#no one understands me like my darling lorraine | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

frost-queen · 2 years ago

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Uninvited guest (Fem!Reader x Lorraine Moran)

Requested by: anon Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @merlin-dahlia, @elllie-does-the-posts, @alex--awesome--22, @floatlosers, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly@denkisclown, @wildieflower, @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @justanothercoco@subjecta13-thefangirl, @m-rae23, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @swampthing07, @imagines-by-her, @vviolynn, @melsunshine, @evilcr0ne,

“Y/n honey are you all set?” – Lorraine called out purse in hand. – “I’m not rushing you, but you know I hate being late. It’s all about….” – she continued suddenly interrupted by you. – “First impressions.” – you said weakly followed by a cough. Lorraine’s eyes widened seeing you still in your nightwear. She immediately dropped her purse rushing over to you. Her arm went around you to support you. – “Darling you are burning up.” – she concluded having touched your cheek and forehead. – “I..I…” – you said coughing loud.

“I’ll be ready in … two…” – more coughs came out as it shook your entire body. – “Oh no, no not such a thing.” – Lorraine insisted upon. – “You are sick. I’m not risking your health.” – she said helping you back into the bedroom. – “Lorraine… I…” – you tried to contradict but she wouldn’t hear it. Pulling the covers up, you got gently nudged back into bed. – “You are sick darling. I understand and so will our clients.” – she said tugging you in.

"But what about…” – you started as Lorraine tsked her tongue with a shake of her head. – “It is just a first conversation. An exploration nothing bad would happen to me without my beautiful wife and her equipment.” – She smiled brushing her knuckles down your cheek. – “Are… are you sure?” – you questioned. Lorraine hummed. – “I need you to stay here and get better.” – she pressed on not wanting you to worry any further. – “Okay…” – you almost dozed back off, feeling terribly exhausted.

Lorraine leaned down to press a kiss against your forehead. – “I’ll be back before you know it.” – she whispered. She smiled down seeing you had almost gone back to sleep. The sickness exhausting you. Lorraine snuck out of your room. Before she headed out she placed some medicine, water, and some cookies on your nightstand in case you needed them. Giving one last kiss she left for her meeting with a family. The family had called Lorraine and you days ago. Asking to come and investigate if their house was haunted or not.

They needed to be sure, being able to put the blame on that otherwise they’d have gone mad. Normally you’d go with your wife as you were the technical woman. Having several equipment to record voices, pick up frequencies and so on. Now with you being sick, she wouldn’t have that. Not that she needed it, but it was always helpful to help the family. Like Lorraine said it was just an exploration conversation so normally nothing much would happen.

Lorraine found herself at the house after driving for about 45 minutes. The house was remoted from the busy town life Lorraine, and you lived in. She got out of the car, headed up to the door and knocked. A lovely couple in their forties opened. – “Good day, I am Lorraine Moran. You must excuse my wife but she has fallen ill this morning so she couldn’t accompany me.” – Lorraine said with a warm smile. – “Oh, I hope nothing bad.” – the woman replied concerned. Lorraine shook her head. – “She is the strongest of the two of us. It is nothing severe. May I come in?”

The woman nodded moving back for her to enter. Lorraine entered following the husband into the living room. Their house was decorated cozy and comfy. Two sets of sofa’s face each other with a coffee table in the middle. An interesting carpet spread out underneath it. Lorraine took a seat with a pleasant smile. – “Shall we begin?” – she offered once the couple had taken a seat in the sofa before hers. The man looked worriedly at his wife as she nodded reassuring. The man cleared his throat and hesitantly began his story.

Explained what they were hearing. How things moved in their house, and they’d see shadows in the corner of their eyes. Once they turn to look it is gone. Lorraine listened with much interest, scribbling a few things on a notepad. About an hour later got Lorraine a chill down her spine. It made her move uncomfortable in the sofa. She tried to focus again on the story till a flash image crossed her mind. It flashed through her mind in a split second making her furrow her brows in pain. As if getting a severe headache.

Blinking rapidly more images flashed before her mind. In one of them she recognized her bedroom. – “Are… are you alright?” – the woman asked seeing Lorraine touch her forehead. Lorraine hummed soft trying to be polite. She slightly tilted her head to the side, hearing a loud scream in her ear. Followed by the images of you crouched against the wall on the bed. Long fingers stretching out over the matrass like a shadow, trying to grab you.

The second the shadow fingers came in contact with your ankle, it pulled you with a sudden snap. Lorraine gasped for air, her heart beating out of control. – “What is wrong?” – the husband asked as Lorraine jumped up. – “I have to go.” – she said packing up quickly. – “We’ll continue this, but there has been an emergency at home.” – was the only thing Lorraine concluded taking a run for it.

You slowly woke up not sure how long you had slept. You weren’t even aware you had fallen asleep. Adjusting to the light in your room, you turned your head to see the time. Exactly an hour or so had passed since you remembered the last time. Seeing the items on the nightstand made you smile soft. Reaching for the medicine, you glanced up seeing that the door was half open. Taking out a strip, you looked back at the door frowning. Was it your imagination or was that door more open now. A few inches.

Looking back down you took out a pill, hearing soft creaking. Frantically looking up, you saw the last of the door move. Staring at the door, you so hoped you were imagining things because you had a fever. It was normal for people with fevers to see things. To imagine stuff happening that wasn’t really going on, but you should at least know better. You quickly took the pill with some water. You nearly choked on the water hearing a loud thud.

Like something had fallen down. You didn’t want to look, but your curiosity took over. You got out of bed slowly, walking slowly over to your closet. It seemed like the sound had come from there. The closer you stepped to the closer, the louder your heart started to beat in your chest.

Breathing getting shallow as you reached your hand out. Lowering it to the handle. Your gaze fell on the creak between the two doors of your closet. Staring at it, something felt alluring. A sudden eye looking back at you made you jump out of your skin. The eye color the only thing illuminating against the darkness in the closet.

You threw the closet doors open ready to fight whatever was hiding in there. Some clothes moved from your action, but other than that the closet was empty. Feeling extremely exhausted you returned to bed, touching your forehead. Closing your eyes once more, you hoped the medicine would work soon. Quickly you had fallen asleep again. Yet this time it felt like you were half awake. Unable to open your eyes, but still very alert. Your mind buzzing.

Strange visuals planted your mind. Your mind tripping. You felt like were hallucinating vividly where the world spun around. A dizziness overcame you. You wanted it to stop. Breathing shaky you tried to speak. Tried to tell it to stop. – “St…sto…stop…” – you whispered. Clamping onto your blankets it felt like your bed was spinning mindlessly around. The pin in a compass spinning out of control in all directions. – “Stop…” – you said trying to sound louder. Clamping harder onto your blankets. – “Stop!” – you shouted loud finally able to open your eyes.

They flashed open with a loud gasp. The room suddenly darker. You got up, crawling closer to the wall at the head of the bed. – “Show yourself!” – you called out knowing something was taunting with you. – “I know you are watching me so show yourself!” – the bed shuddered as you grabbed on to your blankets for grip. The shaking stopped as your eyes widened. At the end of your bed rose slowly a shadowed hand from the ground. Long boney fingers rising up from the grave. It made you gasp loud, watching in fear. You wanted to scream but no sounds came out.

The hand kept stretching up to the ceiling till you saw the wrist and some of the arm as well. You yelped loud when it snapped onto your bed. Then like a snake it slithered closer to you. Finally you found your voice, screaming loud as you pulled your feet up to you. – “Lorraine!” – you screamed out calling out to your wife as you were terrified. The fingers almost reached your ankle as you tried to pull your feet away. Then the door slammed against the wall. Lorraine panting loud.

“Get away from my wife!” – she shouted throwing a vile of holy water at the hand. The skin sizzled at the touch of holy water, making it pull back. Lorraine pulled out her cross, holding it up. – “I gave you no permission to be in my house!” – she yelled out pushing it back with the cross. – “Be gone or I’ll send you back into the fiery pits of hell!” – she threatened throwing more holy water.

Lorraine kept coming closer not backing down. You stared in awe at your wife. She threw another vile, speaking in Latin as your bed started to shake again. You held on as the shaking got wilder. Then it stopped. The room cleared up. A heavy weight lifted. Lorraine exhaled deep. – “Y/n!” – she called out running over to you. She jumped onto the bed, falling into your arm.

“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have left.” – she said hugging you tightly. – “You couldn’t know… You couldn’t.” – you replied reassuring her. – “I am save now.” – you told her, making her look at you. Lorraine smiled. – “I am not leaving your sight.” – she answered before kissing you deeply.

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storytimewithnova · 1 year ago

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Eerie Tale of La Lorraine

Amidst the eerie inn, where the Akaashi siblings sought refuge from the wrath of an impending hurricane, the atmosphere grew increasingly unsettling. Thunder rumbled like the growl of some vengeful deity, and the weather outside mirrored the tempest brewing within.

Within the dimly lit inn, the twins, Keiji and Hajime, found solace at the bar, while their younger sister, Shona, toiled behind it. The violent crash of thunder sent shivers through the souls of those present, especially the children who huddled together, terror etched into their young faces.

Sensing the need to quell their fears and divert their attention from the raging storm outside, Shona spoke, her voice carrying an eerie, almost poetic tone that sent shivers down spines.

Shona: "Listen, little ones, as the tempest rages beyond these walls, let me weave a tale, a tale of darkness and despair that shall consume your thoughts."

Intrigued and trembling, the children gathered closer, their wide eyes locked onto Shona.

Little girl: "What kind of story is it?"

Shona: "A tale of La Lorraine, a story shrouded in mystery and steeped in tragedy, my dears."

The children leaned in, their curiosity piqued.

Shona: "La Lorraine, a young soul forced to surrender her babes, her innocence stolen by the cruel whims of fate. Her parents, proud and wealthy, could not bear the shame of her pregnancy."

A tiny voice, pink-clad and innocent, chimed in, "What happened to her, Miss Shona?"

Shona: "Ah, little one, when dawn's first light painted the sky, La Lorraine, burdened by her father's cruel decree, carried her innocent offspring to the tranquil lake. There, she obeyed her heartless father's wishes, drowning her three precious babies along with her sorrows."

The children gasped, horrified by the dreadful tale.

Little boy: "Why would any parent make their child do that?"

Shona: "A question that haunts us all, my dears, for La Lorraine's sorrow knew no bounds. Consumed by guilt, she chose to join her beloved children in the realm of the departed. Now, she dwells by that very lake, her anguished cries echoing in the night, pleading for her children's forgiveness."

Shona observed that the children were now fighting heavy eyelids, struggling to stay awake.

Shona: "Time for slumber, little ones, for the darkness outside mirrors the haunting tale I've spun. Rest now, and perhaps, in the morning, the storm shall have passed."

Little boy in blue: "But, Miss Shona, we're not sleepy."

Shona: "Try as you might, dear, but the Sandman beckons you all. To bed, my darlings."

Reluctantly, they groaned but obeyed, succumbing to the need for rest. Keiji, the youngest of the Akaashi siblings, approached his sister.

Keiji: "So, Shona, which version of the story did we tell them tonight?"

Shona: "A version suitable for innocent minds, Keiji. The true tale, our family's tale, is far darker. Do you think I would wish those children to carry our burden and go to sleep with nightmares?"

Hajime, the other twin, joined the conversation, a solemn look in his eyes.

Hajime: "She's right, Keiji. Some stories are best left untold, especially to those as fragile as children."

Shona sighed, her gaze distant as if contemplating the weight of their family's dark history.

Shona: "How do you suppose we tell children that we are the very children from the story I just recounted? The offspring of La Lorraine, cursed by a tragic legacy?"

Keiji and Hajime exchanged somber glances, understanding the gravity of their shared secret.

Keiji: "It's a burden we bear, Shona, one we've carried all our lives. But protecting their innocence is paramount. We'll continue to weave the tale as we have, shielding them from our own haunting reality."

Hajime nodded in agreement, his voice filled with determination.

Hajime: "We'll be the protectors of their dreams, keeping the darkness at bay, just as La Lorraine sought to protect her children from a cruel world."

As the storm raged outside, the Akaashi siblings held their secret close, their own tale intertwined with the haunting legend of La Lorraine, while the innocent children slept, blissfully unaware of the darkness that lurked within their own midst.

In the quiet of their shared secret, Keiji broke the silence, his voice filled with a sense of responsibility.

Keiji: "I think it's time to visit mother, to confront the past and seek some closure."

Hajime, reluctant and tormented by their history, protested.

Hajime: "Must we? Can't we put it off a little longer? I don't know if I'm ready to face her."

Shona, ever the voice of reason and compassion, chimed in softly.

Shona: "Unfortunately, dear big brother, we can't keep running from our past. Mother yearns for our forgiveness, and as hard as it may be, we owe it to ourselves to find a way to heal."

Hajime, burdened by anger and resentment, voiced his inner turmoil.

Hajime: "What the heck do we even say to her? She wants our forgiveness, but I can't simply forgive and forget."

Keiji and Shona exchanged knowing glances, acknowledging the pain that still festered within their hearts.

Keiji: "We'll find the words, Hajime. It won't be easy, but maybe, just maybe, in facing our mother and our shared past, we can start to heal our own wounds."

Shona: "We'll do it together, as we always have. And perhaps, in time, forgiveness will come, not just for her but for us too."

With a sense of resolution, the Akaashi siblings understood that their journey to confront the specter of their family's tragic legacy was a path they had to tread, no matter how difficult or painful it might be.

As the storm outside continued its relentless assault on the inn, the Akaashi siblings found strength in their bond and shared determination. They knew that they couldn't keep avoiding the past, and their mother's plea for forgiveness couldn't be ignored any longer.

Several weeks later, they made the difficult journey to visit their mother, a woman who had been haunted by her own actions for years. The encounter was emotional, filled with tears, anger, and sorrow. It wasn't an easy path to forgiveness, and it wouldn't happen overnight.

However, with time, the wounds began to heal, and a sense of closure slowly emerged. Their mother, too, sought redemption and attempted to make amends for the pain she had caused. It was a long and challenging process, but it was a step towards healing the broken family.

The Akaashi siblings continued to protect the innocent minds of the children they encountered in their inn, weaving tales that hid their own dark history. But, they also carried with them the hope that, someday, the stories they told would serve as a reminder that even in the darkest of times, there is a possibility for redemption and forgiveness.

As the years passed, the Akaashi family learned that forgiveness was a journey, not a destination. And while the stormy memories of their past would never completely dissipate, they were determined to face the future together, stronger and bound by the unbreakable ties of family.

#La Lorraine #akaashi siblings #halloween special

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lavendertales · 3 years ago

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Hello darling. I saw your requests were open so I thought I’d send one in!

I’ve been struggling with my sense of self worth and self love and I feel like I don’t really matter. I would love a little something with Javi telling the reader otherwise. (For the record I think javi struggles with that too.)

Thank you girl. 🧡

Hey there, babe. I hope you feel better soon and also know that you DO matter. You always will, okay? Hope this little drabble can provide some comfort to you🧡

gif: @javier-pena

Old habits die hard and Javier knew that so damn well. The time after Colombia was tough, as was readjusting to normal life. Javier was always looking over his shoulder, always second-guessing everyone’s intentions and he hated it. He hated how it all got to his head, convincing him that he was, in the end and in spite of all of his efforts and all of the harm he’s done, a loser.

When those thoughts come rushing in, he instantly feels like he’ll never amount to much in front of anyone. He knows that’s why his relationship with Lorraine didn’t hold up, why he could never fully commit himself to Helena or Gabriela, why nothing ever seems to last.

Needless to say, he surely gets it when you are having those days, too.

For him, he prefers to drown his sorrows or do some work around the farm to help his father, usually in silence. That works for you too, aside the farm work. You enjoyed silence and being alone with your own thoughts. But, just like Javier, you secretly hoped there was someone out there who would understand you and be there for you.

“Mind if I join you?”

Javier peeks through the door and sees you nod. He sits on the edge of the bed, hands together and sneaking glances at you. You’re clearly in a tough spot so he doesn’t want to push you.

“Wanna talk?”

“Hm, not really. I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?”

You shrug. That’s a cue for Javier to move closer to you and reach for your hand. Your fingers intertwine with his and you exhale, like it’s the first time that day when you do so.

“You don’t have to apologize for feeling however you want to feel,” he says. “You should feel however you want to.”

“Really? Because right now… I feel like I’ll never be enough and that I don’t matter to anyone – “

“That’s a lie.”

You lock eyes with him, goosebumps all over your skin.

“That’s a big, damn lie those thoughts try to tell you but none of them is true. You do matter. To me, to your family and friends… you always will matter. Your place is here, with me – us.”

You stifle a chuckle, though the moment seems appropriate for it. Flustered Javier was a very rare sight but oh so endearing, and in this moment, when he shows compassion and is utterly open with you, makes you warm and truly not alone. You nearly tear up at the thought.

“I know how fucked up it is to feel like that,” Javier adds on a thick tone of voice. “It takes away your light and steals precious moments out of your life but you have to remember they are not in charge. You are in charge.”

You smile faintly at him. “Did you have anyone to tell you these things?”

“A therapist counts, I’m assuming.”

This time you do chuckle. “It does. But you should know your place is right here too. With all of us.”

Javier smiles as well, but quickly wipes it off of his face. This isn’t about him.

“You’re more than enough,” he mutters. “You’re… everything you should be.”

“Thank you, Javi.”

You press a kiss to his cheek and you briefly notice his ears turn red. You make a mental note to repeat the gesture sometime later when you’ll feel better.

permanent Pedro crew:

@doin-stuff @pedro-pastel @acourtofsnakes @wild-at-heart-kept-in-cage @beskarboobs @rosiefridayrogersunday @boxdyeblonde @imcalledflorence @artsymaddie @casssiopeia @sleep-tight1 @pasckles @northernpunk @wantingpedropascal @evelynseventyr @itssmashedavo @phoenixhalliwell @elegantduckturtle @mylifeinthetardisforever @ohhersheybars @kingsqueensandvagabonds @greeneyedblondie44 @sebbys-girl @mrsparknuts @hnt-escape @hayley-the-comet @spideysimpossiblegirl @lsphoenix @kirsteng42 @lunaemss @goldielocks2004 @diogodxlot @queridopascal @gracie7209 @floraandfrost @mejswho @dobbyjen @janebby @what-iwish-you-knew @jedi-jesi @kaqua @datenshi666 @stevie75 @ezras-channel-rat @for-my-satisfaction @quica-quica-quica @mishasminion360 @eri16 @lovesbiggerthanpride @xaestheticalien @grandfanficstation @mrsudontknowme @hello-i-am-daydreaming @mando-s-wife @pastamomma @midwesternwitchery @headinthestarz @drreidsconverse @dindjarinneedsahug @captainjaspenor @pscalwhiskey @1800-fight-me @phandoz @ayrusss @amneris21

requests are open!

#requests #drabble #Javier Peña x reader #Javier Peña fluff #Javier Peña drabble #Javier Peña x you #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier pena fluff #javier pena drabble #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fluff #pedro pascal drabble

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wiypt-writes · 4 years ago

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You Cut A Mean Rug, Doll Face

Bucky Barnes One Shot

Summary: It’s no secret that Bucky Barnes has women falling at his feet, but it’s very rarely the other way round. He’s the love ‘em and leave ‘em type, well according to Steve anyway. So, when you find him hiding to avoid a certain Private’s advances, it amuses you no end…until she shows up and you find yourself offering to be his ‘Fake Date’ for Stark’s upcoming USO Gala Dance.

Fake Dating in the middle of a war…what could possibly go wrong?

Warnings: Bad language words. Smut. (NSFW 18+)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

A/N: So this is written as part of @anika-ann’s 1111 Follower Challenge. Congratulations darling! My prompt was Fake Dating.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar reader and any other OCs that may or may not be mentioned. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

**********

“Hey, Steve.” You greeted the blonde super soldier as you walked into the little make-shift kitchen, deep in the underground London SSR HQ.

“Afternoon, Agent.” He nodded and you rolled your eyes, picking a piece of fluff off your khaki green uniform jacket.

“Seriously, after everything we’ve pulled together we’re still at agent?” You raised an eyebrow drawing a soft chuckle from the man in front of you as he poured a coffee into one of the tin mugs on offer, holding it out to you.

“Sorry, force of habit. Y/N. That better?”

“Much.” You nodded, taking the mug with a thanks, pulling a face as you took a sip. “God, all the technology we have and I still can’t get a decent cup of Joe.”

“Maybe you should have a word with Stark.” Steve shrugged. “He seems to be able to lay his hands on most things, rationing be dammed.”

“Well, you’re the man with the plan and he’s the man that can.” A smirk pulled at your face as you watched Steve fight the urge to roll his eyes. “Anyway, where’s Barnes? Colonel Phillips is riding my ass about a report he hasn’t filed. Keeps moaning on about us being unable to run strategic operations if we don’t actually do any strategizing.”

At that Steve’s face broke into a grin. “He’s hiding.”

“Hiding?” You frowned. “Chester isn’t that scary, he’s a pussy cat if you figure out how to make him purr.”

“Okay there are so many things wrong with what you just said that I’m not even going to go into.” Steve snorted and you flashed him a grin as he continued. “He ain’t hiding from Phillips, he’s hiding from Private Lorraine.”

“Why?” You paused, mug hovering an inch or so from your mouth.

“Well according to Stark who heard from Jones who heard from-“

“Yeah, yeah, skip to the interesting bit about why Barnes his hiding like the cowardly lion” You cut him off and he raised his eyebrows, his smirk growing wider.

“She wants him to ask her to that USO dance gala thing Stark is hosting.”

At that you felt the heat in your neck, jealousy, at the thought of the blue-eyed solider you’d been harbouring a crush on for months, like some love sick teenager, dancing with someone else. You carefully held Steve’s eyes and licked your lips, hoping you hadn’t given yourself away too much.

“Of course she does.” You shrugged, clearing your throat. “But that doesn’t answer my question. Why is he hiding?”

“He doesn’t want to go with her.” Steve shrugged, taking another sip of his drink and this time you did absolutely nothing to stop the grin that spread across your face.

“How come?”

At that Steve hesitated for a moment before he popped a shoulder again, slightly avoiding your eye line. "No idea."

You knew he was lying, he was notoriously bad at it, but before you could call him out, a deep voice spoke from the doorway.

"Sure your Ma told you it was rude to talk about people behind their backs, Stevie." Bucky grumbled as he walked into the room.

"Yeah, and I'm sure yours told you it was rude to do a lot of things that you still do anyway." Steve shot back and Bucky merely rolled his eyes, walking to the coffee pot and helping himself.

"Well, I’m astounded." You looked at Bucky as he turned around, leaning slightly against the small units that lined the room. "James Buchanan Barnes is fanning a woman away."

"Yeah, I don’t make a habit of it, Doll Face." He eyed you shrewdly over his mug.

"Still, never thought I'd see the day." You hummed, sipping your drink.

Bucky rolled his eyes and gestured with his mug towards Steve. "Now you sound like him."

"So, humour me, Barnes. What is it about her that’s making you run for the hills?"

Bucky hesitated for a moment before he winkled his nose and answered you. "She’s not my type."

"Really? I thought every woman was your type."

At that, Steve gave a chuckle. "She's got you there, Buck. I don't think I saw you without one before you shipped off."

"Shut up, Steve." Bucky bit back before he gave a low groan. "She's just..."

