Pappas? Stampeded to death by a bunch of sheep in some silly foreign country like Hungary or something! I swear, that girl never did a normal thing in her life, it just makes perfect sense she would meet her maker in such a way.

Almost an hour passed. The sheep began to ignore her. She sat down carefully in the grass nearby, resting her tired feet. When she heard the roar of an engine, she jumped up, started to jog toward the road (insofar as one can jog in heels), and promptly slid into a pile of dung. Luckily the damage was minimal and her stockings took the brunt of it. When the boy pulled up to her in a dark green pickup truck, she was pulling off the smelly stockings as discretely as she could manage. His eyes became riveted on her shapely, bare legs.

She sighed at his interest. "It's like you've never seen a woman's legs before," she muttered in English, then realized he probably hadn't, except maybe a sister or his mother. She tossed the ruined stockings to the side of the road—something for you to remember me by—she thought, glaring at the sheep. He offered her a hand as she climbed in the truck, and they drove off to pick up Janice.

When they arrived on the scene, Janice was sitting on top of the sidecar, smoking a cigar. As they slowed to a halt she leapt off the sidecar, and ran toward the truck. She jumped on the running board and leaned in the open window as the vehicle slowed to a halt. "Mel, you're great!"

"Just lucky," Mel replied, while the boy stared at Janice in amazement. A pretty woman dressed as a man? Americans were just too strange.

"I could just kiss you!" Janice was grinning, revealing those perfect white teeth again. But before Mel could even dream of responding to that, Janice was off the truck, and running back to the motorcycle to get her hat and her bag.

"What did she say?" the boy asked, craning his head to watch Janice gallop down the road.

"Nothing important," Mel replied dreamily, her eyes upon the same prize.

"Ha!" he laughed. "She said 'kiss'. She wants to kiss me, right?" He grinned.

"Why, you're absolutely right. In fact, I should go sit with her and restrain her from making any more advances to you. You know how American women are."

"Yeah, I know! From the movies! So ask her if she wants to sit up front with me!"

Mel shook her head sadly.

"But I like you too!" Again, his eyes drifted down to her legs.

"I think we'll both sit in the back," she replied primly, exiting the truck. With some awkwardness—in order to avoid tearing her skirt even more—she climbed into the bed of the truck. The archaeologist had made herself at home, using the rucksack as a pillow. "What, you're not gonna ride up front?" Janice asked from her lounging position, as she struck a match and lit one of her foul cigars.

"No. I'm getting rather tired of that boy staring at my legs."

Janice laughed. "Don't blame you." The truck started again, and they were on their way, under the canopy of Greek twilight. "Hey," Janice mumbled, wrinkling her nose, "I smell—"

"Don't even say it, Janice Covington. It smells no worse than your cigar."

It was during that trip on the truck that Mel realized that her passport was missing. She immediately knew where it was: trapped in a tomb with the God of War. She dimly recalled the sensation of the slender document slipping out of what she thought was a secure pocket inside her suit. But this happened during the possession of her body by Xena, who was too busy turning somersaults and trying to skewer Ares with a sword in order for her to do anything about it. Sure, Xena defeated the God of War, but she also ruined my outfit, broke my glasses, and lost my passport.

She put off telling Janice of this development. The archaeologist had gotten crabby on the remainder of the drive, as she had time to focus once again on the missing scrolls, and the shock of being a descendent of Gabrielle, "the stupid sidekick." Also, she was starving, but she was "sick of Greek food and dying for a good roast beef sandwich"....

Mel endured these tirades, then timidly asked Janice if she had a place to stay in Athens.

"Uh, no. I had been sleeping on site, you know. Camping. I'm sure I'll find something, though."

"Well, er, um..."

"What, Mel?" Always cuts to the chase. How Yankee-like of her.

"You're, ah, quite welcome to share my hotel room for the evening." Common sense sent out a rather hysterical alarm. Are you absolutely mad? Are you trying to torture yourself by having this woman in close proximity to you? Take it back! I don't care if your stupid Southern manners won't allow you to retract an invitation, take it back!

By this time it was dark out, and she could barely make out Janice's features in the dim starlight. But she thought she caught a gleam of white teeth. "That's really nice of you," Janice replied softly.

"It's my pleasure," she replied. Of course it is, you masochist.

"No, really, I mean, you're so...nice to me! I've been nothing but a pain in the ass all day. Complaining, yelling at you, nearly getting you killed. Then you arrange our ride here, now you're offering me a place for the night.... What did I do to deserve this?"

"Nonsense. You deserve to be treated nicely, just like anyone else. You've had a rather rough day, too, I might add."

"I won't argue with that."

"Then don't," Mel said with surprising firmness. More to quash the objections inside herself than Janice's.

There was no response. Just a soft laugh in the dark.

The hotel was mediocre, but it had been the best Mel could manage on short notice, after she had made the impulsive decision to come to Macedonia. At least, she thought, it was clean, and that was all that really mattered to her.

The little archaeologist flopped right down in the bed with her boots still on. "Ah!" Janice cried with relief. "I could sleep for days." She looked up to see Mel scowling at her feet. "Oh—shoes. Right." She sat up and set to the task of unlacing the boots. After pulling them off and discarding them, she noticed that the tall Southerner was still frowning. "Hey, everything okay? I'm not gonna sleep in the bed, y'know. I just wanted to relax for a few minutes. I can take the floor, if you don't mind sparing a blanket—"

"No!" Mel exclaimed impetuously. "You can sleep in the bed." Did I just say that?

"With...you?" Janice asked innocently, green eyes wide.

"With...me," Mel affirmed, painfully colliding with a table, its sharp edge sinking into her smooth thigh.

"That's, uh, fine by me..." Janice rubbed the back of her neck.

"I'm, ah, g-glad to feel—uh, I m-mean, hear that..."

"You know, you stammer sometimes." Janice lit a cigar and scrutinized her friend.

No kidding, Sherlock Holmes. "Uh, yes, I do sometimes. When I get nervous or upset—"

"Well, what the hell is wrong?" she grunted around the cigar.

"I, oh..." Mel moaned. I'm having dirty thoughts about you! In spite of that disgusting cigar! "I lost my passport."

Janice sat up, concern evident on her lovely face. "Really? Where? Do you know?"

"Yes, I do. It's back on the site. In the tomb," she mumbled grimly.

"Shit, Mel. I'm sorry." Then Janice started to laugh, causing Mel to scowl even more fiercely than she did at shoes on the bed.

"What's so darned funny, Janice?"

"Looks like no one will be using it, except maybe Ares." Her laughter sounded like cascading water. "If he gets out of the tomb, that is. Then he could use it. He could shave his beard, dress in drag, and pass himself off as you—"

Mel felt herself smiling in spite of it all. "I don't think I'm particularly vain, but I'd like to think I'm somewhat better looking as a woman than Ares would be."

"Oh, without a doubt," Janice replied quickly. "But you know how dim those passport officials are."

Mel started to laugh, but it sputtered to a halt once she saw that Janice was beginning to take off her clothes. She peeled off the dirty khaki shirt, revealing a white, sleeveless man's undershirt. The ribbed white fabric gleamed against her tan and outlined her sleek torso; obviously, Janice spent a lot of time in the sun—in a skimpy little undershirt. She could just imagine the reaction this must cause among her on-site workers—this beautiful woman running around in a flimsy, sleeveless shirt. She certainly knew what reaction it was causing in herself—her throat constricted and dry, her whole body a flushed, fiery patch of nerves. Then Janice undid her belt, and her pants dropped to the floor. Her short, muscular legs were tanned as well, at least as far as Mel could see, up to the edge of the baby blue boxer shorts.

"So, tell me...." Janice was saying, snapping her out of her lustful reverie. "What do Southern belles wear to bed? Frilly pink nighties?"

What do...? Mel's mouth hung open in surprise. In her haste to leave home, she had neglected to pack anything to wear for bed. Not that she always wore something to sleep in; sometimes, when it was very hot, she did not wear anything at all (which caused the housekeeper a great deal of confusion when she did the laundry). And usually when it was cold she wore old pajamas that had been her father's. But it wasn't cold here.

No, she gulped, letting herself look at Janice Covington's body once again, it was definitely not cold here. She wished she could erect the Walls of Jericho, just like Claudette Colbert did in It Happened One Night. But that might make her pint-sized Clark Gable unduly suspicious. (After all, why put up the wall if there's no threat?) She realized that Janice was staring at her, awaiting an answer to her facetious question.

"Well," Mel mumbled haughtily, "you'll just have to wait and see." With that, she headed into the bathroom. And collapsed against the door. All right. A slip. I'll just have to wear my slip. She washed up, trying to drag out the process as much as possible, combed her hair, undressed slowly, and threw on a slip from the valise that sat in the corner of the bathroom. Luckily, the delay produced the anticipated result: Janice was sound asleep by the time she crawled into bed. Lord, get me through this night, she prayed as she turned out the light, her body hovering near the edge of the bed.

Gabrielle...

Mel awoke, as if the sudden flitting of the bard's name across her subconscious were an alarm clock. Her sleepy eyes adjusted to a mass of red-gold hair near her face. Very close to her face; in fact, she was practically nuzzling Janice's hair. Her head lifted from the pillow in alarm. Oh my God.

Janice was spooned against her tightly, the archaeologist's firm buttocks pressed into her hips, shoulders against breasts, Mel's arm around her midriff, Janice's hand clutching it, as if she didn't want Mel to move. What on earth...? I'm such a pervert, I can't even trust myself when I sleep!

With the accumulated stealth of a lifetime spent in libraries, she managed to disengage herself from Janice. She did not awaken, and Mel breathed a sigh of relief as she scooted, once again, to the furthest corner of the bed. Then the smaller woman emitted a peeping sound, almost like a mewl, and rolled over, right back into Mel's arms. A tanned arm was flung around her waist, and the exquisite torture didn't stop there: Janice pressed her face against Mel's chest, and within seconds was snoring into her cleavage.

Perhaps this is a sign from God? Mel thought hopefully. No, I couldn't be so lucky. Again, she began the careful practice of extracting herself from Janice. The triumph she felt as she slid away successfully diminished rapidly once she fell out of the bed and onto the floor with a heavy thud and an "oof!"

The noise woke Janice. Who sleepily peered over the bed at her friend, sprawled on the floor in her slip. "Mel? Whaddya doin' down there? You woke me up," she grumped with gentle irritation.

"Uh, nothing, Janice."

"I was taking up too much space, wasn't I? Come back up. I promise I won't push you out again." Janice rolled over to the other side of the bed.

"It's okay, Janice. I'm getting up anyway. I've got to get to the consulate."

"Oh yeah, your passport. Maybe I'll come with you..." And then Janice was asleep again.

Melinda Pappas lay on the scratchy gray rug of the floor, staring up into ceiling cracks, and cursing—in a non-profane, genteel Southern way, of course—whatever fate that was torturing her.

***

London, 1945

And so they went to their separate lives, with some inexplicable, ineffable thread now connecting them. Janice did find Jack ("I didn't hurt him, just smacked him around a little," she had reassured Mel through a crackling, long-distance phone connection) and the scrolls, but—given the war and its consequential dangers to one perpetually in motion as Janice was—she opted to leave the majority of the scrolls with him, believing it to be the safest location for the time being: Who would expect precious, priceless artifacts to be in...New Jersey? But, in time, many of the documents found themselves on their way down South, into the hands of a certain lovestruck translator.

Mel was still smiling wistfully, recalling that first night when she literally slept with Janice, when a heavy wooden door opened and a grim British officer with a crewcut motioned her inside his office. As put off as she was at his severe, soldierly look, she was ever optimistic and believed his gruffness, like Anton's, was all for show.

She was rather wrong.

Major Pendleton (for that was his name) seemed to think she was nothing more than some little American idiot looking for adventure. (Perhaps true three years ago, she thought, but not now.) He was, however, both impressed and perturbed that she knew classified information. She took the blame for that, and said she went through Anton's papers while he was sick. It seemed to assuage him a bit. "I assure you," he reiterated smugly, "we have the situation quite in hand."

If, by the situation, he meant Catherine, she doubted it: "If that is true, why haven't you captured her? What do you want from her?"

He sighed. "You know I can't tell you that."

"I know." It just doesn't hurt to ask. Like Anton said. She frowned. And idea occurred to her, yet she wasn't sure if she could pull it off. "I could help you," she said, hesitantly.

He snorted. "Miss Pappas, how on earth could you help us? Do enlighten me. The fact that you know her and went to university with her is of little use to me."

"It wasn't just that I knew her as a friend. You could say I knew her very...intimately." She let her voice dip into huskiness. She knew how aroused Janice became when she spoke like this, and while it was not her intention to excite this man, she wanted to convey a very certain message to the major about herself, and Catherine. She crossed her long legs for emphasis, and was suddenly glad she opted to wear a skirt instead of pants, when she noticed how his eyes traveled up and down her legs.

He then blinked in confusion as he digested her words, and groped for a meaning that he knew was hidden. "So you were...very good friends?"

"It went beyond friendship." She forced her voice to retain a vaguely sexy tone.

"Beyond...?" he trailed off. She was beginning to think she would have to resort to some crude phrasing a la Covington (I fucked her, Major) when she noticed his eyes narrow and his jaw slacken. "Good Lord. I never would have pegged you for that type."

"That's why she came to me recently, Major." Again, the confused look. She sighed. "She wants to renew our...involvement."

"I see." Actually, he didn't. Weren't women like this usually in prisons, or wearing men's clothing, or something like that?

She moistened her dry lips. "I'm offering myself as bait, Major." Do I need to be any plainer?

His admiration of her legs stopped, and he scrutinized her closely. "Why?"

"I have a friend at Neuschwanstein. Stoller knows this. I think my friend's life is in danger; that Catherine will hurt her in some way, as retaliation against me."

"Because you rejected her?"

"More or less."

"And you have another...'friend'?" He sneered a little, caught between fascination and disgust. "Another woman?" he asked, almost incredulous.

Mel nodded.

"British?"

"American. A WAC."

"You certainly get around, don't you?"

I'll endure your insults all day if I have to. "If that's what you want to think."

He leaned back in his leather chair and idly drummed his fingers. "I never thought this operation would turn into some love triangle amongst inverts." He contemplated the matter further, then stood up and walked around the desk until he was right beside her. "All right. I would like to have your help. But you must remember: This is not about you, nor your...women. We have a mission to do. Play your part, and everything will be fine." His hand strayed and he touched her hair. She did not flinch, but he saw her nostrils flare. He took the warning and withdrew. "You're quite lovely. It's a shame, really."

Yes. It's a shame the world finds me a freak just because I love. Just because I'm flesh and blood. Like you.

She stared at the bottle of bourbon upon the table. The rich amber liquid was pretty to look at. She had never drank bourbon in her life; indeed, in past few years she had drank very little. She recalled having a rum and coke with Jack Kleinman at her hotel in New York almost two years ago, and a glass of champagne at a New Year's party a year before that...She had grown leery of alcohol, since her excessive drinking at Cambridge, even though she attributed the ill effect it had on her more to the problems between her and Catherine, and the latter's self-destructive influence, than to anything else.

And Janice? Janice drank a lot; it was hard not to when much of her social life in the military was spent in pubs and the like. But she knew how to pace herself, and she knew when to stop. Mel had only seen her companion really drunk on one occasion, and that was the evening before she left for Germany.

And tomorrow I go to Germany. I hope I find you there. Alive. She wanted to fly out today, but the briefing with the OSS took longer than she anticipated, and they insisted that she wait until morning, until they organized a transport for her. So tonight I'll drink to you, my love. Perhaps this will help me sleep. And not dream that you're dead. Or lost to me somehow. She took a crystal tumbler from the liquor cabinet and poured a sliver of bourbon in it. She drew a deep breath, as if preparing to run a mile, then grabbed the glass and downed the shot. The bourbon burned a path down her esophagus, and the aftertaste, to her palate, held a tinge of vomit. She groaned in hoarse disgust. How does Janice drink this stuff? I should just stick to champagne. Or Earl Grey, better yet.

There was a knock at the door. Her heart lurched. Could it be... She jumped up, almost knocking over the glass before snaring it with her long hand. ...she's come back... She walked to the door, unconsciously smoothing back her already sleek hair. ...to me? She opened it. It was indeed a woman in uniform, but not Janice. This WAC was slender and dark-haired: A friend of Janice's. Mel had met her once. But she could not recall the woman's name.

"Hiya, Mel!" the woman greeted her.

It was also disconcerting to be called Mel by someone other than Janice. She wasn't sure if she liked that. "Hi," Mel responded meekly. "I'm sorry, but I don't recall your name..."

The woman extended a hand, laughing. Mel took it and was jerked forward by the powerful handshake. "You don't remember? I'm Sally Phillips. How are ya?"

"Ah, yes, you're Janice's friend. I'm fine, thank you—"

"No, you're not. You look like hell, if you don't mind my sayin'." Automatically Mel inspected her immaculate clothes and felt around her bun for stray hair. Did she have something in her teeth? "It's your eyes," Sally supplied. "Bags. Of course, if we all looked as bad as you on your worst day, the world would be a damn sight more attractive, if ya don't mind my sayin' so."

Mel blushed.

"Not that I'm a dyke or anything, but if anyone could make me swing, it'd be you." Sally's eyes bulged in embarrassment and she clapped her hand over her mouth. Then slowly removed it. "Jesus, I haven't even had anything to drink and I'm already acting like an asshole. Better not tell Janice I said that or she'll punch me out."

"She's really not that much of a brute," Mel countered, feeling the need to defend (or defuse) Janice's reputation as a hothead. "So, er, Sally, how can I help you?"

The WAC held up a satchel. "Well, ya see, when Janice got transferred she left behind some stuff. Nothing big. Just some papers, mostly. Before she took off she asked me if I would take 'em over to you."

Mel wanted to weep. If I ever see her again! But instead she said: "Thank you. I'll keep it for her." Sally handed the bag to her. She noticed the WAC eyeing the bottle of bourbon on the table. Oh, confound it all, manners. "Would you like a drink before you go?"

"Love one!" Sally chortled enthusiastically. They walked over to the table and Mel produced a clean glass for her guest.

"Would you do the honors?" Mel asked, nodding at the bottle. The sergeant grinned, and poured generous amounts in both tumblers. "I never figured you for the drinking type, if ya don't mind my saying so."

"I'm not. Just thought I would...you know..." The scholar trailed off lamely. Drink myself into unhappy oblivion before I traipse off after someone who may not be in love with me anymore? And maybe get myself killed? And get her killed as well?

Sally blinked at her. "No, I don't know."

"Never mind," Mel sighed, raising her glass. "Cheers."

A loud clink Then Sally drained the tumbler in two seconds flat. "Damn! That hits the spot." She looked at Mel, who sipped at the bourbon as if it were hemlock-laced tea.

"I guess I was right. You aren't the drinking type. Well, looky, I gotta get back to base. You tell that girl of yours to keep in touch with us, okay? "

"I will," Mel mumbled. With a hearty backslap that left Mel feeling as if she would cough up a lung, the sergeant departed.

