#this first chapter is a little more than 4000 words
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lorsdelapluie · 4 months ago
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The doctor's diary.
Pairing: sylus x female reader
Genre: Dark shit going on. Including smut. Please read the content warning.
Word count: 4000+ words.
Content warning: mdni, explicit sexual content (but its chill for now), spoiler warning, mention of human experimentation, cult activities, my own twisted thoughts and theories are literally making this way darker than LADS already is. An oc of mine will appear more often in the next chapters, hate him guys, he is not a good guy. English is not my first language sorry for any mistakes.
Note: This chapter ended up longer than I expected somehow. And it is the first one of a three chapter fanfiction. I tend to write nasty stuff, sex wise but also everything else wise so please be prepared for anything literally. The character Castiel that you will meet in this chapter is my own oc that I made up specially for the LADS universe. I hope you will enjoy to hate him.
Chapter 1:
“You want me to go in the N109 zone ? I thought we weren’t allowed to go th-” 
“We are aware you have been going back and forth between Linkon city and the N109 Zone.” 
You pinched your lips at the words coming from Jenna’s mouth, your hand resting on your hunter’s watch. The times you forgot to turn off your watch comes back to light one by one in your mind. Brushing it off everytime you thought that the HQ wouldn't have the time to check on your status. Her arms were still crossed over her chest as she looked at you straight in the face with her dark gray eyes. You felt like a kid underneath this disappointed glare. You opened your lips to say something, to defend yourself but she raised her hand to stop you from doing so. 
“However, you have mainly been doing this outside your working hours. So it is your private life, and you may keep it a secret if you wish. But since you have been going there multiple times, we figured you might be aware of what is going on there better than we do.” She sighed. You guessed that she wasn't the one behind this idea. Maybe some higher ups that you never had the opportunity to meet.
“So this is why we thought you might be the best suited agent for this mission.”
“Oh uhm… Thank you for entrusting me.” 
“Despite this little disagreement, I am aware that you are one of our best agents. However if you think you might need help, you can still ask Xavier to accompany you. Although he has been quite busy lately.”
“No no no ! Do not bother Xavier for this. I am more than capable of handling missions on my own. As for the mission… Can I ask you what is it that I am meant to do ?” 
“Of course. I wouldn’t let you go into the Lions’ den without information.” She said as she slid her hand on her desk, taking a handful of documents stored inside a pocket and handing them to you. “We need you to participate in an auction for charity.”
“For charity…” you mumbled. You never thought you would see the day of a charity auction being held in the a zone so… uncharitable. You start looking through the papers in your hand, brows furrowed in confusion.
“We are as surprised as you look. As nice as the thoughts around this event are, we are particularly interested in one of the prizes that we wish you would purchase for us.”
Your eyes land on the auction picture of a diary, its cover is made of leather and the pages look old, teared up for some of them. “A diary ?”
“This diary seemingly belonged to one of the most wanted people of our organization. A doctor who previously worked here, in Linkon city, and got too deep in his interest for protocores and their links with people’s evol.” 
“He experimented on humans…” you mumbled as you read the notes next to the picture that the intel team had written for you. "On children..."
“He indeed did. And we would like to prevent this diary from falling into the wrong hands. This is where your part comes in. Buying this diary away from that zone.”
You nodded as you guessed the objective of your mission long before she started explaining the reason why they would go fetch that book in the first place. Plus, that diary might bring you answers you are seeking about yourself. And as you remember your partner's jewel like gaze, about Sylus too. You then raised yours towards Jenna, closing the file between your hands and straightening your back. 
“If you will allow me. I’m going to do the best I can to fulfill this mission.” 
“I know you will. The auction is in three days. I hope it gives you enough time to gather any belongings and travel to a safe place in the N109 zone… If such a place exists.” 
“Do not worry about me. I will be safe.”
You smile as Jenna raises her hand slowly with a peaceful expression as she dismisses you from her office. You exit the room, slowly closing the door behind you before walking to your desk, gathering your laptop and phone on the furniture. You then put the file inside your bag as you were already leaving the building. You would take the time to analyze everything once you were safely in the N109 Zone.
Phone in hand you immediately texted Xavier to let him know that you were leaving for a mission in the outskirts of your beloved city. As your thumbs were patting the screen of your phone, it suddenly started to vibrate. Soon enough the icon of Sylus appeared on your phone, a silly picture of him you took when he dozed off while watching a musical a few weeks prior. You frowned at the VERY convenient timing that he always had and picked up, raising your phone to your ear. 
“Yes ?”
“The twins are going to pick you up at 5 this afternoon. Will you have enough time to be prepared before then?” 
“Don’t tell me you hacked Jenna’s computer again. How many times do I have to tell you to not do that?” You frowned, faking or maybe wanting to be angry about that breach of your private life once again.
“There is no need to get angry at me. Be angry at the twins all you want though. They are the ones who insisted on checking up on you while I was away.” 
“How do they even know how to hack-” you stopped in your tracks as you heard your voice the sound of a bike motor in the background of the call. “Are you calling me while driving ?”
“Now this is a reason you can get mad at me for.” he chuckles as you let out a frustrated sound. “Do not worry, sweetie, I have my helmet on. Just checking on you through earbuds.” 
“Unsafe still. Your attention should be fully on the road.” you finally started walking towards the road that leads to your apartment, going through the usual route that takes you near along a river. “I thought you said you would be the one picking me up after Luke nearly got us in a car crash last time.” 
“I’m sorry to disappoint you, sweetie. But I do have some work meetings that need to be attended to." After a moment of quiet, he continued. “I trust Kieran will be the one driving you three back at home. I will be back before dinner.” 
“Fine. Be careful on your way to your meet up… I will see you later.” you could hear a chuckle, and the picture of Sylus’ grin appeared in your mind. Before he could answer, you hung up. 
You sighed as you crossed the street, pushing the door of your building entrance after entering the password on the door’s pad. Slowly you slid the phone inside your bag, totally forgetting about warning your colleague, and your friends, of the mission that will probably won’t let you have time for chit chat. Once you are inside your place, you quickly pull out a bag from the closet in the entrance, walking towards your bedroom to pack your essentials for the next few days. 
An hour flew by without you realizing it before your phone rang. Luke. As you picked up you hear his cheerful voice coming from outside your building, you walked towards your opened window staring down. 
“Miss ! Your carriage is waiting for you !” the masked man yells waving at you from below, catching glances from other people passing by. 
“Get inside the car ! Can’t you see people are staring at you Luke ?” you frowned shooing him away with your hand. 
“Heeeh. I’m hurt ! Are you embarrassed by me perhaps ?” You wondered if Sylus teasing was coming from spending too much time with them or the other way round. 
You frowned not wanting to let your mind wander at that thought, hanging up and closing the window before picking your bag on your bed and leaving your apartment. Once downstairs you were greeted with no one but the black car with tinted windows that was just in front of the house, without giving it much thoughts you walked to the back of the car and climbed inside. 
After exchanging proper greetings with the twins, and a short trip from Linkon city to the twins’ boss base. 
It was night time now and you were settled down in one of Sylus couch in his apartments. You were going through the file once more, eyeing the clock in front of you from time to time. The meal was soon to be put down in the living room and you were definitely imagining eating alone at this rate. You sighed as you let your head roll on one of the sides of the couch, closing your eyes as you let yourself drift to the sound of the gramophone playing the music you put on earlier. 
“Are you asleep ?” a whisper came above the sound of the music as a finger brushed against your cheek. 
Your eyes opened and you looked up to the figure towering over you. Sylus gazed at you as he was leaning with one hand on the couch watching you slowly wake up from your nap. You slowly straight up, your files sliding from your chest and before you could react, Sylus caught it and put it down on the table next to you.
“Mmm no.” 
“Sure you weren’t.” he smiled as he sat on the carpet next to the couch. “Don’t move.” 
“But the dinner…” you mumbled still drowsy. 
“Dinner is cold by now. I was late and you fell asleep. We are in no hurry anymore.” he says as he takes off his jacket, putting it down on the chair behind him, soon followed by his gloves. You sighed knowing that the man next you wouldn't budge. 
“How did your meeting go ?” you asked as you traced every of his movements with your gaze. 
“Productive. But a waste of time at the same time. We wasted 2 hours waiting for someone who never came. I honestly thought I was going to come back really early.” 
“Would have been better…” you muttered.
Sylus' head turned to look at you with that same grin of his when he catches you being off guard. “Missing me I see.” 
“Whatever.” 
“I missed you too, sweetie.” he muttered as his face was now a few inches away from your face. And as always Sylus was the one to close that distance, his teeth started nibbling gently on your lower lip as he kissed you. His right hand comes to brush a strand of hair away from your face. "I missed you a lot."
There was always this conflict inside of you when you felt the lips of Sylus on yours. A shyness that you wished you didn’t have, pushing you to turn your face away. However the drumming of your heart everytime his lips were on yours made you feel safe. Safe and cared for. The man suddenly started pushing his tongue against your lips, deepening the kiss drawing a sound from you in a sigh. 
“Knowing that you were waiting for me here. Probably lying down on that bed or on that couch…” he muttered as he kissed your lips once again then your cheek and the back of your ear. “I wished I could have just left to join you here quicker.”
“You are… so dirty Sylus.” you whispered as you felt his hand slide on your shirt to start unbuttoning it. When Sylus admitted his excitement for you it always made you shiver. Not that it was rare for him to be so blunt. But being wanted and knowing that he was thinking of you that way, in places where he shouldn’t. God, he was the devil in person and he loved playing with his favorite person. 
“If you want to blame me for the tension rising in this room. Feel free to do so…” he said, lips leaving a trailing of kisses from your neck towards your chest. “I would enjoy that.” 
Soon his lips were not the only thing on your skin, his tongue traveled against you with wet kisses. Teeth sometimes nibble on you, trying to mark you as his. However he knew better than to do that or he would have been met with a warning look. Instead his hand slides away the remaining of your top clothes, revealing your skin to his red eyes ravishing each corner of your body, everytime. 
“Your skin is covered in goosebumps. Are you getting worked up sweetie ?” he says smiling, his lips resting against your chest. A thumb sliding against one of your nipples. “I bet that if I slide my hand in your pants, I might find it dripping with excitement.” 
“You are too sure of yourself.” you said trying to keep your voice steady as his lips brushed against your other nipple. 
A low chuckle vibrates through his body at your answer. “Always so feisty, kitten.” he murmured, pinching with two of his fingers the nipple he had in his hand. 
“Then… Shall we take a look ?” 
As soon as the words left his mouth, you closed your legs, preventing his hand from sliding under your pants and between your thighs. His hand stopped mid-way, resting against your lower body. He slowly quirked up his face, arching a brow with a smile. 
“Getting shy ?” he asks, fingers fondling with the zipper of your pants. He soon pulled it down. “You know I don’t particularly enjoy you playing shy. I’d rather have my feisty kitten biting and fighting me than hiding away.” 
Asshole you thought. 
“Should I take out the ropes like last time ? Pull your legs apart ? I thought you learnt how to behave.” he said with a smile. “Or did you enjoy this so much that you want to try again ?” 
Losing control from time to time was nice. But not tonight, you needed the contrary. You need to feel in control of your body. The next few days were gonna be stressful. One of your hands dared to come rest on his cheek as your legs opened against his hand. 
“Good girl..” he said, his lips coming to nuzzle against your hand. And as usual when a kiss comes first teeth soon follow. His fingers able to slide under your pants and underwear come to slide in between your folds feeling the wetness of yourself under his burning gaze. 
“Just as I thought.” he smiles as one of his fingers pushes inside you and you answer with a moan. His lips nibbling on the flesh of your palm, eyelashes brushing against your fingers as he starts going back and forth with his fingers inside of you. 
Your head resting against the pillow of the couch, eyes closing as another moan came from between your lips as he pushed another finger inside of you. The fingers of your hand slowly extended to grasp onto strands of the man’s hair, while the other came gripping on the back of the couch. 
“That’s it. Let yourself go, kitten.” A growl soon followed when you tug at his hair when his thumb rested against your clit making small circles as he never stopped pumping his fingers in and out of you. 
You arched your back, the stimulation of his fingers rubbing against that one G spot inside of you and his thumb massaging your clit made you see stars. You tug on his hair once again in another sound, coming under his watchful gaze. 
“Sylus…” 
“It’s okay. I’m here. I’m always here.” he answered, coming to put a kiss on your forehead. 
Once he pulls his fingers out of you, he slides a hand under you to carry you against him. You look up at him, arms sliding around his neck to secure yourself. 
“And you ?” 
“Oh ? Are you asking for more, sweetie ?”” he chuckles as you frown at him. His lips slowly come against your own to kiss you once more. “This is what I wanted. Nothing more for tonight. But I can not promise you anything just like this for tomorrow.” A devilish smile spreads on his lips. 
“Did you have a shower already ?” 
“I did… Earlier.” you answered as you rested your head against his shoulder. “What about food ?” 
“You are hungry aren’t you.” He said as he settled you down on the bed. “Tell you what. I will come bring you some food and you can enjoy some while I take a shower. Sounds good ?” 
“Sounds good. I will try to not eat everything.” You smile. 
And just like that three days passed. Now you were standing in front of the door, arms crossed on your chest and Sylus blocking your way with his hands on his hips. 
“I will not change my mind Sylus. I need to attend this auction alone.”
“What if I’d like to be charitable tonight?”
You scoff. “Please. You just want to keep your eyes on me.”
“I want to make sure you are safe and sound.” 
“And I told you I can defend myself. If the HQ knows that I am attending an official mission with the boss of Onychinus, I could get in trouble. Because they will keep an eye on me ! Just like you do.” 
Sylus sighs. You could be so stubborn. He slowly raised his hand to pinch his nose’s bridge. “Take Mephisto with you at least. He could help you in any case of an emergency.” 
“That noisy little…” you were met by a glare that was telling you to not push your luck so you resigned. “Okay.”
“Good.” As soon as you agreed to his terms, he snapped his fingers and Mephisto almost appeared on your shoulder. Resting his claws against the fabric of your dress. “I will drive you there. And I will be there again to pick you up soon after Mephisto lets me know the auction has ended. Understood ?” 
“Yes mom.”
He chuckles before pushing the door open, letting you leave the safe base first to get to the car parked in front of the entrance. He soon followed and got inside the car to start driving across the dark streets of the N109 Zone. Mephisto was awfully quiet, head turning around at each corner, as if the bird was already on a mission analyzing what was around him. You stared mindlessly at the street lamps barely shining some cold light on the pavement beneath them as you fondle with your bag between your fingers. 
You were stressed. Stressed to not be able to bring back that diary. What if you came back in Linkon city with nothing to offer but the news that another potential monster had this fucking diary between their hands. How many children would have to suffer from experiments and be kept in the dark before they all stopped ? Without realizing it, you started clenching on your accessory. And the hand of Sylus left the gearbox to come rest on your thigh in an attempt to soothe you. 
“Do not be anxious. People coming to those kinds of fake charity auctions hunt down people like you. Nice face, seemingly weak and rich.” he said. “Mephisto is a sign that you are under my watch but he can’t dissuade them from doing anything if they are crazy enough to try.” 
“So I need to appear confident…” 
“Exactly. I know you can do it. After all, you showed me your acting skills more than once.” he pressed his thumb against your thigh as he kept looking at the road in front of you. “I’m not here physically but Mephisto is my eyes. And I’ll keep an eye on you.”
“I know.” you sighed before taking another deep breath. It will be okay, you thought, Sylus is right. You had to have faith in yourself and in him. It will go by so quickly, you won’t even realize it. 
