#the Beige ghosts have destroyed everything

[thebrisingamen]

"I want this house to anger people for content farming" Well I just want to modernize it so I can have electricity run through it so I can play my video games in comfort. We are not the same.

“I want the inside of this house to feel modern, bright and new!” then why the fuck did you buy a vintage, dark and old house in pristine condition?????

[telluriannovice]

Kinda sequel to this

Danny slammed his fist on top of the useless brick that was his computer. If Technus wasn't already dead, Danny would kill him for destroying it. He shoved it onto the floor, but it didn't do much to make him feel better. He pulled a shoe box out of the bottom desk drawer and pulled out the little stack of cash, leaving the camera bug he earned the cash from in the box.

Danny had been making a masturbation video for Vlad once a week and got a weekly payment in return. He'd spent most of the money he'd been given, and he wasn't even sure how. He'd only bought food and medical supplies, and a pair of jeans so he'd have at lease one pair without a hole in them- oh and he gave some to Valerie to replace a shirt he stained. Why did everything cost so much?

Danny re-counted the money even though he knew how little it was. He'd need at least $600 more to get a computer, $800 to get a decent one, which would be 12 to 14 weeks to save up if he didn't spend anything. There's no way Danny can go 3 to 4 months without a computer, he doesn't really get to choose when he can do his homework and libraries tended to have pretty strict operating hours.

"Fuck." Danny groaned and hit his head on his desk because his fight with Technus had gone through the school library and probably ruined their computers too, and last time ghost attack happened it took three weeks for the ghost insurance to fix what had broken. He was sunk unless he did something drastic.

Danny pulled out his phone and sent a text.

Danny took a calming breath before entering Vlad's house. It was the relatively small mansion Vlad lived in in Amity instead of the obnoxious castle in Madison. Vlad said the door was unlocked for him- actually he said Danny could just walk in, but Danny doubted Vlad wanted him displaying any ghost powers where the neighbors could see. Inside was a lot better than the cheese castle too. More generic off-whites and beige than fanatic green and yellow.

"Vlad? I'm here." Danny called out as he closed the door behind him. He wandered a few feet deeper into Vlad's house when he heard something from down the hall. He followed the sound and found Vlad in a living room watching a massive television. Danny's face turned bright read, since the TV was playing one of his videos. "Uhm, Vlad?"

"Oh Daniel! I didn't hear you come in." Vlad paused the video and jumped to his feet. Of course he did this on purpose, the look on his face was hoping for a reaction from Danny.

Danny had to bite his tongue to stop himself from making a joke at Vlad's expense, something about being so lonely he had to buy love at a distance. But, Danny's the one he's buying from, and Danny needed Vlad in a good mood if he wanted to get anything out of him. "Yeah, I just let myself in."

Vlad raised an eyebrow, clearly expecting Danny to verbally defend himself. He wanted Danny to be embarrassed at the video and try to run away or stammer over the reason he's there. But Danny was there on a mission.

"So," Vlad pressed on when he didn't get the reaction he wanted. "To what do I owe this late night visit?"

"You read the texts, right?" Danny asked with as little sarcasm as possible, which was still pretty sarcastic.

Vlad hummed in the affirmative and pulled his phone out like he was double checking. "You want me to buy you a new computer."

"It says I need a new computer." Danny corrected, then sighed. "So, I thought, since you're already giving me money for-" he waved his hand at the paused image of himself jerking off "-that I could charge a higher fee doing it in person."

Vlad's eyes went wide, glancing between the TV and Danny. "Oh..."

"Is that not something you want?" Danny tried not to cringe. He had been worried about this. "You really just wanted the blackmail material, huh?"

"I-" Vlad stretched out the word as he thought of the response. "Honestly, I thought you were doing this-" he also waved at the screen "-to make fun of me."

"No, I was just doing it for the money. I don’t really have time for a “real job” 'cause- you know, you're usually there." Danny confessed and took a single step back. "So, if more isn't on the table-"

"I'll do it." Vlad cut him off and Danny gave him a surprised look. After an awkward few seconds of silence, Vlad continued. "What did you have in mind?"

Between the first time Danny masturbated for Vlad's records and the second, Danny had looked up some man-on-man porn to get a better idea of what do for the videos. And maybe "Daddy Dom Teaches Mouthy Twink A Lesson" might have been Danny's favorite and what immediately came to mind when Vlad asked.

Danny tried to swallow his awkward nervousness. "Go ahead and sit back down."

Vlad did as asked and Danny walked over to him and knelt in front of him. "Daniel, what are you doing?"

“Putting on a show?” Danny shrugged and pushed Vlad's legs open before undoing his belt and opening his pants.

"I thought you were just going to put on a show." Vlad said breathless as Danny started stroking his dick to get it warmed up.

"Yeah, well, foreplay's important." Danny said and tried to fight his own instincts telling him he could just leave it there and get out. He could save up the money, try and do his chores for allowance again, ask Sam for a loan, get a job like Valerie. But he didn’t want to be a burden on his friends, or worm money out of his parents, and he barely had any spare time as it was. The smarter part of his brain told him that this was the fastest and easiest way to get what he wanted. A new computer. He just wants a new computer. He just needed to focus on getting paid while manhandling Vlad’s stiffening cock.

Once Vlad was hard enough, Danny licked the tip of his dick, just tasting to make sure he could actually put it in his mouth without throwing up. Okay, not that bad, of course Vlad was a hygienic guy. Danny decided to lick down Vlad’s entire shaft, which feels unfair with how big it is, but Danny can deal. Plus the more he did around it, the longer he could put off actually putting it in his mouth. So Danny took his time, plastering Vlad’s dick with licks and kisses, until he couldn't put it off any longer. Danny put the tip of Vlad’s dick in his mouth and started pushing his face down to take as much of it as he can.

Mistake. He jerked back, and had to lean away from Vlad to get the whole thing out of his mouth, and a little more space so he could cough and gag for a couple seconds before he got himself under control again.

Vlad sighed, and Danny could piratically feel the condescension despite how deep Vlad’s voice was with want. “Daniel, if it’s too much-”

“Is not-” Danny took a deep breath and gave Vlad as cocky a grin as he could “You know me, just got ahead of myself.”

“If you say so.” Vlad all but purred as he leaned back and pushed his body forward, more off the couch so Danny could theoretically get deeper between his legs.

Danny glared at him as he started again, deciding that this time, he’ll work his way up to as deep as it will go instead. He closed his eyes to concentrate on working his head back and forth to slowly take more and more of Vlad’s dick. He really didn’t need to see Vlad’s face all red and pleased. Of course he could still hear Vlad moaning in pleasure, but he wasn’t going to let that distract him. Danny only liked hearing because it meant he was doing a good job, and doing a good job meant he was going to get paid.

Danny was doing a pretty good job. He only choked or gagged a little and half of it wasn’t his even fault. Vlad had started petting Danny’s hair, making it harder for Danny to pull back to get a good breath, and made it worse when Vlad occasionally bucked forward. It was like what Vlad really wanted to do was grab onto Danny’s hair and fuck his face with reckless abandon. Danny would, of course, only want that because he could charge more for it. Sure, doing it slower was safer, but his jaw was getting stiff and his throat was starting to hurt anyway.

“Danny,” Vlad breathed out and Danny opened his eyes to look up at him. His face was red and sweaty, his tie was loose, the top buttons of his shirt were undone, and full locks of hair had fallen out his ponytail, there might have even been some droll on his lips. He was absolutely disheveled.

Danny whined. It was because he wanted to say “what do you want, old man?” but couldn’t with a dick in his mouth. And it really wasn’t supposed to sound so high pitched and needy.

Vlad grunted and panted as he asked, “Where do you want me to come?”

Danny rolled his eyes and ignored the question. He’s seen the porn, there’s only the two places. His mouth was already taking it, and he wasn’t going to switch to anal right at the end. So Danny just sped up his sucking, hopefully meeting whatever pace would make Vlad just come already.

And boy, did Vlad come. It was fast and hot, and Danny swallowed it quickly so he wouldn’t have to sit with cum in his mouth. Danny pushed off Vlad and sat kneeling in front of him trying to catch his breath. He really needed to focus on his breathing to calm down, mainly because he didn’t want to run out of there without getting paid, but also because his dick was so hard it hurt and if he didn't calm down, he might do something even more embarrassing.

“Why don’t you show me the big finish?” Suddenly, Vlad’s leg was between Danny’s and the tip of his shoe pressed against Danny’s aching cock. Danny didn’t even really hear what he said, his body just moved without him, latching onto Vlad’s leg and grinding against it. He was moaning and twitching desperately against Vlad, and it took pretty much no time at all for him to come too.

Danny pressed his face into Vlad’s thigh mainly to hide his shame and embarrassment. Immediately after coming, Danny realized Vlad had clearly wanted him to jerk off like he did in the videos, not hump his leg like a dog in heat. Not only that, but Vlad's body might be able to take Danny's enhanced strength, but he doubted Vlad's pants could. He was worried his cheap jeans tore a hole in Vlad’s stupid expensive pants, meaning he ended up owing Vlad money instead of getting it.

“Not bad for your first attempt, little badger.” Danny flinched as a hand suddenly started running through his hair. “Why don’t I show you to the bathroom so you can clean up?”

Danny nodded instead of speaking. Sure he felt humiliated, but also, he wasn’t entirely sure he could with how much his face and throat hurt. Vlad showed Danny to a guest room, then the bathroom and where all the soap and spare toothbrushes were. When he left, he promised to bring Danny something to change into, which, Danny wasn’t really looking forward to. It was probably going to be either Vlad’s spare clothes or something highly inappropriate. Though, did Danny have any room to argue appropriateness at this point? Danny took a quick shower and took a little longer brushing his teeth.

Once he finished with that, he found the clothes Vlad got for him. It was technically a normal pajama set, but it was the exact same pink set Danny had worn when he and his family had stayed in Vlad’s cheese castle for the reunion. Which… okay, somehow too in the middle of oversized spares and a sexy costume. Most importantly, it meant that Vlad wanted Danny to stay the night. Danny had been prepared for that, computers are expensive and Vlad is a lonely guy. Danny expected Vlad would want to like, cuddle or something, maybe have real sex before he’d part with that much money. But, Vlad himself was nowhere to be found, even peaking out the bedroom door, no sign of him. Danny didn’t even check for cameras or bugs, it’s not like they would see or hear anything he hadn’t sent to Vlad on purpose, or worse than what he’d just done. Instead, he face planted onto the bed and passed out.

He’ll make sure Vlad pays him in the morning.

[many-gay-magpies]

WIP Word Game

Rules: You will be given a word. Share one sentence/excerpt from your wip(s) that starts with each letter of that word.

Thank you beloved @babyseraphim for tagging me!! I love these shbdfkjsfkj— the word I got was MAGIC :)

M: From Reach Out and Touch, my ever-in progress artist!Crystal/Crystal and Niko friendship fic

Maybe it’s because of all the memories David took. Even though Crystal doubts she’ll ever be stupid enough to lose her memories to a misogynistic fuckboy demon again, there’s a part of her that worries that one day these memories will get taken, too.

A: From my post-canon casefic, where the gang investigates a witch that’s been slowly luring in and destroying more and more of a small town’s ghost population.

A trembling anxiety was climbing higher and higher in [Edwin’s] throat at the threat of losing either Charles or Crystal to their respective impulsivities.

G: From a fic based off a dream I had, where Charles and Edwin get thrown into the sea by a wizard and Charles’s fear of water makes an appearance.

Ghosts cannot feel cold, but Charles is shivering, so hard it would be sending ripples out through the water if he were corporeal. Ghosts cannot get wet, either, but Charles is positively drenched, his curls weighed down and sending rivulets down his unsettlingly grey face.

I: Also from the post-canon casefic. It has the largest word count of everything here, so it has the honor of securing two spaces in this game :)

It was a garish thing, all bright jewel tones woven into beige and covered in large embroidered insects; altogether out of place among the sage greens, bone whites, and earth tones of the greater house interior.

C: From my little domestic ficlet in @/dontoffendthebees’s modern AU. I have yet to do any more work on this, but it HAS acquired a solid title, which is To Watch You as You Wake

Charles pulls Edwin closer under the covers, intent on leeching as much of his frankly insane body heat as he can. “Like a reptile,” Edwin had said of the habit once; to which Charles had replied, “well, it’s not the most conventional pet name, but I can make it work.”

The word I’m choosing is GHOST, and I’ll tag (no pressure ofc; just if it strikes your fancy ^^) @williamvapespeare @blusandbirds and anyone else who wants to do this <3 (I need more writer mutuals seriously . if any of my mutuals or followers out there are writers who like doing these things pls let me know and I will start tagging you!!)

[crow-posting]

⚠️ vent post ⚠️

So I just figured out why I've been so frustrated by Bungie's current storytelling, especially TFS. Like I've been trying so, so hard to see Destiny as a story of love and hope and forgiveness and togetherness so why isn't it working? Why can't I see past the tropes and beige (non-lore book) prose and pitfalls of writing for an MMO-FPS?? Am I missing the point everyone else is seeing?

And then I saw this post.

Destiny isn't a eucatastrophe. Yes, it has broken the mold for certain tropes [esp. when it comes to portrayals of second chances], but it doesn't evoke the same sense of "existential hope" that LotR does. It feels like Micah-10's pessimism in the Pale Heart: Everything's got consequences. The sun may shine out the clearer one day, but it's not today, and while you're out playing hero there's a pretty good chance you're actually the monster. A lone monster at that, despite NPCs' insistence to the contrary.

And while I don't think Destiny is actually meant to be a eucatastrophe, I do think it sucks that it tries to evoke the same sense of hope / wonder without understanding how it works. Defeating the Witness isn't the same as defeating Sauron or destroying the Death Star, because the hope is overridden by fear and desperation. Assisting the Dissenters doesn't have the same impact as redeeming Darth Vader, because there's no love or forgiveness involved. And even when Ghost comes back, and Cayde gets a proper sendoff, and everyone gets to breathe again, it doesn't actually matter because someone else comes around to reopen old wounds.

Destiny has tried to prove that bullets aren't the only way to solve problems. Destiny has tried to show that love and hope and unity matter, even if they don't change the circumstances, and you can always get a second chance no matter who you are as long as you're willing to take it. But it tried to take eucatastrophe elements while also being a grimdark space opera so now I'm sitting here like 🫠

*btw I'm aware that a good chunk of players don't view D2 as a story of hope, but rather a never-ending "Young Wolf's Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day," and that view is also entirely valid! I'm just talking based on my perception of the current lore / grimoire.

[tired-truffle]

Something’s Gotta Give

A CullenxLavellan fic

Chapter Word Count: 2k

Prologue

"Childhood dotted with bodies. Let them go, let them be ghosts. "No," I said, "make them stay, make them stone." - Gregory Orr

Summary: Ashvalla Lavellan wasn't supposed to fall in love with the distrustful Commander of the Inquisition. She was supposed to find her sister - now the Herald of Andraste - in a village full of Shems, ensure her safety, and do everything necessary to ensure she remained alive. But being possessed by a spirit of Love meant she could not hide from her unwanted feelings, nor could she escape the reality of her situation: no matter how much she wished otherwise, a possessed mage and a former Templar could never be. If only that could stop her heart beating faster every time she was near him.

Masterlist

“Shala Nar Asa’ma’lin (Protect your sister). Make sure she is safe, guard her with your life if you have to.” Ever since Rae had left for the Conclave at the behest of the Keeper, her mother’s command had echoed in her ears. She’d ensured her sister’s safety for twenty years, taught her to fight and survive in a world that did not care for them. The first thing Rae had done with those skills was insist to the Keeper that she be the representative from their clan to spy on the Conclave - potentially the most influential meeting of the century, a chance for the Chantry, the templars and the mages they oppressed to meet and form a treaty. It was dangerous, but the Keeper had deemed Rae to be ready, and there had been nothing she as the First to the Keeper could do to persuade the stubborn elder otherwise. 

“Ashvalla Lavellan.” She hadn’t been called her full name in years, nor did she recognize the speaker’s voice.

Ash turned, sluggish like she was caught in honey, slow and unable to see her surroundings clearly. Everything was covered in a beige haze, her old home, the aravel where her family used to live until…well, until it was all destroyed. 

Yet here it was intact, free from blood stains, from her mother’s lifeless body strewn across the ground, dark figures approaching, hands out to grab hold, faces twisted in sinister grins—

Ash shook her head, dispelling the memory. The Fade was familiar to her, as a mage she had been dodging demons of all kinds for as long as she could remember. But she saw no signs of demonic presence, the air felt calm - warm, even - like a soft blanket draped over her shoulders as she drifted off to sleep in her father’s lap. The sounds of a crackling campfire and the songs of her clan filled the night sky.