She closed the door and stared at the satchel—it was actually a medic's bag—containing Janice's personal items, things that she had carried with her through the war. Mel opened it, all the while feeling a sense of violation—should I be looking at this stuff? Even though she asked Sally to give it to me.... Maybe she found something about the scrolls? Despite everything else, we still have that interest. That bond. Her curiosity won out and she opened the flap. Admit it, you fraud, you wanted to look, she chastised herself.

The first items she pulled out of recesses of the bag were a crushed, half-empty pack of Gauloises and, to Mel's horror and disgust, an old crust of moldy bread, wrapped in wax paper. Both items were promptly flushed down the toilet. After scrubbing her hands vigorously, she returned to the bag. There she found a bunch of loose papers in a book—a French dictionary—wrapped together with twine. And a hair clasp. Mel's hair clasp, one of her favorites: old pearl, faded to whorls of smoky gray and creamy white. She had been wearing it the night they first made love, back in Charlotte. She had never been able to find it afterwards. And this was why. She smiled. Of course. She took it. That thief. That beautiful little thief. The sensation of holding it in her hand brought the moment back to her: They were in her kitchen, with Janice kissing her, mouth warm and sweet and insistent, the tanned hands in her hair, the clasp loosening and that little anal retentive part of her waiting to hear the clasp clatter on the floor, but it didn't, and she didn't know where it went, time felt suspended somehow as she waited to hear the sound, and then her hair was unfurled and Janice was running her hands through it, fingers delicately brushed against her scalp, the tingles along her body which mellowed into a deep throbbing somewhere on their journey down her spine. And then it didn't matter. Nothing else mattered, except what was happening to her: Falling. Falling in love.

It's a wonder we made it to the bedroom that night, she thought. She remembered suggesting it to Janice that they take it upstairs, and to her surprise the little archaeologist had agreed. Naturally, Mel had expected that, as a lover, Janice would be as stubborn as she normally was, as both a friend and professional colleague. It had been pleasing to discover...otherwise. She smiled, and gently pulled on the thread that held together papers—old duty rosters, maps, and, tucked inside the dictionary, a piece of paper, folded in thirds like a letter. It was a letter, she discovered, reading her own name at the top:

September 25, 1944

Dear Melinda,

I don't know why I never call you that. It's a beautiful name.

So we shall see with this letter if I am indeed descended from a bard—if words fall from my cheap pen the way they flowed from Gabrielle's quill. I'll confess here—something I never had the guts (or time) to tell you—that Gabrielle is the real thing. Her words are a thing of beauty. It took your translations to make me see that—my own renderings were flat and sank like a stone. It took you to make me see a lot of things. Maybe someday I'll tell you.

I write this from a hospital unit. I was wounded—a Nazi soldier shot me in the leg. I was lucky and found by GIs before I bled to death on a road near Reims. Believe it or not, this was not the worst part: I saw one of my oldest friends die before my eyes on that day as well. I must have mentioned Dan Blaylock to you, somewhere along the way. I'm sure I did. I hadn't seen him since the war started, until I got to London and found out he was stationed there. Well, he's dead now. I watched him die, and I could do nothing about it.

I think I'm rambling a little. I'm not telling you this so you're sorry for me. I don't know why I'm telling you this, or why I'm even trying to write to you. I can imagine that you probably never want to hear from me again, and I can't say that I blame you. But if you've read this far, maybe you do care, maybe you still feel something for me.

I am sorry I ran away from you the way I did. There was a part of me that wanted so badly to stay in that bed, that room, that house, with you, forever. I was frightened by the power of what I felt. You see, I was already terribly in love with you (that sounds really British—I guess I've spent too much time in London). I should have told you then, instead of running from you like a thief in the night. (And I was a thief too, since I took that thingy that you wore in your hair. It was pretty, and it smelled like you. You know how archaeologists are. We're always after the artifacts. And sometimes we lose sight of the real objective.)

I've been lying around here for almost two goddamn weeks (now that sounds more like me, doesn't it?), and I've had a lot of time to think. I've been transferred to a medic unit in Brittany, because they're planning on shipping me back to London. It's pretty here—well, I think it's pretty, anyway; most of the guys here think it's gray and ugly. The landscape is bare, and the coast is rocky. It has a sparse kind of beauty. This place is run by nuns. Can you believe it? I'm in a fucking convent. Some major breezed through here yesterday and said something about my getting a commendation. For what? I wanted to ask. For watching someone die? It's not the bullets in the leg that bother me, but this whole place. This whole situation. This whole war—I am sick with it.

And what makes it worse is that day by day I miss you more and more. I thought if I broke it off with you and joined the army, I would forget you. I was hoping something would kill me — maybe not a literal death, but that something would kill the part of me that loved you, the part that I thought was weak because I needed you so much. It turns out, now, that this is the best part of me — you're the best part of me. Because this whole thing has been a sham: I can't forget you. If I said that I never want to see you again, if I said that I don't want you, if I said that if I would not surrender my soul to you in second — I'd be lying. Every time.

I love you like crazy. The world, the scrolls, even our ancestors be damned. Sacrilege, isn't it? But my love for you breaks every rule.

J.

After reading it, Mel laid back on the bed for a long time. She felt strangely elated, and curious: A letter never sent. Why? But...she's sending it to me...now. That's why she sent Sally over here with this bag. She wanted me to see it. Didn't she? Again, the old hesitancy. The old doubts. But she closed her eyes, and the questions stilled as she brushed the paper against her lips.

***

I have chased you through the centuries.

Sometimes you eluded me. Sometimes not. Who slit your throat in a brothel, as you lay, sated by sex and lulled by opium? Distracted, were you? Because the whore you chose had golden hair and green eyes, and the moment you laid eyes on her you felt like you knew her forever? That was Constantinople, in the last century. (Strange, how did such an Aryan-looking sex toy end up at the gateway to the Muslim world? She must've been very popular, don't you think?) She, your precious one, could not save you—in fact, she watched you die, and that was most pleasing to me. And you could not save yourself. Even better. But then, who snapped my neck in a Venetian cul-de-sac three hundred years before? You, of course. We've been doing this routine forever, we're doomed to it. I scratch your back, you stab mine...remember?

Something had to give. I hated you for so long that I think I fell in love with you somewhere along the line. We came full circle. Make no mistake, in whatever incarnation, you've always been beautiful. I even thought that when you laid waste to my home—at the beginning of our history. I thought, who is that magnificent stranger, with blue eyes and black hair, with her fancy armor? I remember how your hair flitted across your face—like black smoke, then revealing the clear blue day of your eyes—as you surveyed my ruined village, my dead life. Nonetheless, I wanted to be like you. You looked so strong, I thought nothing could ever hurt you. It was a child's idle wish. But lo and behold, I did become like you, like the ruthless bitch you were at the height of your infamy.

This has long been my secret, something I could not even tell myself: I hated you, but I loved you too. This time...I wanted to love you entirely, completely. I wanted it to be different—in the hopes that it would bring an end to this history of ours. And you did fall in love with me this time, to my astonishment. Would it all end, the hate? The anger? After a while I wasn't sure that I really cared. It felt too good. It was different this time, wasn't it? It felt different for a while.

But nothing really changed. I would wake up in the morning with you in my bed, like a beautiful prize, a gift from the gods, and there were moments when I just wanted to slit your throat and be done with it again. Again. I wanted to kill you with a kiss. I wanted to be your Judas. And when I left you I thought I had ruined you, even for her: The bard. The whore. The archaeologist. Whoever she is this time.

I was stupid. I still am, because I want you back. The compulsion to continue the game usually outweighs my weariness of it all.

Usually.

Do you remember the sacrifice she made for you? It was all so, very, very long ago. But you remember, don't you? As she fell, I saw the way she looked at you. Her descent seemed fast and slow all at once. Or that's the way I remember it. Perhaps that's only because as human beings we have this thing called memory—which works like a camera, that great modern invention. You can play it any way you like. If you choose to dwell on that expression, it goes slow. If you cannot bear the anguish, it goes fast. And when you write it down, when you transcribe it...well, it seems that when we write down these memories, they become a history, somehow, however informal. I've had a lot of years to think about this, you know. So this is our secret history. This is what you are. This is what I am. And then there is the woman—your woman—who always comes between us. And here we are again. And again. We are all just shadows of those who lived before us.

Catherine opened her eyes. The dreams, that voice, those thoughts...again. I want them to stop. I hope they will—once I have done what I planned. I crave peace. Oblivion. The plane had tilted; they were about to land in Berlin, where they would be taken to Bavaria.

Covington was asleep too, or maybe just pretending to be: Her eyes were closed, but her body was erect, tense. But as the plane began its descent in earnest, the sea-green eyes of the WAC were upon her.

"We're here," Catherine announced.

"So I gathered," grunted Janice with a full-body stretch.

"You'll be going straight to the castle. Without me. I'm needed in Munich."

Janice scratched her cheek and pretended indifference. Hurray! "I don't understand why we didn't fly directly to Munich."

"The runway at Munich suffered much damage during the war. They like to avoid having large planes, bombers like these, landing there, until they have rebuilt it." Catherine braced herself in for the landing. "Sergeant Lowry, from Neuschwanstein, will be escorting you there. He should be here to meet us."

Indeed, as they disembarked from the plane, a jeep was pulling up to them. A young American sergeant jumped out and saluted smartly.

"Good day, Sergeant," drawled Catherine in greeting. "Sergeant Lowry, this is Lieutenant Covington."

"Lieutenant!" he barked, knocking off another salute.

Janice jumped. Oh yeah, I'm guess I'm an officer now, I get saluted and shit. "Hiya, kid!" she said, slapping him on the back. He looked rather hurt; he had expected a steely gaze, a terse greeting, and, gosh darn it, a salute. Instead, this woman had the nerve to treat him like an equal.

Catherine was amused by the young man's disappointment; he could not hide it. "Lowry, would you get my bag out of the cargo hold?" The sergeant nodded, then walked away to the back of the plane. "You'll have to forgive Lowry. He's only been in the military for three months. He's never seen anyone blown to bits before, so the glamour of military life has remained intact." Lowry returned with the bag. "Isn't that right, Lowry?"

The young man, returning with the bag, blinked. "Ma'am?"

"Never mind." Catherine picked up her bag, grinning. "All right, to the train station."

"Er, ma'am..."

Catherine sighed the sigh of the impatient, the put-upon. "What is it, Lowry?"

"Colonel Brinton instructed me to avoid the train station, ma'am. He said Werwolf activity on the rails has increased in the past month, and he doesn't want to risk anyone getting injured."

Janice, who had been leaning against the jeep with arms folded during the exchange, echoed, "Werwolf?"

The blonde OSS turned to her. "The Werwolf are Nazi partisan fighters. Guerrillas who specialize in sabotage. And assassination."

"But the war is over. They're fighting a battle already lost."

Catherine laughed. "Not according to the Werwolf." Just as quickly, her laughter receded and she turned back to Lowry, glaring. "And Brinton thinks we'll be safer on the open road? He's a fool. There's more security on a train. More people, more military personnel."

More things that they can sabotage: engines, tracks, wheels... Janice thought.

"Ma'am," Lowry mumbled in reply. Is that all that kid can say? Janice wondered.

"Well, Lieutenant, what do you think?" Catherine asked mildly.

Janice arched an eyebrow. "This is your show, Stoller. I mean, I hate to see the kid get in trouble..." she nodded toward Lowry. The young sergeant squirmed at being called a "kid."

"Yes, we don't want little Lowry to be court-martialed." She sighed. "very well. We'll drive. It won't be as quick as the train."

Lowry frowned. "Ma'am, if you feel more comfortable on the trains, than I suggest we take them."

"Heavens, Lowry, and they call women fickle!" Catherine grinned flirtatiously at the boy. Janice rolled her eyes. "Shall we take the train, Lieutenant?"

"For Christ's sake, let's do something," Janice complained.

Catherine arched an irritated eyebrow at Janice. "The train it is, then." The jeep headed to the Berlin train station. As they drove through the streets, and a none too surprising amount of checkpoints, Janice witnessed the devastation of Berlin. She was, at this point, no stranger to the manifold damages of war. But this...the rubble, the hollow, hungry faces...the sheer amount of the damage alone took it to a new level.

Stoller, she saw, was unusually quiet for a while. They stopped at a corner for a truck to pass in the opposite direction, and witnessed a small gang of youths chasing a middle-aged man down the street. Verräter! Schwein! The screams drifted back to them and Janice watched the activity, craning her neck and turning around in her seat. She was almost tempted to jump out and intercede in the fray, but, as if Stoller could read her mind, the OSS agent laid a restraining hand on her shoulder. "Leave it, it is not our concern," she commanded crisply. As the pursuant group rounded the corner, Lowry pulled the jeep away. Guiltily, Janice mentally kicked herself for letting herself be forced into passivity.

Catherine observed Janice's baleful look out the window. Interfering little fool. She decided a diversionary tactic was in order. "You've been to Berlin before, Lieutenant Covington."

Janice glared at her suspiciously. "Once, maybe twice."

"Two times, both in 1938, both with your father," Catherine corrected proudly. "Once in July, then three months later, in October. On your second trip you kept company with a certain cabaret singer named Sally Bowles, who, at various times, was thought either to be a Nazi informant or a British intelligence agent." Catherine wanted to laugh at the stunned expression and slackened jaw of Covington. "Despite Miss Bowles's strong preference for those of the opposite sex, it was reported that she did seem...inordinately fond of you."

Jesus Christ, is nothing sacred? wondered Janice. "So you guys have a file on me," she growled.

Catherine chuckled. "We have a file on everybody. Especially you. Surely you knew that your father was suspected of being a Nazi sympathizer, because of his dealings with the Ahnenerbe. And naturally it was assumed you might have similar inclinations."

"He sold a few things to them. That didn't make him a Nazi." Janice paused, recalling the violent rows she'd had with Harry about that; that was why she had tagged along to Berlin in '38, in the hopes of dissuading him from selling some artifacts, most notably a sword that may or may not have belonged to the Warrior Princess. But he was broke—the last of his money was used on her schooling. "Just like your being part German doesn't make you a Nazi...necessarily," she added pointedly.

Catherine raised an eyebrow in surprise. "And did you get hold of a file on me?"

"No. Mel told me, of course." See, I dare to bring up the name of the woman we both love.

"Do you always call her that?"

"Huh?"

"Mel." Catherine repeated emphatically, making a long, horse-face of distaste.

"Yeah. I guess I do."

"Pity. Melinda is a much nicer name, don't you think?"

"It is. But life's too short to waste on extra syllables. So," Janice continued, returning bluntly and inelegantly to the German question, "you are part German?"

"I am," Catherine acknowledged. "I grew up in Berlin. This was my home..." she trailed off. "And it's nothing now. It's ruins." Her voice was as flat and dead as the cityscape they surveyed.

"I'm sorry." Janice meant it.

"You are, aren't you?" The blonde gave her a surprised look. "I don't expect sympathy from you, Covington."

How about a smack in that smug kisser of yours? "We're here, and we have to get along, don't we?"

The OSS agent smirked. They were quiet as jeep rolled along. Janice's fingers drummed against its door. "You'll pardon my asking..."

Catherine laughed. "You want to know what a Berlin-loving German is doing in the OSS. Right?"

Janice nodded.

"My parents were British citizens. When the Nazis came to power, we moved back to London. And when war broke out, I offered my services to OSS. I could speak German, of course, and I knew Berlin like the back of my hand. It would have been stupid of them not to use me."

"Agreed," Janice conceded.

"Yes. It's nice to agree on something, isn't it?"

The Berlin train station was a skeleton of its former elegant self, but nonetheless still functional. Currently it was overrun with military: Soviet, American, and British. Security was tight. Catherine flashed papers at a checkpoint at the station's entrance, and the trio were granted entrance. Janice and Lowry trailed behind Catherine, who strode through the crowd with authority. They reached the edge of the mass, which revealed a long black, battered train sitting on a track, smoke curling from under its wheels.

"Here it is," Catherine said. "I must get us boarding passes. Wait here, or—" she nodded at the almost empty train car, "go sit inside the train. They may let you wait there, since it is cold out. I'll be back in ten minutes." Without waiting for a response, the OSS agent disappeared back into the crowd.

Janice sat on the steps leading up into the train. She lit a cigarette. She did not mind the cold, but soon noticed that Lowry, who was only wearing a thin, summer-issue jacket, was hopping up and down to keep himself warm. She suddenly decided that she liked him: He had a sweet-natured lack of self-consciousness, and seemed more interested in the world, she thought—watching him eagerly scan his surroundings despite his coldness—than in himself. Like Mel, she realized. It's getting pretty sad when even some dopey kid greener than the grass of home remind me of you, Mel. "C'mon, kid," she said, "let's sit inside."

The car was empty, and it made Janice the slightest bit nervous. There was something surreal about an empty train car, she decided. It was quiet, ornate, waiting for possession. Lowry sat down with a happy sigh, warm once again, and she settled in across from him. "Is there no one else on this whole train?" she wondered aloud.

"I dunno, Lieutenant. Do you want me to look around?"

"Maybe," she replied. "Give me a minute." She looked out the window, hoping to see Stoller. While there were many people on the platform, most of them were military, and so it was relatively easy to pick out a tall, black-haired woman, wearing a fur-lined coat, striding purposefully through the station. She sat up. "Mel!" Her hand slammed against the window. Unfortunately, there was no way of opening it. "Damnit!" she snarled.

"Lieutenant...?" Lowry began uneasily.

"I'll be right back!" She bolted from her seat, ran down the aisle, and was gone. From the window he saw her blend into the crowd; it looked like she was following some tall woman.

"Aw geez, Lieutenant!" he cried in dismay, and took off after her. His initial feeling—that Lieutenant Covington was going to be a little bit hard to handle—was turning out to be true.

She ran through the station to catch up with Mel. She even shouted Mel's name a few times, to no avail; the din was too much for even her crass Yankee voice to carry. She bobbed and ducked through the crowd like a boxer, pummeling through them until her prize was in sight. She snagged Mel's arm, and spun her around. "Hey!" she cried joyously, as the blue-eyed beauty stared at her in shock. Mel's hair was down past her shoulders, and she wasn't wearing glasses. Janice assumed that she was having one of those days where she was so preoccupied with something in her head that she forgot to put her glasses on before stepping out into the world (a common occurrence) or she simply misplaced them (ditto).

A huge grin lit up her tall companion's face. They stood smiling at each other for what seemed like forever, until Mel seized her arm and dragged her away from the crowd, into an out-of-order restroom, marked as such in about four different languages. They burst into the dimly lit urinal. The tall woman kicked the door shut with a powerful thrust from a long, limber leg, slammed Janice against a wall, and kissed her savagely.

Janice surrendered into the kiss, putting aside her initial surprise; while Mel could be quite aggressive while making love, she never indulged in anything that bordered on this kind of impropriety in a public space (the lone exception being a frantic kiss-and-grope session in Kew Gardens a few months back), and certainly not with this measure of roughness. Her heart hammered wildly as persistent hands untucked her shirt. Mel pulled back as Janice gasped for air. Then the familiar face broke into a strange, predatory grin—something which made Janice tense with apprehension. Her sense of foreboding was well founded, for the voice which spoke to her possessed not a drawl of the American South, but a British working-class accent: "Hello, love."