"Just what?" You scoffed. "Tall, blonde with big, come-to-bed eyes and pouty red lips? What's not to fall over? Dum Dum follows her around like a dog."

"Sweetheart, Dum Dum would probably chase a pig wearing lipstick if he thought he had a chance." Bucky looked at you his eyebrow raised and you heard Steve give a little snort of laughter. You turned slowly to him, and his eyes widened a little as you narrowed your eyes.

"What's your excuse?"

"His excuse?" Bucky paused, mug poised at his lips as Steve began to flounder over his words, a pink flush spreading into his cheeks.

“Yeah, he kissed her.” You informed and Buck gave a loud groan, placing his mug down on the side. "Peggy caught them, big time."

"She kissed me." Steve protested and at that Bucky sighed.

"What has my life become? Seriously?" He shook his head, his eyes flicking between you and Steve. "I’m hiding because I don’t wanna go dancing with some broad whilst this punks beating ‘em off with a stick."

"Shield." You corrected as Steve made an exasperated noise in his throat.

"I’m in a nightmare, right?" Bucky finished.

"’Fraid not, Buckaroo." You placed your now empty mug besides his on the wooden counter. "But I suggest that you get your report to me on the Dresden raid or you really will be in a bad dream. Colonel Phillips wants them pronto and I'm not taking the flack because you're too lazy to do it."

Bucky groaned. "How am I supposed to think about that with all this other shit going on?"

"Nice to see you have your priorities straight." Steve scoffed and Bucky glared at him but before he could reply, a loud girly laugh filled the kitchen and you saw Bucky still.

"There you are!" Private Lorraine spoke and you exchanged a glance with Steve, a look of utter glee spreading across his face at his friend's discomfort. "I was beginning to think you were avoiding me, Sergeant Barnes."

"Now what on Earth would give you that idea?" You quipped. As usual, she completely ignored you and watched as Bucky turned to look at her.

"Well, you found me." He nodded, a false smile spreading across his face.

"Yeah, I did. So, err, this dance, do you have a date or..."

Bucky took a deep breath, "well, the thing is..."

"Yes, he does." You blurted out, before you could stop yourself. You stepped forward and slipped your hand into his, ignoring the shocked look he gave you as you stood by his side. "He's going with me."

"You?" Lorraine looked at you, her eyebrows shooting up so high they almost disappeared into her hairline.

"Yes, me." You smiled. "So, you'll have to find someone else to go with. I think Duggan might be free."

"Well, suppose there's no accounting for taste." The blonde woman in front of you looked you up and down and you bristled under her glare, your nostrils flaring angrily. Sure, you might not have her model looks, hell, you might not even be conventionally pretty in some eyes, but you sure weren’t going to make her let you feel like shit. You'd been brought up by a loving family who made you realise your worth and that despite what anyone else said, you were just as good as them. You continued to hold her gaze and eventually she licked her lips and looked away.

"Well, erm, that's..." she clicked her tongue against her cheek, before deciding to cut her losses and she left the room.

The three of you stood in silence before Bucky turned to look at you, a smirk spreading across his face. "You, are a genius!" He pressed a kiss to your cheek and you swallowed slightly, feeling the heat in your neck. "I owe you, big time."

"Yeah, you do." You shrugged. "You can start by doing that damned report. And then you’re buying me a drink at the Gala, seeing as we're, you know, fake dating."

"You got it, Doll." Bucky saluted, flashing you a wink.

"Fake dating?" Steve muttered, and you turned to look at him as he shook his head, looking up at the ceiling. "I've heard it all now."

You cleared you throat, and removed your hand from where it was still in Bucky’s and swallowed. "I need to get going. That report, Barnes. Don’t forget."

"Anything for you, Darlin'." Bucky grinned.

You gave him a last little smile, and then turned leaving the room letting out an inward groan.

What the hell had you just got yourself into?

****

“Why did I do this?” You sighed, looking at your reflection in the mirror, shaking your head.

“Because you’re sweet on him.” Peggy matter of factly replied and you shot her a look in the mirror. She gave you a knowing smirk and you sighed.

“I just felt sorry for him, okay?”

“Sorry for him?”

“Yeah, you know what she’s like, she wouldn’t leave him alone.”

“Admirable.” Peggy nodded, stepping forward so she was behind you, reaching up to fix another pin into your up do. “So what’s your master plan? Act the part tonight and break up tomorrow?”

You shrugged. “Haven’t thought that far.”

“I doubt you’ve thought at all.” The brunette looked at you, her perfectly shaped eyebrow raising slightly.

“You know, you and Steve really are a match made in heaven.” You scoffed, stepping to the side as you smoothed down the dress you were wearing. It wasn’t anything fancy, but it traced your curves perfectly and made a nice change from the uniform you spent every day wearing. “Go take your righteous indignation and discuss it with him. That is if you’re speaking to him this week, I can never keep up.”

At that Peggy pursed her lips. “We’re not discussing me and Steve, we’re discussing you and how you’re going to get through the next however long pretending to date someone you actually want to date.”

“Well, it could be worse.” You shrugged.

“How?”

“I could be about to spend however long pretending to date someone I don’t like.”

Peggy looked at you for a second and you held her gaze, challenging her to say anything more on the matter. Eventually she merely raised her eyebrows before she turned and looked at the clock.

“We should go.”

With a deep breath you took one last glance at your reflection, grabbed the small clutch from the cot in your room and followed her out.

*****

The small dancehall in London's Soho District was packed with soldiers and civilian staff alike, and you accepted the drink offered to you by a waiter as you entered the main room, the Big Band already playing a bluesy-jazz number as background music, whilst people stood around the room, chatting. It didn’t take you long to locate Bucky. He was stood with Steve and the rest of the Howlies by the bar, all of them dressed in their best uniforms. Taking a deep breath, those pesky butterflies fluttering away in your stomach, you made your way over with Peggy and she let out an annoyed sigh as the men all blatantly looked the pair of you up and down.

“You’d think they’d never seen a woman before.” She mumbled and you scoffed out a laugh.

“Well, we’ve been running missions with them for that long maybe they’ve forgotten that we actually have boobs and a vagina.”

At that Peggy stopped to look at you, and the pair of you started to laugh.

“You are so uncouth.” She shook her head at you, as you linked your arm through hers and continued your path towards your team.

“Like I said, I’ve been in the field with these bozos for over a year, guess their bad habits are rubbing off on me.”

“Well, as long as that’s all that’s rubbing off on you.”

“Agent Carter!” Your mouth fell open in mock horror, turning to look at her as she continued facing forward, her lips quirked up at one side in a barely there smirk. “Now who’s being uncouth?”

“Ladies.” Dum-Dum greeted you with a tip of his bowler as you approached and you nodded to him, smiling before you turned to look at Bucky.

“Wow.” His eyes flicked up and down your form again, and you swallowed, a warm feeling spreading over you as his eyes took in your outfit and when his eyes finally met yours he cleared his throat and you gave him a small smile. “You err, look great. I mean, compared to how you usually look.”

At that Falsworth, Dum-Dum, Dernier, Jones and Morita all snorted as Steve let out a groan.

“Thanks. I think.” You frowned.

“No, I err…I didn’t mean it like that.” Bucky hastily began to back track as Dernier mumbled something in French, of which you caught the words ‘stupid idiot’, Jones hastily agreeing. “I just, well, it’s different to how I’ve seen you before.”

“Well a tight dress and courts ain’t exactly practical for hiking through woods and mounting stealth operations.” You shrugged, taking a sip of your drink. “But for the record, you look exactly the same as you usually do.”

At that the men all roared with laughter as Bucky sighed, dropping his head. “Guess I asked for that.”

Bucky watched as you gave him a small grin, before you turned to talk to Jones, and he took the chance to observe you properly. You looked good. You always did in his eyes but tonight, you were a knock out. Your dress hugged the curves of your thighs and hips, nipping in at the waist with a neckline that showed him just enough skin to leave him imagining what it would feel like to pepper your collarbone with kisses. Your hair was set in a perfect style, your lips rouged, you looked effortlessly stylish. He swallowed, sliding his finger in between the collar of his shirt and neck in an attempt to loosen the starched material as he suddenly flushed very, very warm. He felt timid, awkward, and that in itself made him feel a strange juxtaposition of irritated and amused. Bucky Barnes didn’t get nervous around women, that was Steve’s speciality. But here he was, flapping over how best to ask you if you wanted to get a drink whilst that punk was laughing away with Agent Carter hanging off his every word.

No, this wouldn’t do.

With a small cough, Bucky cleared his throat and dropped his hand to the base of your back. “You want a drink, Doll Face?”

You smiled up at him, blinking and nodded. “Yeah, thanks Buck. A gin would be great.”

Bucky waved over the bartender, placed your orders and had just turned back to you when he spotted the woman who’d thrown him into this mess in the first place, Private Lorraine arriving with some other poor, unsuspecting soldier from the unit. Bucky didn’t know his name, not that he cared.

“Hey,” he nudged you and you turned to face him and he jerked his head, “guess this fake date worked.”

You followed his eye-line and visibly bristled a little bit before you shook your head and shrugged. “Poor bastard.”

“You really don’t like her, do you?”

“Whatever gave you that idea?”

“Just a hunch.” Bucky smirked, passing you your drink, before he gestured with his arm for you to follow the group who were now moving away from the bar to find a table. “After you, Darlin’.”

*****

You had to admit, you’d had your reservations but as it turned out, the night was pretty fun. Whilst you’d been hyper aware of Bucky besides you, you felt reasonably relaxed. His arm had dropped round your shoulder at one point, pulling you in for a friendly hug, the way he often did out in the field, and you’d simply enjoyed being as close to him as you were.

Because, fake or not, a chance to date Bucky Barnes didn’t come along that often.

It was a couple of hours later when you both found yourself at the table with Steve who made an excuse he needed the bathroom and left. Bucky snorted as Steve headed across the room and shook his head.

“Bathroom, he must think we’re stupid. He’s gone to find Peggy.”

“Aww, don’t. I think it’s cute.” You smiled, turning to look at Bucky. “Don’t you? I mean we’re fighting a war and in the middle of all this bloodshed and horror, he’s found someone who…” you trailed off as Bucky was watching you, a strange expression on his face. “Or not…am I talking nonsense?”

“No, it’s not that.” Bucky shook his head. “I just, guess I never thought about it that way. But you’re right. Suppose none of us know how long we have left, especially at the moment.”

He trailed off, his eyes scanning yours for something, but what you weren’t sure. You felt your cheeks warm and you glanced down at your hands, before you turned to watch the dancing going on around you. It was crazy when you stopped to contemplate that, in the midst of all the devastation and destruction, life was still going on. Bucky was right, your time could be up in a flash at any point.

“Well, seeing as you put it so eloquently,” you looked at Bucky, jerking your head to the dance floor. “Wanna show me how it’s done in Brooklyn?”

“Do you mind if we don’t?” Bucky shook his head and your heart sank. “I just…well, I…”

“No, you don’t need to explain.” You hastily back tracked. “I just thought it might keep up appearances, that’s all.”

There was an awkward silence, Bucky studying you for a moment with an expression you really couldn’t place and then, well, it all became too much.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom.” You made the same excuse Steve had given moments ago, and before Bucky could say anything, you rose from your seat and walked away, as dignified as you could, trying not to let the tears that were stinging your eyes fall down your face.

*****

Bucky watched you walk away from him, your movements graceful as you headed round the tables placed around the edge of the dance floor, taking care to avoid the groups of guests as you went. He let out a heavy sigh and shook his head. This was a mess. It had started out as a bit of fun, you helping him out, because that's what you did, but he'd been a wreck all night. Frankly, being in such close proximity to you was making his head swim.

He'd wanted to dance with you, he'd really wanted to dance with you, but he didn’t trust himself because the truth was he liked you. A lot and he had done so for a while. He wasn’t sure he could trust himself to hold you on the dance floor without trying to kiss the life out of you. So he’d said no, and let you walk away, and the look of hurt on your face was now burnt into his mind. With an angry snort he stood up and stalked to the bar, signalling for another drink.

He stood there, nursing his glass for what felt like an age, seething at his own stupidity until a familiar voice cut through his murderous thoughts.

"Did HYDRA scramble your brain or something, Buck?"

"What?" Bucky's brow furrowed as he turned to look at Steve.

"You’re missing a girl's signals."

"Signals, what are you..."

"Y/N, you dolt." Steve rolled his eyes.

"What about her?"

"She likes you, has for ages."

"I don’t think so, Steve" Bucky snorted.

Steve sighed and leaned against the bar as Bucky necked his scotch. "So explain the look she had on her face as she stalked passed me before.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. "She wanted a dance, dames love dancing. I said no.”

“And why did you do that?”

Bucky took a deep breath and didn’t answer. But he knew Steve could see right through him, the punk always could.

“Buck, what exactly did you think I meant that night at the bar when we first came to England a couple of months back? About Peggy having a friend? I meant Y/N."

Bucky blinked, his mouth dropping open. "What?"

"She's sweet on you. Falsworth told me. I was trying to give you a hint."

Utter frustration lanced through Bucky's entire body and he shook his head. "How in the name of Hitler’s left ball was I supposed to understand that?"

"Well, I thought it was obvious."

"No, no it wasn't, Steve!" Bucky groaned, his eyes flicking around, trying to locate you in the crowd but he felt his heart sink as there was no sign. "Oh, I fucked up, big time."

"Suggest you go fix it then." Steve shrugged, his voice a little slow as he himself was busy looking at Peggy as she walked towards him, smiling. He stood up straight and clapped Bucky on the shoulder, before he walked off, leaving his sergeant alone.

Bucky anxiously continued to search the room with his eyes, and felt his heart jump as he saw a flash of colour the same as your dress, and your familiar profile as you walked onto the dance floor, your hand in Howard’s as the man smiled at you, pulling you into a hold.

Oh, fuck you, Stark!

Without wasting another second, Bucky necked his scotch and moved, striding around the dancehall towards you, not watching where he was going which was why he collided straight into Dum-Dum.

"Woah, Barnes, where's the fire?"

"On the dance floor, I hope.” Bucky sidestepped round the broad man quickly, his eyes entirely fixed on you as he weaved his way round the various couples all in the middle of a reasonable slow dance until he reached the pair of you.

He cleared his throat, gently tapping Howard on the shoulder as your eyes fixed onto his, surprise etched across your face.

“Mind if I cut in?”

xxxx

“Did it work?” Peggy asked Steve as the pair of them stood to the side of the hall. Steve glanced over the dancefloor, just as Howard stepped away from you, kissing your hand in an over-the-top gesture before he turned and walked away. Bucky approached you tentatively, and Steve saw you give the faintest of nods, before his friend took you in a close dancing hold.

Grinning, Steve turned back to Peggy, jerking his head to the floor. “See for yourself.”

As the pair of them watched you and Bucky for a second, Steve’s eyes then fell on Howard who had paused to talk to someone. Almost as if he could sense the Captain’s eyes on him, Stark glanced over, a smug grin crossed his face, and he gave Steve the thumbs up sign.

Steve smiled into his glass, the irony at the fact that Bucky had tried and failed many times to fix him up with gals in the past yet he’d managed to turn the tables in a single try, wasn’t wasted on the Captain.

xxxx

“Funny looking bathroom.” Bucky cleared his throat as he steered the pair of you round in a gentle dance.

“Oh, well I got waylaid a little.” You replied. “And seeing as we’re not actually dating, I didn’t think it was an issue.”

“It’s not, I just…” He was quick to reply as he drew in another deep breath before he shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“Before, saying no the way I did. It was rude.”

You took a deep breath, your heart racing as you glanced up at him. “So, is that the only reason you’ve come to dance now? To apologise?”

“Yes, I mean, no.” Bucky stumbled over his words as he shook his head. “No, I wanted to dance. More specifically I wanted to dance with you.”

His admission settled like a bubbling brook in your belly. You wondered why, so you asked, "why?"

Your mind began quickly doing the math, adding up the moments and signals between the two of you, wondering if what you dared to think was actually what he was thinking too. You were nervous but you remained close in your dance, your eyes flicking between his and his lips as he spoke, the words drowning in your ears, his voice sounding like your head was under water.

“Because I like you, Doll Face.”

Then, you felt it, your body leaning in just a smidge as you tilted your head upward as his moved just a pinch to look down at you. Your lips brushed his and the electricity took off as he pulled you in for a deeper, slightly less modest kiss, the hand that had been curled around your waist moved upwards at the same time his other released yours from his hold, and calloused palms and fingers cupped your jaw and cheeks. Despite the roughness of his skin, his warm hands felt soft against your face like the finest silk whilst his tongue dipped into your mouth, kissing you in a way that your Pappy certainly wouldn’t approve of.

But you approved, boy did you approve.

The sounds of the big band drowned out the mewl that bubbled from your delicate throat to those around you, but not to Bucky. He heard the elicit sound clear as day, and that was enough. He wanted to get you alone, away from prying eyes.

He pulled back, casting a quick glance around before he looked down at you, "let's get out of here."

It was a suggestion as much as an instruction, and he waited as you blinked, before you gave the slightest nod and he took your hand, turned, and led you from the dancefloor.

****

How the pair of you made it back to your quarters, you had no idea, but here you were, stumbling into the small room, heated kisses being shared as Bucky kicked the door shut, his lips still fiercely on yours. Your fingers were now deftly undoing the buttons of his jacket before you pulled it open with a flourish, shoving it down over his shoulders and arms as Bucky was quickly pulling off his tie and opening the collar of his shirt. Before long, that was also discarded somewhere on the floor and your hands slid up his strong biceps, down his chest, tracing the taught muscle before your fingers hooked into the front of his uniform pants and you turned your attention to his belt, breaking the kiss a little so you could look down.

“Eager, Doll?” Bucky mumbled as his nose nudged at your chin, pushing your head up. His lips trailed across your jaw line, and then down your neck and you tipped your head back, your eyes fluttered shut at the feel of his lips on your skin, relishing the feel of his soft mouth and the delectable gentle scratching of his five-o-clock shadow.

His hands slowly slid up your sides, before they moved round the back, his lips pressing to yours as you felt his fingers gently guiding the zip of your dress down. Once it was undone, you stepped back and allowed it to fall into a pool at your feet. Bucky glanced down and groaned as his blue eyes scanned the stockings, garter belt, lace panties and matching bra.

“Fuck, Sweetheart.” His lips crashed back to yours as he backed you towards the cot at the side of the room. As the back of your knees hit the metal side of the frame, he gently lowered you down, positioning himself over you, caging you with his arms and his legs as his mouth continued trailing soft kisses down your neck and her jawline.

You were powerless to stop the soft noises of pleasure you were making, try as you might, conscious of the fact the walls in the Quarter-Hall were thin, something you cursed on a daily basis as you could hear the squeak of the cot which belonged to the neighbour to your right as she turned over at night. Luckily for you, your springs were untested so to speak, therefore didn’t make a sound, unlike you at that moment in time.

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” Bucky suddenly stopped, his mouth hovering by your ear and you stilled, tilting your head to look at him. “I mean, this…well, it aint proper really, but…”

“Since when did you give a damned about being proper with a Dame?” You teased, fingers wrapping in the chain of his dog-tags, but there wasn’t a shred of humour in Bucky’s tone or on his face when he answered.

“When that dame was you.”

You blinked, and looked at his face, finding nothing there but a genuine softness and you were overcome with the emotions and sensations you were feeling and you yanked on the chain in your hands, pulling his head back down as you crashed your lips back to his.

“Yes, yes I do. I want this Bucky, I want it so much.” You mumbled against his mouth and he gave a groan, before he stood up, quickly, reaching for his wallet. He pulled out the small condom packet, one you recognised as the standard issued to all soldiers to avoid them catching anything when they were putting it about during furlough, so to speak, and he sat back down on the edge of the bed, bending down to unlace his boots.

Bucky was mentally cursing the damned things as he felt you stir behind him, the hard mattress of your bed dipping slightly, and he stilled as he felt your fingers gently brushing over the back of his shoulders. Your touch was feather light as your hands gently felt across his broad back and he gave a sigh, tipping his head back slightly to catch your lips in a deep kiss.

“Doll, if you want me to do anything to you tonight, I gotta get these boots off.”

“So take ‘em off.”

“Stop distractin’ me then.” His accent dripped from his tongue as he chuckled, and your lips curled into a smile against his.

“You saying you can’t handle a job with a little distraction?” You gave a tut, but pulled away a little to allow him to finally get the damned things off. “And Steve says you’re our best marksman.”

“Well, what does that Punk know?” Bucky tossed the boots to the floor with a thud, before he quickly raised his hips enough to allow him to slide off his pants. Then, in a flash he turned, pinning you back to the cot, smirking at the giggle that burst from your mouth. His hands trailed down your body, flicking open the clips on your garter straps without so much as a fumble, before the reached up and snapped the hooks at the front of your bra.

He took a moment to appreciate you, the soft, supple lines of your breasts a complete contrast to your toned shoulders and taught stomach, both the result of an extensive training regime.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful.” He leaned over, kissing you softly, his lips tracing a track down your sternum before he softly took a nipple in his mouth, his tongue gently teasing, eyes flicking to your face to watch your reaction.

You groaned at the sensation, rolling your head back on the pillow, hips bucking upwards as you let yourself go, barely daring to believe that his was happening, but just as you were questioning if you were in some elaborate dream, a low moan from above you caused your fluttering eyelids to jerk wide open. You could feel him hard, pushing against you and your hands moved round to his back. You dragged your fingers up his spine, as his hand moved down, sliding into the waistband of your panties making your gasp as his fingers slipped into your folds. As he teased you, your hips began to move in time with his motions, groans falling from your lips as the heat began to build in between your legs, deep in your belly.

“Good?” Bucky’s voice was a rasp, and it was all you could do to do whimper softly, your head falling back further as your mouth dropped open, your entire body shuddering as the pleasure lanced through you. You reached down, grabbing his wrist and his eyes moved to yours, waiting.

“Want you.” You whispered softly. Almost as if he’d been waiting for that final bit of permission, Bucky’s fingers hooked into the top of your panties, gently sliding them down your legs, gathering your stockings as he went, a movement he had clearly perfected through goodness knows however many other clandestine liaisons. Discarding them to the floor, he wriggled his way out of his own underwear before he sat back on his heels and you moved, grabbing the packet he’d placed on the small bedside unit before.

Bucky groaned softly as your hands gently wrapped around his cock, sliding the condom down. It really shouldn’t have been as arousing as it was but he was almost ready to blow before he’d even started. Once it was on, he crawled back over you, his thighs gently parting yours a little further and with a steady, slow motion he slid into you, the sensation caused both of you to groan, your head falling back against the pillows as Bucky stretched you, his girth and length filling you completely.

"Fuuucckkk.” Bucky breathed out as your tight heat gripped him, his word little more than a whisper. He moved his hands to snake his fingers through yours, gently pinning your hands by the side of your head as he began to move his hips. He went slowly at first, picking up the speed slightly as you keened underneath him, his dog tags sliding in the valley between your breasts, the metal cold against your heated skin.

Your hips bumped together with every thrust he made and, with each rock into you, he was rubbing against that soft spot deep inside you. Your soft cries stuck in your throat, your senses completely overwhelmed as the fire in your body was raging white hot.

“James,” you whispered his name, and Bucky let out a low groan, his fingers tightened around yours as he gave a particularly deep thrust, making you purr in delight. He raised his head to capture your lips, plunging his tongue into your mouth before he released your hands, his own cupping your face as he continued to move.