“Who’s there,” she demanded, planting her feet in a firm stance, still feeling foggy. Demons deceived, she couldn’t trust her senses, and it was safest to be wary. She had no plans to let a demon get the better of her today. 

“A friend.” The voice reverberated around her, a frown pulling at her full lips. 

“No friends of mine would call to me in the Fade. Show yourself, demon.” Ash barred her teeth, her sharp incisors flashing, her hands reaching for a staff that wasn’t there. 

As if conjured from the air itself, a woman materialized before her. But she was unlike any mortal woman Ash had ever seen. Her body was engulfed in flames, pure and fierce as they crackled along her form. Yet, amidst the fire, her face and body held the same soft, full-figured outline as Ash's own. The familiarity was unnerving; it felt as though Ash had stepped into a dream where she was gazing at a distorted reflection of herself. Is that what was happening?

Ash stepped back, unease roiling in her gut. She’d always been confident in her own skin, her wide hips and thick thighs that she flaunted, but to see it move of its own accord made her skin crawl. 

“Fear not,” the creature spoke, hands held out in a display of innocence. “I am no demon, I mean you no harm.”

“Pardon me if I don’t immediately take your word for it,” Ash replied, crossing her arms over her chest.

The creature giggled, the sound like wind chimes and birdsong on a dewy spring morning. “My dear Ashvalla, do you not recognize me? I have been a shimmering spark in your heart for some time.”

Ash narrowed her eyes, scanning the creature up and down, her lips set in a firm line. She did recognize it, but she couldn’t place it. 

The creature took a tentative step forward, and Ash responded by taking another step back. “Once again, you are burdened with the same love and grief you felt when we last spoke. Let me aid you as I did before, back when your heart was torn in two, when you called to me across the Fade.”

Ash’s heart sank, a heavy stone dropping within her chest. The room around her felt dimmer, and she fought the urge to double over and empty the contents of her stomach on the wooden slates. “I’m not… grieving,” she whispered, but her voice trembled.

The creature smiled sadly at her, its eyes strangely expressive for being so empty. She didn’t need the creature's pity and she would much prefer if it fucked off and left her alone. “The Fade cloaks your mind to shield you from pain; yet, you must reclaim those memories.”

“Why?” Ash’s mouth filled with sand, dry and unable to form proper words. Dread carved a hole in her chest, she already knew the answer didn’t she?

“You love Mirae more than you love anything else. Your devotion to your sister is admirable, a bond that is both beautiful and heavy; but sorrow may consume you should the whispers of her fate ring true.”

Her knees hit the unforgiving floor, knocking the breath from her lungs before she could comprehend what was happening. She wanted to scream, to rage at the creature for telling such heinous lies, but she knew in the deep recesses of her mind that it was true - that she had been consumed by anguish since the news had come the day before last. Mirae…Rae…irritatingly smug, too perceptive for her own good, stubborn just like her sister. And caught in the Conclave’s explosion. 

“I thought you would have been proud of me for getting involved in mage’s rights, or do you not care about the elves you beat out for your position as First? The ones who’ve had to fend for themselves while being hunted by Templars. I thought you were better than this.” The last thing Rae had said to her, an admonishment of her cowardice. And what she’d said back…biting and cruel. 

“Don’t be such a brat, you have no idea what it’s like out there. You’re going to get yourself killed.” 

And she had. Ash’s warning had been useless. 

A warm hand brushed tears from her cheeks, gentle despite the harshness of the flames that danced between its fingers. Ash could not find the strength to jerk back. A calmness spread through her, easing her pain, numbing and quieting her thoughts. 

She looked up at the creature through wet lashes, kneeling before it, a kind smile on its face, so reminiscent of the worst night of Ash’s life. The dotted scars circling her lips ached at the reminder, old fear and helplessness fluttering in her chest. There had been so much fire, so much pain. In the end, Ash, Rae, and the other children were the only ones that remained. 

At least that was what she let everyone else believe, for she knew better. She’d made a deal, one to keep Rae safe where Ash had failed, to make good on her promise. A deal that would have her made Tranquil or killed. Ash’s chest tightened at the thought, her breaths coming in shallow gulps. Despair mingled with shame, the fear of losing herself completely overtaking her mind. A fear all mages knew too well. 

A tremulous breath pushed past Ash’s lips, a dull throbbing in her chest where the anguish had been only moments before. 

“It’s you.” Ash felt the familiar tug at the edges of her awareness, a whisper of reassurance just out of reach.

The creature smiled, filling the space with her radiance. “Your Spirit of Love,” she confirmed. “We have not spoken in some time.”

Spirits and demons were all the same in the eyes of the Dalish, beings from beyond the veil could not comprehend the intricacies of mortal life. Yet, in her childhood innocence, she had trusted this Spirit and allowed herself to be possessed - even if only for the Spirit to observe mortal love - and Love had remained a steady heat within her chest, urging her gently - but never forcefully - towards what the Spirit sought. Romantic, familial, friendly, love in all its forms was good enough for the spirit. It was too bad for Love that Ash hadn’t been particularly lucky in that department.

“Why now?” Ash questioned, her voice wavering between defiance and desperation.

“You know why.” Love waited with the patience of a Spirit who was not affected by the passing of time. And she was right, Ash did know.

Her voice wobbled and she squeezed her fists tight at her sides. “Rae.”

“You have forsaken your gifts, my powers,” Love said, her voice stirring echoes of the past. Ash winced, remembering the roaring flames, the screams of men as their flesh was peeled from their bones. She had done what she had to keep Rae safe, but she’d never been able to forget the smell of charred corpses. "But we can reclaim that bond. I can help you remember who you truly are. We can save Rae once more.”

The words hit her like a physical blow, leaving her momentarily breathless and reeling. She stood on shaky legs, staggering backward, her vision blurring as the truth sunk in, forcing her to grip the edge of a table to steady herself. “No, that…no one survived.” The denial slipped across her tongue like a fragile prayer. 

“Do not give up on your sister so quickly, you taught her well. I can feel her life force through your connection to her. She is alive, though in a great deal of pain, and she will need you if she is to survive. She will need your strength, in combination with mine.” Ash couldn’t breathe, the spirit had to be lying, but she had yet to sense an ounce of untruth from her, not like the deceit that rolled off demons in waves. 

Ash swallowed hard, her heart racing as the familiar urge tugged at her magic. “I shouldn’t,” she thought, gripping her arms as if to contain the swell of power, but the warmth pressed against her, demanding she yield.

“Yet you want to.”

"It’s my fault she’s there, and if she’s hurt…I can’t let that happen again. But I’d be a fool to think there’s nothing you want from this… arrangement.” Surely she’d become possessed by a spirit of madness to even consider such a thing. When it came to Rae, she supposed she would truly do anything to ensure her safety. 

“I wish to guide you, my Ashvalla. I have watched you grow - love gained and lost. You need not lose anymore. Remember the love you hold for Mirae; it is a flame that can light your way through the shadows.” The Spirit put Ash’s hand on her chest. “Feel me, tell me what you find. Your heart knows the truth, and we must tread carefully if we are to help your sister on her treacherous path.”

What could only be described as pure adoration flowed through her hand, swirling up her arm and warming her to the core. 

The Keeper had taught her that Spirits were just as bad as demons, but the Keeper had sent Rae to her death too. Perhaps the Keeper was not as wise as she pretended to be. 

“I remain in control, you will lend your strength to me whenever I require, but no fire magic. You will watch and observe and nothing more.” Her words were hardened, determined. She would get to Rae, wherever she was. Even if it meant she had to raise her from the dead to do so. 

“You will receive only a fraction of my power without the use of fire, but I agree to your terms. You will not regret this,” The Spirit of Love said as Ash’s vision started to fade, a dull panic rising in her throat. What had she done?

She’d spent years suppressing the burn of Love’s power, afraid of what it may do to her and those she cared for. But it had saved Rae once before, perhaps it could do so again. 

Ash had a promise to keep. “For Rae, I would regret nothing.”

Next Chapter

A/N: Thank you for reading! I'll be posting the next chapter soon. There will be lots of fun sibling dynamics and of course, plenty of Cullen :)

If anyone wants to be tagged in future updates let me know!

[blxxditout]

Is it odd that the first place he thought to go to when the world ended, was home? He hasn't spoken to his mother in years, and he's sure that his father won't even look at him. Not that he cares, why would he care? Sid can't bother to remember what were the last words exchanged between them before he set out to live on his own. Jun, on the other hand, was whom he was far more concerned with. His twin had gone off to become something, was well known and liked by all. When he'd left, he thought he'd be abandoned too, never being anything more than a fleeting thought of the past they had.

Over the phone, he sounded offended by that. His brother had told him everything that had happened in the last couple of years, between their parents and between his life. He'd told him how much he wished that he could've been there to see it all. Sid wished he was there now. Instead of stewing in his contempt at the world, he'd have been right on the horizon, looking out with his twin. That might not be possible now as he stares at the rubble.

A root struck the house at an odd angle, pushing it up diagonally. It kind of looked slanted, like the house was leaning on a wall that wasn't there. If it was destroyed now, he's sure that the whole thing would collapse. There shouldn't be anyone inside, he thinks, his parents are smart enough to know when to evacuate. His brother wouldn't be here either, he was out of state to go play ball in the big leagues. Knowing that, he didn't expect to find any brittle corpses in the wake of where he used to live. He needed shelter, and what better place to go than one's own childhood home.

Trudging up past the dusty steps, he held a hand to his nose, not eager to breathe any of it in as he pushed past the door. Surprisingly, it didn't require much work, thanks to the root of that demon tree coming up as it did. Should he be thankful for it? Looking around, he can see that there isn't a lot that's changed. Mom always had that rule of hers: if it isn't broken don't fix it. Dad was more materialistic than her anyhow, but she didn't let him fix much even if it was broken. His hand ghosts along the wall, feeling the old wallpaper beneath the pads of his fingers.

The nostalgia makes his heart churn. When him and Jun were kids, they'd take their crayons and color along the wall, hoping to add life to the dull and bland decor. Mom got so mad her whole face turned red. It brings a smile to his face as he walks past the hallway and into the living room. That old beige couch is still there, albeit a lot dirtier than he remembers. He looks up, and sure enough, it's where the Qliphoth root strikes the house. He should probably get to that, but he's too busy with exploring the old, trodden down home. Sid heads up the stairs, placing a hand on the wooden banister as he ascends.

It smells like mildew and copper, and he can see that the root keeps going up. From that direction... the guest room is blocked off. A shame, the bed in there was really nice. Nicer than the bunk beds that him and Jun slept on anyhow. When they'd have fights, Jun would leave him to go sleep in there, since he was on the top bunk. When he reached the top of the stairs, the stench was only strengthened. It wouldn't have stuck out to him as much as it would have if he didn't recognize the distinct tang in it.

That's blood.

He knows, because he's smelt it before. He woke up in it, almost as if it had been branded on his brain. Their room was collapsed, the ceiling still holding on tight as he went straight for the door. It's not mom, nor dad. And it can't be Jun. Sid knows that, but he still hesitates on opening the door. He doesn't know if he wants to see it, if he wants to glimpse at whatever it is that's on the other side.

The door doesn't open when he tries to push it open, thinking he could get it over with in one go. To enter, he's going to have to use more force. Taking a step back, he rams into it, but it doesn't break. Alright, one more time. He takes another step back, lowering his shoulder to use to try and force it open. There's something in front of the door, but maybe, just maybe he can push it open if he's strong enough. Try harder. Sid grunts with the effort, gripping the knob hard and pushing past the door in his way. He can hear the drawer drag on the carpet as he inches in.

Whoever is here was smart to barricade the door with that, especially if they're injured. Although, he's worried when he doesn't hear a response from the alleged person on the other side.

"Hello? I'm not a monster so don't--", he starts, but stops when he catches a glimpse of a hand on his brother's bed. A pale red.

"Hm...", he opens it enough to slip in to see the harvested remains. It was freaky seeing that through the city, but even worse to know that it was in his own (old)home.

There was someone who seemed to be trying to get some rest, or maybe making a prayer in their final moments. Glancing off to the side he could see that another root had split off from the other one and began to worm its way through his room. The blood has dried and festered, and the hole in the wall brings a breeze that blows on the husk. The poor bastard was withering away here, right on Jun's bed. He walked around it, and sat down on the other side.

"I'm sorry that this had to be your grave", he said, speaking to the dead. His hands folded together as he rested on his knees, looking at the burrowed root. The demons seemed to have attacked this person, and they tried to hide it out in here, but the root must've got to them. But something isn't right.

That's kind of an odd position to die in. Leaning over the bed like that. It looks more like they're slumped over, even while kneeling. Sid glances at the harvested human once more, lowering his gaze to see the smaller body underneath it. Oh... his breath catches as he realizes it now. The little arms wrapped around the trunk of the body while the parent tried to protect them. In their final moments, what did they think was happening?

His hands tighten in their hold of each other, his eyes straining hard around the small hands trying to hold onto the other body. Gone. The weight of his own makes the hand crumble, and break. Reacting quickly, he rises to try and catch it, but it's already disintegrating. The arm starts to go too, becoming a fine powder as the child's body starts to go too. Clumsily he starts to fret over them, but the most he can do now is back away to preserve what was left behind.

Idiot.

He stares at the mess he's made for a second longer, before deciding that he doesn't want to be here at all.

[goddessactuality]

Writing a long screed in my brain about the death of individualism and how it's become a luxury good and also corny. And it's so so so sad that it's come to this but I guess it just shows that what you don't protect and defend will be destroyed!! Long story but the barber I went to today was so so sweet and patient and kind and took so much care w me even though we could barely communicate and being treated like a human being was so beautiful and it's horrible that it's a corny ghost of the 20th century at this point in most of the world my brain is melting it's so sad. I mean I guess it's the least of people's problems right now and I don't want to come across as screaming about the drapes when the house is on fire but at the end of the day the quality of culture and most people's everyday life has been degraded and it's just something I want to point at if nothing else. Michele's Gucci was the end of the dream of the 20th century and all we have to replace it is beige and gray god damn plywood walls. We have become a society that knows the price of everything and the value of nothing starting and ending with humanity it's all so classless and horrible. Thanks I hate it

[shirophantomvox]

First Date with Chrollo (Human Diary)

Hello everyone! I am back with another “First Date” post featuring the Prince of Darkness. This was an anon post but I can't find the ask anywhere! I have been watching JoJo’s Bizarre Adventures lately and it is a very interesting show. Dio turned into a zombie and he’s so mean to Joseph. Anyway, let’s get into the post. The end is a bit angst-y but I did that to take a slight turn from all Fluff. I hope you enjoy! Part 2 coming sometime this week.m

It is common knowledge that Chrollo loves to read many books. When he was a child, he had time to read and that provided a great source of comfort. Although he seems to be ruthless, every human has the ability to seek compatibility and compassion. Both Hisoka and Chrollo enjoy the romance genre except Hisoka prefers to watch movies while Chrollo loves to read stories. You've known Chrollo since elementary school. You were fortunate enough to be able to move out of Meteor City and attend a better elementary school. As a child, you were an outcast and made few friends but on occasion, Chrollo would see you at a local arcade. Of course, your mother paid for the both of you to have fun but once it was over, it broke your heart because you knew about the conditions he’d return to once he left.

As time went on, you entered college and decided to invite Chrollo on campus so he could be something like a driving force for future success. You’ve been accepted into Yorknew University planning on majoring in Computer Science with a minor in Digital Art. Reaching Chrollo posed a challenge. He never responded to a few messages but on the third try, he answered with an excited response.

“Please forgive me y/n for not responding soon enough. I am more than happy to visit you. I am proud of you and your accomplishments. I do not see myself as a college man but, hey, don’t knock it until you’ve tried it right? I’ll be in touch.”

-Chrollo

At exactly 7 PM on a calm Fall night, standing outside of the campus’ most prominent book store, you began to sweat and your makeup began to drip. Just as you were about to wipe it off, you heard a voice call your name.

“Y/n? Is that you?” He chuckled as he questioned your appearance.

Turning around, you jumped a little at the sight before you. This wasn’t the same Chrollo you remember, of course. He had grown several feet, his face was much sharper, his arms were much bigger, had a bandana tied on his forehead, and he had a few rings on. He was dressed in a white polo shirt, black pressed slacks and black dress shoes. It’s weird. It felt like an arrow was shot through your heart.

“Are you ok? You act as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I’m fine! I’m just---You--look…”

“Ah, I see. There’s no need to be flustered. I am the same as when we were kids.”

The Yorknew Sailor Store was designed something exactly like a Barnes and Noble except the walls were painted to match the school’s colors.

The bookstore had a perfectly designed Starbucks, with a wooden finish, black and brown metal tables, beige tile floor, and glass doors.

Chrollo immediately noticed the change in behavior, one he wasn’t used to.

The students were snooty according to him and reminded him of how the city council would act towards him, his family, and those who were like him.