"Shit! Meg!" she screamed. The Nobel Prize in Sheer Stupidity? Right here, guys.

"Remember me then, eh?" Meg Edmondson could not wipe the lascivious smile off her face.

"Oh, shit...." Janice buried her face in her hands.

"Here now, you already said that. You're glad to see me, aren't you? You sure did seem glad a minute ago..." The Englishwoman's large, wandering hands stroked Janice's hips.

"What the hell are you doing in Berlin?" Janice spat.

"I'm engaged!" Meg announced proudly. "My fiancé, he's a liaison offer here. I'm visitin' him."

"Fiancé?"

"Yeah. Good bloke. Pots of money, treats me nice...and he's not too bad in the sack," she said wistfully, as if conjuring him out of thin air. But once again she turned her ravenous attentions on Janice. "But he don't kiss as well as you do." Her hands wandered up to Janice's shoulders. "I still remember the first time you kissed me. You almost brought me to my knees. In fact, I reckon I did end on my knees later, didn't I?" She leaned in for another assault on Janice's lips.

"Stop!" Janice shrieked, blocking the woman with her hands, and hating the hysterical edge in her voice. I am not going to do this again. However tempting it may be. "You're engaged!" And such a pertinent detail like this has stopped you...when?

Apparently such minutiae meant little to Meg as well. "So? I ain't married yet, Janice, and I sure ain't dead. And I can prove it to you." She pinned Janice's arms down against her sides and kissed her fully, once again.

A boom filled their ears, shattering glass, rattling buildings, and rumbling through the ground. They stumbled and fell forward, with Janice falling on top of her ardent admirer, who moaned. An explosion outside, Janice's mind registered. She looked down at Meg, who stared back up at her with dazed blue eyes and a rather silly smile. "Are you all right?" she asked the Englishwoman.

"Christ all mighty, they always say that the earth is supposed to move, but this is ridiculous."

The door burst open. "Lieutenant!" It was Lowry, gun drawn. "Are you...injured?" He trailed off lamely at the sight of Janice atop a gorgeous woman.

Janice rolled off of the too-willing Meg. "I'm fine, I'm fine. What the hell happened?"

"A bomb, Lieutenant. On our train," he supplied tersely. She saw the fear and relief in his drawn face.

Our train. She sat there, numb. And how coincidental was that? Plus the fact that Stoller wasn't anywhere near the train. Just what the hell is going on? Or am I being totally paranoid?

"Hey!" Meg said to Janice, breaking her frantic chain of thought. "You're a bloody lieutenant now! Congratulations!"

"Yeah, thanks." The women stood up, Janice dusting herself off, and Meg scowling with dismay at dirt on her very expensive coat. "Come on. We've got to find Stoller," Janice said to Lowry.

The sergeant nodded, and moved through the doorway.

Janice started to follow him, but took a moment to watch Meg fuss with her coat. "You're a lifesaver, you know that?" she said quietly.

"What?" The Englishwoman looked up at her.

"Nothing. I gotta go. See you in the funny papers."

Meg grabbed Janice's hand. "Wait!"

The contact was intoxicating. "Look, I've got to go," Janice repeated nervously. I just have to remind myself...however much you like Mel, you are not her.

"I have a hotel room," the dark-haired woman proclaimed in a low voice. Of course, that accent is so sexy. Jesus, give me a woman with an accent and I'm practically in bed with my legs in the air.

"In case you haven't noticed, a fucking bomb just went off. It's not exactly the time for romance," Janice snapped. But adrenaline was pumping through her, courtesy of the explosion...and she felt like either getting into a fight or getting laid. And while the former was a battle she would certainly lose with this strong, scrappy woman, the latter was one where they would both win...big time.

"All the better. You only live once, my girl." With one long step she was pressed against Janice, a warm, inviting hand on the archaeologist's arm.

"I have orders. I'm going to Bavaria."

Her touch glided along Janice's arm, her voice supremely confident. "You can spare a few hours, can't you?" As if she could smell her impending victory.

Janice knew that she could. It would be all so easy: A nice room. A bottle of wine. A warm bed. A willing woman. A rough pleasure. But somehow it was not enough. Not anymore. "I can't. You know I like you, Meg. You know that. And we could have a hell of a good time together. But I...can't," she repeated.

The Englishwoman, dropping her hand from Janice's arm, seemed more curious than disappointed. "Why?"

"Do you remember...I told you once, that you looked like someone I knew back home?" Meg nodded. "That person...well, I love her more than anything. I've hurt her and screwed her over too many times. I'm not going to do it again." She smiled ruefully. "Even though she may never want to see me ever again."

Meg looked shocked. "Bloody hell, Janice. You've gone all noble on me!"

"It...has nothing to do with being noble...I, uh..." She felt embarrassed, wearing her heart on her sleeve like this. Articulation fled from her mind and her mouth. "Do...do you understand?"

Meg grinned in such a way that it reminded her of Mel. "Oh God, you damned fool. You're in love. And here I thought you were a practical girl, like me." She shook her head, laughing. "All right, all right. I understand. Now get going, and try not to get that pretty head of yours blown off, all right?"

"Yeah." Janice smiled back. "And you...get outta here too. This place is dangerous."

The Englishwoman snorted in disdain. "Whole bloody country is dangerous. Don't worry, love, it would take a lot to kill me."

"Somehow I believe that." She started for the door.

"Janice?"

"Yeah?" The archaeologist paused in the doorway.

"This woman—whoever she is. She's real lucky."

God, a real compliment from Meg! Other than "Hey, you screw pretty well for a girl."

"No," Janice said, smiling. "I'm real lucky." She left the bathroom. Lowry stood right outside, his tense posture somewhere between standing at attention and feeling constipated. His cheeks were reddened with embarrassment.

She sighed. "All right, kid, what did you hear?"

"Nothing that concerns me, Lieutenant."

She stroked her chin thoughtfully, while regarding the smoky train station, which had grown even more chaotic in her brief absence. "That's a good answer, Lowry." She started to walk toward the crowd.

"Thank you, ma'am." Lowry replied with a tiny grin, and fell into step behind her.

A hole had been ripped from the train they had been on. She saw no dead bodies, just dazed patrons, some lying on the ground, some sitting. The cacophony of languages rippled through the air, a Tower of Babel made anew: German, English, even some of the dreaded (to Janice) French. And Russian. Not a lot of blood. Good. But that blast...damn, it was strong. They saw a familiar blonde head approaching them, and she and the sergeant picked up their pace.

A smear of dirt ran across Catherine's forehead, and her wrist was bandaged, although a blot of blood had seeped through the white gauze.

"Christ, Stoller, are you okay?" Janice asked, hands on hips, looking Catherine over.

The OSS agent nodded dismissively. She returned Janice's visual evaluation with one of her own. "I'm fine...just a little, how do you say—knocked up?"

Janice bit the inside of her cheek. "Not quite. Knocked around is the expression."

"Ah, yes. And I see you are both fine. I'm glad you ignored my request to stay near the train — " She turned around to look at the smoky husk of the train. "Otherwise, there is no telling what may have happened to you."

"Do they know where exactly the bomb was?" Janice asked.

"I think it was in the third car."

And we were in the second. "So we might have been dead ducks. 'Cause it was a hell of a blast."

"Yes," Catherine assented, then smiled strangely. "Dead ducks. Americans have such an intriguing way with language." Her eyes met Janice's. Then, just as suddenly, she broke off the inscrutable gaze and looked toward an exit. "Well! I don't know about the both of you, but I have had more than enough excitement for one afternoon. Lowry, get a damned jeep and additional military escort for us. We're driving to Fussen."

The sergeant nodded, saluted, and disappeared. Leaving the two women staring at the wrecked train.

"Who do you think did this?" Janice remarked casually, all the while watching the OSS agent warily.

"The Werwolf, of course. Who else?"

"Why this train? Why here?"

Catherine tucked a strand of loose, curling blond hair around her ear. "You ask that as if you expect me to know."

"It just doesn't make sense to me. Lowry and I seemed to be the only people on that train."

"Are you suggesting that you are a target?" Amusement tickled the OSS agent's voice.

Janice's false laughter rang like a dissonant bell. "Yeah, pretty funny, isn't it? I mean, who would want me dead?"

Catherine's already dark eyes grew even blacker. "Not me," she replied firmly.

Her hands rode on her hips, a skeptical sneer on her face. "Shit, lady, am I really supposed to believe that?"

Catherine's hand flew up to Janice's face so quickly that the archaeologist barely had time to flinch. But instead of the blow that Janice had expected once she saw the fleshy blur, the hand gently cupped her chin. "I would be the first to admit that Melinda would look quite fetching in widow's weeds. But competing with a dead lover is a thousand times harder than a living, flesh and blood rival."

Despite many widely held beliefs to the contrary, Janice Covington was no fool. She could smell the danger in this woman, the violence underneath the cool exterior, waiting to be unleashed, and hence she made no attempt to remove Stoller's hand from her face. But — Janice being Janice — she did not shut up. "All the same, I'm not a great believer in coincidence," she retorted calmly.

Catherine dragged a thumb along the lieutenant's smooth, red lips. Feeling the tremor of disgust, and knowing the thin line between it and desire. I could bring you to your knees, if I wanted to. Everything is so black and white with you, isn't it, Covington? No in-between. No shadows. "Believe what you will. All the same, you are among the living."

[fangirlfiction]

Kisses, Lies, Apologies

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 3.3k 

Warnings: Angst, sadness, injuries, deaths, probably some mild cursing

Prompt: Kiss me five times, lie to me seven, apologize five more. 

Summary: 5 kisses, 7 lies, and 5 apologies. Each more significant than the last. 

A/N: This is my second submission for my baby’s (@barnesrogersvstheworld)  1k challenge! I hope you all enjoy it, and please let me know what you think! I think I’m gonna post once a week, so stay tuned because I have some exciting things coming!

You leaned back on your hands, and looked up at the stars above, smiling as your eyes instantly found the constellation, Orion. You searched the sky for the other constellations you knew, growing frustrated when the lights of the growing city made it difficult. Your eyes were searching for Sirius when you heard the door to the roof swing open behind you, and you knew it was Bucky without even turning around. You called over your shoulder, “Hey, Buck.”

He plopped down next to you and looks at you with curiosity. “How’d ya know it was me? You didn’t even turn around.”

You turn to look at him and roll your eyes. “Please. You come stompin up here loud enough to wake everyone in the apartments. Steve is much quieter.”

Bucky scoffs. “Yeah, alright.”

You turn back towards the sky and search for Sirius again, and Bucky continues, “What’re you doin up here anyways? Startin to get too bright to find constellations.”

You sigh and turn to him again. “Yeah, I know. I just like finding them. There’s something incredible about picking out constellations in a sky full of dying stars.”

“Show me one, then.”

“Alright.” You point overhead to a trio of stars in a line, and you trace the shape of Orion. “That there is Orion the Hunter. There are a few versions of his story, but my favorite is about him and Diana. Diana loved Orion, and was planning to marry him, but her twin brother Apollo was angry about this. One day Orion was swimming in the ocean, but all you could see of him was his head. So, Apollo pointed Orion out to Diana, pretending that he was an object in the ocean, betting her that she couldn’t hit it. Diana took aim and sent an arrow to Orion with perfect aim, killing him. When his body washed up on shore, she was so upset with her fatal mistake, that she placed him among the stars.”

You turn to look at Bucky, expecting him to be looking up at the stars. You’re surprised to see him looking at you, the blue of his eyes dancing intensity. Suddenly shy you whisper, “What?”

Bucky places his hands on either side of your face before leaning in slowly, giving you enough time to pull away. You close your eyes and melt into him, adoring the soft kisses he places on your lips. When he pulls away, you look at him with a smile. “What was that for?”

“It felt like the right time.”

*

You slam the door to your apartment, before leaning against the door and taking in a shaky breath. You hear Bucky calling your name outside, before he softly knocks on the door.

“C’mon, let me in. We need to talk about this.”

You step back and pull open the door, incredulous. “Talk about this? You already made the decision on your own! Without talking to me. Without talking to Steve. So what’s there to talk about, Bucky? You can’t unenlist.”

Bucky gives you a sad look before asking, “Can I come in? Please?”

You step aside and allow him to walk in, and he takes your hand and leads you to your couch. He sits, pulling you down with him, and whispers, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have enlisted without talking to you and Steve first. I just…it was something had to do.”

You start to protest, but he cuts you off. “And you’re right, I can’t change it now. Which means that you and Steve need to take care of each other, keep each other safe.”

“We will.”

*

You walk back to the apartments, hand in hand with Bucky. You glance at him, noting the small frown on his face. You pull him closer and drape his arm over your shoulder, and he looks down at you and smiles. You smile in return. “He’ll be okay, you know. Steve, I mean. The Army won’t let him in, and I’ll watch over him.”

Bucky nods. “I know. I’m just afraid that he’ll never stop trying. The fact that he tried again tonight, on my last night… I’m worried someone will actually let em join.”

You squeeze his hand in reassurance. “They won’t.”

You’re both silent for a few minutes, continuing home, and your heart drops when you see the apartment building looming in the distance. You whisper, “I can’t believe you’re shipping out in a few hours. Leaving us behind. Leaving me behind.”

“Hey, hey, hey.” Bucky stops and turns you towards him. “The war will be over soon, and I’ll be back before you know it.”

You look up at him in earnest. “Promise me you’ll come back, Bucky.”

“I promise.”

*

“Steve, where is he? I don’t see him!”

Steve turns towards the crowd of newly freed men. “Is there anybody else? We’re looking for a Sergeant James Barnes.”

“There’s an isolation ward in the factory, but no ones’ ever come back from it.”

“All right. The tree line is Northwest, 80 yards past the gate. Get out fast and give em hell. We’ll meet you guys in the clearing with anybody else we find.”

Steve motions for you to follow him, and you stay close to him, watching his back. You both fight through the building, killing any Hydra agents that get in your way. Finally, you reach the isolated side of the building, free from any agents of Hydra. When you round the corner of the hall, you see a small man in a lab, and you both stare at each other in alarm before he turns to run off. You start to chase after him when you hear Steve’s voice calling your name, summoning you into a nearby room. You backtrack to the small room, taking note of the dirty walls, sparse décor, and puddles of…blood. You look up at Steve, who is pulling Bucky up from the lab table he was previously chained to.

You rush forward, tears falling down your face. You stand in front of him, and his eyes scan your face, not sure that you’re really there. When he realizes that you are, you both scramble closer, pulling each other into a desperate kiss.

Steve interrupts the reunion as explosions start to echo around you. “C’mon, we have to go!”

*

You look down at your boots, watching as the mud squishes from beneath them. You didn’t know it was possible to be this cold, this wet, and this filthy, but still be happy. But one look at your fingers threaded through Bucky’s proved to you that it was.

Steve yelled from the other side of Bucky, addressing the rest of the soldiers, “Alright, take 15! Stay alert. Don’t wander far.”

You turn to Bucky and smile, as you gesture to a fallen log nearby. He nods, silent.

You reach the log and sit on it, pulling Bucky down beside you. You pull a container of water from your bag, handing it to him after you take a sip. You watch as his eyes never leave the trees, watching for danger even as he takes a break. He’d been like this since the escape two days ago. Eyes always scanning for danger. Quiet. Withdrawn. You weren’t sure what to do.

“Bucky…” He glances at you when you pause, eyebrows raised, urging you to continue. “What happened to you in Azzano?”

You see him tense up before he replies, “Nothing.”

You sigh. “Bucky, you know you can talk to me.”

He gives you one of his signature smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Nothing, I’m okay, I promise.”

*

You stalk off into the woods, breath fogging in front of you in the cold night air. You let the cold European air cool the hot anger in your blood as you moved away from camp and deeper into the woods. The sound of boots crunching in the snow made you whip around in alarm, gun drawn and pointed at the approaching figure. Bucky’s blue eyes danced under the light of the moon, and his hands were raised in surrender.

“Didn’t mean to scare you.”

You roll your eyes and turn back the way you were originally heading, letting the darkness of the woods swallow you. Bucky jogged to catch up, grabbing your arm to pull you to a stop. “Hey, wait, look at me.”

You turn towards him, arms crossed, face set in anger.

“I’m sorry, okay? I just…I don’t understand why you did all of this. Taking the serum. Coming to Azzano. Joining the Commandos. It’s not safe.”

You roll your eyes again. “I did it for you, you idiot. I made a promise to keep Steve safe while you were gone. That’s why I took the serum. I came to Azzano and joined the Commandos to keep you safe. Because I love you.”

It wasn’t the first time you said ‘I love you’, but something about this moment…it meant more.

*

You watched the snow fall around you, soft flakes landing in your hair and on your clothes. Despite the magic of the mountain, your mouth was set in a frown. Fear and worry settled on your shoulders like a weight. Sensing this, Bucky moved closer to you, grabbing both of your hands in his. He pressed a soft kiss to each palm. “It’s gonna be okay.”

“I should be going with you, Bucky.”

Bucky shakes his head and presses a kiss on one of your knuckles. “It’s gotta be a small team this time, and we need Jones for cover.”

He pulls you closer and wraps his arms around you, burying his head in your hair. He whispers, “Besides, I’ll never leave you again.”

Jones yells out, “We were right. Dr. Zola is on the train. Hydra dispatcher gave him permission to open up the throttle. Wherever he’s going, they must need him bad.”

Bucky pulls away, letting his hand trail down your arm until your hand is in his. He gives it a soft squeeze and flashes you a confident smile before moving over to Steve.

*

“Fire now.”

“But Steve-” Agent Hill begins, only to be cut off by Steve. “Do it! Do it now!”

The canons of the helicarriers fire around you, causing debris to rain down inside. You’re pulling Steve to his feet when Bucky cries out in pain from below. You exchange a look with Steve, before you both climb down and move towards Bucky, lifting the steel beam that has him pinned. He wiggles from beneath it, standing and eyeing you both with skepticism. Steve gasps out, “You know me.”

Bucky pulls back and punches Steve, yelling, “No, I don’t!”

Steve ignores him and continues, “Bucky, you’ve known me your whole life.”

Bucky pulls back and punches Steve again, sending him flying to the ground.

Unable to watch any longer, you pull your gun from your belt and aim it at Bucky, keeping space between the two of you. As Steve struggles to stand behind you, you look at Bucky. “Your name is James Buchanan Barnes.”

He lunges at you as he yells, “Shut up!”

He is straddles over you know, looking down at you with a crazed look in his eyes. You can see the fear and confusion laced throughout his steel blue eyes, and your heart aches for him. Steve moves towards you, intent on pulling Bucky away from you, but Bucky turns and shoots him once in the leg, causing Steve to drop.

You look up at Bucky with sincerity, trying to relay all of your memories together through a look. You whisper, “We were together, Bucky. We were in love.”

“No, we weren’t!” He pulls back and punches you, and you use one of your hands to shield your face from his repeated blows. You use the other to pull a knife from your belt and plunge it into his thigh, heart breaking when you hear him cry out in pain.

Steve makes it over to you again, and he pulls Bucky off of you, before turning back to look at you and yell, “Go! Jump!”

“But, I-“

“GO!”