In that moment, you could have been anywhere. In a hotel, surrounded by the finest silk sheets that money could buy or on some far away beach in the corner of the world, but instead you were led on a hard mattress in a military base, knowing full well you were in for some serious reprimand if you were caught, but you didn’t care. All that mattered was the man who was currently undoing you piece by piece as the two of you were tangled in your own private dance.

The more Bucky gave, the more you wanted, and as he hiked your leg up round his waist, his fingers curling round the back of your knee you choked out another pant of his name, “James,” as you felt yourself nearing that point where you’d drop over that oh-so-steep cliff edge. The tips of your nails dug into the skin of his shoulders, causing him to groan loudly, his head tipping backwards.

“You feel so good.” His voice was nothing but a whine, and at his praise you gave another low, sultry gasp, your breath now coming in ragged gasps. “God, Y/N,” he moaned loudly as you titled your hips, pushing back up against him, his head dropping slightly. “You close?” he gasped and you nodded softly, your lips falling open and once again he kissed you, hard, his movements speeding up ever so slightly.

“Don’t stop.” You begged, shaking your head as you grasped at his back, “please, so good.”

Bucky felt you shudder underneath him and a few thrusts later your back arched and a soft cry escaped your mouth as your eyes fluttered shut and your head tilted back, mouth open in a now silent scream. He could feel you tightening, pulsing around him as you came and that was it, enough to tip him straight over the edge behind you, the surge and ecstasy of his relief causing his whole body to stiffen as his hips faltered. A groan burst from his mouth as he gave a few final, sloppy thrusts before he collapsed forward, his head burrowing into your neck.

You both lay still for a moment, before Bucky regained enough composure to prop himself up, placing a soft kiss to your lips and as he pulled away slightly, he found you looking up at him, lips swollen from his kisses, heavy lidded eyes blinking slowly in your sated state, and he smiled at the fact you wore that just fucked look so damned well.

“You okay?” He asked softly and you nodded, a smile playing on your lips before you kissed him again.

“More than okay.” You grinned, your nails gently scratching at the nape of his neck. “You got moves, Sergeant.”

Bucky let out a chuckle as he kissed you again, his lips hovering over yours. “Well you weren’t so bad yourself, Agent.”

*****

“Nice of you to show up.” Colonel Phillips looked at you as you walked into the briefing room. “Late night, was it?”

“Sorry, Sir. I didn’t get much sleep.” You mumbled, avoiding Bucky’s eyes as he looked down at the table, a grin on his face.

“Huh, I could have sworn I saw you leaving the dance early.” Dum-Dum quipped and you shot him a glare as you took up a seat next to Peggy who licked her lips, fighting a smirk.

“Whatever, I’m not interested.” Phillips sniffed before he tossed a file down on the table in front of Steve who reached over to take it. “We have word that HYDRA are intending to move Arnim Zola.”

“Do we know where to?” Steve asked, looking at the file before he glanced up and Peggy shook her head.

“No, this is hot off the press so to speak. Stark’s team intercepted their encrypted broadcast. All we know is that they’re nervous about moving, and that the route has been carefully planned to avoid any long, open distances.”

“They’re going through the Alps.” Phillips moved to a map at the side of the room. “Trying to maintain a cover so to speak. Our surveillance team still has Zola at his current location, but that could change at any time. Captain, I need you to co-ordinate and mount an operation to intercept that train and apprehend him.”

“If you know where he is why can’t we just bust in and get him now?” Bucky asked.

“Because you’ll never get there in time.” Phillips replied. “As we understand he’ll be moving out in a couple of hours. So we’re up against it. The window of opportunity lies about six hours into his trip where there’s a slight break in the mountain cover.”

“How do we know this is kosher?” Falsworth took the file from Steve. “They could be leaving a false trail.”

“We hacked a number of broadcasts, each saying a different thing.” Peggy answered. “But this one held the code words we know HYDRA are using today.”

“And our codebreakers have never let us down before, so I’m willing to take a punt.” Phillips nodded. “Get to it, we don’t have much time.”

There was a flurry of movement around the table as you all stood up, Steve barking instructions at you all to collect what you needed and head to the transportation hub immediately as Dum-Dum mentioned something about zip wires and ambushing the train from above. As you all sidled out of the room, a hand gently closed over your arm and you turned to see Bucky as he fell into step besides you.

“Just so you know, I don’t normally make habit of splitting before breakfast.”

“Oh, you normally eat first?”

“In a manner of speaking.” He smirked and you gave a chuckle. “I just didn’t want you thinking-“

“It’s okay, I get it.” You assured him, and you did. He’d left in a flurry that morning before he could get caught sneaking out of the small room you had in the female quarters and you didn’t hold it against him at all.

“But, I’d really like to take you out, properly, I mean. When we get chance.”

“You asking me out on a date?”

“Yeah.” Bucky stopped, turning to face you. “A real one this time.”

You smiled and nodded. “I’d like that. Oh, but just so you know, I don’t put out on a first date.”

“No? Then what was last night?”

You hesitated, feeling the heat rising to your cheeks. In all honesty, you had no idea what had come over you last night. You’d never behaved in a reckless manner with a man like that before and taken him home so easily, for fear of getting yourself a bad reputation. That said, you didn’t really care either. You were in the middle of a war, running dangerous missions, any of which could be your last. Life was for living, and as long as you were breathing, you intended on making the most of it.

You opened your mouth to explain this to Bucky, but you stopped yourself and instead you simply smiled at him, your eyes looking straight into those steel-blues which were sparkling with mischief.

“Doesn’t count, it wasn’t a real date.”

“Oh, that’s how it is?” Bucky arched an eyebrow and you nodded.

“Yup, that’s how it is.”

“Well,” He took a deep breath as the pair of you continued walking, “guess I’ll just have to show you a real good time when I get the chance.”

You snorted and shook your head. “You’re a piece of work, you know that?”

“It’s been said.” He grinned as you reached the end of the corridor. “But, first we’ve got a German scientist to catch. Think you can contain yourself around me long enough to run a mission?”

“Okay, first off he’s Swiss.”

“What?”

“Zola, he’s Swiss. I don’t know why you all think differently, it’s in all the briefings and his file-“

“Yeah, I don’t read those.”

“Well you should, you might learn something. And second -“ you held your hand up, finger extended, instructing him to keep whatever wise crack he was about to make to himself, “-you’re not that irresistible.”

Bucky blinked before he gave a laugh and shook his head. “You know, I actually learned a fair bit last night.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I learned that you cut a mean rug, Doll-Face.” He glanced around, before he leaned closer, his breath hot on your neck as he whispered into your ear. “And that you look even better with your clothes off.”

With that he turned and headed off towards the equipment store, leaving you staring after him, blinking with shock, but feeling an overwhelming sense of smugness that, even in the middle of all this bloodshed and fighting, you had something to look forward to when you got back.

#ann1111fc #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fic #reader insert #captain america fanfiction #mcu fanfic

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ren-c-leyn · 4 years ago

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Follower Celebration Story: The Last Masquerade

As promised, here is the short story crafted from the words I received during the submission phase of this celebration. Here is the list of words I received:

Vermillion, blithesome, crowkeeper, whiffle, importunate, burgundy, pearlescent, ingot, bellow, labyrinthine, turquoise x 2, decadent, chair, makeshift, magnet, tug, masquerade, green, soft, couch, snuggle, chocolate, crimson, unsightly, envy, apprehended, and thwart.

Special thanks to @hyba, @whynotwriting, @writer-candy, @anonymouskudoswriteblr, @ashen-crest, and @starry-sky-stuff for submitting these words.

This was a particularly fun one to piece together, and it came together rather quickly after looking the submissions over.

Warnings: There is mention of people drinking wine, a strained family dynamic, but beyond that, I can’t really think of anything to worry about with this one. No one dies, no violence, ect.

Truth be told, I didn’t want to be here. I didn’t want to come. Nothing in the world could have made me accept that invitation, except I didn’t have a choice. Events had aligned perfectly to thwart my plans to stay in the safety and comfort of my own home. Instead, I would be attending that party: a masquerade, yet another poorly masked, importunate attempt to match me again.

I shifted uncomfortably in the carriage, it felt as though an iron ingot had settled in my stomach. The rain fell a little faster, tapping impatiently as the wind began to whiffle past the windows. I stared out at the grounds of my aunt’s manor, the weather matching my gloom. No doubt they’d expect me to be bubbly and blithesome. As happy and charismatic as the turquoise mask long abandoned in the seat beside me.

The carriage rolled past Sam, the ancient crowkeeper. He stared back at me with dead eyes from beneath his makeshift hat as he continued to walk. Sometimes I wondered if he wasn’t a ghost or a ghoul, some creature of the night that still haunts the grounds. Certainly fit the role....

The carriage slowed, rounding the loop around the grand fountain before finally coming to a stop before the doors. I sighed, reaching for the mask. With a tug, I had it snugly secured. The door swung open and I was escorted to the double doors.

The greeting hall was as tacky as I remembered. The burgundy couch, the gold framed paintings, the dark wood floors with the pearlescent vase with wilting flowers trapped within it.... I swear, nothing ever changes.

Willow greeted me in her cheerful manner, chattering excitedly as we stepped into the dark green room from which the rest of the labyrinthine house branched off. She started talking about the flower gardens as we turned to the right. She had just gotten to how the roses were blooming late when we reached the end of the long hallway that led to the ballroom.

“Well, time to announce you.”

No, I wanted to protest. I desperately wanted to hear about the roses and lilies and anything and everything she wanted to talk about. Anything to keep those doors from opening. I tried to open my mouth, but my lips wouldn’t part, it felt as though a magnet were keeping them together.

She pushed the doors open and announced my name in what might as well have been a bellow. I did my best not to flinch, to cringe, to make an unsightly scene of this. It was hard, though. It was so frustratingly difficult to hold my head up and step forward with confidence into the decadent room that smelled thickly of fine wines and expensive chocolates.

A new servant passed by me with a tray of wines. I grabbed a random glass filled with vermilion and wove carefully through the crowd to get to the edge. It took a moment but I found an unoccupied chair to snuggle into and pretend I wasn’t there in. Unfortunately, the rest of the party had no intentions of playing along with me. Least of all my Aunt.

She pranced over to me, her long crimson dress fluttering around her wispy form. If Sam is a ghost, then she’s a vampire. Constantly sucking the life out of me....

“So good of you to come, Erin, darling. Did you have a safe trip?”

I glanced down to the long ignored hound trailing behind her with envy. Oh to be a soft dog that she didn’t even realize was right behind her.... Better yet, to be at home with her no where in sight. What I wouldn’t give....

I tapped my turquoise mask, an idea forming in my mind. She wouldn’t want me in sight, if being in sight hurt her reputation. A smile slowly spread across my face as I spun the tale in my mind. It didn’t really happen, but it didn’t really matter if it did. Just the rumor of scandal would be enough, and if it wasn’t, my dear friend the Duke would probably get a good laugh out of helping me convince everyone that it was. He had always loved a good joke.

I rose my voice a little as I answered. Not loud enough to be awkward or considered rude, but enough that the people around us could hear my tall tale.

“Well... it would have been, had I not been apprehended by the duke’s men. As it turns out, one does not defile his favorite statue and dress it in his bed clothes without receiving at least a slap on the wrist, even if they are a childhood friend.” I paused, a fairly weak scandal as far as they went. It only took a moment to come up with a statement both ambiguous and damning enough to really cause a stir. “I don’t think his wife was pleased with how I got said bed clothes. Which, thinking about it, might be the real reason I got that day in the dungeons and was suddenly released and immediately escorted out.”

Well, that did it. She looked utterly horrified, a gentleman to the left nearly choked on his white wine, and I heard an older lady to my left gasp while the young woman next to her started giggling. This so called news was going to spread like a wildfire.... I made sure to note that apologies were in order the next time I saw Lorraine and James. Surely they’d understand.... Surely they would.

It was the first party where she didn’t complain when I left early. The first time I had come to her manor and not been guilted and browbeaten into staying the night. The first time since I came in age that eligible bachelors and ladies hadn’t been thrown in front of me the entire time I was desperately clinging to my goblet of wine, searching for a graceful way out.

It was also the first time I had seen Sam smile. He took off his hat as I walked out to the carriage, a grin plastered across his weathered face. I grinned back at him and bowed before closing the door behind me.

It was probably going to be my last masquerade, but it was the first time I was coming home from this wretched place happy.

Short story taglist: (feel free to ask to be added or removed)

@nemowritesstuff , @likelyfantasywriterspsychic, @kaylewiswrites, @tenacious-scripturient, @ofinkblotsandscript, @mischiefiswritten, @kespada, @inspiring-prompts, @greenwood-writes, @elkatheinkstained, @n1ghtcrwler, @writingiswilde, @say-no-to-negativity, @wordshavings

#fiction #fantasy #short story #original story #my writing #a story by Ren #follower celebration story

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companionjones · 5 years ago

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Spawn Of... (Part 1/5)

Fandom: The Conjuring Universe

Pairing: Conjuring!Family!Ed and Lorraine Warren x Child!Reader

Summary: One night, you come out of a trance to an unfamiliar couple and a strange series of events.

Warnings: Demons, unconscious reader, mention of foster care

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

*******

The whispers stopped. A flash of lightning ripped through the air as you broke out of what seemed to be a trance. You had no idea where you were. It was raining, and you were drenched.

Before you could even get your bearings, a couple came running out of a secluded house. It was the only structure around for miles. The man and woman came running up to you. They were obviously concerned about you being there.

“Go! Get out of here!” the man yelled out to you first.

When the two finally got to you, the woman took hold of your shoulders. “Darling! What are you doing out here? It isn’t safe!”

Just then, all of the windows of the house blew out. The couple stood in front of you, ordering you to stay behind them.

However, you felt yourself walking toward the house instead. The whispers started up again. You also heard the man yelling after you, but you also heard the woman stop him from chasing after you.

Next thing you knew, you were in the house. Everything was in and out of focus after that. The only thing that stayed constant was how loud the whispers were. You saw you were fighting something without touching it. It didn’t register in you at the time how extraordinary that was.

When you woke up, you were laying in the destruction of the house. The couple were with you. They kept asking if you were okay.

Deciding to start with the easier questions, you first asked, “Who are you?”

The man answered, “I’m Ed, and this is my wife, Lorraine.”

Lorraine then inquired, “What’s your name?”

Once you gave that, you struggled with what to say next. “I...how...” you were still very disconcerted from whatever had just happened.

Before you could pass out again, Lorraine asked more questions. “Where’d you come from, baby? Where are your parents?”

“Foster family...Hammerfords...I don’t...know...” You tried to say more, but you were so tired. You felt as if you were melting into the ground.

The next time you were conscious, you felt that you were in the back of a car. You were too tired to open your eyes then. While you laid there, you heard Ed and Lorraine talking.

“I’ve never felt anything like it, Ed,” Lorraine explained with a disbelieving tone in her voice. “I didn’t notice it at first because of the demon, but once that was gone...they overpowered all of my senses. Ed...I can’t even tell if they’re good or evil.”

Ed sounded confused as you were scared. “Evil? But they seem human.”

“I know,” Lorraine agreed, “But they walked in there and cast that thing back into hell within five minutes. Honestly, I feel something demonic coming from.”

Your eyes snapped open as Ed asked, “Are they safe to have with us?”

She was silent for a moment before responding, “I think so. I do feel something inhuman coming from them, but something else tells me that they don’t want to hurt anyone. I know that there’s a mixture in them. I just don’t know which one there’s more of: good or evil.”

“Are you guys kidnapping me?”

The couple was alarmed that you were awake already.

Ed answered bluntly, “No, we’re not kidnapping you.”

Lorraine continued for her husband, “We’re just taking you to visit a church. We have friends there who can help you.”

“Help me? What do I need help with?”

They both went quiet.

Ed asked, “Y/n, what do you remember?”

You told them the truth, that most of it was very foggy. Then, you realized what they were talking about. You fight that...thing. Understandably, you started to freak out.

Ed and Lorraine tried their best to calm you back down.

Lorraine tried to relate with you. “Y/n sweetie, you have to breathe. I know how you feel. I, too, have a gift.”

“Can your gift hurt people?” You guessed the correct answer.

Ed jumped in, “You’re not going to hurt anyone. Just breathe. The church can help. We’ll be there in a few minutes. Just breathe.”

*******

Author’s Note: Thank you for reading! Fill up that heart and reblog if you liked it! If you would like to read more, I have more fics over on my page. You should go check it out. Also, REQUESTS ARE OPEN. I take requests for one-shots, multi-chapters, headcannons, and preferences. No smut, please. I write for a variety of fandoms. If you’re wondering if I write for a specific fandom, please ask me. Have a nice day, night, or whatever time it is for you.<3

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ambersky0319 · 5 years ago

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Cinomed Chronicles : The Rulers

Prologue | Chapter One | Chapter Two |

Summary : In the far off world of Fandahli are kingdoms, most peaceful. But on one continent, Vola, two kingdoms are fighting a war that seems never-ending with both rulers constantly at a sword’s end. And on Earth, where things seem to be going well for everyone, one young woman suffers a torture worse than death. Another woman not far away waits for death, all hope gone until a spark ignites her will to fight once more. It isn’t long until their tales intertwine.

Taglist : Just ask to be added or removed! @knightinsoftpastels

Masterpost

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"My Queen," Dolan trailed a hand over her back, carefully working his magic, "this must stop happening."

She snorted lightly, flinching as pain shot down her spine and he apologized softly. Her wings tensed and then relaxed, feathers ruffled and sticking out awkwardly. Stained red and crunching slightly any time they shifted. She had yet to even clean herself after the battle, too busy helping those in more need of attention than her.

"You know that's a request I cannot take into consideration." Dolan frowned deeply at her words, drawing back slightly. She took a deep breath.

"You could have died this time though, your Majesty. Your injuries lately are similar to the ones that take many soldier lives."

"Well, it's good that I'm not a soldier then, hm?" She stretched, feeling the skin on her back strain slightly. Dolan's frown never faded as he moved to clean his tools. "And Dolan, you can just call me by my name y'know."

Dolan glanced up, rolling his eyes lightly. "I know, but it's less respectful."

"Isn't it more disrespectful to call me something I wish you wouldn't?"

"Touché."

Dolan finished cleaning off his tools and opened a drawer below the sink, pulling out a fresh pair of clothes and holding them out for his queen. She accepted them, immediately slipping the warm shirt over her head and sighing as the soft fabric encased her.

"Evanna?"

Both Dolan and the queen glanced up at the voice, a knock on the wall following it. Evanna smiled, and Dolan rolled his eyes again. None of the totals nor their guard were ever compliant.

"Erin, you don't have to just stand by the door." The man at the entrance grinned, walking in and hugging Evanna gently. "You're doing much better than when I last saw you."

He laughed lightly. "Of course I am, I heal better than you." His laughter died. "What about you though?"

Evanna shrugged, and pointed to Dolan. "I'll be fine so long as nothing happens to him."

"Meaning she's still feeling a bit of the effects of my magic." Dolan filled in, leaning against the counter and sparing a glance outside into the rest of the medical center. "I don't suppose you have the ability to keep her in bed for the rest of the week."

The other two laughed loudly, Evanna's silencing as it caused sudden dizziness. But her smile remained. "No one can keep me from helping out with the festival even if I had lost a wing." She rolled her shoulders. "Besides, I want to help bring people's spirits up. Imagine the morale of I was bedridden for a week."

Erin offered Dolan an apologetic shrug. "I have my orders."

Dolan huffed softly. "Fine then, both of you still take it as easy as you can."

"Will certainly try." Evanna got to her feet, and Erin held out an arm for her.

She took it, flashing Dolan one last toothy smile before they disappeared around the corner. Dolan groaned softly as Lorraine stepped inside, looking amused.

"What am I going to do with those two?" He mumbled, rubbing his temple.

They walked through the empty street, the silence suffocating. Evanna took in the lingering smell of burning building, glancing to the sky and frowning when noticing not a hint of a cloud. Erin squeezed her arm gently.

"Maybe we should visit Briar and Lillian." He didn't shatter the silence with his usually loud and commanding tone, his voice no louder than a whisper now. Evanna nodded.

And so they made their way towards the back of the kingdom, the residential area. Homes all spiraling around the inner markets, looking almost like a barrier. The walls were gray and roofs sloped, but there were bright gardens and small statues that brought color. Hanging ornaments from overhangs drew the eye away from the eerie atmosphere and the faint sound of families talking filled the void of sound.

They stopped in front of the Hengar home, and Evanna stepped forward to knock. The voices quieted for a moment as they waited and then the door opened.

Greeting them was a tall lady, cradling her stomach in one hand with the brightest smile on her face. Her short curls bobbed into her face but she made no effort to push them away.

"Evanna darling!" The woman grabbed her queen swiftly, pulling the younger woman into a hug. Evanna laughed, holding Lillian lightly. "Oh, it's been too long!"

"Just two weeks, Lillian. Just two weeks."

Briar appeared behind his wife once the two broke apart, offering a small wave to Evanna and Erin. He too was grinning, placing a gentle hand on Lillian's lower back.

"Do you guys want to come inside?" He offered. "Dinner's almost ready."

"You making it?" Erin narrowed his eyes at Briar. Briar huffed, crossing his arms.

"I'm a good cook!"

Lillian rolled her eyes, grasping Evanna's hand tightly and hugging her inside. Erin stepped into the home, still bickering with find smiles. "Perfect men we got, am I right?"

"You got? Yes. Me? Dunno, Erin's a bit reckless."

"I heard that!"

Lillian giggled, guiding Evanna into the dining room. "I made Candelogan soup, I hope you don't mind?"

"Mind?" Evanna repeated, taking the seat Lillian offered. "Why would I? It smells fantastic." Lillian smiled and returned to the kitchen, humming merrily.

Briar and Erin entered the dining room soon enough, settling across from Evanna. Briar had a slight bounce in his step and drummed on the table as he spoke with both Erin and Evanna. The two guests listened intently, and Lillian sometimes offered her own commentary.

After a short while, Lillian joined them around the table. As she settled into her seat, Briar stood to serve the soup, flashing his wife such a gentle smile. "Thanks Lil'. It smells wonderful."

She waved him dismissively, turning to look at Evanna and Erin. "Do either of you say thanks to any god?"

Evanna did, but she would never say. Instead she shrugged in time with Erin's no. Lillian's eyes widened slightly. "Oh, right! I'm so sorry, forgetting that our rulers are not allowed a god to choose from."

"We can always pray to whichever you both do." Erin smiled reassuringly. "What's one night, right?" He glanced to Evanna.

She nodded, straightening her back slightly. Her shoulders were aching a bit now, Dolan's magic seeming to have finally wore off. "Which god do you worship?"

"We worship Rikki, although believe all the others are just as important." Briar answered.

Evanna nodded, and took Lillian's hand. She also took Erin's, and they stayed quiet as Lillian spoke their prayer.

She tuned out most of it, the words a jumble of unnecessary titles. Just like most things in her life. Her own prayers to Serranidae were silent ones, reflections upon her own actions.

To each their own, she supposed.

Lillian stopped speaking, hand relaxing in Evanna's and they all drew away from one another. Briar flared his wings slightly, grinning at Evanna and Erin. "Let's eat!"

Dinner was long and joyful, the soup filling the house with a sweet smell that left those inside wishing there was more. They spoke of personal lives, the twin boys that were to be born soon, of the upcoming Trials Evanna would face and of the festival just a few days away.