The car slows down and you are now parked in front of an immense building, maybe even taller than some of Sylus’s ones. You look up from your seat as Mephisto mimics you. “Where are we ?”
“The place of the auction. The HQ of the Eurydike cult. Weird bunch of fuckers.” 
You hummed before pushing the door open, before closing it you looked at your partner flashing him a smile. “I will be back.” He softly smiles back waving, asking you to be careful once more. And you closed the door, walking towards the entrance of the building, taking out the invitation out of your bag to show the bodyguards that you were allowed to enter the place. 
As soon as you stepped foot inside, you were faced with a display of wealthiness and laughter coming from every corner of the giant hall. You were taken aback, thinking for a second that the only man you thought was this wealthy in the N109 Zone was Sylus. The hall was made of black marble with golden cracks, contrasted by high white walls that reflected the light of the candlesticks. Hanging banners here and there with an unknown insignia, and false plants hanging in green. You looked around, looking for a sign indicating the location of the meeting. But unfortunately the place was badly indicated, this auction was probably a place of regulars. However you spotted some people whispering about getting their place already to get closer to the stage, and you figured it would be the best idea to follow them around. Which you did. Everyone here was accompanied, and you were alone. Well accompanied but by a bird that started to get agitated. The sound of your heels against the marble under your steps was ringing in your mind. You stopped near a waiter, grabbing a glass of champagne. You needed to relax, you needed to look like you belonged here. Alcohol might help you settle down. 
So you went to sit at the first row, crossing your legs as Mephisto left your shoulder to take place on the chandelier hanging above your head. You could see some of the objects being displayed on the stage in front of you. Vases, stuffed animals, jewelry and… Wait. Was that one of Raphayel’s painting ? You frowned while taking your phone out of your purse to take a picture. Before you could press the button, you felt a tap on your shoulder. 
You flinched, turning around. “Miss. Sorry to bother you but you are not allowed to take pictures in this room.” A man with green eyes gazed upon you. He was tall, his hair and lashes almost hiding the gaze that you could feel burning on your face. His face did not seem upset, nor angry. Good… The last thing you needed was to attract angry people. 
You smiled. “Sorry, I just wanted to make sure that painting would interest my husband before I start bidding on it.”  
“Oh ?” He looked up at the stage staring at the painting of the seashore painted with different shades of blue and orange, with the silhouette of a faceless woman dipping her feet in the water. “Hm. It is indeed a wonderful painting. From a very famous painter from Linkon City. Although it is one of his earliest works.” 
“Are you familiar with this painter ?” you asked, interested in the knowledge of the person in front of you. To faint uninterest you slowly raise your glass to your lips looking away from the man.
“Familiar would not be right. We are acquaintances.” He then looks down at you smiling as he circles around the chair to finally sit next to you. “Although we haven’t seen each other for many years.” 
“I see.” you nodded looking at that man dressed in white, your eyes landing on the cross shaped brooch on his tie. You swore you have seen this insignia somewhere. “And you are ?”
“Shh little miss. It’s starting soon. We will have all the leisure to chit chat after that auction is done.” 
The auction began, and you drank the rest of your drink before waving to a waiter to come and get rid of you. Under your seat as under that of all the other participants was a small booklet with the passage numbers of each work or object. The one you were looking for was in last place. A sigh escaped from your lips as the first sums of money were thrown out of control. 
Beside you, still stood this same man, his left leg crossed above the right and his hands clasped on his knees, looking at the scene with a satisfied smile. With the light down, you took the time to linger on her face. He had it very hard, like a man who had to face situations that those of Linkon city did not have to face. But this sweet smile on his lips came in contrast with the portrait that could be made of him. You wondered if Sylus knew the man. You slowly raised your head to look towards Mephisto who was looking straight at you under his watchful red eyes. Just like his master. 
An hour and half passed, and you were starting to get numb to all the money that was being spent. The man next to you also did spend some money. He bought the painting you were eyeing earlier. And then came the mention of the diary. 
As soon as you could, you raised your hand to bid. With a glimpse of mischievousness, the man next to you raised his hand. Followed by some other people in the room. After nearly a minute of bidding, you raised your hand again. 
“Please stop playing sir. My husband is rather interested in this diary.” you muttered to the man next to you. “Stick to your paintings.” 
A suppressed laugh came as an answer as your bid was registered as a final answer. The hand of the man next to you extended towards you as the lights turned on. “It’s a pleasure to be doing business with you, little miss.” 
You frowned looking at the man’s gaze. “Business ?” 
“I am the owner of this building and the organizer of this auction. My name is Castiel, pleasure meeting you.” 
You gasped as you came to shake his hand. Dear god, why did you have to talk like that to the man who setted up a charity auction. This is why his brooch reminded you of something, it was literally plastered in the hall. 
“I am very sorry for my-”
“No offense is taken. Should we talk privately ? I will give you this diary your husband so wishes to have.” he lets go of your hand, getting up before offering his arm. 
“Yes.” you nod as you get up too, sliding your hand on the man’s arm. You were so giddy with the idea of success that you nearly didn’t realize Mephisto was cawing. 
However if you didn’t notice, it was not the case of Castiel that turned his head up towards the bird with a frown. He then asked the security to take care of it, and before you could step in and prevent this from happening, you were dragged into the man’s office. 
Once in his office, he let go of your hand. He headed towards the back of his desk, unlocking what sounded like a chest. In the meantime, you take the time to look around. The place was dark, but golden and green touches enhanced the place. You were basking in a warm light which contrasted with the cold atmosphere that was outside the sacred building. You did not move from the entrance, waiting patiently for you to be given what you had bought. 
“This book was retrieved from a bad man’s hands.” His voice broke the silence that was installed between you two. “If your husband really is interested in this script, you should be careful of him.” He said as he got closer to you handing the overused diary. 
“I will keep that in mind.” you nodded before taking the diary out of this man’s large hands. 
He smiled, flashing his perfect teeth to you. This close, you could see the eyebags between his vibrant eyes. A shiver ran up your back. “I hope our paths will cross again, little miss. If charity is what you are looking for, we could always use new members.” 
Charity… “Sure. I would love to stop by once again. The fate of the N109 zone is very dear to me afterall.” You smiled. 
He hummed. “Smart girl.” his fingers brushed your chin before you stepped back. “We should get going, your husband will surely show up in about a few seconds .”
Before you could answer, Castiel’s hand was on your free wrist and was dragging you out of his office, back into the auction room and in the middle of it stood Sylus. A visibly displeased Sylus. Almost angry. He shouted your name as soon as you came into his vision. The man with dark brown hair let go of your hand softly, placing his hand on your naked back. 
“You should go, little miss. I’d hate for your husband to scare away my guests.” 
You mindlessly nodded as you felt a sensation creeping up your back, and you almost trotted back to Sylus, pushing through the bodyguards preventing him from getting closer to their leader. Once in arms reach, the white haired man pulled you under his arm, hiding you beneath his coat. 
And yet as you were leaving the scene, you could feel Castiel’s gaze burning holes in your back.
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conundrumoftime · 2 months ago
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My Haladriel fics
I haven't grouped all these together before, so here's a collection of all the complete Haladriel fics I've written so far since October '22. Cannot believe it's been almost two years!
(Some of these fics also feature Celeborn/Galadriel, Celeborn/Sauron or all of them together, because I like a) Celeborn b) multishipping and c) mess. I'll make it clear here which stories those are, so if Celeborn is not your guy or if multishipping confuses or distresses you then that's! fine! just please don't read those ones and then be weird to me about it in the comments.)
Multi-chapter fics
Shadow-Bride (E, 265k words): This is my long long longfic, started in December of '22 and now complete after 43 chapters. Canon-divergence from the middle of s1.
Banquets have burned for you (M, 24k words): Written for eastwynds for the spring '23 Haladriel fic exchange, where the prompt was "one thing happens differently on Númenor, and everything changes." Went heavy on the Greek tragedy influence for this one because it felt fitting for Númenor.
A man is a god in ruins (E, 21k words): At the time this was the longest story I'd ever written and the first multi-chapter story I'd finished since the LiveJournal days. How things change! Canon-divergence from the very end of s1; what if Halbrand decided to leave Eregion before Galadriel got suspicious?
All the kinds of alive you can be (E, 13k words, also Celeborn/Galadriel, also Celeborn/Sauron/Galadriel): so loads of us have written "what if Sauron shapechanged into Celeborn to seduce Galadriel"; this is "what if Sauron shapechanged into Galadriel to seduce Celeborn, because he's furious with her and obsessed with her and sort of wants to be her all at the same time"?
So Wide a Sea (E, 6k words, also Galadriel/Celeborn): After Sauron's final defeat in the War of the Ring Galadriel remembers a long-ago day on Númenor.
One-shot fics
Five times Halbrand's secret got revealed (T, 6000 words): the first Haladriel fic I ever wrote, of five scenarios of Galadriel learning his name. 'Shadow-Bride' is a continuation of one of these five; 'A man is a god in ruins' is the '...and one time it didn't.'
Tar-Mairon of the Shire (G, 3000 words): entire fix-it fluff, probably more '&' than '/', Hobbits make everything better including Dark Lords.
Tempered (M, 3600 words): written for @thecoziestbean for the spring '24 Haladriel fic exchange.
And white winter, on its knees (M, 1800 words): written for the Haladriel Winter Solstice '23, a what-if Galadriel said yes to Sauron's offer story.
Weakened like Achilles, with you always at my heels (M, 4000 words): written for Haladriel Week '24. A little moment after the Tirharad battle and before the volcano.
I have loved flowers that fade (M, 1700 words): they deserved to have at least one nice time in Eregion before she found out who he was!
Weighed Against Our Future (T, 1800 words): A delirious (or is he?) Halbrand on the road to Eregion.
Shine (T, 3300 words) and its sequel Lady of the Seas (E, 3700 words): Halbrand makes Galadriel's armour on Númenor.
Silver Queen (M, 3600 words): my first 'what if Celebrían was Sauron's daughter?' story, sort of a Haladriel fic and sort of a fix-it for Celebrían.
Civil Twilight (M, 10k words, also Celeborn/Galadriel): for Haladriel Week '23. A 'what if Celebrían was Sauron's daughter?' and 'what if Galadriel finds her missing husband?' story combined.
The turn of the tide (T, 1700 words): For Haladriel Week '23. In the Fourth Age after travelling back to Valinor, Galadriel still feels called to the sea.
Though I sang in my chains like the sea (T, 3000 words): For Haladriel Week '23. They were on that ep2 raft for a while; so this is a gapfiller of them getting to know each other better. Or not.
Blood Sugar (M, 7000 words): the only time I've ever done a modern AU, and even then it doesn't really count because he's still literal Sauron in it. Anyway: Glasgow, professional disillusionment, and difficult relationships with your history.
Ficlets under 1000 words
You built a nest inside my soul, you rest your head on leaves of gold (M, 800 words); Numenor alleyway smut.
How shall summer's honey breath hold out (M, 600 words): and why shouldn't Galadriel get to command an army and have a nice time with the enemy general while heavily pregnant.
Gilded (G, 550 words): another 'what if she said yes on the raft' fic
Not for all my little words (T, 775 words) s1 ep8, Elrond-POV on Galadriel and her weird new friend in Eregion.
Miscellaneous fics:
Half-Maia Celebrían short fics: Suo Gân (G, 1000 words), Arda Sahta (G, 1100 words), As Little Might Be Thought (T, 2600 words). All these are Galadriel/Celeborn (and the last one is also Celebrían/Elrond) and Sauron isn't really in them, but they're all about the impact of that being his child.
To hold all the promise of blue-velvet dark (T, 1700 words) - another 'what if Sauron impersonates Galadriel?' fic, this time featuring baby half-Maia Amroth.
Silmarillion rather than TROP: As certain dark things are loved (M, 8000 words, also Galadriel/Celeborn, also Galadriel/Celeborn/Sauron), for @softlighter for the Sufficiently Advanced '24 exchange. Annatar in 2nd Age Ost-in-Edhil.
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draco-dormiens · 4 days ago
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FOR ALL THAT IS RIGHT AND JUST - Chp. 1
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auror!draco x auror!fem!slytherin reader / post-war au
a/n: sorry about my inconsistent ass. i'm hoping you enjoy this first chapter after i changed it a little, makes better sense for the story to come. sit back and relax cos this is nearly 4000 words bby ♡
warnings: talk of the war, people missing/kidnapping, strong language, mutual pining
wc: 3984
tags: @yeolsbubbles @send-me-styles @shinytalent
tag list open!!
masterlist
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Ministry Mayhem
London, 1st May 2007
In the early hours of Tuesday morning, as the sun rose and began to cast it's orangey glow through the gaps in the bedroom curtains, the first ring of an alarm blared a rather unwelcome sound throughout the quietness of the small London flat that you called home. Sleepily, you peel your eyes open to read the time; 6:15am. With a soft grunt, you reach out to slam the snooze button with all the strength you could muster. A typical day, no less, was awaiting you at the Auror office of the British Ministry of Magic, and it was about to wait a little longer, too.
Besides, it wasn't as if anything was in dire need of solving. For the last ten years, the wizarding world had come to know a peace that had long escaped it. The fear and uncertainty that comes with nasty rumours, shadowy figures and the whispers of war was long over now. Harry Potter had fought and won against the most fearsome Dark Wizard in all of history, and now he was keeping the peace as Head of the Auror Office. Although, it wasn't all that exciting nowadays. The more gripping cases ranged from bewitched broomsticks to Oblivating Muggles in the wrong place at the wrong time. It certainly wasn't taking a whole team of Aurors to clear the workload, with most officers getting fidgety and frustrated. It was as if they wanted something to happen; in your eyes, you'd rather be Oblivating an elderly woman who saw a young boy riding a broomstick over London than some raging lunatic.
The clock blares again. Another tap of the snooze button. For a moment, you thought you'd heard knocking at your window. No, you think, I'm just tired. Five more minutes and I'll get up.
It wasn't your first choice, becoming an Auror. During your school years as a young Slytherin, you were certain it was Ancient Runes that you would pursue. That was long before the brewing storm started to reach its boiling point, clouding up any chance you had of finishing school. The prospect of war had reached civilians, and along with it a great fear of the unknown. It was perilous to venture outside of your home; your parents had been cautious to send you back for sixth year. The rumours were terrible. Frightening, even, especially when it was becoming clearer that most of them were true. Even the ones in your own family. A vivid memory of your father arguing in hushed whispers with your uncle one night over Christmas break, had solidified a fear that had been nagging your parents for a long while.
"You can't," your father said, almost spitting the words as you pressed your ear to the door, "don't go to him. Don't give your life away for something so ludicrous."
Your friends began whispering amongst themselves. Troublesome tales of someone you had known your whole life had started circulating around the school. A hard pill to swallow, but one you had to force down eventually.
"My parents said he's right," Pansy had muttered one night in the common room, the glow of the fire just lighting up her face, "I'm starting to think that following him is the better way to go."
"Have you seen Draco lately? He looks dreadful. His attitude is somehow worse." Daphne whispered, and then gulped, "you don't think... surely not, right? He's only our age."
"Dunno, heard his father was a follower during the first war," Blaise then added, looking around to make sure no one was eavesdropping, "I wouldn't hold your breath. I think he's one of them."