You obey and turn to jump from the destroyed helicarrier, tears spilling down your cheeks as you hit the Potomac below.

*

You gasp as your head breaks to the surface, grateful for the sir in your lungs. You swim towards the shore, dragging yourself up onto the bank, coughing and spitting up water. When you expel all of the water from your lungs, you roll over onto your back and look at the sky, remembering your first kiss with Bucky while looking at the stars.

You hear someone splashing in the shallow water near your feet, and you lift your head enough to see Bucky dragging Steve from the water. He drops his body next to you, waiting long enough to see Steve coughing up water, still alive. Bucky turns to leave, and you yell out, “Bucky!”

He turns and gives you a sad look before replying, “I’m sorry.”

Before you can protest further, he’s gone.

*

You run up the stairs of the French apartment building, taking them two at a time, praying that this is it. Today’s the day. You reach the landing of the 5th floor and you start jogging down the hall, eyes scanning the numbers quickly. 1555. 1556. 1557!

You stop outside the door and listen, and hearing nothing, speak into the comms. “Steve, it’s silent.”

“Okay, wait for us. Do you hear me? Don’t go in there alone!”

You ignore him and twist the doorknob, surprised to find it unlocked. You push the door open slowly, quietly, revealing a small studio apartment. Empty. You holster your gun and move inside, surveying the room for any sign of him. For any sign of Bucky.

You see dishes all over the countertops, blankets tossed on the couch, a chair centered in the middle of the room, back to the wall. Perfect guard post. You wander into the kitchen, and your eye catches a slip of paper on the counter, near a small coffee pot. You grab it, eyes finding a familiar scrawl.

Stop looking for me. I don’t want you to find me. I don’t care about you anymore.

Steve bursts into the room a second later, Sam standing behind him, weapons drawn. “I told you to-”

You hold up the note, and mutter, “He’s gone.”

*

You glance at Sam and Steve as they move closer together to discuss future plans, and you walk over to Bucky, smiling at him as you turn on the hydraulic press to free his arm. He smiles at you in thanks, and you crouch down in front of him, reaching out to grab his hand. He pulls away and you frown, hurt by the action.

“I’m no good for you. I’m dangerous.”

You shake your head and reach for him again, but he slides his chair back from you, the sound echoing in the warehouse. “No, I mean it. Did you not see what I just did back there? All it took was a few words and I lost control.”

“But Bucky-”

He stands, reaches out and squeezes your hand softly, before saying, “It has to be this way.”

*

You watch as Bucky unbuckles his seatbelt and moves to the back of the Quinjet, and you squeeze Steve’s shoulder as you get up, letting him know you’ve got it. You find Bucky in the back of the Quinjet, head resting in his hands, hair obscuring your view of him. You sit next to him, leaning back against the cool metal of the jet. “They know what they signed up for, Bucky.”

Bucky turns to face you, resting his cheeks in his hands. “They knew they were risking their lives and breaking the law for an assassin with no control over his actions? I’m a killer. A weapon. I’m not worth this.”

You reach out and rest your hand on his thigh, using your thumb to trace circles there. “Hey, you are. You can’t control how Hydra used you. You are not what they tried to make you.”

Bucky doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t argue either. He reaches down and places his hand on top of your, lacing your fingers together. He whispers, “I’m sorry. About earlier, being so cold with you.”

“It’s okay. I know you just need time.”

*

“So are we, pal.” Steve descended down the ramp, leaving you and Bucky behind. You start to walk after Steve, moving past Bucky, but he grabs your arm to stop you. When you turn to look at him, you have trouble reading his expression, but he places one hand on your cheek and leaves the other on your arm before leaning in. His eyes search yours, looking for any signs of doubt, and finding none, he closes the space between you, pressing his lips to yours. You feel his doubt, so you grab the front of his uniform, using it to pull you closer together. He deepens the kiss, growing more confident, before pulling away, breathless.

You look at him with a smile and ask, “What was that for?”

“It felt like the right time.”

*

You looked out at the rising sun, admiring its reflection on the river below, breathing in the scent of the wildflowers all around you. The cool morning breeze shifted the grass around you, and with it, the sound of footsteps approaching from behind you. You let him grow closer, waiting in anticipation as he got closer, smiling as his arms wrapped around your waist from behind. He buried his head into the crook of your neck, pressing a kiss there. You hummed in contentment.

“Good morning, white wolf.”

He noted the laughter in your voice at the nickname, and he smiled as he spun you around to face him. “Hey, don’t be jealous just because they didn’t give you a cool nickname.”

You laugh, and his eyes light up at the sound. “I’ll try not to be. No promises, though.”

He pulled you into a kiss, all passion and love. Your breath hitched when his tongue swiped your bottom lip, and he breathed out a laugh. “I could get used to this.”

*

“Where’s the fight?”

“On its way.”

T’Challa nods at you before he departs, leaving you and Bucky to stare at the arm with silent apprehension. You speak up first, “Bucky?”

“Yeah?”

You take a deep breath, trying to keep your tears at bay. “Why does it feel like I’m about to lose you again?”

Bucky turns to you and sees the tears falling down your face, and he grabs you and pulls you into a hug, whispering quiet reassurances into your ear. When your breathing starts to even out, he pulls back and says, “Everything is going to be okay. You’re not going to lose me again.”

You nod, and he squeezes your hand in reassurance before grabbing the case for the arm and leading you back to the hut.

*

“On my signal, open northwest section 17.”

Shuri’s voice is doubtful. “Requesting confirmation, my King. You said open the barrier?”

“On my signal.”

Bucky reaches between you, grabbing your hand. You turn to look at him, fear in your eyes, and he pulls you in for a kiss. It’s desperate. Scared. Full of everything you need to say. He pulls away and smiles, just as T’Challa yells, “Wakanda Forever!”

*

You pull yourself to your feet, watching as Thanos disappears from the woods of Wakanda. You run over to Bucky and help him to his feet, before turning to Steve. Steve is staring at the place Thanos disappeared from, and his head snaps over to Thor. “Where’d he go?”

From behind you, you hear Bucky ask in confusion, “Steve?”

You turn to see part of his arm turning to ask, followed by his legs, and his torso. He turns to look at you, eyes full of fear, looking haunted. The last thing he says you is, “I’m sorry.”

-

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taglist: @buckybarnesappreciationsociety

-

tagging people who might be interested: @sweetboybucky @evanstar @coal000 @goddesspeggycarter

[irelise]

the yew tree 2.2/?

Erik has worked with Sebastian Shaw, mutant revolutionary, ever since Shaw rescued him from human experimentation when he was a boy. He is reluctantly enlisted to assist in Shaw’s newest scheme: seducing the wealthy and enigmatic Lord Xavier and claiming his vast fortune. With Shaw posing as Xavier’s doctor, Erik goes undercover as Xavier’s personal manservant to convince him to fall in love with Shaw.

But Xavier has secrets of his own, and it isn’t long before Erik starts having second thoughts about the whole thing…

(the handmaiden inspired au - no canon knowledge required

part one now on ao3!

and click here for the beginning of part 2!)

Oof, a bit later than usual since last week was super busy, but I’m still really excited to keep writing!

Warnings for this part: Referenced human experimentation, sexual exploitation of children Rating: M Word count: 3123

Someone is crying in the dark.

“…Keep me rather in this cage and feed me sparingly...”

Maybe it’s him?

“…It is only when you make me suffer that I feel safe and secure…”

He’s scared. Uncle is in a black mood.

stupid boy idiot doesn’t even understand what he’s reading

Charles doesn’t know how to make him stop being so angry.

help please help

Why can’t he do anything right?

i need to get out of here

***

He starts dreaming of the things he’s read, dim impressions of hands and mouths, fucking and crying.

He dreams of darkness and iron bars, painful emptiness gnawing at his stomach.

He dreams of the reading room and a flight of stairs leading down, down, down, into darkness broken only by a glint of gold.

***

Monday in the reading room, he looks around for stairs but sees nothing.

Tuesday, his uncle takes the switch to him for inattention, and his cries join the ones in his head, a wailing din echoing around the room. His aunt reads calmly through it all.

On Wednesday his tutor presses a hand to his forehead to check for fever, the corners of his eyes crinkling with worry. Charles flinches away. The cries in the reading room grow louder and nobody cares.

Thursday night. He can’t bear it any longer. Whoever is crying is so alone. So scared.

Charles is scared too, but he can’t do nothing. He should have tried to do something sooner. Guilty and heartsick, he creeps soft-footed through the darkened halls of the mansion – don’t see me don’t see me – slipping into the wing Uncle had claimed and hugging the walls as he makes his way towards the reading room.

It’s strange to be here without Aunt and Uncle. Charles stops at the doorway, biting his lip. The hall is quiet and empty, the reading lectern packed away, all the books carefully shelved. It could just be any other room.

Just any other room, he tells himself. So why are his feet glued to the floor? He’s shaking from head to toe as he forces himself to take a step forward.

Just any other room.

He looks for a staircase that goes down and down, but nothing had changed since Monday; there’s still no staircase. But he’s so sure…

He wishes he could ask someone. He bets Uncle would know. Only, thinking about Uncle – books darkness cage needles gleaming – makes him shiver and wrap his arms around himself, and he chews on his lip and tries not to think about Uncle any more.

Charles has a hunch that he should check the back of the room. No, the floor? Sure, enough, on the floor behind one of the benches is a trapdoor. It’s not even that well-hidden. Charles knows without being told that Uncle is confident no one would get this deep into his inner sanctum without his permission.

His heart is thumping wildly in his chest, panicked, but Charles forces himself to take a deep breath and kneel. The trapdoor opens easily under his small hands. There are stairs, leading down and down until everything is all eaten up by darkness.

He starts walking.

He wants to help whoever is down there.

He doesn’t want them to be hungry and frightened and alone.

(He doesn’t want to be alone.)

A set of heavy steel doors looms in front of him, barred. He’s never been here before in his life but somehow he knows exactly what to do. In a trance, Charles steps forward, undoing the complicated mechanism that keeps the doors tightly shut, that locks the things inside.

He throws opens the doors. There’s a heavy lever on the wall which he pulls down, flooding the room in harsh light. It’s so cold, the room, all bulky angles, most of the space taken up by heavy machinery with coils and coils of thick wire winding treacherously across the ground. He gingerly steps over the wires, heading deeper into the bunker.

Cabinets. Files. An examination table, with heavy straps built-in. He walks past all of those. His head is pounding, wrapped in a miasma of fear and determination.

He’s close.

At the end of the long, long room is a line of cells. And inside one of those cells –

Uncle.

Charles skitters back a step, heart pounding.

“Boy!” Uncle growls. His big hands wrap around the bars of the cell, and he shakes and shakes at them, the metal jangling. “Let me out of here, boy!”

Charles takes another step back, shaking his head.

“I’m warning you, boy!”

Stop, Charles says, but all that comes out is a choked noise. Another step back. He stumbles into a table, hand knocking painfully against a corner.

He finds his voice. “You’re not my uncle.”

Uncle – the thing that looks like Uncle – is staring at him, shocked and then scared.

“You’re not,” Charles insists, stronger this time. Uncle is in bed, dreaming red dreams of heat and need. He knows it as surely as he knows that Aunt is sitting silently by the window, watching the play of shadows over the grounds, her eyes fixed on the looming tree in the distance.

“N-nonsense,” the Uncle-shaped thing says, and Charles frowns severely because Uncle would never stutter like that.

“Who are you?”

“I’m… I’m…”

“Stop it,” a new voice says. Charles jumps as a mousy-looking boy shuffles into view. He had hidden himself behind the bulky frame of the man that isn’t Uncle, and even though Charles is looking at the boy now, it’s like he isn’t fully here. He feels so small, all curled up into himself with fear and self-hatred, wishing he doesn’t exist.

“It’s no use,” the boy says bitterly. He has funny feet that look like one of those apes Charles had seen in his textbooks and at the zoo. “He must be working with Dr. Marko. What do you want?” He scowls at Charles.

“Dr. Marko is my uncle.” Charles says, unsure.

“See? Told you.” The boy nods at his cellmate.

Charles shakes his head. “I’m not working with him.” It feels very important to say that. “I came because…”

‘Uncle’ scowls and crosses his arms. “Because you wanted to look at the freaks?” He sneers. Suddenly his form ripples like a shoal of gleaming cobalt fish, and before Charles stands a tiny blue girl, something right out of a fairytale. “Happy now?”

Charles can only stare.

“Well?” The girl demands. She sounds angry, but Charles knows she’s scared, and sad, and lonely.

“You’re very pretty,” he says, wanting to cheer her up.

“No she’s not,” the other boy says. The fight had left him; now he’s just tired, his toes curling unhappily against the floor. “We’re freaks, that’s why we’re here.”

“My uncle keeps you here?”

“Mm-hmm,” the girl says. “Him and a few other people. It’s ‘cause we’re mutants.”

“Mutants?” Charles tries to remember what he had read in his science books, rattling off a definition: “Mutation is a mistake or a change in the genetic material of a living thing.”

“Yeah,” the boy says. “A mistake.”

The girl looks at him reproachfully. “Stop talking about us like that!”

“What? It’s true.”

Charles’ head hurts. “Please don’t argue. I still don’t understand why you two are down here. Where are your parents?”

They exchange looks, then shrug together.

“They want to run tests on us to figure out why we’re different,” the girl explains.

“Tests?” Charles has a sinking feeling. “You mean, like – experiments?”

“Uh-huh. They like to make me change shapes a lot.”

“And they make me run these agility courses. Lift weights with my feet. Things like that.”

It all sounds so innocent. Charles bites his lip, knowing they’re holding back. Fear colours the air. He can still remember the desperation he had felt, the crying, the despair. “Do these tests hurt?”

Another exchange of looks. Then the girl turns around and for the first time Charles sees the huge plaster bandage covering half her back.

“They took some skin from me,” she says, more quietly than before. “’Cause I’m all blue, see? So they want to know why.”

There’s a lump in Charles’ throat. It feels like he can’t breathe properly. His back itches and burns; he wants to scratch it, scratch until he can bleed out the itch.

“They wanted to take one of my feet, but I talked them out of it.” The boy looks resigned. “I told them they can’t do their agility tests if I only have one foot.”

“Same with my eyes,” the girl says, matter-of-fact. “They wanted to take one. But Hank is amazing, he argued with them for so long and they actually listened to him!”

“You’re Hank? I’m Charles.” Charles nods a polite hello at the boy, because it’s easier to focus on that than on how much he wants to throw up. “What about you? What’s your name?”

“Raven.” The girl’s tiny blue face scrunches up into a frown. “Are you really related to Dr. Marko? You’re too nice.”

“Afraid so.”

Hank looks wary. “Did he send you?”

“I told you already, I’m not working for him.”

Hank squints at him. “I’m not sure I believe you.” Then he yelps as Raven punches him in the arm. “Ow!”

“He could help us!” Raven exclaims, turning her golden eyes onto Charles. “Please, let us out, please?”

It’s not even a question. It doesn’t matter how much his body shivers and how fast his heart beats when he thinks about disobeying Uncle. He knows so much now, from the books. He knows all the way disobedient boys can be punished. He knows exactly how it’ll feel, and he knows how much his uncle will enjoy it.

It doesn’t matter. He’ll help them – he has to.

“Of course I will. I’ll make sure you’re safe. I promise.”

Raven smiles at him, and the brightness of her smile is a reward all on its own. Even Hank looks a bit hopeful.

Charles tries the cell door, but predictably, it’s locked. “Is there a key?”

“I think the doctor keeps it somewhere in this room,” Hank says, motioning vaguely towards the end of the room. “Close to the door? He always has to stop and get something there before he lets us out.”

“Okay.” It feels wrong leaving them behind even if it’s just to make his way back to the opposite side of the bunker, and Charles knows they have doubts too, wondering if he’ll just run away and leave them behind. “I won’t leave,” he calls out. “I’m right here, see?” He walks more forcefully than he usually would, making sure his footsteps ring out loud and clear, and is rewarded with the feeling of their relief drifting to him.

Charles looks around the bunker, frowning. There are just so many places to hide a key. He begins poking around at random, opening drawers and cabinets.

So much paperwork. He hunts around for a bit before picking out a heavy binder that looks especially important titled Protocols, hoping it contains a protocol for opening the cells. Or maybe a protocol for an emergency exit?

Instead, it seems to be instructions for experiments that look really interesting, but then he remembers the experiments are done on other humans and Charles feels sick instead. He closes the binder and stuffs it back into place.

The next binder is slimmer. There’s a table of contents that’s just a short list of names. ‘Raven’ – F06-002 jumps out at him first. He looks for Hank’s name but doesn’t see anything, although there is a McCoy, Henry – M05-001.

There’s not very many names. He sees Toynbee, Mortimer; Rasputin, Piotr; Lehnsherr, Erik….

He jumps when Raven calls out: “Find anything?”

“Not yet!” He can’t get distracted. Charles shelves the folder again and continues looking. If he was Uncle, where would he put it…? Somewhere convenient? Maybe he’s been overthinking it all along? He looks around the walls for a key hook, but that’s a little too easy. Next he tries to figure out where in the room Uncle spends most of his time working – keeping up a constant stream of chatter with Raven and Hank – and finally in one of the drawers he finds a set of keys.

He must have been down here for over an hour already and his eyelids are starting to droop, but Charles pinches himself firmly. Uncle could wake up at any moment. He’s not a deep sleeper. Raven and Hank watch him nervously as he tries key after key, until at last the lock clicks open and the two of them tumble out, Raven darting towards him for an exuberant hug before jumping back just as quickly, hopping nervously from foot to foot.

“Now what?” She asks.

“I was thinking we could go to my room first.” Could they stay there? Forever? Charles knows as soon as the thought crosses his mind that it’s impossible. His uncle is going to be so angry once he wakes up and finds Raven and Hank gone. He’ll upend the whole house looking for them. They won’t ever be safe here.

But he can’t just send them away… Can he?

Hank frowns. “Shouldn’t we just run while we can?”

“No, I’ll get you some new clothes first.” Charles says firmly, trying to project a confidence he doesn’t really feel. Raven and Hank need someone to lean on right now. “And then we’ll go get food. And bags, lots of bags, so you can take whatever you need.”

Raven is nodding vigorously, but her eyes are wide. “That’s so much! Charles, are you sure?”

“I just wish I could do more,” Charles answers honestly. He feels awful again, guilt and fear squirming in his belly. Why didn’t he do something earlier? Maybe then he could have gotten them out before Raven was hurt so bad.

How could he not know his own uncle is doing something like this, right under the room where he reads those stories?

“Come on.” Charles grabs their hands. “Ready?”

The journey back to his room is awful. They creep forward like mice, hugging the walls and peeking around corners before they move on. Every little creak sends Charles jumping. Poor Hank is even worse off, all hunched up miserably into himself. Raven is the only one who seems calm; she had changed shapes again into Uncle, and every time her broad shadow falls over Charles, he has to stop himself from shivering. Don’t wake up don’t wake up, he chants in his head, don’t see us we’re not here there’s nothing to see…

They collapse into a pile once they reach his room and Charles locks the door behind them. Charles doesn’t know who’s the first to start giggling – himself, maybe? – but soon all three of them are tumbling against each other, giddy with relief.