It wasn't long after that when Erin and Evanna waved goodbye, bidding the couple goodnight before starting their walk back down the street. They walked in silence once more, warmed by the softly glowing lamps that hung outside homes. The air was still thick with the smell of smoke but both Dalis pushed that to the side, focusing on the path they walked instead.

The moons above lit the rest of the way once they had left the residential sector of the kingdom. Their soft, silvery purple glow danced on the stones and the broken wall, still yet to be repaired. Evanna made a mental note to put someone on it.

She glanced up at the castle, the soft gray walls in the daylight now an ink black, standing against the cloudless night sky. She pulled her wings in closer, her feathers stiff from the dried blood. Evanna had forgotten it was even there, and groaned silently at the thought of still having things to do before she could turn in for the night. Beside her, Erin’s own wings were washed and lay flat against his back, shifting only because they were moving. It always amazed Evanna at how still he could be.

The castle was nothing special, the walls lined with old paintings of past rulers. There was the occasional new painting of a woman standing tall with her chin up, blue eyes constantly following you even though you knew she wasn’t there. Evanna had no paintings of herself, never understanding the point in painting a ruler’s accomplishments when the process took so much longer than just accomplishing something else.

Once inside, they were welcomed by a sweet honey smell travelling through the halls from the kitchen. Giselle, she reminded herself. The royal chef was having family over for the evening and had planned on making honey-soaked candalogans. Evanna remembered because the young woman seemed so excited and Evanna had just enough time to listen to her plans before the bell had rung and she was in her armor.

Erin hummed softly, hand falling away from Evanna’s arm as the smell of burning finally seemed to disappear. Evanna smiled gently, nodding Erin towards the kitchen. “I’m sure she still has a bit left.”

He grinned at her, kissed her cheek, and then walked down the hall at a brisk pace. Evanna watched until his last feather was around the corner and then began her walk upstairs. Long staircases allowed her time to relax, shoulders slumping as she made her way up. Painting after painting she passed, until there were no longer any rulers nor any accomplishments made by them to reach the rooms she was going to. Instead there were tapestries, intricately woven by whomever ran the fabric store within the market. A new one was added each year, all varying in hues and shades.

Evanna took a deep breath once she reached the top of the stairs, sweeping her gaze across the hall out of habit before turning and going to her room. She nodded to the only guard stationed there for the night, despite her insistence that she didn’t need anyone to guard her room at such late hours. The guard nodded and smiled back, before returning to their expressionless face and staring at Erin’s door. Evanna sighed softly before closing her door behind her.

Her room was a mess despite how little time she spent inside it. Paying the scattered papers and various objects no mind, Evanna strode to her bathroom to finally rid herself of the grime on her back. As she removed her temporary clothing, she had a chance to see the long scar that now raked her back, like a dragon claw had cut deep into her skin. She perked up slightly. Dolan was getting better with his healing.

It took her longer than she would have liked to wash herself off, taking extra care to not reopen the cuts she had gained. Her wings felt lighter without the dirt and blood concoction hat had formed but still too heavy from the shower water.

Making her way out of the bathroom, she picked up some sleepwear left on her bed. A simple shirt and shorts made to be quickly covered in case she’d need to throw on her armor, but also comfortable enough to sleep in without problem. The clothes weren’t as warm as the ones Dolan had given her but the were familiar, felt more like home than the castle itself ever had.

After settling onto her bed, Evanna would have tossed the papers that littered the space beside her off and onto the floor. But she hesitated, seeing the pristine handwriting that could only be from one individual. She took a deep breath and gathered the papers as gently as she could, careful not to smear the old ink. And as her gaze flitted over the page, each word seared into her mind, she wondered why she even still read the piece.

The day started off with the chiming of bells, oh so comforting bells we had grown accustomed to. I gazed over the balcony as I always did, scanning the forming crowd within the plaza. Today marks the first year of the war’s end. Onto the next year, and still we have not succeeded in taking down the Sadians. They put up a valiant fight, and with each day they grow stronger. But so do we. They’re hanging the traitor now. The one who started this whole ordeal. I wish there was worse a punishment out there for him to receive. I must go before they begin to think I am sided with him. Today marks the end of the first year of war. Let us pray to the Cinomeds that the second turns out better.

Evanna despised the diary entry with every fiber of her being, ever since she was just a child and she had just discovered it. She knew the day was approaching that would mark the eighty-fifth year of the war. It was just after the festival was over and the dragons had continued on with their migration.

She remembered being at the Hanging of Traitors, remembered seeing Harper Kendi’s enraged expression as the executioner tied the noose around their neck. They had made eye-contact, and Evanna felt chills any time she imagined his face. A last look of desperation at the one person who also believed this war was stupid, would only cause more harm than good.

She was ten.

The paper wrinkled slightly in her tightening grip, and Evanna took a deep breath. Her hold on them loosened and she placed them onto her nightstand. She didn’t wish to read the rest of the entries tonight, exhaustion eating away her anger. Her mother’s diary entries could wait.

It’s not like she ever got past the third page anyway.

The world seemed silent as she woke up around noon, sunlight glaring through her window and assaulting her eyes as soon as she cracked them open. The queen hissed softly, shielding herself with her wings though they didn’t help as much as she’d like. Evanna heard a chuckle and groaned.

“Why are you here?”

“You said you wanted to help with preparations, yes? Then up.” Erin smirked at her from the window, and she hated how angel-like he looked in the afternoon sun.

Evanna glared at him and grumbled incoherently, turning over in her bed. Her feathers ruffled and she felt a sudden sharp pain shooting through her spine. She inhaled sharply, and she felt her bed shift beside her.

Glancing up, she met Erin’s gaze. He picked up a tray of food he had brought in, offering her the cup of freshly made cider. “Dolan’s assistant got Giselle to allow her to put some pain relief potion or something in here.” Evanna took it in with shaky hands, taking a deep breath and sitting up. She gulped it down, and could feel the elixir taking its effect almost immediately.

Evanna blinked for a moment as her body seemed to wake up, a tingly feeling flowing through her veins. “Rikki,” muttered Evanna, “She’s really good at this.”

Erin chuckled, setting the tray onto Evanna’s lap. “Dolan trains nothing but the best.” Evanna nodded slightly, looking down to the breakfast. It was mainly toast, jam made with a secret recipe smeared over the top. She smiled, picking up one of the slices and taking a bite. Erin flicked his gaze around the room, frowning slightly at the mess but not commenting on it Instead, he looked back to her and smiled when he noticed pretty much almost all the toast had disappeared.

“Hungry much?”

Evanna rolled her eyes, punching him lightly in the shoulder. “Hush it and fetch me my dress?”

He barked out a laugh, getting to his feet as Evanna finished off the rest of her breakfast. “The purple one, yeah?” Evanna hummed as Erin rummaged through her closet, sifting through the different garments until he found the dress. He wandered back over to his queen, handing her the dress and taking the tray from her hands. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”

The door clicked shut as he left, and Evanna didn’t waste time in pulling the dress over her head. The deep purple silk hugged her body, making her feel as if she was back under her covers. Her wings easily came out, stretching them and grimacing at the slight pop. She would need to fly at least once today to prevent them from becoming totally stiff.

She didn’t take long combing through her hair, a tangle of bright red, and pulling it into a loose braid. Evanna then picked up her crown, placing it atop her head and looking herself in her mirror. The silver jewelry, her crown included, stood out like the moons compared to her purple gown. The long sleeved dress was comfortable and could easily be changed out of, as was most of what Evanna owned. It did feel odd not wearing her armor, as it was just as odd she had not awoken to the bells chiming as they had so often been doing.

Evanna took a deep breath, slipping into some running boots that could easily be hidden under her dress and grabbed a small dagger just in case. Her magic was more advanced in barrier creating, after all. She couldn’t always rely on summoning her sword. She tucked the dagger into the holder for it on one of her boots, before leaving the room herself.

The castle was more alive than the prior night, workers rushing through the hall and into rooms. Her smile faltered slightly, remembering just why Dalis were moving about. A visiting family, the Royal family of Vayes. They'd be staying for not only the autumn festival and dragon migration, but for the Hanging of Traitors as well. Why anyone wanted to see it, she didn't know.

She wished she could get rid of the day altogether.

Evanna sidestepped another castle servant and pushed open the doors to the throne room. Already the day felt off without going on a morning patrol, she presumed Erin and another guard handled it though. Not seeing the kingdom herself made her feel jumpy still, and she had to force her shoulders to relax as she took her place on the throne.

The room was cavernous, and was the only place in the castle with such brilliantly colored walls. Stained glass to her left and right, showing important moments in their kingdom's history. She didn't look to them often, the sun constantly glaring at her whenever she did. And on the wall across was a mural stretching to the high ceiling, illuminated by everburning candles. A mural of the Tongyian family tree, branching down into empty space waiting to be filled. Some faces had been covered though, and Evanna wished she could restore the images.

Erin was by her side soon enough, his armor gleaming. His sword was at his hip and his hand rested just above it. He smiled at her, before turning forward and wiping any emotions from his face.

Unnatural, Evanna thought as she glanced between Erin and the other guards scattered about the room. It's amazing they can do it so quickly.

Of course, since Erin was by her side, Erin's own apprentice knight would escort Hayes's royal family to the castle, a place hard to call a palace. Briar knocked thrice on the large doors before opening them, the family tree being broken for only a moment. It swung closed with a thunderous slam and Evanna looked down from her throne.

The way her guards could scrape the emotions from their faces so quickly was unnatural indeed, but Evanna knew how to put on a mask of her own. A bright smile as red strands fell loose from her braid, and she practically glowed in the sunlight. Her crown's golden jewel only added to the light reflecting down to the visiting family.

Briar bowed out of respect, and to keep up the show so many royal families of the past in all kingdoms believed were right. The King of Hayes only bowed his head, his family doing the same.

"King Gideon, Queen Lyre. Young Princes." Evanna stood, Briar rising before their guests. Her smile remained despite hearing the twin princes laugh about the upcoming hanging. They held no interest for old traditions but this, she reminded herself. It was like this every year, after all.

King Gideon smiled wide as Evanna approached, and she didn't like how he towered over her. They clasped hands, she squeezed his hand just a bit harder than she normally would have. He didn't seem to notice when he drew back and wrapped an arm around his wife.

They were the perfect royal image, their clothes made of satin and not a hair out of place. Even for the princes, who were in constant motion. Their jewels were on display for everyone to see, and Evanna was brought back to the realization that Hayes was the Capital of Vola.

They couldn't even let a thread come loose.

"Queen Evanna, my it's been awhile." Gideon looked her over with a critical eye, as if searching for something. Evanna held her smile.

"Not really," she laughed softly. "Only a year, Your Majesty." He hummed, nodding, and he glanced around the large room. His eyes landed on Erin for a moment before looking to Evanna, back and then once more settling on Evanna. She took a deep breath, already knowing where this conversation would be going.

Gideon gave a tight smile, as if physically restraining himself from asking something. Luckily for Evanna, Lyre jumped into the conversation.

“It’s still nice to see you, dear.” Lyre stepped forward and took Evanna’s hands, giving them a light squeeze. Lyre’s dark eyes held more warmth than her husband’s ever would, her wings a dark brown with hints of white at the tips. Her eyes fell onto Evanna’s shoulders and she frowned, placing a light hand over a scar. “This wasn’t here last time, was it?”

Evanna chuckled, taking her hand lightly and forcing it away. “No, I believe that’s from a month ago.” She glanced to the boys, who had crossed the room from boredom and began to bother Erin. Evanna rolled her eyes, looking away the moment she saw a hint of a smile crack through Erin’s mask.

“Come now, I’ll give you a tour of the kingdom. We’ve had many changes since your previous visit.”

Lyre’s frown remained and she tilted her head, flicking her own eyes between Erin and Evanna. “Neither of you are too tired? We heard about the fight yesterday, would it not be wise to rest?”

“There’s no rest for the brave, mother!” Cried one of the little boys, his silver hair falling into his eyes. His brother nodded enthusiastically, and Evanna’s smile turned genuine for a moment.

“Listen to your sons, Queen Lyre. I have a feeling they’ll be brave warriors and powerful kings one day.” Evanna nodded to the boys as they passed and they beamed in her compliment. Lyre huffed softly.

“Oh come now, a mother can’t worry?” She was smiling through her words.

Gideon wrapped his arm around Lyre once more, holding her close. Erin stepped away from the throne and stood at Evanna’s side, not touching but close enough she could practically hear his breathing. They mirrored the older Queen and King exactly, but far different in so many ways.

“I believe it’s time for that tour, before the sun sets.” Erin’s voice was smooth and a false smile graced his lips as well when Gideon nodded.

Questions, questions, questions! That’s all these people knew to ask, and only about the upcoming festivities. Nothing about Tongyi itself was ever brought up aside from the war, and how it was dreadful there was to be another year of fighting. How it was a shame Evanna had yet to end it, or just surrender since she didn’t even have a clue as to what they were fighting over.

It wasn’t until they reached the center of Tongyi, the plaza, did their questions shift. As people were finishing the final preparations for the festival, the visiting family’s attention turned to massive marble structure in the center of it all. The air was warm around it and smelled of freshly made cake, an improvement from the burning smell that still lingered in the air. But it only went to a certain point, the air and smell. Suddenly it cut off, leaving one missing it’s gentle embrace and calling them forward once more.

Evanna didn’t seem all too enthusiastic to talk about the structure, but if it meant avoiding the Hanging of Traitors conversation from continuing, she’d gladly answer anything about the object of their curiosities.

“What is it?” One of the princes asked, stepping too close for comfort to it. A guard, previously a piece of the structure, jumped to life and forced the boy back. The boys both shrieked, and yet no one around seemed to pay them any more attention than they had already given.

Erin laughed, shaking his head. “Don’t worry, young princes, it will not harm you.”

“But he has a sword!” The one that hadn’t gone too close cowered behind his mother, who rolled her eyes down at him.

“Yes, because he’s the guardian of the structure.” Erin watched the guard retake his place, melding back into the marble. “To keep everyone at a distance for reasons we’re genuinely unsure of.”

“Then why keep it?” Gideon’s voice was low, like a rumble of distant thunder. “If he’s safe but meant to protect something, isn’t that strange?”

Evanna shrugged, admiring the carvings on the side of the structure. There was a rumor that it was the Ancient Language, powerful artifacts left behind by Cinomeds to test the abilities of Dalis. “We can’t exactly remove it, and we have enough people getting hurt from the war. So, we merely admire it.

“However, our scientists have tried to find what it does. With varying levels of success.” She tore her gaze away, folding her hands in front of her. The sun beat down on them as it neared the horizon, painting the land a brilliant gold. “They believe it’s a portal, since we’ve found others in places such as the Silent Canyons and the Eastern Werewolf village.”

The boys peered at the portal with a newfound interest, their fear melting away. “A portal to where? What are those things on the side? And do you even know if it is a portal, you’re not one-hundred percent sure, right? Can you turn it on?”

The other gasped in excitement. “Can we go through it?”

“Are you sure it’s even safe,” Lyre questioned, breaking into her sons’ questions. “I mean, you have children running around! And you’re telling me that that… thing… hasn’t ever attacked anyone?”

Erin and Evanna shared a glance. “No, not to our knowledge. And people in Tongyi are very vocal about when something’s bothering them.” Evanna answered, before looking to the boys. “Now to answer your questions… We don’t know, we don’t know, we’re not, no, and definitely no.”

The princes began to pout slightly, before they were distracted by a miniature dragon racing by.

“I think we should go back before they start chasing the Guardians.” Gideon stated, and Erin nodded as the small creature clambered up to his shoulders in an attempt to escape the little boys.

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tremendousartisanlover · 6 years ago

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A Tale of Two Rulers: Royal Baby Chapter Twenty-Four

A/N: This chapter might a bit too much longer than any other of my previous ones but I really want move this story along in order to make the twenty-fifth chapter about my Zelgan baby, Shanti’s birth. So, definitely look forward to that. There’s plenty of reading to do here.

Disclaimer: A Tale of Two Rulers is @figmentforms‘ original work. I’m simply writing this as fanfiction, nothing else

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Then, morning came and Zelda was still fast asleep. Ganondorf woke up and looked fondly at his sleeping angel. She cuddled on his chest in her sleep. He nuzzled into her hair, smiling as he feels the baby moving. “Our little princess is wide awake.” he murmured. Zelda slowly opened her eyes, “She sure is.”

The pair smiled at each other. “Looks like you’re awake as well.” Ganondorf smiled to Zelda. “I don’t care as long as it’s you who wakes me.” Zelda replied, smiling back. That makes him very happy to hear her say that. She smiled as she kissed his cheek. He kissed her forehead before they got up and dressed up for the day.

“So what are you going to do today?” Zelda asked. “Well, I only have one short meeting later,” Ganondorf answered. “Oh, I see.” Then some hours passed Zelda was reading in the library. Ganondorf was done with his meeting. He came into the library and sat next to her.

She smiled to him, “Hey. So how was it?”�� He smiled back to her replying, “Just the usual business.” “You had no problems, right?” “None at all.” They simply smiled at each other before Ganondorf asked Zelda, “Still reading the same book?” Zelda replied, “Yes. I just thought I should learn more about how to relax during labor since we’re getting closer to having the baby.”

“That’s good to hear, Zelda.” “I also need to talk to you about something. I think you should know this.” Zelda added as she frowned, looking at her husband. “What is it?” Ganondorf asked, looking a little concerned having seen there’s something on Zelda’s mind. “I met Rinku’s friend yesterday and apparently he knows she’s Link.” she sighed. “Ah, I see.” Ganondorf said to her. “I did make him promise not to say anything to anyone. I thought you need to know about this.” Zelda said to him.

He gave her a reassuring grin and said, “Good. If he ever breaks his word, he must deal with me. Thank you for telling me, Zelda.” Zelda giggled, “That’s pretty much what I told him. And you’re welcome, love.” She then rests her head on his shoulder. Ganondorf rests his head on top of hers. “So then, why don’t we start reading that chapter about labor?” he asked, looking at her. “All right. I was just about nearly there anyway. So we might as well.” she looked back at him with a smile.

Ganondorf took the book and flipped through some pages until he found the right spot. “Let’s start here.” he said as he set the book down for him and Zelda to read. “Okay.” said Zelda as they started reading. After a while, they took the book to the bedroom and went to the dining room for dinner. As soon as the couple arrived, Zelda smiled as she saw Rinku already there waiting. “Hi, Mama, Dad,” chirruped Rinku. “Hey there, sweetie. How were your lessons?” Zelda asked.

“They were good.” replied the young girl. “What did Miss Lorraine think of your work?” Zelda followed up. “She said I did such a great job.” “Oh, that’s wonderful, honey.” said Zelda before everyone else sat down to eat. Very soon after dinner,Zelda and Ganondorf were now in bed, preparing for a good night’s rest. He embraced her and said, “Good night.”

“Good night.” she smiled. He then rubbed her belly and whispered, “Good night, little one.” Zelda smiles as the baby gently kicked. He smiled at the feeling as well. They smiled at each other as Ganondorf kissed his wife’s forehead before they fell asleep throughout the night.

Three months passed and Zelda is finally in her ninth and final month in her pregnancy. Her belly had swollen twice the size of the last trimester. It is now morning. Zelda is dressed in the nursing dress she received at the baby shower since she could possibly go into labor at any day now. She is fast asleep as well as Ganondorf. Then, they awakened in unison, looking at each other with warm smiles.

“Morning, handsome.” Zelda whispered. “Morning, beautiful.” Ganondorf whispered back. “How did you sleep?” she asked. “Very well. You?” he replied. “I slept wonderful, especially with you right beside me.” Zelda smiled at her husband lovingly. “That’s good, Zelda.” Ganondorf stroked her cheek, smiling back at her.

She then took his big hand and placed it on her belly to to feel the baby. He then feels their unborn daughter kicking. Zelda giggled to the feeling. Ganondorf smiles before they got up and dressed. Hours later after breakfast, the whole family are at the foyer, spending some family time. “The baby is moving a lot lately.” Zelda commented while everyone was sitting on the sofa.

“Yes, she’s extremely active at this time.” Ganondorf agreed just before Rinku scootched a bit over to Zelda. The queen mother smiled as Rinku feels her belly. “Your little sister must be so excited to meet you, Rinku.” “I know she is. Aren’t you, Sis?” Rinku replied before she felt the baby kick. She smiled big, taking the kick as a ‘yes’. “Yep, she sure is.” Rinku beamed.

Zelda smiled before she looks at Ganondorf. He looked back at her before giving his family a gentle group hug. Then, it was soon sundown. Zelda and Ganondorf went into the master bedroom to go take a bath. After the bath, Zelda said to him, “That sure was relaxing.” “Indeed it was,” Ganondorf agreed as they dried themselves off before dressing into their night clothes.

They sat in the bed, with the book they have read three months ago. Zelda thought it wouldn’t hurt to re read the labor chapter. “Says here that massages (usually on the back) can help manage those wretched contraction pains.” said Ganondorf. “And of course there’s the breathing. That’s the most important thing to do throughout labor.” Zelda added, before she yawned. “Well, it looks like we’ve reviewed all we could for now.” He is also getting sleepy.

She cuddled on him while he set the book aside on the night stand. With that done, they both fell asleep for the night. Then, the following morning came. Ganondorf slowly opened his eyes. Zelda, still fast asleep, cuddled onto his chest. He cuddled her back as he let her sleep in for a little longer. Zelda kept sleeping until she slowly awoken.

They bade each other good morning before Ganondorf leaned over and kissed Zelda’s belly. She giggled a bit. Then, the pair got up and dressed for the day ahead.

Later that noon, Zelda goes to the castle courtyard garden for some fresh air with her book. Ganondorf was done with his short, mandatory meeting and joined his expecting queen by their usual spot by the red roses. She smiled at him, “Hey, darling.” “Hello, Zelda.” Ganondorf greeted back. “Another boring meeting I presume?” she giggled. “I suppose you could say that.” he chuckled.

Zelda smiled as she opened the book they were reading the night before. Ganondorf saw that and asked, “You still reading that?” “Why not? The more we review, the best prepared we are don’t you think?” Zelda answered. “I see. I understand it never hurts to keep reviewing things.” he said. “Exactly. I just need to keep remembering what I’ve learned in case I get nervous during labor.” Zelda agreed. “I see. You do know that I will be right beside you through all that. I would never miss any chance to witness our daughter come into this world.”

They smiled at each other as they held hands. Many hours later, it was time for bed. Zelda puts the book on her nightstand before they got dressed. “Ganondorf, could you get me something to snack on? The baby’s till hungry.” She asked. “Sure.” said Ganondorf as he went to get Zelda a healthy snack. She sat back in the bed, propping the pillows to support her back.

A while later, he came back with a small bowl of almonds and grapes. “Here.” “Thanks,” said Zelda before she starts snacking. “You’re welcome,” Ganondorf replied before he sat next to her in bed. He then rubbed her belly while Zelda is eating. She smiles as the baby kicked around.

“She must be ready to come.” commented Ganondorf. “She sure is.” Zelda agreed. “I know she is.” Zelda smiled as she finished her snack. “I should think we better get some sleep now.” He said as he kept rubbing Zelda’s belly. “I think you’re right.” she smiles and cuddles on him.

Then Ganondorf leaned down to kiss the baby, “Good night, baby girl.” Zelda smiled at the precious sight. He smiled before kissing her softly, “Good night, Zelda.” “Good night, Ganondorf.” Then they both laid down and soon drifted into deep slumber.

