#there are exceptions (who i hope would recognise themselves if not i apologise) but largely i am more miserable

[luxraydyne]

pop quiz what breed of childhood trauma borne neuroticism is it called when being condescended to on just the most neutral, limpid, nothing thoughts you express like you’re a little silly child, or “out of your depth”, or woefully misinformed, or just speaking on something you shouldn’t cause fuckin hell you’re doing it *wrong*, and with the most plainly obvious remark too, makes you want to chew on your own arm until you reach bone marrow

[shouldntcryoverit]

a clone fit for a ball.

Commander Fox x Reader

I think initially I wanted to write this as a whole story, but it’s quite a lot and (because i haven’t been too active) I just sorted wanted to post something yk :) hope you enjoy! <33

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It’s a dramatised reality if you think about it. The idea of a gathering with the only intention being to appease the aching sore that is political pillow talk, is one that is so pompous it seems that those who benefit from the scheme are the ones who design it. It’s a drawn out, legislative, painfully particular game of charades disguised in lavish clothes and large hats. In almost every way, those garments are often large enough and sparkly enough to hide the deceit they cover, and persuade each mindless baboon that is gormless to fall victim to it to enter into the game themselves. It’s a repetitive cycle, and stupid though it may be; it does work.

Though there was beauty in it that you just couldn’t deny. The decorations were enough to mesmerise you entirely; lavishly hung around each bannister and archway of the senate hall. Bright colours of orange and pink were scattered across the flower arrangements that littered the walls and their accents. Whatever had been done to spritz life into the chandeliers and lighting had worked its magic, for the perfectly lit definitions gave luminosity and warmth all in one squeezing breath. It was inviting and spectacular; a collaboration of everything the senate appeared to be. Even as the floor beneath your heeled feet glistened with rich delight, the pit in your stomach still swallowed your joy.

Your hatred for all things political had always been your strength and your weakness, especially as a senator. You represented your home planet well enough to protect it’s people, but you would not stand for the same deceitful bulldozing that reduced planets and people to nothing more than pawns or money makers. It meant that you stood for nothing you disbelieved in, including ridiculously regimented senate balls.

Nevertheless, you needed a way in. Your planet had been overlooked for far too long; the cries of your people ignored. You needed a trade deal and you needed one that wouldn’t result in republic outposts and war dependancy littering your already fighting home world. A ball was a good opportunity for political match making, and it was one you couldn’t give up.

It was that reasoning that had led you as far as a blue, bejewelled dress that suffocated what waist you apparently had, and hugged each curve with malice. Even with the anger dripping from your rouged lips, you couldn’t deny it. You did look rather pretty. It was a small triumph, but one that gave you confidence enough to manage the heels that’d been handed to you. As you caught a reflection of yourself leaning heavily against the arm of a guard in a particularly shiny section of the wall, you realised just how pretty you did look. Perhaps there was something addicting in the madness of it all: perhaps there was something powerful about a low cut dress and tousled hair.

Your entrance was timely, a rushed manner donned after slightly too much time taken trying to find the dammed place. Typical of Coruscant, you muttered. Two guards in white and red nodded at your arrival, both seemingly emotionless under their plastoid helmets. It was something that’d always confused you about the clone army; all painfully identical, yet lightyears apart from each other. A brotherhood was one thing, yet could you even call it that?

The thought itself was fleeting, though one you were sure to ponder later. You passed those statues of guards within seconds and continued on your warpath to the ‘reception’. It didn’t take much for you to be recognised; the perks of being one of the only senators with detailed and beautiful facial markings. It was something you prided most. The rest was a blur, but you made it into the hall and straight into a chair that’d apparently been pulled out for you. The man to your left was a kindly looking togruta, the woman to your right your stern faced guard, who looked murderous in comparison.

“My dear, aren’t you cold?” The togruta asked with a genuine smile. The question made a small laugh sprout up your throat.

“Perhaps, though my heart is beating far too fast for it to be uncomfortable.” You replied with that charming tone in your voice you’d perfected.

Everything was an act; your shoulders perked up and back to lift your chin in power and confidence, the planned placement of your hands across the table, your silken voice as it left your silken mouth. Even the unplanned conversation would seem regimented, though the Togruta’s nature settled your mind with authentic care.

“Ah, now that I can understand.” He shuffled, uncomfortable or unsure you couldn’t tell. “I do apologise, but I cant seem to place you.”

You paused again with an unfaltering expression of tenderness.

“Oh well I know you, Governor Roshti. But I don’t blame you, I took over from Madame Liobrev shortly after she resigned from senatorial status. This is my first ball to say the least.” There was a hint of an exhale by the end of your scentence, it felt good to admit even subtly that you were out of your depth.

“Well it doesn’t show, I only hope my name hasn’t ingrained in your mind the way it has in so many’s.” The sadness that fell across his face was just as genuine as the smile that it had replaced. It made the compassionate side of you ache.

“You did what this god forsaken war made you do, I see no reason for shame to fall upon you or your people. Battle leaves us all defenceless.” The spite of your tongue was heavy; anger for the war too many fell victim to.

“Thank you, my dear.”

You smiled once again, before turning back to your guard. She was perched haughtily on her seat, weapon securely hidden but it’s presence obvious. Her attire was in contrast to yours; armour and garments all of dark colours and metal accents. She looked like a warrior, and you were momentarily envious.

“Taurin you really ought to relax. Senators aren’t that vicious. Or at least not when they’re sedated with flattery and shiny things.” You joked, desperate to take the edge of both her and yourself.

Taurin, the guard, bowed her head in humor, a distant smile forming over her pursed lips. It was one you were incredibly fond of, and one you had grown to recognise as endearment.

“M’lady, it’s not the senators I’m worried about.”

You laughed; a breathy laugh that corrupted your lungs and throat.

“What more could you possibly find challenging about a ball this compensated for. Perhaps it’s that my shoes will grow painful on my feet? Enjoy yourself!” You pressured with sweet intentions.

She turned to face you with a vindictive smile laced with sour belief. Her eyes trailed over your reeling eyes in silent conversation, seconds before they jolted off their steady trajectory just past your head. What had been childish remark soon freezed over to slight panic and question. You noticed the change almost instantly and frowned with creased eyebrows. As your head began to swivel to turn to her opponent, she screeched and forced you down.

The fall from your chair wasn’t high, but the adrenaline and shock of the direct hit made it seem endless. You hit the hard floor with a mind numbing crack, one that caused your eyes to widen before you realised it was only one of the many jewels that laced your back splintering; rather than something a critical. Nonetheless, the shot that flew past certainly was real.

The bullet soared over your head, frowning that it had missed it’s target. You couldn’t even process what had happened before Taurin fell to your level, teeth clenched in agony. You reacted as best you could with hands fumbling around her leaking wound; but she swatted you away and thrusted your head down once more. That one bullet, the one that had cursed your luck and gone for your guard in spite of it, had previously had a purpose. Your mind lingered on that fact for a second before you pushed past it. Searching eyes found Governor Roshti’s, who had copied your move and positioned himself just under the table.

You couldn’t hear much over your panting breath; nothing except the shouts and screams of senators whose useless lives felt threatened, so naturally, just like their entire life’s work, they do nothing except complain and wail. It was dark under the thick tablecloth, too dark for anything to be made clear to you. Taurin had wriggled further away and was holding her position behind your table, a gun most definitely in her hand.

Three shots. Four shots. Two. One. Silence.

Now really all you could hear was your panting breath. The blood rushing through your ears made a ringing sound, and the tingling in your veins made the fastness of your heart seem ordinary. Governor Roshti made no adjustments to his stance at the silence, but you were itching to unfold your coiled legs and poke you head up and out of the cover. Like most things you did, you did it without asking. The carnage wasn’t as bad as the screams foretold it to be, but as soon as your vision shifted you saw the agony splayed over Taurin’s face.

“Help! Medic!” Was the instantaneous shout from your lips.

One of the clone guards from earlier shot up. He wore a kama around his waist and his armour was weathered; something that told you he was rough without him having to speak a word.

“Ma’am sit back down, we don’t know where the attackers went.” He commanded.

“I can manage.”

His helmet tilted slightly in what you assumed to be annoyance. With two fingers pointing he signalled for a medic to step forward. The new clone looked significantly younger through the way he held himself and the shining of his uniform. With Taurin being led away, you finally let go of the breath you’d been holding.

“Ma’am-“

“I’d like to know who just tried to kill me.” The clone looked slightly surprised at the deadpan tone of your voice. “And who shot my closest guard.”

He grimaced from under his helmet and lifted his hand up to his visor to tap into his comm channel.

“This is Commander Fox, what’s our status?” He spoke; a velvety tone lacing the authority in his voice.

Fox. It wasn’t bad. Your mind shifted once again as his comm crackled back at him.

“Suspect... run... in pursuit... ty hunter.” Was all you could make out, but it didn’t take a genius to fill in the gaps.

“They won’t find the assailant while pampering senators.” You spoke, cringing slightly at the privilege you held yourself; here you were demanding Commander of his time, all because you have some morsel of perhaps undeserved power.

“I’m sorry” Perhaps an attempt to reconcile your blundering thoughtlessness would change the trooper’s aggravated stance. “I only meant that it would help if the senators uninvolved were to be sent home and out of your hair, it can’t be fun listening to them whine.”

His head tilted slightly in what you hoped to be a grin. “You’re not wrong, but I’m afraid I can’t keep you alone in protection. Not when we don’t actually know who was the intended target.”

“Commander, let me help. Before I was a senator I was a member of the guard. I’m afraid I can just about handle myself.” There was more than a hint of pride in your voice as you spoke.

Fox shook his head and lifted off his helmet. It would be far to say you lost your breath at the sight of his actual face. In the few seconds you spent mentally sketching his face into your brain, your mind fastened at his slightly too-long-to-be-neat mop of curly hair, and how it fell playfully over his deeply tanned forehead. His cheekbones were sharp enough to shut you up (which was, as he’d come to discover, wasn’t actually that easy) let alone the bite of his jaw.

But it was his eyes that made you most intriguing; deep and wise auburn eyes set perfectly amongst weathered skin. They watched you for a moment before the eyebrows above them lifted slightly in confusion.

You hadn’t meant to stare. Or maybe you had, it was unimportant.

“Fine, I’ll take you back to the office while the boys take the others to a safe space.” He wasn’t smiling, but he didn’t seem as begrudging anymore; a small victory.

“Thank you, although I may need a change in shoes.”

At this he did grin; and it was marvellous.

[sweet-barnes]

Those Heels - b.b

Pairing: Bucky x tall!Reader (modern au)

Summary: You found your family in university and they had never left your side, and even after all these years the ‘surprise’ birthday parties are still going strong. Bucky finally decided it’s the right night to go after the girl.

A/N: i’m really bad with summaries, i apologise for whatever that is lmao thank you to @invisibleanonymousmonsters and @writingsoftheloser for helping out with ideas/concepts when writing a tall!reader, i appreciate it💕

You were grateful for your friends, there was no denying that. They were such a big part of your life since the day you had met, you knew you would be a completely different person altogether without them.

It had all started at university, in the student accommodation where you were all put on the same floor by some miracle. You met Natasha first, you had walked into your assigned room and she was already laying out paint samples ready for decorating. You knew from then on you were going to be in trouble with her. It wasn't long before she was introducing you to the rest of her group, and there was a lot of them.

The girls were in the rooms that surrounded you, so you naturally met them first. Wanda, Nakia, Peggy and Okoye were the sweetest bunch you had ever met and you instantly felt part of their little family. 

Next were the boys, all which you met at the party that was thrown at Tony's house. Natasha had explained to you on the way that he was the ‘rich one’ so he refused to stay in student digs. Instead residing in his dad’s mansion near the university and one of his many expensive cars in every day. 

Once you arrived at his place, you were blown away. You had only seen houses like these in passing, never did you think you would be invited to a party in one. The huge windows indented in the pristine white walls showed off the colourful lights inside and the masses of people who were already in there.  

The music could be heard thrumming from outside and as you all piled out of the car, you were pulled towards the entrance by Wanda.

Inside is where you met the rest of your family, unbeknownst to them. From Steve Rogers to Peter Quill, T'Challa to Tony Stark. There were so many people, you didn't think you could keep track of them all, but now you knew them like the back of your hand.

The one person who definitely stuck in your mind was the one brooding in the corner. His fluffy dark hair and his piercing blue eyes took your breath away as soon as you were introduced to him. 

Bucky Barnes had your heart from the moment you set eyes on him, but that dream was soon shattered by the small blonde that sidled up to him, wrapping an arm around his waist and placing her head against his arm. 

You knew from then on you never stood a chance with him, and the countless other girls he introduced to the group just clarified that. You gave up on that dream quickly, promising yourself you wouldn't get too close to him for your heart to break.

Very soon after that, you may have let your secret crush on him slip to the girls. Of course they freaked out but you soon shot them down, not wanting them to get your own hopes up for something that wasn't going to happen. The way you said "he only likes small girls" gave away to them how you really felt and they tried their hardest to make you see it from their view, but it was no use. 

They were all so petite, yet so strong and powerful in the way they held themselves. They would never understand how you felt within yourself.  It wasn't that you didn't think you were strong and powerful, you knew as a woman you had your place in this world to do your bit for the better. You just weren't petite like them. You were at least a head taller and you felt like you didn't belong.

Despite the sharing your insecurities one drunken night at fresher’s, the girls never let go of you. Your friendship with them, even though it was only 5 days old at the time, was too precious for them to lose. That still stood 11 years later.

--

You placed the jumpsuit in front of your body, looking it up and down in the mirror before throwing it back down on the bed. "Are you excited?" Natasha asked as she walked into the room, a black body con dress hugging her body. You let out a groan, plopping back onto your bed. "Am I ever excited for one of Tony's parties?"

Tony was still rich, of course he was, he was a genius. His habit of having parties at every possible opportunity had never wavered, and birthday's were no exception to that rule. A 'surprise' birthday party was thrown every year for everyone within the group, even though all of you knew it was coming, it was like clockwork.

Everyone else loved it, you on the other hand, would rather be curled up on the sofa with a tub of Ben and Jerry's watching Netflix. You couldn't exactly avoid this one, it was your birthday and this party was especially for you.

The girls had taken you shopping earlier that day, which had already set your anxiety off. You hated clothes shopping and even though they tried their hardest to get you to buy a nice dress for the evening, you still arrived home with a jumpsuit, a classic look for you. There was no way you were going to a party that you were already uncomfortable with and making that worse with a dress.

"I'm sure you'll enjoy it once you get there," Natasha sat next to you and that's when you noticed the gift bag in her hand. "Nat, I told you I didn't want anything," you gave her a look before flitting your eyes down to the sparkly bag, curious to see what was inside. 

"I know but I couldn't not get my best friend something for her birthday, and it's a bit of a risky present if I'm honest but I would really appreciate it if you maybe wore them tonight?" Your mind was all over the place trying to think of what it could possibly be. Natasha pushed the bag towards you and you didn't waste any time in pulling out the tissue paper to reveal what was inside.

You lifted the shoes out, or should you say heels, and turned them slightly to inspect them. "Do you like them?" Natasha whispered next to you, leaning in slightly. They were black, thick straps along the top and around the ankle, with a small chunky heel and a slight platform.

They were pretty, you couldn't deny it, and they were just your style. "Yes," you breathed out. Without thinking, you shooed Natasha out, telling her you would be two minutes before changing into your outfit and putting on the shoes.

You stared at your figure in the mirror, the jumpsuit hugging in at your waist and stopping just above your ankles, showing off the straps on the heels perfectly. There was a slight plunge neckline, showing off your chest just enough that you didn't feel completely ridiculous. 

"Oh my god," that was when you heard the murmuring from the doorway and you turned to see all your girls stood there, mouths dropping at the sight of you.

"You look gorgeous!" Wanda squealed, making everyone laugh. Every one joined in with the compliments and you felt the heat rising to your cheeks at all the attention you were getting. 

"Don't we have a party to get to?" You questioned, attempting to stop the onslaught of comments. It worked in your favour and soon, you were all piling into a taxi, making your way to another of Tony's mansions.

You felt the base through the floor as you stepped in through the double doors. You looked around at the familiar faces, shooting back a thank you every time someone greeted you with a 'happy birthday.' Most of these people were just acquaintances, people your group had met along the way and had been nice enough to be invited to one of the parties. 

To be honest, Tony just liked having a lot of people at his parties. 

You all weaved your way through the crowds of people, picking up your drinks in the kitchen and making your into one of the large back rooms. Every one you knew and loved was in there and as soon as they saw you, a chorus of happy birthday's was shouted in your direction.

You couldn't help the giggle that erupted from you as you went in to give everyone a hug, all their grips strong on you as they pulled you into them. "You're getting old now," Sam joked, grabbing you around the waist and pulling you into his side. You gasped, "hey, that's rude," you gave him a light slap on his chest before laughing along with him.

You looked around at the small circle your friends had formed, consisting of Natasha, Nakia, Steve, Sam and Bucky. Your eyes scanned them all, taking in the joyous looks on their faces before your eyes landed on Bucky. 

Your heart leapt as you locked eyes with him, a smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth as he looked you up and down.

A wave of self-consciousness fell over you and you felt yourself retreating slightly into Sam's side. You sent Bucky a quick smile before looking back at Steve to try and concentrate on the story he was telling.

And the night went on like that. Flitting between different groups of your friends, trying not to feel out of place. 

You had noticed a few glances from people as you were taking photos, especially with the girls. It was now just natural for you to bend your knees slightly when taking selfies with them, you had been doing it since you had first met but clearly other people weren't used to it. You tried to ignore them the best you could but with the more alcohol you consumed, the more irritating it became.

You were at the bar again, ordering another drink when you felt the presence of someone beside you. Their musky vanilla smell hit you, and you recognised it instantly. 

"You look really good tonight, Y/N." His voice was husky and you could tell he'd been drinking. You looked to your side, taking in his sculpted face next to you. "Do you not have some small blonde with you tonight?" You attempted to joke but you truly meant it. Bucky chuckled, "not this time, got my eye on someone else."

You rolled your eyes, taking the drink that had just been placed in front of you, not saying anything else.

"I noticed you were wearing heels, that's a-" Bucky was cut of by a sharp "hey." You both turned to see Nakia stood behind you, a stern look directed straight at Bucky. She was the wrong person to mess with and clearly Bucky had pissed her off. 

"You do not say anything about her heels, do you understand Barnes?" She pointed a finger at him, nudging him slightly and the bewildered look on his face nearly made you laugh. "What? I wasn't going to say anything-" She cut him off again. "I heard you, James," you took the opportunity to sneak away, hearing their voices fading as Bucky was trying to defend himself against her.

If there was anyone that would stick up for you, Nakia was the best for it, everyone listened to her and they didn’t dare try to disagree. You slipped out onto the balcony, grateful for the cool evening air against your hot skin. You took another sip of your drink and the alcohol burned slightly as it went down.

Of course it was Bucky who would point out the heels. He just couldn't help himself. For someone who was so good with the ladies, he definitely didn't know how to talk to one. Or talk to you at least.

The door behind you slid open, letting out the loud music before muting it again as it closed. "Y/N?" Bucky's voice was soft and you turned to meet his nervous stance. "Look, I'm really sorry about what I said back there, Nakia explained it and I really didn't mean it to come across any type of way," his was wringing his hands together as he looked at you. 

You let out a sigh, "it's okay, Buck, I know you didn't mean any harm." His womaniser demeanor was gone as he moved to stand next to you. A moment passed before he spoke again, "I was going to say you look really hot actually," chuckling at himself. 

Your heart stopped, questioning whether he really just said that. "And I'm not just saying that to sleep with you, I know you think I'm like that sometimes but I wouldn't do that to you."

You eventually found your voice, looking into Bucky's hopeful eyes as he tried to read your thoughts. "I'm not like any other girl you've ever been with Bucky, why now?" There was a shift in the way he looked at you before he looked down. 

"Since the first day I met you at Tony's party, 11 years ago, I knew I felt something for you. I was just a dick and I slept around too much and I knew you didn't like it, I could tell by the way you looked at each new girl whenever I showed up with one. Then you became more and more distant, I knew it would be harder to get to you and make you see how I felt so I thought it was better to leave it," he paused, taking a deep breath. Your mind was all over the place, not knowing what to say or do, but Bucky carried on anyway.

"But I've stopped that now, I've been single for about a year and I was hoping you'd see that and see I'm not the guy that you thought I was but I guess that was a stupid plan." You laughed a little at this and Bucky joined in. "I was going to ask if you'd like to dance with me?" 

Your mouth was already agreeing to it before you could fully process what was happening. Bucky took your hand in his, leading you back inside and into the cleared area that had become the dancefloor. A slow song had started playing and couples were paired together around you. 

As you walked into the centre with Bucky, you felt eyes from all over the room looking at you. Your gaze landed on Natasha's over the shoulder of Bruce, she sent you a wink before a big smile broke out onto her face. She knew your feelings for Bucky never truly faded and she couldn't help the happiness she felt at seeing you two finally together now.

Bucky turned to face you, his arms snaking around your waist, pulling you close to him while your arms went over his shoulders. "Is this alright?" He whispered, his blue eyes sparkling even in the low light, as you looked across at him. You simply hummed in response, nodding slightly. 

No one said anything. Your skin was on fire from where his arms were touching you, even through your clothes and a feeling of serenity washed over you. It was like everyone else in the room melted away and it was just you and Bucky dancing alone. No more eyes prying into your business or making you feel small.

"This is nice," you said softly, Bucky placed his forehead on yours, closing the distance even further. You felt yourself becoming flustered and moved your head to rest on his shoulder instead. He moved your body so it was flush against his. "I could do this forever," he murmured into your hair. "How have I been missing out this long?" 

You were sure he was talking to himself at this point but you couldn't help yourself, "well... if you hadn't screwed all those other girls-" 

You were cut off by his hands moving to tickle your waist, his laugh mixing with yours as you tried to get away. "No, you're not going anywhere," he tried to grab you again but you were too quick. 

"Just watch me, Barnes!" You shouted, slipping away into the crowd. Bucky shook his head at you, pausing for a second to watch your figure disappear. 

“Why did I wait so long?” He whispered to himself, before running into the crowd after you.

[mummybear]

Strangers In The Night - Part 4 - Bloodied Winchester Trap

Part 1   Part 2   Part 3

Words: 4209 

Warnings: Demon possession, Main Character Seriously Injured, Mentions Of Blood, Hurt/Comfort, Swearing. Think that’s it!

Characters:  (OMC) Sebastian, (OFC) Veronica, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester.

Pairing:  Dean Winchester x (OFC) Veronica

With Sam and Dean

Sam had gone ahead, just a little in front with Dean tucked tightly behind him. Suddenly Sam’s arm lashed out at Dean, pushing him back into the wall. Sam winced a little at the thud his brother’s back made on connection. Silently apologising to his brother he signalled that there were a group of demons up ahead. Deciding it might be better to separate them slightly before attempting to fight them, the brothers begin to search for a way inside the building. 

Turning back the way they came, Sam spots a window, it’s small and tucked away, almost half buried under the grass. Or so it would appear, but when Dean stomps down hard on the grass the turf falls through. Sam catches Dean and pulls him back before he falls down the hole.

The window is much bigger by the look of it now, but it’s still completely useless, no way are either of them fitting inside it without getting stuck. At least not without smashing the window first, Dean looks back at Sam and shakes his head. Quietly signalling they should go find another way in, since this would almost definitely alert the demons that they were here. Which, of course, would put Veronica in even more danger than she was in already. There was no fucking way was Dean having that. Sam nods in agreement and follows behind Dean, both of them keeping their guns as low as possible, they continue to walk back the way they had come originally. 

Considering the size of the Winchester brothers, they move with such precision and grace, so much so that would put a lot of people to shame. Continuing to keep themselves as low as possible they sneak in a side door, which maybe they should be more concerned about, since it’s not guarded. The empty space is eerily quiet as they step inside, which is nothing strange to Sam and Dean. 

But then there’s that voice, nagging in the back of Dean’s mind, telling him there should be more noise, more demons even, especially when they have a prisoner and possible a trap designed for Sam and Dean to fall into. 

Sam spots some stairs that lead to a lower floor, as he points, Dean follows, remaining as quiet as possible. “I don’t like this Dean, something isn’t right” Sam confesses, keeping his voice low as they descend the stairs in sync with one another.

Dean doesn’t get time to answer, because they’re interrupted by a noise that sounds like it’s coming from just down the hall. Signalling for Sam to watch his back, Dean slips past his brother in search of whatever had made the noise. When he steps closer to the noise and further from Sam the hairs on his arms stand on end, his step falters for a minute, before he decides it will be safer to stop for a minute. He spots it then, there’s a door on his left, heavy duty, possibly somewhere they could be keeping V. 