But it’s not over yet. Charles is the one to sober up first, an uneasy feeling crawling up his spine. “Help yourself to anything you need,” he says, throwing open closets and trunks and cabinets.

“Won’t you get into trouble?” Hank looks worried, but he’s peering at a set of shoes anyway.

“I can handle it.” He tries to be strong and steady, to not let his voice shake.

Raven is busy trying on different shapes, and she had wrapped herself in one of Charles’ thickest coats. Right now she’s a young boy that looks like a blend of Charles and Hank. “What if he finds out?” She frets. “What if he puts you down there instead?”

Charles swallows. “I won’t let him. If he puts me down there, I’ll–”

I’ll never read for him again. But what if they ask him what he means?

“I’m more worried about you,” Charles says instead. “Where are you guys going to go?”

“Anywhere!” Raven says firmly. “Anywhere else is better than here.”

“Raven’s right. We can figure out a plan as we go.” Hank squints at his feet, trying unsuccessfully to stuff them into a pair of shoes much too small.

“Isn’t there someone you can talk to? The police?”

They both shake their heads immediately. “Don’t trust ‘em,” Raven says decisively. “They won’t help us.”

“Do you know where the nearest town is?” Hank asks.

Charles nods. Between the three of them, they find shoes for Hank and pack bags and bags of food, as much as the two of them can carry. Charles tries to find some money for them too, but he doesn’t know where Uncle keeps it, and all three of them are getting jumpy and nervous, so Charles takes a deep breath and leads them out into the grounds.

It’s cold. It’s dark. They all huddle into their coats, eyes glued to the ground as they troop together to the gigantic tree right at the edge of the property. They come to a stop under its shadow and Charles bites his lip, looking at the road that leads far, far away.

“You’re really going?”

“We can’t stay,” Hank says, but he doesn’t sound very sure.

“It’s dangerous here,” Raven reminds him, tugging on his sleeve. She had disguised herself as a blond girl.

“Dangerous everywhere,” Hank mumbles. Charles can tell he misses the warmth of the mansion.

He wants them to stay. It’s been so long since he’s talked to someone his own age. He can’t remember the last time he had laughed with someone else, or the last time he had been hugged or even just had a conversation.

But asking them to stay would be selfish.

“Raven’s right,” he says firmly, taking charge again. “You won’t be safe here. Not with my uncle around.”

Raven hesitates, then blurts out: “You should come with us!”

“Huh?”

“Doctor is going to be so so mad at you. You said we won’t be safe here, but you won’t either! Charles, come with us!”

“I–” Charles looks past the looming darkness of the tree, at the pale gleam of the road under moonlight. “You really think so?”

“Yes!”

It’s such a huge step to take. He’ll be leaving behind everything he knows.

…He’ll be holding them up. He’s not special like they are. He doesn’t even know anything about the world outside the mansion or boarding school, and even his memories of boarding school are fading already.

“I shouldn’t,” he says quietly, taking a step back. Raven’s face falls, but Hank nods.

“Thank you so much, Charles.”

Raven puts on a brave smile. “We won’t forget you.”

There’s nothing else to say after that. His eyes burning, his throat painfully tight, Charles stands under the yew tree and watches as Raven and Hank slip away to freedom.

(next part)

[darkling-er]

Hope’s Savior ( John Seed x OC ) | Part 22

Summary: Trinity-Hope Johnson finds herself in the middle of a holy war, leading the Resistance, while having a complicated relationship with one of the cult’s herald. And she thought her first case would be easy. Oh how wrong she was!

Pairings: John Seed/Fem!Deputy, John Seed/OC, Earl Whitehorse & OC ( uncle&niece ), Joseph Seed/Fem!Deputy ( kind of ), might add more later

Warnings: mild language, violence, eventually smut, masturbation, oral sex, you know guys the usual, use of drugs ( bliss and other, thanks to Sharky ), fluff ( does that even need a warning? ), manipulation, angst, mention of mental illness ( insomnia, depression ), mention of child abuse ( from John’s side ), torture, I think that’s it? I swear it’s not so bad!

Word Counter: 9319

Notes: ANGST, the whole chapter is an angsty motherfecker, and I’m not sorry, now let me cry in peace, thank you. I listened to this music while writing the chapter, you guys could give it a listen

Parts Masterpost | Part 23 ( coming soon )

Hope manages to run to Nolan’s Fly Shop, following the river. Her feet hurts, due to not wearing any shoes, she shakes from fear, confusion and the cold. It’s the start of December, the roads and the grass is covered with rime, making her legs wet and cold. She’s still unsure on her feet, but she keeps moving.

Hope notices Chosen in the air, searching the area, probably for her. But she doesn’t care, she moves forward, trying to stay hidden as she nears the Fly Shop. It’s already liberated, she did that a while back and now she’s glad it’s free from the cult. She needs help, she needs to radio the others.

As she stumbles toward the place some resistance members notice her, and for her surprise they start shooting. They’re terrible shots, all missing her, but she doesn’t take her luck as she shouts to them:

“I’m the Deputy!”

Hope realizes the confusion must be because of her clothes. Still wearing the peggie sweater, the cultist symbol making her seem like she’s one of them.

They stop, looking at her carefully from a distance, when a familiar voice shouts toward her, a figure coming her way, waving with a big smile:

“Honey, I can’t believe it’s you!” Addie comes closer to the young woman, embracing her in a big hug, a wince coming from the deputy in return as the older woman touched her wound on her side.

The gun for hire lets go of her, a big smile on her face and she looks at Hope, grabbing her arm and leading her toward the shop.

“You must be freezing like this, come on in.” As they walk toward the building Addie scoffs to the other resistance members. “You ain’t gonna be the employees of the month, trying to shoot your own boss.”

Hope welcomes the warmth of the shop, the sickening smell of fast food and sweat, her stomach grumbling in dislike, but she’s safe and sound and that’s the only thing that matters.

Addie sits her down in a chair and makes her way to a room, looking for clothes for the young woman. Her voice is happy and energetic as she speaks to the junior deputy through the rooms.

“Where were you, honey? We looked for you everywhere. When you took of in my dear Tulip, I thought you and John wanted to get a little, you know. Private time. But then you didn’t return and I found my chopper at that stupid sign in the Valley.”

The elder woman returns with new clothes and shoes to the room, setting them down on the counter where Hope sits, looking at her.

“What happened?”

Hope looks at Addie, still being in shock from all the events that happened during the day. Where should she start? Hope starts dressing in silence at first, Adelaide being patient with her and when the young woman is fully dressed, shoes on her cold feet she raises an eyebrow at the Deputy.

“Will you let me on everything, honey?”

Hope takes a deep breath as she starts talking. At first she wants to skip the part where her and John had sex, but decides what’s the point anymore. Addie is not one to judge. So she tells her about the sex, the fight after, the stranger and the fire, being at the Jessop Conservatory and Joseph.

Adelaide keeps quiet for it all, her face being the only reaction to everything from shocked to amused then sad and pity. After Hope finishes with Joseph thinking she’s his Eve or something she exhales, taking a break. Addie whistles, raising an eyebrow.

“Wow... And here I thought you finally took a vacation.” She chuckles along with Hope.

There’s a moment of silence and the last thing that eats the young woman up burst out from her.

“I’m pregnant.”

It’s a quiet sentence, due to the fact that outside are some resistance members and she doesn’t want to share this information with everyone. Addie hears it though and frowns at her.

“Are you sure honey? It was like what... a week since you two had sex.”

The woman tries to reason than sees the look on Hope’s face and starts laughing:

“I’m sorry...” She makes out a few words between her laughs. “I know this is important and serious...”

She starts crying while laughing and even in this confusing situation Hope can’t help but smile at her reaction.

“What?” The young woman asks, and Addie laughs even more, then speaks, wiping her tears of joy away.

“I should have known. That wasn’t the first time you two were involved, was it?”

Hope shakes her head, earning a smirk from Addie, the woman ready to hear everything she has to offer to her.

“Okay... So when was the first time? Before or after you let him live?”

“After. When I went missing for a month, it happened after that.” She says with a sigh, Addie being the first person - well not including Jacob and the stranger there - to know about them.

The woman whistles, thinking with a smile.

“So about a month ago?”

Hope nods, thinking about the events that happened then. How good it felt to just give herself to John, to give her innocence to the man. Also feeling stupid that they didn’t think about the consequences. All the awkward moments spent with Earl, when she had her first period, having the talk with him, saying that she’s not stupid, she knows that people need to be careful.

And now here she is, pregnant because she was stupid at the moment. She wants to be angry at John, for not being careful enough, but how could she be angry at him, when she didn’t think it through either at that moment.

She still can’t get used to that idea. Pregnant. She’s pregnant. There’s a life, forming inside of her. A life that John and her created. Her heart aches for the man as well. She left him there, and even though he wanted to stay, she feels like it was her that betrayed him.

“Well, honey. Congratulations, I guess.” Addie chuckles and gaines a tired look from Hope, so she stops, giving a comforting squeeze to the young woman’s shoulders. “Look, it’s done, there’s nothing you can do honey.”

Hope nods, shaking her head, trying to pull herself together. She has to, nothing’s changed for the better. The war won’t stop just because she’s carrying one of the Seed’s child. There are plenty of pregnant women out there, one more won’t change anything.

“Yeah... Yeah, you’re right.”

She grabs a radio, claiming it as hers from now on and sets it on Earl’s station, but before she could do anything to start a call Addie asks with a mischievous smile.

“So, was he any good?”

Hope gets flushed in the cheeks as she looks at the woman with wide eyes, a nervous laughter leaving her.

“Wha-why would you ask that?”

Addie shrugs, still smiling at the young woman.

“Well, I was always wondering. And we’re girls, we’re supposed to have a girl talk about guy’s dicks.”

Hope cover her face with her hands, laughing.

“I’m not going to discuss John’s dick.”

But the elder woman doesn’t listen as she talks, more to herself than to Hope, thinking out loud.

“Bet he could do wonders with his fingers and tongue... I mean you slept with him more than once, there has to be a reason for that. And that weird obsession of his with tying people down. Did he use any toys on you?”

Hope gets up, raising her hands to stop her as she goes to exit the building.

“I’m going to call my uncle, so stay here. And don’t mention this topic anymore, please.” She gigles, leaving the building with a smile on her face. It’s nice to be back with the others. Even just to talk about normal things.

Talking about sex is normal, hearing about God and that she was destined to be with a cult leader is not normal.

Hope walks past the resistance members, radio in hand as she approaches the place behind the building. She doesn’t know if she wants to share the big news with her uncle or if she’ll just burst it out, but best be careful to not do it around other people.

The young woman pushes down the button, with a shy smile on her face.

“Hey, old man? You there?”

The sheriff picks up his radio as quickly as he can, an answer coming almost immediately.

“Trinity? Is that you?”

She smiles and giggles softly.

“Yeah. Missed me?”

There’s a scoff sound and a scolding answer, though she can hear the smile in his voice.

“You were gone again, what do you think? Where are you?”

Hope closes her eyes, glad she can hear his voice again. She missed talking to the man. Before the cult they talked every day, but now they’ve been apart for so long it hurts her.

“I’m sorry. I’m at Nolan’s Fly Shop right now. I-- umf!”

Her voice is cut of by pain in her neck. She opens her eyes, her vision blurry and she slowly reaches up for her neck, the Bliss already drugging her mind.

“No, no, no! ADDIE!” She shouts as she turns to the building, clapping her radio on her belt as she tries to move, but her legs give in, falling to the ground with a following thump sound.

Her mind panics as she hears the familiar giggle, but she tries to stay awake, stay clear. The fear of going back to Joseph making her scared. Green smoke covers her sight, Faith’s voice echoing in her head:

“Welcome to the Bliss.”

Hope’s vision starts to come back, but before she can see the Bliss field, the trees and butterflies surrounding her, she hears Faith’s voice. The scenery is a bit different. The background Bliss isn’t white-green and bright. It’s got a darker color to it, something that scares her.

“I don’t understand...” Faith’s mocking, angry even, her voice coming to a higher pitch as she speaks.

Hope watches a butterfly in front of her flying away, but is soon welcomed with Faith. She’s not like before: not tender, gentle and innocent. She seems like a siren, a mermaid finally losing her mask and getting ready to drown her prey. Hope being the prey.

“Did you think you could just continue to do what you wanted without consequences? The Father gave you another chance and you cast it aside, again. And he thinks it’s my fault, that I didn’t keep you safe enough.”

She stands before her, face changing as she speaks fast, too fast for Hope’s drugged mind.

“I’ve been reasonable. I’ve been fair.” Her fave shifts as she shoves Hope back with so much fierce, the junior deputy is surprised by her power and anger. “But you are just so selfish!”

Like in an insane movie, the Faith before her looks at her, while another turns her around, to look at her. She speaks through her teeth, face angry.

“You forced someone to leave, that didn’t want to go!” Hope blinks, not knowing who she means at first. She gets her answer when Faith grabs her and with unnatural speed they fly through the field toward a desk, Virgil and the Marshall sitting at it, playing cards. Both not knowing of the presence of the two women.

Fake Seed’s voice becomes more tender, but mocking, taunting the young woman with her words.

“All so you could be what? A hero?”

Hope blinks at her, trying to speak but only Faith turns to the table as she continues to speak.

“Do you know what hubris is?” She brushes Burke’s back as she walks by, the Marshall reacting by holding to his chest. Like he feels her presence, but he doesn’t look at her or move. Virgil on the other hand has zero reactions, he continues to look at the cards in his hands.

“Arrogance before the gods.” Faith sits on top of the table, Burke turning his head towards her just a bit. Hope slowly approaches the desk, looking at Faith with caution.

“The Greeks saw it as a dangerous form of pride that envoked the goddess Nemesis, who would seek retribution.”

Virgil’s sudden voice Hope winces in her place, looking at the man talking to her coworker, still not acknowledging the presence of the two.

“I win this hand, you have to wear a button.” He picks up a button from the metal box next to him, showing it to Burke. Faith walks back to behind the marshall, looking at the scene as well. “Whaddya say?”

Burke chuckles lightly, his voice still clouded and Hope feels pity for the man. Poor bastard is still under the influence of the Siren bitch. So called bitch is caressing the man’s arm, as he puts down his cards on the desk with an exhale.

“Straight flush.”

He puts both his hands on the table as Faith turns to Hope, her face cold and mocking.

“If violence is the only language you choose to speak, I’ll speak your language.”

She places her hand on top of the Marshall’s guiding it to slide down from the table, the man following her lead like a puppet., placing it on top of his holster. Hope’s eyes widen in fear.

“...and when their blood is on your hands...”

Burke repeating the words, making Virgil look at him confused.

“...and when their blood is on your hands...”

He stands up slowly from the chair, Faith not letting go of him.

“...we’ll see how heroic you feel.”

Burke repeats, pointing his gun at Virgil.

“...we’ll see how heroic you feel.”

Virgil stands from the desk, confused and afraid.

“What are you doing?!”

“NO!” Hope shouts, but can’t stop Burke from shooting Virgil in the chest, the man falling to the dossier cabinets behind him, coating the metal with his blood as he falls to the ground.

The young woman starts to tear up, approaching the man, but there’s nothing she can do as she watches him bleed on the ground. Faith speaks and Hope looks at her, bewildered.

“I’m sorry to have to do this.”

She looks up to meet the marshall pointing a gun at her, repeating the words of Faith.

“I’m sorry to have to do this.”

Her voice is so fake, it makes anger burst through her veins, the Bliss swirling around her mind, trying to keep her sedated, but Hope feels finally coming back to her senses.

“I wanted there to be another way.”

“I wanted there to be another way.”

Faith shoves Burke around, who walks toward the monitoring devices, while the young woman looks at Hope, her face nothing but a mirror of anger, her next words almost a spit.

“But you made your choice.”

“But you made your choice.” Burke repeats again. Hope wants to slap Fake Seed, but looks at the Marshall in fear as he presses buttons on the monitoring desk, fear filling her. She can see on the monitor that the gates to the prison opens, a feared shout from Tracey coming from somewhere.

“Who opened the doors?”

Another shout.

“The fucking gate’s open!” Burke shoots the devices, not letting a chance to close the gate back again.

Another resistance member screams, as 

“Oh, shit! They’re inside! Save the kids!”

Burke turns around to face Hope, his voice sad and scared, but also drugged by Faith’s influence.

“I told you I didn’t want to leave.” He raises the gun under his chin and Hope walks toward him, trying to stop him, but he shoots, blood pouring out of the back of his head, dropping dead on the ground.

She wakes up right after that, crickets filling the night sound. She doesn’t even open her eyes yet, when her radio crackles to life, Earl shouting with panic:

“The peggies have the control room! Rook! Anyone! We’re under att-- No! Hold ‘em back!”

Hope opens her eyesa and turns around from the Bliss field. She hears sirens coming from the Jail and watches explosions at the building. She gets from the ground, panicked as she thinks about all the kids and pregnant women in the building. And Earl, her only family being in danger with all the others. She doesn’t have any weapons, but she runs toward the building, her mind still clouded by the Bliss a bit.

Her heart skips a beat, not caring of the fact how Tracey - who have been imprisoned there - can speak through the radio.

“They grabbed the Sheriff! Fuck! Earl’s been taken! Rook! Where the fuck are you?!”

Hope exhales heavily from the running, eyes burning from her upcoming tears. Tears of sadness and anger. Worry for her only living family member. As she nears the building she spots the snipers on the roof in time, covering behind security gate building in front of the Jail.

Now what? She has no weapons, nothing. Bullets fly by the monument she’s behind and she watches Angels run past her on the road, thankfully not recognizing her. She doesn’t think she could pull up a fight with them, not without any weapons. The wound on her side hurts, but she doesn’t care about that right now.

There’s a moment when she thinks she’ll make a run for it, even if it means being shot down at first sight. But when she shuffles to move a gun barrel is against her head from behind, a voice speaking to her:

“Turn around. Slowly.” She does as she’s told, hands raised in the air a bit, when she recognizes the man. Thomas Enderby, the guy from the Conservatory. Father of two children from the Jail if she’s correct. She even met one of them, Eve about two months ago.

“You’re coming with me to the Father.” The man says, but Hope looks at her angrily.

“Your children are in the building you’re attacking right now.” She spits at him, not sure if that will change anything. Maybe he knows already, and just doesn’t give a single fuck about his real family. But his face changes as he blinks at her, lowering his gun.

“How would you know that? Why would they be inside?”

“Because all of the Resistance’s children are there. Pregnant women as well, innocent people you are killing off!” She pokes at the barrel of his gun, showing it away, so she can shove the man in the chest. “Your daughter and son as well.”

There’s a moment where he looks at her, trying to figure out if she’s telling the truth and to her relief he gives his rifle to her. She’s surprised it actually worked, and this easily as well.

“Show the way. If you’re lying, I’m killing you myself.”

Hope doubts that now that she has a weapon, but doesn’t care as she turns around and from the cover she shoots all the snipers down from the roof. Jacob’s annoying praise echoing in her head with every kill. Good. Excellent.