#A Tale of Two Rulers #zelgan #figmentforms #zelda #ganondorf #rinku #fanfiction #a lot of reading material here

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internationalhouseofblupjeans · 6 years ago

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Join Together Chapter 4 - You Think We Look Pretty Good Together

In this chapter of the Lup Lives AU: Lup starts to have second thoughts. Barry comes up with another plan. Taako and Lup visit the Underdark.

Thank you to Tansy from TFW for Beta’ing!

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 below

AO3 link in the source

Barry knew it had been six years. Six years of searching, dying, waiting, forgetting, and searching again. A constant, tormenting cycle.

If he didn’t hold onto the hope, the belief that he would find Lup again, then he would completely lose his composure. He would lose everything that made him Barry.

He had already felt some of the signs. He had become more volatile each time that he left a body. It was becoming harder and harder to hold onto his form and it was becoming harder getting his voice together enough to record a message onto his coin.

He hadn't killed anyone after killing the Gerblins when he first found this crypt, but he wasn't sure how long that would last. He was growing desperate with each month, each year that he couldn't find her. He had even left the continent and explored areas that others dared not to venture. If she wasn't in Faerun, then she had to be somewhere else on Aber-Toril. She had to be.

He couldn't let himself fall into despair. He couldn't allow himself to believe that she was just gone.

That thought, those words … they triggered the memory of forgetting. Of feeling the memory of her smile, her laugh, her face just slipping away into nothingness. It was always there when he re-entered his body, but it went quicker. He had learned to relax into it when he was returning to a physical form.

When he was outside of a body, however, the pain of remembering those moments where he realized he was forgetting her became too much to bear. He knew that without any sign of her, his hold on his sanity was liable to snap.

He couldn't afford that. he couldn't afford to lose himself.

If they reset, would there be anything left to reunite with Lup?

He had to hold on. He had to keep on this lonely quest.

His latest body was almost ready. He had to record his message and prepare for forgetting all over again. It was worse than remembering. With remembering, the painful weight he felt would go away. Sure the grief was heavy and incomprehensible, but the emptiness of forgetting was much, much worse.

“She hid a very powerful weapon, but I don’t know where it is. I don’t know where she is but she may know … Barry, I’m sorry … I … I wish I had more for you to go on. I really do. She’s been gone for six years and … I just don’t know where she would have gone. Where she would have hidden …”

He sighed and continued.

“The Sun Elves of Faerun don’t look like you remember Sun Elves looking like, Barry, so if you ask about Sun Elves, you won't find her. They’re different. Fareun’s Sun elves’ ears are short and they're these thin, willowy beings who aren't huge fans of humans … If you find her, she may still have a body. You’ll know her the moment you see her, I just know it … She’s beautiful, Barry. She’ll take your breath away when you see her and …”

The ring.

“She might be wearing a ring. It’s a golden band with a purple gem … You probably won’t see that gem anywhere else. It’s not a very common one here. And her smile will warm your heart when you see her. She …”

Barry stared at the coin. He hadn’t talked about Lup this much in his message before and there was a chance …

He grabbed a chain that he had kept since their eighty-second cycle. He'd made a ring to match Lup's and had hidden it on a chain as soon as they had landed on this world. For when they had a home. For when they …

He was no longer in the crypt. He was in a boat on a still lake in a world long gone. Across from him sat Taako, bored out of his mind and staring at a fishing pole.

“You know there aren't any fish right?” Taako complained.

“Yeah,” Barry chuckled. “But it's nice, you know? I mean, I get to hang out for a day with my … my brother.”

“Hey now. While you're dating my sister and all you don't get to call me that until you two actually tie the knot,” Taako joked.

Barry’s smile wavered. If this didn't work …

“That's uh … that's part of why we're out here, actually.” Barry started, rubbing the back of his neck. “I uh … I wanted to get your opinion on something.”

Taako froze, ears pricked up.

“Oh shit! Are … I mean, we don't even know what kind of future we'll have -”

“I know,” Barry started. “But I was kind of playing around with some jewel smithing. I found some books on it and some materials and … kinda got some crystals from where the planes intersected and … well,” Barry produced two rings that were stacked upon each other. “I'm going to wear mine around my neck. I kinda felt a little silly doing this but … but I wanted the symbol as well. I … I want to propose to her, Taako. Even if we don't get married for another century I just … I want to spend forever with her.”

Barry hoped that Taako hadn't noticed the tears that were pricking his eyes or the wavering of his voice. If he had, the elf never said anything about it.

“Well, I know she'll love it, Barry and … I guess you're allowed to call me your brother,” Taako snickered. “Now, come on. Enough mushy stuff. Let's go back to not catching any fish.”

Barry shook himself out of his memories.

“There’s a necklace with a ring on it, Barry added. “Wear it so you have something to go by if you see an elf with that same ring … If you’ve been able to hear this at all, then … Then you’ll be able to find her. If not …”

If not, then he was almost out of options.

Six years. It had been six years of searching and waiting. Six years of wondering if he would ever see her again.

If he would ever see any of them again.

Taako had noticed a change in Lup over the past three years.

He didn’t want to say anything at first, not wanting to cause any issues with his relationship with his business partner, but he noticed that she was slowly losing the spark of excitement that had reminded him of home.

She was cautious now and often didn't try to flick her ears in conversation with him unless they were onstage and even then it was only to coordinate the next bit of their show. She wasn't the fiery elf he knew. She was changing.

He didn't want to believe it was because of Sazed.

He had also noticed that some nights, Lup would whimper softly in the partitioned spot in the cart that she had begun to share with Sazed. Usually it was after Sazed had left their makeshift room, an air of frustration surrounding him. When he would return the next morning, he would reek of alcohol or on the mornings after Lup's lonely whimpers were particularly distressing, perfume that definitely did not belong to either elf.

Taako wanted to say something but he was too wracked with guilt. He had insisted that Sazed travel with them. He encouraged Lup to pursue her feelings.

He was the one who gave his blessing.

And who was he anyway to Lup? He was a business partner. Nothing more.

Ren had gone to the first show with her big brother. She was not yet an adult in Drow terms, but she often dreamed of leaving the Underdark. She knew, of course, that there was a life outside of here, but it was hard when you spent so much of your life away from the sun. It was even harder when even other elves looked down on you. When rumors of a curse being the reason for your people living underground circulated through the whole of Aber-Toril.

Sometimes, it was easy to believe they weren't rumors.

Hearing that a pair of Sun Elves were doing a show in the Underdark left her skeptical. She had assumed it would be something that was meant to belittle the Drow - something to shove in their faces why elven society in general had abandoned them.

Then Brian told her it was a cooking show.

The first show, she and Brian were in the back. They were barely able to see the action from their seats, but she caught a glimpse of Taako on the stage and gasped.

He wasn't like any sun elf she had ever imagined. Not once did he belittle the Drow or make fun of their cuisine. Not once did he say anything disparaging about his hosts.

And then the other elf joined him and she couldn't help but notice how much they looked like each other.

Perhaps it was wishful thinking. Perhaps it was projection.

She really wanted to believe that these elves were brother and sister, just like herself and Brian.

The second show, she was able to sit much closer. She held onto her ticket for Row D, Seat seventeen. She was entranced as she watched the two Sun Elves create a delicious basket of croissants, a pan au lait, and of course, a show-stopping Quiche Lorraine. She had to meet these elves after the show. She had to learn more about them. These weren't Sun Elves as she knew them.

They were now her inspiration.

Lup had been whisked away at the end of the show, their bodyguard wanting to talk to her for some reason, so only Taako remained to talk with his fans. He was glowing from the praise, absolutely radiant as he signed posters and handed out shirts to the excited Drow that gathered around him.

Ren was, understandably, very nervous. She had never spoken to a Sun Elf before. She didn’t want to say the wrong thing or come across as too eager, but she also wanted him to know that she looked up to him.

That she wanted to be just like him one day.

“Come on, darling,” Brian started, trying to drag Ren away. “He’s obviously very busy and our mother is going to be quite worried -”

“Hey there! You forgot to come get an autograph!” Taako called out. “There’s plenty of Taako to go around!”

Ren snapped around. He was looking at her.

He was talking to her!

“Come on over!” Taako beckoned.

Ren broke away from Brian, running towards Taako as the crowd started to mosey away from the impromptu stage.

“You were here last night, too, huh?” Taako grinned, leaning over the table. “How was our rothe steak last night? I mean, people were saying it was good but how did it compare to everything else? I’ve only cooked rothe once before and I totally mucked it up the first time, but Lulu was insistent we try it because … Oh here I go just babbling on,” Taako laughed. “Did we do a good job with it?”

“I … You want to know what I thought?” Ren asked.

“Of course! You’re obviously an elf with good taste, so I want to know if I did the local cuisine any justice.”

Ren beamed.

“It was awesome, Mr. Taako!” She grinned.

“Please, just Taako. Mr. Taako is my father’s name,” Taako grinned.

“Sorry! Just … your show was so good and it really means a lot to us that you came down here! We uh … we don't get a lot of visitors so …”

“Well, I've been loving the Underdark,” Taako smiled. And he truly did mean it. Sure it wasn't like his other tour stops but he felt like folks actually enjoyed themselves at their shows. He didn't understand Sazed's trepidation when Taako had booked the show, but Lup's excitement let him know that there wasn't any reason to actually worry.

And meeting Ren, a fan who was so truly excited, had been the icing on the cake. Taako loved the spectacle and he loved when others appreciated it.

He was about to speak again when a voice lifted over like a song.

“Ren! Ren, we've got to head back!”

Brian made his way over to the table and froze.

Sure, seeing Taako onstage had been one thing but seeing him in front of him, talking so sweetly to his sister and just being a nice guy was a whole different thing altogether. Here was this elven celebrity just chatting up a fan.

And he was very, very attractive.

Taako looked up and grinned at the tall, thin Drow that stood before him. He could tell the Drow was enraptured with him - who wouldn’t be - and if he was honest with himself, he was quite taken by the elf’s looks himself. He didn’t quite remember Drow being as tall as the ones he had seen in the Underdark, but hey, it had been a long time since he had seen any Drow!

“H-hey,” Brian started.

“Hey yourself,” Taako purred. “Saw you yesterday too.”

Brian had never heard an elf purr before, but it sent shivers down his spine.

“Yeah, I was just here with my sister …” Brian smiled. “She uh … we both really liked your show.”

Ren looked back and forth between Taako and Brian and sighed.

“Come on, bro. At least get his stone of farspeech frequency.”

Brian's dark skin flushed as Taako grinned.

Lup had tried to not upset Sazed. She knew this wasn't fair. Three years together and she still couldn't let him get past kissing her. Each time she tried, her soul felt as if it was being ripped in half. Each time she tried, her heart would hammer in her chest and she would have to back away and apologize tearfully.

She hadn’t even wanted to go with him tonight. She had been excited to get to know the Drow in the Underdark. It had been so long since she had been able to hang out with any Drow and now that she had the opportunity, she was being whisked away to spend time with her boyfriend.

She couldn’t say anything, of course. She already had prepared herself for the discomfort when he tried to hold her or kiss her. She was ready for the discomfort of sitting near him as they ate their dinner. And she knew that she couldn’t give him what he wanted. She didn’t want to start another argument.

She didn't know why she couldn't do this. Why she couldn't break down this mental block. Nothing made sense. He said he loved her no matter what but doubts were creeping in. She had felt the frustration and more nights than not, he had left their cart trying to hold back anger - anger that she knew was meant for her. She had noticed that some mornings, he came back with scents that made her stomach turn.

But he was human and he had needs. Needs that she wasn't fulfilling so she had to be ok with this, right?

She couldn’t even voice her real reasons to him. She didn’t even know what they were. She was finding herself struggling to even open up to him more in conversation. She was beginning to dread times spent alone with him, but she couldn’t tell him that. She felt guilty, holding onto him this long

He was a human and she was not letting their relationship progress in a way he would like. She wouldn’t talk with him about a future away from life on the road. She couldn’t do it. To do so felt as if she was betraying someone. Possibly him - after all, she couldn’t imagine a stationary, sedentary life. She couldn’t imagine living in a house with him, sharing their home, building a future.

And would he let Taako come with her? Probably not. She could tell that tension had started to build between the two of them as well. It hurt her to see it. She loved Sazed, as far as she thought, but she couldn’t imagine life without her business partner.

This wasn’t the life for a human, however. It was unfair to him. He would only have a few more decades at the most, and here she was taking her time to truly commit to him. There were things that she couldn’t let herself do that she knew was a sign to others that elves loved them. She couldn’t press her head to his or rub her cheek along his face to let him know she thought of him as hers. She couldn’t slowly close her eyes to tell him and barely could make herself purr at him.

Not that he seemed to understand elvish anyway. It was just another thing that she couldn’t share with him. Another thing he wouldn’t understand

So she prepared herself for him to leave the cart once again after an awkward dinner. After she cleaned up her plate and went to their partitioned area to try and meditate.

After he tried to plant kisses along the base of her neck.

She knew where this would lead and so she braced herself, wondering why she didn’t just tell him to leave.

At least he had never physically hurt her. At least he still returned. He still would hold her if he was in the cart and she was having a nightmare.

The nightmares had grown more and more frequent as well as more impossible to explain. Nightmares of losing Taako, of losing Sazed. Nightmares of her life on the road.

Nightmares of static.

Tonight was another night where she couldn't let him get too close. She had tried, Oghma knows she tried, but she broke down into tears as soon as he started to pull down her skirt.

She tried to rationalize it. She hadn't had the bottom runes done and didn't know how he would truly react, even though he had told her many times that he didn't care. She had so much missing memory and didn't know if she even knew what to do. She was scared. She felt wrong.

And tonight, she expected him to leave, again.

But instead, he held her close and rocked her softly. She couldn't think when he was with her. She couldn't let her mind wander to the real reason she shut down.

The reason that she was too afraid to face.

He was not the one, even though she had at first thought he was.

He reminded her of someone who she had never met.

But that wasn't who he was.

Ren wished that Taako could stay, if only for the smile he put on her brother’s face when they sat together for breakfast. She wished he could stay so he could continue to brighten the Underdark.

But he had a tour to complete and fans to see. He promised he would write. He promised he would come back to visit some day.

Ren wanted to stay and wait for him, but something about Taako’s willingness to come back to the Underdark stirred something within her.

After she and Brian waved goodbye to Taako and Lup, Ren returned to their home and ran to her room. She grabbed a bag and began to pack as many of her belongings as she could fit. She found a pair of dark colored glasses, a hat, a scarf, and her father’s wand. She didn’t tell Brian or her mother where she was going. They would be too worried. She didn’t even want to leave a note, but she figured it would only be polite. She hastily wrote a note on a scrap of paper and left it on the kitchen counter before taking her bag and running down the road that Taako and Lup had left on.

For if a Sun Elf could come to the Underdark, then she could spend the rest of her days in the sun.

Barry sat in a tavern in Neverwinter. His head ached from listening to the message he had recorded for himself so he turned to an old comfort to quiet his staticky mind. He had always been able to calm himself down with some liquor, a common defense mechanism in his youth, so he assumed that this would be the remedy where nothing else was.

Why would he leave himself such a poorly recorded message? There had been so much static and it had been physically painful to listen to the message. He wasn’t even sure what he was looking for. All he knew was that he was missing something important. It left a crushing weight on his chest, but his message to himself had been so garbled that he couldn’t even begin to decipher it.

He sighed and swirled around his brandy, absentmindedly. There was a brand he liked, the name long forgotten, but this certainly wasn’t it.

He looked over down the bar to see a man flipping through a book, his brow furrowed as he grew increasingly frustrated.

“Hey bud,” Barry started. “Need something to calm you down? I’ve got … some gold and can buy you a drink.”

“Huh?” the man asked as he looked up. “Oh, no. I need to cut back. I uh … Hey, you look like an intelligent man. Maybe you can help.”

Barry chuckled.

“Just ‘cause I wear glasses, that doesn’t mean I’m a nerd.”

The man smirked before producing a piece of paper.

“So, I’ve been with this elf and I’ve noticed she wears this ring and well, I want to add to it to maybe, I dunno … Get our relationship to the next level. But the thing is, I have no clue what that stone is. Like, I would ask her but I don’t want to spoil it if I can get her a ring and -”

Barry took the piece of paper from the man and stared at it. It wasn’t that the drawing was poorly done or that the ring looked overly complicated. It was that his mind was trying to remember something about that ring but it kept hitting a wall. He shook his head for a moment and then blinked, focusing on the drawing of the purple stone in the center.

“Huh …” Barry started. “That’s … That’s Tanzanite.”

“Tanzanite?”

“Yeah,” Barry started. “I’ve seen it once, I think … Maybe in a museum? God … I know it’s that though … I think I’ve seen it on …”

Barry blinked rapidly, trying to stop the static and pain that was filling his mind. Something about this stone. Something about this ring … was it … he was wearing a ring on a chain around his neck and that word had come up so many times in the message-

“Thanks,” the man smiled at Barry, placing a hand on his shoulder. “She seems to really care about that ring so this will be a nice addition.”

“Y-yeah,” Barry stammered out. “Um … I’m sure she’ll the happiest elf in Faerun.”

He watched as the man left the tavern and returned to his drink. The static in his brain was overwhelming, as usual, but the weight in his chest was heavier than it had ever been.

He found himself ordering a few more drinks, progressively losing the weight in his chest and the static in his brain. It was temporary, of course, but at least he would be able to drag himself out of the Tavern and back to the inn. He paid his tab and started out.

He hadn’t realized how much he had drank until he got outside. His vision was blurred and he found it difficult to keep his steps steady.

He didn’t hear the three half-orcs until it was too late.

Barry was mercifully knocked unconscious. He didn’t remember what had happened until he found himself hovering over his body, watching the trio of half-orcs ransack his corpse. He started to raise his arms, preparing to cast a low level spell to scare them off, when he saw the trio freeze in terror.

“Oh shit!” One of the half-orcs shouted. “Quick! Hide him and we’ll come back for him later!”

The three half-orcs carried Barry’s body over toward a pile of crates, stashing him away before they scurried down the alley..

Barry waited before sinking down to his body to search for his necklace. He needed to make sure he could get the ring back. He would need it for the next time.

When his skeletal fingers brushed against his body’s chest, his heart sank.

The chain and the ring was gone.

He was about to tear down the alley, hoping he could catch up to the half-orcs when he heard footsteps. He sank back behind the crates and waited.

Sazed had scoured the city for Tanzanite. He couldn't believe that it was this rare of a gem, but apparently it was.

Apparently, Lup had the only one in existence.

He was about to give up hope until a sparkling object caught his eye at the back of an alley. It wasn't too far from the tavern where he had met the denim clad man who had given him the helpful advice. Sazed ran down the alley and bent down to look at the object and gasped.

Dangling from a simple, golden chain was a ring with a small, sparkling Tanzanite in the center.

He compared it to the drawing of Lup's ring and smiled, pocketing the ring.

It was a perfect match and would interlock wonderfully.

He left the alley, unaware that he was being watched.

Barry hovered over the pile of crates. On the one hand, the man from the tavern walking past across the street had been enough to scare the ruffians away.

Unfortunately, that same man had come back and taken the chain with the ring.

Taken it for the elf who had a matching ring.

Red lightning crackled around Barry's fingers as he fought to stay stable.

Lup.

The man had been talking about Lup.

That was the only logical explanation. The only one that involved Lup still being alive. That didn't involve her meeting a similar fate. Being trapped in her staff.

Being hunted by the Raven Queen.

He wanted to tear the world apart. He had been searching and hunting and if she was alive, then she had forgotten and …

And she would never remember if he didn't try to find a way to fix it.

He calmed himself, not wanting to draw attention before he lowered to the ground. He needed to get back to his crypt. He needed to check on om his next body and record a new message.

He needed to be calm. The man had never said that Lup was the elf he was seeing. And even if she was the elf he was talking about, it wasn't her fault. She didn't have a coin that told her what she needed to know.

He hated to think what had happened six years ago. Had she hidden the gauntlet and then forgotten? Had she even found it?

Had she been wandering alone?

He couldn't think about that. He needed to focus on his next move.

There was only one other person who would remember. Who would be able to help.

But he had no idea where she was.

When Lup awoke on their last day of restocking in Neverwinter, she was greeted with the smell of bacon sizzling outside of the cart. Her ears twitched nervously as she slid out of the cot and made her way out. Something about the smell set off alarms in her brain. It was so familiar but also so wrong. It was as if a distant memory was being overwritten. Something positive being melted away.

Perhaps it was because she knew what Taako's breakfasts smelled like and this wasn't it.

She stepped out of the partitioned room and exited the cart with caution, looking around for any signs of danger.

Instead, she saw Sazed at their small camp stove, looking through a recipe book while cooking. Something about the scene tore at her heart. It was perfect and wrong all at once.

She stood, frozen in her tracks as she watched him dish up the plates of bacon and eggs. He turned to look at her and smiled.

“Sorry I woke you,” he started. “I wanted it to be a surprise. I uh … I followed your ‘Best Breakfast Ever’ recipe as much as I could though I couldn't find the buttermilk for pancakes. But I could probably do that in our next town … I… I know things have been rough and we've had … issues but I don't want you to think I don't love you. That I don't see us as something more.”

Lup's heart pounded in her chest. She had been doubting their relationship, doubting if he was the one for her, but now …

Sazed handed Lup her plate and Lup felt her heart nearly shatter.

She wasn't sure why it was so painful to see a gold band with the same stone that she had on her own ring on it, but she couldn't keep the tears that pricked her eyes from spilling out.

This was everything a woman should want - for the most important person in her life to want to make this commitment for the rest of their short life. She knew she was lucky. She had found someone who loved her as herself, no matter what. That was what he always told her.

But she felt so very wrong as she slipped the ring onto her finger, the stones on the rings interlocking perfectly.

She looked up at Sazed. She couldn't tell him that she would be his forever, that she could see them having a future together. She couldn't accept this ring from him.

But if not him, then who else would have her?

#blupjeans #Barry Bluejeans #Lup #taako #taz sazed #lup/sazed #only one more chapter of the cursed ship I promise

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theawkwardterrier · 7 years ago

Text

Oh, But Aren't You Already My Darling?

Steggy Week, day 6 Prompt: Tropes and Cliches

Summary: Five times Steve and Peggy faked a relationship, and one time they didn’t.

AO3 link here.

The fact that it is not at all her job doesn’t stop anyone from assigning Peggy the task of bringing Private Rogers to his lodgings for the night. She understands that things are a bit chaotic after the assassination this afternoon (and she certainly has her own sorrow about losing Erskine) and that working with Rogers requires a high clearance level. She also knows for a fact that there are people (men) of lower rank who could escort him, and yet she’s been ordered to do it.

“Thank you for this,” Rogers says. It’s the first thing she’s heard him say in a long while, certainly since they were put into the car with orders to return to SSR headquarters tomorrow morning for testing. “I’m sure you had other things to do.”

“I do,” she acknowledges, not willing to demur for his comfort or conscience. “But I’ll get to them as well. We’re putting you up just a few blocks from here, so as long as you don’t require me to plump your pillows, I’ll be through in plenty of time.”

He smiles a little, and she’s strangely comforted that the man she’s started to know is still in there. “No pillow plumping, but if they give me a room with ugly wallpaper, we’d better hope you’re willing to fight for a new one.”