You stir in your sleep as if an unpleasant dream had began to plague your slumber. The clock blares its final warning, and with it, a series of sharp, jarring taps at your window that only grow in volume the longer you lay there. Groggily, you get up, slamming the alarm clock as you make your way to the impatient visitor. As you pull back the curtain, you see a familiar owl perched on the window sill with a letter secured in its beak. You open the window and gently take it from it's grip, and with a mighty swoosh of its wings, it soars off over the city. Ripping open the letter, you hadn't bothered to notice the wax seal of the Auror office, and begin to read:
Get down to the office as soon as you can. Sending this to everyone. It's serious.
From the handwriting you can tell who the sender is. Though still half asleep, you understand the urgency and begin rushing to get dressed. As you button the last hole on your blouse, readying yourself to enter the Ministry through the Floo network, you hear a knock at your door. Grumbling about who it could be and marching across the living room, you swing it open to be met with your, quite literal, partner in crime.
"Draco." You say simply, a smile ghosting your lips. He beams back, his attire as pristine as if he just walked out of the store. His white hair not an inch out of place, his black suit and white button down completely creaseless, and a glimmering Auror badge on his jacket to top it all off. He flashes a pearly white smile, leaning against the door frame with that same old cocky demeanour. Draco appears in some of your earliest memories as a child, and even now in work, he was a significant part of your everyday life. Growing up as children of wealthy pureblood families, it was a regular practice to mingle with those of your kind. Even though his personality was an acquired taste, despite your differing views and childish bickering, he was still both a thorn in your side and a priceless friend.
Friend. For as long as you can remember.
"Morning, take it you got Potters note?" He said, sauntering in to your apartment like it was his own, "reckon he's being a bit dramatic, don't you? Probably just dropped a biscuit in his brew."
"I doubt he'd send an owl all over London for a biscuit, Draco," you call back, hurrying to get the rest of your things together before leaving, "I think something is genuinely wrong, and I'm a little worried if I'm honest. We haven't had anything major in... well, forever."
"You know, if you'd told me in like, fifth year, that one day I'd be clambering out of bed before seven in the morning for Potter, I'd probably have pitched myself off the highest turret." Draco said dramatically, just after accusing Harry of being equally as ridiculous.
"Stop moaning and get in the fireplace," you said as if it were something normal people say on a regular basis, "we need to get down there and find out what's happening."
Draco, still mumbling, clambers into your fireplace and waits for you to squeeze in next to him. Much smaller than his own, he's bent doubly to get in, and ushers you to get the Floo powder before his back gives in. His moaning is only met with a rather stern look from yourself. You take a handful of Floo powder from the little bag sitting on the hearth, and take Draco's hand in yours. With a chant, you fling the powder down at your feet, and with a puff of green smoke, you both disappear, leaving the small flat empty and silent.
In the blink of an eye, you're no longer standing in your living room, but instead in the shiny, emerald tiled entrance to the Ministry. Draco dusts himself down, tutting at the slight specs of soot on his jacket, not noticing how you've become stiff with shock.
"Bloody Floo network," he mumbles to himself, coming to stand beside you, "how are you spotless? It's always me that gets-"
He stops his rambling when his eyes follow your line of vision to see the hoard of people just up ahead, swarming the foyer like ants, an incoherent jumble of noises filling the air from cries to shouts. All extremely well dressed and rather wealthy looking, you both got the impression that these people were not average witches and wizards: they were, in fact, much like yourselves - from old, pureblood money.
"What in Merlin's name is all of this?" You mutter, mostly to yourself, as your feet start to carry you towards the mess, Draco following behind. In the midst of all the chaos, is Delphina Sallow, the lady that usually operates the front desk of the Auror office. Delphina was a tall, slender woman with very dark hair and pale blue eyes, which were a striking contrast to her rather ghostly complexion. A nervous sort of woman, she was struggling immensely in a heated conversation with a man you recognised as Mr Selwyn, whose son was in your year at Hogwarts. Much larger than back then, with his pointer finger jabbing the air furiously, he seems to be, at best, enraged.
"This is a travesty, young lady!" He bellows at Delphina, who has resorted to using her clipboard for protection against the wave of saliva, "my son has been taken, taken I tell you, right from under our noses! Sleeping soundly he was; I can see him sitting there during third supper, not a care in the world, enjoying his fourth lamb chop like the innocent boy he is. I demand justice, young lady, or so help me I'll sue the entire Auror office for all it's bloody well worth."
"P-please, sir, I'm only the receptionist, I-I don't have any authority to help you-"
"No authority?" Mr Selwyn shouts with such force, his large moustache almost flies off of his round, purple face, "I do not care for your position, young lady, get me someone who can find my son or I'll be in the right mind to get you fired. I know people in high places, you know!"
"Excuse me," you interrupt as you reach them, Delphina's face washing over with absolute relief, "can I ask what's going on here? Miss Sallow is not an officer, sir. If you have concerns, please take them up with someone clearly wearing a badge."
You point abruptly to the shining Auror badge on your jacket. Mr Selwyn scoffs irritably.
"Well, miss badge, I demand you find my son. At once." He rounds on you, his large, bulbous belly almost touching you before he can get any closer. Draco appears almost instantly, standing just in front of you, the most condescending smile curling at his lips, trying and failing to hide the clear desire to swing a fist into Mr Selwyns beetroot coloured face.
"If you get any closer, sir, I may have to resort to unsavoury means. All in the name of law, you understand." Draco stood completely straight, towering over the stumpy Mr Selwyn, to which the angered man grunted something under his breath before waddling off to his next victim.
"Thank you," Delphina sighs, dabbing the sweat on her forehead with a handkerchief, "he's not the only one I've dealt with this morning. So many reports of missing persons, all within the last few hours or so. I-it's my day off, I'm only here on Mr Potter's orders."
"As are we, Miss Sallow," Draco smiles at Delphina, to which she blushes furiously, "I think you should head back up. Tell Potter we're here, would you?"
As if the Minister himself had instructed her, she scurries off to the lifts.
"Honestly, you could tell Del to jump off a cliff." You scoff lightheartedly, turning back to see a rather smug looking Draco, as he simply fixes his tie and winks down at you.
"It's the charm, darling. Don't say it doesn't affect you, too."
Before he can bask in your flustered reaction, off in the distance, amongst more distraught civilians, you spot Cerberus Langarm, fellow Auror, rushing through the crowds of people with a look of pure determination on his face. You tug on Draco's arm, inciting him to follow you, as you battle through to chase Cerberus. Amid the madness, you hear a mixture of complaints and angry voices from the hoard of people. As you close in on Cerberus, you call out to him, causing him to halt and turn at the sound of your voice.
"I take it you both got letters, then?" Cerberus says as you reach him, "didn't know what we'd be walking into, but this is something else. Somehow, I don't think it's about a bewitched broomstick this time."
Cerberus Langarm was a tall, well built man with sun-kissed, olive skin and dark, shaved hair. He kept a very neatly trimmed moustache, and under his left eye was a deep scar that covered most of his cheek. He was a man dedicated to his duty, and other aspects of his life came second to it, which Draco often made a joke about. Cerberus was a well accomplished man of the law, and highly respected amongst his fellow officers and higher ups.
Sometimes, you wondered if Draco was a little jealous of Cerberus and his undeniable ability to walk into a room and make it sing for him.
"Delphina said something about missing person reports," you being to explain as the three of you make for the lifts, "and I have noticed something; most of these people, they look like a certain group of wizards. Don't you think?"
"You mean rich, pompous purebloods who have nothing better to do than flash their money and complain about Muggles?" Cerberus said, "yeah, they seem the sort. All I know is that Potter better have an explanation for all of this."
The lifts were especially busy; people were squashed like sardines in a can, garnering irritable tuts and mumblings amongst the staff trying to reach their destinations. The three of you manage to squeeze into a lift heading for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; whispers of the going's on in the foyer filled the usually awkward silence, as the relatively short journey felt like an eternity.
Once the lift had landed at the correct floor, the three of you took no time in squeezing out of the overflowing space and into the open air. For what felt like a moment of relief, was soon overtaken by the mayhem that you were presented with. The department was practically torn apart; papers everywhere, frantic officers pacing back and forth between rooms, folded notes in the shape of paper airplanes zoomed up and down the hallway, narrowly missing your head when one bolted for the lift doors, making it just in time before they slammed shut.
"Salazar's mother," Cerberus muttered, looking back at yourself and Draco whose eyes were transfixed by the sight, "we better find Potter."
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Meanwhile, inside Harry's office, stood Harry and Auror Penelope Fawley, assessing the multitude of reports from that morning. They could hear the muffled sound of panic outside, the office workers were working relentlessly to try and get some sort of order in the place. Piles of letters sat upon Harry's desk, as the two of them read aloud the contents of the reports.
"During the night we heard strange ongoings in the neighbours backyard, sounds of magic and a man's voice," says Penelope outloud, "my husband got out of bed and lit up the room with his wand, before trekking down the stairs to peer out of the kitchen window. He thinks he saw two people appartating from the neighbours garden, but his eyesight is not what it used to be. Then, at around 5:30am, we received a knock on the door. It was Mrs Selwyn. Her son was missing."
Penelope, a fair-haired, pretty woman with dark blue eyes and black rimmed glasses, ran her perfectly manicured finger across the parchment as she read. Harry, now pacing up and down the office with his chin in his hand, listened carefully to what Penelope was reading aloud. She places down the parchment and picks up another letter, tearing it open and unfolding the note inside. Penelope clears her throat and begins reading once more:
"I received an owl from my sister a few days ago. She was worried that someone had been outside her house during the night, but couldn't seem to undo the Colloportus charm her husband casts on all the doors when he works nights. She has young children, and they live in a relatively secluded place." Penelope read, and then perched against the desk, "I owled back immediately, but didn't seem to receive a reply. Then around 6:00am this morning, her husband, Blaise Zabini, showed up at our door. My sister, Daphne Zabini, was missing from her bed when he returned home from work. The children were still sound asleep and seemingly untouched."
Harry comes to a halt at the window overlooking Muggle London below. With a great sigh, he rubs his tired eyes that had been awake since the early hours of the morning. As he turns to speak to Penelope, they both hear heavy, hurried footsteps beyond the door, and within a few seconds, you burst in, all guns blazing, Cerberus and Draco in hot pursuit.
"I do hope you have an explantation, Harry," you pant slightly, "what on earth is happening? Missing witches and wizards - and what was Delphina doing in foyer; she was getting practically spat at by Mr Selwyn, and not to mention the hoard of people downstairs, and the office-"
"Thank you, officer Y/L/N, I'm well aware of the situation both outside my door and in the foyer. In fact, I've been well aware of it since three this morning, so, if you’d be so kind as to ask one question at a time, I'd really appreciate it." said Harry, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Draco stifles a laugh behind you.
"Potter," Cerberus advances forward with urgency, "any kind of light you can shed."
Harry composes himself, and then walks over to his desk, pushing forward what looked like a collection of personal files from the Ministry of Magic Archives; somewhere that a person would need all kinds of permissions to enter. It contained many records - such as historical records, every single published issue of The Daily Prophet, various magical projects and, most importantly, personal files of every witch or wizard that comes into magic across the country.  Draco, his interest now peaked, gently brushes past you with a hand at the small of your back, his eyebrows knitted together in a very curious expression. He begins shuffling through them, his features relaxing into more concern than curiosity when he realises each and every one of them have a big, red stamp across the front that read: Missing.
"These," he breathes, looking up at Harry, who's expression was more exhaustion than anything else, "these are all purebloods... I know half of 'em. Nott, for one. Scrawny devil."
"They all look the sort in the foyer, too," adds Cerberus, "lots of old money and questionable bloodlines down there. Odd coincidence?"
"Not likely," pipes up Penelope, who lifts herself elegantly off the edge of the desk, "every single one of these witches and wizards have gone missing during the last few hours. All of them, and without a single trace. No signs of break ins, no signs of struggle or injury at the locations they went missing from. It's a fair assumption to say they have been kidnapped - and not by some amature."
"So you're saying that a whole bunch of wizards from pure bloodlines have just miraculously been taken from their beds in the night. For what reason, exactly?" Draco raises an eyebrow at Penelope. She doesn't look too impressed by his questioning of her theory.
"Malfoy," Harry said, not with his usual air of authority, however, it was far more pleading, "Penelope has a point. Let me give the bigger picture," Harry slumps down onto his office chair with a heaving sigh, before tucking himself under the desk and resting his elbows on the surface, hands intertwined, "I was called in by the Minister at three o'clock this morning. That's when the first report came in about a missing person. Not long after that, they started coming in troves. One after the other, we couldn't keep up. Hence why I owled," he took a pause, "Penelope was first here, and with her help, we retrieved the personal reports to further investigate the missing persons. We made the connection of their blood status quite quick, and have since then been trying to theorise as to why it only seems to be witches and wizards of a certain blood status."
"I'd say that was quite obvious," said Cerberus, who was a rather serious and right-to-the-point kind of officer, "someone out there has a grudge against them, surprisingly," he said with an air of sarcasm, "but it can't just be one person that has done all of this; there must be some sort of group or organisation. No one, even with magic, can be in all of those places at once."
Penelope suddenly gasped, and everyone looked around at her.
"What about Hogwarts? They need informing immediately. The amount of students, and faculty, that could be in danger tomorrow," she said with the utmost seriousness, "I can go, Harry. I can fly to Hogsmeade, they won't know a thing unless-"
"Thank you, Penelope, but I have already considered Hogwarts," Harry cut her off gently, and her shoulders slumped in relief, "in fact, I need to speak to Y/L/N and Malfoy. Langarm and Fawely - you go down into the foyer and tell the public to go home and rest. There's nothing more we can do right now without some more information."
The other two left, leaving Harry, Draco and yourself alone in his messy office. Once the door had been shut softly, he ushers you both to take a seat in front of him. You both do so, as Harry relaxes a little in his plush office chair, relishing of the quietness for a moment. 
"As you may already be aware, it's the tenth year anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts tomorrow and a memorial service is being held at the school," Harry begins to explain, "myself and Ron were invited by McGonagall as guests to represent the Ministry, and well, for other obvious reasons," he waves a dismissive hand, "however, with all this, I think it best we stay here. I'd much rather be there to support McGonagall, but I feel it's necessary that I'm accessible. So, instead, I'm sending you too to keep watch."
"Me?" Draco exclaims. Harry raises his eyebrows at the sudden outburst, "I hardly doubt they'd want me there, Potter. Can you imagine their faces?"
"I'm not sending you as guests, Malfoy," Harry reiterates, "I'm sending you as Ministry officials. You won't need to do anything drastic. I just want you to keep an eye on things. I'll send other officers too, as we might need to change protocol slightly to ease McGonagall's mind. Merlin knows she'll panic when she receives the owl I'm going to send."
"You can count on us, Harry." You say with utter confidence, "If anything happens, I'll inform you immediately. My owl is rather good at finding me in a tight situation."
"Thank you," he smiles kindly, Draco now completely silent, "now, you'll need to take the train to Hogwarts with the guests of the ceremony. I'd feel much better if you were on that train. I can't have eyes everywhere, so be my eyes. Got it?"
With a very sure nod, you rise from your seat, pulling an extremely quiet Draco up with you by the arm. You could tell he was bothered about returning to the school, even after all this time, but you had every bit of confidence in him. Even if he had none in himself.
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disclaimer: i do not own harry potter or any of the characters or storyline associated with it.