Thomas gets a pistol out from his holster, following the Deputy toward the Jail. Tracey’s voice crackles through her radio again, and for all that Hope cares she forgives for her treason.

“I hope you’re close Rook! Fuckin’ peggies are inside the prison!” Gunshots can be heard through the radio and Hope doesn’t want to think that the cultists are maybe killing of the innocent children inside. “They’ve blocked the entries. There’s a vent on the roof. Find a way up and come through the vent, HURRY!”

She fastens her running while Thomas shoots down the coming Angels. Faith’s voice echoes in her head, still taunting her.

“Look at you rushing to help. Don’t worry... Your friends will be safe with me.”

“Fuck you, you fucking bitch!” Hope says, knocking out an Angel coming her way out of frustration.

After the clearing the yard with the help of the man, who she doesn’t trust in still, especially because it’s his fault as well that the prison has been attacked. But she sets that bitter thing aside until she makes sure everyone is safe and sound inside.

She climbs the ladder up to the roof, when she spots Faith, Thomas following after her, bumping into the woman’s back, not knowing why they stopped. Hope looks at Faith with anger as she keeps mocking her:

“Aww... Still trying to be the hero... It’s too late, you know. You should have listened when you had the chance.”

Hope raises her fist and hits the Fake Seed in the head, only for her to disappear into a green cloud and Hope hitting her fist into the building with a painful cry.

“Fucking... Tinkerbell... bitch!” She spits, holding her hand in the other, fighting down the pain, when a hand touches her shoulder wich she shakes off with anger.

“She’s not here, you know... We have to move.” Thomas says, like he knows who she saw. Of course he knows, he’s VIP he must have seen all people hallucinating or whatever with Faith. Hope’s not sure anymore that the Bliss is a hallucination. How could it be, when it showed her real things? Virgil and the Marshal inside? The collapse, her nightmare... NO! STOP IT!

She shakes the thoughts out of her head, only concentrating of the situation at hand. Hope crawls inside the vent, her side hurting with every move. She’s sure her stitches came loose, but she doesn’t care about that. She has to save the people inside. Then find Earl and end Faith once and for all.

She ends up on the highest level of the Jail, where the Resistance put a couch, where she herself was chilling on after getting Burke back. Now a peggie is standing in front of it, looking down at the others below.

She sneaks behind him, snapping his neck and taking the body behind the cover. Hope looks down. There are peggies on each and every level. And below them at the cafeteria there are people tied up, children and women crying. She also notices the bodies around them, the building from the bombs taking damage, pieces of the jail killing innocent people. She watches a young boy crying next to one of those bodies, a little girl. Probalby dead by the looks of it, though from this distance she can’t tell who it is, she looks young. God, too young. The boy crying next to her body is fighting against one of the peggies who try to pull him away from the girl shouts:

“You fucking bastards, you killed her! You killed everyone!” He cries out and gets a hit from the gun’s hilt in the head so he falls back to the ground groaning.

Before Hope can count every peggie, taking a slow approach to her actions Thomas stands up from next of her, shouting and running back down, killing every peggie on his way. She has no time to stop him, while he cries and shouts:

“GET AWAY FROM MY SON!”

Hope follows behind, clearing the way of the peggies, while Thomas is already down there. There is confusion on the cultist’s face, the one who hit the boy, but shoots his own boss non the less, Thomas killing him with a single shot as well.

The junior deputy doesn’t stay to watch the scene, even though she didn’t like the man, didn’t trust him, she feels pity for him. She goes to cut the ropes on every single one of the captives. So many dead, and just a few alive. She tries to ignore the dead children on the ground. Pregnant women shot in the head as well. She can’t look at them now.

She hears the dying whimpers from Thomas, the boy, his son apparently crouching next to him. She checks on them, only a glimpse is enough to know, there’s nothing she can do to save him. Hope lets them have the moment, just a minute or so to have in peace between the two of them.

Hope notices Tracey through the gate, and Hope ignores the feeling of betrayal from before. That doesn’t matter now.

“Where is my uncle?” Hope asks, trying to open the door but can’t, it’s locked.

“Something happened with Virgil and the Marshal... then everything went nuts. They got the Sheriff, Rook! They got everyone! We’re in trouble, we’re gotta move! The gate’s locked, one of those fuckers out there has the key, hurry!”

Hope is relieved a bit, even if they’re with Faith, not everyone is dead. But that’s still not enough to make her forget this. She will kill Faith or God knows, she will die tonight!

“You’re trying so hard... It’s sad, knowing it’s all for nothing...” Faith mocks her in her head and Hope doesn’t give a single fuck about her words.

Hope searches for the key, looting the bodies around, then rushes back to Tracey, cutting her out of her ropes as well. There’s no time to say sorry, but Hope can see Tracey wants to say it, for her to forgive her.

“It doesn’t matter know. We have to move!”

The deputy says as they enter Virgil’s office, but Hope is sure what they will find. As the door opens Tracey stops, both looking at the dead Virgil.

“Oh no... no, no no!” Tracey cries as she gets to the floor, grabbing Virgil’s body into her lap. “Help me, put pressure on it!”

She says and Hope does so, but she can see he lost too much blood. He’s dead, but Tracey still tries, putting her finger where his pulse is supposed to be.

“Come on Virgil, come on!”

She waits and waits, until Hope puts a hand on her to comfort her.

“He’s gone.” She says, feeling sorry for the man. She liked him, and she knows he meant a lot to Tracey.

The woman looks in her eyes, teary and she starts sobbing, then crying.

“No...” Her body shakes and Hope can’t help but cry herself. For everyone, not just Virgil. Even Burke. She liked the man a lot, and now they are all dead, thanks to that... that bitch.

Tracey gets the bloodied cougar button off of Virgil’s vest and looks at it.

“This is what she does. Takes. Destroys.”

Tracey grabs Hope’s shirt and looks into her eyes.

“Find her. Kill her. Don’t let her get away with this.”

Hope nods slowly, her voice full with venom towards the Seed.

“I will.”

It’s enough of a promise as she stands up and walks out the door, grabbing all the weapons she can get her hands on. Faith is singing in her head, there’s a light coming from the door, and Hope knows if she exits she’ll be welcomed to the Bliss. She’s ready, so she does exits to the light.

“When this is all over, you’ll be all together in the Bliss.”

Hope wakes up in the Bliss field. It’s light there again, no ominous dark clouds. But the young woman knows, feels that this will be it. The changing point. She either dies tonight or she’ll kill the Siren herself.

Her head is filled with the Bliss, but she feels active, awake. Her body fast as normal, nothing is slowing her down.

She’s in front of the gates, the ones that she stopped Burke to go through. It opens as she approaches and Faith talks to her, her voice echoing from all places.

“Now you what we can do. Come to me and I’ll show you a world you never dreamed possible.”

Hope follows the path, not because of her false promises but because she wants to find her uncle, wants to find her and end it all.

There’s a clearing field ahead, a stone in the middle of it. She can hear Faith singing a song. The song, from Joseph.

“Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound.”

Hope follows a butterfly with her eyes, until she notices Faith. Her stomach drops at the sight of Earl, taking Faith’s hand and smiling at her as they approach.

“Earl...” She whispers, not sure what to do. She fears she might shoot Earl in the Bliss, that maybe this is a trick so she waits.

“That saved a wretch a like me.” They crouch down, grabbing a Bliss flower and singing together.

“I once was lost, but now am found, was blind but now I see...” Faith points towards for Earl to go and Hope moves finally, reaching for her uncle to stop him, but Faith comes in front of her, shoving her hand away, standing between the two as Earl sings and walks ahead.

“Your Sheriff kept you from walking the path. But now he understands it’s purpose.” She giggles, back being the fake cheerful girl. “And he’ll join our family in Eden.”

Hope looks past the woman, looking at Earl who is slowly disappearing in the distance. The young woman takes a step but is stopped again by Faith who tries to cover her view.

“And if you try to stop him...” She says, her voice being the ugly and cold one, which she covers with a giggle.

She disappears into a green smoke, so Hope tries to follow Earl but he’s already gone and she’s left alone in the circle clearing, with the stone in the middle. But not for long as Faith stands before her again.

“The Sheriff was a wall.”

She ascends into a ball of light, to appear in a new place again.

“A wall between you and the Father...”

Bullshit. Faith leaps into the air, just above the stone, hovering over it, arms open and invitating.

“Just like John...”

She can’t possibly know, can she? But she doesn’t ask questions, already reaching for her assault rifle. Even if Faith knows, it won’t matter anymore, not for long.

“A wall that kept you from seeing his truth.”

She shoots at the woman, not surprised that she vanishes into a cloud again, while Angel appear to attack her on the ground. She kills them, well shoots at them so they vanish. This is just like the trials. Just with Bliss, not the music box. She thinks, and could hear an echo of Jacob’s voice in her head, following every kill. Excellent. Not bad. Again. Kill, sacrifice.

“So I will knock down that wall...”

Faith says and Hope fears what that means for Earl. The Siren appears, throwing something at her that hurts so Hope tries to not get in the way, while she shoots the young woman.

“Your Sheriff is so close now.. So close to accepting the Word of the Father into his heart. And when he does... there’s no coming back from that.”

“YOU TRY TO HURT HIM, I’LL KILL YOU YOU CUNT!” Hope roars out, spitting her words while Faith only giggles at her.

In the circle Faith appears. More than once or twice. There’s a whole bunch of her, all speaking at once, her voice echoing in Hope’s head, so she shoots at everyone of them, trying to find the real one and kill that.

“The Garden is not for you...”

Hope finds her, shooting at her constantly, reloading again and again.

“The Father must be wrong about you, you’re not special, you’re not the chosen one...”

The junior deputy cries out of frustration as she reloads again. She doesn’t understand how she’s still alive. Hope emptied so many barrels into her, how could she be still alive?

“Feeling confused? Don’t worry, it’ll be over soon.”

Faith says as she throws her bliss things at Hope, the woman crying out from the pain, but still standing on her legs, with new injuries sure. But she won’t stop until either one of them is dead.

“Why do you keep fighting us? You know what’s coming. The Father showed you... He showed you, the Father knows it as well, we know you saw the end... The world is crashing to an end. It is diseased and corrupt. The Father is offering you a chance to let go... to stop worrying... to be free... be his...”

Hope shakes her head, trying to get away from the woman’s voice as a new circle surrounds her and so many Angels she’s sure she’ll die. Hope shoots, kick, hits does everything she can to fight off the brain dead cultists, while Faith giggles at her. Taunting her with words.

“You can’t do that... be good... manipulator... coward...”

Hope starts to hear a choir singing, not sure where the music comes from. A new version of Help me Faith and she feels the urge to sing along and stop fighthing. The other part of her can hear John’s voice: On the way to become an Angel... She remembers him telling her too much Bliss will corrupt her mind.

So she keeps fighting against the Angels, even if it seems impossible to win and now her mind says to stop fighting as well.

She tries a new technique, trying to focus her mind away from the Bliss music. Humming to herself the tunes she thought she would hate so much.

Only you can make this world seem right...  She can almost hear the music in her head, imagining the feeling of the music coming to her ears, filling her veins with a rush of adrenalin, her mind coming to focus at last. Only you can make the darkness bright...

Hope raises her gun to Faith again, her vision turning a bit red. She can’t believe it’s actually working in some way. Only you and you alone can thrill me like you do... 

“You strike, but you cannot destroy what He created!” Faith cries out as new Angels appear, but Hope doesn’t see any problem with fighting them down anymore.  And fill my heart with love for only you.

“You don’t know what he’ll do.”

Don’t know and don’t care. She thinks as she keeps humming the song in her head.  Only you can make this change in me.

“Live by the sword and you’ll die by the sword.” 

Faith tries to strike her down with her bliss powers, but Hope quickly dodges those attacks, shooting at the woman while she’s distracted. It seems like she starts to bruise, Hope’s not sure as her vision is blurry with Bliss and red, both effects fighting for dominance.

“Don’t you see what you’re doing?”

For it's true, you are my destiny. She shoots, then dodges, then shoots, then dodges.

“You cannot cross the Father!”

Faith disappears as another set of bullets hit her, her cloud becoming red.

“It’s not my fault... None of this was my fault! You think I wanted this? He plied me with drugs... He threatened me... I was seventeen! I was just a child!”

Hope stops humming the song at that, anger fueling her. She laughs, mocks the Siren. What would the ‘Father’ say if he heared this?

“There were children at the Jail as well!” She shouts angrily, wasting a couple of bullets into thin air, being impatient while Faith is in hiding.

A couple of bliss things fly her way which she barely dodges, then she shoots at Faith again, feeling that the fighting is coming to an end now.

“You will never know what I know!” The young woman cries out, but there are no words that will work on Hope, not anymore.

Hope shoots again, and it’s a final shot, a scream coming from the Siren as the scenery changes.

“NO!”

They’re at the riverbend, Fairh standing in front of her. Hope’s vision is still blurred, but it’s her. Just like back at the church or the Conversatory. No trick, no bliss clouds of her vanishing. Her face is bloody and bruised as she looks up at Hope. But the young woman doesn’t feel pity for her.

“You still don’t understand...” She giggles, an exhausted fake laugh. “You don’t know what it is you’re doing do you?”

She steps forward, just as Hope steps backwards, an act that the woman is not used to. She looks taken a back a bit, but speaks:

“Joseph believes he’s our savior. But you’ll be the one who decides what happens.”

She seems like she’s fighting to find the right words, fighting to speak even.

“You were the start. You’ll be the end.”

She holds out her hand, trying to touch Hope but she scatters backwards. The junior deputy isn’t sure what reaction she sees on Faith’s face. A glimpse of realization? Sadness? Surprise that she’s rejected by Hope? Acceptance?

Faith lets her hand down and nods softly. There’s a low and quiet noise she makes, a huff, a scoff? Something Hope would have definitely missed if she wasn’t keeping silent all along.

Faith looks at her, and it’s revelation, while she steps back, a slight step, she’s not going far. She keeps eye contact with Hope and the young woman feels a pit in her stomach and chest at her next words as she fake smiles:

“It was always going to happen this way...”

Hope doesn’t know what she means by that. Doesn’t understand the dots inside her head, not yet, not until it’s already too late. Faith turns around, unsure on her feet as she walks into the river, her voice sad:

“You’ll walk the path.”

Hope follows her, just a few steps forward as she stops at the edge of the river, Faith giggling as she gets deeper into the water.

“You’ll rescue your Sheriff. You’ll be the Hero...” She turns around, a tired mock to the last word, but it’s not as bitter as it was. Hope feels pity for the young woman as she watches her.

“...and then... you’ll choose.”

Green smoke surrounds Faith as she lays back in the water, not moving. Her next words not coming from her, but echoes in Hope’s head.

“And if you don’t listen to Him. He’ll be right...”

The bliss disappears from the surroudning area, gathering in one place above her dead body, then sliding to Hope on the ground, into the single Bliss flower. She crouches down and picks it up, her voice low and sad:

“I’m sorry Rachel...”

Hope stands before Faith’s Gate, it’s being open to her as she enters the green smoke coming out from the place, the Bliss making her eyes burry with white dots, but it doesn’t make her dizzy anymore. It doesn’t feel like being pulled into another place.

She needs to find Earl, needs to shut down the place and get everyone to safety.

Hope runs through the bunker, the grass and plants being a surprise to her. But they are real, she’s sure about that. She thinks how Joseph could want people to live here after the Collapse. John’s bunker was fucked thanks to the torture, but this? Drugging everyone inside? That’s the real torture.

There’s whispers in the air, something she hallucinates thanks to the Bliss, mostly. She comes to some stairs, a moose being on top of it. She stops, not sure if the creature is real or not. She doesn’t want to get killed by a moose after all that she’s been through so she looks at it cautiously from far.

“I did not ask for this...” Joseph’s voice comes from somewhere and Hope shivers to his voice. She remembers the moments she met him in the Bliss, the way he touched her shoulder saying so comforting things to her. “...I was chosen.” She remembers his voice and it makes her shiver as she shakes her head trying to get herself together.

She approaches the moose, that not moving and she simply goes through it as it vanishes to a green smoke, filling her with even more Bliss. She closes her eyes and sees a glimpse of Joseph Seed in her head, facing her, his glasses gone and his face bruised.

“I am your Father, and you are my child...”

He says and it feels like she can feel his breath on her skin. She opens her eyes again, moving forward just to be welcomed with a scene. There’s Burke, raising a gun at Joseph along with Virgil.

“Joseph Seed I have a warrant for your arrest.” She passes them to become smokes, Joseph standing in front of her with a book of his own.

“It’s coming you can feel it--” She pasts him, not wanting to see any more of the man for the time being.

Two Angels appear out of nowhere and she kills both of them with her hands, not wanting to waste any more bullets, than she already did, killing Faith.

She hears his uncle sing as she steps on the stairs leading up.

“Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound... That saved a wretch like me.”

Hope comes closer to the door, her uncle singing with closed eyes, holding the bars of his door, but not trying to get out. She can feel her eyes getting teary again as she looks at him with worry.

“Used to sing his praise, than first when we’ve begun...”

Hope grabs the bars in front of him, her voice weak as she calls out to him:

“Earl?”

When he opens his eyes she gasps with fear and worry for the man. His eyes glassy and smokey, just like how John described the ones who are near to become Angels.

He looks like he fights for his words as he speaks.

“I don’t have much time, kiddo...” She places her hand on top of his, crying silently as she looks at him. “The Bliss... you have to stop it...”

He stays silent as she nods repeatedly, swallowing her sobs.

“You have to hurry...” He shakes as he fights, but he closes his eyes again and smiles, singing to the side. “Amazing Grace...”

He looks up at the rope in the room which she only know spotted. Her eyes widen at the sight, a chair being there with Earl as well.

“No...” She whispers, grabbing the man’s hand through the bars, trying to hold on as forcefully as she can but he slips away from her just as easily as if she were not even holding him.

“How sweet the sound...” He stops closer to the rope, looking at it while getting the chair under it.

“NO! EARL! Fight it! Fight the Bliss!”

She shouts while shaking the bars of the door, which just won’t open for her. This isn’t fair! She fought Faith, she killed him and now she’ll have to lose her unlce! No!

“That saved a wretch like me... I once was lost but now am found...”

He stands on top of the chair and Hope shakes with her cries:

“Please, Earl! Please don’t leave me, not now! I need you!”

He looks at her for a mere moment like he tries to fight it, but continues to sing.

“Was blind but now I see...”

“EARL DON’T!” She cries, banging the bars, trying to get his attention. “I need you, you can’t leave me, not now, please. I need you, I’m pregnant.”

She cries and notices as he stops, his body shaking as he fights his words out, not moving further:

“You have to hurry! Rook!”

She gets the information and runs, leaving him behind there, hoping he can fight the Bliss while she stops it from leaking anymore.

She runs through room, reaching a metal door, watching Tracey behind it.

“You have to hurry, Rook!” The woman echos Earl’s words and Hope opens the door, just to run through Bliss Tracey, a hallucination. She runs through a corridor to be met with another door, opening that up as well. There are no other ways to go, so she hopes this is the right way to turn off the Bliss.