She hadn’t expected such a directly amusing response. She laughs, but it stops abruptly as the driver of their car reports, “We’ve run into the police barricade.”

“Of course.” That the HYDRA agent had been undercover rather than storming the SSR facility hadn’t mattered to Senator Brandt, nor that it was better to keep these things as quiet as possible for public good and as an espionage tactic. He had demanded police presence in the surrounding area, as if hundreds of Nazi spies might suddenly decide to throw off their masks and attack.

The policeman shines his flashlight into the window on Rogers’s side, waiting for him to crank it open. “Evening, fella,” he says, taking a quick glance over Peggy and the driver but focusing on Steve, still disheveled in an undershirt and too-small pants. “We’re on the lookout tonight. You know about that trouble by the water?”

Sounding tired and yet as if he can’t avoid taking an impertinent tone, Rogers replies, “I heard a little something.”

The officer bristles at the way Rogers doesn’t seem impressed or intimidated. “Well then I’m sure you know it was a big problem, big enough for a United States senator to take a personal interest. We’re all taking it real seriously, so I might wonder what a man such as yourself was doing looking so disordered, sitting in such a fancy car next to a pretty lady.”

At this point, he seems a bit baffled about exactly what he’s accusing Rogers of (are they meant to having a torridly romantic assignation, or spying?), and Rogers is starting to look as if he’d like to give him something specific for which to arrest him. Peggy nearly wants to let him, but she decides better of it; she doesn’t have the time to clean up a mess, and considering the effects of the serum, even a single punch might do some significant damage.

She can’t very well mention who Steve is in specific, and even mentioning that he is a soldier is touchy: if someone took a good look at his technically uniform pants, it would be hard to explain why they are so small. Sizing up the officer, and realizing that Senator Brandt would likely have planted a suspicion of badges in the heads of the police, she leans over so that not only her face but her uniform becomes apparent in the light. “I apologize, Officer. My fiance has had a tremendously tiring day - as you can see, he was in a bus accident on the way from Pennsylvania - and we were just on the way to bring him to his hotel.”

“Your fiance, huh?” The policeman peers in closely, still suspicious. Peggy’s hand rests on top of Steve’s in the middle seat, as if it has always been there. She pinches Steve subtly to get him to stop gaping about it. “How’d a Pennsylvania boy meet a Brit like you?”

“A dairy exchange,” she says promptly, keeping it casual, as if she had been asked by a friend at a party. “His father and the dairy farmers consortium wanted to send a representative to see the famous Jersey cows, and I happened to be visiting a friend who’s a milkmaid.”

“It was all very lucky,” Steve manages, leaning toward her awkwardly. Despite his lack of actual acting skill, his instinct is good.

“And now of course I’m being posted back to England for my war work, so we wanted to get a chance to say goodbye, and see the city once more.” She blinks up a few tears just so they rest in her eyes. “Considering the situation in Jersey, it could be quite a while before they’re hosting farmers again.”

Steve wraps an arm around her. “Don’t sound like that, sweetheart,” he says. He does a decent job of sounding brave and nicely supportive, although he might as well have stolen his lines from a propaganda film. “With our countries working together, we’ll have those stormtroopers off your pretty island in no time.”

“You did promise me a honeymoon there,” she says, settling against him. Despite his swim earlier in the day, and the newness of his muscles, it’s actually quite a comfortable place to be.

“I’m sure you’ll get it, honey.” The policeman, when she looks over toward him, seems to have been truly affected by the charade: he has real tears in his eyes to match her fake ones. “Now, you go on through and get him settled in.”

“Thank you,” she says prettily, and elbows Steve until he does the same. The driver, snorting quietly, steers them past the barricade.

After a few minutes of quiet, she says, “My dairy farmer fiance. I can’t believe he bought that. If a real Nazi spy showed up, I don’t know if our officer friend could be counted on to notice a tattoo of Hitler.”

“Let’s hope the rest of the force is doing a better job protecting the city, or everyone might come back from overseas and find the place turned into New Nuremberg behind their backs.”

They pull up in front of what looks like an average rooming house, the only light visible from a small desk lamp on the ground floor.

“When you go inside, just ask for Eleanor,” Peggy instructs. “And when she asks you how your trip was, say that you’re lucky to only be this late as you had trouble finding a cab.”

“Is there an SSR division that’s just innocent-looking older ladies acting as bodyguards?” he asks, looking out at his home for the night.

“Well, I do need a role to aspire to in my old age,” she tells him.

Steve laughs and steps out of the car, but leans back into the space of the open door. “Thanks for all of your help. In training, and today, and just now.”

“My pleasure,” she says, “and my job.”

“The dairy farmer sounds pretty lucky. You built him a great life.” He looks around down the darkened street, houses closed up for the night, and then says quietly, “You know, if he’d seen us driving together this morning, he probably wouldn’t have believed any of it. That I could milk cows, or get a girl like you.”

In the dim light, she can see that his face has lost the humor. He just looks tired now, and sad. She wonders how long it will take him to sleep. “As far as I’m concerned, the story was equally plausible then and now.”

The smile he gives is still tired, but seems genuine. She imagines that whichever Eleanor is on duty tonight will insist on feeding him a hot supper, and she’s glad of that.

“I’ll see you in the morning, Agent Carter,” he says, and goes inside.

ii.

The red dress was an obvious signal, one that even Steve would have to pick up on. Peggy refuses to admit that the next day’s outfit - a simple blouse and pencil skirt - had similarly flattering elements. They’re practical clothing for a workday, a little break from her uniform, and that’s all.

Except that she does feel just a brief flare of excitement as she comes around the corner to bring Steve over to Howard’s workshop… A flare which is doused as she sees Private Lorraine right up against Steve.

But then she looks closer.

She’s seen Steve uncomfortable at this point - more than once, in fact - but never this much. He’s stammering, his shoulders tucked inward as if he wishes he could return to his former, less noticeable size. It’s a perfect storm, she thinks with pity, of a woman who wants something, and a man who has had no practice saying that he’s not interested.

“Hello, Steve, darling,” she calls out before she can think better of it.

The two of them snap toward her immediately. Lorraine takes a step back and Peggy thinks, Good, with vicious satisfaction.

“Howard’s ready for you, so as long as you’re done with your conversation over here…”

“Yes!” He edges away from where he’d been cornered and walks toward Peggy, straightening his uniform. “It’s good to see you,” he says, thankfully canny enough not to sound too desperate.

Peggy tucks her arm into his and says, casually, but loudly enough to be heard, “Well, I thought I’d come find you - we need to firm up plans for tonight…”

Around the corner, she moves back away from him, easily shifting back to professional as they near Howard’s area.

“I really appreciated that,” he says, surprising her. She had expected him to turn awkward and choose not to mention it.

“It might get around,” she warns. “Private Lorraine is a bit forward, as you saw.”

“I don’t have a problem with people knowing.” She tries not to make it too obvious, but she finds his blush quite endearing.

“And you should likely learn to turn down an advance,” she tells him clearly. She waves a hand toward him. “Considering…”

“Yeah.” He sounds slightly sad as he says, “I’m sure I’ll get a lot of ribbing for not taking advantage when women who wouldn’t have looked at me twice before do more than that now, but I’ll ask around for some advice.”

Howard comes over at a clip to show off his latest gadgets. Peggy says quickly, “Perhaps don’t ask Howard,” just as Steve says, “But maybe not him,” and they laugh.

Peggy gets a lot of glares around the base over the next few days which just confirms whom among her colleagues she wants to be friends with. She can’t quite bring herself to care, regardless.

iii.

Peggy, it turns out, looks quite fetching in a kerchief. But Dernier reminds everyone in rapid French that just because the village is small, it does not mean that everyone is a rural peasant.

“Your normal hair will be fine,” he tells her, and goes off to tell the pilot that they’re ready.

They make the jump just after twilight. All three of them arrive safely on the ground, but that is their last bit of luck for a while. They land farther apart than intended, Steve’s chute is stuck in a tree and while he cuts himself out fairly easily, it’s a bear to collect the silk so that they leave no trace. And then they accidentally wander into a farmer’s land and are quickly nearly gored by a bull.

Their avoidance of such a fate is perhaps a second bit of luck, except: their escape is not exactly subtle, and as they collect themselves beneath a stand of trees, they hear footsteps and then the click of a flashlight and a voice saying in German-accented French, “Who’s there?”

This was meant to be a brief mission. The plan was for a quick surveillance of a site that had been rumored to be a HYDRA-affiliated lab (Jacques had admitted, shamefaced, that there were certainly ambitious French scientists who would mistake what was right for them with what was right), a rendezvous with a contact of Peggy’s, and then a return to SSR headquarters. Therefore, the costumes that they’d been given were meant to hold up to basic scrutiny at a distance, and they had developed barely a sketch of a cover story.

Steve automatically looks to Peggy, because typically if they’re in some trouble because of poor planning, she’s the one to pull them out. But instead, he hears Dernier’s voice.

“How dare you get in the way of true love!”

“Excuse me?” The crunching footsteps move closer, and finally they can see on the other end of the flashlight two soldiers in German uniforms.

“These two good people are from important families in the village who have been enemies for a century! And perhaps we will never know whether it is true that his great-grandfather truly ordered a horse or if her great-grandfather was right to deliver a mule, but it no longer matters. Because as soon as they saw each other when they came to help the schoolchildren prepare for the annual picnic, they knew that no other would do.”

“Perhaps this is the new Romeo and Juliet,” says the taller soldier with rough scepticism, “but then who are you?”

Dernier draws himself up. “I am their priest, of course.” This, naturally, surprises Steve: Dernier has been a firm atheist since 1928, and typically when asked his religion will proudly respond, “French.” But when Steve looks more closely, he finds that Dernier has tucked his white kerchief into the collar of his black shirt and somehow in the dim light it approximates the look of a priest. “Their families would never have allowed a marriage in the village, so we are going to the church in the valley, and once there, we shall finalize the bond that no one will ever be able to break.”

Peggy, always quicker on the uptake, has been holding Steve’s hands in both of hers and looking nervous but besotted. By the time the flashlight has turned to examine them, however, Steve too has caught on. He has his arms around Peggy and is certain that his expression looks like an overly enthusiastic stage actor. But apparently he’s done a decent job, because the shorter soldier relaxes a bit and, waving a hand, says, “Move along, then. Have your romance.”

They walk for a few moments before doubling back and finding the two soldiers again. It turns out that the HYDRA outpost is not just a rumor. It also turns out that Dernier can make quite a large explosion using only minimal materials.

Years later, when the mission file has been declassified, a television episode will be made focusing on the incident. Peggy will be fawning and practically invisible, Steve will speak fluent French while for some reason wearing his Captain America uniform beneath his disguise, and Dernier will do nothing but cackle when blowing things up.

A historical group will write in protest of the accuracy, but they shouldn’t really have bothered: it changes nothing, and honestly, what Steve himself remembers most strongly is Peggy in his arms for the first time.

iv.

After three weeks in the field with what she estimates was an average of three hours sleep a night, a wet cloth the closest substitute for a bath, and an impromptu field surgery to remove a rotten molar from Dugan, all Peggy wants when they reach the small base in the north of England is to collapse into bed. Even an army cot would feel like a palace at this point, but she’s even denied that: there are no women’s bunks where the rest of the Commandos are being billeted and the commander refuses to let her stay even in a room alone.

“Let’s see when the next train is,” Steve says when it’s been made clear to them that the men are welcome to stay, but if Peggy is given a bed there, they will all be turned out. “We’ll get everyone back in their boots in just a minute.”

But Peggy, watching Jones dunk nearly his whole head into a basin of water and Morita lying back fully clothed with an arm over his eyes, already snoring, demurs. There’s no reason to tear all the rest of them away just because she isn’t allowed.

She goes to the village and asks around, and is eventually pointed to the town’s one guest house. The building itself is lovely: sprawling and neatly arranged, with what Peggy would guess are lovely bedrooms if she could actually get inside one of them. But instead, when she is nearly ready to lie down in the foyer, she meets what she expects is the base commander’s sister, a pointed woman who, when Peggy requests a room, indicates a placard beside the desk: Gentlemen and married couples only.

Peggy tries politeness first. “I’m here on important war work, and they don’t have accommodations for me on the base,” she says calmly.

“Well then I’m sure your superiors share my concerns,” says the owner. The look of disapproval she aims toward Peggy’s uniform boils Peggy’s blood. She spent a childhood being shamed for acting ‘like the boys.’ Her memories of the years in which she suppressed herself in order to be accepted are pale, marked by a sadness that comes from little that actually happened during that time. Now she’s found a compromise, a way to be herself that’s been endorsed by the highest officials in the country, and still she is judged. She wants to tell this woman exactly what would be different had Peggy Carter been at home, tending the fires for a man, rather than using her skills to win this wretched war, but instead she just meets the other woman’s gaze head on.

“I’ll only be here for the night,” Peggy says, “and then I’ll be on the train to London in the morning.”

The woman snorts. “As if I don’t know what can happen in a night!” She folds her arms, her elbows sticking out like pokers. “A young girl can sneak a man in here and be ruined in a night. With a child in the equation, she can ruin three lives! My rules ensure propriety, a return to decency which has been sorely lacking these past years.”

There’s so much wrong with this logic, that for a moment Peggy, her brain already slowed, can’t think of anything to say. Luckily she avoids the statements which would almost certainly get her ejected (that babies born out of wedlock weren’t begun with the invasion of Poland, and certainly didn’t have to be the end of the world; that two gentlemen could get up to some behavior that she would certainly find shocking). Instead she takes a breath and points out, “I could be a married woman traveling alone, and of equal virtue to a man traveling in the same state.”

“But you aren’t,” snaps the woman, and instead of feeling like a victory for Peggy, it seems like the beginning of a slow road to defeat. “You’re just another of those liberated army girls. You haven’t got a husband any more than I do.”

“I guess that leaves me feeling pretty useless,” says a voice from the doorway behind them.

The army uniform has always flattered Steve, but just now, with the last of the sunset catching on his hair and the medals on his jacket, the shadows beneath his own eyes concealed, he looks quite heroic.

“Hello, darling,” Peggy says, strangely comforted by the return to a familiar scenario, if only this charade that they seem to keep falling into. “I hadn’t realized you’d be given leave to be able to meet me, but it’s very convenient. We were just having a bit of a misunderstanding.”

“What seems to be the problem?” Steve asks, striding over. He seems in his element not because this is a situation calling for a man to take over, making declarations, but because he has experience standing up to people who are too stuck in particular ideas of how things should be done.

“As I was just explaining, this is a respectable establishment and we have some rules,” says the lady behind the desk, with only a brief pause. She still sounds sour, but perhaps actually a bit shaken too. “We don’t allow rooms to women traveling alone, such as your...wife?”

“It seems to me that women traveling alone are the ones you should be jumping to rent rooms to,” Steve says blandly, “especially if you’re worried about the respectability of the youth, but I guess it doesn’t matter, because she’s actually part of a married couple.”

And when he puts his hands on top of the desk to pull the guest book toward himself, Peggy sees that he is indeed wearing a wedding ring on his left hand. The owner, growing more shriveled by the moment, stares at it.

“My wife wears hers on a chain,” Steve says idly, as if just noticing her gaze. “It’s safer in case of accident or capture.” He nods over at Peggy and she pulls a chain forward from around her neck, the crest of Michael’s school ring concealed by her hand so the visible piece looks plausibly like a wedding band. She hadn’t even known Steve had been aware that she wore it.

The room is indeed lovely when they’re finally shown up to it: a large bed, soft, brightly colored linens, an adjoining bathroom with an enormous clawfoot bathtub that nearly makes Peggy want to return to church. The only blemish is their hostess, who takes them through their brief tour with gritted teeth and glowers her way out the door as if she’d still like to demand their marriage certificate and three witnesses including a member of clergy.

“How did you know I was here?” Peggy asks as soon as they’re alone. “And where on earth did you get that ring?”

“I mentioned to one of the guys at the base that one of us had to go find a room in town and he said, ‘Hope it’s not a lady,’” he says, his British accent an absolute abomination, Cockney mixed with bear by way of New York. “I borrowed his ring in exchange.”

Peggy laughs, collapsing into the pretty paisley armchair with no intention of getting up, although both the bed and bathtub look tempting in the extreme.

“I can probably climb down,” Steve says from where he’s looking out the drapes onto the low roof and the lawn below. “Just tell her that I had to go back on duty.”

“And have her turn me out again?” Peggy yawns. “As long as the boys are covering for you to avoid an AWOL charge, just stay here until morning.”

“You sure it won’t make you uncomfortable?” Steve says, and he sounds sincere, as if he truly would scale down the building and return to the barracks if she wanted him gone.

Instead she waves a hand and says, “I’ll likely be asleep as soon as I climb into bed. You could indulge your passion for can-can dancing and I’d be none the wiser.”

But she finds, after she has splashed water over her face and arms, and brushed her hair and teeth in a bid for some minimal feeling of cleanliness, after she has stripped to her slip (she pulls it off well but the uniform isn’t exactly built for comfort) and climbed under the coverlet beside Steve in his undershirt and trousers, that she can’t fall asleep.

“How ridiculous that I’ve been treated more fairly fighting against the Nazis than I have been trying to pay good money for a room in my own country,” Peggy says, and although she tries to keep her voice even and perhaps joking, the true heart of her disappointment seeps through. “Although at this point I likely shouldn’t be surprised.”

“One day it won’t be like this,” Steve says firmly. “You’re going to change that.”

She shakes her head. “I have a life to live and things to do. I haven’t the time to change everyone’s mind.”

He props himself up and turns to face her. “Every time a little girl sees you in your uniform, she thinks that maybe it could be her one day. And maybe she doesn’t want to be a soldier, she wants to be a professor or a doctor or the owner of her own bed and breakfast that serves single ladies only, but she sees a woman doing something that her mother and grandmother never even got to try, and it plants the seed in her mind.” She thinks that she can see his eyes glimmering in the dark. “Peggy, you’re changing things just by being you.”

She kisses him. There’s nothing else to be done.

“Is this alright?” she asks when he pulls away.

Shakily, he says, “I was just going to ask the same thing.”

“Of course,” she says, surprised. She can’t believe he can’t feel the giddiness that’s overtaken her, completely separate from the peak of exhaustion. “I wouldn’t have done it otherwise. And besides—” She leans close. “It’s alright. You’re my husband, after all.”

He laughs, and she cuts him off with another kiss.

Peggy has some nursing experience, but she’s no match for the barrel-shaped woman in the nurse’s cap before her. It’s not because Peggy is disheveled, or because everything inside of her has been askew since she got Howard’s call - she could have pushed her aside despite all of that. But this woman reminds her of Rose back at SSR headquarters, overlooked and underestimated but like she knows where the nearest machine gun is located and how to access it.

Good. That’s exactly who Peggy wants guarding this particular door.

She calms enough to say politely, “I’m here to see Steve Rogers. I’m his wife,” and notices the nurse’s eyes widen just a bit. How strange: it doesn’t even feel foreign anymore, nor like a lie.

“We’ve been expecting you. Identification please?”

Peggy hands over her passport. It seems a strange precaution to allow them to know her real identity but not Steve’s, to fake a relationship but give this facility unlimited access to Steve’s actual body. It’s all part of the compromise Phillips struck with his superiors. The army technically had the rights to Steve whenever he was found and in whatever condition, and could control who could see him. But when Howard had found a heartbeat for the first time, Phillips stepped in to say that even prisoners of war get access to the Red Cross and Steve Rogers would be allowed visits by his wife, Peggy Carter. And when some paper-pushing corporal had brought up that they had no record of Steve Rogers ever having been married, Phillips had said that he had himself been in attendance at their small ceremony in England seven months ago and it wasn’t his fault that they couldn’t keep track of files on even their most valuable soldiers.

“I’m sure you’re aware that this is a special case,” the nurse tells Peggy as she guides her back through a maze of hallways. “We aren’t entirely certain about anything, but we’re doing our best, and we’re fairly certain he’s stable.”

“Thank you,” Peggy says, managing to sound calm. She appreciates the honesty, but the fact that they are even admitting to uncertainty makes her feel as if they are on shaky footing.

Steve, when she sees him, looks the same as ever, only deeply asleep. She moves his hair off of his forehead and sits beside him, holding his hand and speaking to him quietly. She stays for two hours, catching him up on everything he’s missed as doctors and nurses come in to monitor him every so often. Finally, she wipes her eyes, picks up her handbag, and goes to leave her contact information with the nurse.

She returns the next afternoon, slipping out of work precisely at 5, and repeats the same process: handing over her identification, even though the same nurse is on duty, being shown back to Steve’s room, and filling the space with quiet chat for a few hours.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” she says, squeezing Steve’s hand before she leaves, and she fully expects to. But instead she receives a midnight call and, making the always perilous egress from the ladies’ residence, catches a taxi through the darkened streets.

The nurse doesn’t bother with her passport this time, hurrying the two of them back rapidly. When they arrive, Peggy sees why: Steve has that stubborn set to his jaw, pushing close up against the doctor. That he hasn’t actually stood is both worrying and a relief.

“Peggy,” Steve says with deep gratitude as she walks in the door.

“I told you that we had called your wife,” protests the doctor, annoyed.

“Right,” Steve says absently. Peggy has joined him by the bed. She holds his face in her hands, looking him over, carefully meeting his eyes.

“You were gone six months,” she tells him. “This is an army facility, in New York. You were found a week ago and brought here as fast as possible. Howard’s been looking after you, between a dozen other things.”

Steve rests his hands on her wrists, so gentle, and she wants to cry. “Peg,” he says quietly, “can you maybe track me down a pair of pants? I know my legs aren’t really working yet, but I’ve had enough of showing off in a hospital gown for one lifetime.”

The tears are technically from the laughter that bubbles up and out of her, but not entirely. Nevertheless, it’s primarily joy in her voice when she responds, “Of course, my darling. Anything for you.”

vi.

They’ve barely left the ceremony dedicating a new military hospital in Bucky’s honor, and Morita is already yanking his tie loose while Dugan bellows for a drink.

“We’ve got a reservation,” Steve assures him, missing Bucky and the way he’d always kept everyone in line. “We just have to make one stop along the way.”

The photo shop is convenient from the hospital, the apartment, and the restaurant where they’re headed. Not for the first time, Steve blesses Peggy’s logical, big-picture thinking. If it had been up to him, he’d probably be racing to pick up the photos after lunch only to find the shop was on the other side of town and closed for the day.

“I’m here to pick up some pictures for my wife,” Steve tells the man at the counter, and waits for the envelope to be fetched.

“Let’s see them,” Dugan demands as soon as they’re in hand, and begins dividing the pictures up for the boys to look at.

Gabe starts it all this time. “That’s strange,” he says, looking at a snapshot taken on their recent trip to the mountains upstate.

“What’s strange?” Steve asks dutifully. He’d known this was coming, as much as he hoped to avoid it.

“I think you must’ve gotten the wrong pictures,” says Morita.

“How’s that?” Steve says with a sigh.

“Well, I’m certain that this can’t be your wife, Captain, because that’s Agent Carter in each of these photos. You’ll recall of course that we fought a war with the both of you, and if you two were to have actually gotten married, we certainly would have been invited,” Monty says with placid logic.

Dernier, who it turns out has always spoken English albeit with a very strong accent (they didn’t find out until after the war, when they could all speak at least basic French), says, “Of course not all of our invitations could have been lost by the mail, so this must be business,” and Morita adds, “Yeah, Cap, tell us what’s up with this charade.”