First, you offered to buy him a drink. The good thing about Chrollo is that if you or anyone else offers to buy something, He will not reject it. There is no such thing as having too much pride regarding him.

“Do you drink coffee?”

“Of course I do,” he replied. “But I don’t think I’ve had any of these drinks. A Caramel Macchiato? That sounds good.”

“Order it then! That will give you just the right amount of energy for today’s reading!”

To you, this was just two friends reuniting with each other but something else told you that Chrollo thought it was something more. He only dressed up like this if he was going out with someone special and even then it wasn’t an expensive Polo Short, It was his best t-shirt and jeans.

It boggles your mind how Chrollo acquired his expensive clothing but maybe he obtained a great job and is able to make a living for himself.

“I’d like to order a Caramel Macchiato.”

“What’s the name for this drink?”

“Chrollo,” you responded.

“And for you?”

“I would like a caramel Frappuccino with soy milk and no whip cream.”

“Alright. That’ll be $15.00.”

Chrollo glanced at you wide-eyed.

“It’s ok. I got it.”

You take out your card to pay and as you move out of line you bend over to whisper in his ear. “Maybe you can pay for dinner though.”

He laughed and smiled. “Of course, y/n.”

The bookstore was full of comfortable furniture ranging from light blue, dark blue, white in the lounge area. Both of you decided to sit across from each other on the blue chairs that swallowed you both as you sat.

As he read, he’d point out any interesting points in the book. He got tired of yelling across the table, so he decided to share a chair with you. He could feel the heat radiating from your body.

It was almost obvious that you all were involuntarily flirting with each other. The school was full of couples but occasionally seeing the goofy couple was the highlight of everyone’s day.

“This man was so devoted to a woman that does not know that he exists.”

“Sounds pointless,” you say, still trying to read your book.

“Well, she knows he exists but she is ignoring him and making him look like a fool in front of everyone. He says that there is something about her that he has never seen in any woman.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s her eyes, smile, intelligence, the shape of her lips, and her perfume powder aroma. Those are things that drive men wild.”

You smiled and laughed but came to a quick halt when you felt something along the ridge of your neck made you still. The hair on your neck stood up still as the invading force came in contact with your skin. It was Chrollo grazing his nose against your skin, slightly sniffing in your aroma; slowly breathing in and out.

Closing your eyes couldn’t make your sudden arousal fade. At this point, nearly everybody was looking at you both and looked away. This behavior was innocent for college culture, but it was taken as a cute gesture rather than naughty.

You blush. It was quite surprising that your childhood friend viewed you as something of the sort. It was both flattering and scary.

There’s no denying that Chrollo is handsome but if you dated him and the relationship didn't last, it could ruin your friendship.

At this point, Chrollo had his right arm resting lazily behind your back as his head and next aimed in a position that would allow his nose to lay carelessly on your neck.

“You smell delightful. I didn’t know you wore such expensive perfume. Is it….,” He sniffs again, “Flower Rose?”

“Yes! How did you know? Does your mother wear it?”

“She does now. I bought it for her a week ago and now the guys in the city can’t stay off her.”

Wow. The City. Even though it was a hell hole, it was your hell hole. How is everything? How is your mother? How did you manage to have such an expensive taste in clothing and fragrance?

Chrollo enjoys making others flustered. It's amusing to see them stutter when they’re either aroused or nervous.

On the flip side, seeing Chrollo flustered was the highlight of the century! The bad guys are used to being “bad” but expressing softer emotions makes it amazing and a reminder that they can experience them too.

Grabbing Chrollo’s left hand, you gently kiss it a few times and wink at him. He smiled, hiding his dumbfounded expression, and blushed slightly.

“I see you catch on quick.”

“I was raised in Meteor City. Just because I’m here doesn't mean I have forgotten where I come from. But I didn’t know you liked me.”

“You were the only one that trusted me and played with me when no one would.”

It felt like two magnets were pulling you closer. If he kissed you right here right now, you could just melt into a puddle but before anything happened, Chrollo’s phone rang loud and echoed throughout the bookstore.

Glancing at his phone, you saw an unknown number call, and judging from his actions he stood quickly to his feet.

“I’ll only be gone for a second.”

Hmm. That was odd. During this short intermission, you continue to read your book. Ironic enough, you weren’t into romance novels per se, you enjoyed action and comedy books!

Once Chrollo returned, his face was flushed and his soft demeanor had suddenly disappeared. He looked as if he was going to punch a wall.

“What’s wrong, Chrollo?”

He glanced at you with a somber smile, hoping to convince you that he was alright. “I am fine, y/n.”

“Are you sure?”

“Well, if you count my mother being seriously injured, then yes.”

“Oh no! We can leave now, it’s fine.”

“No, it's ok. She wouldn’t want me to leave you all by yourself at this time of day.” He pointed to the night sky.

Wow! That was quick!

“What do you mean?”

“My mother predicted that I could end up with you...she also predicted that someone would be hurt or in danger if that prophecy was fulfilled. It’s sort of like give or take. In order to make someone happy, someone has to surrender their happiness and I guess it was her.”

A single tear dropped down his cheek and nothing more. He didn’t care if other men singled out his “weakness” because he’d destroy them all and he didn’t want y/n to know about his abilities until later.

The comfort of your warmth against his head provided more than comfort. He felt safe, welcomed, not judged, and vulnerable. He knew that you wouldn’t make him out to be a bad person but instead welcome him home with open arms. You were his human diary.

[ffangirlingsince2001]

The Great Upheaval of Percy Weasley: Mirrors

Percy Weasley x OC

Summary: Defense Against the Dark Arts takes a turn for the worst.

Warnings: angst, fluff

MASTERLIST

mirrors -n- eyes that stare back haunt me, but when you join the reflection becomes clear.

***

Professor Lupin quickly became Elle’s favorite teacher. It wasn’t difficult when the rest of her favorites had raging flaws.

Professor Sprout was incessantly bubbly. She never had anything bad to say about anyone, ever. And while many students found that to be a blessing, Elle couldn’t stand it. Nothing said lack of a challenge like a teacher who never gave bad marks. Some days she messed up purpose, begging for a snap, but one never came. She was always full of sweet, encouraging words that never seemed to do Elle’s work justice. Her sole saving grace was that she allowed Elle to wander around the greenhouse after hours if only to understand her garden’s magical properties and the way they could be combined and altered.

Professor McGonagall cared far too much for technique and not enough about creativity. The lion for example, a beautiful display of transfiguration and she was being punished for it. Didn’t matter that no one had ever been able to accomplish that as sixth year, all that mattered was that her technique was off.

And it goes without saying Professor Snape hated her. The only teacher who managed to keep her challenged while still allowing for creativity hated her for the color of her tie. It’s not to say that in the beginning she didn’t try to make him love her work, and she had certainly succeeded, but that didn’t stop him from hating her every being.

Professor Lupin was the wonder of all three. Creative, challenging, and without the obsession of technique, plus he didn’t seem to hate anyone. Her certainly tolerated her and her temper towards her partner.

It didn’t matter that Percy kept her company in empty classrooms, she still wanted nothing more than embarrass in front of everyone who dared to watch. And as she walked into class that beautiful Wednesday morning that was all she had on her mind, beating Percy Weasley into the ground while wide blue eyes asked why.

However, that didn’t seem to be the plan for this particular Wednesday.

Desks were pushed to the sides and a large shaking wardrobe sat in the center.

Clouds were covering her Wednesday morning.

Percy fell into place beside her, a single finger drawing down her arm alerting her to his presence. She would have flinched a month ago, but a month ago she didn’t have the Head Boy touching her whenever he got close enough. There was no romance to it, neither them were stupid enough to fall for that, but it certainly was edging on addiction. When she had first suggested it she had assumed it was simply an attempt to keep her mind busy and to relieve herself of the incessant drive to kiss him again.

Instead of relieving she only wanted more, and from the number of times he had dragged her into the Restricted Section of the library he had once dubbed to pure, she was sure he was suffering from the same craving.

His finger never left her arm until Lupin stepped in from his office, and then he was back to being the perfect child. It was a good thing he did too, because when Lupin announced the creature hiding in that wardrobe, she might have ended anyone who touched her.

The dreaded Boggart.

She considered refusing, storming away and hiding until class was over. But that would be defeat, and she would let Percy Weasley face the thing he feared very most if she wasn’t going to do the same. That would be cowardice and just as her tie stated, she was not a coward.

Lupin reminded that it was just for fun, one last go around before he had it destroyed. There would be no grade, it was just a bit of relaxer, he assured them.

Elle felt anything but relaxed.

She made her way as close to the end as she could manage, head held high. She thought she had gotten past the lesson of Boggarts in her third year without a hitch. Quirrell was too much of a coward to bring live creatures into the classroom so it had been nothing more than bookwork and theory. Now the shaking wardrobe was standing before her, mocking her and Percy, who had somehow ended up behind her, was going to see her fail for the first time ever.

She gnawed her black nails as she drew closer to the front, biting off the carefully grown ends. Five people, then three, and then one. It turned into a ghost, and then as she cast the spell is dropped to the floor like a forgotten bedsheet. She closed her eyes and took a step forward, breathing deeply.

The sheet rose, a body forming beneath it and then with familiar fingers, it pulled the sheet away revealing something that was almost a mirror. She looked the way she should have, the way her mother would have liked it. Classic, a beige two-piece set, nude pumps, no eyeliner. She didn’t have braids, her mother hated those too. Instead it was let loose, long curls, she could imagine a ribbon tying them back She was longer, more fluid this way. And her grey eyes, the ones that always stared back at her in the mirror, were looking at her the same way she looked at Percy Weasley. Her mirror’s wand was out before she could react, and she was flying across the classroom into the desks that had been placed against the wall.

That dreaded fear of the what-could-have-beens. A stronger, more respected witch stared down at her, mocking her as she advanced. Elle yanked her wand out.

“R-riddikulus,” she stuttered, but there was no fun idea to trade out for the fear that kept inching closer. And then, out of the corner of her eye she caught sight Percy, watching with something that fell between terror and apt fascination. She uttered the spell again, determined to beat him, but her mirror kept advancing. “Riddikulus, Riddikulus, Riddikulus,” she screamed until someone stepped in front of her.

She thought it was Lupin at first, until her mirror image turned to Percy’s. The Head Boy stared down his mirror, and with only a slight tremor to his voice raised his wand and uttered the magical words. It dashed into a thousand pieces like she wished it had done for her.

Lupin was speaking but she couldn’t hear a thing. The blood rushing through her ears made her dizzy as Percy turned, and without a hint of arrogance helped her to her feet. She stumbled a little, catching his shoulder as she tipped forwards.

He caught his hand on her waist. It slid beneath her robe and to the small of her back, a small comfort.

“Meet me.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere,” she gasped before pulling away and gathering her things. Lupin tried to talk to her, as did Dinah, but all she wanted to do was run, and that’s what she did. She relished in the sounds of her boots hitting the floor, grateful they weren’t heels.

How could she be so stupid?

She could already hear the rumors they would make about her. The first time she had encountered a boggart she had been eleven. She had whispered the same things to herself that they would whisper to each other. It hadn’t attacked her that first time, it hadn’t felt threatened, not when she terrified at the sight of herself climbing out of an old trunk. She thought she had been going crazy, she had cried to Madam Pomfrey for what seemed like hours, unable to articulate the sight. Eventually everything was explained, and she was excused to go to her room, but she had vowed to beat it, whatever it meant, the next she encountered a boggart it was going to be different.

It clearly wasn’t.

She ran a hand over a braid and charged into Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, throwing her book bag against the wall, and staring into the mirror. That was who she wanted to see, this was her, not that preppy priss who managed to tower over her with a single raised eyebrow.

Her grey eyes were still lined with black liner and her hair was still tied in two long braids. That mirage was just that, an illusion that existed only within her mind. She punched the mirror, watching as it shattered upon impact. Carelessly, she watched her knuckles bleed before whirling around at the sound of a girlish laugh. Myrtle was peering over a stall, resting her head on her folded arms. Couldn’t she leave someone to angst in peace?

“Fuck off.”

“It’s my bathroom,” she reminded indignantly.

“Fine, I’ll leave.” She huffed and gathered the books that had spilled across the floor during her tantrum. Blood soaked onto the pages and she swore violently. Could this day really get any fucking worse? She slammed open the door again, ignoring the whispers of the girls who had watched her enter the bathroom in the first place.

“I’d be scared if I looked like that too,” one whispered and Elle rolled her eyes. Fucking fourth years. She allowed her gaze to meet the girl who had spoke and pulled out her wand.

“Want to say that to my fucking face?” The fourth year squeaked as she advanced. Elle was convinced she would have ruined those gossiping pricks entire week had Percy not walked around the corner looking for her.

“Elle!” She considered ignoring him but decided snogging in some dark corner would be better for her mood than removing femurs from insolent children. She sent them one last fiery glare before stalking towards Weasley.

If he wanted anything other than snog her, she was going to explode.

She followed him silently, itching to get her hands on that cocky ginger. The moment they turned the corner into an empty corridor, she pounced. He pulled her into a broom cupboard, locking it behind them as she attacked him with lustful ferocity. She ripped open his shirt, black nails raking along pale skin.

“Elle, you’re bleeding,” he muttered breathlessly.

“Fuck, sorry,” she swore. Truth be told, she had forgotten the moment he had stepped into view. She pulled out her wand to heal the cuts, but he had already beat her to it. With soft movements the cuts closed, and the stains disappeared until there was no evidence of the injury. She sucked in a deep breath as he watched her, already itching to kiss him again.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked as she grabbed him.

“No,” she mumbled against his lips, but he pushed her away, hands pressing against her shoulders. “Percy, I said I don’t want to talk about it.” She leaped forward again, but he shoved her against the wall. A mop or two clattered to the ground at the impact and she swallowed.

“Sorry,” he muttered, loosening his grip. She wished he hadn’t apologized. “It’s just, you’re not the only one who saw yourself today.” Elle blinked as she thought back to the moments when he had stepped in front of her. He had seemed without fear then, but now he was shifting nervously, unable to meet her eyes. She reached out and took his face more tenderly than she had anticipated. Blue met grey and her stomach rolled uncomfortably.

“Thank you,” she muttered before kissing him. That was uncharacteristically tender too. When she pulled away, he was smiling softly. “And I’m sorry I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Elle, I’m not saying you have to. I just want you to know you’re not the only one who had to face yourself today.” Behind sharp eyes, Elle could feel herself welling up. From the first time she had seen herself staring back she had felt like an enigma that couldn’t be solved. She had been a solitary being, but now Percy, who couldn’t be more different was the same. Her stomach turned again, and she nodded, quickly kissing him before he noticed the tears building in her eyes.

This time he didn’t try to push her away but pulled her closer. She dug her fingers through his hair and didn’t hesitate to respond as he wrapped her legs around his waist, pushing her up against the wall. Fingers slipped beneath her skirt, denting soft skin with hunger.

“Fuck,” she growled as he wrapped a braid around his fist, tugging it until her neck was exposed to soft lips and harsh teeth. She grabbed his shoulders, holding on tightly as he almost hesitantly nipped at her pulse. He ran his mouth up her neck and along her jaw, nipping at her ear until she was moaning his name. He found her lips again to quiet her soft whispers, catching the taste of his name leaving her lips. She wrapped her arms around his neck as he lowered her legs, pulling him tighter against her lips.

“Good talk,” he muttered when they pulled away for air and she laughed.

“Excellent talk, best one we’ve had yet.”

“Shall we talk some more?”

“McGonagall’s going to hang us.”

“I’ve already explained it to her. You’ve ran off and I’ve gone to check on you, it’s terribly tragic really,” he whispered, and she grinned before pressing herself against him once more.

“I knew I was snogging a genius.” And then they proceeded to talk much, much more.

Taglist: @andromedasstarship​ @danadeacon​

[forever-rogue]

Of Princes & Berries - Part 2

A/N: Thank you guys for all the support on part 1, I’m so glad you guys liked it! Oberyn has my heart, always.  As always, feedback and comments are welcome, and if you’d like to be tagged, let me know! xx

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Reader

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: depictions of violence, overall :( (don’t hate me)

PART 1 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5 | PART 6 | PART 7 | PART 8

MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

Your room was small. Sparsely decorated with the few items you had, and a bed pushed into the corner near the small window you had in order to soak up as much sun as possible. You always liked the sun, how it warmed up your face and seemed to set your whole on fire. Growing up as a young girl in the Reach, you'd spent many afternoons lazing about in the sun, soaking it all up. Now, as a woman grown, it was hard to find any light in the cold, stone walls of the Red Keep. Now it seemed like an endless monotony of gray and beige.