Pulling the angel blade from the inside of his jacket, he quickly glanced over at Sam and jerked his head. Sam pulled out the demon knife and made his way over quickly, each brother stood either side of the door. The pair winced as Dean pulled back the bolt on the door to the side, the loud grinding almost screeching noise tore through the hallway. Sam quickly grabbed the handle of the door carefully, signalling for Dean to guard the door, Sam silently mouthed, One. Two. Three. 

The door finally shifted with a slight shove of one of Sam’s broad shoulders, the bottom of the door catching on the stone floor as it moved, making an awful noise that set the younger Winchester’s teeth on edge. Sam stands by the door as Dean steps inside the pitch black room, even with the door open there’s still hardly any light inside, typically there wasn’t a light switch. At least not that he could find.  

A small whimper came from the other side of the room and Dean’s eyes flashed towards the noise. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness he spotted a shining silvery glint. Dean couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong, taking a chance he took a very slow hesitant step closer. Then he takes another step and he’s sure of it. There’s someone hanging on the wall, wrists hanging from the ceiling, the silver chain becomes more visible the closer he gets. “V? Veronica, is that you?” he whispers hopefully, reaching out a hand, he steps a little closer hoping to hell he’s right. 

Back With Veronica

Veronica could barely breathe, in fact she’s almost certain that she’s currently hallucinating, there’s some kind of blurry shape right in front of her. The lack of oxygen is close to winning the battle of consciousness. There’s a voice, at least she thinks it’s a voice. It could just be a noise, the blood rushing in her ears is so loud that she’s not sure of anything right now. 

The one thing she is sure of is when a pair of arms wrap around her waist, is that she can feel how strong they are. She can feel it when she slumps forward, over what she assumes is a shoulder. The air that rushes into her lungs is immediate and she gasps at it desperately, she feels long hair brush across her cheek, as a large hand cups the other. Her vision begins to clear, she can feel tears in her eyes, “D-Dean?” she croaks out, just barely able to see his face. 

“Hey sweetheart, you didn’t think we were gonna leave ya?” he asks softly, pressing a kiss to her forehead as Sam shifts her to a more comfortable position on his shoulder. 

She smiles a watery smile, as Sam hands her to Dean, her head drops against his chest. “We should go” Sam says eyes going wide when he looks away from Dean. As carefully as he can he pushes Dean and Veronica away from the incoming demon and his knife.

“Winchester’s” it snarls venomously as it flicks on a light. Moving aside as Veronica’s brothers’ meat suit walks in followed by three more demons. 

“Now, now Samuel. Put that nasty little knife down. Before i get really angry” the demon wearing Veronica’s brother warns as he steps further into the room. Veronica couldn’t help but shiver at the sight of him and the sound of his voice. She really didn’t want to be scared of him, but here she was burying her face further into Dean and shivering against him. Dean didn’t seem to mind, in fact, the closer the demon stepped to all of them the tighter he his grip on her became. 

“Make me, you black eyed fuck” Sam dared him, as a twisted smile curled his lips, stepping protectively in front of Veronica and Dean, poised to attack as soon as he needed to. The demon wearing her brother holds up his arm, effectively stopping the other demons advancing further into the room, shooting them a warning glare before turning back to Sam. 

Seeing that his smile is much worse than Sam’s, Veronica has to look away, quickly recognising it as the same way he’d looked at her earlier when he’d threatened her earlier. “Now Sam, don’t be an idiot, be reasonable here. You really think you can win? We both know that I could make you drop it, very easily. But, can’t you just make it less painful for everyone involved” he speaks menacingly, yet his voice is steady. The second the final words leave his lips Veronica lets out a blood curdling scream holding her head in her hands. 

Dean notices the way the way the demons body falters slightly at the sound of her screams, but he isn’t risking everything on V’s brother managing to break free. “Sammy drop it!” he shouts as the blood starts leaking from the young woman’s ears. Sam does as his brother says immediately turning to face the pair of them. The screaming stops the second the knife hits the floor. “You son of a fucking bitch” Dean growls levelling his glare at the demon, who simply shrugs with a smile that’s sickly sweet. 

Veronica lets out pained whimpering sounds as her breath comes out in pants, clutched tightly in Dean’s arms, clinging to his jacket as the pain begins to ebb away a little. “Now really Deano, name calling? I mean really?” the demon snorts with laughter. “A little pathetic, even for you” Though the demons expression quickly changes, when his eyes go black and flash to Sam when he hears Sam starting the exorcism under his breath. “Get out!” the demon riding Sebastian growls to the other demons, before turning his attention back to the younger Winchester.

The demon winces as the exorcism begins to burn him from the inside out, with a flick of the demons wrist Sam’s voice is cut off by the violent coughing, that seems to be coming from his lungs as he’s launched against the wall. 

The thud of Sam’s back against the wall is harsh and makes Veronica and Dean wince. Dean carefully lowers Veronica onto her feet, continuing the exorcism from where his brother had left off. The demons black eyes find Dean all too soon, another flick of the demons wrist has the elder Winchester flung against the wall beside his brother. Their jaws tight as they fight to utter a word under the demons grip. “Let them go! Please. You can have me, just leave them alone!” Veronica rasps as loud as she can, her voice is still hoarse and it hurts like hell to shout, but she knows that she has to say or do something.

Her brothers eyes flash to hers, except there is nothing there in that moment that reminds her of the amazing man that had protected her that awful night. Nothing of the guy she could tell anything too no matter what, nor the brother who would comfort her on nights when she was little and the thunderstorms would scare her. No, it wasn’t him, he was being buried by the black eyes and hard glare as he stalked towards her. She didn’t move, she was unsure if it was because she was terrified, or if she just hoped if he were coming for her the guys would be safe for just a little longer. Veronica could see Dean’s eyes dart between the demon and her as she backed up against the wall.

Hands clasped behind her back Veronica bumped into Sam’s arm, Sam craned his head the best he could, to look down at her. His eyes flicked back and forth between her and what she thought was his jacket pocket. The demon stopped in his tracks, his curious eyes watched her as she stepped closer to Sam. The demon seemed stunned for a moment, looking between Sam and Veronica and Dean.

“So what? Is it both of them you’re fucking?” the demon snorted and Dean growled low in his throat, tugging harder against the restraints as Veronica’s back pressed against Sam’s chest. “Oh? Does big brother not know?” he asks with a belly laugh, that sound similar to her brothers which almost catches her off guard.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’m not fucking anyone” Veronica swallows her nerves, technically not a lie, widening her eyes at Dean as discreetly as possible as her fingers manage to slip inside Sam’s jacket.

She isn’t sure if he catches on until he speaks, “What the fuck is this Sam? Is this son of bitch right?” Dean practically spits, venom lacing his words so much that Veronica wonders if he’s acting or not.

Veronica can feel how hard Sam’s heart is beating against her back, she thinks even he isn’t sure if his brother believes what they are saying. “Dean, are you serious? You think I’d ever do that to you? I know how much she means to you!” Sam asks a slight shake in his voice as he turns to look at his brother.

“I dunno what you’re talking about!” Dean mutters under his breath, just loud enough for everyone to hear. Turning away from Sam he concentrates on the demon again. “Is there a point to this!?” Dean angrily questions the demon before them, straining against his invisible restraints. 

The demon shrugs Sebastian’s shoulder, grin spreading across his lips as he walks closer to Dean. “Honestly Dean, I just love watching you squirm, you Winchester’s are so cocky. You in particular, you think you’re fucking untouchable. So fucking full of yourselves, it makes me sick!” the fuming demon roars, slamming his fists either side of Dean’s head. The demons breath his fanning across Dean’s face and his stomach rolls, sick lurching at the back of his throat.

“Back up a bit man, you fucking stink. Dude you need some fucking gum or something” he makes a fake retching noise and the demon growls before him. 

Taking Dean’s face in his hand his grip is harsh and Dean has to hold back not to wince from it. “Such a smart mouth” the demons sneers, looking over at Veronica who hasn’t taken her eyes off of them.

“You think I should just kill him now sister? So you can watch him bleed to death, although you do remember what order I set out earlier right?” he asks her sounding calm as he releases Dean and moves to step toward her and Sam.  

Suddenly the body of Veronica’s brother falls to his knees at Dean’s feet, Blinking rapidly he looks up at Dean, not able to bare looking at his sister right then. “H-Help me Dean, please” the voice whimpers, it’s just slightly different from the previous voice, it’s so familiar and heartbreaking, so much so that Veronica has to hold herself back from running to him. But she’s still trying to work this object out of Sam’s pocket, when her fingers finally wrap around the flask. 

Quickly taking the flask out she undoes the cap, keeping the bottle hidden behind her back as she watches who she assumes is her brother beg Dean. Veronica can’t move though, it’s almost like her feet are anchored to the floor, she can only think that she’s terrified that it’s not him and what if she’s wrong. “Seb?” Veronica whispers brokenly, when his eyes quickly move to her he’s smiling, just barely a smile but it’s there. The smile is tight and pained but she’s almost certain it’s him, “Sam do it,” she says, turning to the younger Winchester with pleading eyes.

Sam nods starting the exorcism from the beginning, a scream rips from Sebastian as he drops forward onto his hands and knees. Right as the Winchester’s are released from their holds and drop awkwardly onto their feet. “Hurry! Please. I can’t hold him!” Sebastian begs the Winchesters.

Dean joins Sam in repeating the exorcism, the words barely register with Veronica as she walks to her brother. Falling to her knees in front of him, “You can do this brother. Just hold on, please” she rests her forehead against his, feeling the sweat began to bead along his skin. 

His eyes meet hers and there are tears rolling down his cheeks, “I’m so sorry V. That wasn’t me, I wouldn’t ever say-” before he can finish his sentence, a furious growl is ripped from his throat and Veronica jumps back, watching in horror as her brothers eyes are overtaken by the void blackness again. 

“NO!” she screams, flicking her wrist with the flask she’d gotten from Sam. The holy water scatters across his skin and he lets out a pained scream. 

“Fucking bitch!” The demon spits, scrambling to get to his feet, but Dean steps in front of him. Shoving him back hard, forearm pressed across his throat as he and Sam continue to attempt to get rid of the demon. 

“Do it again” Dean grunts at Veronica, nodding to the bottle in her hand as Sam continues with the words, helping his brother hold the demon to the wall. She does as she’s told and the demon lets out a final blood curdling scream that makes her stumble back. 

Veronica doesn’t even realise that Sam’s said the final words, she’s just curled in a ball in the corner sobbing and shivering. So when a hand touches her knee, she flinches and kicks back at the person standing there, trying her hardest to sink back into the wall. Convinced that the demon had gotten free, she’s completely overtaken by fear. Neither Winchester’s voice can reach her, all she can hear is thundering of the blood in her ears. A pair of arms wrap around her and Veronica goes stiff as a board. Terrified and completely paralysed, Veronica doesn’t even resist when she’s pulled close to a solid chest, practically into someone's lap.

Her breathing begins to even out and she realises someone is singing, as soon as she recognises the song, she knows it can’t be anyone else. He hasn’t sung it to her since the last time they saw each other, when they were little. Sitting out on the rock by the lake, their favourite spot, that was just theirs. Every time that they had a chance to be alone, she would beg him to sing it to her as she cuddled against his chest, she loved his voice, even if he never understood why. 

Oh thinkin' about all our younger years

There was only you and me

We were young and wild and free

Now nothin' can take you away from me

We've been down that road before

But that's over now

You keep me comin' back for more

Baby, you're all that I want

When you're lyin' here in my arms

I'm findin' it hard to believe

We're in heaven

Veronica’s breathing has started to even out and when her eyes open she finds Dean’s gorgeous emerald green eyes searching hers. “You okay?” he whispers as he helps her to her feet, holding her close to his chest. 

“Our song. You remembered?” Veronica murmurs looking up at him, Dean smiles as he lets her go now happy she can stand by herself. 

“Of course I did sweetheart” he chuckles slightly, but they’re interrupted by Sam walking towards them, with Sebastian’s arm thrown over his shoulder. 

“Wait?! You did it! Is he okay?” Veronica stutters out feeling a little bad that she had gotten so worked up. Wiping the tears from her cheeks she helps Sam keep her brother upright.

“For now, he’s fine but we need to go. Now” Sam whispers as someone knocks at the door.

“Sir, is everything alright in there?” Comes a voice, which they all know isn’t good. Dean pulls the angel blade from his back pocket, and Sam helps Veronica lower her brother to the floor. 

Veronica is silently told to stay with her brother as Sam pulls out the demon blade. “I can help” she hisses at Sam as he turns away from them, she knows that him ignoring her is probably his answer. Picking up Sebastian’s face in her hands, she does her best to urge him awake. “Big brother, i need you to wake up please. We could really use your help”

Veronica looks on feeling a little helpless as the heavy door swings open, revealing at least six demons, that’s just the ones that she’s able to see from her position. Sam and Dean glance at each other as one demon takes a step into the room, Veronica can’t be sure but she thinks that he actually looks nervous. 

Witnessing everything that is the Winchester’s for the first time is probably terrifying even for demons. They stand there tall and menacing, muscles stiff and tense and poised for attack if any of those demons make the slightest movement. 

There’s a painful worry churning in Veronica’s stomach, she feels physically sick from it. Between the amount of demons that Sam and Dean will have to handle, just the two of them, paired with the fact that her brother is still completely unresponsive, has her almost losing her mind. Trying to ignore the fighting that has broken out behind them, Veronica decides to just focus on Sebastian, after all she can’t do anything right now to help Sam and Dean. Sebastian’s head is slumped in the corner of the wall as she sits in front of him. Cupping his cheek in her small hand and resting the other hand over his heart, she’s relieved to find that his heart is still beating, although his chest is still rising and falling a little faster than it should be. 

When the lights go out Veronica doesn’t flinch, she keeps her focus on her brother doing her best to block out the noise from behind her. “Hey ass hat, I need you to wake up, please. You’re the only family I’ve got left, not to sound cliche but we’ve already lost each other once” Veronica has to pause to blink back her tears before she continues. “I don’t think that I've got it in me to do that again, Seb. Not with you” as Veronica says the last words, the lump in her throat returns. She’s doing all she can to fight back to panic, but the longer he’s unconscious the harder it gets. 

However, her thoughts are interrupted when she realises that the room behind her has gone deathly silent and it’s dark again. Veronica carefully turns on the spot where she’s crouched, the scary thing is that nobody is there, at least nobody alive and standing. Shuffling back closer to Sebastian’s unconscious body she shivers, like a bucket of ice water had been dumped down her back.

She’s terrified in that moment, Sam and Dean wouldn’t have just left them would they? There are demons bodies littering the floor, but she spots a shining in the middle of the room. Shifting on the spot she’s almost certain it’s the weapon that Dean had been wielding a few moments before. Suddenly she sees something move, it’s right in the center of the demons. The movement is followed by a grunt that she’s sure that she recognises. But it can’t be right?

With a quick glance back at Sebastian her mind is made up, she needs to protect him. There’s a small knife that’s tucked into the pocket of Sebastian’s coat, Veronica takes it in her hand and swallows hard as she stands on shaking legs. Veronica is trying to remember her father’s training as she carefully skirts around the mass of dead bodies. Once she’s close enough she grabs Dean’s blade, carefully and slowly pulls it from the body it’s lodged in. Tucking her brothers knife back in her pocket she moves again, keeping the blade raised as she walks over to where the movement has picked back up again. 

“Don’t fucking move” she spits angrily, blade pressed close to the shifting person’s back, trying to control the shake in her hand. 

“V? It’s me” a male voice mutters into the ground, she doesn’t recognise the voice, it’s too muffled by the ground. Biting her lip nervously she shakes away the fear the best she can and grabs a shoulder, pulling the blade back as she rolls him onto his front. A gasp leaves her lips as Dean looks up at her with a pained smile.

“Hey sweetheart” he grunts, hands clamped hard against his stomach. The blood that’s seeping into his shirt quickly becomes obvious when he shifts and his jacket moves back. 

The tears she’s been holding fall instantly at the sight of the blood, she quickly pulled her jacket off and rips her t-shirt over her head. She moves quickly, dropping to her knees beside him, pulling Dean’s hands away and presses her shirt to the wound, shaking away the sobs as she tries to gather her words. “Where’s Sammy?” Dean grunts suddenly trying to sit up, when he notices the absence of his brother.

“Stay there! You can’t move Dean” she panics pushing him back onto the ground, she removes the knife from the jacket before wadding up the material and making a makeshift pillow to push  under his head.

“I gotta find him! He wouldn’t of left us, something happened to him” Dean grits out through his teeth as he tries and fails to sit up.

Veronica nods wiping her face clean of tears the best she can, placing the knife beside Dean just in case, “I won’t let anything happen to him Dean, you can trust me. You’re in no condition to even move right now” Veronica tells him gently, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. “Just stay here, try and stay hidden and keep the pressure” she instructs him as she goes to stand he grabs her wrist.

“Be careful sweetheart, please” Dean begs her, the look in those perfect green eyes almost breaks her heart in two. 

“I’ll be right back” she smiles the best she can, although she’s completely shitting herself she knows there’s no other choice.

Tags: @lusyschwa​ @chewie-redbird​ @julzdec​ @lettersofwrittencollective​ @stiles-o-dylan24​ @mogaruke​ @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @dylanholyhellobrien​ @desiree-0816​ @emichelle​ @lilulo-12​ @22sarah08​ @deanwanddamons​ @simsadventures​ @flamencodiva​ @hobby27​ @akshi8278​ @littlelonewolfgirl @ladywinchester1967​ @fandom-princess-forevermore​

[nev3rfound]

bringing you together : b.b

brief summary: being in military therapy sessions due to injuries from war and suffering with ptsd you become friends with sam. whilst there, he meets your therapy dog and learns more about you. the more he gets to know you, the more he thinks how well you’d get on with bucky.

word count: 2.3k requested: yes, by @tearsforhan girl i love this idea so much (changed a few details, but I hope you like the outcome) warnings: mention of ptsd, war, violence (but it is fluffy I promise)

(everything on my blog is my own writing. if it is shared on another page or website know it isn’t me. all rights reserved. - thank you to everyone who helped regarding the wattpad situation, you’re all amazing)

* masterlistin’

* commissions

** permanent taglist **

Walking into the building, you keep Wilfred by your side. He walks when you walk, stops when you do and comforts you when you need it most. You never had a dog like Wilfred in your life, but that being said, you never needed one like him until now. 

“Morning, Y/n,” The receptionist, Marcus smiles and you smile back, pausing as he stands up and walks over holding the same glass jar he always approaches Wilfred will. “and Wilf, of course.” He chuckles, watching as Wilfred sits and accepts the treat. 

“Is everyone in yet?” You question as you look down the long corridor, wandering how many have wandered in already, had a chance to talk and explain why they’re here. 

Marcus shakes his head. “Not everyone, a few regulars have gone away for a few days on a retreat.” He explains and you raise an eyebrow. “Yeah, something to do with helping themselves by being away from everything.” 

You let out a soft sigh. “I wish.” You mumble before heading down the corridor, Wilfred by your side as you tense up. A small lick crosses the back of your hand, and you smile down to your golden retriever. You tickle his head with a soft smile. “Good boy.” 

Pushing open the double doors, Wilfred speeds up to avoid his fluffy tail catching. You look around at the large room dotted with chairs. Most are neatly arranged in a circle, but recently they’ve been trying to make it more social and less confrontational. 

Immediately, you find him sat down staring at a jigsaw puzzle. His brows are furrowed together, and his head is resting in his hand. “You seriously struggling with a 200 piece jigsaw?” You chuckle, taking the seat opposite him.

Slowly, Sam lifts his head up and flashes you a smile. “It’s complex.” He mumbles, trying to hide his irritation at the Lady & The Tramp puzzle. “All I’m trying to find is Lady’s eyes, and I swear they aren’t here.” He sighs deeply and watches you scan the area. 

You reach out, placing the piece into place and raise an eyebrow to Sam. “And here I thought your speciality was being observant.” You joke and Sam fake laughs.

“Funny, Y/l/n.” He comments before abandoning the puzzle and rises to his feet. “How was yesterday?” 

Biting on your tongue, you try to hold back the need to cry. You came here for help, not to be thrown backwards. In the time Sam has known you, become your friend he knew it all. Both of you lived through similar experiences, you had lost, been defeated and thrown to the ground with nothing to come back from. 

When you came home, you were plagued with nightmares which lead to insomnia. The person you became wasn’t who you were, instead, she was someone you were deeply afraid of knowing and forced yourself to hideaway. 

Then you met Sam at your second session. He was kind, and he could recognise the resistance in you. How you were holding your arms around your body, wearing baggy clothing to hideaway. It was obvious signs, that, and the way you flinched at the slightest of sounds. 

Zoning back in, Sam patiently waits. It was something he realised he had to do with you, have a level of patience to wait for you to return to the room from your thoughts. “It went okay.” You truthfully admit. “Could’ve been worse, but they say Wilfred is making it easier.” You lower your head, smiling down to your dog who wags his tail. 

“I can definitely tell he helps,” Sam speaks up, seeing the dog sit by your side, leaning against your leg. “you seem calmer.” 

“I don’t feel it.” You laugh lightly, cracking a smile to your friend as you hear the doors opening and the presence in the room changing. 

“Showtime.” Sam mutters and you follow him, taking a seat in the circle as Tom takes the seat in the front, holding the same book before he clears his throat.

You often zone out from Tom when he talks about his feelings, why everyone is here together for today's session. You all have similar stories. All military serviceman with hardships and suffering from mental health issues post service. 

Sometimes you listen to the odd story, those who suffer from phantom limb pain, PTSD like yourself or severe anxiety. Everyone can relate, and many often input their suggestions such as medication, smoking, alcohol or exercise. As someone who tried all of these, you wish you could speak up and advise none of them. 

The session carries on as it always does. As it comes to an end, you’re often met with sunken faces offering coffee or biscuits. At this point, you and Sam both decline the offer of terrible coffee and wander down the road to a small cafe. 

“You didn’t feel like sharing today?” Sam questions as he sips his drink across from you, watching as your fingertip swirls around the latte glass. 

Lifting your eyes up, you shake your head. “Nothing to share.” You mutter and hear Sam sigh. “What? Like I’m going to tell them all about visiting my old base yesterday. That wouldn’t help.” You comment before picking the glass up and sipping at the foam. 

Sam leans forward. “Do you talk to anyone else about anything?” He questions and you raise an eyebrow to him. “Any other friends?” 

Slowly, you shake your head. “All my friends are gone.” You painfully remind yourself. “Just me and Wilfred now.” You glance down at your dog who lies by your feet, fast asleep. “Not much I can do to change that, and as I’m told, I am one of the lucky ones.” Even if you don’t feel it. 

The two of you sit in silence, listening to the faint tune play on the radio as you hear the coffee machine whirring. Here, you felt comfortable as you knew all the sounds. There wasn’t anything to surprise or trigger you in any way, it all was known and knowing brought comfort and ensured safety at all times. 

*

Another day had passed by, and you were back in the bleak building. It didn’t do anything to help itself or look anyway appealing to someone new. To you, it was part of your newly adapted routine. Go to therapy, cry after therapy with Wilfred and try and avoid another panic attack. 

It wasn’t the best routine, but it was all you could do for now.

Except, when you pushed the doors open with Wilfred by your side, you noticed your seat opposite Sam was occupied. 

Wandering over, you smiled to yourself as Wilfred paused. “Well if this is what being replaced feels like, I can’t say I’m a fan.” You speak up, and Sam lifts his head up and smiles to you.

The person in your seat rises to his feet, long dark brown hair covers his neck before he turns to face you. Bright blue eyes lock with yours as he clears his throat. “Sorry, I’m Bucky.” He speaks quietly to you, holding out a hand you notice is entirely metal. 

Thinking nothing of it, you accept the handshake. You’ve met hundreds of people since you left the service, all with limbs made of differing material. But what you do notice is how the design varies from those you’ve previously seen made of metal, this looks high tech. 

“I was just joking,” You apologise. “I’m Y/n. Take it you’re a friend of Sams?” 

Bucky nods to you, looking down to see Wilfred wagging his tail at him. “And who’s this?” He asks, holding his flesh hand out as Wilfred sniffs it, ensuring he’s alright to greet.

“This is Wilfred. He’s my therapy dog.” You explain, motioning it’s okay for Bucky to meet him. “He won’t bite, kinda the opposite of his job.” You chuckle, and Sam can see you being less tense for the first time in weeks. 