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autumnshighlady · 10 months ago
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I've Always Liked to Play With Fire (part 19)
NESTA ARCHERON X ERIS VANSERRA X FEMALE!READER
summary: Eris helps Nesta conquer her fear of fire
warnings: inner circle slander, MAJOR angst, Cassian hate
word count: 4.2k
DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE
a/n: sorry for the short chapter (i mean it's still 4000+ words but its short for me lmao) but I'm already working on the next one but here's a Neris chapter! haven't updated this fic in too long, so I apologize. Enjoy and as always, tell me your thoughts and reactions!
part 1 // part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6 / part 7 / part 8 / part 9 / part 10 / part 11 / part 12 / part 13 / part 14 / part 15 / part 16 / part 17 / part 18
read on ao3
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NESTA POV 
Nesta gently stroked Athariel’s silver scales as the dragon snaked its head around her, vying for attention. The beast made a low cooing noise at her touch, and Nesta chuckled to herself. She remembered the mix of awe and fear she had felt upon seeing the dragons for the first time. Ancient and mythical beasts beyond her wildest imagination, in the flesh before her very eyes. And yet at this moment, Athariel was acting more like a puppy than a dragon.
“Some fearsome beast you are.” Nesta murmured as Athariel continued to purr lowly. She reached forward to scratch behind the dragon’s right horn, and Athariel responded by closing her eyes and pushing her head further into Nesta’s hand. “Spoiled creature.”
The sweet autumn breeze funnelled into the cave and stroked Nesta’s cheek. It was an unusually cold day. Even the thick wool layers did little to keep out the biting chill that seeped into Nesta’s bones. She shivered slightly, pressing closer to the dragon for warmth.
Eris had left about ten minutes ago to fetch something for today’s training session. As usual, he refused to elaborate, only giving Nesta a playful wink that he knew would send her blood steaming when she asked what he was going to fetch. Every few days, Eris dragged her to the dragon cave to train her magic. Even after her demonstration to Beron, Eris insisted they continue the practice. “Killing my father is going to take a lot more finesse than your display, my dear.” He had explained. “My father is not an idiot. He knows how to defend himself, you do not.”
As much as she hated admitting that she liked spending time with Eris, it pained Nesta to be away from you. Since the announcement of your engagement, you had been constantly pulled away by servants, planners, dress fitters, and courtiers in preparation. It broke her heart, seeing the life slowly drain out of your eyes with each passing day. She saw how you snuck desperate glances at her as you were shuffled off for wedding business, pleading for help through the bond. There was nothing that could compare to the pain of the helplessness she felt. Eris had sternly told her to keep it together, that she had a part to play and couldn’t interfere with your engagement yet. His father would be watching your every move, and if Nesta became too involved then everything would go to hell. 
The thought of the two upcoming weddings made Nesta’s stomach churn. While she definitely got the better of Beron’s sons, there were still so many things about Eris that she couldn’t figure out. The Prince always had an angle to play, never revealing his next move until he was certain things would work out in his favour. Nesta could understand why he was helping her. Objectively, their marriage was a strong match. She had been raised by her mother for this exact role – a doting wife who appeased the males of the court, but one with a viper’s tongue who was able to hold her own and get exactly what she wanted. Eris would benefit from it too, having a Cauldron-made female at his side whose powers dwarfed any of those in his court. 
But his angle with you was something Nesta couldn’t figure out. Helping you was a huge risk for him, one that placed both you and the Prince in danger. Throwing you out of the Autumn Court and delivering you back to Rhysand would have been the smart move for Eris, as it would have eased the tension between Autumn and Night after Nesta had slipped through Rhysand’s grasp. Helping you was a risk that Nesta couldn’t understand why Eris was so willing to take. She had tried probing him about it a few times, but he had always brushed her off.
“A penny for your thoughts?” Eris strode back into the cave, a bundle of sticks and wood in his arms. He dumped them on the floor, the clattering noise echoing throughout the dragon’s den. Morgoth’s massive dark head appeared from the shadows, emitting a low rumbling noise that shook Nesta’s bones as he sniffed his master. Eris chuckled, saying something to the dragon in a language Nesta did not understand as he stroked its nose.
She frowned at the pile of wood on the floor. “You went out to collect sticks?”
Eris smirked. “Brilliant observation, Nesta Archeron. You never cease to amaze me.”
She shot him a withering glare. “Prick. What do sticks have to do with training my magic?”
“Because it’s hard to train fire-related magic when you’re utterly terrified of fire itself.”
Nesta froze, panic rising in her chest. Athariel nudged her now-still hand, as if sensing her anxiety. But she kept a straight face and said evenly, “I do not know what you mean.”
Eris scoffed, bending down and arranging the sticks. “Oh, please. You flinch every time the hearth is lit. You look like you’ve seen a ghost whenever I use my magic around you. Deny it all you want, but I see right through you, my dear.”
She blanched at his words. His tone was not accusing nor angry, but casual and nonchalant. He wasn’t trying to put her down, but simply pointed out an observation. Nesta’s throat closed up as she realised just how much Eris truly picked up on. Not once did Cassian ever seem to notice how she flinched from every fire he lit, or how her room was always freezing and damp because she refused to use the fireplace. He had been too focused on fucking her to ever truly see through the front she put up.
“You do not have to tell me why,” Eris said, a bit softer this time. “But fear will distract you, and we cannot afford to have you distracted at this time. I will not force you to face this fear if you truly feel that you cannot, but I believe you are able to. You have already overcome so much, Archeron. Let this be just another obstacle.”
His gentle encouragement surprised Nesta, despite having experienced it before. She always found herself comparing his words to Cassian and the Inner Circle’s. The Inner Circle always gave her the illusion of a choice, two bad options with one worse than the other, forcing her to choose the lesser of two evils and end up going with what worked best for their agenda. There was no choice in training with Cassian, it was presented as something she simply had to do. 
Eris, on the other hand, always offered her a way out – another option even if it was one that made his life more difficult. He would explain the upsides and downsides to each path with logic, not manipulation. It was something Nesta grew to appreciate. He never backed her into a corner, or wanted her to submit.
She hated how the way she was treated in the Night Court followed her around like a ghost, haunting her every move. Guilt churned in her gut every time she instinctively snapped at Eris, anticipating that she would be forced into something. To his credit, he did not appear phased by her reactions and would wave off any apologies. It was something the Inner Circle had never understood about her. Nesta’s life had been taken out of her hands when she was snatched in the middle of the night and forced into the Cauldron. She did not choose to become fae, and now suddenly she had an immortal life ahead of her and no idea what to do with it. Yet her choices in the Night Court were never her own. Someone always decided what was best for her, rather than letting her figure out this transition at her own pace.
But Eris always gave her a choice. Nesta knew Eris wanted her to overcome her fear of fire for everyone’s sake, and she trusted him enough by now that she knew if she said no, he would drop the subject rather than push her buttons. So she took a breath, staring at the pile of sticks the Prince had assembled. “Ok,” She said. “I’ll do it.”
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Half an hour later, Nesta’s breath was slightly less shaky. Her back was pressed against Athariel’s silver neck, the heated scales of the dragon adding extra warmth against the damp autumn chill. A small orange fire blazed a few feet in front of her, that haunting snapping noise echoing throughout the cave. It took every ounce of self control Nesta had to not panic, taking deep breaths to try and push down the bile in her throat. 
Eris sat beside her, his arm ever so slightly grazing hers. He had spent the past thirty minutes monologuing about anything and everything, a welcome distraction to help Nesta focus on something else other than the crackling of the fire. He told all types of stories, ranging from tales of the ancient beings in Prythian to recounting the time Lucien accidentally killed Eris’s favourite fish by taking it out of the water to get fresh air. Nesta had not chimed in, but let out a snort at the latter story. She had seen Eris smile out of the corner of her eye. A true smile, not his usual arrogant smirk. It made her heart flutter, seeing the autumn Prince so relaxed. 
As time passed, the less Nesta flinched at the noises from the fire. Her body began to relax, and she saw less of her father’s face across her mind and began to appreciate the beauty of the orange flames. They still unsettled her and if she could smite them out this second she would. But she no longer felt the urge to crawl out of her own skin.
“... And I ate every last bit of that so-called ‘birthday cake’ Lucien made,” Eris rambled on, following another story about him and his youngest brother. “It was ghastly. Every bite made me want to hurl my guts up, but my brother looked so young and proud of his creation that I couldn’t hurt his feelings. Although he has always been a slippery little bastard, so part of me wondered if he was just playing innocent and deliberately made me a disgusting cake on purpose to see if I loved him enough to pretend it was good.”
Nesta laughed, truly laughed at that. She turned her head to meet Eris’s gaze. He made no jibing remark about how rare a laugh like that was for her, like Cassian would have done. He simply smiled, the orange light of the fire casting artful shadows across his pale skin.
“Eris,” Nesta began hesitantly, the noise of the fire fading into the background. “Can I ask you something?”
The heir shrugged. “I am an open book, Nesta Archeron. Ask away.”
She snorted. “Ok, well we both know that’s not true.”
“If you want to know my deepest darkest secrets, my dear, all you have to do is ask.” Eris purred. Nesta’s blood heated at his velvety voice, and she pushed herself to focus.
“What happened to Lucien?” She asked. “I was never told much about him, even by (Y/N). All I know is that he was in the Spring Court with Feyre when she was there, and he was in that room in Hybern with the Cauldron. And that he’s Elain’s mate and is now bouncing between the mortal lands and the Night Court.”
Eris sighed. “It’s complicated, Nesta.”
“I’m just trying to understand his role in all of this.”
“Including if he would be a good mate to your sister, am I correct?”
Nesta swallowed her sadness. She had tried not to think about Elain these past few weeks. The memory of finding out Elain had been the one to pack up what little belongings she had in her apartment stung like a fresh wound. “No,” She corrected Eris. “Because I appear to be the only one from the Night Court who likes to think of him as his own person, not just Elain’s mate. Who Elain chooses to be with is no longer my concern.”
Eris nodded. “Very well. Lucien is the youngest of my brothers, and my father was especially cruel to him. What I am about to tell you cannot leave this cave, understood?”
Nesta nodded, curious.
“Lucien is not my father’s son. My mother had an affair with Helion, the High Lord of the Day Court. I figured it out quickly, but my mother always denied it. My father had suspicions but no proof, so he took every opportunity he could to punish Lucien. He hated that Lucien never cared about his royal status, and that he frequently made friends with individuals that my father deemed unworthy – (Y/N) included. One day, he met a lesser faerie named Jesminda. When my father found out about it, he had two of my brothers hold Lucien back as he executed Jesminda right in front of him.”
Nesta chose her words carefully. “Were you… were you there?”
Eris looked at her sharply. “Yes, I was. But I refused my fathers request to kill Jesminda, so he did it himself. It is the only thing I have ever refused him, even to this day. And I paid the price for it.”
“What did he do to you?”
“That matters not. Once I was released from the dungeons, my spies informed me that my father was planning on killing Lucien. I knew my brother was smart and would flee to the Spring Court, so I alerted Tamlin to the situation. Tamlin found Lucien at the border and killed two of my three brothers that had been sent after him to slaughter Lucien on our father’s orders.”
Nesta picked at a thread on her sleeve and asked dryly, “Let me guess, Malgorm was the one who escaped Tamlin’s claws?”
Eris snorted humourlessly. “Yes. Somehow, Malgorm always finds a way to escape death. It’s incredibly annoying.”
“Does Lucien know what you did for him?”
“No. He does not. And it does not matter if he did know, it would not change his hatred for me.”
A sadness overtook Eris’s eyes that pained Nesta. With a sick feeling in her gut, she knew looking at Eris was like looking in a mirror. Two eldest children with a cruel parent, twisted and moulded into their parent’s perfect creation. Nesta knew that Feyre would always see her as their mother’s favourite, but never knew just how much Nesta suffered underneath her. How Nesta would plead to the universe every night that their mother would turn her attention elsewhere because neglect was better than cruelty to her. Feyre did not know that her grandmother had beaten her, or that her mother had pulled Nesta’s hair until she cried and deprived her of meals to keep her thin. Nesta had never told her, not only for fear of showing weakness, but because she knew that Feyre had been so neglected she wouldn’t truly be able to understand that their mother’s attention was not something to be desired.
And Eris was the same. All the tales Nesta had heard of him portrayed the male as a worse version of Beron, a perfect eldest son and soldier for the High Lord to wield like a sword. But he had done so much to protect his younger brother, and just like Nesta, had never told him because he knew he wouldn’t be able to fully understand it. They were both disliked by their youngest sibling for being their parent’s prized pupils, oblivious to the whole story. Even though Eris had not answered her question, Nesta knew that what Beron had put him through was a thousand times worse than anything her mother had done. Deep down, she knew that Eris was just as broken as she was. Their main difference was Eris had centuries of practice in masking it, whereas Nesta did not.
“You’re not a bad male, Eris.” Nesta said softly, her gaze lost in the warm amber of his eyes.
“You hardly know me.” His voice was bitter, the aloof arrogant mask he wore threatening to slide up and hide the vulnerability Nesta had seen in his face moments ago. “I’ve done horrible things in the name of my father, Nesta. Things that would make you run back to the Night Court if you knew.”
“I don’t judge people for what they had to do to survive.” Nesta insisted, her voice even. “You may have your own secret agenda, Eris, but you’ve treated me better than most people have in a long, long time. Do not think I don’t appreciate that.”
Eris laughed, and the haunted look was shoved from his face. “My dear, how you have been treated is appalling, even to me. Let’s not have that be the standard, I beg you.”
“How do you know I didn’t deserve it?” Nesta said before she could stop herself. It simply slipped out, the guilt that had been shoved down her throat by the Inner Circle ever since she became fae entrapping her words once again. It was an exhausting uphill battle. Every day, she told herself that she was right to flee the Night Court, to try and make a life for herself outside Velaris. But every day those seeds of doubt wriggled their way into her thoughts, trapping her inside a web of self hatred that she had fought so hard to get out of.
“Seriously?” Eris said incredulously, eyebrows raised. He shifted so he was facing Nesta, and he took her still trembling hands in his own. “Tell me, what criminal, abhorrent offence have you committed to warrant being treated like shit and locked up?”
Nesta’s throat was dry. “I didn’t try and help my family like Feyre did when we were in poverty.”
Eris shook his head. “You are the eldest daughter, not the parent. It was not your responsibility to provide for your family.”
“I was mean to Feyre on several occasions.”
“You’re sisters, that’s supposed to happen. You should hear the vicious things my brothers and I say to each other.”
“I spent a ton of Rhys’s money on alcohol, drinking myself stupid every night.”
“Please, that male has more money than anyone I know, my dear. I assure you his bank account was not dented in the slightest.”
“I slept my way through the city after the war.”
“Everyone in that little Inner Circle has fucked more fae than anyone I know. Your number is nothing compared to theirs.” Eris said calmly. “All I’m hearing is that a newly turned fae female was traumatised after being dragged into a brutal war she did not ask for, and found unhealthy yet very normal ways of coping. So tell me again, what actual horrid thing have you done to deserve any of this?”
Tears filled Nesta’s eyes as she listed her sins, the crackling of the fire fading into the background. She knew Eris was right, his logical mind soothing her anxious one. Talking about it with Eris was different than talking about it with you. You had been just as angry as Nesta had, forced into the same situation as her and kept in the House of Wind against your will, the Inner Circle using the fact that they had saved both your lives as leverage to make you do what they wanted. You were someone who Nesta could rant to about it and get angry, letting that hatred she felt out to someone who knew exactly what she meant. But Eris was different. He rationalised her thoughts, providing a different kind of reassurance. 
She couldn’t stop the tears that fell down her cheeks. Nesta bit her wobbling lip, trying to keep more from spilling out. Eris released one of her hands, bringing it up to her face and gently brushing the tears away. “They’ve done a number on you, haven’t they?” He murmured softly, cupping her cheek.  “What are you thinking right now, Nesta Archeron?”