But ever since Oberyn and his Dornish envoy had arrived, everything has seemed lighter, happier, more sunny. You vowed to try and soak up as much of the sun as possible, even if it was only temporary. Sitting down on your bed, you kicked off your shoes and let out a long sigh as you stretched your tired limbs. You had been kept busy all afternoon, fulfilling all sorts of menial tasks that been found for you, no doubt due to Cersei. For some reason tending to the sows and roosters and sheep had suddenly become your duty. You had no doubt it was to keep you away from the main part of the castle, and hide you away from your new friend, the prince.

You’d decided that you’d try and steal a quick bath before changing into your other set of clothes and heading down to grab some dinner from the kitchens. By then it would be nightfall and if you were lucky, you’d be left alone and have some time to yourself. You’d acquired a new book recently, and were eager to crack into it. When you’d spotted the beautiful leather bound book abandoned in a quiet section of the castle, you’d taken it, hiding it under your skirts. You were one of the few servants that could read, a gift bestowed upon you from Elia Martell herself. She’d always treated you with such warmth and generosity; it was such a far cry from Cersei and how the Lannisters ran things. 

As you reached for your clean clothes and a makeshift towel to dry yourself off with, a loud knock came at your door. It was so loud, it startled you, causing the clothes to tumble to the floor. Groaning you picked them up, and set them on your bed, rushing to open the door before the person on the other side grew more agitated. 

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” you squeaked as you pulled open the door, eyes widening in surprise when you realized who it was. Cersei stood on the other side with a sickeningly sweet smile on her face. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you spied the large, ornate bowl she was carrying in her arms. It looked to be filled with...berries. You gave her a curtsy before meeting her eyes; they always seemed angry and hateful, and whatever expression she tried to convey never quite reached them, “y-your Grace. What can I do for you?”

“Oh no,” her voice was pitched an octave and you could see she was refraining from expressing her true feelings, “it appears I am here to do something for you. Can you believe that? The Queen doing the bidding of a pauper prince and delivering something to a servant girl.”

“I-I don’t understand, your Grace,” you shook your head and took a step back, hoping she wouldn��t reach out and strike you. She’d had a period where she had been prone to that, slapping anyone who dared to question so much as a word she said. Luckily, it had been a while since you had personally faced her wrath. Something deep within you told that your time of smooth sailing was quickly coming to an end. 

“These,” she displayed the ornately carved bowl towards you and you could tell that it was teeming with all of Oberyn’s beloved berries, “are for you. From the Prince himself. He asked me, personally, to ensure that you receive them.”

“I had no clue he would do that,” you stuttered, backing further into your room, Cersei following you inside, “I-I’m sorry, your Grace. He must not be thinking clearly. I-I didn’t ask-”

“Hmm,” she reached a few hand up and trailed it along your jaw before touching a lock of your beautiful hair. You gnawed on your bottom lip as you tried to stop yourself from crying, feeling the familiar sting welling up at the back of your eyes, “I’m sure you didn’t, you filthy little whore.”

Her words cut you almost as much as her hand as she slapped you across the face with fury. You clutched the spot, already sore, and surely red as she pushed past you and leaned against your window. Wiping away the few tears that had rolled down your cheeks, you almost whimpered, “your Grace, I’ve done nothing...I don’t why-”

“Such a shame,” she said softly as she took the bowl and dumped the fresh fruit out of the window, letting them land on the ground outside. You made a small, pathetic sound as you watched a wicked smile cross her face, “all that exquisite fruit wasted. You should be more careful next time. If the prince were to find out I’m sure his spirits would be crushed. He had these brought in, just for you.”

“Your Grace-”

“And this lovely bowl,” she traced her long fingers over the carvings, “all the way from Dorne. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

You weren’t sure how to answer her. Whatever answer you provided her with would be the wrong one. On the one hand you could agree with her, after which she'd accuse you of being nothing more than a whore and confirming her suspicions. If you disagreed, she'd just call you a liar and somehow still make you the guilty party.

You remained silent as you looked at her wide eyes, cheek still stinging and burning. It would surely leave a mark for everyone to see in the coming days.

"No answer?" she mocked you, her voice a cruel sneer, "what a pity. I think it's quite beautiful despite being made by Dornish savages. But I suppose none of that matters."

Before you could open your mouth to speak again, Cersei took the bowl and smashed it on the floor. You watched in horror as the it shattered into a million tiny pieces, scattering all over the floor.

"Oh dear," she pretended to be shocked as you sank to your knees and tried to grab at the pieces, trying in vain to gather each little bit, "you should be more careful, silly girl. I wonder how the prince will feel when I tell him not only did you refuse his gift, you destroyed it all."

You looked up at her with teary eyes, still trying to scrounge up the pieces, feeling them leave little cuts in all over your fingers. You wanted to scream at her, to tell her she was a horrible person, but you refrained. Either you held your tongue or faced life locked away, or if she was feeling particularly cruel, death.

"Clean this mess up," she hissed through gritted teeth, "and then yourself, you smell like shit. And no supper for tonight."

You didn't even bother to say anything as she swept past you, her long skirts dispersing the mess further. Your warm tears mixed in with the little bits of brilliant red blood that had bubbled up on your fingers.

"If I ever see you near Oberyn Martell again," she said softly, "I will have you hanged. Remember your place - you're just a servant, you are no one."

Without another word she walked out and slammed the door loudly behind her. Listening to her treating footsteps for a moment, only when you were sure it was all clear did you allow yourself to fully collapse on the cold, stone floor, openly weeping by now.

But you kept at it, picking up each tiny shard until you had them all on the blanket of your bed. It was long dark now, only the glittering of the lamps outside casting a small glow in your room. People were still outside, even at this hour, feasting and drinking, and having a joyous time. And here you were, alone, hungry, and crying. All because you had a few conversations with someone that didn't treat you like the kitchen scraps. All because someone treated you with kindness.

You wondered where he was now. You hoped he was happy. You hoped he was having a good time with his friends. You hoped he would somehow know what happened and that you would never have acted in such a horrible manner.

By the time you were finished, it was late and there was nothing to keep you company except the inky blue sky, littered with glittering stars, casting the ghost of light throughout the Red Keep. You stood up, finally, and grabbed the your change of clothing, quietly heading out of the room to go to the washroom designated for servants. 

You were fortunate that you going yourself alone, letting yourself cry, deciding that you were going to allow yourself to wallow and feel sorry for this evening and this evening only. Tomorrow you would be steel; cold, quiet, emotionless.

Heating up water, you made it as scalding as possible, slowly stripping off your clothes and allowing yourself a peek at your reflection in the aging looking glass. Once you studied your face, eyes red and swollen with tears, and a large red welt across your cheek, you grew annoyed and covered up your reflection with your dirtied dress. Stepping into the scalding water, you hissed when it burned your skin, especially that of the cut flesh of your hands, but pushed through, telling yourself that it didn't matter, nothing matter. But you still found it around to remind yourself of that. It was hard to feel like no one when he had made you feel like someone.

»»————-　♡　————-««

The next couple of days, you were, once again, resigned to the dirty jobs throughout the castle. Jobs normally left for the men or the stable boys. You knew Cersei was waiting for you to come or make some sort of remark, but you remained silent and went about your duties without a single word. You didn't even appear at meals; at the end of each day you returned to your room, sitting there silently as the sun went down, and slumber took over. The welt on your face has turned into brilliant shades of blues and purples, but no bothered to ask what happened. No one had to.

By the third day, you had gotten into a rhythm and finished your daily tasks early, just as the sun was setting. Instead of going in search of dinner or retiring to your room, you decided to head to the seaside. If nothing else, it would serve to hopefully instill a bit of peace within you. Plopping down on the soft ground, you kicked off your shoes and sat your feet in the sand, raking your fingers through it, as a long tired sigh escaped your lips. The sound of the soft waves was soothing to your ears, along with the chirp of the birds flying overhead. For the first time in days, you felt somewhat normal, as you watched the sun sink over the horizon.

"It's quiet out here," the warm, velvety voice surprised you, but despite never having much of a conversation with her, you immediately realized who it was, "such a welcome change from the mess of King's Landing."

"Lady Ellaria," you turned and gave the stunning woman a small smile as she sat down next to you. It was hard not to stare at her; she was like a goddess incarnate. You could see why Oberyn was so taken with her.

"I am no lady," she insisted with a small smile as she picked up a handful of sand and let it run through her fingers, " unlike you, Y/N Hunziker."

You stiffened at the sound of your familial name, the one you had disowned all those years ago when you had left to find for yourself in King's Landing.

"I don't use that name," you said quietly, pointedly looking anywhere but her face, "and I'd prefer it if you didn't either. I don't know how you found out who I am and I don't care, but I go by Flowers now."

"Why do you choose to go by a name reserved for a bastard when you are not one?"

"I am no one," you shrugged lightly, looking away and studying the ebb and flow of the low tide.

"You've been absent for a few days," she pointed out as you stood up and brushed off your skirt. You were about to reach for your shoes, but she was faster, taking them and clutching them to her chest, "I've noticed. So has Oberyn. He has grown concerned."

"He has no reason to worry," you lied as you tried to keep from crying and breaking down in front of her. Your heart ached at the thought that he not only noticed your absence, but mourned it. You reached for your shoes but she refused to hand them over.

"Where have you been, sweet girl?" she asked gently as she handed your shoes over. You had inadvertently brushed your hair back, exposing your face to her. Her dark eyes immediately raked over the mark on your face, widening in surprise. Realizing your mistake, you quickly grabbed your shoes, covering your face with hair again. The angry red marks littering your hands and wrists were not lost on her, "Y/N?"

"I've been nowhere," you said quietly, as you started to walk away, "being no one."

»»————-　♡　————-««

You'd promised yourself you wouldn't cry anymore. That you wouldn't allow yourself to be weak and vulnerable. But once you found yourself back in your quarters you flopped face down in your bed and let the tears flow freely. You'd made one friend, two if you counted Ellaria, but you were destined to be kept apart all because of birth, because of a name, a family. And he cared about you; at least enough to express concern to his lover. Who had sought you out in return.

And so you wept. And wept. And wept. Until your tears had run dry, until your throat was sore and you had a headache. But before you could try and get some relief through sleep, another loud knock came at your door. Your anxiety only increased as came to the conclusion that it could only be Cersei coming to berate you further. Practically dashing to the door you pulled it open without hesitation, dropping it into a deep curtsy, "your Grace."

"Stand up, sweet girl, there is no need for the formality," but it wasn't Cersei's voice that met your ears. No, this one was much more inviting and pleasant - musical. You quickly stood up to your full height, scanning over Oberyn and quickly meeting his dark eyes; they were filled with concern.

He gently reached up to touch your face, but you flinched out of his touch. When he tried to stop you, he had reached for your hands, but tensed up at the feeling of your marred skin. Letting out a small sound of surprise, he took your hands in his much larger ones and examined delicately, a look of anger crossing his handsome features. You didn’t even know how he had managed to find you, to find your quarters hidden deep within the hallowed halls. Ellaria had no doubt told him what she had witnessed, which caused to break and pursue you. 

Pulling your hands out of his, you took a step back and studied your feet; you wanted nothing more than to tell him the truth, to tell him what had happened. But you refrained, afraid of what would happen to yourself, and Oberyn, if he was seen speaking to you.

“What happened to you? Who did this?” there was a dangerous edge to his voice, his heart plummeting to his stomach at your recoil.

“I-it’s nothing,” you lied quickly, “you should go. You can’t be seen here.”

“And why not?”

“Because it is improper,” you swallowed the lump in your throat, “a prince should not be consorting with a servant.”

“Oh my sweet girl,” his voice softened and was enough to make you want to throw yourself into his arms, “who told you this? What happened?”

“I’m only telling you what’s right...what’s proper,” you allowed yourself to meet his gaze, but regretted your decision as he scanned your face, intently studying the painful looking welt, “I must remember my place. I am no one, and you are...a prince of Dorne.”

“Did Cersei do this to you?” of course it didn’t take long for him to put two and two together. He remembered how Cersei had acted when she had seen the two of you in the gardens. A bout of rage soared through every fiber of beginning as he imagined her inflicted this sort of pain upon you, “did that vile, wretched woman touch you?”

You didn’t confirm or deny anything, opting instead for silence, which served as an answer to his question anyway. He let out a long sigh, his gaze never leaving yours as tried your best not to cry anymore, “you need to leave, Oberyn. Please.”

“Did she...” he trailed off, running a hand over his face in exasperation, “did she bring you my gift?”

You didn’t know why you decided to lie, but you weren’t just honest with him. Letting out a shaky breath, your voice shooting up an octave, “yes...and I disposed of it. It’s not proper for you to be giving me anything. The Queen kindly reminded me of that.”

His nostrils flared as his eyes flicked across the room as he spotted the shards from the bowl you had collected. He knew you would never, ever do something like that. This was all Cersei’s doing, that much was evident. Oberyn put his large hands on either side of your face, gently as possible to prevent hurting you further, and forced you to look at him, “Cersei did this, didn’t she?”

You remained silent, unable to stop a few tears from rolling down your cheeks. Oberyn swiped them away, his heart breaking at the sight, “please, Oberyn, you need to leave.”

“Tell me,” he insisted firmly, “tell me exactly what happened. Please, my sweet girl, just tell me.”

“Nothing happened,” you lied directly to him, finding it both harder, and easier, than you thought, “the queen brought your gift to me and I refused it, at her suggestion.”

“Y/N-”

“I got rid of the berries,” your voice shook a little, “and I broke the bowl.”

“You did all this?”

“Yes,” your lip trembled as you hoped he would realize you were lying, able to red between the lines. You knew he would; he already knew the truth without even hearing it from your lips, “I did this.”

He hesitated slightly, how own hands shaking slightly before he pulled close to him, gently pressing a kiss to your forehead. How you wished you could give into him, to let yourself be completely free with him, but you knew, deep inside that it wasn’t an option. It would never be an option.

“You really want me to believe you did all of that,” Oberyn was quiet and gentle as he tried to convey to you that it would be okay. He silently vowed that he would protect, no matter what that meant. He was the Red Viper for a reason after all. He gestured to your hands and face, “and that you did that to yourself?”

“Yes.”

“Are you scared?” his voice dropped to a low whisper so the question was barely audible, even to you.

“Yes.”

He nodded as he pulled back from you, a torn look on his face as he tried to decided what to do. He could have easily found Cersei and extracted his revenge, but he decided that was too rash. But he would do something, anything, to keep you safe and sound. That much he already knew.

“Oh, my sweet girl...”

“You need to leave, your highness,” you pulled back and turned around so you were no longer facing him, “and make sure you aren’t seen. You can’t come back here...we can’t see each other anymore, while you are here.”

“Why?” he asked softly, and you wished you could get him to see why this was a bad idea in so many aspects, “tell me one good reason.”

“Because I am no one.”

“And you do not want to see me again?”

“Yes, your highness,” you lied, as you stared out the window, at the sky which seemed to contain no stars on this horrible evening. You covered your face as you wept, Oberyn watching slightly as your shoulders shake with your tears, “that’s exactly what I’m saying.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

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[sunflowers-heart]

Home

Pairing: Thorin Oakenshield x Reader

Word count: 3,622

Warnings: None

Author’s note: None

Synopsis: Persuaded by his closest ones, Thorin agrees to hire an artist to paint a portrait of him and soon finds out that it might be the best kind of coincindence that has ever happened to him—and for you, too.

The King under the Mountain was standing still, eyes focused on something behind your back, his posture straight and proud, and for a single moment you started to believe that it was a majestic statue you were looking at, not the very alive and equally intimidating Thorin Oakenshield himself. Slowly, your sight moved to the canvas, carefully, as if you were afraid that this movement could cause too much noise in the deadly silent room. Soft strokes of the brush left a trail of beige paint on the creamy fabric, following by the next one and another, until you needed to dip the brush in the pigment again. Holding your breath, you proceeded with your work, the trembling of your fingers now not as visible as an hour ago when you had just saw him for the first time.

To say that you were surprised while receiving a message considering your new job would be a misunderstanding. You were beyond shocked, a bizzare combination of anxiety and excitement building up in your stomach when your gaze ghosted over the inked letters, as if you were expecting them to lose the first meaning if you stared long enough. Nevertheless, they remained the same, unmoving and very, very clear about the sender's intentions.

You were invided to the Lonely Mountain, the kingdom of Erebor you have heard a lot about as a child in various stories and legends, and spent many sleepless nights wondering how did it look like in a more merciful times. Right now, however, the mere possibility of wandering through its halls seemed too unreal, like a dream you could not wake up from no matter how many times you blinked or put the letter down only to pick it up after barely few minutes. The letters were still there though, black ink sinked in the yellowed paper, so heavy in your hands.