Kneeling in front of him, Bucky tickles Wilfred underneath his chin. You watch with a gentle smile before glancing over at Sam who sends you a knowing look. “What?” You question to Sam who simply shrugs his shoulders.

“Nothing, guess I forgot what that smile looked like.” He joked with you as Bucky stood back up, brushing some of the golden fur from his black jacket. “Anyway, we better get a seat.” Sam states and turns to face you.

Tucking his hair behind his ear, Bucky holds his arm out. “You joinin’ us, doll?” He questions and you suddenly feel taken aback by his confidence. 

It’s been over a year since someone’s tried to flirt with you, but you can’t say you mind the treatment at all. “Don’t mind if I do.” You respond, accepting his arm as you take a seat between him and Sam. 

Tom takes his seat with a heavy exhale, something he has a habit of doing. You have a sense he’s a bit of an alcoholic, you know the signs and he definitely ticks most of the boxes. 

You sit back, resting your hands on your lap as Wilfred lies by your side, sat between you and Bucky. 

“I can see a few new faces today amongst ones we know.” Tom speaks up, looking around and pauses on Bucky. “You don’t have to introduce yourself, but it’s always a welcoming way to begin the session. 

Bucky clears his throat before he hesitantly stands up. “Name’s Bucky. I was a soldier, special operations.” He states, leaving out certain details that are almost impossible to fathom. 

He sits back down, and you look over to him with a small smile. His physique definitely matched special operations, and it would explain his arm with ease. 

A few more people stand up and share stories during the session, but all you can think about is the urge to walk out and leave as the adrenaline in your body starts pulsing. 

“And what about you, Y/n?” Hearing your name being mentioned, you lift your head up as Wilfred nudges his head on your leg. 

Tom wears a soft smile to you, the sort that felt overbearing. Everyone else was looking at you, watching you shift uncomfortably in your seat. “Well, I’m doing okay.” You admit, knowing the term of what is okay is variable. What feels okay to you could be torture for another. 

“That’s good, how has therapy helped you so far. We know it has been over a year since you left due to your team being injured on a mission.” Tom eloquently describes and you feel Wilfred slip under your arm as you stroke him. 

“That’s one way of putting it.” You mutter under your breath. “Well, since my team got blown up and I was the sole survivor, I can’t say it was all breezy.” You can feel the sarcasm creeping into your voice, and Sam muttering your name. “No, it’s fine.” You turn to face Sam. “This is what we’re all here for, right? To talk about it in a group, openly speak about what shit we went through.” Your voice becomes louder. “And I suffer from nightmares. I struggle to go outside in the city because every time I hear a car beep its horn I fear it’s going to be another bomb.” 

Your words hang in the air, no one speaks. 

“I, I’m sorry.” You sigh before you stand up and glance to Bucky who keeps his head down as you walk out of the room.

The doors close behind you, and you can feel your chest tightening as you slide down the wall, clutching your head between your legs as Wilfred runs off. 

You silently sob into your chest when you feel a pair of arms rest on your knees. Lifting your head up your met with those blue eyes. He remains silent but simply sits beside you letting you know if you need it, he is there for you. 

Wilfred sits on your other side as your hand remains on his fur, stroking it soothingly as tears continue to stream down your face. “I know, it’s not easy.” Bucky speaks up quietly, having learnt it’s best to keep your voice down for comfort. “And the idea of it getting any easier seems like a joke,” 

You let out a short laugh. “You’re telling me.” You mutter to him, glancing over and see how close he is, his arm now resting around you.

“But talking about it can make a difference, just let your barriers down, doll.” Bucky encourages and you shake your head.

“It’s not that easy to do you know.” You look up to him with cold eyes. “If I could flip a switch that didn’t make me feel like shit I would. If I could forget everything I, I think I’d give it a go.” Tears spill down your eyes and roll from your cheeks. You forcefully wipe them away with an aggravated sigh.

“No one ever said it would be.” Bucky tells you, something you’ve been informed countless times. But the way he says it is different, it’s on a more personal level. “I, I lost everyone I knew and myself when I was serving.” Bucky clears his throat.

You glance up at him, seeing the sadness radiating in his eyes. “I’m sorry.” You mutter to him and he nods. 

“Took me what feels like five decades to learn and accept it.” He tells you, watching as you shuffle closer into him. “We don’t accept it and carry on, Y/n,” Bucky mutters. “we learn to live with it, in whatever way we can.” 

He reaches over, wiping away a tear that falls as you rest your head on his shoulder, Wilfred moves to lie beside Bucky and you remain sat like that until you feel calm.

Unaware of the sight, Sam opens the doors quietly and looks down to see the three of you curled up together. He smiles to himself, thankful that Bucky decided to come after all. That maybe, just maybe you can help one another put the pieces back together. 

[jupitermelichios]

Ragnarok Remix

So a lot of you will probably already know that I really don’t like Ragnarok as a movie, and I thought it would be an interesting exercise to try and rewrite the plot to see if I could come up with something I’m happier with. I did the same thing for Star Wars Episode 1 a couple of years ago and it was a lot of fun.

I’ve kept most of the shape of the story, since the structure is really good, and a lot of the scenes. The main change is swapping out Hella for a different villain because that character isn’t Hella in any recognisable way, and using that name added nothing to the character and hobbled them in terms of what stories they could tell in the future, as well as cutting off the entire Tenth Realm stuff and the associated characters. I’ve also swapped a lot of Odin’s scenes with Frigga, because frankly Odin doesn’t deserve the Morgan Freeman treatment they gave him. The final big change was to Loki’s timeline. Given the nature of NDAs at Disney, they may well not have known that Loki was due to be killed off, and since we do know that now, I wanted to give him more character beats so that he was in a place where killing him off made more sense, and we therefore could do kid!Loki in the future rather than just bringing back Hiddles from the dead for the fourth time.

Anyway, this is mostly just a writing exercise. Hopefully even if you like Ragnarok, you might find it interesting.

So Thor still goes to Muspelheim, and everything plays out the same except for a throwaway mention of Thor being Odin’s second born child from Surtr. (I would also change the thing where Thor doesn’t know Surtr exists, because honestly not knowing who rules one of Asgard’s client kingdoms is exactly the kind of shit Thor was supposed to have grown out of in Dark World).

He goes home, finds Loki pretending to be Odin and reveals his disguise. They go to earth to find Odin, but when they get to the nursing home he’s not there. The nonsense with Strange happens, because a lot of people didn’t bother to see his solo movie so he’s got to be here as well so that audiences know who he is before IW, but instead of sending them to Norway, they get sent to Monte-Carlo.

Thor tries to get Loki to apologise to Odin, but Odin seems largely disinterested and when they try and persuade him to come home, he says he feels like seeing the world instead and one of them can be king in his place. Odin’s whole manner is shifty, and the audience is left with the impression that he knows something he’s not telling.

The siblings start to fight over which of them will be the one to rule, while Thor also keeps trying to persuade his father to return, when they’re suddenly picked up by the rainbow bridge and whisked back to Asgard but a visibly frightened Skurge.

They find Hogun in the bridge chamber, seriously injured. He tells them that he was leading a scouting party to investigate rumours of a monster being seen on the outskirts of Asgard. Through a mix of exposition and flashback we learn that the rumours were true and the whole party were wiped out except him, who managed to escape by calling the Rainbow bridge, however he lost a leg in the transport as it was hurried and Skurge doesn’t have Heimdall’s eyes. This allows us to establish the ‘don’t leave the bridge while it’s moving’ thing.

Hogun dies in Thor’s arms, and Thor swears revenge. Dragging Loki with him, he gathers Sif and the remaining warriors Three and gets Skurge to transport them to somewhere close to the site of the last sighting, but not so close that we don’t have time for a couple of quick character beats to remind the audience who the three are and get them invested.

They find the monster and try to fight it but it’s crazy strong. Thor tries to send Sif home to rally the troops there but she refuses, so Volstagg goes, promising to send help. They continue trying to fight and Fandrall is killed. When Mangog destroys Mjolnir, Sif realises there’s no hope and calls for a rainbow bridge. Thor tries to pull her in with them but she refuses to go and he looses an arm in the beam (if we’re doing King Thor, we’re committing to full King Thor). The Mangog reaches into the beam and tries again to kill them. Sif distracts it, saving their lives, but Thor is knocked out and he and Loki are both pushed out of the beam.

While he’s unconscious, Thor has a vision of his mother. She’s in her chambers in Asgard weaving a tapestry. When he asks her how he can be seeing her when she’s dead, she just reminds him that she’s a goddess. Thor tells her what’s happened, and she names the Mangog for the first time. She tells him that while mortals answer to gods, gods answer to the mangog, who exists to punish their sins. When Thor asks what sins Asgard as committed, Frigga asks him whether he thought the conquest of the other nine realms was achieved bloodlessly, but doesn’t elaborate further. Before wakes up, Thor sees that the tapestry she’s weaving shows Frigga and Odin with not two but three children, himself and Loki, plus a redheaded girl. When he touches the figure of the girl, she fades out of the picture.

Thor wakes up on Sakaar, and gets picked up by Valkyrie who takes him to see the Grandmaster. Unlike in the original, the Grandmaster seems to know who he is, although when Thor says he’s from the nine realms the Grandmaster keeps trying to correct him, insisting there’s ten realms not nine. He’s also accompanied by a dark-haired woman who Thor is convinced is Loki, but who refuses to acknowledge him. We see Thor being prepared for battle, but rather than a haircut, it’s getting a metal cap put over the stump of his missing arm. He realises Valkyrie is a Valkyrie (but based on her tattoos rather than her sword this time) and tries to persuade her to fight for Asgard but she refuses.

We cut back to Asgard, where Volstagg has assembled an army to try and slow down the Mangog. We see him saying goodbye to his wife and their many children. We discover that Sif survived and made it home, but is badly wounded. She tries to argue that she should accompany the army, but Volstagg refuses, saying that Thor would want her to be regent in his absence, since there’s no one else he trusts more than her.

In the gladiator tunnels on Sakaar Thor meets Korg and Miek, since they were the best bit of that film, but we also get a cameo for Raava the Unskrulled. (If you haven’t read Black Bolt, she’s a female-identifying Skrull space-pirate who is one of my favourite characters in Marvel, and would fit very well into this movie).

We get the big set-piece fight with the Hulk in the arena largely unchanged. The only real difference is that the Grandmaster’s box and the crowd contain a lot more recognisable Marvel alien species, including Khymelians and Shi’ar (technically Fox probably owned them back them but it’s not like they were using them), Skrulls, Kree and the Sisterhood of the Badoon. This is our chance to establish Skrulls existing prior to Cap Marvel, even if it’s only as a tiny background Easter-egg.

While Thor’s unconscious after the fight, he once again sees his mother and a tapestry. This time it shows the world-tree but there are ten realms instead of nine. When Thor asks her about the tenth realm and the disappearing girl, she tells him that once there had been ten realms, and Odin had used the inhabitants of the tenth realm, who call themselves Angels, as mercenaries in subduing the other realms. The battles grew bloodier and bloodier and Odin was never satisfied with what he had conquered. She says that he had destroyed realms, and when Thor protests that all the realms are still there, she tells him that what makes a realm is the people rather than the land. Eventually the price the Angels demanded grew so high that even Odin couldn’t pay it, and so as payment they took Odin’s firstborn, a girl called Aldriff. Thor wakes up as he’s trying to ask his mother what happened to the tenth realm.

Thor wakes up in Hulk’s apartments on Sakaar and Hulk mocks him for calling for his mother in his sleep. Thor realises that if Hulk is strong enough to defeat him then maybe he’s strong enough to fight Mangog. He tries to persuade Hulk to help, but Hulk refuses. Realising that he’d have a much better job persuading Banner to save innocent people, he asks Hulk to change back, and Hulk again refuses. Thor then asks him to help him leave the planet, and that Hulk agrees to, on the understanding that Hulk will stay behind.

Hulk calls Valkyrie to his room and Thor jumps her. During the fight he wonders aloud why there are so many Asgardians on Sakaar, saying it’s a conincidence that he and Loki ended up in the same place as Valkyrie. The mention of Loki’s name seems to distract her enough that Thor’s able to get the upper hand and overpower her. They take Valkyrie’s control device to remove Thor’s electric collar, and find the quinjet. Thor manages to activate it enough to shut the door, intending to go back on his word and take Hulk with him. Hulk goes mad trying to escape, but in his anger accidentally triggers the final message the jet recieved from Natasha as he left, causing him to turn back into Bruce. However the quinjet is now too badly damaged to be used.

Valkyrie is searching the palace for the two of them. During her search she goes into a room below the slave quarters were a huge cage holds a giant wolf. Loki is there, talking affectionately to it, as though it were a toddler. It’s initially calm, but goes wild when Valkyrie enters, trying to get to her to eat her. As Valkyrie enters it looks as though Loki is about to open the cage, but she stops when she sees Valkyrie watching her. Valkyrie confronts Loki, demanding to know if it’s true that she’s Loki. Loki admits that it is, and explains that although there was only a few minutes between her and Thor leaving the rainbow bridge, the nature of Einstein-rosen bridges means that she’s been on Sakaar for decades of mortal time. She disguised herself because Loki is known to be an agent of Thanos and even though she’s no longer affiliated with him, most planets wouldn’t wait long enough to let her explain before they executed her. Valkyrie asks if the wolf is Loki’s son and Loki admits that he is. Valkyrie says that that must mean that he’s Fenris Wolf, and goes to kill him but Loki stops her, saying that even if he’s the herald of Ragnarok and a monster, he’s still her son and she would burn worlds to protect him, and then adds that there’s nothing they could do to hurt him anyway, since he’s the child of a god and an Eternal (no further explanation than this as to his parentage is offered). Valkyrie leaves to find Thor, and Loki tells Fenris that she wishes that she could just let Thor die for a change, but she can’t bring herself to. She turns back into her male form and goes searching for Thor.

Thor and Banner try to regroup and come up with a new plan, and Banner tells Thor that if he even turns into the Hulk again he doesn’t think he’ll turn back. We get the impression that Thor would prepared to risk that if it would save Asgard.

Back on Asgard, Volstagg tries to call for the bifrost to take away civilians who have got caught in the battle, but Skurge is so afraid of the Mangog he deserts his post. We cut to Siff exploring the the Allfather’s vault looking for weapons, and we see the eternal flame there as well as various other little cameos. Then she finds Heimdall, locked up in a cell inside the vault. She releases him (she’s holding the infinity gauntlet we saw in Thor 1, and asks him “is this…” and he tells her it’s a fake before saying that they need to hurry to the gate.) They arrive at the bifrost just in time to pull out the civilians before they’re killed. Siff asks Heimdall how the battle is going, and asks whether Odin or Thor is coming to save them, and he just tells her to ready the city’s last defences.

On Sakaar, Loki finds Thor and warns him that the Valkyrie is looking for him, and tells him he should take one of the Grandmaster’s ships. When Thor asks why he’s helping him, Loki says that their mother appeared to him in a dream and asked him to watch out for his brother.

Valkyrie finds them just as they’re stealing a ship and Loki shows her a vision of the death of the Valkyries in the battle to retrieve Princess Aldriff to slow her down. She knocks him out, but the memory of her fallen comrades is enough to persuade her to help Thor. She uses a wall pannel to unlock the slave quarters, and Korg suddenly finds that the looping tunnel doesn’t loop anymore and he’s able to leave. They begin an uprising.

Thor wants to leave Loki behind, but Valkyrie wants to get him as far away from Fenris as possible, worried that he’ll unlock the cage, and insists they bring his unconscious body with them. They’re initially planning to aim for the portal Thor had come through, but Heimdall appears before him to tell him to take the Devil’s Anus portal.

They take the ship through the Devil’s Anus, pursued by guards. However, Fenris senses his mother leaving and goes wild, managing to smash apart the bars of his cage. His violent actions begin the total collapse of the palace, as he was in the foundations of the building. He manages to follow them by jumping from guard ship to guard ship, eventually diving through the portal after them. During this sequence, Loki comes too. His skin as been turning gradually more and blue until eventually the collar freezes and snaps. As soon as he wakes up he reverts to his Asgardian form. Banner reiterates that he can’t become the Hulk, and we see that Thor has finally learned his lesson when he tells Banner than he won’t ask that of him.

The Mangog arrives in Asgard, announcing his presence by throwing Volstagg’s body onto the steps of the palace where Siff and the last remaining soldiers are rallied to meet him. As they raise their swords to attack, Thor’s ship arrives and Thor confronts the Mangog. Meanwhile Volstagg’s wife is trying to get the civilians out via the bifrost. Valkyrie and Banner go to help. Hildegun recognises Valkyrie and explains that she was a Valkyrie herself once, but retired before the massacre to get married. She produces a dragonfang blade out of her pack, and gives it to Valkyrie to use in the battle.

Thor’s battle against the Mangog is not going well, even with the support of Siff and the soldiers. It manages to get Thor pinned and puts out one of his eyes, and he passes out from the pain.

For a third time, he sees his mother. He tells her he can’t fight the Mangog, that he can’t do anything without his hammer and he’s not as strong as her and Odin. She tells him that he’s better than either of them ever were, and he asks her again about the tenth realm. She tells him that as punishment for taking her child, she wiped them from existence, and that’s why she says that Thor is a better person than his parents. Thor says that being a good person isn’t what he needs, he needs power, and she tells him that the power is within him - the hammer was just a conduit.

Seeing what’s happening, Heimdall uses the Bifrost to send a vision of himself to Odin, to tell him that he’s needed. When Odin refuses, and calls Heimdall a traitor for not reporting Loki, Heimdall tells him that he had to watch the slaughter Odin ordered on the Nine worlds, and listen to the screams, and keep the secret of the tenth realm, but he’s damned if he’s going to passively watch all of Asgard burn for Odin and Frigga’s sins. Odin refuses again, but before Heimdall can do anything else he’s distracted by events on Asgard and disappears. We get a beat of Odin just sitting, obviously considering Heimdall’s words before we cut back to the bifrost.

The civilians on the bridge are nearly at the bifrost control when Fenris arrives. Bruce asks what it wants, and Loki appears out of the crowd and says that Fenris wants to eat the world. Valkyrie says that they have to fight it, and Loki says that he can’t kill his own child. Realising that there’s no other choice, despite Valkyrie’s reminder that he doesn’t have to, Bruce Hulks to fight Fenris. When Valkyrie tries to ask Loki to get the civilians to the Bifrost, he’s disappeared. Before she can do anything, the Mangog appears between her and the Bifrost. Heimdall is forced to leave his post and fight.

In Asgard, Thor wakes up to find Loki with him. He tells Loki that Mangog is here to punish Asgard for their parents’ sins (to which Loki says that he knows, Frigga had told him as well) but there might be a way to save the bit of Asgard that matters - the people.

Thor arrives to join the battle on the bridge, now able to use his lightning powers without a conduit.

Skurge turns out to have been hiding inside the Bifrost hall. He hears Odin’s call and activates the bridge to bring him through to join the fight at the same time as Loki reappears. They end up fighting back to back, and Loki blames him for what’s happening. Mangog hits Loki especially hard and he looses control of his shape, reverting to his Jotun form. He says that he must have made a pretty poor replacement for the baby that the Angels stole, and Odin says that he didn’t steal him to be a replacement, and there’s never been a day when he regretted taking Loki in, even when Loki was lost to them.

Surtr emerges from the palace and begins burning everything, and then the Mangog destroys the bifrost controls just he begins burning, trapping the remaining Asgardians on a burning planet.

Korg’s ship appears above the fight. He seems fairly bemused to have gone from a collapsing palace to another collapsing palace, but agrees to take the civilians when Hildegund asks and between her and Skurge they manage to get the civilians onto the ship.

Realising that there’s no hope, Odin tells Hulk and Valkyrie to get to the ship. Valkyrie isn’t happy about taking orders from the man who got her entire unit killed but Thor persuades her. Loki wants to stay because of Fenris, but Odin tells him that even though he’s a better parent than Odin even managed to be, there’s nothing to be gained from staying here. Loki tries to say goodbye to Fenris, but Fenris is so consumed by hunger that he attacks him, and Loki admits there’s nothing to be done.

Thor tells Odin that he’s going to stay and help him hold off Mangog long enough, but Odin tells him that Asgard in exile will need a king, knocks him out and gives him to Loki to drag to the ship. As it pulls away, Fenris leaps for it, nearly bringing it down and Skurge leaps from the ship, sacrificing himself in order to distract Fenris.

Once the ship is gone, Odin is struck down by Mangog. As he’s dying he sees a vision of Frigga reaching for him. He says that he can’t go, he’s a monster and should stay and burn with the monsters, and Frigga tells him that she’s a monster too but at least they taught their children to do better than them, and they walk into the darkness of death as Asgard burns behind them.

On the ship, Thor tries to appoint Loki as king, but he’s too caught up in grief over Fenris, and then Sif, since she had been the regent, but she refuses and names him King Thor. The last shot of the movie (that isn’t a post credits scene) is of a bearded, one-eyed, one-armed Thor seated on his throne surrounded by the survivors of Asgard.

[kiruuuuu]

Bandit/Vigil oneshot in which Vigil recuperates and Bandit is detrimental? (Rating M, angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of torture, ~3.9k words) - written for @blitznbandit as a Christmas present 💞💞 I didn’t mean for it to get this dark but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. Best wishes and Merry Christmas! :)

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He returns fragmented. Having lost pieces along the way, parts of him damaged, he’s less than before. Less human, less capable, less trusting. A few chunks were beaten out of him, knocking others loose in the process and therefore he’s hesitant to ask for help in patching the holes, in case someone isn’t careful enough and makes it worse.

Though it doesn’t feel as if it could get any worse.

Visual representations of his state adorn him, discolouration of skin, tears, cuts, attempts at extracting the highly sought-after information through his outer shell though they didn’t manage to pull it out of his flesh. They tried, however. Most of it is unnatural, he supposes, frightful even, renders him fragile-looking when his mind has never been as stony as it is now. He won’t break, might splinter and chip in places, but he won’t shatter. He hasn’t so far. He’s not going to now.

Dokkaebi cries. She just stands before him and lets tear after tear roll over her cheeks, unsuccessfully trying to muffle her sobs and he’s lost, misplaced his script on what to do now, how to react, and there’s no teleprompter or anyone taking charge, so they stand there: Dokkaebi crying and him fighting one of the waves bringing blurriness and further detachment which have become so intimately familiar to him by now. The whole scene might as well be a video on a screen, despite the fact that the wet ground smells of grass and cool air surrounds him.

The scenery changes, someone pulls the slim woman away and another silhouette by his side gently leads him across a canvas of places, all of them unreal and not registering in his head though less shrill than the sterile, smelly white ones in which he spent … an undetermined amount of time. He doesn’t know which day it is.

Voices underwater pose questions his subconscious knows the answer to and therefore he’s able to keep up a semblance of normalcy while his thoughts repeat the endless litany of wanting to sleep. Wanting to go home. Wanting to feel safe again. Wanting to remember what it’s like to feel. At certain points, there’s absence of sound and it makes him itchy, raises his alertness without contributing to clearing his mind and thus leaves him skittish, so it’s no surprise than he flinches violently at a small touch. He’s up on his feet immediately, turned towards his threat who isn’t a threat at all, he knows this person, can conjure up their image in his head yet couldn’t tell who it is or from where he knows them. Relaxing is hard when he’s not sure of the identity of this person, but the guy in scrubs – it’s a doctor – no, it’s Doc – says his name, Gilles, and it could be someone or it could be no one.

His fight response has been triggered and so his system is painfully vigilant even when he’s suddenly sitting down again and he idly wonders whether he’ll ever feel like anyone at all again.

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He’s a foreign body, bumbling uselessly and getting in people’s way while they, somehow, he has no idea how, go about their lives. Imitating them is impossible as simple interactions drain him to a worrying degree, so treating his own existence as an inevitable misfortune with which all of them are stuck seems to be the only alternative. If speaking wasn’t such a chore, he’d apologise the whole day. Keeping out of sight and turning himself invisible is his preferred course of action even if it means some people startle at him walking into their peripheral vision as if he was a ghost.

By now, he’s begun to sort experiences into boxes. Not being able to trust his own memory is at best unpleasant and at worst wholly disorienting and disturbing, so he endeavours to fill the gaps and shave off excess. Some of it undeniably happened as he’s carrying the proof on his body, even if he doesn’t recall a blowtorch, while other details are strikingly vivid yet make no sense. He was held underground, not in a forest and still, he feels thick, wet leaves caress his skin and branches snap under his sole. No, there were no windows nor any indication as to his location, the photos show him what he might’ve seen in a film once yet nothing he recognises. But he drowned. In the dry cellar, forbidden to wash himself, every drop sacred, he could’ve drowned. It certainly felt like it and the cruel irony of wanting to drink it all, the knowledge it won’t kill him didn’t make it better. He’s started exclusively taking baths. He doesn’t like the feel of water on his face.