“If they’re giving her problems with being a Brit and working for the Feds, I’m sure Phillips could pull some strings,” Gabe points out. “Or Howard.”

“Hell, I’ll go down to Washington myself and tell them how much Peg helped us in the field while they were sitting on their fat asses,” Dugan says, rubbing a palm against his fist.

“And while we all know that you were always sweet on her, there’s certainly no need to force her to persist with some sort of sham marriage merely to allow her to keep doing her job here.” Monty again. He’s struggling to keep a straight face; he’s always the first to go.

“It’s been five years, fellas,” Steve protests. “How much longer are you going to keep bringing it up?”

The Commandos look at each other. “Stark’s working on time travel, right?” says Dugan. “He’s pretty smart. I’m sure you’ll be able to get back in time soon to fix things.”

Steve rolls his eyes, although not without a bit of guilt. He and Peggy (but mostly he, as the boys are apparently suitably frightened of Peggy that she doesn’t have to put up with anything but slight ribbing) have been apologizing to those insulted by their lack of invitation to the wedding, which was everyone, practically since it happened. Steve had been surprised by how touchy Phillips still seemed about it, acting especially gruffly affronted when their anniversary came around again.

“We were keeping it small,” Steve tells them once again. It’s what he and Peggy always say. Neither one of them wants to admit to anyone else that they were really concerned that they wouldn’t be able to make it official before some other disaster drew them apart again.

The restaurant is up ahead, and a woman in a blue patterned summer dress stands near the doorway with a newspaper in hand. Steve picks up his pace.

“Now we’ll get a real answer,” Morita says as they approach.

Peggy folds her paper with a smile and kisses Steve briefly but firmly on the mouth. “The wedding debate again?” she asks, falling into step with the group. “Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to invite you all to the next one.”

“Something you need to tell me?” Steve asks, lifting an eyebrow.

She pats his arm. “It could be you up there with me, but only if you pull up your socks a bit. The chili you made last night wasn’t quite up to the standard to which I’m accustomed, so I’m considering other applicants.”

Dugan says, “I’ll be your best man, no matter which sucker you’ve got on your arm,” and starts a clamor of volunteering and elbowing between the rest.

“Hey!” says Steve, cutting them off. “I’m always going to be the sucker on her arm.”

“Damn right,” Peggy adds, and hand in hand they enter the restaurant.

#steggyweek2k18 #Steggy fic #Steve Rogers #Peggy Carter #Steve/Peggy #I would have had this up 100% on time and even early but I had Internet Problems on Friday afternoon and then Shabbat interfered

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iknaq · 7 years ago

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Keeping It In The Family - (Part 12)

(Ugghhhhhh, all the emotions. The scene in the movie where Steve went to see Peggy just hurt me sooo much and I just wanted to give him a little bit of a happier moment. Feels but hopefully good feels by the end.)

MASTER POST LIST

Steve chuckled and flushed a bit as he, Darcy, and Tony sat around the bed as GiGi told them about meeting Captain America for the first time. 'I didn't recognize you from the picture Darcy showed us but boy, do I remember that kiss. It almost got me shot, heh.' 'Yes, well Steven dear...if I had realized Peggy-Fucking-Carter was interested in you, I might have rethought that all, I was opportunistic, not suicidal. Hence my wonderful dalliance with Howard. You look so much like him, Anthony. That was before he'd gotten together with Maria and by the time I'd figured out I was in the family way, Howard was off looking for some big idiot that decided to crash a plane into the ocean and then by the time the war was done and everyone had gone home, he'd gotten engaged.' GiGi reached out and patted Steve's hand fondly and it ached to remember this was the same vivacious blonde that drug him behind a bookcase and planted a good one on him. 'Mr Rogers? She's awake and asking for you.' He couldn't help but stiffen a little, smiling faintly when Lorraine gave his hand a squeeze. 'Go on then, I'll never hear the end of it if I hog you the whole time. Come say goodbye before you leave?' 'Steve, can you tell Aunt Peg I'll be by in a little bit?' He waved a hand at Tony, stopping to press a quick kiss on the top of Darcy's head before heading to the room just down the hall, opening the door slowly and just standing there for a moment looking at her. 'Are you just going to stand there all day, Steven or are you going to come in and say hello?' 'How's my best gal?' 'Tired. I can't remember being so young, it's hell getting old but I'm glad I got to see you. Lolly said her great-granddaughter had caught your eye and that Mr Barnes had an eye on her, as well...did you ever tell him how you felt? I would have thought that since you'd found each other again you'd finally come to your senses.' Steve blinked at Peggy before pulling up a chair and holding her hand. 'Oh, Steven. Don't give me that innocent face, you love him, you always have. Haven't you?' 'I uhhh...I guess I never really thought about it like that?' 'Oh darling, we all thought that you and Bucky had been together back in the day. I'm sorry. Maybe it's something my old mind has made up. Sometimes I can't remember if things are a memory or something my addled brain has decided to come up with. Back to this young woman, I'd like to meet her, make sure you are good enough for her.' Peggy smirked at him and Steven felt his stomach clench painfully and it must have shown, feeling her brush a hand over his jaw softly. 'You deserve to be happy. The world has changed...and none of us can go back. All we can do is our best and sometimes the best that we can do is to start over...' 'Steve?' 'This must be Darcy, come in child, come in. For once Lolly wasn't exaggerating, you are a beauty, my dear.' 'Ohhh man and you're a freakin' legend. I am soooo honoured to meet you. You and GiGi were like my inspiration growing up, I'm sorry I never got the chance to meet you before this.' 'Ha. Two of the biggest misfits of our time. Yes, well, I had to come back here and grow old with someone. We both outlived our husbands, I figured if anyone was stubborn enough to put up with me until the end, it might as well be Lolly.' 'Ha, stubborn is putting it nicely. Speaking of stubborn, Steve, she's insisting you go say goodbye. She's tired but she says she has something to tell you before she naps and Tony would like to come say hello.' 'Oh, Anthony is here? Let him come in, I have a scolding for him for not coming sooner.' She motioned Steve over and he leant in, pressing a kiss on the top of her head similar to what he had done with Darcy. Peggy's voice low and teasing. 'You best be taking that young woman out on a proper date and treating her right, you understand me, soldier?' He couldn't help but chuckle, pressing a kiss on the back of her hand. 'Yes, ma'am.' 'Darcy, child, can you get me a glass of water while Steven goes to say goodbye? Oh, and Steve? Tell Bucky to come say hello sometime, I have words for him.' He nodded and stepped out, passing Tony as he went back to the room. Lorraine looked tired, they'd worn her out with all the talking, moving to the side of the bed. 'Ahhh, Steve, good...thank you for coming and I just had one more thing to say. You'd best treat my granddaughter right, young man. I still have my pistol somewhere and you can be damn sure Peggy made me learn how to use it. Are we clear?' 'Yes, ma'am.' 'Good boy.' He had to chuckle when she gave him a wink and a dismissing wave, heading over to say goodbye for Peggy before they left the women to rest. It was a few hours later when they were back at the tower when Darcy found him out on the roof, looking out over the city. 'Hey, you doing okay, Cap? Did GiGi threaten your life or something?' 'Yeah...yeah but I was expecting that. No, I'm just thinking about something Peggy said about thinking me and Bucky had been together.' 'Oh yeah, there are whole websites dedicated to trying to prove that you two were a thing back in the day.' 'I...there are? Uh...okay.' 'Do you care about him?' 'Yeah, I've always loved him...' 'Yeah, but do you love him or do you lovvveee him?' 'I don't know and this is an odd conversation to be having with the woman I was going to ask on a date again now that we know you're not mine.' 'I don't care if you have the hots for Bucky, I mean have you seen him, who doesn't? Just let me watch and maybe film a little...Ha! Hey, have you talked with Pete yet?' They both flushed at her comment and then he sighed, shaking his head slowly. 'Not about...all this, we've talked about his school and becoming Spider-Man. I just...I don't know what to say.' 'Just be there for him for now and yes, I would love to go on that date, how about right now before you get another call?' He flushed when Darcy grabbed his hand and drug him off. It wasn't until after the pizza and the beer and the video games and a couple kisses that he realised she'd distracted him from getting all maudlin after the visit. How'd he end up such a lucky guy with all these amazing women in his life? His ma woulda loved them.

#mcu #mcu au #wintershieldshock #darcy lewis #steve rogers #bucky barnes #tony stark #peggy carter #private lorraine #keeping it in the family #the avengers #my writing

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talhaghafoor2019-blog · 6 years ago

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Paul Simon Says 'I'm Finished' Writing Music : All Songs Considered : NPR

At 76, Paul Simon has been writing music for more than 60 years. And all that's about to come to an end.

His farewell tour closes in just a few weeks in Queens, New York, not very far from his childhood home. And even though he recorded five studio albums with Art Garfunkel, made 14 solo albums, scored a film and wrote a Broadway musical, it's actually been a few years since Paul Simon has written a new song. As he says in this incredible and candid conversation, the future of his artistic life is something he puzzles about.

All that said, Paul Simon has just made a new album. In the Blue Light is a brilliant reimagining of 10 songs he says he's always wanted to revisit. He created this record with a band of inventive jazz and classical musicians, including guitarist Bill Frisell and trumpeter Wynton Marsalis, with arrangements from The National's Bryce Dessner.

I began our conversation by asking Paul Simon how and why he chose the songs to rework for this new record. His remarkable answer took us down a long and completely unexpected path.

You can listen to the full interview with the play button at the top of the page and read edited highlights below.

Paul Simon on not writing any new songs

"Well I haven't written a new song in a couple of years, now. I think after [the 2016 album] Stranger To Stranger, a funny thing happened when I finished - I literally felt like a switch clicked and I said, 'I'm finished.'"

On what's going through his mind these days

"What I'm really interested in on a personal level are my dreams. I have a long history, really going back to like when I'm four, of violence dreams. Those dreams, they got so intense a few years ago that I took a trip down to Brazil to see this healer, John of God."

On rearranging an old song to make its intent clearer

"'Darling Lorraine,' which I think is one of the best songs that I've ever written, the first time that I did it, the arrangement was so interesting and eclectic that I thought you couldn't follow the storyline, because you were distracted by the sounds. So this time, I came and was very careful to try and allow for the storyline to go right through because if you don't follow the storyline then the ending doesn't have its power. And it's also touching for me that this was the last time that [guitarist] Vincent Nguini - who was my friend and band mate for 30 years - this is the last recording that he made. He passed away last December."

On the great mysteries of life

"We don't have the capacity to understand the great mysteries of life and God or no God or infinity, we just can't get it. It's beyond us, but that's fine. We're not meant to get that. But the pursuit is so interesting. That, I think, it's life sustaining and I think when you lose the interest in that pursuit you're finished."

This content was originally published here.

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ellebeebee · 8 years ago

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Guillaume Comtois, Revairan diplomat, spends a day fixing the mistake of an underling. Unfortunately, this day has more significance for him than he generally allows himself to acknowledge.

5213 words, various pairings referenced (m/m and f/m), mild warning for language

Lord Guillaume Comtois, Under-Ambassador at the Revairan Embassy in management of domestic affairs, was just putting in his left cufflink when his butler Yates knocked on his bedroom door.

“Come in,” Guillaume stated. His manservant Henri hovered at his shoulder, holding up his coat for the day with his clean white gloves. The black silk had been carefully brushed and held not even the smallest speck of lint.

Yates cracked the door open. He’d worked under the previous butler for fifteen years. The previous butler had worked for the Comtois house for nearly sixty. Nobility and their servants tended toward lifelong affairs with one another.

“Sir,” Yates said quietly. “A Mister Morel from the embassy to see you. He says it’s urgent.”

Guillaume frowned at him.

“Did he say what about?”

“No, sir.”

“Sun’s barely up, and he’s already pushing a new crisis on me?”

“Shall I send him away?”

“No,” Guillaume stated. He gestured to Henri and let him help him with his coat. “Human life presever happens to be my chief responsibility.”

Yates followed him out the door and down the dark-carpeted hall lined the portraits of all the Comtois lords and ladies from the ages, human layers down to the depths of the Great Wars. Some of them shared the dark sepia skin, the broad and pronounced cheekbones, and the lush lips that he had inherited. As Guillaume climbed down his grand stairway with sharp, quick taps from his hard heels, Morel at the bottom stared up at him uneasily.

“What is it now?” Guillaume said, his voice echoing in the wide and high foyer.

Morel coughed nervously, fiddling with his hat in his hands. A few years younger than Guillaume, but from the sort of family that had been ingrained into the diplomatic service for aeons. And had the good sense to adapt quickly to changing policies, changing regimes. Morel, nervous and blatantly ginger-haired, had hung on to his position and stumbled up promotions by din of his people skills. In other words, he didn’t mind being the butt of the jokes of foreign dignitaries and letting them outdrink him.

“Ah, sir,” Morel said. “There was-- well, I was at the-- the thing is--”

“You were at the Starre last night, playing nursemaid to that Fetti-- Fettiman person-- That Arlish pompous bootlicker.”

“Lord Fettiplace. And I was at the Starre with him. And the Corbet brothers, and--”

“Get to the point, Morel.”

The younger man did that jerky nervous cough again. “Okay, well. You know how I’ve been using that Bathurst grandson-- the one with the doctorate, because Fettiman-- Fettiplace fancies himself some sort of trade genius.”

“Yes, and Jon Bathurst had strict instructions to dumb it down for the man,” Guillaume said. His tone was getting more and more clipped and polite, in the way that meant his inner ire was growing.

Morel licked his lips. “Yes, well. We all got a little-- well, a lot drunk and forgot to keep Bathurst from getting drunk, and then he and Fettiplace got into it--”

Guillaume raised a hand, and Morel shut up, the whites of his eyes gone broad.

“Just tell me how bad it is,” Guillaume stated.

“Ah,” Morel started. “We may have all begun chanting at him, ‘Revairan mores for Arlish whores’ at one point. Or maybe it was Revairan whores. I don’t quite, um, remember.”

Guillaume closed his eyes and exhaled. All in all, it was far too early in the morning to have such a tension headache coming on. When he reopened his eyes, Morel was staring at him anxiously.

His jaw shifting, he said, low and calm, “I will fix this. I want you to go home. In fact, I want you to go home for the next two weeks until Lord Fettiplace gets back on a boat to whatever dull hole he crawled from. And you had better pray that it’s still two weeks from now, and not this afternoon.”

Morel opened and closed his mouth. Finally, he nodded.

“Yes, sir,” he said.

He made a sort of half bow. Henri had reappeared with his hat, which Guillaume took.

Putting on his own, Morel gestured to the door as the doorman opened it. “I’m going toward the embassy, shall I walk you part way?”

Guillaume stopped on the threshold to stare back at the man. The freckles on Morel’s neck seemed to scatter and contract as his adam’s apple bobbed.

“Or I can take the scenic route,” Morel stated, slightly pitchy.

“That would be advisable,” Guilluame answered with a hard smile.

Despite Yates’s polite reminder (read: admonition) that he hadn’t had breakfast, Guillaume left his city manor for the quiet lane his family had spent decades and decades of social seasons on. The sky still held that delicate touch of violet and canary yellow of the early hours of morning, which belonged to the laundresses carrying large sacks of their livelihood on their hips. The hours that belonged to the manservants taking gaggles of white yipping lapdogs out of their mistresses’ hair. It would be hours yet before the nobility took to the parks or the shops.

Guillaume crossed two streets over and passed a few blocks of well-to-do white cake-topper mansions. He stopped at the Namaire manor.

“Darling, it is far too early in the morning for such angry requests,” Sabine stated.

She was seated in her sunny morning room, tawny with dark curls half-up and wearing a dressing coat too elaborate for so early in the day. But she was never one to be told there was a certain protocol for overwrought embroidery. The baroness stared at him over a steaming teacup. Guillaume sighed and unbuttoned the bottom button of his coat as he sat across from her.

“It was not an angry request,” he said.

He waved away a servant when he tried to give him a setting for the breakfast array on the table. Sabine beckoned the servant back.

“Your face says otherwise,” she stated. “Eat. You clearly need the sustenance.”

“If it’s too much of an imposition--”

“I didn’t say that,” Sabine said. “It’s just that I had all these lovely little plans today. I’d like more details if I’m going to cancel them.”

Guillaume accepted a cup of tea and a slice of delicious smelling quiche. This gesture of obedience seemed to please her, as the baroness smiled for once. He gave her back the false smile that she always knew was false but also made light of his inner wrath. She laughed.

He took a sip of tea. “Really, it doesn’t have to be anything elaborate. You know Jan Allard, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she said. “Through Didier. You want me to invite him?”

“Allard, yes. Didier, no,” Guillaume said. “I need Jan Allard, a casual affair-- not a full dinner or anything too obvious, and you and all your charming glory.”

She gave raised a brow at him. “Outright flattery. You’re really giving it the hard sell. Either that or this person we’re wooing has somehow beguiled you shamelessly.”

“It’s not that sort of wooing,” he stated. “It’s more along the lines of ‘you could take your trade agreement to Corval because some idiot minor diplomat here insulted you, but look-- something shiny, woo.’”

He made appropriate finger motions at the sound effect. Sabine laughed, falling to the back of her chair.

“You really are in a state today,” she said, giggling. “Fine. Who is this mystery man of the hour?”

“Lord Nealson Fettiplace, of Arland. Member of the Arlish royal secretariat, liason between the treasury and various embassies. I say ‘various’ because it seems that his self-righteous pontificating on things he has little understanding of gets him politely shoved off into the pools of some other unsuspecting diplomatic corps with alarming regularity.”

“Arlish?” Sabine said. “Are you sure about this? They’re terrified of widows over there. Think we’re all soul-sucking harpies or something.”

“That or they’re banking on it,” Guillaume said drily.

She put down her teacup and frowned at him. “No need to be so crude. It’s morning.”

“You brought it up,” he returned.

Sabine gave him a look. He gazed back placidly. And then they both couldn’t help snorting and grinning at each other.

“Trust me,” Guillaume stated. “He’s the type to think he’s being worldly or something by gracing your home.”

“Charming,” Sabine said. She shook her head with exaggerated primness. “Alright. A little gathering just thrown together-- my, aren’t you a fascinating person, Lord Fettiworth--”

“Fettiplace.”

“Fettiplace,” she agreed solemnly.

Guillaume stood and rebuttoned his jacket. He rounded the table to her chair, and bent to kiss her on the cheek.

“Thank you,” he told her.

She gazed up at him. Something passed in her eyes, and she took his hand in one of hers.

“Guillaume...” she hesitated. “Today is…”

He lightly squeezed her hand. He didn’t exactly warn her with his eyes, but she must have understood all the same. She smiled in a thin way.

She exhaled. “Well. You may as well go on. I have an impromptu run-in with Allard on my itinerary and other arrangements to make.”

Guillaume nodded and left the Namaire city manor for the slightly busier lane. The Lorraine manse faced directly across the way, but Hugo Lorraine was out playing polo and failing at hunting out in the countryside for about a week. Hugo never got up before noon, anyway. And Guillaume had better uses of his time than having his ear chattered off by the ninny-headed prat. Why were they friends again?

Pulling his hat more snugly against his close-cropped scalp, Guillaume went on. It was a bit more of a walk to the embassy from Sabine’s than from his own street, and he spent the time ruminating about all that he had to do.

The Royal Embassy of Revaire resided in a relatively new building compound, only two centuries old, that had been built after that particularly nasty Corvali invasion which reached as far inland as the capital. The previous embassy had been burned and pillaged, and the new one sprawled across nearly an entire block that was a stone’s throw from the royal palace. No one could be mistaken about the Crown’s shadow eternally falling on the business of diplomatic relations.

Guillaume climbed rapidly up the broad expanse of steps into the embassy, nodding to the men and women he knew. At this hour, most were the commoners at assistance jobs and the more minor secretary positions; the nobles who held the majority of the higher ranks rarely came in before the lunch hour. He made it all the way across the over-large and over-decorated foyer that nearly defeaned you with echoes during the busiest hours (read: end of the day rush out), up the stairs to his floor, and half-way down the dark-purple south wing that held the domestic Revairan ambassadors before he was stopped for a conversation.

“Lord Comtois,” said the Skaltan man exiting a door to his left.

“Secretary Urel,” Guillaume returned with a practised smile.

Urel of Skalt had not actually returned to his homeland in nearly a decade. His father was an Arlish merchant’s son that had gotten “kidnapped” by a Hisean captain and after a few years at sea deposited in Skalt rather than returned to Arland. A Skaltan warrior had married him, and subsequently “divorced” (as their country did allow) when the relationship soured. Urel, the product of this relationship, ended up taking diplomatic positions for his tribe at quite a young age. He’d spent eight years in Corval and the last eighteen months in Revaire.

Urel wore traditional tattoos across his hands, a fine Corvali cloak over a somewhat unusual Revairan suit, and a full head of mahogany curls.

“Early bird gets the worm?” Urel smiled, his gray eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Something along those lines,” Guillaume stated drily. “You’ve done well, I heard. Handling the treasury and the exchange rates.”

“Well for my country or yours?” he returned, teeth flashing.

“That remains to be seen, doesn’t it? Promises of fine knowledge and miraculous remedies is one thing, but producing realities…”

“That is the kicker, isn’t it?” Urel laughed lightly. “Well, certainly makes my negotiated rate all the more impressive, no?”

“Certainly.”

“In fact,” Urel continued with his eyes narrowing and that particular dancing smile flitting about his well-featured face. “I was thinking of you during the talks.”

Guillaume did not register a bit of surprise in his expression, did not look around to see if others were listening. You learned long ago not to draw attention at these moments; either that or suffer suspicion and ridicule stemming from your own ineptitudes. The hall was broad and empty, anyway; only their reflections across the polished marble floor kept them company.

Guillaume’s jaw shifted. “Really? And here I thought I had left your regard completely.”

Urel tilted his head slightly with an apologetic and charming smile. “On the contrary. Nothing could be further from the truth. I’ve always admired your negotiation skills.”

“I don’t know,” Guillaume said carefully. “Your experience in these matters seem much more useful than any skill I could claim.”

The Skaltan diplomat chuckled as he took a step closer. “Either way, I’ve enjoyed my time here and I’m planning to stay longer. In the future, I hope I can count on your friendship.”

Guillaume smiled, aware of Urel’s proximity and all the things it brought with it (scent and that unbearable unseen pressure). Like a warm lake, deep and dark.

“Of course,” he returned instead with all due protocol.

“Are you free for lunch?” Urel asked lightly.

Guillaume paused. Behind them, a pair of under-secretaries passed down the hall with ringing heels and a quiet conversation. Guillaume took his own step forward, as if he were going to pass the other man by completely, but stopped to turn his head until they were nearly bumping noses.

He whispered, “If you want to screw, you don’t have to act like you’re courting me. You don’t have to ask me to lunch, or to tea, or the club. And no, I’m unavailable today.”

Urel considered him.

They’d met, over a year ago now, not long after Urel had first arrived in Revaire. It had begun rather quickly; an invitation to the club, the next week an invitation back home for a nightcap. And then the ridiculous circus of highs and lows, suddenly waxing and waning interest. It was understandable in a way; they did not have the luxury of freedom from social judgment, and to have an interest at all outside of marriage vows had opprobriums. But still.

Guillaume did not appreciate being toyed with.

“Perhaps next week,” Urel stated.