Placing the wooden palette on the side, you walked to Thorin, your palms suddenly becoming treacherously sweaty, betraying your nervousness in the latest person you wanted to show any weakness to. Delicately, as if his frame was made of a fragile glass (oh, sweet irony, for you have never witnessed anyone as strong and powerful as him), you grabbed the edge of his fur coat and moved it slightly up over his shoulder, since it must have accidentally slipped down a little bit, now not suiting the sketch on your canvas and changing the way the shadows fell upon his armoured torso. You could feel the intensity of his gaze on you, although he remained silent, allowing you to touch and change the way he was standing to your liking—so the painting you were working on would be as breathtaking as Balin promised him to be.

„A painting?” Thorin asked back then and took a sip of an ale from his wooden beer mug. „I do not need a painting.”

„Of course you do not,” Balin nodded understandingly. „The palace is already full of the monuments of your ancestors and soon yours also. What I think is that, it would be an interesting difference.”

„Paintings are fragile, they won't endure the pass of time.”

„Prehaps they will, if you only give it a chance.”

„Plus...” Kíli, who was obviously eavesdropping the whole conversation, sat next to his uncle with an alarmingly wide smile on his face. „Currently there is a great opportunity to try this out!”

Thorin eyed him cautiously, never truly considering anything Kíli called 'great' as such. 'Dangerous' maybe, 'reckless' even, but never 'great'.

„Indeed, it is,” Fíli took a seat on his other side, so Thorin had nowhere to escape this pointless discussion.

Groaning deeply, he took another sip of an ale.

„Listen, uncle,” Kíli continued, despite his partner in coversation being less than interested in what did he have to say. „Yesterday we have met a wonderful painter in Dale. Amazingly skilled. At least few years of experience. But what is the most important, is that she is a globetrotter. A lone ranger.”

„Which only means that she must not be as clever as you take her for, Kíli, to travel those lands all alone.” Thorin's remark was almost enough to wipe the smile off this nephew's face.

„Prehaps. Prehaps she is also a fool to paint for barely few silver coins or a warm meal and a place to stay for the night but isn't it what makes it all special? The dream, whatever it is, she is following? Despite what anyone says? Ignoring the danger? Eating the fear for breakfast?” With every word passing, Kíli was getting closer to Thorin, his voice lowering almost to the conspirational whisper before he laughed and straightened his back. „Come on, it does sound familiar.”

„Why does it mean so much for you?” Thorin peeked at him and then to the other side, at his brother who was only listening for now, surely ready to intervene. „Why the bloody painting?”

„Because you have been working so much lately, you need some kind of entertainment.” Apparently, it was Fíli's turn to speak. „A relieve from all the stress and burden. Something different to think of, a breath of fresh air.”

„And how is standing in a single place for hours going to help?”

Fíli only shrugged. „It could be fun. If you won't like it then you can destroy the painting and we promise to never ask you that again. Ever. Am I right, Kíli?”

„Absolutely!”

Later on, Thorin could not point out what exactly made him agree for his nephews' wicked offer. Maybe it was an ale, maybe he was feeling particulary tired that evening and simply wanted them to leave him be or maybe he knew that he truly needed some rest for his mind. It has been a long time since his Company reclaimed the Lonely Mountain and ever since he rarely thought about anything else than his duties—the neverending pile of problems which seemed to grow as he reached deeper, like a wild weeds devouring the garden he was desperately trying to tame. And yet, no matter how hard he tried, under every stone there was more; more things to take care of, more decisions to make, more sleepless nights. Only the time seemed to shrink.

When he stood in the room, the sunlight spilling on the floor by his feet, Thorin thought that maybe it was not such a bad idea, after all. Your gaze was soft but attentive, remembering the details of his royal outfit and recreating them on the canvas. It was a talent he never considered particulary useful but it could have some advantages, indeed.

Like the fact that he could look at your lovely face for how long he wanted, never getting caught as you were too focused on the paths left by your brush.

„Where do you come from?” he asked the first day, right after you explained your vision to him, not without a stutter or two.

You looked at him puzzled, at first not really convinced that he actually asked it out loud, for his posture did not move a bit.

„Nowhere,” you told him and cleared the throat before continuing. „And everywhere. I like to consider this whole world as my home. That way you never feel like an unwelcomed guest, no matter where you go.”

„The place you were born,” he added, his voice low and demanding, used to giving orders and having them accomplished in a blink of an eye. „Do you ever miss it?”

You were afraid of the subject, aware that speaking further seemed more like wandering on a thin ice. The King almost sacrificed everything just so he could have a place to call home, and then, there was a human telling stories about how did it never matter. And so, you decided to tell him the truth.

„I was never happy in a place I was born. It made me feel trapped.”

He did not elaborate on the subject and you knew better than to continue. You have almost finished colouring his face that day, the handsome, royal features staying under your eyelids long after you have fallen asleep.

The next morning, you were invited for breakfast with Thorin's nephews, the ones you had a dubious pleasure of meeting during your stay in Dale. Although you were not convinced that it was a good idea to ask you to paint the king—the King under the Mountain, that is!—eventually you were quite grateful for their idea. You could not remember when was the last time you had such a delicious food in your mouth and a soft mattress under your spine to rest. Furthermore, you were promised to not only get a shelter while you were working, but also a payment you deserved, which only made you more nervous about what will Thorin think about the result. For the first four hours you have spent with him alone in your temporary study room, you could already tell that there were not many things which could make him at least content.

You wondered, how did he look like when he smiled, how did the tone of his voice change when he laughed.

„Could you...” you started, still desperately wanting to sound as polite as possible, which was quite hard, considering the situation you were in—telling the King where should he stand and look. „Could you, please, move a little bit to the right, My King...?”

You could swear there was a spark of amusement in his eyes before he took a step as you asked.

„'My King' is not necessary,” he informed you and in the very second he finished the sentence you wished for the ground to open and swallow you up.

„Oh.” You blinked few times. „My apologies, I have never... I was talking to your nephews and they told me it will be the best way to politely adress you.”

„Of course they did...” he sighed. „I am not your king and as far as I am concerned, nobody is.”

You barely managed to finish the outline or his armour that evening, way too lost in thoughts to focus on the job and Thorin did not seem to mind, not then, nor the day after when you met him in your study room, puctual as always.

You told him the stories from the lands you have travelled through before reaching Dale, some of them more or less interesting, but he was listening to you nevertheless, the sound of your voice echoing in the room bringing peace to his mind. Living for so many years, Thoring managed to visit most places you were still under the huge impression of, the images of different landscapes sharp and vivid in his memory as if it was yesterday. Looking at you, so eager to go further north, to experience and live, was truly a breath of fresh air in the dark halls of Erebor. The light burning in the shadows.

Thorin have never cared for the painting in the first place, after weeks of your presence in the kingdom, however, he found himself caring about it even less—despising the canvas, although you asked him to not look at it until it will be finished. Once you will be done with your work, he will have to pay you few golden coins, as promised, and let you go, only to be left alone once again, without your stories, without your voice, without your smile, without your mere presence shining brighter than the sun high on the sky. He admired you; the way your fingers moved the brush, the way your brows furrowed when you were particulary focused on a single detail of the painting, the way you laughed in the dining halls during breakfast, amused by something silly either Fíli or Kíli said, the way you walked down the corridors heading to your bedroom. Your presence was now so natural there, as if you were meant to be in the Lonely Mountain, like a long lost piece to finally make his kingdom whole.

He knew that the day when you will go on, will be the day when his heart will break in two also.

In no time, Thorin began to somehow admire the characteristic smell of terpentine filling the study room every evening, when you were cleaning your brushes and palette knives from the paint. It reminded him of you and your skills, and everytime he joined you there for a small chat, he observed the way your fingers gracefully moved with the tools. Your hands were not as rough as his, probably never wielding a sword nor holding a shield, but no less admirable. He would have laugh in the face of those, who would dare to tell him, barely few months ago, that one day he might grow fond of the delicate skin, the one he often mocked, considering it as a proof of a lesser work.

„I was wondering,” you started, placing a thin brush on the table covered with fabric next to you. „Could you tell me the story of your Company?”

Thorin looked up at you from his seat, the leather armchair in the corner of the room he tended to use whenever feeling particulary tired by the presence of the others. Never yours, though, for your presence was as natural as breathing.

„I believe everyone knows this story already, you and your kin included. There were legends, even.”

„Legends usually tell only half of the truth. The other half is made up by those who speak and I wish to hear it from the most reliable source. That would be an unforgettable experience.”

„I am curious how listening to an old Dwarf can be considered as a gained experience for ones like you.”

„And now I am curious how can you think it is not,” you admitted. „You are the King under the Mountain, you have seen and lived through more than I will ever do. It is a miracle that I can at least imagine your journey, but I do not want to hear about it from the mouths of people from Dale, nor Elves from Mirkwood. I wish to hear it from you, this is all I ask for.”

Thorin thought for a while, the innocent fascination in your eyes reminding him of the times he was nowhere near being the king you could admire. Lost, bruised and beaten but never broken—standing proudly like his own reflection on your canvas.

„Sit down,” he eventually told you. „I have to warn you that this is a very long story.”

„I do hope so.”

It surprised you, when you realized that you have been starting to slow down with your work—unlike all the past times. You liked the finish, putting some white paint there and there, giving the picture a new perspective, exposing the light and deepening the darkness, but when you looked at Thorin's eyes, now staring right at you from the canvas, you found yourself rather downhearted than satisfied. Your time in Erebor was growing short, it was just a matter of days until you will have to part with the Dwarves and move on, find another model to portray and a new place to stay.

But how could you do that, if you felt like you had all your inspiration there, in this very place? As irrationally it sounded, you believed that the King under the Mountain was the muse you were looking for for all those years. He was the one you could look at and paint for the rest of your days and never get bored, the one which caused you to smile everytime you opened your eyes in the morning, ready to face the day. He made your heart beat so fast, now not due to the anxiety, but the possibility of seeing him and feeling his eyes upon you.

The realization struck you like a lightning when you were painting strands of his silver hair on the dark locks falling on his broad shoulders.

You loved him.

You loved your muse, your inspiration, your king.

You had to bite your lip to prevent the involuntary smile to appear on your face. Prehaps you were not as wrong as you previously thought about using this term toward him, for Thorin truly and unconditionally ruled your heart, willingly or not.

Not that you minded.

The last day of your work together, you spent wondering whether to put your signature on the painting or not. Once it will be there, there won't be turning back, the painting will be done and so your time in this place, too. King Thorin was standing still, just like on the very first day, now seemingly the whole years ago. But it was barely summer, the warmer days were coming and you were aware that you have already overstayed your welcome in those halls. It did not change the fact that putting down your brush was the hardest thing you had to do.

„I am done,” you announced, the forced smile on your lips as you stood straight next to the easel.

„Already?” Was his reaction.

Nevertheless, Thorin let his arms fall loose by the sides and faced you, the harsh expression on his face now slowly melting, since you were no longer going to look at him that way nor another.

You nodded in response.

Now it was the time to say something. If he wanted to tell you what he felt, it was the best and last chance to do so, but he remained motionless, simply trying to remember the image of you standing there in a humble study room, the sunlight on your face, paint stains on your apron, hands held together in an awaiting manner. You were expecting him to say something, probably to ask to finally see your masterpiece... but he did not care for the damn painting.

He never cared for this bloody painting.

Instead, he muttered a simple order, while veguely gesturing to the armour and fur he was wearing:

„Help me to take this off.”

It was exactly as hard as you imagined, the steel pieces heavy and unpractical to carry as you placed them on the floor one by one, next to the axe and the sword, the weapons of his choice to eternalize. First, the noble furcoat, sliding down his arms with your trembling fingers as you could feel the scent of his hair, the subtle braids ended with beads jingling on the armour beneath the warm cover. The pauldrons, next the arm guards, then the breastplate and the gauntlets. Cold steel caging the burning heart. The King under the Mountain observed your ministrations and sporadically gave instructions if you were lost on how to continue, preparing for what was much more complicated—for baring his soul.

Contrary to what you hoped for, he was still as intimidating, even in the loose tunic, no weapon in hand and a sight which reminded you of a devoted sky above. The wise silver strands in his hair proved his knowledge and labour, something you were now familiar with after hearing the whole story of his Company. There were ages written down in a small wrinkles by his eyes, the history of loss, loyalty, courage and glory, and you found yourself mesmerized by it—by his gentle gaze hiding the pure ocean of secrets.

You were standing there, right in front of him and never in your whole life have you wanted to kiss him more. You did not move, when his hands stroked your arms, carefully moving up until they reached your neck and further, barely ghosting over your jaw.

„I have never been good with words of affection,” he whispered, caressing your cheek with the back of his hand. „But I know for sure that I would never forgive myself letting you go without an explanation. This world is harsh and brute, drowning in chaos and devoured by wars, eating alive the latest rays of light, but you have my word that I would willingly go through all of it once again, if it only meant meeting you at the end. I have no control over the past and although I regret that our paths did not cross earlier, now all I can do is to ask for your future, since it is and always will be shining brightly in front of us, darkness left behind. I love you, my dearest, and I care about you more than I can comprehend, with the most sincere kind of love a heart of an old king can muster.”

You were speechless, partly by the declaration itself, partly because of the ardour in his eyes and tone of his voice. His touch on your skin was featherlike, making you wonder how someone who carried such a great strength and authority could treat you with an utter gentleness. You smiled at him, taking his hand in yours and holding it for a while, feeling how warm they were against you—and Thorin patiently waited for your answer.

„I do not know what to say,” you started. „All I am certain of is that I was already starting to think that you will never ask me so, My King.”

Wide, genuinely happy smile which appeared on his features was way more breathtaking and heartwarming than any wild landscape you have ever seen, any adventure you have ever been on and any fleeting dream you were so desperately trying to achieve. When he kissed you, sweetly and passionately, you thought that maybe your aim was never to find a place to call home but to find home in the person who loved you the most.

[an-american-whovian]

• The Story Thus Far:

This is the one that started it all fer me! The reason I bleed all things Doctor Who -- like my anus bleeds beer shits of Pabst Blue Ribbon.

My Series 2 review of NuWho (just rolls off the tongue).

• Goodbye, My Liveeer -- Goodbye, My Friend:

In all honesty, I don't know how it happened -- one day I came across a fan made Doctor Who video to James Blunt's 'Goodbye My Lover' on YouTube. More specifically, the episodes 'Army of Ghosts'/'Doomsday'.

It had that bit in which he asks, "How long are you going to stay with me?" To which she replies, "Forever." Then to see the whole conclusion with her getting sucked into a parallel universe/the stuff on Badwolf Bay all to that terrible song.

I was sold. (Mostly 'cause I was fresh off a break up, myself.)

• But I'm Getting Ahead of Myself:

As I watched all four minutes and twenty six seconds of that corny ass shit, I recalled Classic Who and asked myself, "Wasn't Doctor Who some big nosed dude with a long scarf and really bad special effects? Who's this hot bitch -- and the blonde!?"

Well, according to the nerds at Brainstorm Comics in Wicker Park, Chicago, it was this long running sci-fi series that had finally made a comeback after a long hiatus.

Then I remembered the TV Movie on Fox. That came and went like another one of their illfated shows, 'M.A.N.T.I.S.' (NO ONE ever remembers that one.) Then I remember as kid watching a different dude play the Doctor. This guy wore beige clothing and hung out with teens.

Total pedo' vibes.

Well, luckily fer me, those nerds at Brainstorm had a rental section and I proceeded to rent series two of NuWho -- 'cause i wanted to see how we got to that conclusion. (Then I proceeded to copy it onto VHS -- as was the fashion at the time.)

It was all downhill from there.

• Controversial Statement Up Ahead:

If a US network ever had the AUDACITY to do Who -- it would pro'ly look like this series (one could kinda say the same about series five, too). Handsome lead; hot companion. Easily to digest science fiction stories and culminating in a two part epic in which the hero fights off giant metallic salt shakers with plungers as they wage war against the British equivalent to the Borg. (Yea, I know -- Cybermen came first. I said it fer comparisons sake, ya nerd.)

Also, anyone remember that episode of 'Community' in which they do an American version of 'Inspector Spacetime'? They're TOTALLY supposed to be Tennant and Piper-esque. (The show would then go ahead and predict that the first female Doctor would go onto suck -- "but not because she's a woman".)

• Onto the Good Shit:

'The Christmas Invasion' is a fun festive romp -- that has the Doctor in it fer about ten minutes. Extra points fer 'The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy' reference. It's, also, where I learned that out there they call baby oranges "satsumas". (Y'all are funny.)

'New Earth' brings back Cassandra from the series one story 'The End of the World' -- along with that giant head with dreads that lead into testicles known as The Face of Boe (love the enigmatic shit with him). The body switching stuff is fun; but how the Doctor saves the day is just plain lame. "Lemme dump all these cures into one giant concoction and bukkake this whole hospital!" *high fives all around!*

'School Reunion' brings back Sara Jane -- and till this day I use her "Everything has its time and everything ends" speech (almost to a fault). It's got Giles from 'Buffy' in it -- so that's dope. Be that as it may, I don't like how the kid takes credit fer blowing up the school at the end. Like, dude, eveyone's gonna think yer a prepubescent psycho.