Compartmentalising helps, albeit it’s a double-edged sword as it further alienates him from those who appear to need him most. The causality of it is puzzling as he’s fine by himself yet it’s others who seek him out nonetheless, require assurances and an affirmation that they’re doing all they can. They’re the ones needing a pat on the back but he unlearned it all, so all he earns is concern at his empty stares. He begins avoiding them, the only exception being Blackbeard – the American’s voice is unimpeded by his silence, penetrates the sound barrier erected in self-defence and fills his head with words, phrases, ideas which resonate with something forgotten inside him. Blackbeard is familiar and calming and no one would guess he’s talking to a husk with how animatedly he gestures and slowly, slowly, his utterances begin to develop meaning.

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Vigil starts healing. It’s a multi-faceted process and accompanied by a significant amount of itching, both outside and inside. His senses return to him in a more conscious fashion than simply identifying potential dangers in his vicinity and his body’s ability to obey improves though it’s still held back by overpowering fatigue; at least there are no more dizzy spells or involuntary movements. Not as many anyway. The variety of injuries invite him to scratch, especially the blisters and the scabs, the freshly opened ones – usually a result of carelessness or a motion too extreme – send out white hot, pulsing signals impossible to ignore. He becomes intimately familiar with every visible piece of writing in Doc’s office as he reads it over and over and over again. Reading anything other than single words and simple sentences is too much.

His sleep is restless and the source of most of his frustration as the exhaustion turning him sluggish and numbing his limbs is omnipresent yet relief unattainable. Sometimes, he wants to scream and thrash, pound the mattress with his fists because it’s so unfair, he’s tired, it’s dark, why won’t it work, why won’t it work why won’t it work why won’t it work why won’t it work – furious, he feels pressure on his eyes and gets up, resists the urge to put his fist through something and walks until he’s light-headed, tries push-ups on his elbows, feels stitches and bandages pull on his skin. And even when darkness does envelop him, brilliant dreams ensure he wakes up sweat-soaked and gasping for air.

He dreams of him. And in a way it’s more terrifying than just re-living memories.

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Before he – before it all happened, he caught the eye of a predator. Felt slitted pupils lazily glide over to him, unfocused and slow as he poses no threat, was unhurriedly yet thoroughly studied and classified as easy prey. To this day, he’s unsure what made him stand out, which of his eccentricities painted a large target on his back causing claws to bury themselves in his vulnerable torso. He was hunted down and slain for sport, he assumes, incapable of defending himself; only then the dangerous creature did develop an appetite after all. Devoured whole, Vigil cowered, obeyed, surrendered.

His memories convince him that he enjoyed it. Basked in the unexpected attention, revelled in a deluge of foreign sensations, released tension under experienced fingertips ghosting over him. Every single instance lasted at least an hour and he thought each the last one, anticipated being deprived of this… this frenzied feeding sooner rather than later, yet repetition tricked his mind into believing it’d become a habit. In a way, he wasn’t wrong: it was a regular occurrence, the intervals shrinking continuously until he couldn’t reasonably predict the next one anymore, merely waited for it to happen excitedly.

The anticipation has vanished completely now. It’s been replaced by a stoic dread he insistently denies and the pleasant memories are sullied by his dreams. He would prefer to limit his nightly terrors to the faceless monsters who – who did all this to him, who altered his very being, yet they’re not the ones holding him down, kicking and slapping, trying to force him to betray the very organisation which eventually came to his rescue. It’s not them. It’s him.

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Training is hell, icy fire licking the insides of his lungs, inflamed muscles hindering his every move. He needs to, needs to catch up on all he missed after having spent too much time idling fruitlessly, hoping moronically for everything to sort itself out somehow, as if there was a spirit for broken minds who could mend them with a flick of its wrist. If such a thing exists, it must be very busy.

No one can help him but himself, especially not the woman he’s meant to trust and tell everything that happened. She’s trying to be comforting and soft but comes across as otherworldly, shapeless and inconsequential – time and time again she brings up topics Vigil feels are entirely irrelevant and meets his badly suppressed anger with pretentious understanding, advises inane exercises he refuses to do in his spare time and hovers just around the edge of actually reaching him. Blackbeard breaks through nonchalantly, acts as if nothing has changed while picking up bits and pieces, distractedly putting them back where they belong without mentioning it. Vigil much prefers his company.

In time, Dokkaebi finds it in herself to grow cold as well, shield herself and meet his downcast gaze and inaudible words with her usual boisterous behaviour, complaining about him taking too long with everything, eating, walking, healing, and her impatience and lack of compassion help him redefine himself as more than just a victim. He remains an operator, abilities tried and tested, and therefore expecting him to function as one is reasonable; he needs to pull himself together. So he trains. And keeps failing.

The whole atmosphere shifts as soon as he enters the room. Silently, he moves and manages to steal Vigil’s breath despite his casual demeanour, causes an adrenaline rush unlike any other he’s recently felt. He’s trapped, alone, for the first time sharing space with him on his own since he came back and it’s terrifying. Golden brown eyes petrify him, lock him into place and there’s no doubt he’s here for Vigil. Probably feels like he’s given him enough time to recuperate, now he’ll demand his share once more, sink his teeth deep and leave him behind bleeding. So far, he’s kept his distance, didn’t even grace his mark with a single glance. For what felt like weeks.

Vigil needs something to do, mind aflutter in panic, and despite every cell in his body urging him to escape, slip away and hope he won’t pursue, he decides to be proactive. To him, it feels like the first choice he’s made in a while. Lying down on the nearest bench panders to his persistent fatigue and yet it hinders him not at this moment for the heady rush of danger encompassing him counteracts his usual exhaustion. “Spot me”, he demands and wraps his fingers around the cool metal bar above him.

The hairs on the back of his neck rise proportionally to how near he is and when Bandit comes to a halt right behind him, he nearly trembles. They study each other motionlessly and for an eternity, Bandit looking down, Vigil looking up. “You’re too weak”, an accented voice informs him though hands contradict it, reach out, ready to support if necessary. Vigil averts his gaze and lifts the weight, brings it into the correct position and lets the familiar feel calm him – this, he knows how to do.

“I’m not”, he protests because he can and couldn’t tell when he last said no to anyone. Repetition and concentration both put his thoughts to rest and occupy him, render him complacent as he watches two pairs of hands rise and fall gently, one of them radiating volatile energy, threatening to turn on him any second, cover his eyes, punch his throat, hold his mouth and nose shut.

He’s scared.

And then something does go wrong, a sharp pain pierces his consciousness and reflective silver fills his vision; the bar came to a stop alarmingly close to his face, mere centimetres from possibly finishing what was started a while ago. His head wound still isn’t healed fully. Dumbly, he stares at it as if mere thought could make it vanish, then capable arms work to return the weight to its rightful place. And he tells him in a judging tone: “Don’t overexert yourself.” Before Vigil can even consider talking back, more words are tacked onto the presumptuous statement: “Start easy. You’re not used to it anymore.”

And this is when it tilts over. His rage is partially unfounded, Bandit has no control over his dreams, can’t influence what his dream self does yet is solely responsible for staying away all this time – his actions, or rather the lack thereof, cut deeper than Vigil was aware, fuelled an underlying self-consciousness and insecurity. He felt discarded, unworthy, and now that he’s in better physical shape Bandit seeks him out again? Hardly a coincidence. He must’ve enjoyed how submissive Vigil was, how responsive, but felt no urge to to accept the responsibility which comes with commitment. Where were you?, Vigil wants to spit in his face, Where were you when I needed you most? I’m no toy. I’m not at your mercy. I’m not to be abandoned like this.

His fury both causes accusations to bubble up in him and holds his tongue, a learned reflex to any extreme emotion. He’s long cut off the spikes in his moods, mellowed them out so no extremes happen, keeps it all safe and sound in the middle. Sitting up, he notices his hands shaking. He’s not afraid of him anymore, somehow knows Bandit will never go as far as his projection did repeatedly, not when he’s this passive, this passionless about him. All that time he always set aside seemed to have been a lie, a convenience. He was a fool to believe it to be more.

“I missed you.”

Resisting the impulse to spew I was right here is difficult but possible. Instead, he allows a question to see the light of day which has been eating away at him for a while. “Why me?” He’s long ceased to pose it in relation to tragedies, long accepted the fact he will never know the answer. Coincidences are free of judgement, his place of birth pure chance, his capture an unfortunate event – none of it specifically geared towards breaking his spirit by a higher power or the universe itself. However, this time it might yield an answer. He sincerely hopes it does, yet with every passing second in which Bandit mutely regards him with an unreadable expression, the probability decreases. “You can have anyone.”

“But I don’t want anyone.”

The message is clear though its origin nebulous. But why. Why me. Upset, confused and upset over his confusion, he attempts to flee the conversation, extract himself as he’s unsure how to face this man, how to deal with his own emotions. Getting past Bandit proves impossible though, the slim figure is an unsurmountable obstacle, soft eyes fixing him in place and a tentatively outstretched hand has him flinch first, then accept the touch of a palm on his elbow, travelling up until it comes into contact with his still discoloured jaw. Turning away is futile, fingers wrap around his own and then a body moulds itself around him despite his resistance. He’s suffocating, refuses to breathe in this wild scent of blood, sweat and hunger, realises too late he smells the same.

Bandit waits until his thrashing has subsided, patiently holds on as if he knew what he was doing. Eventually, exhaustion drives Vigil into the arms of his hunter and he relents at the cost of his sanity, dignity, sense of self-worth. Accepting warmth and human contact is surprisingly arduous but the pay-off staggering: he thaws, he melts, he dissolves under gentle hands, in a loose embrace, and its realness leaves him reeling. Logic tells him he possesses the same body heat, must feel nice to Bandit or else he would’ve withdrawn already, yet the idea of him feeling as good as Bandit does to him now is unimaginable. He needs more.

A quiet plea is met with hesitation at first, but when he emphasises it, Bandit nods. “Let’s go then”, he says, voice shaky.

.

Before even any fabric is shed, Vigil starts to struggle. His side is still sensitive, so he forcibly removes Bandit’s hand when it brushes over it, he doesn’t enjoy the feel of the tongue on his collarbone and pushes his head away, yanks at clothing to keep the German half off him. Though it’s thrilling and the low pulsing need permeating his being is the sharpest feeling he’s had for a while, he’s worried about showing his mutilated body, about evoking disgust instead of lust, about memories of sadistic grins and fire and needles and fists and water taking control of him. His subconscious fear manifests in the turning away of his head, in refusal to make eye contact, in jerks and light kicks and shoving.

“Do you want me to stop?”, Bandit asks and kisses the hand he caught as if it hadn’t tried to pull on his hair. No judgement in his inquiry, strangely enough. He would actually stop. There is no doubt.

A violent shudder seizes his body and he couldn’t tell whether it’s born from pleasure or dismay. The lips are ticklish and he doesn’t think he’d survive it if Bandit rejected him. “No.” He surprises himself with the response; the safer option would be to give up, not even allowing for the chance to harm himself further by ruining the one hopeful thing in his life at the moment, yet the drive to feel human again is too powerful.

So Bandit continues, undeterred by the resistance he faces and – it’s different to the times before, softer, more patient. At first it seems as if he, too, believes Vigil to be fragile and therefore takes certain precautions, isn’t as rough as he was previously, but the more time passes the more one undeniable truth crystallises and makes Vigil’s heart come alive: Bandit isn’t treating him like something delicate. He’s treating him like something precious.

His caresses don’t shy away from faded bruises or bandages, touches actively follow scarring unless Vigil displays discomfort, and though he’s careful, he’s far from tentative – repeatedly, he unintentionally causes stabs of pain hindering Vigil’s attempts to wholly give himself up and revel in the familiar affections. In response, Vigil lashes out on a small scale, bites a little too hard, scratches instead of stroking skin, and never once earns any form of protest. Bandit allows him to fight back mostly symbolically, something he was never able to do in the hands of his captors. He loses his inhibitions and wonders why it feels so good to inflict pain, ponders whether it’s linked to Bandit not paying him any attention while his mind was heavily impeded, when it hits him out of the blue.

A kiss to the top of his head makes him smile, stretches his lips all by itself. During a small break, he marvels at Bandit’s body. He even takes the initiative at some point and is rewarded with an almost enamoured gaze in return which drags something in his chest to the surface; something he was sure to have lost. They draw meaningless patterns on skin lazily, let their whims decide on what they do, and it’s peaceful.

Vigil feels like himself again. Not entirely, he hasn’t reverted back to his old self, that would be nothing short of a miracle, but his sense of self has returned – he is Chul Kyung Hwa, he is Vigil, he is part of the White Tigers and Rainbow and right now, he is here because he wants to be. And he will not let misfortune define him.

.

A careless remark, nothing more, Blackbeard’s usual dry humour showcased in a blunt comment and yet its utter lack of respect is scandalising and amusing enough for Vigil to laugh. Not a loud, full-bellied laugh which could hope to compete with the American’s, no, a quiet chuckle rather but an expression of entertainment nonetheless. They’re eating together and Vigil is picky, has traded parts of it with his teammate and others, approaching them first. Bending his mouth around pleasantries remains a feat he has yet to master but even so, it’s met with genuine friendliness and relief he generously overlooks.

Dokkaebi picks up on it immediately, abandoning her conversation to grace him with a meaningful smirk. “You just laughed”, she states triumphantly as if it was her own achievement.

Days ago, he wouldn’t have replied but he’s come to realise once more that he likes her, enjoys her company. Looking back, he feels bad about not reassuring her the day he returned, piling on to her already overwhelming grief. He admits: “I feel better.”

She nods; it must be glaringly obvious. “Must be contagious, even Dom smiled at me earlier.”

“Is that noteworthy?”

“He’s had it rough too.” His expression must display some of his disbelief for Dokkaebi explains herself: “He was with us the entire time we tried to find you, probably put in more hours than even Craig. And then, when you got rescued, you… I don’t know what you were on, I wasn’t there. But you were terrified of him – of them all, but him the most. I think it hurt him. Doc told him to stay away from you for a while, just in case.”

Dreams tightly intertwined with memories, forming an entirely unfair and inaccurate hybrid which painted Bandit in a much harsher light than he deserved. He never was a predator, Vigil never his prey, and while he was indeed devoured, it was preceded by awkward half-conversations and uncertain gestures; the time they spent together valuable to both of them. He’s been unjust.

“But he seems better now, and so do you. Maybe you should talk to him.”

“Yes”, Vigil agrees readily, startling her into silence. “Maybe I should.”

When Bandit and he finally make eye contact across the room after a lot of furtive glances, Vigil presents him with a tentative smile. And is not at all prepared for the wide one he’s granted in return.

[chimmysoftpaws]

Surprise

Summary: Bucky comes home on your anniversary to a quest set by you. The prize a surprise.

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Word count: 1543

Warnings: Fluff and a smiling Bucky.

A/N: hey whoever’s reading this, I did this for #captainarielbarnes4k. It was so much fun and I’m not the best writer but hey here I am. I just wanna say we’ll don’t to the 4K Hun. You so deserve it. Your work is amazing and inspiring. I used the prompt “Did you do all of this”

I quickly ran out of HQ and jumped into my car. Today was Bucky and I’s third year anniversary together and I wanted it to be something different. I didn’t want to do a cliche dinner at a fancy restaurant, I wanted it to be something special, something that resembled us. Bucky had been away with the other Avengers for a month and he hadn’t send any messages, not that I was expecting him to I mean saving the world does distract you and he’s also not into cellphones, he finds them too distracting.

I parked my car outside a little house Tony had bought for us — he insisted even though I clearly stated it wasn’t necessary— and rushed inside. Bucky and I owned a house but Steve and Sam lived there as well so it’d be really weird if we were all romantic and they were left to third and fourth wheel. The house was small with one bedroom, 2 bathroom and a gigantic kitchen. On the counter was all the tools I needed to make our special day.

I walked to the table and pulled out my notebook. Inside was all the drawings, planning and things I had written down for us to do tonight. I knew Bucky would be tired so I made sure they didn’t involve a lot of movement. I grabbed some blankets and pillows and walked outside. Most of the stuff had already been set up. I created — with the help of a few agents — a cosy, warm, romantic setting. There was a large thick duvet with big cushions on the grass with draping over it support by thin, shortish beams. Warm coloured fairy lights of different sizes decorated the ‘ceiling’. In front of the makeshift house were large trees that held a sheet. That’s where we’re going to play the movies.

I set some of the extra blankets and pillows down and smiled widely, everything’s going to be perfect. I skipped backed into the house and checked my phone. It was 4:30PM, meaning Bucky would be landing back in New York in an hour which meant I had a hour to get food, set snacks, grab the movies, finished phase one of the night and get dressed. No pressure.

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

Third person POV

It was 5:55PM when Bucky got home. He opened the door hoping to see his girl lying on the couch with a book and a random show on, he was hoping to hold her and kiss her, apologising for not calling and to wish her Happy Third Year Anniversary but the house was empty and dark except for the kitchen light. Bucky furrowed his eyebrows in confusion and he shouted, “honey, I’m home.” hoping she’d pop out of the bathroom or bedroom but there was nothing but silence.

Bucky dropped his bag at the door and walked towards the kitchen. On the counter was a green note that read, “If you wanna find me, take a shower.” Bucky smiled in confusion. Maybe she’s there waiting for him. He thought. He shrugged his shoulders, thinking this was one of her Hide and Seek games she liked to play.

He walked into the shower and pouted as he was left with nothing but and empty bathroom. He sighed and stripped, jumping into the shower. He relaxed under the hot water, ridding his mind of the past month and flexing his bionic arm. He grabbed shower jel and proceeded to cleanse himself as he thought of where her next clue was.

After his shower he grabbed his towel and wrapped it around his waist, walked to the mirror and opened the cabinet. Inside was another green note saying, “get dressed and follow the green ribbon.” He chuckled and walked to his room grabbing an outfit. She must’ve been really bored to have come up with all of this. But nonetheless, Bucky did as he was told and “followed the green ribbon.”

He grabbed his keys and walked out, following the green notes on the walls, streetlight posts, traffic robots, trees, and benches to a car. It held a green note on the windscreen. The driver opened the window and said, where to Mr Barnes?” He smiled recognising the voice. “Um... I guess follow the green ribbon Happy.” He said getting in the car. Happy smiled and handed me another green note saying, “let your mind become the green ribbon and take you to the place we planned our future in.” Bucky frowned and looked at Happy who handed him another note. “Don’t worry, Happy will start you off.”

And that’s what he did. He drove Bucky to a certain point in New York and stopped. Bucky looked around for anything familiar. He saw a Shwarma place and flower boutique right next to it. He remembered how you complained that bees always end up in the Shwarma joint because of the flowers.

It clicked. He knew where you were.

Bucky directed Happy to a more secluded, spacious part of New York and told him to stop at the gate, noticing another green note. Happy laughed as he drove away, leaving Bucky to walk up to the house they had always talked about. The house they planned to live in to get away from the businessiness of the city. A house to themselves. Bucky walked in to see fairy lights all around, illuminating the house. It was filled with furniture, as if they were already living there. There were even pictures of them on the wall. Bucky smiled and walked to the door that led to the backyard. It had a green note, the last one. “A prize waits beyond the door but are you worthy enough for it?” He laughed at the note as it reminded him of the blonde Asgardian.

He walked outside and rounded the corner to see a sheet by the tree, a makeshift house and...

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

Your POV

“SURPRISE! HAPPY ANNIVERSARY!” I shouted running out the corner as Bucky jumped, startled. I tackled him with a big hug. He stood shock for a second before hugging me back and twirling me around. I giggled and smiled as he set me down.

“Did you, did you do all of this.” He stuttered looking around. I nodded and said, “yep. With a bit of help from some of the agents. I wanted to do some-“ I was cut off by his lips pressing onto mine. I smiled and kissed him back eagerly, missing the taste of him. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him closer. “God I missed you so much.” He whispered breathlessly as we pulled away for air. “I missed you more. But did you have fun on the wild goose chase? And how was Russia? Did everything -“ he cut me off again with a kiss. “Don’t worry about Russia now and yes I had fun on the goose chase.” He said leading me to our makeshift house. “I like this, it’s cute.”

“Thanks.” I said blushing. He chuckled and lied down on the pillows, pulling me on top of him. “I didn’t get you anything.” He said pouting. I giggled and kissed him deeply as he ran his hands up and down my thighs. “Having you here is my gift.” I replied kissing him nose. I got off him and walked to the corner. He groaned and got up. “Come baaaack.” I giggled amd pulled out our dinner. “I figured you’d want a home cooked meal when you got back so I made you Chinese.” I said handing him his share. He sat up and quickly grabbed the food giving me a peck on the lips. “Youre amazing.” He muttered before digging in.

As the night progressed we ate dinner and had some wine. I got up and pulled out the movies. “Which one do you wanna watch first. I recommend Footloose cause it’s so cute and then maybe Terminator.” I turned around to see Bucky looking at me with a smirk. “What?” I asked. “Is that that shirt you bought me?” He said looking at my outfit. “Yea. It reminded me of you and how much you hated it.” I replied putting the movie in and crawling to him. “I didnt hate it. Just said it wasnt my style, you know I like the long shirts Doll.”

“Yea, yea.” I said pressing play. “Now shoo, the movie’s starting.” He smiled and pulled me to him and we watched Footloose first.

As our night came to an end we put off the projector and snuggled into the blankets and each other talking. “Did you like it?” I said shyly. Bucky smiled, “I loved it.” He kisses me. “And I love you.” I pulled backed shocked. He loved me. “R-really?” I stuttered blushing. “Yea but I mean you don’t have to say it n-“ I cut him off, smashing my lips into his and straddling him. He gripped my thighs as I ran my hand through his hair. His Vibranium arm run up my back sending shivers down my spine. I pulled away and said, “I love you too.” He smiled widely and replied, “you’re the best surprise ever.” He pulled me down to him and showed me his unconditional love.

@captain-ariel-barnes

[fangirlinglikeabus]

Your Hand Feels So Grand In Mine - Chapter 1

Summary: On the day of her eighteenth birthday, Fanny is shocked to find the name of a woman on her wrist. At first, she ignores it, but things get a bit more complicated when Mary Crawford herself shows up at Mansfield Park. A soulmate AU feat. racebending. Warnings for internalised homophobia, canon typical mistreatment of Fanny. 

can also be found on fanfiction.net and ao3

Don't take my arm too much

Don't keep your hand in mine

Your hand feels so grand in mine

People will say we're in love

- ‘People Will Say We’re In Love’, from Oklahoma!

It was commonly known, at the time, that upon the event of someone reaching their eighteenth birthday, two - or more, in some, rarely talked about, cases - signatures appeared on their wrists. One had the name of their soulmate, the person best suited for them in life, romantically or otherwise (again, these latter people were never talked about, except for when the name was of someone of the same gender. It truly is amazing, the number of truths thought inconvenient until they suddenly become useful). The other had the name of the person they would, or had already, convinced themselves was their soulmate, whether consciously or no. Of course, as is the way of these things, no one ever knew which was which, except by their own inference, or, if they were lucky, events which exposed one or the other. Many young people, eager to meet their soulmate, married quickly, only to discover that there had been a mistake; that their new spouse was not, in fact, the right of the persons on their wrists. This rarely impeded marriages for long; a soulmate may be a person's perfect match, but many imperfect ones are often made with some success. It is a simple fact that a marriage will work if it is formed with love and respect. Even marriages where those values were absent could often function if the two members showed enough skill at avoiding one other.

Henry Crawford was somewhat of an outlier. On his eighteenth birthday, only one name formed, on his left wrist; Henry had never set much store by soulmates, or really, truly falling in love outside of an idle flirtation, and so, accordingly, he had never and would never become so deeply in love that he could possibly believe that person and him to be destined. Unless, of course, the object of his love was, truly, the one most suited to him in all the world. Even then, the name was faded, barely legible unless you chose to look closely, which Henry didn't. His sister Mary, on the other hand…well, Mary looked very carefully indeed at things which could further her own self-interest, and considered her brother's soulmate to fall squarely into that category. She spent two years carefully studying the words on her brother's wrist, memorising the script, the name.

So her own eighteenth birthday came as quite a shock. On her right wrist was Mary Crawford, scrawled carelessly in large, elegant letters (she laughed silently, and knew this to be the false name - she may very well convince herself, or have convinced herself in the past, that she was the only person good for her, but it was unlikely to be true. It faded, but remained visible, etched onto her dark brown skin). On her left was a familiar, small script - almost as if its owner feared irritating someone by taking up too much paper. It was much bolder than it was on her brother, but still…she had looked at it for long enough in that state to recognise it on sight.