She’s clear now, no bliss to be around, but there are a lot of ways to go. She watches a valve in the distance and figures that’s where she has to shut down the Bliss. Her body is beyond high adrenaline, her mind almost not even realizing how she kills of the peggies in her way. Her only goal: shut off the valves and help Earl, fast.

She shutdowns one of the valves, gaining a warning siren going off in the bunker. A mechanic man’s voice speaking to her.

“Warning, central valves overloading.” It’s the voice of Eli, she recognizes and remembers that the man used to help building the bunkers. Makes sense.

As she turns the third valve she can hear loud banging, maybe even an explosion going off in the bunker. But she keeps moving, turning off all the valves finally and shooting every cultist down in her way. 

“Warning, central valves overloaded --”

But she doesn’t listen as her radio crackles to life, for her relief Earl speaking to her.

“That’s done it, Rook. I’m sorry partner, but I need to get out of here--”

“YES, just go, Earl, I’ll follow you, just get away the bunker.” She says crying and laughing, relief washing over her body that finally for the first time this day she did something good.

“I can’t see straight from this Bliss. It’s all on you. Blow this place into oblivion.”

She runs to the place where she thinks the central pumps must be, the warning sound making her have a huge headache.

“Warning, central valves overloaded, security blocks now offline.”

She rolls her eyes, running through the next corridor.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, Eli, now shut it.”

She says just to entertain herself for the moment, trying to not worry that explosions shake the whole place. The place is filled with peggies and pumps are leaking bliss. She almost goes through one when it starts a fire.

“Fucking hell!” She says as she crouches down the pipe to not get roasted, all while trying to not get a bullet inside of her.

She shoots down the central pumps, after killing the cultists inside the room.

“Overload, evacuate immediately!” SHUT UP ELI!

“That did it, kiddo... The air is clearing up! Feel like I can finally think straight. We gotta get the hell out of here. Whole place sounds like it’s about to blow... I’ll round up any survivors and meet you outside. Please be careful, Trinity! Good luck!”

Earl says from the radio while she runs through a corridor, her body sweating from the fight, the Bliss and the heat that’s coming off from the metal walls from all the fire inside. Every damn pipe is like a welcome to hell! She thinks as she dodges a dozen of pipes that want to roast her alive.

Stupid peggies don’t even try to escape, just want to kill her on sight. What kind of people are these? She thinks as she fights her way, to finally get outside and not get a slow death from fire.

She runs through a room, finding a ladder which she climbs up on. There are no peggies left, only the fire which makes her sweat like she just swam in the ocean with her clothes on. She feels her skin hurt when she gets too close, opening another metal door.

“Fuck.” She stops for a second as the way to the exit is covered with fire. There’s no other way out and she’ll either burn herself through the way of the fire or blow up and die.

She swears as she prepares a run and a jump through the fire. Somehow she manages to not get burned, but as she nears the exit the walls next to her blow up, sending her outside the building with a roar of pain.

She looks at her hand, her jacket being caught on fire and she quickly gets rid of it, also getting out of the way of the exit of the bunker as it blows up. She looks at her arm, cringing at the pain and the burnt skin on her forearm. It looks bad, bad not too bad. It could heal up easily, maybe won’t even show a scar... Maybe.

Hope raises her radio to her mouth to start a call on the open station, so maybe if people didn’t spot the huge explosion in the Henbane she can announce it.

“The Henbane River is now ours. Faith Seed is dead.”

They sit in the truck with Earl, not saying any words to each other until they reach the Jail. The scars are too big on both of them. Hope feels horrible: even though she freed the region from the cult she knows how many died. Children, pregnant women...

Now that she is at that thought suddenly Earl chuckles to himself.

“I must have been really high on the Bliss, I thought you said you were pregnant.”

Hope stops the car and looks at him, whispering.

“I am.”

The man blinks at her, laughing pushing her shoulder a bit.

“Nah, you’re not. This is one of your pranks, innit?”

But the serious look and the tears that start to gather in her eyes make him lose his smile and looks at her surprised and confused, shocked.

“You gotta be kidding me...”

Hope turns from him, wiping her tears with the sleeve of her shirt, not caring about the damaged skin. Earl touches her other hand, turning her to him slightly.

“But how?”

She laughs a nervous laughter wiping her tears.

“I’m sure you know all about the bees and stuff.”

Earl shakes his head, not picking up on her sense of humour at the moment.

“No, I mean with who?”

She blinks a couple looking at his face, biting her lip.

“Don’t do that, that means bad.” Earl says, knowing about her bad habit of chewing on her lips when she’s anxious. She stops and looks at him for a moment, tears sliding down her face.

“You’ll hate me for it.”

Earl grabs both sides of her face, a show of affection he didn’t do in a very long time. Not since she’s become the junior deputy at the station.

“There’s nothing in the world, that could make me hate you.” He says reassuring her and Hope nods, before she gathers enough courage to answer him.

“John.”

Earl lets go of her face, blinking with confusion. He asks her, though he fears the answer.

“John Who?”

“John Seed.” She answers with a whisper, fearing that the resistance members at the prison, trying to rebuild the gate migt hear her.

“I’ll kill him.” Is the only reaction and sentence Earl says, trying to exit the car. And go where? Find him now and kill him?

Hope grabs his hand, pulling him back in the car.

“No, you won’t...” She says with a sigh and looks at Earl. “Look... I would say I’m sorry, but I’ll be honest.”

She says and starts a speech she didn’t know she wanted to give. Not even realizing her own words and the meaning behind them until this point.

“I love him.”

Earl makes a hurtful face, but before he can say anything she raises her hand, stopping his thinking, that maybe ‘it’s just a phase’.

“I mean it and... and I think he loves me too.”

Earl interrupts her, not angry at her, but the man of the topic.

“He tried to kill you!”

She nods, a smile creeping up to her face.

“Yeah, well... I think we’re even with that. He tried to kill me, I tried to kill him... Big deal. I mean look around us, Earl. This whole place is crazy. All these event are insane. Does it hurt that much that somehow, I don’t even know how... I think I’m finally happy with someone.”

She says and her heart aches, knowing she can’t say these words to John himself, the man being too far away from her. They probably left the region when they destroyed Faith’s Gate.

“I mean... I know what people think about him, God, I had so many doubts with myself, thinking I’m crazy to even think he’s capable of love. But... But he is, dad.” She calls Earl that, even though she rarely does it.

The man notices, knowing she means what she speaks, even if he doesn’t like it very much.

“He’s... he changed. I... he...” She doesn’t know what else to say, as she buries her face in her hands, crying. “It’s complicated.”

Hope finishes and Earl embraces her in a hug, being careful of her hurt arm.

“Does he know?” He asks, meaning the baby growing inside of her.

“No.” She sniffs, looking at his face again. “No, I didn’t have the chance to tell him yet. And now he’s with Joseph and Jacob... And God! Last time I saw him he looked horrible, Earl! Like... like they tortured him, and from what I gathered, I think that’s exactly what Joseph did to him. Asked him to Atone and left him in a room, waiting until he carved his own body... I don’t know. But he’s hurt.”

She says, and think how ridiculous this is. A few months ago she would have laughed at herself, crying over a Seed? Yes, that’s exactly what she does now.

“AND NOW?!” She points outside to the Jail, raising her voice. “Look what I’ve done! All these people dead, because of me.”

She points at herself, eyes teary. She keeps silent and wipes her face when Tracey approaches the truck. Earl turning to the woman as well.

“You look like hell.” Tracey welcomes them.

Earl answers, trying to hide everything that they just talked about.

“Yeah? Well I feel like it too.”

Hope leaves a small chuckle at that, looking at her uncle and Tracey, hoping there’s not much trace of her crying.

“Need help getting inside?”

“Hell, no. I’ll manage.” Earl says softly, but a bit annoyed.

Tracey looks at her, an expression telling Hope she does in fact knows she’s been crying. But she’s nice enough not to mention it.

“I didn’t think you could pull this off. You saved a lot of people here today, Rook. Don’t forget that.”

Even this sentence causes her to fight back a sob, her heart warming. Yeah, she definitely forgives for the woman’s betrayal. They both suffered, it’s enough of war already going on. They’re on the same side, they don’t need to fight each other for mistakes.

Tracey leaves as she’s being called to help out.

“I better go.”

They both watch her go, helping an injured fellows, when Earl turns back to her.

“You know, there was a moment, just before you arrived... I’d just lost all hope. I couldn’t see a way out.”

She tears at that, but doesn’t sob or make any sound. He looks at her, meaning his words.

“But you lead the way. And a lot of good people died, but everyone here, all of us, we’re alive because of you... and I’m damn proud of you.”

Hope sobs at that quietly, a smile creeping up on her. She feels relieved, that he’s not angry, not disappointed. She couldn’t wish for more, than that her uncle, her mentor and family is proud of her.

“And your parents would be proud too, if they could see you now.”

He says and she sobs, burying her face in his chest, hugging him. He hugs her back, and after some moments they let go of each other, and he goes back to his fake grumpy sheriff mode.

“Now I want you to find that goddamned John Seed and tell him he’s going to be a father and if he tries to back away I will kill him myself.”

Hope chuckles, wiping away her tears and looks after Earl, who exits the car, looking at her reassuringly.

“Just be safe, kiddo.”

A/N: I’ll plan like 3-4 more chapters, than the story will end. And a ‘season 2′ will come after that! *-*

Tags: @onl-you , @redaurora17

[bellarkesjoy]

They Knew

https://archiveofourown.org/works/14786676

An alternative end to Deception’s finale, in which Cameron and Kay are cannon. I may twist things a bit. This is my way of saying goodbye to Deception.

Summary:

If he could freeze one moment of his life, Cameron knew which would be the chosen one. He had everyone around him. Jonathan was free, the team was there. And there was Kay, his badass partner.

If he could freeze one moment of his life, Cameron knew that would be the chosen one. The Archive was full, filled with his people, his family. Everyone was talking so loudly with joy and excitement that were so clear on every single one’s face. Their laughs echoed through the room and his mind.

He missed this.

Dina, Jordan, Gunter, the incredible team that literally always had his back, were all over Jonathan with new ideas for his future show. Mike was beside Dina, as she just broke the amazing news that Deakins removed his suspension.

Jonathan was right in front of him. His brother was free, again. They did it. He did it. Kept fighting, kept believing. Kept everyone in that room believing they’d get Jonathan free. He knew he was going to do it, he had to.

Mystery Woman’s big deception was finally over. No more crimes, killings, disgusting tricks.

And now, his brother could finally have the life he wanted. Or simply a life. He could have his own show. Cameron would be more than thrilled to back his brother up in his career. Hell, he was willing to do anything that meant Jonathan’s happiness, because everything he has done so far was taking away his life.

He smiled to the thought of watching one of his brother’s shows.

“You’re oddly quiet” Kay noticed in a lower voice, leaning her body against his side to catch his attention.

Then there was Kay. His badass partner who sometimes believed in this moment more than him. In fact, she was the one who made him achieve his goal. Kay got him through it all.

“Yeah. I was, hmm, thinking about how right this moment feels” He confessed, letting his eyes wander over. “It used to be like this all the time… before. You know?” Cameron softly said. “Can’t you hear their laughs echoing? Isn’t it amazing?”

Agent Daniels smiled unreservedly when she realized what he was saying. Cam’s team seemed like a group of hysterical teenagers as they couldn’t contain themselves about the future. It was delightful to watch.

She was so glad to be there. When Cameron Black showed up at a crime scene, in his full-of-himself way of being, she never, ever, thought for a second it’d lead to that very moment.

“It is. What you guys have here is something else Cam. I just…” She swallowed while trying to find the right words, looking down to her hands. “I’m really thankful that you all let me be a part of it.”

Her declaration made Cameron shiver a bit. He watched her stare down like she was embarrassed or had something else to say. Either way, Kay letting her walls down for him was starting to become a habit and he was pretty much at peace with it.

But he wasn’t the type of facing his feelings. He didn’t even know what feelings there were for sure, or their dimension when it came to Kay. Maybe because of his childhood, where their father made sure the twins learned that thoughts and feelings had to stay far behind from what they needed to do. Actions first, always.

Cameron never allowed himself to pay attention to those feelings. He couldn’t be swerved from his mission of freeing Jonathan.

So he ignored it. Not Kay, but how she made him feel. He only knew that everything felt better, and he was stronger, when she was there.

The only thing he have always attended when it came to Kay was his exceptional need to impress her. Right from the beginning.

Everything else was suppressed.

Until Jonathan told him he was jealous of her. It was when it hit him.

“You made yourself part of this team, Kay. You’ve earned your spot here. It’s yours as long as you’ll take it” The smile that was plastered on Cameron’s face as he assured her that he wanted her there, made Kay’s heart race a little.

And her eyes found his. It was a fearful glance of what both wanted.

Because what if Kay’s idea of future has nothing to do with me?

And what if he goes back to his old life and leaves?

“Cameron! Kay!” Jonathan’s scream felt like the alarm that takes you off your best dream in the morning.

Their heads turned so quickly and synchronized that it looked they were caught doing something naughty.

“Darlings, you weren’t really giving a damn about us but we’re going to the bar to celebrate. Mind joining us?” Dina was on to them for a while. For her it was too obvious that Cameron was falling for Kay since day one.

“Yeah, sure. Same old bar?” Cam returned, getting on his feet and leaving Kay body side. She immediately felt the cold absence of him and it made her cheeks turn pink.

“Yeap. Unless you guys want to introduce me to a new other location to spend my nights.” Jonathan jested, with a puckish smirk.

 -

 They were all getting ready to leave to the bar. Cameron, as he was always perfectly suited up for anything, left for the balcony to enjoy the New York night lights while waiting. Something he got the habit of doing every starry night like that was.

Kay left the bathroom and got a glimpse of Cam’s body outside.

“Beautiful night, hun?” She pointed out in what was like a whisper, reaching his side again.

His body rotated towards hers. Cameron studied Kay’s face. Glossy eyes, mouth curved into a sweet, dazzling smile.

“It’s a… heavenly night.” He may have lost himself in the moment. “Is everyone ready to go?” Changing the subject seemed a good idea.

“I think so. But I bet Mike’s still fixing his shirt somewhere” Kay alleged. Their giggles got mixed in the sound of the wind that was blowing Kay’s hair. “But I’m not going tonight. I’m tired and I really, really need to crawl to my couch and sleep for as long as I can.”

Cameron’s reaction did not go unnoticed by Kay. His smile slipped, and he pressed his lips together.

“Oh” He couldn’t hide his disappointment. “I thought you were coming along” Cam murmured. He really wanted to go to their usual bar. With her.

“It’s not I don’t want to join you guys. But Cam, the smallest thought of laying on my couch with some freakish movie that I leave on just to keep me company, and a glass of wine… Uh, it gives me chills.” Kay voiced her inner will.

The truth was the FBI agent needed to stop for a bit on her own and think. Figure out what she was going to do with all that was happening. Whatever it was with that blue-eyed illusionist.

Cameron hard swallowed. His mental visualization of her description was not helping him think straight. The image would not leave his mind so soon, he was certain of that.

“I get it Kay. I can’t fight with couch, movie and wine. No, I totally get it.” He softly mocked her.

Her gentle laugh reacting to his silly joke made Cameron feel like he was on top of the world.

All his shows, the applause, screams, all the spotlight he has had in his life felt good. But nothing has ever felt so immensely smashing like that singular woman right there made.

And another thing, as it is safe to say at this point, Cameron loved about Kay Daniels, was that she had the ability to amaze him at the least expected moments.

“Yeah you could... If you want, you know.” She retorted as her eyes, that were somewhere lost in Cam’s intense, passionate stare, gleamed like nothing he has ever seen before. “Honestly I don’t have a doubt about how the fight would end. You’d…” She couldn’t finish. It was like her throat closed.

Probably for once in his life he was so grateful that he was the impetuous brother.

His body closed the distance between them. Kay’s heart was beating so fast she would swear the entire New York could listen. His trembling arms reached to her and held her strongly. The sensation of being between his arms was something she had been thinking about for a while but there was no dream, no thought, that could compare to how it felt.

The stupidly sweet dimples on his face, the ones she loved and hated for so many different reasons, were there. And his smile. That damn smile didn’t leave his face, just like his eyes didn’t leave hers for a second. Not until their lips slowly touched.

From that singular touch on, there was a mess of feelings, sensations and discoveries. The kiss did not last for long. Racing hearts and intense kissing made breathing difficult. Plus, Cameron had something to say.

“So you’re implying my companionship is better than some lousy movie on your TV?” He accused, with the sweetest smile.

The burning sensation of his lips against hers was still too fresh and clouding her ability to think.

And she was feeling so light. As if Cameron was carrying all the weight of her body, with his arms still around her.

It felt like magic.

“Yes, Cam.” Her voice got a bit more deep, serious. “And I’m suggesting you could come with me. Let’s sneak out of here.”

By then, the whole team had seen the two love birds, as Dina didn’t stop calling them for the rest of the night, and quietly left. Kay and Cameron, they deserved it.

They did. After all the fighting, all the time they couldn’t even afford to stop and think about was growing there, it was over. Well, for them, it was only beginning. Neither of them knew what the future was holding for them, but they had the time to figure it out.

And even though they didn’t say it to each other, they knew.

[traveller-lover-dreamer]

On Top of the World, pt 5

Hey peeps it’s me again woohoo! As announced, here is the fifth part of On Top of the World! Honestly, this one was like really hard to write rip so it isn’t as good as the others I’m sorry, but I did my best. It’s shorter than the other ones but it’s only because it’s going to lead to the rest of the story, I just felt this had to be written and yup, I’ll stop rambling and let you all enjoy it! As usual, don’t be scared of sending me some feedback, it’s always appreciated :)

Part one, part two, part three and part four

Pairing: Tom Holland X Reader

Words: 2682

Warnings: Maybe some swear words?? The rest should be fine

You groaned as your alarm went off at 4:30 on Monday morning. Yeah, working on a movie set was going to be awesome, but you had stayed up too late last night practicing your monologue for your acting class (which was tonight actually) and you were way too tired. You rolled on your bed to shut the alarm off and then you just laid there for a moment, trying to figure out if you were going to be able to make it through the day.

And then your thoughts went to Tom and to say you jumped out of bed was not even an exaggeration. You felt dizzy for a moment and you stumbled to your drawer, where you took your favourite pair of black pants and a simple white t-shirt. You lived alone in your apartment, so you walked out of your bedroom naked and went into the bathroom. You took a quick and cold shower to help to wake you up correctly and then you put a bit of make up on, trying to hide the bags under your eyes.

When that was done, you went into the kitchen, where you prepared yourself a smoothie that you were going to bring with you to the movie set. You also brought your monologue’s lines so you could practice them during breaks on set.

The bus was completely empty when you climbed in. You sat down, resting your head against the window, fighting the urge to sleep until your stop came. You got out of the bus, walking to your destination.

You entered the building, following the signs to the studio where they were filming today. You walked in, seeing Tom, Haz and Z in the distance. Your heartrate increased as Z waved to you but before you had the time to walk to them, Brown came to you.

“Good morning, Y/N, I hope you didn’t have too much difficulty to get up.”

You laughed, shaking your head.

“Never been up this early before.”