'Girl in the Fireplace', The Cybermen two parter and 'The Impossible Planet'/The Satan Pit' are all time classics in my book. (Fun Fact: TO THIS DAY I refer to my basement as "The Satan Pit".)

• Controversial Statement Part Deux:

I don't hate 'Love & Monsters'. 😳 Like, I think Elton insinuating at the end that he skull fucks a slab of cement with his girlfriend's face is pretty fucked up and the Abzobaloff looks like it was designed by a child (oh, wait, it was) -- it's still a lot of fun and a different take on a Doctor Who story. (DW is ALWAYS at its best when it takes chances!)

Like, ELO is prominently featured in the episode. How can anyone hate that!?

• All Filler and No Thriller:

'Tooth & Claw' is just too boring to even talk about. I can't even remeber a characters name or which Queen was ruling at the time.

'Fear Her' HAS TO BE one of the worst episodes -- EVER. The less said about it the better.

• Let's Cut This Short -- Like the Doctor Gets Cut Off on Rose:

Series two isn't as great as series one; but it's not too far off. Yea, jokes are gonna be dated like bad CGI werewolves. Deal with it. Have you ever seen 'Warriors of the Deep'!?

It's all worth while fer a balls to the wall finale.

"You would destroy the Cybermen with four Daleks?", asks a Cyberman.

"We would destroy the Cybermen with one Dalek! You are superior in only one respect."

"What is that?"

"YOU ARE BETTER AT DYIIIIIING.", adds the Dalek. *DROPS MIC!*

Finally, don't tell me you dont get all chocked up when Ten tells Rose, "I'm inside the TARDIS. There's one tiny little gap in the universe left, just about to close; and it takes a lot of power to send this projection. I'm in orbit around a supernova.

I'm burning up a sun just to say good bye." 😭

ALL THE STARS AND FRESHLY ROTTEN TOMATOES.

• Epilogue; i.e. Controversial Statement No. 3:

Are Timelords low key pedos!? Like, the Doctor is over 900 years old at this point and Rose is, like, 19 or 20.

Talk about a midlife crisis, bruh.

[lucyhblack]

It's time to talk about our dear Prof. Stretch!

Stretch

Species: Monster

Age: 21 when you meet Blue. 23 when he takes over the lab. 27 when Papyrus arrives at his laboratory.

Profession: Pokemon researcher specialized in Pokesans. Responsible for the Swapville laboratory.

Initial Pokemon: Blue

Other Pokemons: Sans (originally from Papyrus), Cherry (Originally Red), Geno (is in his care), Lust (captured to be handed over to a Coordinator), Berry and Edgy and other wild pokemons he takes care of.

“Welcome to the Beginner’s Guide for Master Pokesans. I’m Prof. Stretch and I will be your instructor in this fascinating world.”

Stretch has always loved pokemon since he was a child. As most young people dreamed of being a coach, but because of a lecture by the renowned Dr. Gaster, a genius among researchers, he soon realizes his vocation was to study them and not train them.

He then applies himself to studies and moves on to a renowned college specializing in training researchers. It is in college that he meets his best friend Dynne, a Fish Monster who is on the same course as him.

He decides to specialize in pokesans (being a skeleton has more affinity with them) and as soon as he graduates he goes on a research trip with Dynne.

They choose a forest known for its wide variety of pokemons as a starting point for research and before long they are approached by an energetic pokesans Swap.

Stretch is excited, but the pokesans soon lose interest in them and disappear, but not for long. Stretch soon notices that the pokesans are watching them (he tries to be sneaky, but he sucks at it) from afar (sometimes not that far). He's fine with it, as he watches them he watches him back.

In fact he is very happy, after all that is what he graduated from, studying pokesans and the company also makes him feel safer in this great forest (Stretch lived all his life in the city), even though he does nothing to save them from the poisonous pokepastrys or the badly regarded Pokealphys with whom they came across at a given moment.

One day the pokesans approach again and take them to a cave. He and Dynne discuss the pros and cons of entering (they only have a Escape Roupe and the last of their Repel was spent to pass the pokepastrys nest), but since they are being invited by the pokesans (and the Swap are well known for not being the type who play tricks) they decide to follow him.

The place is a scientific find! It's covered in magic crystals and could be a cave with more magical crystals since Cave Temm. Dynne is terribly excited and despite her own excitement about the discovery, Stretch is happier with the pokesans' rapprochement than with crystals. It is a pity that they were not the first Monsters to find the place. An unknown Monster was tearing the crystals out of the cave without any care.

Outraged by the damage, they try to stop him, only for the Monster to throw his Pokémon at them.

The pokemons start to fight and although the little one doesn't have much technique, he has power. Stretch tries to give some advice and warnings in the middle of the fight (he may not be a coach, but he had watched hours and hours of tournament broadcasts in his childhood). It looks like they can win, and the other Monster also notices this and uses a mysterious artifact to strengthen the pokemon.

Whatever it is ends up with the Pokémon attacking its own master, who runs away. He convinces Dynne to go out for help while staying to help the pokesans.

He tries to convince him to abandon the fight, but the little one is determined to stop his opponent. To protect him from a serious attack, Stretch ends up launching himself on the pokesans and ends up unconscious, only waking up already in the hospital, where he is informed by a tearful Dynne that the moody Pokealphys in the forest had saved them.

Dynne tells of her plans to stay in the forest and study the cave. At least that was the reason she had given it, and Stretch may not have seen what happened there in the end, but he could see that a connection had been established between Pokealphys and Dynne.

He's happy for his friend, but he can't stay. He has to continue his research. Hoping that he also managed to reach the young pokesans he decided to take a risk and invited him to travel with him. To his satisfaction, the little one accepts his invitation and enters the pokeball Stretch offers of his own free will.

Stretch names his new friend Blue (not very creative, but the little one liked it so what's the problem?) and cannot contain the almost childlike joy of finally having his own pokemon (one that chose him and not that he was given).

He cannot deny that for much of the trip his “research” consists of his own pokemon.

Thanks to his studies of Blue he is invited to take over a laboratory (since he would never have money like Dynne to set one up) which he accepts immediately (Blue may be happy walking around, but he is more than ready to abandon the sleeping bag, Center beds, or Laboratory sofas).

The place is great, and is reputed to have a good range of pokesans. He realizes that Blue is not very satisfied (by now he has realized that his pokesans have very different aspirations and starts to worry about it).

He takes advantage of having the equipment and time to put into practice an idea that he had a long time ago, and designs an armor for Blue in order to strengthen it. The prototype is simple, but it works well and if everything goes well he can present it to scientists in the future.

A few years pass and as he thrives on his research (and his laziness) he realizes Blue's dissatisfaction.

One day he receives a visit from an Officer who delivers him a damaged pokeball. She was found at an apparent crime scene and as it was closer than the Center she took him to him.

Stretch puts it on some machines to heal the pokemon inside and to prepare a forced opening. In the meantime he is visited by a young skeleton Monster in search of his coaching license.

The young man already has his own pokemon (one less problem), but while Stretch went over the terms of the license with the boy the pokeball is opened releasing an out of control pokesans that begins to destroy the place.

Amid the confusion the boy's pokemon is injured and Blue and Papyrus, the aspiring trainer, unite to stop the uncontrolled pokesans.

Stretch manages to heal Sans, Papyrus's pokemon, who returns to the fight. In the middle of the combat, Sans evolves and manages to pass out the opponent's pokesans.

Stretch is impressed by the trainer who, even young and inexperienced, shows great talent (battles have never been his forte, but he can admire the skill). He also realizes the connection between him and Blue and even though it breaks his soul, he knows it is the best for his pokesans.

He is willing to give one of his pokeagendas (one of the few built by Dr. Gaster himself) and Blue to Papyrus when he is surprised by Sans who decides to stay in the laboratory.

He sees Blue go on his long-awaited training journey with a heavy soul, but certain that their future will be bright. In the meantime he has two new friends to make.

Sans is very calm and suits his personality well and soon the two get along very well. Geno, the uncontrolled pokesans, on the other hand is a source of concern.

The pokemon was irreparably injured, physically and emotionally. He is clearly entering Fall and Stretch feels his soul tighten just thinking about this sad creature turning to dust after having suffered so much.

He does everything to get Geno back or at least keep him as comfortable / happy as possible.

Later, while doing research to help Geno, he ends up rescuing a fire-type pokesans in the middle of a blizzard.

He takes the pokesans who are also in a state of Fall, but there is something blocking the progression of the disease (to the point that the pokesans himself seems to be unaware of his real state).

Fascinated, he takes care of the pokesans while trying to discover his mystery and if it can help Geno (and several other pokemons).

He baptizes Cherry's pokesans (even though he was clearly a trained and abandoned pokemon, and probably should have a name) and soon the little monster becomes his companion, following him like a nervous little shadow for Sans and Geno amusement.

He captures a Classic Class Lustwhich he will hand over as a starter to a young aspiring Coordinator and much later will have his laboratory invaded by 2 electric Bitty pokesans, who will live there.

There are also several pokesans and other wild pokemons that he knows and helps in the Forest including a mysterious ghost Pokémon that has been haunting his lab (or more precisely Geno).

He relies on the help of Papyrus and Pink (the young Coordinator) to collect data on several pokesans while giving them tips on gyms and pokemons.

Lazy and somewhat sloppy with himself, he is very dedicated to his research and the pokemon in his care. He wears a white coat (symbol of pokemon researchers / scholars) over an old orange sweatshirt, beige capri pants and wide-slippers.

Curiosity: As one of the functions of every researcher, Stretch has to prepare and teach classes, one of the functions he detests in his work and has been running away for years until he is forced (as punishment) to record an entire initiation to the world pokesans to be distributed schools and added to the pokedex data.

He did this more than once, because on the first recording he mumbled so much, and put so many smart comments that he was forced to re-record everything a second time (with the threat of doing it again until he reached the standards of the League Committee).

[scribeofmorpheus]

As Fate Would Have It (Part 13)

Paring: 1940s!Bucky Barnes x Spy!Reader

Catch Up here | Masterlist

Note: Reader’s alias is Elle/Helen

A/N: This took me a while because I’m thinking of capping this series at 20 chapters and needed to fit a lot into two chapters. I wanted to wrap up this timeline but wrote myself into a corner and had a few issues with Howard’s dialogue and how everything would unfold.

Words: 4.2k | Bright side: two chapters released the same day!

Song: La vent nous portera by Sophie Hunger

~

The subway was practically a ghost town this early in the morning. The subway car was filled with maybe three people, yourself included.

One man, in work clothes smeared with grease and paint stains, was asleep under his cap a few rows down. The other looked to be nursing a hangover. Oh, how you wished a splitting headache had been the worst of your worries. You shifted in your borrowed clothes, too tight to get comfortable.  Your hand rested protectively over the metal briefcase as you rewound your memories, trying to figure out if there was some alternative you had failed to see.

~8 Hours Earlier~

“What now?” You asked.

“Now…” He dragged a chair to sit on close to you, “Now, we strike a deal.”

Howard sat down, taking a slow swig of his amber liquid. Savouring the moment with a smug smile on his face and a suggestive eyebrow arched up with childish humour. "Jarvis, if you would be so kind as you restrain our guest."

You sucked in air through your teeth in distaste. Howard chuckled as Jarvis restrained your hands to the armrests of a chair.

"Wouldn't want you getting any ideas now." Howard winked.

This was one hell of a fucked up situation you had gotten yourself into. A part of you couldn't help but wonder if you would have been so careless if you hadn't been toying with the idea of a life beyond being the spy. A life spent beside Bucky.  

You balled your fists up in anger. Not at Howard, or Jarvis or even the situation, but at yourself.

"Is this how it's going to be?" Howard cocked his head to the side in inquiry. "A Mexican standoff with silence in place of pearlescent revolvers?"

"You know, Howie, your jokes are kind of stale when you aren't knee deep in a champagne bottle," you bit back harshly.

"Oh, you know how I love a woman with a fiery spirit!" He hollered with delight. He was enjoying this immensely. Jarvis sighed behind him, not as enamoured with his employer’s behaviour.

"For someone who admires fiery women, you sure do spend a lot of time with a ditzy broad on your arm," you rebutted.

"Please!" Howard snorted holding up two fingers. "Two minimum."

"Sir, if I may," Jarvis stuck his head up. "You are supposed to be intimidating the woman who just tried to break and enter into your residence, not trade snarky commentary."

"Ah, quite right." Howard looked at his watch. His face scrunching as he seemed to be counting down the minutes. "Jarvis, would you be a good sport and see to our guests at the front gate?"

"Guests?" You and Jarvis asked simultaneously.

"The security system wasn't just rigged with an explosive device, it was also set to alert someone of the break-in. Last time we tested it his response time was under 12 minutes. It seems his time has improved significantly," He finished his drink.

Jarvis punched in the unlock code, deactivating Howard's outrageous security protocols. You waited, ill at ease for whatever was about to unfold.

You smelt the scent of cigar smoke and heard the grumbles of gruff military gusto before you even saw the man enter the room. He was taller than Howard you figured, but probably an inch or two shorter than Jarvis. His giant cigar trailing ash onto the floor. His beige and tan clothing screamed monotone personality. You imagined he probably ate his dinner with the military allocated regiment cutlery and plates.

"Howard, if you’re so called ingenious security system woke me up in the middle of the night for--" He was stopped from finishing his sentence when he saw you tied to a chair. "For Christ’s sake, she's not even properly restrained!"

"Ah, Chester!" Howard exclaimed with excitement.

"That's Colonel Phillips to you. And for the love of god, can you explain to me what it is exactly I'm looking at here?" His accent was thick and prickly sounding to your ears, but maybe that was because you spent most of your time in Brooklyn.

"Isn't it obvious Chest--" Howard's words were deterred by the Colonel's grim stare, "-Uh, Colonel Phillips. I caught a burglar!"

Colonel Phillips sighed, "Yes, congratulations Howard. You have successfully wasted my time with something that is clearly a police issue." The Colonel turned to leave.

"Yes, but how many cat burglars make a habit of breaking into your highly secret and secure military locations and make off with invaluable research, all without leaving so much as a hair strand behind?"

The Colonel stopped in his tracks and turned to Howard who had crossed his legs and plastered a smug expression on his face.

The Colonel walked over to you, eyeing you from head to toe- seeming unimpressed with what he saw. "You're telling me that she is the spy who managed to take out five highly trained operatives?" He asked bewildered, as if all this was some great, big prank.

You took offence in his expression, anger taking root in your stomach at his insinuation.

"Six," you said sharply, looking the intimidating man square in the eye.

The Colonel looked at you for a long moment and then chuckled.

"I believe I may have found us an answer to that mole problem," Howard said.

"Mole?" You subconsciously reiterated in a low whisper.

"Howard, you've got a big brain, but that doesn't mean you always use it correctly. What makes you think she's going to agree to do anything for us instead of running off and tattling to whoever she works for? Or worse! Shooting you in the back and making off with your research?" The stone-faced man howled with annoyance.

"Because, Helen here isn't Hydra," Howard said smugly, standing to pour himself a drink. He held up his newly refilled glass in question to the Colonel.

"It's 3am Howard. I'll have coffee, black, two sugars."

Jarvis made his way out of the room.

"Ah to hell with it! Make it Irish while you're at it!" The Colonel shouted after Jarvis.

"Right," the posh British man took his order.

"How do you know she isn't Hydra?" Colonel Phillips put out his cigar on an ashtray nearby.

"At least I assume your allegiance isn't solely to Hydra." Howard directed the statement to you. Your eyes darted about, trying to catch onto Howard's train of thought.

"The listening device..." You figured it out before Howard got a chance to reply to the Colonel.

Howard pointed at you as though you'd just scored point guard, "Bingo! Girl catches on fast. If you were Hydra, like Liza- or was it, Lisa? Maybe Edith... Oh, what is her name again?" Howard looked at the Colonel.

"Katherine Meyers, sir." Jarvis chimed in as he handed the Colonel his coffee. Howard clicked his fingers just then.

"Kathrine, that's right!"

After a brief pause, Howard noticed the Colonel scowling at him.

"What? He's my butler. Jarvis is basically my very own pocket diary. To be perfectly honest I'm lucky he was the one to open the garage doors. I forgot the combination. Things could've gotten messy real quick." Howard mouthed the sound of an explosion as his hands mimicked the dispersal pattern of a bomb. "Anyway, as I was saying. If you were Hydra you wouldn't have gotten rid of your own listening device. Unless you didn't want someone else being able to listen in."

You couldn't believe they knew about Kathrine, you didn't know she was Hydra until she ambushed you in the bathroom at work about spying on Howard.

"You know she's Hydra?" You asked the men in the room.