Fanny Price.

Mary stared at her wrist absently for a moment, thought briefly what a shame it was that she and Henry were predestined to be rivals, then resolved to start wearing longer sleeves. After all, no matter how little she cared about the issue of having a female soulmate herself, it wouldn't do to scandalise society quite that much. A fortune of twenty thousand pounds can do many things, but it is not so strong an incentive that people would forget such a thing, and welcome such a person into their homes.

Far away and several years later, Fanny Price started crying.

Written on one of her wrists, in the perfectly formed writing which was so familiar to her, was the name Edmund Bertram.

That was enough of a problem - the necessity of hiding it from the Bertrams did not exactly please her - but it was not the reason for her tears.

The other wrist said Mary Crawford.

Steps on the stairs! Fanny quickly pulled the sleeves of her nightdress down to hide the words, in case whoever it was chose to enter the room suddenly.

A knock on the door. A quiet, "Fanny?" Of course; who else but Edmund would have wasted their time on her? She called for him to wait, and quickly got dressed, making sure to wear a thick dress, even though the July sun was already shining through the windows. One which was most likely to hide her secret.

Edmund was standing there, neatly dressed (of course he was; Edmund made it a careful habit to be awake and ready for the day - and above all, tidy - before anyone else) and wearing a concerned expression on his handsome, pale face. Fanny's heart swelled, but as it did so, her left wrist (the one which she was so aware had his name on it) began to itch, and so she forced the feeling down and smiled at him, trying to ignore, as she did so, the few tears still making their way down her face.

"Well, ah," Edmund looked embarrassed, "I was curious as to whether you would be prepared to show your soulmates to any of your family? Of course, you are not obligated to...to show your aunts, or your other cousins, but perhaps..?"

The implication of his question hung in the air between them. Perhaps you would show me?

Here, Fanny had a problem. She truly loved her cousin (the name had forced her to acknowledge that as fact), but she felt, just as truly, that she could not show him either wrist.

"I-I would really rather not, cousin Edmund," she made herself say, and tried not to notice the disappointment in his expression, or the voice in her head that sounded like Mrs Norris - always Mrs Norris! - telling her that she was selfish, that Edmund deserved to know, and that she was being ungrateful. Alas, she was not successful - the simple refusal of her cousin's request had wracked poor Fanny so much that she began to cry again. Panic crossed Edmund's face, just for a moment, before a more soothing expression took its place.

"Fanny, I should apologise. It was wrong for me to ask something so personal of you, especially when I haven't even showed you either of my names. Come, compose yourself, and once you feel prepared, I shall escort you down to breakfast."

Soon enough, the door opened on Edmund again, and Fanny, the fresh tears still drying on her face and her eyes turned slightly pink from crying, took his arm. He served as a calming presence, even without speaking, and Fanny soon felt as close to her normal self as she could, with the knowledge that the name of a woman sat on her right wrist.

The calm was soon gone away again, for the rest of the Bertram family - apart from, mercifully, her uncle, who, along with her cousin Tom, was in Antigua for the moment - despite their usual dismissiveness of Fanny, were suddenly crowding her, demanding she give up her secret. No matter how much she quietly refused, they continued to pester until the poor girl was quite in tears again. Edmund made an attempt to stop them, perhaps slightly tempered by his own curiosity, but it came to no avail. Maria and Julia chose a simple method, asking the same question over, and when there was a failure to answer that, making angry demands. Tom, if he had been there, would have no doubt joined them; there was something to be grateful about in his absence. Lady Bertram, when finally appealed to by her children, seemed barely to understand what was going on, so distracted she had been, but as soon as her children gave a (strongly biased, of course) account, she made an offer of whatever presents Fanny would like if she would only show them, and really, whatever the names were, they could not be so very bad. Throughout all this, Fanny stayed silent, only made increasingly miserable by the questioning. It was amazing how much noise so few people could make, and she was almost tempted to give in. But fear - a greater fear than the consequences of her refusal - held her back.

"If you do not tell us," Maria said, more petulantly than could be thought possible for a young woman of twenty-one, "then when our father comes home, we shall have to tell him that you have been keeping secrets from us, and then he will force you to tell us."

Fanny was terrified of her uncle; Maria knew this, and spoke hoping - correctly, it seemed - that on weighing her uncle seeing her wrists against the rest of the family doing the same, the latter was the lesser fear. Fanny, with shaking hands, began to roll up her sleeves.

The Bertrams craned to see the names. Edmund started, slightly, on seeing his own written in bold black.

For one brief, horrible moment, everyone seemed to freeze - even Lady Bertram, who usually showed so little interest in anything not related to herself or her beloved Pug.

"Oh, how boring," Maria complained. "They are only platonic soulmates."

Julia frowned at her sister. "Are you certain, Maria? How can you be sure?"

She scoffed. "Is it not obvious? Why, with one of the names female, and the other that of our very own brother, how could there possibly be any hint of romance?"

And then the Bertrams' fleeting interest with their poorer cousin was gone, and as breakfast was served it seemed the entire issue was forgotten, the only indication to the contrary being the way Julia's eyes rested on Fanny for longer than usual, a flicker of curiosity igniting them. But for Fanny, whose mind was always ready to be filled with worry, and who, after all, was now fully, uncomfortably aware that her interest in Edmund was romantic, it sat there in her mind, as the days moved by ever so slowly. Minor, day to day worries, usually at the forefront of her mind, quickly vanished, but Mary Crawford, sitting as it did on her wrist, remained. Fanny grew pale; she spoke to no-one, not even her beloved Edmund. If the Bertrams had deigned to pay attention to her, they would have no doubt of the cause. As it was, the world moved much as it usually did, with only the insignificance of the change in Fanny's mood to affect it. And, inevitably, given some time, and the lack of suspicion shown by the family, she calmed. Edmund's name was a worry, of course, but one which she could force herself to ignore; though it caused her pain, it was a bearable pain, within the realm of acceptable human experience. And as for the other name, well, she wasn't leaving her home, and what was the likelihood that this Mary Crawford would come to her?

"A parsonage?" Mary asked incredulously. "In the countryside?"

"I am afraid so," Henry said, his words laced with faux-solemnity. "I am sure I do not know how we will cope! The savagery of it all! Although, of course, you would not have a problem at all if you had simply…gotten along with our uncle. Is it really so hard for you to like him, Mary?"

"Well I suppose it shall be nice to see our sister after such a long time away from each other," Mary continued, rather pointedly ignoring her brother. They had had similar conversations all throughout the time they had lived with Admiral Crawford. Nothing would come of it if she chose to argue; she could not convince him of the man's wickedness any more than he could convince her of his virtue. "At the very least, there will no doubt be some rich eldest son nearby, to flirt with."

"Unfortunately not," Henry said, pouring himself a glass of port from the decanter sat on the table. "An associate of mine has informed me - after I enquired, knowing your partiality to such men - that the gentleman in question has gone off to Antigua with his father. A shame, but I am sure you will cope; I hear his brother is a respectable young man."

Mary sighed. "I hold no stock by "respectable young men", Henry. Second sons yield no interest for me."

"Not even the second son of a baronet, as I am told is the case here? Ah, well. I suppose you shall simply have to waste away, without an eldest son to enjoy."

"You seem to think me to be so exceedingly shallow that my sole focus is men. I shall tell you now, Henry, that it is entirely untrue. Why, I am tempted to enjoy myself despite his absence, just to spite you!"

"Mary," Henry said, taking a large swig of his drink, "please believe me when I tell you that nothing would make me happier. Now, shall you write to our sister, or shall I?"

"Mrs Grant informs us that her brother and sister, children of her mother's second marriage, will be joining her and Mr Grant in the parsonage," Edmund said, with an uncharacteristic nervousness underlying his words.

"I am sure they will be people of a most agreeable sort," Fanny said quietly. "But, cousin, since I am certain to be far too busy to join you in entertaining our guests-"

"They are two young people by the names of Henry and Mary Crawford," Edmund said quickly. "Perhaps Mrs Norris and my mother would permit you to join the rest of us, rather than running chores? They have been invited to dine with us, anyway, so you will not miss them entirely."

Fanny said nothing; all of a sudden, she was very pale, and her hands shook slightly where they rested on the table.

"Miss Crawford is one of the names on your wrists. Perhaps it would be best if you became acquainted with the woman who could potentially become your closest friend."

"If you…" Fanny's throat was suddenly dry. She gulped. "If you think it to be best, Edmund."

"Fanny, of course I think it to be best," Edmund said gently. "But this is for your benefit, not mine. Sometimes I feel as if, well, as if you have no friends outside of myself - indeed, you have perhaps had no opportunity make friends, as sheltered as you are here, and…perhaps you would enjoy the benefit of Miss Crawford's company."

Enjoying the pleasure of Miss Crawford's company was exactly what terrified Fanny, of course. But Edmund was not to know that, nor would she wish him to know.  Besides, she could not wholly avoid her if they were coming to dine - even in her nervousness she was able to admit that to starve herself would be a silly thing to do, solely to avoid a person. And it was Edmund requesting this of her; his younger cousin had never been known to refuse anything he suggested.  And so it was that she found herself sitting with the rest of the family, not so patiently waiting for the arrival of Mr and Miss Crawford, along with their half sister and her husband.

"Oh, do stop fidgeting, Fanny!" Mrs Norris snapped. Fanny flinched.

"Yes, Fanny, do stop fidgeting," Lady Bertram echoed absentmindedly. "We must give these young people a good first impression of life here."

"I hardly think that the Crawfords will be so absorbed with ideas of propriety as to care about one of our number moving as slightly as Fanny has done," Edmund said calmly.

The clock ticked by.  

"Oh, when shall they arrive?" Maria exclaimed loudly. She stood up and began to pace about the room. "It is not polite to be late for a dinner engagement."

After an age, one of the servants stepped into the room to announce "Dr and Mrs Grant, Mr and Miss Crawford."

Mrs Grant came in first, greeting them all, thanking them for their hospitality, and apologising profusely for their lateness.

"We would have arrived here this half an hour gone, except Mary, I am afraid, took so long getting ready-"

Mary cut her off. "I find it infinitely preferable to be late, and well dressed, than on time, nay, even early, and an embarrassment to rich young women everywhere." She smiled, and in her expression was something which tempted even the most hard hearted to forgive any transgression.

Edmund cleared his throat and stood up. "Miss Crawford. Mr Crawford," he said, bowing to both of them in turn. "A pleasure to meet you both. I am Edmund Bertram. May I present my mother Lady Bertram, my aunt Mrs Norris, my sisters Miss Maria Bertram and Miss Julia Bertram, and, of course, our cousin Miss Fanny Price."

Mary glanced at Henry, to see if she could glean any expression from his countenance. Nothing. She smiled again, more subdued this time. "It is a pleasure to meet you all." Her eyes rested on Fanny.

Something about the way Mary was looking at her unnerved Fanny. She shifted uncomfortably.

"Fanny!" Mrs Norris snapped again. She smiled apologetically at their guests. "You must excuse Miss Price; she is but a poor dependant, tragically uneducated until we brought her here, eight years ago. Please," she gestured to the chairs, "will not you sit? There is some time yet until the food will be prepared."

Mary graciously seated herself, as did her brother. All the while, her eyes remained fixed on Fanny, who was doing her best to avoid staring back.

Throughout the conversation, throughout dinner and the time after it, neither spoke to the other, but every so often, Fanny would give into temptation and stare back. There was something compelling in Mary's eyes. They seemed to sparkle at some amusement unknown to any but herself, and, perhaps, someone else too, if only they would draw closer.

Fanny looked away, blushing.

"Are you quite pleased, Henry?" Mary asked on their way back to the parsonage. They walked far ahead of Doctor and Mrs Grant; the two of them walked far slower due to the good doctor's unfortunate affliction of gout, and in fact wouldn't have walked at all if it hadn't been suggested in some quarter due to the pleasantness of the evening.

"Oh, yes, quite pleased," Henry affirmed. "With Maria and Julia both. In fact, I found the company so pleasing that I have been considering extending my visit."

"Oh?" Mary raised an eyebrow. "And what about dear Miss Fanny Price?"

He laughed. "You noticed that, did you?"

"You seem to think," she shot back, "that I am somehow oblivious of all about you. I cannot think why that is, since I usually find myself knowing you better than you know yourself."

"I suppose that I have never put much effort into hiding it," Henry said flippantly. He was silent for a moment. "I have decided," he said eventually, "that I should rather like to have some fun with Miss Price. She seems awfully boring. And who better to make her more…interesting than Mr Henry Crawford? I am sure a girl of her standing will fall at least slightly in love with someone who shows that she is his "soulmate"." He laughed.

Mary said nothing. Henry was foolish to think he would be safe from love forever, especially if he chose to flirt so blatantly with his soulmate.

Now, what about her own connection to Fanny Price? Mary rubbed absentmindedly at her left wrist. It could, she supposed, be rather diverting to fall in love.

"I am disappointed in you, Fanny," Edmund said solemnly, as they sat, secluded, in the old East Room Fanny had made her own. "I would have thought you to be more keen to befriend Mary Crawford."

"I am afraid that I am much too shy for that," Fanny said quietly.

"Well, in that case, I shall organise it so that the two of you spend some time together," Edmund declared. "It was no doubt the amount of people in the room that made it difficult for you." Fanny found that she couldn't disagree. A part of her still hoped that she wouldn't fall in love with Mary, that she didn't even have the capacity to love a woman in that way. But she couldn't bring herself to believe it, not quite, when the way Mary had looked at her still rested on her mind.

[satin-swallow]

Mystery at Mountbatten || Chapter Five || What the Auctioneer Inspector Saw

“‘[I]sn’t that the very fashion of ghosts,’ Phryne said, ‘finding some new means of saying something when their voices are lost?’”  

Fandom: Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries Characters: Phryne Fisher & Jack Robinson Rating: T Genre: Mystery/Suspense/Ghost Story

After the arrival of Arthur's parents, Jack and Phryne are forced to follow up on the most ready clues - no matter how absurd.

Please read and comment at AO3 if you have a moment. Thank you!

“The main thing about ghosts – most of them have lost their voices.”

(Rick Riordan, The Blood of Olympus)

~*~*~

“I’m surprised we didn’t take the train,” Phryne coaxed as she and Jack stood side-by-side on Henry Taylor’s verandah, out of the mid-afternoon, Ballarat sun.

Jack smirked, “Mrs Collins informed me that you have a taste for hanging from carriages. Considering the corroborating evidence I have as to your taste for standing on them, I’d much rather your head remained attached to your body.”

He was back in some good humour, and Phryne entertained his protectiveness with an express hope that the levity would continue. He had held her rather earnestly after Mac had left, and the arrival of Arthur’s parents from Adelaide the following morning had brought out a determination that had sunk itself decisively into the kiss he had stolen the first moment they had been alone after meeting them. She would not quickly forget the way his fingers had closed around her shoulders, or the way he had stepped into her - until her hands had met the front of his desk – as though he could draw strength just from touching her. If it had been any other day, she might have teased him for it, but as it was, he had gone on as though nothing at all had happened.

“I’m not sure why you let me drive, then,” she played now, instead.

“Well, I knew there’d be another head in peril if I tried to stop you.”

She chuckled, “I do love an intelligent man.”  

The turn of his head was slight, lingering on the sound of that word on her lips, and the softness of the action made Phryne want to say it again. Of all the stories of ghosts she’d heard in the past days, the one of his lips pressed so urgently against hers was undoubtedly the most vivid.

The same determination that had driven that kiss had meant that the interviewing of Mr Taylor had been pressed forward from a ‘convenient’ Thursday to the more insistent ‘today’, and she had no doubt that whatever time Jack would have for the man’s sufferings, it would take a back seat to his increasing fight for poor Arthur Johns.

If there was a connection, he would find it. If not – in honesty, she wouldn’t allow the thought.

“Good afternoon. Inspector?” came a warm voice from behind the fly screen, as the door opened.

“Mrs Partridge? This is my associate, Miss Phryne Fisher. She’s a detective assisting the constabulary with its enquiries,” Jack replied.

“Yes, please do come in,” she immediately opened the door, “Mr Taylor is in his study.”

They entered with a quiet respect, and the housekeeper closed the door behind them, moving down the entrance hall towards a study at the end of the corridor, “We’ve just heard the announcement from Arthur Johns’ parents on the wireless.” She hesitated, “It’s been a difficult morning.”

“Thank you for understanding our urgency,” Jack replied.

“I think Henry really wants to help, if he can,” Mrs Partridge said, “but bringing the whole incident up is hard on him. Go easy on him, if you can?”

“Of course,” Jack’s voice was tinged with a compassion that could not leave him.

The study was dark by all normal standards, the sunlight they’d avoided held at bay by heavy curtains for the most part. In every other measure it was immaculately kept, the desk so well arranged that it appeared as though a measuring stick had been employed to make sure the objects on it were practically equidistant. As Phryne and Jack entered, and eyesight began to adjust, it was clear that the shelves – lined with books on any number of antiques – were as fastidiously managed; a small box of library cards on the blotter indicated just how fastidiously.

Henry Taylor had been seated near the window, and stood as soon as his guests arrived, apologising for the darkness and extending a hand in greeting. He seemed perfectly healthy, a strong build for his age – which Phryne guessed to be in the mid-sixties, and a crop of thick, grey hair, indicating every hope of physical well-being. It was not what either expected of the invalid who had seemed so difficult on the other end of the telephone. “The sunlight,” he explained the curtains, “it can be so invasive on days like this, and I’m afraid I won’t be much use if I fall prey to a headache.”

Jack found the explanation as reasonable as he’d found Reginald Winslow’s on wall-licking, and yet both still seemed too extraordinary to simply accept.

“Thank you for seeing us, Mr Taylor,” Phryne said, “as I’m sure you can understand, we’re very anxious to learn what we can to help Arthur Johns.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” he gestured at two chairs on the other side of his desk, “Please, sit down. If you don’t mind, I’d like to have Mrs Partridge with me?”

“Not at all,” Jack allowed.

They all sat, and silence settled.

Where did one begin, really?

“Mr Taylor,” Jack tried, forging ahead as Phryne had known he would, “as I mentioned to Mrs Partridge on the telephone: in the course of our investigation of recent events in Monterrey, it has come to our attention that you might have information… pertinent to our enquiries.”

Henry breathed deeply, “Yes, she said so. Honestly, Inspector, I’m not sure - ”    

“We need to know about Mountbatten,” Jack ran it off at the pass, refusing to allow the man the out.

What he saw on Henry’s face was not resistance, per se, but immediate anxiety.

“Yes.” He paused before getting up from his chair and pacing to the window. “It’s funny,” he began, “thirty years of treatment, and it’s still impossible to talk about.”

Another pause.

“Mr Taylor, we understand it must be difficult,” Phryne soothed.

“Do it for Arthur,” Jack finished, his tone neither bullying nor manipulative, but straight nonetheless. Phryne glanced over at him as he eradicated small talk for the meat of the matter, refusing to tread too lightly. It was a peculiar talent of his, a decidedly attractive trait that managed to confront an issue directly and somehow still clothe it in abject respect.

Jack simply kept his sights on the man at the window.    

Henry swallowed. “All I can tell you is what I saw,” he said.

“That’s all we’re asking.”

He turned back around and met the gauntlet that had been laid down, feeling the challenge, and the invitation to rise to it.  

“Any information might prove important at this stage,” Phryne encouraged, noting that the firmer hand was working, but offering a safe space nonetheless. His eyes drifted over to her, and he sighed.

It came slowly at first, but as he began to speak, the words seemed to string themselves together.

“I’d been an Auctioneer’s Inspector… about ten years - the auction house had… hired me straight out of the History Department at the university. They were looking for someone skilled with dating, authentication… I’d earned my stripes doing some research for one of the Professors in Regency pieces. It was an invaluable skillset for an auction house whose business was dealing with failing family fortunes, and old heirlooms,” it was nostalgic, a life that he had clearly spent some time grieving.

The pair let him talk.

“The… Lady of the House had been dead fifteen years, but because of the irregularity of the owner’s disappearance, it took some time for it to come to auction. It wasn’t until the relatives brought in a new lawyer that there was even momentum enough to have Lord Cavanaugh declared absent in the maintenance of the property, giving the Courts room to discharge it to the family for appropriate management.”

Phryne watched as his shoulders clenched upward, and his breath shook as he clearly fought back his urge for silence.

“It seemed a simple enough job,” he recalled, “largely typical items, except for Lord Cavanaugh’s study – I’d been informed he was an explorer of some nature, and that the contents of his collection were likely looking at being presented to a museum. It wasn’t until two weeks into the job that they asked me to do a preliminary evaluation of the room, at all, and account for rough estimates. I’d informed them right off the bat that it would be impossible without a trained expert in antiquities, and exotic artefacts.”    

The anger of blame was clearly still present.

“What happened on the night you left, Mr Taylor?” Phryne encouraged, and Jack felt it as though she’d stepped up beside him - it was always a heady experience.

His breath was a rush of air, then, and he looked to the ground as his features crunched in on themselves. His hand shook much as Josephine Randall’s had. “I – uh – “ another rushed breath, “I - I’m sorry.”

“Take your time, Henry,” Mrs Partridge sat forward in her chair for the first time, “just breathe.”

He seemed to regain some measure of control at her words before he nodded and stepped forward to take his seat. “It’s been harder with the news,” he explained, clearly trying to speak.

Jack’s brow had settled into a distinct frown, and he looked at Phryne for the first time since they’d sat down. Whatever he had thought of the man’s delicacy, he recognised in his movements a familiar sort of trauma – the sort of thing he’d seen in dozens who had been to war. Phryne felt the same, and again the intrigue of ghostly legends became a reality of horror, and moved into a distinct unsettling about just what was going on at Mountbatten Hall.    

After a moment, Henry had clenched his fist into an illusion of control, and seemed ready to speak once more. “I was taking inventory of the study,” he started again, “moving through, artefact by artefact, and examining each for origin, cross-checking with the ledger Lord Cavanaugh kept. I’d just finished examining an Oriental tea set – a Ming Dynasty beauty, early fifteenth century; it had a small chicken motif. Extraordinary. I – I heard a noise in one of the… upstairs bedrooms… The house was supposed to be empty, you see, and expressly under lock and key during the evaluation. Anyway, I – I called out from downstairs -”

“What time was this?” Jack asked.

Henry looked at him incredulously, “I’m not sure I could tell you, Inspector?”

Jack tilted his head, “And yet you can remember a fifteenth-century chicken motif?”

A small smile, “It’s the extraordinary that stands out, Inspector, even when the ordinary is most important.”

It wasn’t the ideal response.

“I called out from downstairs,” Henry continued, “and heard nothing, so I was about to turn back to my work when it happened again. This time, though, I was convinced it sounded like – footsteps.” He stopped the shake returning as he closed his eyes.

“Still coming from upstairs?” Phryne asked quietly.

Henry nodded, “I thought it might be the groundskeeper, Harcourt – he was angry about the sale, and he’d already argued with the lawyer about it. I thought he might have snuck in to liberate some of his Master’s property. So – I – I went up the… stairs.”

Again he stopped, and his jaw clenched shut as the story threatened nearness to being told. Jack took a steady breath in, clearly feeling his impatience despite his sympathy. They waited nonetheless.

“As soon as I hit the landing, I knew something wasn’t right,” he forced out, his voice now taught, “the air was – thick, cloying. I couldn’t breathe – ” he shut his eyes as though trying to recall, “I waited for a long time and just tried to focus. I was - I was afraid. I’d heard rumours about the place, and I don’t care how rational you are, when you’re there… All I could hear for a time was the sound of my own breathing in the dark. I finally plucked up the courage to call out, but there was no response. It was strange, I felt the urge to check the Master Bedroom, like I was – summoned.”

Jack’s brow raised instantly despite himself, and Phryne felt the blow that it struck to Henry’s credibility.

“The air was so sweet, though, like it was fevered, I couldn’t think straight…” he tried to collect, “when I got to the bedroom it - it was empty.”

He opened his eyes, and all momentum in the story ceased. He looked up at Phryne and Jack.

A moment passed.

“And - ?” Phryne finally pressed, not caring to hold it simply for the suspense.

Henry looked confused, “And? And what?”

“And what happened next?” Jack pressed.