Nesta inhaled deeply, pressing her face slightly harder into Eris’s warm hand. The smell of smoke and forest engulfing her senses. “That I am scared,” She admitted. “For so many reasons. I am scared that Cassian will find me and steal me back to Velaris. That everything we’ve done has all been for nothing. I’m scared that your father will find us out somehow and kill us all. I’m scared for (Y/N) and her engagement to your awful brother. And I hate myself, Eris. I hate myself for who I’ve become not just because I am now fae, but because the person I was before the Cauldron would not have given in and trained with Cassian. I… I am afraid that with this new immortality ahead of me I will not recognize the girl I used to be, and not in a good way. I hate that I have let the words of people who barely know me cut this deeply, and I am ashamed of it.”
Eris continued to use his thumb to brush away the fresh tears on her cheeks. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to hers. “You have had a difficult hand dealt to you, Nesta.” Eris said softly. “And they should have known better. Do not be ashamed. For anything. Just know you have (Y/N), just as you have me. We will not let the Night Court take you, I swear on my mother’s life. Your mate cares for you, and I… I care for you, too.”
Nesta opened her mouth to respond, but a strange sensation in her chest stopped her. It suddenly felt like she was falling through space, the stars overhead spinning around her as she plummeted towards a strange light. She gasped, and felt Eris tense up as well. In her mind, she saw her silver flames dancing towards orange ones. They intertwined, braiding together and forming a magical rope-like appearance. Nesta reached down in her mind, her heartbeat racing as she grabbed a hold of it. She peered down to where the flames had extended to, seeing a flaming silhouette on the other end, her silver flames surrounding it affectionately. 
And so she reached forward, extending a mental hand into that flaming silhouette.
And Eris gasped. 
Nesta’s eyes shot open, and she lurched back from the Autumn Prince’s touch. Eris’s face was ghostly pale, and he was panting as if he had just fought off a hundred soldiers at once. Athariel hissed behind her, not happy to be awoken by the sudden movement. Her mouth was dry. She had felt this feeling before, but with you. That flaming rope she had followed felt the same as the pull of the tattoo on her sternum.
The mating bond.
The flaming silhouette at the other end of the magical rope was Eris Vanserra. Nesta’s mind reeled, her body threatening to combust with the feeling inside her chest. She could only stare at the male before her in shock.
Estelle said fae can have more than one mate, but Cassian is not one of yours. Your words rang in Nesta’s head like a bell, making her feel dizzy. No, she thought. This isn’t possible. You were her mate, how could this happen? There was still that strange feeling in her chest from Cassian, which confused her even more. The feeling of one mating bond within her was overwhelming enough, but two? Nesta didn’t know if she could survive it.
“Eris…” His voice was like a prayer on her lips, sounding completely different than the previous hundred times she had said it. It was like a song, carrying over to the shaken autumn prince and snapping him out of his trance.
“Nesta.” Her blood sang at the sound of her name, silver flames sparking from her fingertips in response. 
“Like calls to like…” She muttered, recalling Eris’s repetition of the phrase. And then it dawned on her. Eris had consistently told her that like calls to like, and she had thought he was talking about their similarities in magic.
Fury rose within her, drowning out everything else. “Did you know?” She hissed at Eris.
The male’s eyes were wide, and he stuttered. “I–”
“Did you fucking know?” Nesta growled. “Is this the only reason you agreed to help us? So you could use the bond to trap me. Is that what you wanted? To keep me prisoner here, just like your father did to your mother?”
Eris blanched, flinching like he had been struck. Nesta felt it, the blow of her words, as if she had been punched in the chest. “I swear, I did not know.” Eris pleaded. “Nesta, please, you have to trust me. I had no idea about this.”
Nesta rose to her feet, her entire body shaking. She climbed onto Athariel’s back, nudging the dragon forward with her heels. Athariel grumbled, but got to her feet and began to crawl out of the cave. Her hands shook as she held onto the dragon’s horns. She stared down at Eris, who appeared paralyzed in shock as he looked up at her. Nesta’s voice was cold as ice as she said, “I don’t believe you.”
And as Athariel spread her wings and took to the sky, Nesta had not noticed the fire had gone out completely.
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humanpurposes · 2 years ago
Text
From Eden
Chapter 1: Little Novice
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Danes attack Wincombe Abbey and a young novice crosses paths with a group of mercenaries and their Baby Monk // Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist
Osferth x Original Female Character
Warnings: bit of violence and death, suggestive themes if you squint, there will eventually be smut
Words: 4000
A/n: not me starting another series oops but i can't resist the baby monk
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Today saw the first snowfall of the year. A few flakes landed on Bridget’s sleeves as she sauntered past the hard and frosted soil of the vegetable garden, past the pigsty and towards the stream that circled Wincombe Abbey. She swung an empty pitcher back and forth as she hummed the least melancholy hymn she could think of.
They had guests currently. Lady Aethelflaed of Mercia had arrived two days ago, bringing with her a group of guards who were camping at outside the Abbey. Bridget had been tempted to walk past the men on her errand, but the Abbess was already in a foul mood and she didn’t fancy testing her temper. Not unless it was for something interesting.
She had spent her morning as she always did. Prayers first. Her knees were never not bruised by the flagstone floor of the chapel, but with winter settling in they were numb too. Then she saw to the goats and the pigs. Then she helped in the kitchen. Finally, she got to eat in the hall with her Sisters. Bread with some winter preserves and slices of cured ham.
When she got to the stream, she placed the pitcher by her feet. With a final glance over her shoulder to the solitary stone building of the Abbey, she hopped across the water on a sparse path of rocks and made for the line of trees ahead of her.
The woods were the only place she felt like a living person and not simply a novice in a habit.
Bridget couldn’t stand how quiet life the Abbey could be. The Abbess, a stern but fair woman, told her it was because she was restless and unappreciative, but perhaps she was simply not well suited to mindfulness and prayer. Sometimes she could find things to laugh about with the younger girls, but then the Abbess would scold her for her “impiety”.
Once she was amongst the trees she tugged at her habit. In the summer she might take it off, but it offered some extra warmth in the colder months.
Her preferred weapon was where she left it, leaning against the trunk of a young oak tree. A broken bit of a branch, small enough for her to wield and heavy enough to hit against the trees.
She twirled it through her hands, just as her brother used to show her. From the few memories she had, she remembered he could do all sorts of impressive tricks with his sword. He could spin it and slice it through the air in controlled and precise movements.
It had been a decade since she had seen her brother, but she tried to keep his teachings with her, swinging branches at tree trunks, imagining she was a great warrior, like David slaying Goliath. Technically David had slayed Goliath with a rock and a sling, a detail the Abbess insisted was important. Bridget could invent a thousand reasons why, but she didn’t care to.
Especially when she was younger, she liked to imagine herself as a warrior when she was tasked with cutting wood or slaughtering and butchering the pigs. They were both hard work, but she was always willing to do it, if only to have an excuse to be destructive for once. She found it could be quite cathartic.
After a particularly harsh blow against a tree that cracked the branch almost in two, she froze. She heard horses. She hoped they would move on, but she made out a few figures in the distance, figures who appeared to have spotted her and were moving closer.
She dropped the branch and fixed her habit, to find a lock of her hair hovering over her forehead. She tucked it back in as the faces of the riders came into view.
There were five who rode at the front, four men and a woman with pale, blonde hair and strange markings on her face. A larger group, no more than twenty, hung back a little.
“A nun,” one of the men called. He rode in front of the group, their leader, she supposed.
“There we are then, you’ll feel right at home, Baby Monk,” another said. He had a gruff voice and an Irish accent. One of the other men laughed. The woman didn’t react at all.
“Is the Abbey nearby?” The leader asked.
Bridget frowned. He had an accent she could not place. “You are Danish?” She looked amongst the rest of their group, and they each seemed to find her accusation amusing.
“What is my religion to you, girl?”
“I would like to know if you would seek to do us harm.”
He raised a brow. “And you believe the best measure of a man to be the gods he follows?”
“I believe the best measure of a man is his intentions,” she said, meeting his eye and determined to keep her expression stoic.
But apparently he was pleased with her response. “You and I are similar in this respect,” he said, loosening the grip of his reins. “We seek the Lady Aethelflaed.”
“Would you seek to do her harm?”
“Only the good kind,” the Irishman mumbled with a smirk.
The leader rolled his eyes. “She and I are friends. I have come to offer her my protection.”
Bridget looked into the eyes of each of their group, the leader, the Irishman, the one who from his hair also looked to be a Dane, and the younger man riding at the back of the group. The woman had an unsettling gaze, she was the only one Bridget felt she felt compelled to look away from. The Abbess would call the markings on her face the markings of a heathen.
“There is a bridge over the stream,” she said, pointing through the trees. “Cross there. There will be room for your horses in the stables.”
She watched the men move away, each of them offering thankful smiles. She concealed her own, and headed back the way she came, across the stream and to the abbey with the empty pitcher.
Lady Aethelflaed welcomed them warmly and named their leader as Lord Uhtred. After it was agreed that they were decidedly not Danes (not the kind who would attack an Abbey anyhow), they settled in the hall, where Bridget and the nuns brought them bowls of stew and bread.
She expected them to eat like the Mercian guards, wolfing down bread and stew like they hadn’t seen food in days, but Lord Uhtred and his men thanked her graciously as she placed bowls on the table and went round to ladle out more stew for them.
Until she came to the man sitting at the end of the table, beside Lady Aethelflaed. He was the youngest of the group, with wide blue eyes and a sharp jaw. He kept to himself, slightly hunched over his stew.
She was rather fascinated by his robes and the small silver cross around his neck. If he had a slightly worse haircut he would look like a monk. But that was ridiculous, why would a monk be travelling with a group of mercenaries?
She approached him and waited for him to notice her. He looked up at her a smiled vaguely.
She indicated to the pot she was carrying.
“Please,” he muttered, holding out his bowl.
She dished a few spoonfuls for him and he smiled again, a little wider this time. She smiled back.
She wondered where he might be from, why he served a Dane if he wore a cross, how far their group had travelled and how many tales they might have.
“May I ask your name?” He asked.
She had been so distracted trying to think of something to say that his question took her by surprise.
“Oh… Bridget,” she said. “And you?”
“I am Osferth,” he said. He was very softly spoken, she thought. There was something so gentle and subdued about him.
“Are you a monk, Osferth?” She asked.
He glanced down at the cross hanging from his neck. “I was, I left my order to serve Lord Uhtred.”
“And now you are, what, a mercenary?”
Osferth chuckled to himself and shook his head lightly. “I am not much of a fighter just yet.”
“But you have a sword, and your friends are warriors.”
“I am still learning. In the meantime I can only practice and pray to God for courage and strength.”
She felt a light feeling in her chest she was sure she hadn’t felt in years. That’s what she prayed for too, even when the nuns told her she should be praying for patience and forgiveness.
“How did you—”
“Bridget.” The Abbess called, glaring at her from across the table.
Bridget nodded her head to Osferth, a farewell, she supposed, and headed back to the kitchen. One of the girls followed behind her, with a now empty pitcher of ale.
“The Irishman is handsome,” Bridget whispered into her ear once they were through the doors.
The other girl’s mouth fell open.
“What? Surely it is not a sin to look?”
The next morning, the Abbess ensured Bridget stayed in the kitchen. “So you might not be so easily distracted,” she warned, leaving her to peel and slice an endless amount of vegetables.
The Abbess seemed rather distressed at hosting Lord Uhtred and his men. “Ravenous permanently,” she grumbled, marching in through the kitchen with the remains of their breakfast. “They are eating into our winter stores.”
“So why let them stay?” Bridget muttered, dragging the edge of her knife over the skin of a few carrots.
“Because it is our place to show kindness,” the Abbess insisted through her teeth. She emptied the plate into a bucket by Bridget’s feet. “Take that out to the pigs.”
Bridget made no verbal protest. She placed the knife down and left through a small door that led out to the side of the Abbey, just as she had done the previous day. The skin of her cheeks stung when it met the icy morning air. The snow was heavier today. She blinked a few flakes out of her eyes and marched quickly towards the pigsty.
She made sure to scratch them behind the ears, poor things, left out in the cold.
She made her way around the building, to the front doors of the Abbey, and blinked.
And blinked again.
No, there was defineately an army of Danes lined up on the other side of the bridge.
“Good morning, nun!” One cried from atop a grey horse.
“Who are you?” Bridget demanded, but her voice came out a little more broken than intended.
The man chuckled and nodded to the bridge.
They had three hostages, each with a knife being held to their throats.
But with the order from their leader, the first hostage’s throat was sliced open, his body carelessly left to fall to the floor.
Bridget couldn’t bring herself to scream and choked out a broken sort of gasp.
They made no demands, made no moves towards her, and there was no indication they intended to kill the other two hostages. Not yet.
She slowly stalked towards the doors, unable to keep her eyes away from the danger.
“We will wait!” The man on the horse called, “for Aethelflaed!”
She ran to the kitchen first.
“To the hall!” She cried, moving to shut the windows.
The others all stared at her for a moment.
“Now!”
“What is the meaning of this?” The Abbess asked, bolting the door to the gardens as the others fled the kitchen.
“Danes,” Bridget breathed. She hadn’t realised her lack of breath or the restless feeling creeping under her skin.
The Abbess’s skin turned pale. She placed her hand on Bridget’s shoulder and ushered her towards the hall.
The nuns and novices had raised alarm amongst the men. Half of them were already reaching for their weapons.
Bridget and the Abbess slammed the doors of the hall with an ominous thud.
“What is it?” Lord Uhtred demanded.
“Danes. Outside.”
Every man was on his feet in an instant, and the sound of unsheathed swords rang through the hall.
“How many Danes?” The Irishman asked.
Bridget faltered. She hadn’t thought to count them. “More than twenty. Less than fifty.”
A few men moved towards the doors and the windows, but Lord Uhtred ordered them to hold for the time being.
He turned to Bridget. “Do you know what they want?”
“He asked for Lady Aethelflaed.”
“But they may not know we are here,” he said to his men.
“They know someone is here,” Osferth’s voice came. He was still sat at the table and had not drawn his sword.
“But they have hostages,” Bridget said. “They killed one man and they have two more.”
“We remain inside, and we remain silent,” Uhtred ordered, coming towards Bridget and the Abbess. “They must believe you are unprotected,” he said.
He looked between them for a moment, and turned back to Bridget. “Would you speak with them?”
Her heart must have stopped for a moment. “What?”
“We cannot save the hostages, but you can save the lives of the men and women here.”
“And Aethelflaed,” Osferth added.
“You must deny she is here; convince them you have nothing to offer.”
Her restlessness was starting to feel like fear, but she understood Lord Uhtred’s plan, and she could not say why, but she was inclined to trust him.
Until the Abbess interjected. “No!”
Bridget’s heart sank a little. “Abbess, I can do it—”
“No, child, this is my house. This will be my responsibility.” She turned to Lord Uhtred. “I will do it.”
Bridget followed Uhtred and some of the other men into the entrance hall. She stood by one of the windows, out of sight of the Danes, occasionally stealing glances of the Abbess as she stepped out to attempt a negotiation.
“We know him,” a voice muttered beside her. She looked up to see Osferth’s jaw hovering over her. “His name is Haesten.”
The Abbess made her plea for mercy.
In turn, a second man had his throat slit.
“Deny her presence again and a third man dies. And I will burn down your nunnery, and everyone in it.”
Bridget placed her hand on her throat. She could feel her heart pulsing.