Howard set his drink down, "It's easier to keep an eye on potential threats when you keep them close. We used the Gala as a setup. All those higher-ups in one place? Perfect bait. We had hoped this… Kathy Meyers would show up and lead the good Colonel's men to the rest of her cohorts. Imagine my surprise when she was a no-show and instead, it was you -my date- that set off my bug sniffer. And now here we are. All acquainted." Howard gave both you and the Colonel a shit-eating grin.

The Colonel pulled a chair up close to you, "So if you aren't Hydra, who do you work for?"

"I never said I didn't work for Hydra..." You said.

"Do you make it a habit of destroying invaluable devices?" Howard asked sarcastically as he pulled out the listening device Katherine gave you from the pockets of his robe. "The trash is always the first place people look darlin'."

You bit your inner cheek. "Fine, you're right. My interests may not entirely align with Hydra's but the organisation I work for wants the same thing they do."

"Dr Erskine's serum." Colonel Phillips said. "That still leaves a long list of potential organisations."

"It does indeed," you played coy.

After what felt like hours of the Colonel interrogating you about who you worked for and what your real name was, you saw Howard barely keep it together as he grew antsier by the minute.

"You don't have to tell me who you work for. Lord knows there’s almost more than one way to get the truth out of people. I could simply let it slip through monitored channels that you've secretly been working for us and then all I have to do is wait and see who comes for your head..." Colonel Phillips threatened.

"Who she works for is of no consequence!" Howard's tone showed he was getting bored with this runaround. He leaned into your chair, hands over the armrests. "Look, we've got you dead to rights. So either you work with us or you face a much harsher reality than the one where you're bound to a chair in a millionaire’s garage."

You leaned closer to Howard, glaring at him. He was right, at best they'd throw you in a prison cell where you'd never see daylight, but eventually, someone would link you to Bucky and that caused a shiver to run up your spine.

On the other hand, even if you did manage to get out of this situation, your cover was blown and the Red Room wasn't known for being very forgiving when it came to failed missions. Making a run for it wasn't wise either. There was only one playable card left.

Your head tilted to the floor as your back slumped against the chair. You let out a thoughtful breath of air, "What is it you need from me?"

Howard sighed with relief, "It's simple. We just need you to lead us to the wherever Hydra has set up shop here."

"And what do I get out of this deal?" You brought your head back up from the floor.

"Your life," the Colonel said. "You get to keep breathing… somewhere else. Preferably back from wherever it is you come from."

"My window?"

"You've got 48 hours to figure out where Katherine and her companions are holed up and then we put you on a plane to wherever it is you want to go." Colonel Phillips said.

You tried to stay focused on everything, to let the gravity of your situation finally sink in, but all you could think about was Bucky and Steve and Sal, and how you'd never see them again.

"The plan?" Your vocal cords began to tremble.

Howard darted over to his desk, opened a drawer, punched in a code that beeped loudly and came back with a metal briefcase.

“This," he opened it to reveal several vials of glowing blue liquid.

You were shocked by his proposal, "The serum?"

"Not quite," the Colonel corrected you.

"It's actually a highly explosive chemical. The glow is just phosphorescent dye particles." Howard informed you.

"It's a bomb..." you said dolefully.

"Yes," the Colonel answered flatly.

Things were getting more complicated by the second. You clenched and unclenched your hands into fists and ground your teeth together, "Fuck."

"This is still your best shot," Howard reminded you.

Jarvis butted into the conversation when he noticed how distant your expression was, “Perhaps we should let the lady think on this, it can’t possibly be an eas—“

"I need one thing in return," your head shot up, determination creasing your forehead.

"Bargaining now?" Colonel Phillips seemed amused.

Howard, on the other hand, looked at you sympathetically, "What?"

"Dr Erskine's lab notes."

Colonel Phillips stood from his chair abruptly, almost knocking it over. "Out of the question!"

You were quick to reason, "I imagine whatever he's been working on hasn't been a success so far, otherwise, the tide would have shifted in your favour a long time ago. Anything with the ability to change the world takes time. Mistakes, failed experiments. If you give me those notes, I'd have an easier time proving that that briefcase is indeed filled with samples of the serum."

They mulled over your words. The Colonel looking less likely to agree. Howard, however, was more open to the idea.

"Deal!" He said.

"Are you out of your mind, Stark? You do not have the authority to give out classified information!" The Colonel shouted angrily.

"If she really did steal the defective serum months ago, her organisation is already onto our project. Giving her access to experimental notes from our failed experiments isn't going to change the fact that other people are onto your little project. If anything, it will make them spend months looking over useless data, giving us more time to perfect our findings!" Howard's voice rose an octave after each word until he was almost shouting.

Colonel Phillips grumbled and then conceded, "Fine, but this is on your head Stark!"

Howard walked over to you with a pair of scissors and undid your restraints. When you stood, Howard offered you his hand and said empathetically, "Partners?"

You gawked at him for a moment and then returned his handshake, "The enemy of my enemy..."

Howard's jaw dropped momentarily, then morphed into a smile when he noticed you weren't as stone-faced as before.

When he unclasped your hand, you rubbed the would-be bruises from your wrists, "Seeing as how it's day time, I do need one other favour?"

"What's that? Coffee?" Colonel Phillips snorted as he downed the rest of his hot drink.

You squinted your eyes at him. He had a gift for getting under your skin, much like Yelena. "No. First, how to set off this device and second, a change of clothes." Your arms fell to your sides.

"Ah yes, I suspect seeing a woman walking around in black tactical gear may be a tad bit suspicious," Jarvis said light-heartedly. "I may have a solution for that."

"Please, none of Howard's mistress’s clothes!" You pleaded after him, but he had already left.

***

After you got off the subway, you made a quick pit stop at a phone booth next to your street block.

The phone booth was small and claustrophobic, if not for the windows you'd probably feel a little cramped. You picked up the receiver and spun the number rotary. After a dial tone, an operator's voice spoke out.

"Operator, how can I connect your call?"

"Steak House Restaurant, please." You answered.

"Please hold."

The dial tone clicked a few times and then reconnected to another line.

"Steak House Restaurant," Yelena's accentless voice answered.

Your eyes lingered on the briefcase and then at your reflection in the glass, "I'd like to place an order."

"Will that be the regular?"

You sighed, "No, House Special."

"Your order will be delivered to you in the next hour. Thank you for calling."

The phone line cut and you hung up the receiver. It was then that you noticed your hand was shaking. You balled it into a fist and clamped down with pressure using your other hand.

Your fist connected to the glass walls of the phone booth, creating a spider-web crack. You could feel the skin break apart from the force of the punch. Blood trickled down the crack, you untied the scarf around your neck and wiped it away before wrapping it around your knuckles before heading for your apartment.

"Get it together, Y/N!" You tutted at yourself, your accent eerily similar to Yelena's just then.

Your keys rattled against the lock, but before you could turn the lock, the door swung wide open- your keys still lodged in the lock. Sally glared at you with the most menacing expression you'd ever seen her wear. It was worse than that one time Annie borrowed her favourite lipstick and lost it.

"Where the hell have you been?" Sally demanded with a quiver in her voice.

Your eyes opened wide, "Sal- What do you mean? I- I-"

Sally cut you off as she walked towards the kitchen to pour herself a cup of coffee. From the state of her hair and dark circles under her eyes, you guessed she hadn't slept most of the night. You grabbed your keys and shut the door. Placing the briefcase on the floor.

Sally eyed you, paying attention to the briefcase, your clothes and your bandaged knuckles.

With all the stress and turbulence of your day, it was hard for you to come up with a convincing excuse to explain everything. "I had an early work emer--"

"Don't even try to lie to me." Sally wrapped her polished nails around her mug. "I know you didn't sleep here. Bucky called the apartment, said you left his place in a weird mood. He wanted to check up on you since you didn’t call after your… whatever it was you were doing with Howard Stark. I went to check on you and your bed was empty. No note, nothin'! I was worried. And then you show up in strange clothes… And is that blood on your knuckles?"

You opened your mouth but nothing came out.

“You’ve always been secretive, but usually you’re better at disappearing.” Sally sighed, raking her hands through her hair. "What is going on Elle?"

You walked over to Sally and placed your good hand over hers, "It's- It's complicated. I- I promise I'll explain. Just not right now."

Sally was about to protest when there was a knock at the door. Sally's eyebrow rose in suspicion.

"It's for me," you reassured as you walked over to open the door. Sally just lifted her arms in exasperation. The man at the door was wearing a delivery outfit for the Steak House Restaurant. He handed you a package in a brown paper bag. In the process, his sleeve stretched over his wrists to reveal the watch of the man who had collected the serum sample from you months ago.

"How much do I owe you?" You asked.

He simply ducked his head and tipped his hat, "On the house." His voice was gruff and unwelcoming, a hint of an accent still present around his vowels.

You closed the door and turned around to see Sally looking at you completely baffled.

"You spend all night god knows where, say you can’t explain and then order take out? I didn't even know they delivered this early. I- I-" Sally tired herself out. "I'm done being so angry in the mornin'. We have work in an hour."

"Actually, Sal…"

She turned to you slowly from the doorway of her bedroom.

"Let me guess, you're not coming into work today, are you?" You nodded your head sluggishly and Sally just let out a sigh. "I'll cover for you, but when I get back we'll talk."

Your eyes lingered on the floor for a little too long before you said dryly, "Sure, when you get back."

Something in her eyes told you she didn't believe you. You didn't believe yourself.

As soon as Sally was out of the apartment, you tore open the package only to reveal an empty box with a single note that read: Trainyard. One hour.

***

After you finished filling Yelena in on your current predicament, the two of you had been stagnating in the hollow silence that filled the dark train car for almost ten minutes. Yelena was on her second cigarette, her red nails drumming an irate tune into the metal wall she was leaning against.

Once she put out her cigarette with her heel, she turned to you with an unreadable expression.

"It seems we have outstayed our welcome, tovarishch." She chuckled venomously as she looked you up and down. "And it seemed I overestimated your abilities."

You were getting tired of people giving you that same look so many times in the span of a day.

"I was doing what you ordered me to do. To find out what Stark was working on!" You barked to your defence.

Yelena tutted, "You did so carelessly! All because you stopped thinking objectively. I warned you, Y/N! I warned you of the consequences of getting entangled in our profession!"

That had been the first time Yelena had called you by your name in what felt like years. What surprised you the most was that her words held no animosity or anger, she almost sounded sad.

Yelena raked her nails through her perfect blonde curls, "It can't be helped. Do what they require of you. We'll plan an extraction. Hopefully, when you set off this bomb of theirs we can use the confusion to smuggle you out using the commotion."

You stood up from the cold steel chair to face her at level height, but Yelena kept her eyes fixed on a rusted bolt on the hinges.

"There's one more thing," You opened the briefcase carefully and pulled out the research notes Howard had given you. "I convinced them to hand over their notes. They aren't recent, but it’s more than we've managed to acquire in the last few months."

Yelena held out her slender long fingers expectantly.

You snatched the file away and held it closer to your chest, "I want to bargain it for my freedom."

Yelena looked at you with her mouth pried open slightly, "You're still nursing this moronic notion."

"Wanting to be free and live a normal life isn't moronic, Yelena." You whispered. "I'm tired of this life."

"What's the point? After this, you won’t be able to just jump back into your old life. You can't stay here tovarishch. And once you carry out this mission, rest assured Hydra will hunt you down."

"Only if someone talks."

"We will hunt you down." She assured you.

"Not if you tell them I died in the explosion."

"Why would I do such a thing?"

"Because Yelena… we were like family once. We were all we had for a long time. As much as I dislike what you turned into, I don't hate you. And I know you aren't as cold as you'd have people believe."

Yelena stayed silent for a moment and you held your breath, "Even if I did what you're asking, you must know you can't be with him. Your precious Bucky. And now that he's enlisted, he's our enemy. Your enemy."

Your eyes grew wide, "How did you- It doesn't matter. I just want out."

Yelena nodded, "Alright, tovarishch. I just want you to remember, whatever happens, this was your choice."

You handed Yelena the file and walked away, not once turning back.

***

Yelena sat by her apartment window, letting the salty air wash over her. She had been staring at her phone for almost an hour, unsure of how to proceed. Y/N had seemed so afraid in the train car, she may have hidden it well, but she could tell her old friend was hanging by a thread.

Before the Red Room, she was all Yelena had. They were two orphans turned pickpockets who survived by trusting each other. There was a time she considered them sisters. But everything changed once they were recruited.

Yelena wanted more than to stay at the bottom, to be a pawn with no power or authority. To her, being a grunt was worse than being a street rat. At least when she was living on the streets she still had a shred of independence. Climbing up the ladder had afforded her many enemies, but she couldn't understand why Y/N wasn't as adamant to leave her posting as someone’s boot lackey. It infuriated her that she didn't strive to regain some shred of power. That was all in the past now and Yelena had a hard decision to make.

Yelena picked up her secure line and dialled a number. After a few rings, the line picked up.

"Da," a stern-sounding woman's voice answered in their mother tongue.

Yelena spoke freely in Russian, "It's agent Y/N."

"Speak."

"She managed to get the files on the secret project," Yelena looked down at the open file, papers watermarked with 'S.S.R'. Her eyes were fixed on a passage where Erskine talked about the human experiments that took place at one of Schmidt's secret bases.

"Good work, Yelena."

Silence became her friend again as her mind was torn in two.

"If that is all agent--"

"There is something else…"

"What is it?"

"Y/N, she is planning on betraying us."

The woman let out a hefty sigh, "Then eliminate her."

"Wait!" She said quickly. When she composed herself she spoke again with a calmer tone, "There may be a way she could still be of use to us."

The woman on the other end of the line didn't say anything, Yelena took a deep breath before telling her handler her plan.

Part 14 is here!

Tags: @fangirl-colo @dormousse @smallmarvel @ren-ni @sargentbucket @nikolett3 @wnygirl2012 @jentismyname @evilgeniuslabz-blog @myrabbitholetoneverland @500daysofbecky @reidreader 

Permatags: @gruffle1 @thechickvic @notawarriorjustyet

[winterromanov]

now the day bleeds - david x julia (bodyguard fic, 1/?)

David finds out that Julia has been in hiding for over a year, and there’s a reason for it. A pretty big one. 

The postcard lands on David doormat alongside unpaid bills, bank statements and menus for shitty takeaway food outlets. It’s so apparently insignificant, so unexpected, he barely realises when Charlie’s muddy school shoes plants a wet footprint over the tiny Invernetian landscape. He only notices when he bends down to look, throwing Charlie’s reading folder at the bottom of the stairs. The green bleeds shaky colour into his otherwise mostly beige hallway. It’s enough for mild intrigue, at the very least. The mud doesn’t blear the neat biro font across the back—wish you were here.

David’s forehead naturally crinkles as he looks for a name, and finds none. He’s got family close to Inverness, but none that couldn’t send a text and none that would go on holiday there. None that regularly speak to him. As far as he’s aware, he’s got no friends holidaying up there either. It’s possible that maybe the postcard was meant for next door, or over the road—but no, his address is right, down to the postcode.

“Dad!”

Ella’s voice punctures his curiosity, and he looks up to find his daughter standing irritably with her arms crossed. Her long hair is braided and she’s wearing a new blazer that’s just a little bit too big for her, but like Vicks said, she’ll grow into it. Out of protest, Ella’s rolled up the sleeves, wearing a selection of beaded bracelets halfway up her arm that definitely violate the school uniform code. Vicky had tittered about Ella’s supposed rebellion, but he’d not been that worried about it. She’s on the edge of being a teenager in a brand new school full of bigger kids. Ella was just trying to find her place, stand out a bit.

“Yeah, what is it sweetheart?” he asks, smiling tightly. Ella rolls her eyes.

“We’re hungry. What’s for tea?”

Tea. Yeah, tea, he’d have to feed them before Vicky came to pick them up. He scratches the back of his head. “Uh—I think there’s some fishfingers in the freezer. Put the oven on and I’ll be in in a minute, yeah?”

Ella sighs dramatically, as all nearly-twelve-year-olds do whenever they’re asked to do anything. He ignores her, returning to the unusual delivery, thumbing the peeling corners carefully. He’d been in his job long enough, seen enough, to know that often things were not what they seemed. Ulterior motives lurked in ordinary objects like the blood pulsing behind his skin. There was always something else. When the edge of a mountain folds over, he pulls the tacky picture back, the mossy green film shedding away into white. There’s a second detail to the card—on that the sender had deliberately hidden, meant only for the recipient.

It’s an address. His thumb traces the clear handwriting carefully. There’s no name, again, but his fingertip curls over the final letter in the postcode, and oh God—

His heartbeat stutters manically. He feels unintended tears burning at the back of his eyes, hot and hopeful yet utterly furious, because he knows, he knows, he knows. He knows there is only one person this could possibly be from. All these months—over a year—and he knows, because who else would do this?