“We’ll see,” Guillaume returned.

They tipped hats to one another and went on their ways.

At his section’s office, he gave his cloak and hat to an assistant and knocked on the open doorframe of Baron Savagn’s personal office. The older man, with a terra-cotta swarthiness and a frame given to bulk, glanced up at his entrance through little gold rimmed round spectacles. He slapped down the sheaf of papers to his desk’s ink-stained green felt blotter.

“Morel went to you?” the baron asked.

“The most charming of wake-up calls,” Guillaume answered. “I’ll handle it.”

“Good,” Savagn stated.

That was a dismissal. Baron Savagn ran his section of Revairan domestic diplomats with a hands-off policy that tended to weed out complete incompetents. If you couldn’t at least float in this pool of piranhas, then you were quickly rid of by the brunt of your own mistakes. It suited Guillaume quite well; he could take his own prerogatives rather than have some nepotistic fool who’s forefathers had been bumbling through the exact some job for generations breathing down his neck.

Guillaume spent the rest of the morning riffling through Morel’s notes on Fettiplace for all the good that did him (read: they did no good at all). And he sent a note to an acquaintance among the Arlish envoy that owed him a favor: instructions to stop Fettiplace in the foyer at day’s end by whatever means necessary (note: the sort of triteness that passed for conversation with the man).

Around noon, a messenger delivered a card from Sabine:

Cards. I hope the man is good at winning, because we are very good at losing, aren’t we, dear? Light repast at the game table, wine yes or no? Lovely Jan sends his regards.

He told her yes to the wine, but to keep it pale and innocent-looking; rieslings and chardonnays.

In the afternoon, Guillaume wandered to the Covali wing (which overlooked the embassy’s one garden, the rich bastards), to ostensibly check up on some gossip. In reality, he was feeling the waters on the subject of the one crucial trade agreement Fettiplace had his grubby little hands on. The verdict: Corvali opinions were obtuse, useless, and mildly threatening. As usual.

Four candlemarks past noon, and the ambassadors and secretaries began filing out of their offices to linger in the halls and community areas for those end of the day conversations which mattered as much as the day’s work at times. Guillaume gave his apologies to the men and women in his section, and calmly strode through the maze of corridors for the embassy’s main foyer.

“Fanny Luyten,” Guillaume called when he spotted his target.

The Arlish under-secretary looked up at his greeting. Fanny Luyten occupied a position in which she was decidedly outnumbered. Arland maintained a definite baseline for their ambassadors: noble, rich, conservative, and male. Fanny had the disadvantage of being none of these and the great mystery of having overcome all of them. Guillaume was curious about her story but knew only half of it and doubted anyone would ever know the full of it.

“Lord Comtois, good evening,” Fanny Luyten smiled and curtsied at his approach. Her skin shone golden against black hair, her dress formal, clean-lined, and high-collared. She turned to her companion beside her. “Lord Fettiplace, may I introduce Lord Guillaume Comtois, Revairan Under-Ambassador. Lord Comtois, Lord Nealson Fettiplace of Arland’s royal secretariat.”

The gentlemen exchanged bows.

“Lord Fettiplace, your reputation proceeds you,” Guillaume said, flashing a white smile.

“Mmm, I’m afraid you have the better of me then, sir,” the Arlish dignitary said. He had a way of standing, with his large and rather poofed red cravat, his chest thrust forward and one hand tucked into the interior of his waistcoat, that reminded one of some sort of bird. The complex and singular curl laying across his forehead did little to repair this image.

“That is often the case, sir,” Fanny interjected. “Lord Comtois seems to know all occupants of the room no matter the occasion. He is quite--”

“Yes, Revairans do seem to know a lot, don’t they,” Fettiplace interrupted with a bit more force than the light conversation called for. When Guillaume and Fanny smiled politely at him during the pause, he added, “About things. All sorts, it would seem.”

“Well!” Fanny said brightly, ignoring the awkwardness entirely. “You said you had a carriage waiting, Lord Comtois?”

“Yes, the baroness was kind enough to send one,” Guillaume replied. He turned back to Fettiplace. “Are you engaged this evening, my lord? I have heard you have fascinating views on international trade and would love to hear more. My friend, the Baroness of Namaire, is having a small gathering tonight and invited myself and Miss Luyten here. Cards, I think, and a light dinner. You are welcome to join.”

“Who?” Fettiplace all but demanded of Fanny beside him.

“The Baroness of Namaire. Earlier, Countess Ylda and Lord Farrow were discussing a gala she held not long ago.”

Fettiplace tapped his elaborately topped walking cane with two decided knocks. “Oh yes, the widow.”

Guillaume smiled over his own inner bristling. “I think Jan Allard will be there. Do you know of his work, my lord?”

Fettiplace sputtered a bit, Of course-- everyone in my field knows Jan Allard and The Seven Components of Controlled Trade, and without much further prompting he followed them to the carriage Sabine had sent. Many exclamations were made over how honored they all were to have such a guest as Fettiplace among them. Thank heavens the trip to the Namaire mansion was short, as the Arlish dignitaries puffing up as Guillaume and Fanny ooh’d over his circuitous expounding on market forces became an entirely untenable charade.

Of course, as they were ushered into one of her lounges, Sabine dazzled them with her usual charm and warmth. And Guillaume’s opinion of Fettiplace solidified as he watched the Arlish dignitary be completely spellbound by Sabine’s long lashes and the pretty figure she cut. The man pretended to be immune and cool-headed about her smiles and sweet comments that greased the wheels of their conversation -- but it was obvious. Guillaume rather wanted to backhand the idiot.

Jan Allard seemed amused by the whole affair. The economist and writer had a square jaw and boyish freckles dancing across his masculine nose. Sabine must have primed Allard before their arrival, because he required little prompting to expound eloquently on his own theories, twisting them even to somehow feature Arland as a paragon of a judicious economic and political power.

“For example,” Allard was saying, “I’m sure Arland would never permit the humiliations to the institution of the crown as they do here in Revaire.”

“Here, here!” Fettiplace harrumphed. He was a little red from all the white wine and the winnings he’d pried from the card table.

“Just the other day, I was passing the Grand Square-- right in the center of our fair city-- where they were burning the latest pamphlet of that scoundrel Fox Foxley. You know him, my lord?”

“Rebellious firebrand of some sort, no?” Fettiplace sniffed.

Allard raised his glass in salute. “The very same, sir. Shameful stuff, sir. Just shameful. Spreading dissent and dissatisfaction in this sensitive time.”

“They ought to catch him and string him up!” Fettiplace barked.

Sabine brought a hand to her cheek and her face became the very picture of maidenly dismay. “Really, gentlemen, I appreciate such manly passion. But there are ladies present.”

Fettiplace coughed. “I apologize for offending your more delicate sensibilities, my lady.”

Sabine smiled at him with those sparkling blue eyes of hers. Fettiplace practically preened.

To Guillaume’s right, Fanny Luyten was trying to stifle a giggle. She leaned into the card table with a conspiratorial whisper.

“I’ve seen one of those pamphlets, sirs. And the man can write.”

Guillaume threw down his hand. “I’m out.” No one was really playing anymore, anyway. He continued, “Then it’s all the more shameful that such talents should be wasted.”

Jan Allard began chuckling. “Well, wasted talent or not-- it is bound to be dead talent soon enough. The Crown will run that Fox Foxley down with their dogs soon enough.”

Sabine interjected, her tone raised, “I believe that’s enough of such dreary talk, gentlemen. Lord Fettiplace, do you play the pianoforte? Come, we shall have music.”

Fettiplace stumbled along in the hostess’s wake to an adjacent music room. Fanny tagged along, altogether too amused by the spectacle of the Arlish man’s ponderous interpretation of a light Revairan ditty and Sabine’s whimsical singing, wandering from note to note with undue confidence.

Allard, still seated at the table with Guillaume, watched the scene down the long room and through a broad arch. The writer wore a half-smile. And the half-smile incrementally widened when Sabine glanced up at them from her position standing beside the seated Fettiplace.

Ah.

Allard turned back to Guillaume, getting up to take a seat directly next to him.

“You are shameless,” Guillaume told him, amused.

Allard raised a brow.

Guillaume shook his head. “It’s alright. She’s very careful. We won’t be overheard.” He waved vaguely around the candlelit room, the darkness outside having come creeping in to nurture the interior shadows. Guillaume grinned. “What was it? The Crown’s dogs will run you down?”

Allard laughed. “Did I sell it too hard?”

“Your head is going to roll for such stunts,” Guillaume told him, reaching for the wine and two glasses.

Allard accepted the offering. “I’m surprised it hasn’t already. Nice to hear that I actually have talent to waste, though.”

Guillaume considered him. “I suspect there was another pair of lips you’d rather have heard that from,” he said over his wine glass.

Allard, having had one eye on the scene in the other room and one ear on their conversation, turned fully to Guillaume at this.

“Look, I don’t want to step on any toes,” the writer said, low and apologetic. “I know she’s doing all this for you, and--”

Guillaume raised a hand to stop him. “Relax. It’s not like that between us.”

Allard’s broad shoulders visibly loosened. “Oh. It’s just you’re always something of a pair at social events--”

“We’re friends. We help each other out,” Guillaume smiled.

Pausing, the writer grinned slowly. He leaned in with twinkling (read: twinkling) eyes. “So? What do you think?”

Guillaume shook his head; they were all clearly feeling the wine. “She likes a brooding intellectual.”

Allard chuckled. “Well, I’m up a shit creek, then, pardon my Old Revairan, as I am clearly neither of those.”

The evening ended better than expected with Fettiplace sufficiently pampered and flattered. Guillaume did not approach the subject of the trade agreement; that wasn’t how this worked and he was comfortably assured that the man wasn’t running off on the next outbound ship for Corval. He would drop by the Arlish envoy in the morning to check on Fanny, say a brief hello to Fettiplace, and invite him to lunch later this week. One needed a certain amount of coyness, after all. Negotiation was a game of finding who needed the other more.

It was always obvious which was the loser in the end.

After the guests had been shuffled off in one of her coaches, Sabine tiredly dragged herself to her room. She lost her shoes at the foot of the first flight of stairs; someone would get them eventually. They were used to it, her dear staff. She was pulling her long earrings out when she pushed open her room’s door, and found Guillaume half-sprawled on a settee. She jumped, and dropped the lacey diamonds in her hand.

“Heavens, you startled me,” she scolded him as she bent to scoop up the earring.

Guillaume straightened a bit, looking owlish and tired and a bit crumpled. His collar hung loose and he’d also kicked his shoes off.

“Sorry,” he said. “Victoire let me in.”

“I thought you wandered away a while ago.”

He shrugged. She turned away to wet a cloth at her wash basin and wipe away at her makeup. He watched her: these simple domestic actions so rarely seen.

She was pulling pins out of her curls when he said, “Sabine.”

She looked at him. At his gesture she approached his settee and sat.

He leaned into her.

“Allard likes you,” he told her.

She sighed and curled her feet up underneath her, and made a bed of silk and tulle with her skirts that whispered and protested as Guillaume leaned into them.

“I know,” she said. “I know, and I shouldn’t. The Summit isn’t too far now.”

He glanced at her. At his look, she couldn’t help cracking a grin.

“I really shouldn’t.”

He snorted as she giggled softly.

Their laughter subsided into quiet. This had been the room she’d shared with the baron; she’d never changed rooms, even after his death. Guillaume had been to this house many times but could count on one hand the times he’d entered this room. He should feel like an intruder, an interloper. But he didn’t. Just like the nature of her marriage had changed through the years, the meaning and significance of this room, those portraits, and that bed had changed as well.

“It’s been six years,” Guillaume finally said. “Six years since his death this day.”

Sabine shifted. She put an arm around his shoulders.

“I thought--” she said slowly, pausing. “You’ve never wanted to talk about this before.”

Guillaume shrugged. “A mistake, I think. Do you mind?”

“No, of course not--” she stated. Her arm tightened around him and he closed his eyes.

“I spent years running after someone who was never going to give me what I needed,” Guillaume said. “It wasn’t much, I told myself. He’ll come around. I was too young and--”

He stumbled. “I was too young and in love to see that I needed to move on. I was foolish and blind, and it made me permissive to the way he treated me. I could blame him entirely, but in hindsight I know I should have been more honest about what I wanted. To him, and most of all to myself.”

He leaned further into her shoulder, and she rested her cheek against his temple.

“Oh, darling,” she whispered.

“I just needed a few words,” Guillaume continued. “That’s all. I didn’t need a promise or some grand gesture. I see now I was actually asking for the hardest thing. But he didn’t have to make it so difficult for me to let go--”

He faltered. “He didn’t have to keep reaching for me.” He paused. “Well. I suppose I didn’t have to keep reaching back, either.”

He snorted humorlessly.

“And then he had the nerve to die on me. And even after all these years, I will suddenly look up and miss him-- miss him like someone beating me bloody. Like someone stabbing me again and again. I don’t know how many times I’ve thought, fine, it would be fine if he kept using me, just please let him come back, if he were just here--”

He stopped. She’d begun crying, or was that him? He was very, very tired.

And it was all so difficult.

He woke to dim early morning sunbeams toying with those inexplicable dust motes silhouetted like little lives adrift in the cosmos.

They’d fallen asleep on the settee, clothed and rumpled, with her arm around him and him tucked into her chest. He sat up, sighing, and tried not to disturb her. But she still stirred and brought up a hand over her eyes, making a soft little unhappy grunt.

He scooted away, planting his feet back onto terra firma and leaning into his palms, elbows resting on his knees. He finally looked up to meet her gaze. He reached out, and she took his hand. Their fingers squeezed, reassuring in the pressure and realness.

“I love you,” she told him. “Nothing will ever mean more to me than your friendship.”

He gave her a look. “Knock on wood. You’ll make a liar of yourself one of these days.”

She returned to him her own pointed look. “I mean it. I love you.”

He smiled. “Thank you. I love you, too, Sabine.”

Their palms grew warm.

“Do you think Victoire could spirit me out of here? Unseen?”

“Embarrassed, are you? Very well, come along.”

“You know I didn’t mean--”

“Oh, I know what you meant, Guillaume Comtois--” she laughed.

He left the Namaire manse, not even dreading the sight of Lord Fettiplace later on that day.

#7kpp #fanfiction #my writing #guillaume comtois #alcohol tw

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gyrlversion · 6 years ago

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JAN MOIR: Surely not another coffee shop clogging up the high street

Someone please make it stop. It was revealed this week that four new coffee shops open in Britain every day, with another 6,500 scheduled to open by 2023.

This effectively means that in four years’ time there will be more than 32,000 coffee shops clogging up UK streets, most of them faceless outposts of the international chains. And you won’t get a halfway decent cup of coffee in most of them.

What seems to be the problem, ma’am? Only that despite their ubiquity, the offerings from the majority of coffee chains veer from the bland and forgettable to the downright bad or unpleasant.

It was revealed this week that four new coffee shops open in Britain every day, with another 6,500 scheduled to open by 2023 – most of which are big chains like Cafe Nero

And please, barista, make sure the water is scalding hot so that it peels the skin off my hand when spilled, thank you kindly. Any chance of a stale blueberry muffin, an inferior sandwich assembled at some far distant central facility, or a factory-made, microwaved croissant that tastes like a buttery floor cloth? Well, don’t mind if I don’t.

I used to buy a coffee on my way to work most mornings, sometimes from a chain, occasionally from a fancy but glum independent which sells cinnamon buns for a fiver and a tiny latte for £3.

‘With not very good latte art,’ someone moaned on a review website recently. As if that were the deal breaker, instead of the adventurous pricing, the double depresso service and the grim coffees that make the whole process such a cheerless, expensive waste of time.

Now I have fresh coffee at home, instant at work and have cut the chains out of my life. Cry freedom from the tyranny of the frappuccino fiends! I might buy myself a small Cessna jet with the money saved.

Yet despite the lack of quality on offer, coffee shops are now everywhere. And, sadly, their unstoppable proliferation — along with vaping shops, tattoo parlours, charity shops and shops that sell covers for your mobile phone — is turning British High Streets into windblown tundras, bereft of the tiniest waft of culture or beauty.

The Starbucks Venti is just a pint of coffee in a charmless mug or a cardboard coffin, Moir writes

And there is still little end in sight to the expansion of chains such as Caffe Nero, Costa, Greggs, Pret A Manger (actually, I love Pret) and Starbucks, to name a few. Obviously, selling 11 grams of coffee and a shot of hot milk for £2 plus is a lucrative business for all involved.

Today, coffee chains are like burger chains, complete with lots of advertising campaigns, central sites and huge rents to pay. In prime positions in every High Street, they are the most visible representation of our changing culture and they continue to boom as pubs go bust. Why? Younger people are drinking less, while Britain’s mix of ethnicities and religions has also had an effect — especially when one considers 56 per cent of non-whites declare themselves teetotal, compared to only 16 per cent of whites.

Beer duty and business rates have also taken their toll on pubs, where demanding customers now want craft beers, silly gins, food and their ghastly children to be admitted.

So coffee has surged into this vacuum, and who could blame it?

I pass eight coffee outlets on my walk to work, including Danish chain Joe & The Juice. What the heck is that all about? Joe seems to be full of silent young people tapping away on phones and laptops.

Bonhomie and conversational skills have been washed away by technology, amid the atmosphere of a trendy morgue.

Their advertising campaign suggests the ideal Joe customer is an attractive Nordic skateboarder with a lizard tattoo. All the better to raise your glass of Sex Me Up juice (please, no) along with your avo wrap and turmeric shots.

Perhaps it’s not them, it’s me? Yet there is still a place in my heart for the good, independent coffee shop. When I first moved to London, how I loved those Italian coffee places with their hissing machines and great walls of sandwiches in glass cabinets, generously stuffed with about three inches of egg mayonnaise or crammed with ham.

In prime positions in every High Street, the chains are expanding exponentially and replacing pubs because younger people are drinking less

In Cornwall, imaginative independents thrive, such as the Honey Pot in Penzance and the Cook Book Cafe in St Just, where the owner makes heavenly sandwiches with bacon from her own pigs.

To walk into any of the Bettys Tea Rooms in Yorkshire is to be assailed with the aromas from another age: fresh baking, savoury toast, roasted coffee beans. And, oh, the civility could make you weep. Tablecloths, milk jugs, sugar tongs, a smile.

There is no comparison between a lovely coffee served in a perfect china cup and saucer at Brasserie Zedel in Central London and a monstrosity such as the Starbucks Venti — over a pint of coffee in a charmless mug or a cardboard coffin.

So, hello darkness my old friend. I’ve come to drink you up again. Although not in a chain, never in a chain, even as they become increasingly hard to avoid.

Don’t shed a tear for evergreen Eva

Eva Green revealed she feels insecure about reaching her 40s next year because acting ‘depends on the desire’ of others

Eva Green is an exquisite beauty. However, at the age of 38, the actress (pictured) is worried about the ageing process.

Eva, a word. Only when one gets older — much, much older — will you truly understand what a perfect age 38 is and how lucky you are to be perched there, on the cliff face of life. Most of the early angst is over, but you are still pre-40 watershed. Make the most of it!

Yet Eva feels insecure about reaching her 40s next year because acting ‘depends on the desire’ of others. ‘Will people still like me?’ she frets.

Possibly not, if you carry on like this, darling.

But let us not mock Eva, for I honestly believe the ageing process is so much harder on the beautiful and the damned.

If you have been used to the warm and appreciative male gaze all your life, it must feel very chilly when it begins to fade.

The gain of feeling no pain

You might not believe this, but there is a woman in Scotland who feels no pain and never complains. No, it’s not me.

Her chemical imbalance means that she is also always in a good mood, which means she is definitely not me and neither is she Lorraine Kelly, who admitted last week in a tax hearing that her super-cheery on-screen persona was fake. (Can I just pause here to mention that Lorraine has also just revealed that she never takes off her bra, not even when she goes to bed, which is even more shocking.)

Jo Cameron is the remarkable woman whose unusual gene mutations stop pain signals reaching her brain. For 71-year-old Jo, childbirth was a breeze; she only needed aspirin for a painful operation; she walked away from a serious car accident, and she munches on scotch bonnet peppers as if they were plums. When she was a little girl, she didn’t even notice she had broken her arm roller-skating.

Jo Cameron (left) has led a virtually pain-free life due to a rare genetic mutation that affects just one in several million

It makes you strong, but it also makes you weak. She had no indication that her hip was crumbling, or that osteoarthritis had pushed a thumb bone into her palm.

Experts believe her condition is only found once in every several million people and she is now helping medical experts explore the parameters of pain management, especially for those who suffer chronic pain after surgery. In a way, I’m glad that she discovered this at a late age — one can only imagine what medical science might have wanted her to do earlier.

What a remarkable story. She has never felt pain in her life, but I bet she still runs screaming from the room when someone mentions Brexit. Or Lorraine’s bra.

Havana truly bizarre time

Has there ever been a more hilarious royal tour than the Duke and Duchess of Cornwall’s recent 12-day jaunt to the Caribbean? Every second was a joy, for us — not them.

The sprightly septuagenarians crammed more than 70 engagements into a schedule that seemed to leave rigid royal protocol behind and had the pair of them shambling around the islands like a couple of crumpled pensioners on a Saga cruise.

Highlights included Charles striding along the sand in his beach brogues, Camilla looking like a discarded sweetie wrapper at his side and about a thousand cheesy photo ops, including one in Cuba where they actually did eat actual cheese.

Prince Charles and Camilla make a mojito on their trip to Havana, Cuba, this week

There were moments when it was more like an episode of Flog It! than a royal visit. The couple tootled around in a classic car, then sat next to a statue of John Lennon, Camilla visibly wilting gently under a parasol. They learned how to make a mojito cocktail (above) and sampled their work. ‘That hit the spot,’ said Camilla, after a long gulp. Charles used a sugar cane treadle, posed with a parrot, got into a boxing ring and looked like he was having the time of his life, even if he was not.

Looking thrilled at municipal events is his superpower. He even met Lionel Richie at the Coral Reef Club Hotel in Barbados and greeted him with a line from one of his hits.

‘Hello,’ said the Prince. ‘It must have been you I was looking for.’

Close, but no Cuban cigar, you dear old thing.

At Reading University, food scientist Dr Stuart Farrimond claims to have discovered the recipe for the perfect toasted cheese sandwich. In his formula, two medium slices of white bread are toasted on both sides, then buttered right to the edges.

Then he adds 50g (1.8oz) of grated medium cheese, a splash of Worcestershire sauce, and places them exactly 18cm (7in) under the grill.

Is he COMPLETELY MAD? Everyone knows that you don’t use butter when making cheese on toast, and that you toast the bread on one side only, then add the cheese.

What kind of savagery is the prof encouraging? Honestly. You simply cannot trust half-boiled eggheads to do anything properly.

Fury from the Madden crowd

Richard Madden fans are troubled. They feel that the actor has been snubbed because he didn’t receive a Bafta nomination for his performance in BBC drama Bodyguard.

Unluckily for Richard Madden, the Bafta nods this year include two of the best male turns in television drama for years, meaning he’ll miss out

His portrayal of protection officer David Budd (pictured) was compelling and one for which he has already won a Golden Globe. But, unluckily for him the Bafta nods this year include two of the best male turns in television drama for years — Hugh Grant as Jeremy Thorpe in A Very British Scandal and Benedict Cumberbatch as Patrick Melrose.

A different class, wouldn’t you say, Sergeant Budd?

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