A hand gently came onto her shoulder, but Osferth said nothing. His hands were larger than she realised. It wasn’t exactly calming, but she liked it.
True to the words of the Dane, the third man was slain, and when the Abbess reached for an axe she was met with a spear to her chest.
Bridget flinched into Osferth’s chest, keeping her hands over her eyes.
“Aethelflaed!” Haesten cried. “How many more men and women must die to save your bony arse?”
“To the hall,” Osferth said, taking one of her hands in his.
When she glanced once more out the window, Haesten and his men were moving past the bodies of the hostages and the Abbess, towards the doors.
Bridget, Osferth and Aethelflaed gathered the nuns and novices to the back of the hall, while Uhtred and his men lined up behind the doors with shields, spears and swords.
“Will you not fight?” Bridget asked Osferth.
“I told you, I am not much of a warrior,” he said solemnly, as he and Lady Aethelflaed positioned themselves before the others.
Bridget frowned, but tried to distract herself by whispering assurances to some of the younger girls.
When the doors finally burst open she felt utterly helpless. The fighting was kept by the doors and the entrance hall, while Osferth and Lady Aethelflaed watched with their swords drawn.
And when two of the Danes broke through the line protecting the door, they moved together. Lady Aethelflaed fought better than the monk, she thought.
She watched as a third man fought through, overwhelming Osferth while Aethelflaed was still preoccupied.
Bridget couldn’t stop herself. She darted towards the table and grabbed a knife. She supposed the man could have easily turned to her and lodged his axe in her chest, but he didn’t get a chance to even look at her before she rammed the knife into his neck, sending a spray of blood through the air.
The rest of the room was a haze. Something warm and wet landed on and dripped down her cheek.
Suddenly she felt two hands against her shoulders. She blinked.
Osferth’s blue eyes were glaring at her. “That was foolish,” he said.
Three men lay dead on the floor. Swords continued to clash in the entrance hall but Haesten and his men were retreating.
Osferth and Aethelflaed moved out to join Uhtred, while some of the nuns came to wipe the blood from Bridget’s face.
She told them of the Danes and the Abbess’ death. Some of the girls cried, some prayed. She came to clutch her own cross around her neck. But her hands would not stop shaking and her heart would not rest.
She killed a man. Really, it hadn’t been much harder than slaughtering a pig, but at least it felt a little more justified.
If the Abbess were not dead, she would have screamed at her, told her she was ungodly, no better than a cold-blooded murderer, or any of the Danes who ravaged villages and stole from innocent Mercians.
They stayed huddled in the hall until dusk, when Lord Uhtred seemed to finally come to a resolution.
The woman with the markings on her face, Skade, was a seer, and Haesten agreed to take her in Aethelflaed’s place.
Bridget watched the exchange from the doors to the main hall, and a shiver slipped down her spine when Skade turned to Uhtred with a dark look in her eyes.
“You are cursed once more, Uhtred of Bebbanburg.”
Bridget had hardly slept that night. She lay eyes closed, still in her robes and the white headscarf she wore under her habit, listening to the gentle snores of the girls in the beds around her and aware of the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed.
The moment she heard the first whistle of birdsong at dawn, she was up. She pulled on a pair of boots and looked around her bed. But it occurred to her she owned nothing, save for her little silver cross.
She hurried through the abbey, past the open doors of the hall, now empty.
The men were outside, securing their saddles and mounting their horses.
She spotted Lord Uhtred as he was helping Lady Aethelflaed pack her own mount.
Osferth was by his horse, talking to the Irishman.
“Lord Uhtred!” Bridget called over the noise of the horses.
He turned to her with a small smile. “Fear not, we have not emptied your food stores—”
“I want to come with you,” she said.
She had the attention of the others now.
Uhtred chuckled to himself. “I already have a stray monk, I have no need for a little novice.”
Bridget’s skin still felt strange where it had been stained with blood. “I fought better than him.”
“Not a particularly high standard,” the Irishman joked. Osferth’s head sunk, but he was smirking too.
“So you killed one man and now you offer yourself as a warrior?” Uhtred asked.
Her breath caught in her throat as she finally realised the ridiculousness of her proposition. She could swing a branch, cut firewood and bury a knife into an unsuspecting man, but that would hardly help her in a true battle.
“With practice, perhaps?” She said, pressing her nails into her palm. “But I have some skills as a healer also. I’ve assisted the Abbess with all sorts of ailments, no doubt you encounter your fair share of injuries?”
“She’s got spirit, Uhtred, at least give her that,” Aethelflaed said.
“Please,” Bridget said, “give me the chance and I will prove myself to you.”
They each shared a few pointed glances.
“I admire your determination, but I cannot bring a girl onto the battlefield against armies of Danes. I cannot guarantee your protection and I cannot even offer you a horse.”
“Lord? She can ride with me,” Osferth said quietly. “With your permission of course. I can look out her.”
Uhtred raised his eyebrows. “Very well.”
Bridget felt herself smile, wide and showing off her top row of teeth. It felt uncomfortable but she didn’t try to stop herself.
The others were already starting to move off as she approached Osferth as he stroked the nose of his horse.
“Have you ridden before?” He asked.
“No.”
“You’ll sit behind me; I’ll help you up.”
Bridget nodded.
She watched as he placed his left foot in the stirrup and swung his leg over to the other side. “Easy,” he insisted, holding out his hand to her. “Don’t be afraid to use your strength.”
She followed his movements as best she could, but her skirt wouldn’t allow her to bring her leg to the other side of the saddle. She fell back onto her feet with a disgruntled huff.
“Other foot then, and slot both legs onto one side of the saddle.” He held out his hand again. “Ready?”
“Wait.” Bridget looked back to the space around her. The stream, the woods, the doors to the place that had never really felt like home. She reached for her headscarf and pulled it off her head, letting it fall to the ground. She didn’t suppose she would have any use for it now. Her hair fell down her back in a messy braid.
She looked back up at Osferth, between his hand, his eyes, and briefly to the curve of his upper lip. She held his hand tightly and hauled herself up onto the horse, her arms and legs trembling slightly at the effort.
Once the horse was settled Osferth gave it a gentle kick and they began to move. Bridget latched onto his shoulders as they began to sway with the movement.
“What if I fall off?” She asked, suddenly horrified at the prospect.
“You won’t fall off,” Osferth said, “use your thighs.”
“What?”
“Grip with your thighs,” he said.
She did so instinctively. Something about it felt… strange.
They cantered to catch up with the group and Bridget gripped Osferth’s shoulders a little tighter. Until he took one of her hands and placed it on his waist, so she wouldn’t impede on his arms. She muttered an apology and unsurely placed her other hand around him.
A few days ago she hadn’t so much as spoken to a man in years, except an incident where a nearby farmer had broken his leg, and even then she only wordlessly assisted the Abbess to bandage his limb.
Now she had her arms around a man’s torso, close enough to feel his warmth from under his winter cloak as her body rocked against his back.
“You’re frozen,” Osferth said, briefly brushing his thumb over her hand.
“It’s winter.”
“Did you not have anything warmer to wear?”
“We don’t attach ourselves to material items,” she said in a mockingly wistful voice.
He huffed a small laugh and pulled the horse to a stop before swinging his leg around the its head, landing on the ground in one smooth movement.
He undid the clasp on his cloak and held it up to her.
“Thank you,” she said, wrapping it around her shoulders, “but I don’t want you to get cold.”
He mounted again, a little awkwardly with Bridget already in the saddle. “Hold it around me. We can keep each other warm.”
She shuffled closer into him. Osferth brought one hand off the reins and pulled the corner of the cloak around his arm as Bridget settled against his back, resting her head at the base of his neck.
Thank God he couldn’t see her as her cheeks started to burn against the cold and the snow.
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dre6ming · 1 year ago
Text
Playing for keeps
Chapter I
Masterlist
Pairing: Austin Butler x Y/n
Plot: Austin is the next in line for the throne, but he can’t be king if he doesn’t have a wife. In your country tradition says that a selection formed of 35 young women must be formed for the prince to find a wife. You are obligated by circumstances to participate against your will. What are the chances that you might be the next queen? None right? Right?
Warning: none
Word count: ~4000
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"To heal the soul by the means of the senses and the senses by the means of the soul" or something like that, is what Oscar Wilde said to make me really understand why something so simple as feeling the bristles of my brush stroke the rough surface of the canvas. My lines look a little jagged today, my hand keeps shaking and no matter how many deep breaths I take, the rock sitting on my chest hasn't gotten any lighter.
Thirty five, what a strange and odd number, why so many? Why not more or less? Did they have a mathematician who centuries ago did the math for them and concluded that thirty five was the lucky number to find a wife out? I take a deep breath as the word "wife" bounces off of the walls of my skull. It's not just a wife, it's the future queen.
It's been a little more than 30 years since the last selection, when queen Lori was selected out of the bunch by King David and now the result of their successful selection, their son, prince Austin, is about to have his very own selection. All of the girls in the kingdom between the ages 18-22 were asked to submit an entry into the competition, to hopefully end up being the princess of the kingdom and the future queen.
Emphasis on the word "asked" , we were not obligated to do it, at least not by our government, our parents however? Well the forced me to apply, dragged me down to the office where the applications were collected and made me sign up.
"Y/n it's time, come come sit!!" My mom shouts for me and I put down the paint brush, wiping my hands on a rag, brushing back some hair as I make my way to the very small, very crowded living room. My mom , dad and all my 5 siblings are spread around the tv, watching it like hawks. "Come sit!" Mom pats the spot next to her on the couch and I squeeze between her and my older sister.
I can't help but feel angry at the whole situation, my parents live in a poorer side of the country and the fact that they had 7 kids did not help, I'm right in the middle, being the 4th to be born, my older siblings, are married off to their own households where the also pop baby after baby, that is except for one of my eldest siblings, my sister Hannah, who's the reason why mom put me into the selection in the first place.
To back track a bit and explain, my parents met and got married when they were 20 years old, my brother Josh came a year later, he's now 26 married and expecting child number three, his income already stretched thin. Then came Anna, she's 24 she married in a more stable family, but with baby number two, turning into babies number 2 , 3 and 4, yes that's triplets that she's having, money is low. Mark, 22 now, not married, he's actually, well we don't know, he ran away with a girl from around here, we haven't heard anything in years and since we barely have time to live our own lives and win enough for a living, we've put him aside. My sister Hannah, 22 as well, she's Marks twin, she's supposed to marry, but the guy she chose is from a family of twelve and they have little to no money.
Then there's me, Y/n, 20 being auctioned away in the hopes that the weekly allowance my family will get for my participation would be enough for my sister's wedding and some other things for my youngest siblings. After me my parents had kids 2 more times, Kyle 14 and then the other set of twins, this time identical Tana and Lane, 10 years old.
My mom works as a nurse and my dad is a retired guard from our region. Money is low so we all have to work, but with 2 siblings out of the house and one waiting to marry, we lost working hands. I sell paintings on commission and I also work at the local bakery to try and make some extra money, but it's not enough to support me, mom and my younger siblings. Which is why I was forced by mom to join the selection, the family of the girl competing gets a weekly allowance for as long as she stays in the game, not to mention the chance of actually being queen.
As names are being drawn on tv I can feel everyone in the room tense as the 34th girl gets called out and it's not me, I had 34 chances and I lost them all, now I get one more, but I hope I'll lose again. I don't want to go, I don't want to meet the prince or be his wife, I'm not meant to be queen, I'm just not.
My breath gets caught in my chest as the host, Lucas, puts his hand back in the bowl of names. My ears are ringing as he read the name and I almost faint seeing my picture there. "You got it, hon, good job!" Mom says and all of my present siblings start to chant my name, happy for me. I can barely hear them though, so I get up with tears in my eyes, brushing everyone off, walking out, out of the room, out of the house.
My bare feet, touch the sharp gravel, but I can't give into the pain, all I know is I need to run, run for now, or at least until tomorrow when the people from the palace will be at my door to package me up and send me to their prince. Staring out into the midnight sky, I could see everything I had being ripped apart, I didn't have much, but I had enough. Dropping to the ground and letting the cold grass soak my thin cotton dress, I close my eyes, scared to death about the outcome of what I had just gotten myself into.
The next time I open my eyes, two guards from the royal guard stand in my door and my mom hands me a bag I didn't pack, pushing me out the door. I take one last look back at the people I'm leaving behind and I tell myself I have to at least make it a few weeks, so that my sister could use the money for her wedding, then I'd come back and move to a richer part of the country, where I wouldn't be able to ever see my family. Those are the rules, after you get into the game, when you live you have a higher status and income so they move you and you can no longer interact with your past the way you used to.
Watching my step getting out of the car that took me from the airport to here, I take in the palace, with it's high towers and beautiful architecture. People are outside, forming a pathway for us to walk as they chant different names of other girls who also got selected. I am so out my element here, the dress my mom picked for me was too tight and itchy, the high heel shoes hurt my feet and my hands were sweating too much. "Here it goes!" I say under my breath stepping forward and into the unknown building. The inside even more beautiful than I could describe, high ceilings with crystal chandeliers, gold accents and mahogany furniture, underneath my heels white marble floors.
"Ladies! Welcome, I am Silvia and I'll be you're etiquette advisor and teacher, I'll also be your voice here, anything you need, you ask me and I'll make it happen if it within my powers. You will now be less to yours rooms where you will meet your maids, they will help you with hair, make up and clothes and anything else you might need. Dinner will be served in your rooms tonight and breakfast is at 7 am tomorrow, after breakfast you will each get to talk with the prince and get to know him. I've left some pages on your beds with instructions about tomorrow as well as the schedule of our classes. Good evening going forward!" The tall blonde woman left our sight walking gracefully in her long gown. I wonder if I'll ever be like her? Back so straight, shoulders so strong, hair so put together, make up so natural yet so beautiful, voice so clear, everything about her spoke volumes on everything I was not. I don't know how they expect me to last a day here.
In my room, I stand and wonder how can a place for one person be the size of my home which currently houses 7, now that two of my siblings had moved out. "Lady Y/n!" Two petite women curtesy in front of me, they look like sisters, about the same age as me, but one of them looks a bit older. "Just Y/n" I lick my lips fiddling with my fingers. The older one nods, smiling. "A-and you are?" They seem confused by my question. "Your maids lady!" The other one explains in a sweet voice.
"Yes no, I know, I meant, your names, what are your names?" I ask again hoping I'm not making them uncomfortable. "I'm Jules and she's my older sister Jane, we're very happy and honored to meet you, lady Y/n" I nod, smiling as well, as they start pacing around the room fixing things up. My eyes watch them move, mesmerized by how synchronized they are. "Can you stand and turn around lady Y/n? We have the water running in the tub, so you can take a bath."
I stand and turn so that Jules could undo my dress, then sliding my arms through the silk robe. "Just Y/n please!" I ask again, all these official things making me uncomfortable. "Lady Y/n, if I may-" I open my mouth to correct Jane, but she puts her hand up stopping me. "You are now a lady, his majesty will refer to you as such and you have to keep to these titles, at least until you get to know him better." I nod at her kind advice and follow her into the bathroom, where she helps me step into the tub, taking my robe away and checking the water temperature one last time. "Well relax lady Y/n, when you're ready, call for us and we will get you ready for bed."
Before she leaves me to my own, I dare to ask her one more thing. "Jane, is he nice?" I ask, this being the first time I actually my curiosity about the prince, spiked ever since I was selected. Jane gives me a soft smile, fixing the creases on her apron. "That's for you to decide lady Y/n, but his majesty, prince Austin has always been well liked by the staff." She leaves before I get to asks anything more and I take that as her polite way of saying that's how much she's allowed to say.