The older man looked stricken, “I – I don’t know, Inspector. I haven’t been able to recall - not at all - I thought you knew that, I - ”

Phryne had rarely seen Jack truly angry, his emotions so keenly balanced and impeccably maintained, but she could feel the escalation to apoplectic that set itself squarely in his shoulders as he tried again, “Mr Taylor, thirty years of your life vanished before your eyes because of that night - and you recall nothing but an empty bedroom?”

Henry heard the implication, and shame blossomed on his face, thirty years of that familiar look in someone else’s eyes - his wife, his employer. His clenched fist began to shake with emotion, and his features constricted, “It’s never been clear, it’s always the same nebulous – “

“Two men are dead, and a boy is missing,” Jack’s voice finally raised.

“I know,” he tried to defend, “I’m sorry. I’m so - ”  

Phryne’s hand had immediately clenched around Jack’s wrist, squeezing tight against what she knew he felt, her own disbelief descending simultaneously.  

“Mr Taylor,” she focused the conversation, “why did the auction never go ahead?”

The question diverted so neatly from the trauma, from the failing he had lived with for so many years, it shocked the man into silence. He breathed, and Jack took a moment to do the same.  

“As far as I heard, the family withdrew,” he offered, “I couldn’t tell you why.”

“And your evaluation of the study,” she asked, “how far into it were you when this all occurred?”  

He frowned in thought, venturing into a space he had never thought to go, “I was close to the end, it was the reason I was there so late, I thought I could finish.”

“And there was nothing unusual in your inspection to that point?”

“Like what?”

“Any items of unusual value, or –“

“Miss Fisher, they were all unusual items. The ledger was full – “

The ledger.

A new line of question opened up suddenly before her, “Nothing was unaccounted for? In the ledger?”

Henry stopped once more, “Nothing that I had noticed. But my inspection wasn’t yet concluded, I was interrupted. I was interrupted.” It was like a light switching on, and when he looked up, it was with the shock of that illumination - any new angle was more forthcoming than the tangle of thoughts that had hounded him for so long. “It was kept in the bureau behind the desk, locked at all times when I was there.”

He blinked.

“Mr Harcourt kept the key.”

***

“I’m sorry,” Phryne said as they left the house to return to the Hispano, her voice reflecting on the tension in Jack’s shoulders.

“Don’t be,” came his immediate reply, “you were right.”  

“Oh, I know that,” she stopped him, forcing him to look at her with a mere comment. He did so, interrupting his frustration, and unconsciously allowing her to speak her next straight through him, “But I’m sorry for the strain nonetheless.”

It soothed, and Jack eyed her with a smile as they fell in step once more. “It’s true I like my lines straight,” he reflected even as his steps still strode forward with his characteristic surety, “why look at X, when A to B will do.”

“I know,” she empathised, “and this really is the definition of ‘X’. Still, there does seem to be a more solid trail developing, however eccentric the story surrounding it.”  

“I would be lying if I said my reservations about that story weren’t still in full force,” he said.

“And I would expect nothing less,” she replied. “What remains true, however, is that regardless of Mr Taylor’s thoughts on our ghost, there remains a great deal to be said about Mr Harcourt.”

“Yes,” Jack frowned, “it’s a bizarre crime that relies on the evidence of a different story to find its resolution.”

“But isn’t that the very fashion of ghosts,” Phryne said, “finding some new means of saying something when their voices are lost?”

He glanced at her, always shifted by the beauty of what she sometimes revealed - complex and intuitive.

“And what do we expect to find in the ledger?” he finally pressed.

“I’m sure I have no idea,” she returned to her brightness, “but it does seem a jot more satisfying than ghouls creaking through the floorboards.”

He finally offered up a full smile as he pulled open the Hispano’s driver’s-side door. It was a reminder that her scepticism - while open - was still present, and that where there was difference, there was still continuity of thought. Phryne moved passed him with her own smile, one foot pausing on the step-up as her thoughts stumbled across a mystery halfway towards her seat. Leaning a hand on the door, and one on the upholstery, she turned to face him as he stood dutifully clutching the handle. The extra height brought her delightfully close as she tilted her head in thought.

“It does seem strange for a groundskeeper to be quite so devoted to his Master’s belongings, especially since Lord Cavanaugh seemed to have abandoned him,” she mused.

“As you said before, there does appear to be a trail developing, however eccentrically,” he was not strictly focussing on what she was saying, the smell of her perfume playing delightful tricks on his senses.  

“Unfortunately, it’s all driving us back to Mountbatten,” she agreed, almost apologetically as she felt the undercurrent of his distraction, “and our crime scene seems to be expanding from room to room.”  

Jack met her gaze.

“Honestly,” he replied, “I’m surprised I’ve managed to tear you away for this long - when Dr Winslow formally requested access to the house, I was sure you were behind it.”  

Phryne grinned, “Is that why you agreed?”

His smile was soft, and infuriatingly enigmatic - she knew she’d never have answer out of him here, in broad daylight.

She went after the next best curiosity, “What makes you think I wasn’t?”

“What?”

“Behind it?”

A chuckle as he teased, “The fact that you’re here with me, instead of up to your ears in twine and exorcised salt.”

“Nonsense,” she still leant on the door, refusing to move, “you know I can’t resist you - not even for twine and exorcised salt.”  

His kiss refused to be anything other than candid about what was between them, and Phryne once again felt the assurance of it right down to her bones - she was grateful for the surety of her grip on the door. She could have spent the rest of their afternoon in that one moment.  

“Should I be worried that I’m going to return and discover my crime scene has been completely compromised?” he finally asked, “You were supposed to be keeping an eye on him, after all.”  

“It’s hardly my fault you’re a relentless distraction,” Phryne answered with her most persuasive tone, “and I can guarantee that he’s is under strict instructions not to tamper with evidence, and in the best hands.”  

***

“What the bloody hell is this rubbish, anyway?” Albert Johnson complained bitterly beneath a heavy box of intricate equipment.

“Damned if I know,” whispered Cecil Yates, more conscious that Dr Winslow might hear him, “Miss Fisher just said that the doc was helping with the investigation into that lost kid.”  

“I’m not sure what a ruddy thermometer in the Drawing Room is going to tell us about the window upstairs,” Bert refused, “seems like poppycock to me.”

Cec shrugged, “Can’t hurt though, can it?”

Bert didn’t have an answer for that, “Doesn’t stop it from being a bloody waste of time.”

“It’s a mite better than doing nothing, though, isn’t it?” came a voice from the stairs, Dr Winslow seemingly unfazed by the derision of his expertise, and focussed on the unravelling of a series of wires as he descended to the first landing. They belonged to a device, which looked rather more like something that might belong to a Martian than something that might deliver definitive results on anything of importance.

Bert placed the box down in the entrance hall, and fixed a dissatisfied look on his face - they’d been at it for a good two hours at least, and there seemed to be a never-ending supply of strange and wonderful things to be drawn on for evidence. Of what, neither he nor Cec could be sure. He eyed the doctor with the series of questions that lay beneath his steady derision.

Winslow had yet to look at him.

“I can feel you thinking, Mr Johnson, so you might as well ask.”

Cec remained safely behind the task of taking his collection of scopes to the Dining Rooms as instructed.

“All right,” Bert said, unafraid to make his concerns heard, “what’s the point of that, then?”

Reginald blinked.

“It’s a Spirit Radio,” he said, as though it explained everything. Bert seemed to grow more irate by the second. “It was designed by Nikolai Tesla,” Winslow continued, noting that his listener was unimpressed, “to pick up alternate wavelengths from the Herzian waves we use to produce sound on the wireless.”

Bert shifted, growing uncomfortable at the use of the word ‘Herzian’, despite his respect for Russian scientists generally.

“It records sounds that we can’t hear,” the doctor clarified, “and Psychic Researchers have been investigating its use in detecting objects, and perhaps beings beyond the immediate human experience.”  

“Like what?” Bert pressed.

“Oh, any number of things - aha!” he finally managed to work through a particularly frustrating knot, “but oftentimes, it presents us with potentially ghostly conversations.”

He smiled at him, as though what he had said was not upsetting in the least.

“Conversations about what?” Bert looked suddenly upward, almost furtively, betraying his hardened exterior.

“Oh, it’s hard to know, really - I’m certain sometimes that it’s gibberish. Tesla himself admitted that it could just be frequency, although he also admitted to being completely unsettled by the discovery when he first listened to the results in his laboratory late one night. Alone.”          

“Seems to me to be the right environment for a hair-raising discovery,” came another voice from the door, sceptical as it was bright.

“Right you are, Mr Butler,” Winslow pointed at him with a scientific forefinger, and went back to arranging the device on the top step, “and I do hope those are sandwiches -- I just love cucumber and relish.”

“Mayonnaise, Doctor,” the butler corrected, “but I shall bear that in mind. And are we expecting Voices from the Beyond right away, or is there time for tea?”

“Good sir,” Dr Winslow seemed outraged, “there is always time for tea.”  

*~*~*  

[deathlyhogwarts]

hello, may i request a sirius black imagine? one where the reader is american and they meet after they've graduated from school when she comes to the UK to join the Order and help the cause against you know who? maybe when they first meet he's weary at first because she's AMERICAN but after a few missions he knows she's an amazing witch, totally badass, and starts falling for her. thank you for reading all of this !! :)

A/N: this is actually a very good request, thank you! sorry it took so long though, i’m very busy at the moment:) and i know Sirius’ parents most likely didn’t die when he was eighteen amd they didn’t use Grimmauld place then, but i just have to write this way to go with the imagine

word count: 3,055

masterlist

You tightened your grip on your coat, the cold London air embracing you as you walked down the street, to a place that apparently, you couldn’t see.

You were from America, fresh graduated from Ilvermorny and you wanted to become an Auror, but you weren’t sure where exactly you wanted to get the job. Only that changed, when Albus Dumbledore (you’ve heard of Dumbledore, everyone has heard of Dumbledore! How could you not? He was a very ‘popular’ wizard) reached out to you, asking you to join what they called The Order of The Phoenix, a secret organisation formed to defeat a certain evil wizard, Voldemort. You, of course, accepted, it was the closest thing of an Auror and you would even be travelling to the United Kingdom. It was something you have wished for a really long time and now that it was happening, you were a but anxious.

You were supposed to meet someone named Kingsley Shacklebolt at a bar named the Leaky Cauldron.

Now, you were right in front of it, but you weren’t sure whether you should enter or not. Deciding that he was probably inside, you enter and look around. You didn’t even know how he looked like, so you were just hoping that he knew what you looked like.

You sat at a table, somewhere between the middle and the corner; you didn’t want to drawn attention to yourself, but if Kingsley appeared, to see you.

After a couple of minutes of waiting, the door opens and a tall, black haired figure enters, searching with his eyes for someone. Once they land on you, he raises his eyebrows and makes his way over to you. Sitting opposite of you, he looks at you carefully.

“So, you’re the American witch?” he says, a tint of despise in his voice, looking up and down at you.

You look up and analise his appearance. He had long, black hair and grey eyes. He was pretty attractive, you had to admit, but something didn’t add up. “You’re Kingsley Shacklebolt? I thought he was supposed to be blackー”

“Well, I am Black. Sirius Black. But if we’re talking about skin, I’m white. Kingsley had other important business to do and they sent me to get the wonderful American witch,” he said the last part in a mocking voice.

You were taken aback by his words. Clearly, he didn’t like Americans in his heritage.

“What’s your name, by the way?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” you said, looking at him carefully.

“Ah, typical American name,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“Well maybe because I’m from America?” you snap, annoyed by him. Not every English wizard was the best and not every American wizard was the worst.

“Whatever, let’s go. We won’t have time to look around, if you wanted to see what beautiful of a city we have.” He got up, motioning for you to do, too.

“Oh, don’t worry, I didn’t want to take from your precious time,” you answer back, rolling your eyes. You didn’t even arrived there and you were already being biased.

After Apparting where the organisation was, Sirius got out of his leather jacket a piece of paper and gave it to you. “From Dumbledore.”

You took it from his hand, your fingers brushed and you ignored the warmth from his hands and looked at the piece of paper. Number 12, Grimmauld Place. - Albus Dumbledore. After that, he tapped the ground a number of times, and the blocks in front of you separated, another appartment appearing between them.

He opened the door and let you go first, despite his horrible comportament and you entered, a long, slim with black walls hallway appears in front of your eyes. It had portraits all over, but covered. “It’s beautiful,” you find yourself saying.

“It’s my house,” he says from behind you.

“Oh,” you say, not really knowing how to feel about that.

After passing the long hallway, you arrive in front of a large black door, which was open, revealing what looked like a kitchen. You stop in front of it, not really sure what to do. You felt a bit uncomfortable, not knowing anyone here and Sirius’ behavior didn’t help you at all. It just made you feel you’re not welcome here. He passed you and entered the kitchen, but suddenly turned around and raised an eyebrow. “You coming, or what?”

“Yeah,” you say, walking behind him.

There was a really long table in the room, filled with people you didn’t recognise, except Dumbledore, who smiled warmly at you when he saw you. “Y/N, we meet at last.” He leans in to take you into a hug. “Everyone, this is Y/N Y/L/N. She came all the way from America to join us in The Order of The Pheonix. She is a wonderful and skillful witch,” he said to everyone and you blushed. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Sirius roll his eyes.

You met a lot of people, such as Remus Lupin, Marlene McKinnon, James and Lily Potter, Peter Pettigrew and professors, too. Your favourite was Minerva McGonagall.

As they started talking, you sat down next to Remus Lupin (you hoped it was him, you were still getting used to all the faces). He turned to you and extended his hand. “I’m Remus,” he said.

“Y/N.” You shook his hand, smiling at him.

“Nice to meet you, I heard you’re amazing. Dumbledore wouldn’t stop talking about you.”

You blushed again. “He’s exaggerating, I’m just average,” you brushed it off.

“Why, if Dumbledore says you’re amazing we shall all listen to him, shouldn’t we?” Sirius appears in the seat next to you, an obnoxious smirk on his face.

“Do you have something against me, Sirius?” You frown.

“No, no, absolutely not. You’re just a wonderful, American witch, that’s all. Just praising you for that,” he says in a mocking voice.

“Padfoot,” Remus says in a warning tone. You didn’t ask, but by the looks of it, it seemed like Padfoot was Sirius’ nickname.

“What, Moony?” he snapped. “Everyone is obviously very fond of this girl and they didn’t even see her do anything. They’re just amazed that she is not english.” He rolls his grey eyes again.

You clench your jaw. “I’m a woman , not a girl.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he says, leaving you and Remus alone.

“I’m really sorry about him, he’s not usually like this. He probably has a bad dayー” Remus begins to apologise but you interrupt him.

“Or he just dislikes me for no reason? Don’t bother, I don’t care. I don’t need to prove myself in front of anyone but myself.” You smile at him.

“I truly hope he changes his opinion about you, he’s a good person, I promise.

“Well, we’ll see about that in time, won’t we?”

After a couple of hours, after Dumbledore explained to me everything that I need to know, we left for a mission against some people that call themselves Death Eaters.

You were seaparared in groups; you were with Marlene, someone named Fabian Prewett, although, you weren’t sure whether it was really him or his twin, Alice Longbottom and, surprisingly, Sirius Black.

All of you entered in an old, big house, where supposedly the Death Eaters were hiding an important item for Voldemort. Though, you didn’t know what it was yet. Fabian opened the door, and a large, long hall appeared in front of us. There was nothing there, nothing to guard the entrance at all. It seemed weird.

You started walkig forward, your wands in your hands, when the hall separated into four rooms. You looked at each other, knowing you should each go into one room.

However, those thoughts were interrupted when five snakes appeared before you, hissing loudly at you. None of you made a move, but they were reaching forward. “Alarte Ascendare!” you say, pointing your wand at the snakes.

“Alice took you by the arm. “Let’s go,” she said in your ear before all of you entered in one room. “Y/N, no one has used that spell before!” She looked at you amazed.

“I, uh… sorry?” you tried to say something. Was it bad that you used it?

“No, no, what she meant was that it was amazing! Good job, little one.” Fabian tapped your shoulder friendly. Him, Alice and Marlene weren’t the only ones that were amazed, but if you only looked in your left, you’d have seen Sirius blinking blankly in your direction, his mouth open slightly, not knowing if he should cogratulate you or make an obnoxious remark. He didn’t say anything.

“Now, I think we should separate. I go with Alice and Fabian, Sirius you go with Y/N,” Marlene says, taking Fabian and Alice by the arm. “If you need anything, just send your patronuses and we’ll catch up,” she said, and with that, they were gone. Out of all the people you could have been left with, you were with the one that couldn’t stand you.

“Great,” you murmur under your breath.

“What?” he asked, softer than he probably intended to.

“Well, you know, it’s not a very nice feeling to be stuck with someone who can’t stand you.” You roll your eyes.

He mumbled something you couldn’t understand, but you weren’t keen to find out what he said; you knew it was another insult thrown away at you.

“You walked for a bit in silenceーthe room turned out to be leading to another hall, so now you were walking shoulder by shoulder, wands tight in your hand and lighting.

“Did you hear that?” Sirius asked you.

“Hear what?” You frowned.

“Is your hearing that bad?” he said sarcastically.

I’m sorry I can’t pay attention to everything, unlike you, sublime God,” you mocked him.

“Well, I might not be as wise as a God, but I sure look like one,” he praised himself, a proud smile on his face, while running a hand through his black hair.

You were a bit distracted by his movement, seeing how his hair looked so soft and you found yourself thinking if it was indeed as soft as it looked. “Oh, sod off, you’re a selfish littleー”

But you weren’t able to continue, because two black hooded figures appeared in front of you. You assumed, by the creepy appearance and the weird vibe that they were the Death Eaters they were warning you about. Neither of you or them said anything, but they were quick at throwing spells at both of you. You tried to stun one of them, but he Apparated one foot away. The other one was duelling with Sirius, but after a few minutes he cast a spell at him, causing him to fall on the ground, blood spilling from his clothes. Your eyes widen in horror and you were able to stun one of them and transform the other one into a bird.

After you were done with the Death Eaters, you turned to Sirius, who lay on the ground covered in blood. You bent down next to him. “Sirius?” you asked, concerned. “Are you still here? Are you conscious?”

“Mhm,” he murmured with his eyes closed.

“Vulnera Sanentur,” you said quickly, pointing your wand at his wounds, them fading away one by one, until his body was like before. “Sirius? Can you hear me?”

“I’m not the one that has hearing problems, remember?” he smirked, briefly opening his eyes.

You lifted him up, his arm on your shoulders as you helped him walk. He wasn’t hurt anymore, but he was still weakened. You cast your patronus and sent it to the others, telling them that Sirius got hurt and that you were going back to Grimmauld place. Obviously, you didn’t wait for them and when you finally got out of that horrible house, you apparated to his house. He had to rest.

The next day, you didn’t go for breakfast in the kitchen. You decided to stay at Grimmauld place after they offered you a room, but you didn’t want to leave your room. You felt really… tired, to put it this way. You were really far from your country, from your friends, family… you needed time alone.

However, at breakfast, Sirius took a seat at the long table, searching with his eyes for a certain American, Y/H/C haired witch. When he didn’t find her, he turned to Marlene. “Where’s Y/N?” he asked, filling his mouth with all the food he could find. He was somehow a dog, actually.

“She hasn’t left her room yet. I don’t think she’s sleeping, though,” she answered, frowning. “Why? I thought you hated her.”

“I don’t hate her, I just despise that everyone thinks she is a miracle for us all.” Though, he didn’t mean any of that. Not anymore.

“Yeah, sure. You saw how good she was yesterday, she saved your arse. If it wasn’t for her, you’d be dead. You should be thankful,” she said.

Sirius did’t say anything after that, but after he finished eating, he headed upstairs, towards your room. He knew where it was; actually, he was the one that suggested you should stay, but of course, he didn’t tell you that face to face. He told Remus to do that for him, because he was ‘too weakened’ to talk to you.

He wanted to knock, but stopped with his hand midair. What was he going to say? Was there an excuse for being an asshole at all? He wasn’t even sure why he despised her a couple of hours ago. Maybe he just hated the thought that such a beautiful woman could be more skillful than him or his friends.

He knocked two times and after hearing your ‘come in’, he pushed the door carefully.

You were sitting on your bed, glasses on and a book in your hands. Your eyebrows turned into a frown at the sight of Sirius. What in the world could he possibly want? You thought that maybe saving his life would be enough to shut him up. But the expression on his face, soft and almost guilty, made your frown go away quickly. “What do you want, Sirius?”

He closed the door and walked closer. “Can I?” He pointed at your bed.

“It’s your house, do what you want,” you shrugged.

He frowned. “No, it’s your bed now, as long as you’ll be here. Can I?” he asked again, looking deep into your eyes.

His tone was very different than before, it wasn’t as obnoxious as yesterday and there wasn’t any tint of judgement in his voice. You nodded and he sat on the edge of the bed, still not breaking eye contact.

“I just wanted… I wanted to thank you, for saving me yesterday, for not letting me die,“ he found the words very hard to speak, as he usually wasn’t used to use such words.

“Oh, please, you weren’t going to die. Just a couple of rough wounds, but you wouldn’t have died ,” you say, matter of factly.

“Still, thank you. You could have just left me there, after I was such an asshole to you,” he said as he chewed down on his bottom lip. “I understimated you, I admit. You’re pretty good.” He let a small smile appear on his beautiful face.

“Pretty good?” You couldn’t help but laugh. “Why, thank you. You’re not really bad yourself.” You smirked. “And it’s okay, I forgive you. I wouldn’t have let you sit there in pain, no matter how much of an asshole you were; I’m not like that.”

He looked at you amazed, now seeing what everyone was seeing in you. You were truly beautiful and he wanted to punch himself for not seeing this sooner, as he was blinded by hatred. However, the first time he saw you, he obviously observed you were really attractive. But now, it was much more than that. He found himself moving his gaze towards your lips, wanting to kiss you. He knew it wasn’t right, he needed to give you time, the boy practically went from hating to fancying you in twenty four hours.

“So… peace?” you asked, noticing how his eyes were looking at your lips. Yours were too.

His eyes found their way back to yours and he smirked. “Peace. Only, if you go on a date with me.”

“Oh, well, then I guess we don’t make peace,” you said fakingly sad, sighing dramatically.

He was taken aback, before he caught on what you were doing. “Fine then, peace.” He smiled cheekily. “Will you go on a date with me, wonderful American witch?”

“Only if you stop calling me that,” you laughed.

“Deal,” he said. “It’s a date then! Meet me in the hall at eight o'clock, darling,” he said briskly, wanting to get up from the bed.

“Sirius, wait!” you call after him. He stops at the door. You get up from your bed and run at him, getting on your tip toes and kiss him on the cheek. “I’m gonna go eat breakfast now,” you said and with that, you were out of the room.

He remained there for a bit, his hand reaching to his cheek, in the place where you kissed him. He smiled to himself and then closed the door silently, as he went back to the kitchen. It won’t make him any damage to eat breakfast twice.

[lyriumlotus]

A New Dawn: Asunder

Fixed~

(AO3)

Well…. This is it then.

                                                    The New Age. City of Arlathan.

Amanita re-adjusted the bag around her shoulders, & sighed, taking a personal moment to collect her thoughts as the carriage pulled away, leaving her at the grand cities gates..

Time and life itself, had changed much, since the end of the Heralds legendary teaming up with Fenharel and his ancient peoples army.

A time where they scoured the world together.

Freeing the rest of her people from slavery and oppression, as well as waking and freeing the last of his own.  

You see, solidarity had brought the two groups finally together to fight for a just cause.

Against an awakened old vengeful elven god.

Of the name of Elgar’nan.

A wannabe god, gone mad, void-bent on devouring the world over once more,

and a power hungry Chantry determined to sink its teeth in rather then let go its cruel leash.  

But perhaps most astonishing of all, that the two,

The Dread Wolf and the Herald, his heart,

had the support from many other groups across the lands,

The Dwarven, Qunari and Human alike..

Those who fought for true peace, against corruption and whom wanted change or simply, acceptance. Those that didn’t care to see the world in which they resided, destroyed.

When the time came for action, everyone of all walks of life, answered the call.  

They would sing melodies and chants, of the Lady, the Herald,

and tell of many courageous or colorful stories,

that where ever the Herald walks, Hope is sure to follow.

She who turned one of the worlds threats, into its greatest allies.

She who would appear on battlefields, when all seemed lost,

to balance the playing field, and help win the fight.

And Amanita would know the weight of its truths.

As she had witnessed it countless times, with her very own eyes.

For when the Herald, one of her very Clan,

rose slowly to become a beacon of light to them & their ilk.  

Each and every single time, when all seemed lost, Her Herald, Lavellan would always reappear to face whatever darkness the Times would bring, and always against innumerable odds, she would win with the Dread Wolf by her side.