It should have clicked straightaway. But it’s been so long. He’s been so tired, like the last year has been desperately treading through mud in the hope of finding something better. He’s mostly just found shit, tonnes and tonnes of it, but as the weeks dragged on the sheer volume of it appeared to reduce. The counselling has helped. Seeing the kids has helped. It’s by no means anywhere near finished, but it was beginning to ease. The constant ache fading into a dull throb that God knows he takes enough medication for.

David’s whole body seems to shake as he dizzily paces into the living room and falls onto the sofa. He reads the address over and over, wonders what the hell she’s been playing at all this time. It makes sense, but also makes as much sense as quantum physics. Anger flits into sadness, then into absolute fury. He wants to throw something. Smash the mirror on the wall, so his face cracks and reflects back the state of his broken head. But there’s Ella, and there’s Charlie, and he cannot afford to have a breakdown right now. He cannot afford to let Vicky take them away again. Think he’s not safe for them.

Ella stomps back from the kitchen again, but her annoyed glare softens into concern. She bites the nail on her thumb. “Dad?”

David blinks, shakes his head. He slips the postcard down the side of the couch and pretends he can’t feel it burning, threatening to burn down the whole house like a cigarette falling out an ash tray. “Yeah, love?”

“Are you… okay?” Ella’s eyes are wide, and he does his best to reinstate normality. He smiles and thinks it looks reassuring. “I tried to turn on the oven but I’m not sure how it works. Also Charlie wants chicken dippers.”

Okay, so this is easy, this is normal. He can deal with this. “Well, tell Charlie that I’ve only got fishfingers, so unless he wants a big plate of broccoli he’ll have to eat them.”

Charlie’s unwillingness to eat anything green had become a family joke. Both him and Vicky had attempted to get vegetables into his diet by any means necessary—their latest tactic of hiding them in mashed potato had failed miserably when Vicky had found mash smeared in an empty biscuit tin—so he sees this as safe territory. It works and Ella calms instantly, her grin mirroring his own.

“I’ll sort the oven,” he says, pulling himself up from the sofa, “C’mon.”

-x-

He tries to be normal through dinner. Really, really tries. He asks Charlie about his volcano project and whether his mum ever got that papier mache off the bathroom ceiling, and Ella blushes when he asks about that boy she was talking to at the school gates. He’s just Tony, she says, and he’s an idiot.

(The way Ella’s swirls her food round her plate with her fork, her head dreamily lolling onto her hand, makes David think that Tony is an idiot who his eleven-year-old daughter has probably kissed behind the bike sheds at lunchtime. God. That’s not something he’d even mildly considered worrying about yet, alongside everything else.)

But at the back of his head is Inverness.

The logical part of his brain is telling him not to go. He’s got a life here that is somehow getting back on track, and he knows trailing all the way to Scotland will undoubtedly cruelly shatter his equilibrium. And—who is she? To lead him on all these months, all the fucking grief, all the guilt and the blame and the feeling of his heart shifting like broken glass in the recesses of his chest? The suicide attempt and the dirty mercy mission that followed, his need to claw back vengeance even though every single person around him thought that he was the bomb at the heart of it all?

(And he was, in the end, but not in the way everyone thought. He did it all for her. It was always for her, in her name, her fucking posh, Tory, everything he should despise but somehow didn’t name.)

Julia Montague destroyed him. Granted, he was fractured way before their paths ever crossed, but she had him splintering. Crunching under foot. And for her to be…

Yet, somehow, this is what he thought would happen all along.

His heart is telling him to go.

After all, it was his heart that opened up to her, in those dark hotel-room nights where he clung to her bones like fabric. He kissed her manically, desperately; but sometimes they laughed, too, and he caught himself wondering if maybe this was right. Maybe this was love. Because after the bomb—there was justice, and revenge, but love sat hopelessly at the heart of it. He can’t help it. The thought of her being alive and hidden away for months as he grieved hurts—God, it hurts—but it can’t hurt more than the thought of her being dead. It can’t. It can’t.

“Dad! Your beans are getting cold!”

Charlie’s voice is cheerfully oblivious. He stuffs a chip into his mouth. David smiles.

“Ah, good spot, Charlie,” David looks across the table at his two beautiful children, thinking they are more than enough. He is so lucky to have them, these two amazing little human beings. Ella and Charlie. The product of a love that had always been fragile but then sputtered and died, but his love for his children had never changed.

His love for her had never changed, and maybe that was the saddest thing of all. His equilibrium was always going to be skewed. Whether he went to Inverness or not.

Vicky comes to pick them up an hour later. He asks her in out of politeness but fortunately she has to jet off, something about an early shift tomorrow.

As they stand in warm familiarity on the doorstep, he almost doesn’t say it. He hands her Charlie’s book-bag and Ella’s PE kit and the words sit in his mouth. A mild, September wind blows into the doorway and Vicky shivers.

“I…” he starts, Vicky’s eyebrows arching in anticipation, “I—I’ve got to go away for a couple of days. Maybe more.”

“Oh,” Vicky says, “Is it a work thing?”

“Yeah, just a work thing, nothing important. But I have to go.”

Vicky looks a little unconvinced for a second, but eventually settles. It’s not the first time he’s been away for work and every time he’s come back fine, if not better, so he can see she thinks there’s nothing to worry about. Maybe there isn’t. Maybe this whole thing is a big fat lie, concocted in his head.

It strikes him then how heartbroken he’d feel if he’d got all this wrong. It must be her, it’s got her written all over it, but what if it isn’t? His shoulder subconsciously sag as he internally lives that absolute nightmare. He’s so, so angry with her, but he doesn’t want his fury misdirected at a ghost.

Vicky’s hand reaches out for his shoulder. “You okay?”

David shakes her off, but smiles anyway. “Fine, yeah. Sorry.”

Ella and Charlie rush through, kissing their dad goodbye before trekking out to the car across the street. Vicky presses a gentle kiss on his cheek, out of friendliness and compassion, barely an ember of what once was.

“Take care of yourself, Dave,” she says, as she always does. When he closes the door, he waits at the window until they drive off. Charlie waves, sticking his tongue out. David sticks his tongue out back.

He’s going to Inverness.

He has to.

-x-

He takes a night to think it over despite already being decided. Sleep completely eludes him, his bedside clock blinking mockingly as two drags into three then four. Eventually he abandons it altogether, throwing off the duvet and packing a holdall in the muted orange of an autumn dusk. He gets the train so he can sleep a little on the road, then he hires a car once he arrives in Scotland. The Satnav leads him away from the town and deep into the highlands he’d passed through hundreds of times as a kid, all dark and grass and heather, mud on wellies and the gentle steps of his grandparents’ border collie as it ran on ahead. After what feels like hours and hours of driving, the sun beginning to set once again, he rolls up outside a small white cottage standing alone amongst sheep farmland.

There’s the possibility that this is some kind of trap, because that’s not unusual in counter-terrorism. A smarter man than him probably wouldn’t have come all the way here without telling anyone where he was going, but he’d left school with barely any Highers anyway. He clutches the postcard between his forefinger and thumb, his hands clammy and chilled. It takes him a few seconds to get out the car, although he assumes the resident of the cottage has already heard him pull up the drive.

His feet crunch on the gravel as he wanders up to the door. His knocks are short, decisive—there’s not much to hold him back now. It slowly unlocks a moment later, and his heart lurches in unspeakable trepidation.

In the dim glow of the hallway light, he’s greeted by a ghost.

And the ghost—the ghost, she’s holding a baby.

[levi-ish]

Not Possible [P.P]

Summary: Peter was the one that wouldn’t let it be possible, but faith had other plans for you.

Pairing: Peter Parker X Soulmate!Reader

Genre: Total angst (yeah, I missed that)

Words: 2.1k

A/N: SPOILERS FROM INFINITY WAR AHEAD. Also, I was in a mood to write some angst .

Masterlist

Peter always wanted to hold your hand without making it an awkward moment. Whenever he would be sitting next to you, he made billions of scenarios in his head of what could possibly go wrong if he grew a pair and actually do it, but then again, you were friends, and that was off limits. 

He knew that holding hands would able him to see if you two were soulmates; the stories he heard from his childhood, about how holding hands would make a magic matching heart show somewhere under the knuckles — but believe or not, he never thought too deeply about that when he was around you.

But how could he avoid the temptation while long movies marathons, when you would sit there, giggling at the silliest romantic comedy only you could ever choose and a hand just resting on the cushion right next to his; your pinkies almost brushing as he tried not to seem too weird.

Then, when he was almost giving up on the thought, you reached for the popcorn bowl at the same time and your fingers actually brushed together, making little shivers run the boy’s body and he tried to shift from his earlier position in an attempt of looking totally normal.

However, you guys have been friends for the longest time — since kindergarten when you two debated about hypos being better than lions — and you always knew when he was hiding something; Peter always twitched the corner of his mouth and seemed to change his position, as if he was uncomfortable, and that was one of those moments.

“Spill it” you said, grabbing the remote to pause the movie and turned a bit just to face him properly.

The boy furrowed his brows and let out a breathy but uneasy laugh as his fingers fiddled with the hem of his stained mathlete’s sweater. You run your hand up and down your jeans covered legs while trying to seem confident — even though you were suffering from anxiety of what would be his response.

“W-What?” The boy asked, a silly smile forming on his lips and he licked them right after. 

“No” you shook your hand and lifted your hand, signaling for him to stop. “Don’t even try to make the ‘confusion’ face. You know what I meant.”

Peter lowered his head and pulled his legs to cross them right under him, sighing slightly as you kept watching the way his eyes seemed to glow in front of the TV’s lights. He ran a hand through his cocoa locks and unmade his perfect gelled hairstyle that he took a full three minutes time to make every morning — something that you always teased him about.

“I... It’s silly, (Y/N). Really, you don’t wanna know.” The boy decided that if he even tried to lie, you would notice, so there was no use doing anything else.

“Cut the bullshit, Peter” you rolled your eyes and slid your body a bit closer to him, hearing the clear sigh that left his mouth and laughing internally. “You tell me stuff that I don’t even need to know, like that one time about the burnt burritos—”

“Will you ever forget about that story?” He laughed and bit his lower lip, noticing that your gaze persisted on his face, waiting for another question to be answered. “Okay, Iwantedtoholdyourhand.”

“What?!” You furrowed your brows. “Oh god, Peter, just say it!”

“I wanted to hold your hand” he said, almost regretting immediately.

You were took by surprise, but since you knew that actions always spoke louder than words, you slid your hand closer to his, now officially brushing your fingers together and interlacing them, making the boy jump a bit and all the hairs in both bodies stand up the same moment. But after the new waves of the unknown sensation of holding each others hands, you two smiled to each other, now noticing that it hasn’t turned out in the worst case scenario.

“Why didn’t you say it sooner?” You squeezed his fingers slightly, rubbing your thumb on his knuckles and resting your head on the palm of your other hand.

Peter didn’t dare to look too much at you, he couldn’t handle the pressure, and he let another breathy laugh as he fiddled with his belt. “I thought you wouldn’t like it.”

A small black heart started to show slowly between your thumbs and pointers as you two still held each others hands, making everything seem finally fit into place as the memory kept fresh on your memories.

You bit your lower lip, feeling the same comfortable sensation now irradiating through your whole body.

“Not possible.”

Even though you two shared from the good sensation that holding hands brought, you never dared to say it louder, afraid of how that would sound.

Sure, you two would be holding hands whenever you got the chance to. Always hidden, trying not to get suspicions from the others, but it was thrilling to interlace your fingers under the dinner table while May and Ned ate their pasta quietly — as if they wouldn’t notice the shit-eating-grin that you two had plastered on both mouths.

You held his hand when you two walked down the street, reaching for the train; during train rides; under the covers while watching movies; while studying or doing homework; mostly, when you got the chance to, just to stare at the small heart shaped mark sitting there.

It was a nice feeling, to feel safe just by a touch of two warm palms. You loved when Peter would bring your hands to his mouth, placing little kisses on your knuckles, one by one without missing a single spot, and he loved how you would dance while walking down the train stations, turning around and finding his embrace right after a swing of your whole body, laughing your lungs off and making sweet memories from a life you two built together — even though you had no clue about that.

But it pained you both that it was an unspoken thing. You never asked to hold his hand and he never did either, not after the first time, and it made you feel anxious to know what you two were doing, now not feeling too afraid of saying it louder, knowing that it was a bit more real than nothing at all. 

Still, you watched Peter leaning back on the column inside the subway station, his beige jacket hanging around his body and covering the faded blue sweater that you loved on him. His hair a bit messy from the subways that rushed by and created a strong breeze that always moved your clothes and hair from their places. You stood in front of him, arms crossed and playing with the boots covered toes on the concrete floor, trying to warm yourself up. 

Peter, being the gentlemen he was raised to be, took of his jacket and put it around your shoulders, earning the most beautiful smile he could ever see on your lips — it would be worth it to feel a bit colder, since your smile warmed him up instantly. 

“So... What’s on your mind?” He asked, a bit too scared of ruining the things between you two. If it could be called a ‘thing’. Even if you two knew that you were soulmates, the uneasy feeling of not going anywhere made you both feel anxiety hurting your chest.

“I don’t know” you said, looking over your shoulder to see if the subway was already coming. “What are we doing?”

“Waiting for the—”

“Don’t even try to finish the phrase, Parker” you teased and rolled your eyes, fitting your hands inside of his jacket and trying to look at him. “I’m talking about the ‘holding hands’ thing. What’s next? We’ll just stop doing it someday and part ways?”

Peter got a scared look on his face, a bit too surprised with the suddenness of your words. He took a moment to analyze your expression, noticing that your brows were furrowed and your eyes hid under the rebel locks that flew around your face and he smiled to himself, gaining courage to raise his hand and brush his fingertips on top of your soft cheeks, feeling the silky sensation and smelling the scent of your shampoo while getting closer.

“I hope not” he said, getting closer at each second that passed while you two seemed to be frozen in time. 

“Then what should we do?” You bit your lower lip, now finding his brown orbs as you looked up, too nervous to even swallow the lump that formed in your throat. “Pretend that nothing is going on?”

The boy got too close now, his lips ghosting over yours as he hesitantly opened them to say: “not possible”.

You took a moment to take deep breaths and try to steady your whole body as you sat on the couch, watching the TV with eyes wide open while the images of your boyfriend made an appearance. Spider-Man and Tony Stark went missing. 

You grabbed the cushion next to you and held it close to your chest, trying to suppress all the feelings that were mixing inside your mind, making you feel more panicked than ever as you watched the tapes of Peter in his hero form holding tight to a spaceship, going up to God-knows-where and your frame went numb, too painful to move.

A vibration caught you off guard and you saw that it was coming from your phone. You took it quickly and saw a notification that came from him, opening it as fast as you could, your shaky fingers touching everywhere but the message itself. 

It was a voicemail and you put the phone next to your ear, trying to hear whatever it has to say while your chest tightened at the uneasy feeling that flooded inside your veins, mixing with your blood but making it feel colder. You held tight to the sweater that you stole from him and wore almost all the time, sniffing on the scent of lavender, probably from his softener. 

“(Y/N)? H-Hi, I know you are going to kill me and in my defense I—oh shit—I had to go because it’s my job, ya’know? Those aliens are trying to destroy the planet and I can’t be the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man if there isn’t a neighborhood. Fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m almost falling! Oh, forget it, I’m fine. Well, if the aliens plant eggs on my chest and kill me later, I’ll let them know that you want to be the first one to kill me, so, not possible. Gotta go—I’m almost with no air here—love ya, bye!”

You took a deep breath and a few tears started to form on the corner of your eyes as you tried to control the trembling, touching the play button again, listening to the message a few more times as you cried in silence.

A burning pain was spotted on your hand, making you twist your face while drying the tears that escaped your eyes and made their way to the cushion you still held tight. The message kept repeating as you looked at your hand, watching the heart-shaped mark starting to disappear, turning into a white one that seemed like a scar.

No, no, no, no. Please, no.

“Gotta go—I’m almost with no air here—love ya, bye!” you listened to his recorded voice until your soulmate mark faded completely, making a pain irradiate inside your whole chest, as if you were being stabbed in the heart. A breath was caught on your throat and you were having trouble to breath normally while the pain cries left your mouth and you gripped the cushion with more force than ever, your fingernails breaking through the fabric.

It’s not possible. It’s not possible.

You stared at the TV once more, watching the clips of your boyfriend swinging in the air and holding onto the spaceship as he left the atmosphere and was nowhere to be seen. Your legs felt like jelly and your hands trembled more than ever, the phone falling to the carpeted floor while you let out a painful sob that was being held inside your mouth for a bit.

With a last stare at your hand, you saw the mark completely white and you were scared to even think about it. You couldn’t even think about the words properly, knowing that if you even said that inside your mind, it would make it real, and you didn’t want it to be.

No.

Not possible. 

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