The bed here is so much softer than the one at home, the one I uncomfortably share with my twin sisters. The sheets are so soft and silky, it feels like I could turn to fast and fly off the bed. Jules and Jane left shortly after, brushing my hair back and helping me into my silk night gown. Even in this big room, air feels compressed and I want to walk, so I find myself putting on my slippers , taking a moment to look at them, I've never had slippers before. I the dark of the room I make out the location of the door and I turn the knob slowly, trying to make no sound.
I feel a cool breeze brushing my bare legs and I follow it thinking this could be the way to find a door leading outside. Only thing stopping me are the two guards standing in front of it. "Miss are you lost?" One of them asks, making me blush, finally so aware of the fact that I left my room wearing only my thin silky night gown. "N-no, I was wondering how to get to the garden." I say hoping my voice didn't sound too shaky. "No can do miss, you need to get back to your room." The guard tells me, his eyes staring straight ahead. "Please, I, I just need a moment." I beg, taking a step closer and that's when they both move their eyes to look at me, their mean stares making me shiver. "Not allowed, back to your room miss!" The other guard speaks.
Suddenly another set of steps are heard and the guards stand straighter. I don't dare to make a move and look at who it might be. "Your majesty!" They say in unison and the blood freezes in my veins. I've never heard him speak before, his voice sounds so clear, a bit raspy, but still sweet, like warm honey. "Lay her be!"
"Your majesty, we can't-" the guard protests. "I said let her be, open the doors!" They do as he says and I don't wait to walk out, the cold air hitting my warm skin leaving goosebumps. "Stay 5 minutes, then back to your room, if you won't go willingly they have my permission to drag you there." I stop and without turning around I say. "Thank you, your majesty!" My voice sounding like it's under water.
I didn't stay too long after I heard him walk away, running back to my room almost immediately after. Sleep came to me easily after that, but I still felt restless now as Jane brushed my hair into a braid. They put me into a floor length light green dress, with beautiful lace details all around the corset. I looked like a princess this morning when I looked at myself in the mirror and I couldn't believe it and then for just a moment too long I had questioned why I pushed this competition away so vehemently. That last thought however got send back to the depth of my mind and I was now patiently waiting for my turn with the prince, tormented by the wonder of whether he would recognize me from last night or not. 
At last my turn comes and I get up from my seat, fixing my dress as I walk with my head down toward the table where he awaits for me. Sitting down, I still keep my eyes on the ground scared to look at him, feeling my heart thudding against my corset concealed chest. "Y/n? Right? Pleased to meat you, I do hope you're feeling better." His voice comes out first, breaking the silence and making me finally look at him. I had seen him on tv, but the screen did him no justice, the blue in his eyes is so electric, the gold in his hair, is so endearing, my fingers itched with the wish to have a feel at it, his pink lips look so soft and warm. Everything about him is inviting and the way he seats in his chair, leaned back with his legs crossed, his chin in his hand, makes him look so young and careless, which he is, being only 22 and a prince. 
"Yes, your majesty, I'm quite well, thank you!" I blush deeply, my hands clutching the material of my dress in a stupid attempt to calm my nerves. Austin's eyes move to my hands and back to my face, a concerned look painting on his god like face. "Are you all right? Lady Y/n?" He asks, changing his position in the chair, leaning towards me. "If you're not feeling well, I can have for the doctor to come and see you later Lady Y/n." He says in a whisper. The word doctor makes me immediately let go of my dress and smooth down the creases, breathing deeply. "I am fine your majesty, it's all nerves." 
Austin hums and I expect him to go back to his previous sitting position, but he doesn't, he actually leans a bit closer if that were possible. I can now smell his woodsy cologne and a warm fuzzy feeling takes over my body. "You don't need to be nervous, I'm just a boy, just as you are just a girl-".
"But you're not" I find myself rudely interrupting him. "You're going to be king some day and 35 women were randomly chosen to come here and allow you to peruse them. 35 is a strangely small number compared to all the women out there that could be potentially way better for you than any of us."
"Then why come here? Why put your name in the ballot in the first place?" He asks and I can't read if he's been offended by what I said or not. "Your majesty, I apologize!" I look away from him and I can't help but notice that the other girls are all watching us, just like I had watched the previous ones when they were up here. I can only imagine they are analyzing if he likes me better or not. 
"Don't apologize, keep talking, I feel you have a point." Austin urges me and I bite my tongue. "Lady Y/n, my situation is unique, but I have no choice, it does not matter if the love of my life is someone outside these walls, I am not allowed to meet them. So please keep talking!" I feel sad for him, it's clear he's thought the same thing as me, what if his one true love is not one of us, but he's obligated to choose one of us either way. 
"My favorite book, "Withering highlights" the protagonists were not allowed to love each other but they did and the impossibility of being together killed them, had they not ever met, they would've been able to love someone else and live. I think what I said is quite wrong your majesty, maybe neither of us will be the love of your life, but with time you might find someone among us, that you could learn to love and survive." 
Austin opens his mouth to say something, but he doesn't get the chance, since it's announced that our time is up and I must go in order for the next girl to come. I get up breathless and do a very bad curtesy. 
The rest of the day I can't help but feel like I'm sitting on egg shells, I knew I had let my stupid mouth speak before I gave to much thought, but something about him made me feel like I could speak my heart. Jane brushes my hair, as Jules arranges things around the room,  taking the pillows off the bed and putting in place the last things for me to go to bed. 
A knock on my door makes Jane jump as she brushes my hair and Jules goes to open the door. "Your majesty!" I hear Jules say and so I turn to see him, in all his glory, wearing the same dark brown suit from breakfast, only he's discarded the jacket and the tie, a few of the buttons from his shirt being undone and revealing some of his chest, the sleeves are rolled up and this look suits him much better than the previous. Realizing I was just sitting and staring, I quickly get up and curtesy. "Your majesty!" 
"How would you like a stroll out in the gardens, Lady Y/n?" Austin's voice is calm and my ears are ringing, so I barely make out what he's saying, but I nod. "Yes, um Jules, my robe please!" I say, remembering I'm just wearing my night gown, which was very inappropriate. "Lady Y/n!" Austin extends his hand and I walk the few steps over to him, putting my significantly smaller arm around his. 
He takes the lead and walks us out of my room and to the gardens. My thoughts are racing, I'm not stupid I know he could have every advantage right now to try and make an inappropriate move onto me, but he doesn't seem like that kind of guy, but how does that kind of guy look anyway. 
"You're awfully quiet." He says as we walk through the dimly lit gardens. "I was waiting on you your majesty." He stops and turns to look at me. "Why so?" Austin asks blinking. I simply shrug my shoulders. 
He sighs and licks his lips, walking further into the gardens without another word. The whole situation is rather spooky and I can't help the anxiety building up inside me. Soon we get to a table, decorated with candles and flowers, steaming cups of tea resting on it. "I thought we might enjoy some hot tea, it's a bit chilly out." He pulls my chair out for me and I sit down hesitant. 
"Tell me more about you, your favorite book is "Withering highlights", what else do you like?" It takes me a moment to realize that he is being serious I can't stop the giggle that comes out. Confusion is once again shown on his face, but this time is accompanied by something else, the corner of his mouth slightly pointing up, he's amused too. "You really want to know?" 
"Well I must find a wife somehow." The breath gets knocked out of me by his statement, for a split second I had forgotten why I was here, to play in the game of selection. 
"I like to bake and knit, I make clothes for my siblings all the time, but by far my favorite thing is painting, there's something so strange about being able to use my own hands to capture a moment I time li you would a picture." He looks at me as I talk and something in his demeanor tells me he's actually interested. 
"Picture, I, well I don't paint, but I do enjoy photography." He admits, his eyes glimmering with excitement. "Really? And what do you find best to photograph? Objects, humans or nature?" I ask, Austin blushing slightly. "All, I can't say I'm that good, I don't have enough time to dedicate to the hobby, but I enjoy it." 
"I don't believe that you must show me one day, any kind of art is good art. I don't have any of my paintings here, but perhaps if I got the supplies I could paint you something!" I propose, trading the experience of showing off our works of art. "Perhaps one day." Austin says absentmindedly, clearing his throat before getting up. "It's late, I should escort you back to your room!" He says hastily. 
I don't bring up how neither of us even touched the tea or what a short time had passed since we got here, the tea still steaming in the cups. Something about him has changed, he's much colder, stiffer if you may. No more words are exchanged between us, except the good night he rapidly wishes me, before walking away.
I'm left confused and with another feeling stuck in my heart, because for a moment there I actually let myself go and I got happy? Maybe, I don't know. 
Sleep came to me very difficult and when I woke up this morning I had a headache, I didn't want to see or talk to anyone. As Jules is complaining that I had tangled my hair so bad in my sleep another knock is heard and my heart stopped. Is this hope I'm feeling? Hope that is Austin? 
"Lady Y/n, a package for you!" Jane announces. 
I get up taking the note from her hand, looking at the huge box that bigger than her. I open the small envelope and the first thing I notice is the very clean and neat handwriting. 
 <Lady Y/n,
I hope you will forgive me for leaving so hastily as I did last night, but I figured that our encounter wasn't quiet up to etiquette and in fear of damaging you or me, I thought it better continue some other time. Please forgive me and accept this gift, I hope you'll have a painting to show me soon enough
A.B>
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bellaxgiornata · 3 months ago
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Do you have any tips for fast and efficient writing? I’m always impressed with how quickly and consistently you seem to churn out good quality chapters. Occasionally, I get “in the zone” and manage to really stay on top of my updates, but other times, it feels like pulling teeth. I worry that I sometimes sacrifice quality just to be able to put out an update. I want to stay consist for my readers, but that requires about 4000 to 5000 words a week, which is tough for me on top of a full time job! Any suggestions?
Oh, this is a good question! And thank you, I'm glad to hear you think my stories are consistent and of good quality! I will say that what works for me probably isn't always going to work for others, and I'm also aware that I'm in a unique position of being a stay at home mom. So when kids nap, I get free time to write. When my toddler starts preschool next week and the baby naps, if I've finished my adulting chores for the day, I get to write. Usually y'all don't have those opportunities at work--especially not daily. I'll also sometimes write in the evening before bed if I'm really feeling it (though while pregnant I had been too tired to do that for months). Honestly a lot of it depends on how much time you are able to write, and for me, I do actually spend quite a few hours a week writing and editing. Probably a lot more than people realize...
I'll put the rest of my response below the cut though because I know this is going to be long!
The first thing I did that really helped me keep churning out updates was to stop requiring myself to reach a minimum word count for them. I don't write with the pressure of needing to reach a specific amount per chapter, rather I focus on what needs to happen in an update. If the draft seemed a bit short, I'd come back later and edit in more detail or dialogue or another scene or something that fit and it usually filled things a little more without seeming unnecessary. Removing that pressure of reaching a specific word count really helps I think. And 4,000-5,000 words a week with a full time job is honestly a lot to plan out, write, and then edit consistently!
Secondly, I have multiple stories to work on. Now I definitely don't recommend this because then you'll get overwhelmed, but I do often hit a block in a fic sometimes and instead of just writing something I don't like and posting it or completely stepping away and not writing, I write something else. It keeps me in the habit of doing it so that I don't just suddenly stop. But obviously, I can't consistently update the same fics over and over, I tend to jump around. I think what might be better is maybe taking a step away and working on a one shot or something if you're struggling with a scene or a chapter. For me, sometimes what I need to write in a story is not what I'm feeling at the moment--angst, fluff, smut, whatever--and so I go write something I am feeling instead. Usually that helps unblock what's in my head, especially if I want to write smut for example, but the characters in the story I'm writing cannot realistically have me throw that in at that point.
Lastly, I think taking the pressure off of yourself to update on a schedule might be helpful. I know, it's hard to not update regularly and you might feel like you're disappointing readers, but we aren't getting paid for this. If you start pressuring yourself, you're going to burn yourself out and fanfic won't be fun anymore. It'll feel like work. And who wants to spend their free time working with no pay? So if you can get a nice long chapter up every week for a bit, but then suddenly you're struggling and it takes a few weeks for an update? That's okay. Your readers will still be here. And new ones will always appear if some have moved on.
Honestly I think as writers we put a lot of pressure on ourselves to consistently post, but it's not realistic. Like I said, I'm in a unique position of often finding moments to write because of what I do for work. That's not the norm for everyone. I struggle to update fics sometimes myself, which is why you might see some stories go months without an update, but I just update other things in the meantime. But if I only had one story, you'd definitely see me having weeks where nothing comes out because the words for that just aren't coming or they're not coming out right.
Hopefully some of this helped at all! But really, I think removing the pressure of writing is the biggest issue to tackle. Whether its your posting schedule or your word count, the pressure really gets to you. Especially if you're reaching the day you might usually post and you don't have something you feel is ready, then maybe you start to stress or panic and are rushing to get something done. That's just not fun though! Fanfic should be fun!
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justkending · 1 year ago
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Found Memories. Chapter 1.
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Finding Memories Sequel: (I advise you to read the 1st series for context).
Series Summary: Following the aftermath of Finding Memories, Bucky tries to complete goals he feels she would have discovered for herself as a way to let her memory live on. However, he never expected to find someone very close to who he believed she would have been if given the chance of normalcy. A journey of mourning someone he lost, turned into a journey of discovering someone new, happens upon the soldier. Maybe this whole normal thing isn’t as bad as he had pictured it in his mind. Maybe he had a better shot at it than he ever tried to imagine.
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader insert
Chapter Word Count: 4000+
A/N (PLEASE READ): So I may or may not have gone back on my deal to not post until I finished writing it all, but I'm 15 chapters in, and though I have a ton more to write, I wanted to drop the first chapter for my Finding Memories people to have some closure, and also to see where Bucky's story plans to lead.
This series is told through 1st person unlike a lot of my others, but I realize I like this style a lot more. So all this is from Bucky's perspective in this chapter. I also understand this may seem a little confusing with this being a reader insert for both these stories, so using Y/N will make it harder to tell the difference between the characters. I’ll be calling our previous Y/N from the Finding Memories series, Sloan, just to avoid confusion. But please don’t let that take away from any of the personal aspects of the story. This is just a continued story of Bucky finding happiness after the ending of Finding Memories. (Just think of it as him falling for you 2x ;) There is a note at the bottom after reading so please read that when you finish!
Last note! For each chapter, I am connecting a song from the playlist our last reader left and Bucky took on his own. The song will play off the vibes of each chapter. You don't have to listen if you don't want to, but it is here as a little piece of Bucky's theme (sometimes thought processes and feelings) in each chapter. Enjoy!
Playlist song: At Last by: Etta James
Chapter 1: 
4 years and 364 days had gone by since her passing.
Almost 5 years, 2 weeks, and 4 days since I had rescued her.
I think the reason it stuck with me was that this was one of those missions that carrying on like normal afterwards, wasn’t really an option.
When you lose someone on the field, whether you know them or not, a piece of you is saddened that someone lost their life. Normal. Human. Emotions. 
However, you feel depressed and emotionally stuck when it’s someone you had become familiar with and plan to continue to grow familiar with. 
It hurt even more when it was someone who deserved to go far in life and learn so many things about themselves in a healthy and safe environment. It was a stab to the heart to know she never saw that for herself and had made a decision no one should be put in the position to make. 
But it happened. In the very likely chance someone was to find her and use her for her powers again, she erased all possibilities of it getting into the wrong hands. And with it erased all chances to experience the good in the world as well.