People thought her a Herald, others, a Goddess of justice or harbinger brining an end, depending what side you were on, Some even called her simply, acquaintance, ally, friend.

Amanita knew her only as an exceptional gifted student, next in line to become Clans Keeper, before destiny ushered her away.  

But that story , The Herald and the Wolf… is one best told for another time.

Here today,  Amanita stood instead.

Five years had passed since that dust had settled, and with it, the last of the ancient Elven, known  around the world as either the Arlathanians to outsiders or the Elvhenan amongst themselves had begun to rebuild their home, New Arlathan, on the promised lands, or rather, a remnant of it.

Sharing the territory with the Dalish and the Elves of the Free Marches.

For certainly, the divided groups had overcome differences to fight alongside one another,

but with times of peace,  they had all divided again.

To each their own corner of the map,  or so it had seemed..

For change doesnt come easily to anyone,

no matter the culture, nor how advanced its society…

Change is always met with unease, displeasure and resistance …

Which is where She came in.

It had been decided that a great divide would do neither groups survival well.

Especially if the next war ever came.  So a compromise had been reached.

One which would see small numbers of each group intermingle and integrate , in order to learn from one another.

Those chosen,

would represent and act as Anthropologists ‘in a way’.

Studying how the other lived. Its cultural and Social differences, as well teaching that of their own people in turn.

Amanita was an average student to Clan Lavellan, Yet when the time came to recommend a few students to exchange with them, She had been quick to volunteer.

If she were being entirely honest, curiosity had tugged at her for far too long,

wanting to see the shining crystal spires one could only barely glimpse, above the great rune gates amidst the ever present mist, keeping hidden what and whom lived within.

Wanting also, to confirm the many rumours that had drifted her way of the strangeness to

the ancient elves ways.. Like ‘did they really bathe in public large hot saunas? Did their mages really all come together to spend days casting magnificently extravagant spells?

And did they truly own great magical mirrors that could transport you to new areas in a single step?’ Or were they just ridiculous rumours,  not much unlike those she had heard spoken of her own people?

Amanita had so very many questions that needed answering.

But perhaps the most important one of all?

When was this bloody gate going to open??? Seriously?!

As if it somehow privy to her very thoughts,  did said gate suddenly rumble, groan and creak,

Coming to life before her very eyes…

It did not open like any normal gate,

the majestic patterns adorned within the structure , seemed to shudder and move

as if alive, unwinding and untangling its golden and emerald branches, to reveal an opening just for her..  So stunned was she, at the bizarre display, that Amanita had become momentarily frozen in shock, Mouth agape like a wild tusket,

until a voice, loud and shrill, broke through to bark  “Well? Don’t just stand there.”

“O-oh.. Right. Sorry!”

Said she, grabbing her belongings and proceeding to haul them through, as the giant gate closed itself quickly around her, with such a heavy sudden gust that she found herself briefly blinded by her own tangle of hair as it fell across her face..

The brunette huffed..  and shook her head, clearing her vision once more as she eyed the one whom greeted her.  

A middle aged elf?, bald, like most of the ancient ones seemed to be.. Female? No… Male.. ? Too hard to tell sometimes.

“I apologise for the delay… I am Amanita of Clan Lavellan.”

Amanita bowed graciously, as she had been shown, by her elders.

And was met with a disgruntled ‘Of course you are’ as her receiver turned to walk away

“This way then. Don’t tally.”

Amanita quickly collected her things and hurried after.

“You will be given adequate living arrangements, across the building from where you will teach.

Times for these lessons, will be arranged by you, to your class, after the first mornings meeting, once we have you comfortably settled in of course.“ They replied blankly, stopping for a moment to let some kind of spirit pass.

Amanita would never get used to those.

“It will be upto you, to feed yourself, as we do not provide door to door room service down here.” They continued on.  “The main city courtyard is where you can find most meats and vegetables, should you prefer to make and prepare your own meals,  though most of us, come to the Dinner Halls twice a day. You will know these times, as a bell will be rung twice.

Once for mid morning meals, and later again towards Dusk.  

However, The Halls stay open all day, so should you find yourself hungry, there will always be food plentiful.”

Now that they had finally made it through the entranceway,

Amanita was met with a most truly wonderful sight.  

Before them, stood what she could only imagine was the city courtyard.

Lights filled the streetways. Hanging in midair. Some supported by beams and torches,

Others, simply by magic. She even spotted a few lights here or there trailing along with passers-by.

She couldnt tell if it was their own magic controlling these, or if they were wisps of some sort, since a few seemed to twirl and dance as if alive.  Even the pavements themselves, shone.. a very soft light underfoot, as dusk fell around them.  

Elvhen people hurried to and forth, carrying silks and other colourful materials, the hint of silvers and golds glinting like the precious jewels they probably were, as they whisked past.

Jugs and pots were carried (sometimes on heads), clothings, weapons and books.

Several were packing away their store tents for the night, others yet, led fanciful decorated Halla, wyvern, Horse or Hart, as each beast carried some load or other behind it.

Music could be heard from the distance, and faint laughter and song, accompanied it. Tunes, she had never heard of, nor ever knew what instrument could possible be behind creating such sounds.

“Ah, Yes”

Her Guide, noticing her distraction. Paused a moment too.

“As you will no doubt have guessed. Our public house is down this street…

I do personally recommend their Embrium Cider…

However , I would ‘also’ recommend, you do not make too much of a habit of frequenting there too often… as we will not tolerate wild drunkards wishing to ruin the peace.” Did they mean her people? Or was she just being defensive?

“Regardless, your room, is down ‘this’ pathway.”

They beckoned to the left, with a wave of their hand,

and she smiled politely following again

Astonishingly enough, she found herself surprised by the ancient elvhen love and extreme overuse of crystal. Certainly, she had heard tales of their ancient kingdoms, made with the stuff.. but she had assumed they were nothing more then fanciful elftales, told to keep Dalish children interested.

The buildings, the pathways, everything of wall and ground, seemed to be, in some way shape or form… decorated by Crystal. Crystal flowers, vines, swirls, crystallised patterns of wolves entwined with halla, dragons dancing with Mythal-like figures, murals added faint splashes of colour along walkways, patterns of animals, beasts, spirits, warriors, with bows, staffs or swords to daggers.

Though, polished white marble stone, was what made up the main foundations.

It was dizzying trying to take it all in.

Few trees, and bushes, plants and flowers littered the place. And what did, looked almost out of place, with the rest of the scene. Unnatural even, as many of the plants they passed, she recognised, should be well out of season, currently here in full glorious bloom.

Some smaller tree’s, beautiful pink and white Thedas blossoms, had crystal wrapping around their trunks all the way up, to their branches, keeping them contained, or helping shape their growth.

Lights glowed, along the thinner crystal, basking the flora wrapped within.      

The ancient elder guide lead on, finally arriving to the building in which she was to stay..

It was massive. Like most of the buildings really.. So much so, she had to crane her neck back, to take in its towering height.  It too, was made from white marble and crystal. No surprise really.

“How in Thedas, do you ever know your way around here?” She asked, arching a brow and side eyeing the other beside her.

“I’m sure you will manage.”

They replied indifferently as they stepped past her and entered within.

She followed them with her gaze, when they passed and disappeared from sight.

Clearly, it wasn’t their problem, if she were to become lost or not.

Amanita took one last lingering look of its height, and entered as well.

Warmth was the first thing to hit her, and she was glad for it too, as giant open fireplaces were centred in the middle of each common room, where some elves sat at tables , or on well furnished lounges and chairs, reading or chatting amongst themselves. Some wrote or drew in books, some sat in circles, telling stories and grand tales.. or puffing away on smoke pipes.

Had her guide not been in such a clear hurry to bring her to her room, and be done with her,

she would have liked to have stayed and listen to such extravagantly colourful tales.

They walked up two sets of stone stairwells before finally coming to a stop down one of the grand arched hallways.

She was thankful for the moment to pause, and sunk heavily against the wall, catching her breath, as the majority of her body ached from carrying her luggage and the steps it took them to get here.

“Here is your room my Lady.”

“Ohhh…”

Amanita  lugged her things the last few paces, and stepped in.

She had expected something modest, truly modest, but this room looked big enough to house a clans family of five. Comfortably.

A large bed to the far corner, with dark green velvet and gold trimming, covers, an assortment of colourful pillows of various make, like wool, velvet, fleece, and cotton.

An open large fireplace, fire already crackling away, candles already lit and tables, one for study work, another for food preparations? Perhaps.

Chairs… Actual chairs with fine red and green upholstery. A luxurious lounge set at the end of the bed. Heavy dark red and gold curtains that hid an open balcony behind large mosaic stained glass windows.

Amanita remembering herself suddenly, turned, to thank her guide for their time and for seeing her to her room. Only to realise with a pinch of guilt, that they had already left her be.

Shame.

She wandered over to the bed and began unpacking her things.

A few memento’s, gifts, from her Clansfolk , were set atop the dresser.

Miniature carvings of Halla, one of feharel (old habits sometimes died harder then others, but then, the meaning behind this one had changed. For now, they believed FenHarel protected their dreams),

as well a few other Dalish knick-knacks, a straw doll, given to protect her, from a small Dalish child, and a nearly full journal that she had fondly begun sketching & writing in, as well.

She hadn’t ever owned much clothing to begin with, so it took little time to pack those away, and by the time she was done, exhaustion had well passed kicked in.

She stretched, falling back on the green rug to stare mindlessly up at the ceiling, then pulled herself to her feet and dragged herself sluggishly to the bed.

She collapsed atop it with a “Ompf”, kicking off her leather bound shoes, and in mere moments,

sleep claimed her.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………..

*Knock, knock, knock*

“Hmnnfff-snort-……”

*Knock, knock, knock*

“Hmmssnaughhh?!!”

She bolted upright in bed. Dazed. Trying to remember where she was.

The sound that pulled her from her dreams, came again, only this time, alittle more insistently.

Knock, knock, knock.

Reality kicked in hard and she sprung from the bed, only to find her foot tangled in the blankets,

as she tumbled instead to the floor.

Ah .. Ouch…. ~

*Knock, knock, … knock*

“Yes! Yes!, I’m coming!!”

Amanita kicked herself free, stood briefly, attempting to fix her mess of hair, then hurried over to open the door.

A large figure towered above her,

and she looked up from armoured chest to see a stern face and cold golden eyes peering down a large nose at her.  He was hooded and from the looks of it, in gold plaited armour to boot. A guard? Sentry?  Had she already somehow broken a law?  Was he here to escort her out of the city,

or worse, to prison????

By the Gods.

She needed a coffee..

She hoped absent-mindedly as they continued to stare at one another silently,

that they served coffee in this prison.

Then he finally cleared his throat.

“I am called, Abelas.” A slight tilt of the head as he observed her silently gaping at him.

“I am here to escort you..”

Oh god… she knew it. Prison.

“..To where you will be teaching”

what??? OH .. RIGHT!!!

“Thank goodness.. “

She sighed aloud, relieved, resting a hand over her heart and chuckled shaking her head

“I thought I’d done something wrong..”

“Why?”

She’d say he arched a brow at her in this moment when she looked to him again,

yet he apparently lacked them.

“Well, you’re….” She waved at his attire. “Dressed like one of the guards..from the looks of it”

He straightened.

“Regardless, you are late. I had arrived at the required time earlier, yet when you had not answered, I assumed you had gone down to the study halls already. Found you absent and thus returned again, to escort you.”

Amanita rubbed her forehead

“Sorry.. Sorry.. I …slept in… “

“Clearly”. He bemused looking past her.

“Right… Can I.. - Would you give me a moment to collect my things?” He nodded. “Then I shall meet you downstairs.” And left her too it.

Ok. Best not take too long then. Amanita hurried over to the wash room. A small out of the way room.

She wouldn’t have enough time to bathe properly,  so instead she hurried up to the smaller water basin, grabbed the flannel and attempted to wash her face, Goodness though, did she look a sight. A flustered cheeked dazed woman looked back at her from across the mirror, face puffy & usual amber eyes. reddened from deep sleep. Dried drool and a wild tangled mop, in place of her hair.

She washed quickly, ran a brush through until the tangles became less a disastrous mess and more its natural wavy self.  Then grabbed the books and headed down.

Abelas awaited her, as he said he would be, arms crossed, looking out to the other elves that passed by on their own way to whatever their mornings had in store for them.

“Sorry, sorry!” She stammered up to him balancing the books on her hip & running her free hand back through her hair again. “Thank you for waiting though. Shall we go?” She smiled.

Abelas looked at her briefly, as if to say something, only to then change his mind and uncross his arms  “Very well, This way if you will, Please” He began walking and she hurried to keep up.

It had dawned on her years ago when she had first met these ancient elves, that his people were larger then her own. Abelas was no exception to this fact, as his longer legs kept such a pace she had to put some speed into her step, just to keep up with the man.

“Oh, I didnt have enough time to introduce myself before..  I’m Amanita Lavellan, of Clan Lavellan. … Though, just ‘Amanita’ is fine.. ” She beamed, proudly, but he only grunted an acknowledgement to her words, sparing her a brief glance before looking ahead of them again.

“The city..” He began. “Has many different buildings dedicated to each area of study.. Some for literature, History, Agriculture, Magic, Battle training… Arts, Medical studies“

He stopped out the front of one of the buildings to look at her.

“This building, is where we house guest teachers from all across Thedas. And.. it is where you will teach your classes.”

She was thankful it was literally just down the road and across the block from her own building and she had a funny feeling, Abelas, likely felt the same way too.

They went inside.

“Your classroom, is the last down the hall to your right.” He continued, following closely behind her.

Amanita cleared her throat, took a deep breath and stepped inside.

To an entirely empty room.

“ah.. are you sure, its ‘this’ room?”

She asked, looking at Abelas as he came in, to stand beside her. Taking in the equally empty view together.

“I am.”

“Then perhaps, I was alittle too .. late?”

He shifted on golden plated feet and linked his hands behind his back

“It was just as empty… When I arrived here at the earlier intended time as well”

She grimaced.

“I.. Knew.. it wouldn’t exactly be ‘easy’ to teach.. but.. I imagined there might be a few,

eager to learn or simply curious, to what the Dalish know”

“And, What knowledge, pray tell, could the Dalish possibly possess, that would be worth learning of?” Abelas enquired, indifferently, arms crossed infront of his chest, once more.

“Well, I dont know…” She fumed. Feeling alittle frustrated now.

“How we managed all these years, what medicines we can make from what plant?

How to hunt wildlife? Or how to track? Even just the missing gaps between our people”

She could tell by the look of him, that he wasn’t at all convinced nor interested.

“Really? … We have nothing you could care to learn from?”

He didn’t care to answer. Just tapped his fingers absent-mindedly on his arm.

“If .. You will not be needing anything else. I will leave you to it” He bowed, then went to leave. “Good day”

“Wait, Abelas? Please, I’m curious? Why did you escort me here if you don’t care for the Dalish even being here in the first place, either??” “Because.” He replied. “No one else volunteered to do so.” A pause, before he continued again

“But, also, If I am being honest, Miss Lavellan, It was out of respect to your Herald. Though I may have little trust for outside people. We do owe her a great debt none the less. So as you see, you have your answer.”

Amanita sighed inwardly, then shrunk back, when the taller elf leaned in closer as if studying her face, before straightening again.

“If I might suggest something? Perhaps you might use the day to go back to your lodgings and clean up alittle. Then explore the rest of the city. I am sure you could even find more suitable clothing.. from some of the stores.. and  you could sit in on other studies if it so pleases you.”  

And with that, he left her too it.

Amanita wandered over to the front desk, or ‘rather’, slunk, placing the books down and sat, hiding her face in her hands as she groaned aloud, feeling defeated on day one.

That had to be some kind of a record for her.

Utterly wonderful.

She had herself a classroom , but no students to even teach?

And ontop of this, she clearly hadn’t excelled at representing her people well enough either,

as she apparently looked a sight, and from Abelas none so subtle remarks, she probably smelled bad on top of that.  She raised an arm and sniffed.

Yep.

Sweat.

To be fair..  she had spent part of the journey on foot , and the last couple days in a carriage, without chance for a proper decent bath in days.

It would do no good all the same, to sit around moping and sulking, so perhaps it best she did head back and, as Abelas suggested. Freshen up.  She huffed, grabbed the books up again, then headed back.

Fresh hot water bath, here I come.

[nakedfullmonty-fr]

i rememebered i wrote this a month ago and never posted it like i intended to, so have some actual albiet vague lore in the form of one of the letters Temahae sends home to her father Kolya, in another clan

The package is a large wooden box, though it has been wrapped carefully with brown paper and string, and has been marked as fragile in several places. It is in great contrast to the accompanying letter, which is written on fine parchment, in an envelope sealed with wax. The letter's handwriting is elegant, but looks forced in places, much like some of the language used; a handwriting that was learnt, rather than a handwriting that forms naturally. It reads: 

Dearest Father, I hope this letter finds its way to you and mother, and I hope it finds you well. Regrettably, it’s been some time since I last wrote, and for that I can only apologise. I promise that I haven’t forgotten about you, I could never, but in recent times things in Ogygia have been…un-permitting. As it stands right now, I cannot share details on the recent events that I have borne witness to, but perhaps it is for the best. It seems the more I learn about the world, the less I wish to know. There are things out there that are the stuff of myths and legends and children’s cautionary tales alike, that surely should not exist, and yet they do, as if they simply walked right off the pages of whatever dark grimoire they were written into. I pray you do not encounter them. Nowadays I take the legends of the Wendigo Winters more seriously than ever. I suppose, more importantly, an update on myself is in order. I have stories, of things that have happened and the people I have met, that are far too numerous to fit into a mere letter. Over the years, Ogygia has continued to grow and grow at an astonishing pace, and just recently has found itself established as fully recognised city-state (Can you believe? Niet, a Queen, and myself, an illegitimate Princess!). For the most part it’s a pleasant place to live, although admittedly I mingle with the common clanfolk far less than I should, and dragons from all across Sornieth have found themselves drawn to it. As you, and mother, are still alive and recognised as my parents, I am not accepted as a true heir to Ogygia, but quite frankly I’m fine with that. High titles come with high responsibilities, and I am not afraid to admit that true royal life sounds like a complete bore that only serves to draw me away from my books. I have, however, found one particular duty that I will always gladly partake in. Though infrequent due to the small numbers of Ice dragon in Ogygia, occasionally it falls upon me to read the Preservation Recitations for those who partake in such religions even outside of our Flight boundaries. Even though I have not been to the Icefields since my childhood, it still fills me with pride to have the honour of filling such an important role within our culture. On that topic, if luck is on my side, then this letter should come with an accompanying parcel – please treat it carefully, it contains the bones of an Ogygia resident - named Jorlias - who, in the days prior to his death, asked that his bones be cleaned and sent back home to be preserved and buried where they belong; in the Icefields. If you would be so kind as to comply with this request, it would be greatly appreciated. My time in Ogygia has served my magic studies well – if not for my eyes, I doubt I would be distinguishable from the natives. The mixing of cultures within the city, and our various ties with other clans, has permitted that I learn the basics of Light magic, however such magic is so far removed from the Ice and Water magic that I’m familiar with, that I find progress is slow. I think perhaps this brings me to the true subject of this letter. After a great deal of self-reflection, I have come to realise that I have…settled. The Southern Icefields are my birthplace, but after living here for so long I know Ogygia is my home, it is where I belong. This is not new information, what is new to me is the realisation that I lament this fact. I left home with the goal of studying every form of magic Sornieth has to offer, for to do otherwise would be to squander the potential that I was so lucky to have been born with. I reached Ogygia very early on in my life, when I was still a child, and so perhaps stayed initially because I missed the warmth of company and family so far away from my home. For a time this worked for me, because Niet and Yastrebok were more than happy to tutor me in Water’s magic. But I had a plan. I’d always had a plan, even back then, to only spend a few years at most within one territory. To master the magic within and then move to the next, because the world is a big place and to study and master all magic I come across would take a lifetime even then. Except I became complacent, I discarded my plan and stayed because I loved these new people that I’d found, and I was happy. I understand that my existence in Ogygia is part of an allyship pact. I do not know the rules of such pact, but now, as an adult I am sure I am permitted to make my own way in this world. I have decided to move on from Ogygia. In truth, I am unsure of where I will go. The Sea of a Thousand Currents is a very central point, so any journey I undertake will be a lengthy one. Most likely I will travel North towards the Viridian Labyrinth, to study Nature’s magic, a logical next step considering its close ties to the magics of Ice and Water. That said, perhaps now is as good a time as any to take that long overdue trip back to the Icefields. It would be most lovely to be able to see you all in person again, and like I said, I have too many stories to fit into writing. I think perhaps what brought about this change in mind, is that I feel I am no longer happy. 

Midway through the letter, the text changes. A significant portion of the letter is not written in common, and instead switches to the native Ice script of Warden-Tongue. The elaborate handwriting and extensive vocabulary seem to vanish as it continues: 

It is most likely foolish and horribly irresponsible of me to share any of this with you, but you are my family, however distant, and I know I can trust you. In recent years, things in Ogygia have not been going well. The city itself and its citizens are fine for the most part, most are none the wiser, but up top, there are chips in the foundations. As I mentioned previously, I cannot currently share details on the exact events of recent times, but the most important takeaway is this: Lockheed, founding council member and head of Ogygia’s militia, has fallen heroically in battle. Mind you, she is not dead, not yet, but it is inevitable, and most unfortunate. She deserved a swift and painless death, not this. In a last attempt to save those involved, including myself, she reached within herself and tapped into the purest form of magical essence known to dragons – the soul. Such an act is rarely done, and as such there is little known of its effects and even less known on a cure. The major Gods we have reached out to have not responded, and the minor deities say it is something far beyond their power. She will die a hero, will be remembered as one, but this is not a death befitting of a paladin, a defender of good and protector of innocents. It is slow, and it is painful, for her and for us. Nowadays she is a bedridden, her sight is failing, and she sleeps more often than not – a blessing perhaps. When she wakes, she is no longer herself. Every day she loses her grip on her identity a little more. Her husband, Bermuda, does not leave her side, even though she has long forgotten him. Her wife, Magpie, has become bitter and angry, and spends most of her time on the hillside just past the gates of the city, watching only for the return of their daughter, Europa, who is away from home and blissfully unaware. Her other daughter, Io, has been doing her best to keep face as a military general herself, to hide the situation from the public, but the already aggressive flame inside her burns only brighter. It has been a long time since anyone has seen her son, Ganymede. Lockheed was as much an older sister and mentor to me as any other member of the Ogygian counsel, and to pretend that I am unphased by this would be a terrible lie. But it is not my time. I must hold my composure until her passing, because the city relies on its counsel. We must do our best to hold through the passing of one of our members, and the devastating grief of two more. We cannot afford to crumble. As the face of the city, Niet knows this, more than any of us. As her younger sister, figuratively, I can see through her well-practised straight face better than anyone. We have faced many losses through the years, but this is the first time loss has hit so close, and it has rattled her. Unfortunately, this is not the only dilemma she faces, and as things continue to pile up my worry increases. The military has a strong but generally positive presence in Ogygia – We are small, with enemies on all sides, so we value those who defend us. Sooner or later the public must learn of Lockheed’s fate, and without a doubt it will cause unrest among the people. The hints of civil unrest are already taking root in some places. As a primarily Water based society, we are no stranger to prophecies, especially ones pertaining to death and doom, but these are easily dismissed as misinterpretations of visions, or simple scams. But recently, more and more prophets have been making themselves heard, all calling on the same vision – That there is a great beast in a deep slumber, but soon it will awaken and drag Ogygia to its blackened fate. I know not what it means, nor if I believe it, but it is become harder to ignore, and soon people will want answers. Yastrebok, Niet’s mate, has been riddled with similar prophecies for all the years I’ve known him, to add to the mystery. But the people of Ogygia will not turn to him, they will turn to Niet. The people have no faith in Yastrebok – the Absent King, they call him – and for good reason. Yastrebok has always had the awful habit of simply vanishing at times. Years and years ago, it’d only be for a day or so, but as time goes on his trips become longer and more frequent and now he disappears for weeks on end. When he returns he says he remembers nothing of where he goes or what he does. I’ve attempted to use Water magic to scry on him, to find where he goes or to tell if he lies, but every time I find my power blocked, whether it be by him or some external force. It puts a strain on their relationship. Niet mourns the loss in private, but when he returns, they no longer have civil words for one another, they just fight. Mostly verbally, sometimes physically. In the old days, when I was young and they loved each other, when they disagreed they would spar their frustrations away until they were tired, and then they would lie in the golden wheat fields and talk until it was better. Now they just fight for hours and hours, and then go their separate ways without a word. Niet confessed something to me recently, a grave something, that she said she has never spoke a word of to anyone else before. I will not share it, I cannot, but knowing that and then looking at the problems she faces now fills me with dread. I have no doubt that she is strong, but everyone has a limit, and I worry she will reach hers soon. I worry what will happen to her, to the counsel, to the city, when she does. Please forgive me, Father, for unloading this unto you. I know it is not your cross to bear, and most of this means little to you. Now that I think about it, I’m unsure why I felt the need to write it all down to begin with. Perhaps I just needed to share it with someone. Yes, I think I’ve found it a little cathartic, my heart feels just a little lighter now. Previously I shared things like this with my younger sister Ricin, but she feels the stress as much as I do, and her mental health is deteriorating. In all good conscience, I cannot burden her with this. If I can ask you of this, Father, once you have read this letter, and shared it with Mother, I request that you burn it. Or, if you simply must keep it, you ink out the parts pertaining to the inner workings of Ogygia. It is foolish of me to have written it at all, but it would be disastrous if our political weaknesses were made public, even in the Icefields so far away. We are small, now more than ever, and cannot afford more enemies in this state. I trust you to do this, and thank you Father. 