He smiled and then pointed toward the boys and Z.

“See the guy wearing the grey shirt?” he said. “That’s Harrison. I bet you know him already, but I just wanted to make sure.”

“Yup, we met on Friday night”, you answered.

Brown nodded his head as you took a sip of your smoothie, which was almost empty.

“Well, he’s Tom’s assistant”, Brown continued. “You’ll spend the day with him today. Your job will pretty much be the same as his, but you’ll be my assistant instead.”

As he said that he waved to Haz to come over. The boy walked to you, greeting you with a smile.

“So Haz, teach her how to be a good assistant, please”, concluded Brown before walking away.

“Wait, does that mean I have an assistant now?” asked the boy.

Brown only shook his head while walking away, a small laugh escaping his lips.

“Okay, well, Tom’s an ass and he asked me to bring coffee for all of the cast”, said Haz. “I hope you won’t mind helping me.”

You couldn’t help but to stare into his pale blue eyes, mesmerized by their color. You nodded without answering as blush crept on your cheeks.

“Okay, well there’s a Starbucks down the street”, Haz added before he walked out of the studio.

You had finished your smoothie so you left it on a table by the door along with your monologue before following him.

“Wait Haz, I’ve got tiny legs”, you said.

Haz turned around, and he burst out laughing.

“Sorry, sorry, I hadn’t realised my best friend’s dating a hobbit”, he joked.

You blushed again (did you ever not blush).

“Dating? He said that we’re dating?” you asked.

Haz nodded. “Yes ma’am, he hasn’t stopped talking about you and about what seemed like a steamy kiss on your doorstep.”

“Oh my God, Haz, shut up”, you exclaimed.

He chuckled as you arrived to the Starbucks. He held the door opened for you and then you went in line.

“So, how do you find him?” asked Haz.

You raised your head to look at him questioningly.

“How do I find Tom?” He nodded. “Well, he’s really nice, I guess?”

“You guess? That doesn’t sound good”, laughed Haz.

“Well, you know what I mean.” Your laugh echoed his. “I appreciate him a lot, but I mean we are just beginning to know each other.”

You were the next in line and Haz ordered the coffee. You then moved to the side to wait for his name to be called.

“So, you’d go on another date with him?” asked Haz.

“If he asked me himself, yes, I would, but it seems he needs his best friend to ask.”

Haz burst out laughing.

“He might be a celebrity but he still sucks around girls”, he said, which made you laugh.

You couldn’t really believe that, but you didn’t say anything about it. Haz’s name was called and you helped him to take the coffees to bring back to the studio.

“Hope you’ll like your days as an assistant”, Haz said and you were glad about the change of subject.

“Better than a job in a drugstore”, you answered.

About that, you had told your boss the day before that you had found another job and that you wished to give him your two weeks of notice. He had been so mad at you that he had said he was actually firing you which meant you didn’t have to work there for another two weeks. Yay!

“Clearly better”, he said. “I’d prefer to be an actor, but honestly, my job is easier than Tom’s. Apart from helping him practice his lines and bringing some coffee in the morning, I don’t have much to do.”

“Well, I guess my only job will be to bring the coffee in the morning”, you said. “Brown doesn’t have lines to learn.”

Haz nodded.

“I didn’t really understand why he wanted me to show you the job until Tom told me he asked Brown to give you this internship”, Haz confessed. “Honestly, I don’t think Brown knows what you could do so he just transferred that job to me.”

“Hope you don’t mind”, you said, a bit worried that he in fact did mind.

He smiled to you before answering:

“Course not, only means I will now be able to delegate my duties to you.”

His smile grew bigger as he was proud of his answer. You shook your head and a small chuckle escaped your lips. You finally were back at the studio and Haz showed you where to put the coffee. He then showed you around set and you were kind of disappointed not to see Tom anywhere. Haz must have noticed because he said:

“That div’s probably somewhere with Z, they like practicing their lines together even though that’s my job?!”

You laughed, trying your hardest to ignore the pang of jealousy you felt at the idea of Tom and Z alone somewhere. They were just friends and you knew that. So you just laughed at what Haz had said and the pang of jealousy disappeared as you got caught in his blue gaze.

Tom did have adorable brown eyes but there was something in Haz’s eyes… You couldn’t quite tell what it was, you only knew that it could become a problem.

“We should buy a coffee machine”, you said, ignoring the way he was holding your gaze as you looked away. “Like seriously, why the hell isn’t there one?”

“Cause I need a job, duh you div.”

You hit him playfully on the shoulder as you answered:

“I’m no div!”

Again, a smirk grew on his lips. “Course not, milady, I didn’t wanna hurt your feelings.”

You shook your head and looked around, suddenly very aware that this was all getting kind of weird since you were supposed to date Tom, not Haz. Well, you had only gone on a single date with him, but whatever. But then you thought about how close to his best friend Tom was and you realized that you would have no choice but to become good friends with Haz too. So why not now?

“Okay, they’re going to record some stunts this morning and then we’ll need to go over there”, said Haz, pointing towards the other side of the studio. “That’s where the classroom is.”

You nodded as you made your way to the green walls you could see in the distance.

And that’s how your first day on set went. You followed Haz around, watching how Tom looked adorable as he acted. On dinner break, you hung out with Tom, Haz, Z and Jacob, but you stayed in your corner as you were practicing your monologue. At some point, Tom had come to help you and to say this wasn’t the best part of your day was a lie. Then you were back on set and the rest of the day flew by.

When the director finally said it was a wrap for today, Haz disappeared without even saying goodbye. You looked around, wondering if you should find Tom before going, when a hand caught your wrist. He had found you first.

“So, how did you like your first day on set?” he gently asked.

“It was awesome”, you answered. “Like it legit was the best day of my life.”

Tom smiled before suggesting you could come with him in his dressing room, where he had to get his clothes. He convinced you by saying he had brought the shirt you had left in the hotel room. As you began walking to the dressing room, you noticed Tom seemed anxious. When you were about to ask him what was up, he finally talked:

“Saw you having lots of fun with Haz.”

Was he jealous?

“Well, he’s funny”, you stated. “And Brown technically said I needed to follow Haz around today so yeah, that’s what I did.”

You laughed a bit as he pouted and then said:

“You could have followed me instead.”

“Are you serious, Tom?” You chuckled before adding: “That’s what we did, you div.”

Right when the last word escaped your lips you wondered if you had gone too far. He was jealous of his best friend and there you were saying something Haz always said.

“You’re right”, he said as a smile grew on his lips.

You were relieved that Tom didn’t seem like he had realized what you had just said. You finally arrived to his dressing room and you both got in. Tom shut the door behind him and only then you realized how alone you both were now.

“What are you doing tonight?” Tom asked out of the blue.

You just stared at him for a moment as he got closer and you heart started beating faster.

“I have my… I”, you tried to say but his lips crashed onto yours.

The kiss was pretty unexpected and it took you a while to give in, but that didn’t stop it from being passionate. Soon, your tongues were intertwined and your hand found its way to his curls as his found the small of your back. He pushed you toward a desk or a table, you didn’t really know. A moment passed and you were now sitting on the desk, his body pressed against yours. One of his hand ran along your thigh and you shivered under his touch. Somehow, your hands were now under his shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin.

He pulled away, breathing heavily, and you whimpered, not wanting the kiss to end already. Tom laughed and you opened your eyes only to find his. His cheeks were red and he was smiling from ear to ear.

“I’ve been dying to do this all day, love.”

“What about we do it again?” you playfully asked, a smirk on your lips.

Tom laughed and licked his lips, which turned you on in a way you hadn’t expected.

“Y/N…” he said softly. “I would love to do that again but if I do, we might not leave for a long moment. And if I recall, you have some plans tonight. I wouldn’t want to keep you here any longer.”

You pouted, but you knew he was right. You wouldn’t even have the time to go back to your apartment before your acting class and you absolutely didn’t want to be late. Although you were closer to Brown than the other students and although you were the one who had been chosen for the script reading (and now the internship), you didn’t want him to act with you the way he had did last week with the other girl.

“Okay, then, I should get going”, you finally said.

Tom nodded, a small smile on his lips. He then took a step back and your thighs felt cold at the place where his hands had been. He walked to another desk on the right wall of the room, where he took the shirt you had left in the hotel room. You got up as he was holding it out for you.

You walked to him and suddenly had an idea. When you went to grab your shirt, you accidentally (yeah right) grabbed his hand, pulling him closer to you. You looked at him with the softest smile on your lips and Tom couldn’t resist: he leaned closer, kissing you in a slow and steady way that still sent shivers down your spine.

“Would you like to go the movies with me, tomorrow”, he whispered when your lips parted.

“I would love to, Tom.”

He genuinely smiled before kissing you on the forehead.

“You gotta go, love”, he said. “Even though I would prefer for you to stay here, you have to go.”

You nodded.

“Yes, I’m going, just one last hug.”

He laughed heartily before wrapping his arms around you. You hid your face in his neck, smelling the remnants of his cologne on him. And as you just stood there, in his arms, you felt as if you had found your place in this world and you wished time could pause and you could just stay there for the rest of your life.

In the bus ride to your acting class, you couldn’t help but to smile recalling the hug. Yes, the kiss had been awesome, but the way he had held you had made you feel like you were home. You had never felt this in your entire life and you couldn’t help but to think it meant something. Obviously it did. And for the first time in your life, it didn’t scare you at all. The idea of falling in love with him didn’t scare you one bit. You felt warm and couldn’t stop smiling when a cute couple walked in the bus. You noticed the way the sun shone brightly through the bus’s windows, you noticed the way a boy was nodding his head to the music in his earphones, you noticed a woman walking her dog on the side of the road and everything seemed more beautiful. Life seemed more beautiful.

As you walked out of the bus and breathed in the summer evening air, you felt as if you would be able to fly if you wanted. You felt stronger than you had ever been, as if a simple hug had given you all the strength in the world. Maybe you didn’t know it yet, but what you were feeling was love. Love in its purest form.

Your class went well and Brown told you before you left that he was really impressed by your monologue. He wished you good night as you left, the same smile plastered to your lips. That smile… you didn’t know but it made him realize maybe his ex-wife would answer his call tonight and that maybe she would give him the chance he so desperately wanted. You were irradiating love, a love he was missing and he wished to have back. And he couldn’t help but to be happy for you.

[mskinkyafro]

Behind Enemy Lines (Liam x MC)

A/N: I haven’t written a TRR fic in a while and after reading yesterday’s chapter it got the wheels running and I produced this small fic.  It place takes where chapter 12 left off and this is my interpretation to what may be in store next chapter. I don’t usually write drama or high stake situations so I’m out of my depth slightly so hopefully it's not too terrible and you all enjoy. Slight humorous, not a lot a fluff but its there. Not compliant to ch. 13 of TRR Book 3.

Summary: What their enemy revealed, what’s next for Calvin and Justice.

There was tense silence as the two duos standoff in the Nevrakis’ vault.  Justin’s face breaks into a malicious smile before speaking.

“I guess this very rude of me. Let me properly introduce myself. I’m Anton Severus the next great King of Cordonia.” 

Justice narrows her eyes at the man before and says.

“Over my dead body.”

He laughs.  “Oh, I plan too. You see, that’s why I’m going to miss having you around Justice. That charming naivety you possess is so amusing. You actually think you’ll stop me. Well, I guess they do say ignorance is bliss.”

He then looks over to Olivia who’s giving him the deadliest glare.

“Hello, my dearest wife.” “Don’t you dare call me that, you disgusting poor excuse of a man.” Olivia spat out, venom laced in her voice.

“Now, now. Is that way to talk to your husband?” he smirks at her.

Olivia’s face turns red with anger. She was about to speak once more before her aunt interrupted her.

“Please Olivia, it’s time to grow up child. I told you that you didn’t understand your past or future but it’s all clear now. The throne, the crown, Cordonia can be, no will be yours.” She spins and looks at Lucretia.

“Who said that I wanted the crown or Cordonia.”

Lucretia voice flares in anger.

“No one asked what you wanted but what you deserve. You’re a Nevrakis. You were born to conquer and rule like your ancestors before you. That’s what your parents died for, so you can sit on the throne. Do you want to disappoint them?”

Olivia stands there quiet. Her expression indecipherable as Anton speaks.

“Despite what you think Olivia, we’re the ones that truly care about you.”

“Bullshit…” Justice says under her breath.

Anton raises the pistol so it levels straight to Justice’s chest

“Would you like to repeat yourself?” he says with a snarl.

Her face is lit with a fiery expression.  “I said bullshit. You don’t care about her. She’s just the next pawn you plan to exploit. Because your plan doesn’t work without the heir of Lythikos. You care only about yourself and once you get what you want I bet you’ll dispose of her the first chance you get.”

He takes a step forward, closing in on Justice with the weapon still aimed at her.

“I’d watch your next words. You’re running out of time and I’d assume you’d like them to be meaningful. Possible something cliche or a dying proclamation of your love to Calvin. Which shows how much you care about Olivia.”

He then looks at Olivia once again

“She says I don’t care about you, but what about her. She strolls into our country. A fish out of water and takes what should’ve been yours. Calvin.”

Olivia begins to fidget, shifting from foot to foot. 

“Sore subject I see. It’s hard isn’t. Seeing him be with some common woman when you were always there by his side. Patiently waiting like an obedient puppy. But he never gave you the time of day. You deserve so much more, you’re worth so much.”

Justice cuts him off.

“Why Anton? Why do all of this now?”

“Curious are we. I would go into detail about my dastardly plan but this isn’t a movie. Let’s finish this right here and now.”

With the gun reinforced to aim directly at her heart, he cocks the gun and begins to slowly pull the trigger

“Goodbye Lady Olivera. I hope you learn that in life, you don’t get a happily ever after. This chapter of your fairytale is about to close.”

Justice rolls her eyes and interrupts.

“Try hard much.”

Exasperated with her he says slowly. “What was wrong with my last sentence. It was clever since you’re a model of a rag to riches story,  a Cinderella...”

She holds her hand up signaling for him to stop talking

“No, I got it. The fact that you are trying to explain it means that it was shitty. Plus it was an overkill. It’s fine because I’m not surprised you say a shitty one-liner because you’re a shitty person.”

Anton’s face darkens and he grins evilly

“I’m going to enjoy this next part.”

He then fires the gun as Olivia rushes him.  Her fast movement pushes Justice back and the bullet ricochets off the walls in the vault and hits Lucretia in the arm. She lets out a scream as she tends to her wound. The force of Olivia pushing her makes her stumble slightly, but Duchess Olivera keeps her balance. She looks around frantically and sees both Anton and Olivia fighting for the pistol. Lucretia ignores her arm for the moment to attack Justice but the tussle of the former two sends her flying into the wall where she hits her head and is knocked unconscious.

“Justice! Grab the dagger and go warn the others and get the hell out of Lythikos!”  Olivia yells.

Justice nods and grabs the dagger and runs out of the vault and climbs up the stairs fast. As she runs past Anton and Olivia he gains control back of the weapon and swings the butt of the gun hitting Olivia in the temple, knocking her unconscious.  Furious he rushes after the duchess, firing the gun hoping to hit his target. Justice can hear that the tussle ended and hear the gun firing after her as she moves through the Nevraki’s basement. As she enters through the doorway connecting to the main floor of the estate a stray bullet hits her calf, causing her to stumble. Looking back she can see him coming closer and she ignores the stinging of her leg and runs into the secret passage that she used earlier in the night. 

Escaping from Anton’s sights she hears his chilling warning echo.

“You can run Justice but you can’t hide. You’re playing my game and I always win. You and Calvin will be dead and the crown will sit on my head!”

She runs throughout the passageway making it back to her room and opens the door to see Mara. Mara looks at her with a bewildered expression. Before she can ask questions Justice rapidly calls out demands.

“Mara! Tell your detail to collect the gang and get them out of here!  Justin is behind it all. I have to go warn Calvin. He’s trying to kill us both.” 

“You’re wounded, Your Grace!” 

The Duchess moves away before continuing

“There’s no time! Warn the others now! Justin is coming for us now!” Mara nods and on her radio tell the detail. 

“Code Red! I repeat Code Red! Collect the nobles and escort them from the estate fast! I have my eyes on the King and Duchess.”

There’s a copy response and hearing so Justice rushes to Calvin’s bedroom and knocks wildly.

He opens the door and sees his fiancee out of breath, her leg dripping blood, and holding a dagger.

“Justice?! What happened?!”

She pulls him out of his room. “There’s no time to explain fully but it’s Justin who’s behind it all. He tried to kill me and I already told Mara to spread the word but WE NEED TO LEAVE NOW!” 

He’s shocked for a moment but then nods his understanding and collects himself. He takes Justice’s hand in his own and squeezes it as Mara leads them through the estate. They reach a back entrance and are greeted by three guards who charge at them. One takes Calvin, one goes for Mara and the last towards Justice.

Justice silently praises Mara for the self-defense classes and manages to hold her own against her attacker. As she dodges swing after swing she then finds an opening to attack and knocks him onto his back and with the dagger plunges down into his chest before pulling it out. He slowly bleeds out and she turns away from the gruesome scene to see both Mara and Calvin incapacitated their attackers. The adrenaline soon fades from the Duchess’ body and as she steps forward her leg buckles and she cries out dropping the dagger. 

Calvin catches her as she fell.

“Justice! Are you okay?” 

“I’m sorry my love, but I can’t run or walk on my leg any further.” she says gesturing to her injured leg. She then continues 

“Other than that my heart is still ticking and I don’t see any bright lights in a tunnel.” He smiles briefly and before he can respond to her joke, the trio can hear more footsteps heading in their direction. Without any hesitation Calvin scoops her into his arms and follows Mara outside, trudging through the snow to a black vehicle where he gently places Justice in before getting in himself. Once all inside Mara orders the drive to go and take them to one of the safe houses in Lythikos.

As the car drives gunshots can be heard being fired as they narrowly escape from Olivia’s estate. Once a safe distance from the attackers and no sign of any tailgaters, the car drives along forgotten back roads and they relax momentarily. Calvin searches for a first aid kit and tends to Justice’s wound. She proceeds to tell them how Olivia came to her and what they discovered and the setup waiting for them in the vault. Calvin takes it all in before he speaks. “I can’t believe it was Justin this whole time. I never knew of the clause of lineage being passed to the Nevrakises. And Olivia! She’s still back there.”  

“I know. I didn’t want to leave her but the smartest move is to be grateful for her current sacrifice and find a way to stop Anton. He won’t do anything to her because he needs her so she’s somewhat safe.”

“I suppose your right,” Calvin said agreeing.

He finishes patching Justice’s leg to stop the bleeding. Doing so he softly rubs her skin and sadness and guilt fill his eyes. “Justice...I’m so sorry you were hurt. I always promised to never let you get hurt and so far I’m failing.”

“No. Stop it, Calvin. This isn’t your fault. This had to happen. Now we know who is behind this all. Now we can counter-attack together and show Anton Severus he messed with the wrong royal couple” 

“You’re right Justice. It’s time to fight for what I love. You and Cordonia, together.”

“Together.” 

He leans in and kisses her lips passionately and holds her close thinking of how he almost could’ve lost her and the Duchess doing the same.