Once more the text changes, and for the last few lines the text reverts once more back to common, and elaborate writing and vernacular return: 

I understand that one clan leader such as yourself would find yourself terribly busy, but if you ever find yourself with but a spare moment, if it is not too much trouble, perhaps you could write back to me? I feel selfish to have written so much about myself – Truly, I would love to know how you and Mother fare back home, and in what endeavours my siblings, Lyudmila, Faris and Tsvetanka find themselves in. And if you could, please tell them that they too are welcome to write to me, or to come and visit any time. As I mentioned previously, if at all possible, I wouldn’t hesitate to return home, under the knowledge that you have the availability of course. I am unsure of when exactly I plan to vacate my home in Ogygia; it will not be an easy feat, and my heart will undoubtedly be heavy, heavier than it’s ever been. However, once the deed is done, and I find myself on the road once more, I’m sure that through various couriers I will find myself able to write and send more letters, for I truly regret my lack of recent contact. Oh, and one more thing, if you could keep this part a secret Father, but I have found that for a Fae, I have grown rather tall, and I will admit I’m somewhat proud of it. It has been so long since I’ve seen you, I would love to keep it as a surprise for Mother. Ever yours, Temahae

[metalempire]

another little royal knights story mainly focusing on lordknightmon and jesmon this time around with a bit more plot to it 

In the Northern Digital World, deep in the sky, there is a place where the 3 Archangel Digimon, Seraphimon, Ophanimon and Cherubimon rule over the heavens and the holy type Digimon. They have always been close to Yggdrasil, and the Royal Knights were always under the impression that Yggdrasil was the one who appointed them that position in the first place. Thus, relations with the holy Digimon of the heavens were key to preserving the balance of the world.

The Royal Knights were called to the assembly room, those not actively busy were present. Those being Omegamon, Duftmon, Lordknightmon, Jesmon, and Examon. Omegamon had finished speaking with Cherubimon via computer screen transmission. Apparently, there were concerns over Clavisangemon, a high ranking angel Digimon owning the key to the vital Zenith Gate that protects the Digital World from the outside worlds. The concerns were over his strangely political nature of late, he seemed to be vying for power, questioning the authority of the 3 Archangels and rallying other impressionable angel Digimon to a mysterious cause. The Royal Knights had been asked to investigate. 

“We do not need to expend more than 2 members for this mission. He is only one Digimon and could be brought to reason. Yet we must also be prepared for the worst. Politics is a dangerous battlefield to approach.” Duftmon spoke very matter-of-factly to the group. 

“I should go, I knew Clavisangemon when I was training to be a knight. If anyone should reason with him, it should be a friend.” Jesmon spoke up, raising a hand. 

“And I should go also. If the worst comes to the worst, we may have to subdue him.” Lordknightmon also spoke up as well, arms folded. Jesmon winced and donned a light frown. 

“Very well, I don’t see any problems with this. Omegamon? Examon? Do you have any objections to this plan?” Duftmon looked around to the both of them. 

“None.” Omegamon nodded. 

“Angel Digimon.... Not my area of expertise. I’m sure you guys can handle it.” Examon remarked, adding a light chuckle after he spoke. 

The knights had all agreed, and so Lordknightmon and Jesmon departed to meet with Clavisangemon in the heavens.

Jesmon felt uneasy around Lordknightmon, for he was known to be ruthless in his execution of duty. If there was any doubt about Clavisangemon, if he showed any signs of being a threat to the established peace of the area, then Jesmon knew that Lordknightmon wouldn’t hesitate for a moment to kill Jesmon’s old friend.

In the clouds above the Northern Digital world, the Holy Area was located. A place where “God’s Light” always shined. “God” being a possible colloquial term for an interpretation of Yggdrasil in a less physical sense. Clavisangemon resided in the most influential church in the region. One in which young holy Digimon oft prayed every day to receive wisdom and guidance in their duties. It stood tall as a building, red and white with a large, slim bell tower, moving in an intricate, double cross pattern as it went up, the stone of the building a bright white, reflecting the sunlight and glimmering. The insides had humble wooden benches to sit in prayer, a golden organ ornately decorated in rubies and emeralds, reaching high to the ceiling. The windows were of blue and purple stained glass, depicting images of several angel Digimon and of the Digitail world. The building was currently empty, save for Clavisangemon himself, who was in charge of the church. Soft light filtered into the room during the day. Lately it had been a place for him to spread and cultivate his views and plans, imparting them onto other Digimon and gathering support to his plans. 

The two Royal Knights arrived after a pleasant conversation about cooking tips, since Lordknightmon was an expert chef and Jesmon always had trouble with the art. Lordknightmon enjoyed making delicious works of art, since he did used to reward the Knightmon he ruled over before he joined the Royal Knights with exceptional meals. Desserts were his ultimate specialty. Jesmon opened the two, sturdy wooden doors to the church. Stepping in with his bladed footsteps making a sharp banging noise on the ground, which he apologised for, much to Lordknightmon’s amusement as his metallic footsteps echoed through the beautiful building. 

“Ah good day gentlemon, how can I-Baohackmon? Is that you, my friend? My, how you have grown!” Clavisangemon approached the pair, instantly recognising his friend with open arms and a smile. His accent was like that of a well-off, approachable uncle.

“Hahah! It’s Jesmon now, Clavis. I’m one of the Royal Knights, like I said I was going to be! It’s good to see you.” Jesmon offered his hand to shake, the angel Digimon taking it warmly to do so. 

“As much this reunion heartwarms me to my core, we’re here on business, Jesmon.” Lordknightmon sighed. 

“Ah, of course, forgive me. Uh, Clavis. Cherubimon tells me you’re up to something concerning. Please let me hear it from you, my friend. I’m sure we can work something out.” Jesmon nodded, a little uneasy to bring this all up. 

“I see, Bao-I mean, Jes. Please, take a seat if you’d like. Maybe offer a prayer while you’re here? Hahahah! Ah, I jest, my friend. I must say, it saddens me to see my suspicions confirmed, that an Archangel cannot deal with his own problems without sicking someone as prestigious as the Royal Knights on me.” Clavisangemon spoke somewhat harshly there, discontent dominating his tone. 

“Elaborate. Swiftly. Clavisangemon.” Lordknightmon put his left hand on his hip, taking a considerable dislike to such a tone being used in the presence of the Royal Knights.

“Well, you see, my esteemed guests, lately the Archangels have been losing their resolve, their power, their influence, and their balance. I fear they will soon clash and conflict, becoming their fallen forms soon enough if nothing is done. I am rallying pure Digimon to my side to help prevent this from happening by changing the leadership of the Heavens before it is too late!” Calvisangemon’s tone became dire and increasingly serious. 

“What!? Clavis, such an accusation is a serious offense. The Archangels are close allies of the Royal Knights and of Yggdrasil! Clavis, you should know better than anyone that heresy is a grave thing to commit-” Jesmon protested, wide eyed, though the angel cut the knight off mid sentence.

“I am aware of the risks, Jes. But in my holy heart of God, I know it to be true. Their leadership has faltered, the justice of Seraphimon has been less active and more lenient, the wisdom of Cherubimon, the love of Ophanimon has dulled and dwindled. They are more conservative with how they conduct themselves and are less committed to their heavenly duties. I suspect foul play and corruption at work, but they have thwarted my past attempts and ensured my silence for a time. Their leadership is harsher, and life here is not as peaceful, grand, and well, divine as it should’ve been. The artwork is not as majestic, the food is not as scrumptious, the water is not as thirst quenching, the smiles of the people are fewer and fewer by the day. Even the holy light that shines upon the heavens has diminished. Just ask the common angels, not the higher ups, but the regular ones who come to this church and many others who live here. Life is not as it was, Jes, and I seek to rally support to show them the error of their ways. And old tensions are sparking again between Cherubimon and Seraphimon. In the ancient Digital World, and a time after it, there was always conflict between Beast and Human Digimon and such conflict is once again. I would not see us divided once more!” Clavisangemon spoke with resolve and determination, yet, his voice was untrustworthy to Lordknightmon, so he took the chance to speak.

“I would advise you to give us a little more to work with here, Clavisangemon. It sounds to me like excuses under hard times to make a bid for power. Examon encountered similar problems in the past, an area falling on hard times and rulers making changes, leading to a power hungry disgruntled noble leading a rebellion and destablising the region. Sadly the specifics are classified but I do hope, for my comrade’s sake, that you are not the same.” Lordknightmon pointed at Clavisangemon. 

“L-Lordknightmon! Please! Clavis isn’t like that! He just means well is all, maybe we should consider-” 

“It’s fine, Jes. I wouldn’t expect a Virus to trust me. I do have one more piece of information to impart. A while ago, they departed on a mission to the Dark Area. When they returned, they had the leader of the Demon Lords, Lucemon Falldown Mode, captive with them. As you might be aware, before the Archangels ruled over the Holy Area, he was the leader of all Holy Digimon before becoming a Fallen Angel due to his pride. Ever since they brought him back, he has been restored to his old self, the young angel of light and peace. I suspect the abduction of that.... thing is the reason for all this.But please, side with me, old friend. Together we can work out what happened to the Archangels and restore the light to the heavens!” The angel pleaded to his friend, avoiding eye contact with the pink knight. 

“You’re lying. I have not heard anything about this business with Lucemon. The Archangels always tell us about their movements and something as bold as that would definitely be brought to our attention. The fact they never asked us to participate also makes you suspicious, since I have cooperated with them on multiple occasions when the Demon Lords are involved. Jesmon, what do you feel Yggdrasil’s will on this is telling you? I know what it tells me.” Lordknightmon folded his arms, looking calmly to the young knight. 

“I....I....Yggdrasil’s will, is to end this. Clavis will only bring chaos if conflict erupts here. Isn’t that right, Lordknightmon? The conflict from within could be what makes them fall, as Clavis feared. I-I’m sorry, my friend, but you’re only going to be your own demise at this rate, please, stop this and let us handle things.” Jesmon looked saddened, yet he knew what he was saying and what he was feeling was ultimately right. 

“I am not a liar, Jesmon. But if you really seek to stop my divine mission, then you leave me no choice. I cannot allow things to continue like this. Forgive me for this, old friend, but this is God’s will that I should rule the heavens, for I know the light of the people better than any other.” Clavisangemon was solemn and grim as he spoke, knowing he had no choice and knowing that the Royal Knights would not leave him be, he raised the large key he held and brought it down sharply towards them.

Jesmon reacted by bringing out the swords on his arms and blocking the hit with them, pushing against the heavy golden key’s weight.

“Clavis, please! Stop this-!” Jesmon had little time to plead before the angel rose the key up and brought it down diagonally, smacking the knight clear on the face with it to know him to the ground. 

“I will use this key to open the Zenith Gate and plunge the evils of this world into it, banishing them forever more! None shall stop my divine crusade, not even you, Baoha-Jesmon!” Clavisangemon brought it up again to strike the knight once more, who was still stuggling to bring himself to fight, yet he was interrupted by Lordknightmon lunging at him, using his Spiral Masquerade to slice up the angel and push him back, forcing him to use the key defensively.

Once the attack finished, Clavisangemon rose the key to strike once more, yet the metal ribbons Lordknightmon had just used to attack with now grabbed at the key and threw it down to the found near the knight’s feet. The angel went to pick it up, aiming a punch at Lordknightmon, yet with a simply backhand slap, the knight knocked Clavisangemon to the floor. He scrambled to get the key and get to his feet, kicking at Lordknightmon’s lower leg to stagger him. He grabbed the key, stood up, and went to strike with both hands, yet, he had forgotten who he was dealing with. 

“Argent Fear.” Lordknightmon was already at point blank range, and brought the pile bunker on his right arm to Clavisangemon’s stomach, firing it and punching a hole clean through the angel’s body, knocking him onto his back. 

“Foolish.” Was all Lordknightmon commented on the matter, raising a rose to his helmet and sniffing it (somehow), before throwing it on the angel’s dying body, data dispersing from the wound. 

“Clavis....! I’m sorry....” Jesmon walked over to his body. Clavisangemon offered him a weak smile while Jesmon knelt down and closed the angel’s eyes for him with two fingers as his body slowly faded away into data. 

The knights turned around to leave and walked towards the door, Lordknightmon holding it open for Jesmon, he spoke to him as he passed through. 

“Jesmon. When we return and file our report, we’re scheduling a visit to investigate what your friend said about the Archangels. If they’ve been withholding information from the Royal Knights, then Alphamon needs to hear about it. Anything regarding Lucemon is serious business.” Lordknightmon spoke in his usual aloof tone, trying to make it seem rather factual. 

“Lordknightmon!” Jesmon’s voice perked up, perhaps he was honouring his friend’s last request? 

“And perhaps before then, after we file our report and arrange our next visit, maybe we could go and have a little date to wind down? I know just the place for a good-” 

“N-No thank you....” Jesmon’s voice trailed off once again. Trust Lordknightmon to make the moment weird again...

[peachesncreamkookies]

Empty Words Part 2

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 Part 5

Taehyung X Reader

Genre: Angst, fluff

Summary: Moving to the big city for some inspiration as an aspiring young author, you run into an idol and your simple journey becomes more twisted than originally planned.

Pacing from wall to wall of the apartment, you question your decision and change your mind a good hundred times. On the one hand you think, what’s the harm? I might get a free meal, make a new friend and get to know the city I now live in better… But on the other hand you deny every reason for it to be okay because he’s an odd, disrespectful, rude man and he has nothing to offer you!

You knew deep down you would go anyway out of curiosity, knowing full well it would be interesting. It’s not like you had anything better to do. No friends or family in the city, still no inspiration for your book yet and not enough money to throw around at a bar or night club. Spending time on your own was something you did often and didn’t mind doing but it wasn’t everyday you were offered a night out in Seoul by a handsome singer who wanted to treat you.

It was 6:30pm and you basically spent the day unpacking and imagining the evening. You had half an hour and you began to go through all of your outfits. Not thinking too much about it, you decided to go casual, in jeans paired with a black shirt and jacket. Faint makeup and clean hair, you were ready with five minutes to make it down.

Heading out of the building, you make your way to the street next to the bin he tripped you at and wait. He strolls over to you at 7:02pm and you watch him. He bows mockingly and apologises for being late when you point to the time on your phone.

“Shall we begin milady?” You chuckle and curtsy sheepishly as he observed you. He also dressed casually in an oversized polo neck and baggy trousers. He held his arm out for you to take as if he was helping an old woman cross the road or a father at his daughter’s wedding. He frowned when you declined. 

“Why not? I mean you agreed to come which means you have to do everything I have planned! Do you want, the full, Kim Taehyung Seoul experience?!” He shouted in a way that an MC would on a cheesy game show. Deciding to play along you loop your arm under his and and salute. He lets escape another laugh, so goofy yet deep. You cough to the side hoping your flustered state leaves you but little did you know he was going to keep you in this state for a very, very long time. 

“So where are you taking me?” Looking up at him for a response, you were met with a cheeky rectangular grin and a deep chuckle. Of course it had to be a surprise. So cliche. “You know how cliche this is right? I mean have you genuinely considered it?” 

“Don’t you like it? Most girls would kill for this,” he scoffed, “you don’t know anyone here and need someone to show you the ropes. I just happen to be the one who got the pleasure.” He smiled sweetly and without warning started to speed up. Dragging you along the path behind him he swerved into a side street knocking you off balance. He turned around to catch you quickly and bent down to your eye level, hands on your arms. “Paparazzi found us and you don’t want them to ruin our date do you?” 

Without giving you time to answer, let alone process, he grabs your hand and breaks into a run. He holds onto you tightly and tries not to run too fast in case you fall. He makes another four turns before stopping in a dark alley next to some trash and presses you against the wall, leaning against your body. As you begin to protest, he covers your mouth with his hand and leans in to your ear and whispers.

“Please bare with this and please be quiet. Those guys can be relentless and we may have lost them.” He moves his head back and looks you in the eyes. He sighs, and moves off you, waiting for you to complain. He knew you weren’t the easy type to fawn over him and pull him closer. He also knew you were just using him out of boredom and you didn’t have a good view of him from yesterday. 

As he moved off you and appeared lost in thought you decided against throwing a tantrum. It couldn’t be easy for him having to deal with this on a daily basis. The flustered feeling hadn’t left you though so you peer out of the alley to check if anyone was in sight. Smiling you turned to him and nudged him forward.

“You’re eager aren’t you? And don’t worry, it’ll be worth it. Although,” he frowned looking disappointed, “the tour will have to wait for another day.” You can’t help it when your face falls, you were excited to see Seoul today and you basically got out of bed for nothing. “Don’t worry though, I will take you to eat. I hope this experience doesn’t overwhelm you though.” When your face lit up again a hint of a smile curled onto his lips as he began to lead you back in the direction of your apartment.

More turns left and right as he walked you quickly and he led you to a house. He knocked the door and waited patiently with a grin on his face. You heard a loud crash followed by a yelp from inside before someone stumbled to the door. A young man opened the door and eyed your companion.

“Where are your keys?” The frown quickly disappeared as he noticed you standing to the side awkwardly wondering what was going on. He looked back at his friend and revealed a devilish smile. “So you’re his plus one to dinner? Glad to be acquainted, I’m Namjoon.” He held out a hand to shake, a cast on his fingers, and bowed his head slightly and moved to the side to invite you in.

Gingerly stepping into the house, you took in your surroundings. Of course, who wouldn’t have known he’d take you to where he and all his band members live. Rolling your eyes at the situation you look around to see three men lounging around the room. Recognising each of them instantly, you registered Suga lying still on the couch, Jungkook on his phone on a chair across from him and Jin in the kitchen, hectically stirring something in a pot then whizzing around to chop something, darting to the fridge and sighing in exasperation.

Jungkook looked up from his phone and nervously approached you and bowed his head. “Hello, I’m Jungkook, you must be the girl who crashed into V hyung yesterday?” He stood at a comical distance as he waited for you to respond. Did he say that you crashed into him? Really? You whip your head around to face the culprit and point a finger at him.

“You are the one who wasn’t watching where you were going and tripped me over! Then you accepted an apology I did not give, you waited in my  apartment and made yourself tea while I made countless trips with boxes up and  the building. You also promised  a tour of Seoul.” Sighing, rant over you turn to see yourself surrounded all of the young men who lived in the house. You suddenly wanted to shrink and run away when you hear Jin begin to shout.

“How could you do this to her. This poor girl just arrived at the city and you didn’t even help her with her belongings? Where are your manners?” His voice was shrill as he roasted the younger member. Looking small and timid, he looked up to justify himself. Try to win back some brownie points with his eldest hyung.

“I made her tea though. Plus I brought her here to taste your amazing cooking.” Elbowed by Namjoon in the ribs, he was silenced as Jin turned to face you.

“Hi, I’m Seokjin, you can call me Jin. Pleased to meet you, can I get you anything?” Shaking your head, you took a seat at the dining room table where he guided you and refused your offers to help him. “Sorry about his behaviour by the way, it’s not everyday he bumps into someone like you. Food will be ready soon, just sit tight.”

The instant he turned around to start cooking again, the boys swarmed the table and looked at you. “This the first time you seen a girl or something?” They laugh at your remark and begin to introduce themselves. You had to admit they were a nice bunch. “I’m Y/N, nice to meet you all too. Thank you to agreeing to let me join you for dinner, even though I didn’t know I was coming.” You shot a side glance at V and returned your view to the rest of the members.

“Taehyung-ssi what are you playing at? I hope you take her somewhere after dinner. If you don’t then I will.” Jimin seemed like a very nice man, maybe a little flirty. Smiling at his efforts, you blush under all the attention you were gathering. In all honesty, you were a girl surrounded by a group of very handsome men. It was a bit strange but if you didn’t think about it you could just enjoy it.

“So what type of thing are you hoping to write?” None of the others seemed at all interested about the topic of your work except Namjoon. He looked genuinely excited to be able to talk about books with someone. Thinking back you remember hearing that he was bilingual and must be quite intellectual. 

“Honestly I haven’t found my thing yet, you know? I came to Seoul because apparently my life was too boring with no inspiring breaking points in my life. I’ve never gone through trauma, been on an adventure, this is the first time even being outside of my hometown!” All eyes on you as the overwhelming truth spilled as you recounted the fact that you were in this large city, alone. Hands in your lap, face down you tried furiously to get your composure back and plaster a smile on your face. 

“That sounds really interesting, I hope you get the inspiration you need and I really look forward to reading your work when you have something.” He smiled genuinely at you from across the table, radiating passion for creativity and writing. You couldn’t help but beam back with a wide smile on your face. Have you ever received a compliment like that?

The mother bird waddled over with bowls of steaming hot food to bring to the table. He urged the younger members to get up and help him set the table and insisted on you doing nothing. “I heard what you said to Rapmon, having never left your hometown, I assume you don’t know anyone in this city. Even if that isn’t the case, if you ever need anything at all just drop by. Stay here, eat here, ask for anything and we will all do our best.” The rest of the members agree in unison. S o in sync, it was both mesmerising and a tad creepy.

After chowing down on Jin’s amazing home cooked meal and sharing general chatter at the table you really felt at home. A full stomach, good company and worry free. It was so nice. Taehyung got up from the table and began to get ready to leave again so you assumed he was going to walk you home. Following him out the door, you wave to your new friends and head out into the cool night. 

“I hope they weren’t too much. I figured a free meal would be good and introducing you to my friends. I know I didn’t get on your good side yesterday. I act stupid sometimes but I think you’ll need some friends living here. It’s a large city full of people but it’s so lonely. I’d like to be your friend.” He flashed an adorable smile and nodded his head at you. He took your arm again and walked you to your apartment.

“Do you want to come in for some tea? It’s not late yet and I don’t really… You don’t have to I mean you’re a busy celebrity. This was fun though-” Your words were faltering and you got jittery and started to panic. The move, his words, your whole situation suddenly caved in on you and you started to shake and trip over your words. Greeted by warm arms, he closed your door and held you as you nestled into his chest. Stroking your hair and cooing, he led you to your bed and tucked you in.

Arriving back with some steaming hot tea, he sat at the end of your bed and took your hand in his. The were so soft and pretty and much larger than yours, it felt so right. “You just met me, why are you being so kind to me?” He let go of your hand at the sudden resurfacing of memories and shook his head. 

“A story for another time maybe. How about you drink your tea and I leave you to rest in peace? I have practice tomorrow but I could drop by afterwards.” Wanting him to stay badly but denying yourself the courage to ask, you nod, both bashful and wary of the circumstances, you needed time to think. So much happened in the past couple of days and it all came crashing down, without leaving you time to process. 

Once you finished your tea, he squeezed your hand and walked out of the room not turning back. As soon as you heard him leave, you let out a long, tired sigh. Your brain was exploding with thoughts and questions so far left unanswered.

Did he say he didn’t want the paparazzi to ruin your date? Do you really just have a panic attack in front of an idol you met literally yesterday? Did Jin say it’s not everyday he bumped into a girl like you? What does that mean? You have no one in this city but you feel like you made some genuine friends today. Tae left you confused though, would he mind if you called him that? At first he was rude and strange, then he was holding your hand and running then pressing you up against a wall and whispering in your ear, observing you when he thought you weren’t looking, then he was looking after you and comforting you. He doesn’t seem like an easy person to understand, there’s so much going on there it’s overwhelming. 

Is the kind of eventful life your manager wanted for you? If so, it’s only your second night, what else could be in store for you?

(Fanfic re-uploading from old blog, continuing here)