After she died, Bruce and Tony tested her blood to find what the other mutation was even if I knew for the most part. 
We didn’t have much time to understand it, or for her to really explain all the pieces that came with her enhancements that she seemed to remember the day before her ultimate fate. But from what she had passed onto me in the last moments of her life, I feel like I had some kind of grasp of it. 
Her hand over my heart seconds before her powers consumed her was more than just a sentimental goodbye. She shared within that touch her fears, her intentions, her understandings, and the peace she found in her decision. 
It was something I could never explain in words to someone else, but it was a feeling that made me understand why it all had to come to the end that it did. 
She had told me the night before, that her powers were created from the cosmos, and it was a power that could bring an end to society and the world we try so hard to keep afloat in what feels like constant choppy waters. 
She didn’t have to go into too much depth about what all that meant, but it would soon be proven within hours of explaining to me that we would not get the end we hoped for. 
I can’t lie and say I never expected things to take the turns they did. I live the life I have constantly considering the worst-case scenarios, and her death was always one of those scenarios as soon as we saved her in that hidden terrorist facility.
Bruce and Tony confirmed that her gifts were something that could be world-ending and quickly incinerated her blood so that no one could get ahold of that kind of power down the line. 
The wishes she made on her deathbed were met and I was trying to meet all the other ones she had made and never got the chance to do herself. 
It took me a while to go into her room and start to clean out the few personal items she had slowly gathered in the short time she was there, but really there wasn’t much to clean. 
She had a few plants. I took one and Wanda took the other. Her clothes were either taken by Wanda or Nat and the rest were donated. 
She had some books that had been gifted to her about random things she had found interest in while trying to find herself. A cookbook, a book on herbs and plants she used to read to put a name to the plants on the compound during her walks, and some history books Parker was kind enough to loan her so she could catch up with the world around her. 
The only other thing of significance I found, and didn’t realize was something she kept, was a journal. It was in the nightstand drawer, but it had been hidden under all the other books she had collected. 
Inside, it was a list of notes she made about those she had become close with. 
1. Wanda is from Sokovia and she had a brother named Pietro whom she misses dearly.  2. Nat had a sister that’s on missions across seas and sees her every other month, but they keep in contact when able.  3. Bruce has 7 PhDs but has test anxiety.  4. Tony blast rock music that can be heard 3 levels above. (check songs to see if they spark anything…) 5. Bucky acts like Sam annoys him, but I secretly think they’re just as good of friends as he and Steve are. 6. Steve and Bucky grew up together and from what Nat said, “One looks for trouble the other follows cause he still sees Steve as a 90lb Brooklyn kid.” 7. Sam is from Louisanna and mentioned making a shrimp boil… (Still need to look that up...) 8. Bucky likes to prank Sam and Steve in small ways that they never figure out and it drives them slightly insane. 9. Spiderboy is incredibly smart but is also somehow very naive to the teasing he gets from everyone else.  10. Movie nights are something that everyone gets excited about and they all have very different tastes in movies to show me. So far, I've enjoyed the comedies the most. (Peter picked the movie Grown-ups and some of the things they do make no sense and are extremely goofy, but I think that's why I liked it...)
The list went on for about five pages of random things she discovered and felt were important to know about the team and sometimes even herself. 
But in the back, only found if you looked through each page of the small journal, was a list of things she wanted to try once she felt ready and was given the chance to. 
It didn’t feel right ripping the pages out for myself, or taking the journal and ruining it with my scribbles, so I copied the list in a notebook of my own and added some things I think she would have enjoyed if I was given the chance to show her. 
She only got about 24 things written that she wanted to experience in the real world. Most of which were simple things most take for granted having the choice to do any day. 
Right now I was looking at number seven;
7. Go to a coffee shop and try different drinks with cinnamon in them. Find a favorite, so I can eventually say, “I’ll have the usual,” like they do in the movies. 
It was hard to know what her favorite would have been, but I did the best I could. Eventually, I had a usual at the coffee shop I started the adventure on. 
“He’s back.” The barista whose head was in the pastry display shot up and smiled toward me. “It’s been a minute since we’ve seen you. Life or work in the way this time?” 
“What’s the difference?” I responded though it came across a little more melancholy than I meant. 
Luckily, Trudy, the shop owner, had become familiar with me enough to know it’s just how I talk. 
“Get him the usual, dear,” she said to the worker at the front as she wrapped a muffin and handed it to a customer waiting on the side. 
When the worker just looked at her wide-eyed and freaked out, Trudy laughed to herself and pointed her to another task. 
“Forgot she’s only been here for 2 days,” Trudy’s New York accent was strong as she typed in my regular order. “So. Any big bad guys in the world I should be worryin’ about or do you have it handled?” 
“Nothing for you to worry about, Trud,” I smiled as she grabbed a cup and wrote one of her new names for me on it. She was clever with what she could come up with depending on the day. “Sorry, I haven’t been in. I was sent overseas for a bit the last few weeks.”
“You haven’t come in a month,” she said with a raised motherly eyebrow. 
“Hate to break it to ya, but there are bad guys I have to take care of over here too. They keep me just as busy sometimes,” I chuckled, moving out of the way in case someone else needed to order. 
“Yeah, yeah,” she groaned, grabbing a pastry and wrapping it up for me. “I made a new recipe from my Italian side of the family. Give it a try,” she stuck a sticker on it to seal the bag and came around the counter to give it to me. “Tell me how you like it.” 
“How much?” I went on to grab cash knowing she likely wouldn’t let me pay anyway. 
“Cost ya a review on Yelp,” she pushed it on me more. “I had someone come in the other day and try and cheat the system to get free stuff, and when I wouldn’t budge she lowered my rating on the damn website.”
“I don’t think one bad rating will hurt ya, Trud,” I sighed, taking it and putting the cash in the tip jar instead.
“Eh, I like to counter it with a good one where I can. Plus, I’m running out of fake emails to do it myself. Help a gal out.” 
I laughed knowing she may have been a small hole-in-the-wall business, but she got enough foot traffic to keep her afloat even if she joked about going under if I didn’t give her reviews and tell my friends about it. 
Before I could give her peace of mind knowing I’d help in any way she asked me, the bell rang as another customer came in. 
I looked back absentmindedly and saw a woman with her head down while she talked on the phone, but was kind enough to go to the side and finish her conversation before walking to the register. 
“That drink ready?” Trudy shouted to the back and just in time a barista walked out with the cup of my “usual” drink and handed it off. “I’ll be seeing ya sometime soon, right?” She withheld the coffee until I confirmed. 
“Tomorrow,” I promised knowing I had one thing planned and I knew it wouldn’t be interrupted. 
“Good. Have a good one, Boomer,” she winked and I looked to see the name matched on the cup. 
“What does that mean?” I raised an eyebrow. 
“Something the kids are calling old people like you and me,” she shrugged. “Figured if I was going to be called it, you should too.” 
I rolled my eyes playfully before giving a final goodbye and heading toward the doors. The woman that had come in was hanging up the phone and happened to look up at the same time I passed. 
She had soft eyes and smiled up at me in a polite way before sidestepping and moving to the counter. 
I couldn’t help but stop with my hand on the door handle as I looked at her trying to grasp who she reminded me of. 
She had kind features and her light smile was what made me do a double take. I may have imagined it, but something about her beamed at me in a way that I couldn't shake.
I was snapped out of my thoughts when someone else tried to come in and I quickly opened the door for them and moved out of the way. But I looked in the shop one more time seeing Trudy smiling back at the woman and sharing a similar banter she had with me. 
I honed in my hearing some and caught the middle of the conversation. 
“I would ask if you want your normal order, but it’s been so long I’m not sure if it’s the same,” Trudy teased. 
“The move has been great. Thanks for asking Trudy,” the woman remarked with a laugh. 
It would become creepy pretty quickly with me just staring and eavesdropping in the doorway, so I moved on even if I was intrigued to hear the rest of this conversation. 
I took my time walking to my car since the woman’s face was sticking in my mind. Something seemed oddly familiar of her, but I couldn’t put a finger on what it was. 
________________________
“Hey, I was looking for you!” Sam’s voice sounded as soon as I walked into the kitchen. 
“I’d rather you weren’t,” I said back, going to the trash to throw my cardboard cup away and grab a snack from the fridge. 
“Hardy, har, har,” Sam responded. “But really. I need help with a file I can’t access.” 
“Maybe you can’t access it for a reason,” I gave a smug smile to him as I shut the fridge and took a bite out of the apple I stole from it. 
“You're really channeling that clown energy as Parker would say today, aren't you?” he gave me a straight face before pulling papers I hadn’t noticed beforehand and passed them to me. “It’s just some notes on a mission we did last week, but I need to tweak some things. For some reason, the file isn’t giving me access so I was going to ask if I can go through your account.”
“Have Tony look at your account. Maybe the clearance level got mixed up. He had a new protection server put in the other week and a few accounts were tweaked.” 
“Well, he's not in his lab.”
“Ok,” I dragged out. “Sounds like a personal problem.” 
“Barnes, just let me on your account for two seconds to fix it and then I’ll go and find him. It won’t take me longer than five minutes,” Sam groaned. 
I could continue to give him a hard time, but I needed to get some things ready for tomorrow and wasn’t in the mood to keep up my normal antics. 
“Fine. Where’s your computer?” I huffed, biting into the apple again and waiting for him to bring it to me. 
He smiled like he won, even though I could still say no if I wanted, and grabbed the laptop on the counter and handed it off to me. 
I logged in like normal and went to the file, but was stopped when I came to the same problem he had. 
“What the hell?” I glared at the screen and tried a few more tricks but this new protective program Tony had installed was foreign to me. 
“Damn it,” Sam crossed his arms and sighed. “You’re the third person now. Why won’t it let me see this damn file?” 
I looked at him waiting for him to explain. 
“I asked Nat and Wanda too. No luck,” he shrugged. 
That was strange. It was a file from the mission we had done last week. A thief that had been stealing intel from some division in the SHEILD operations over some classified information, but we had captured and incarcerated the hacker. 
“Friday,” I asked into the void and her voice followed. 
“How can I help, Sargent Barnes?” 
“Why aren’t we able to get into these files?” 
There was a pause as she tried to find the answer. 
“It seems to be in a classification you don’t have access to. Clearance levels are not high enough. Would you like me to call Mr. Stark?”
Sam and I shared a look that showed we were on the same page. There were very few things we didn't have access to, so the system was screwed or not modified after the update. At least that was to hoping it was something that simple.
“No. Where’s Tony at?” I asked instead. 
“He’s headed to the lobby. He has an appointment with Ms. Clark.” 
The name didn’t sound familiar, though there were a lot of people Stark talked to that I never cared to learn about. He was the face of the team anyway, so luckily he handled a majority of the social aspects of our job. 
“Thanks, Friday,” I nodded my head to the exit. 
Sam nodded in agreement and we made our way to the lobby to find him. 
It wasn’t a portion of the compound we were usually in, so seeing people in business suits coming and going always reminded me of the mass amount of workers who never did fieldwork that came and went. 
“Stark,” I shouted once I spotted him at one of the reception desks talking with the secretary that was handing him papers she had just printed. 
He turned at his name and looked at us both confused as to why we would be there. 
“Got a question for ya,” Sam started out. 
“Can it wait? I have a meeting with someone I actually like,” he said sarcastically. 
Before I had the chance to spit something back at him and give him a taste of his own medicine, Sam took over. 
“I need access to a file of the mission report we just came back from, but it’s not allowing me to get to it,” he summed up. 
“Strange,” Tony hummed, looking at the papers he was previously handed as if our issue was nothing for him to worry about. 
“It won’t let me through either,” I said and he eventually looked up rolling his eyes before putting the papers on the counter and giving us his attention finally. 
“Can this wait like 20 minutes?” he asked. 
“It might be because of your new and overly complicated-” I started and once again, Sam saved me from saying something that would probably have Tony ignoring us the rest of the week if I wasn't careful. 
“We’ll wait,” Sam nodded. “We’ll be over there.” 
He pointed to a few chairs off to the side and nodded his head for me to follow. Though I was against the motion, I obliged to not make matters more annoying. I’d give him 20 minutes, but I was just as intrigued by this issue as Sam was now. 
Tony went back to the secretary and grabbed the papers looking through them before grabbing a pen and sloppily marking random things out before handing it back. 
Just as he turned back, he seemed to have spotted who he was looking for to begin with and I followed his eyeline. 
Walking in and looking around marveling at the size of the place before seeing Tony and smiling at him, was the same woman who I had seen at the coffee shop. The same one who was talking to Trudy about a move. 
I must have been staring while she and Tony met in the middle and started casually conversing. She reached into the tote she was carrying and handed Tony what looked like a sweater and a folder, but he only took the piece of clothing leaving her with just the folder still in hand.
My stare must have been unmoving cause Sam nudged me with his shoulder and gave me a weird look when I broke out of my trance. 
“What are you gawking at?” he asked, looking where I was and raising his eyebrows. “Oh, I see.” 
I furrowed my eyebrows and gave him a disapproving look to show his mind wasn’t in the right place. 
“Shut up,” I grunted, slouching some in my spot, but only to show disinterest in an attempt to push him off my case. 
“No, I get it. She’s a pretty lady,” Sam chuckled, crossing his arms and leaning back in his own seat. “Just didn’t see you looking for something like that anytime soon-”
“Don’t get any ideas,” I cut him off. “I saw her at a coffee shop earlier today and she just looked familiar. That’s it.” 
He looked from me back at the girl and turned his head as he analyzed her. 
She was smiling at something Stark was saying and shaking her head about whatever it was he was grinning about. I wasn’t sure what the conversation could even be about, and with the loud echoing space, I couldn’t exactly pinpoint what was being shared. 
“I have an idea,” Sam spoke up after a second and stood up without any hesitance, and walked towards the two. 
“Sam, wait! Stop! What are you doing?” I whisper shouted sitting up and looking around as if someone else was in on this idea with him. 
When he didn’t turn back or let up in his steps, I was quickly on my feet trying to get ahead of him to stop him, but he was walking faster causing us to interrupt the two abruptly and throw them both off. 
“Hi,” Sam smiled kindly at her then back at Stark. 
“I told you I would help you after I talked with-,” Tony started, but Sam patted his shoulder and made him pause. 
“Sam Wilson,” he went on to introduce himself while putting his other hand out for her.  
The woman seemed surprised by the introduction, but she was kind nonetheless and extended her own hand before introducing herself. 
“Y/N Clark,” she smiled. “Nice to meet you.” 
Sam turned to me and she followed his look. I wasn’t prepared to talk to her, but I wasn’t going to be rude and just sit there silently and stare at her. 
I extended my hand as well and she smiled at the motion. 
“James Barnes,” I gave a tight smile, but it wasn’t because of her, it was because I was seconds from punching Sam right in the chest for putting me in this position. 
“Mr. Barnes. Nice to meet you,” she nodded, returning the handshake and it was surprisingly firm. 
I would have paid mind to the detail, but now being in close proximity to the woman, I was seeing features that I hadn’t taken in before. 
She had Y/H/C hair, Y/E/C eyes, and her smile was one I had seen before. She was wearing a bright red checkered winter coat that sat on top of a tan sweater tucked into a nice pair of brown slacks. It seemed fitting for her even if I hadn’t known anything about her. But something in her persona showed she was kind and had a welcoming nature. 
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Tony rolled his eyes once again and decided to go ahead and introduce us. 
“Cyborge and Birdman, this is Ms. Clark. She’s Morgan’s teacher. Ms. Clark, these are two of my most impatient coworkers,” Tony motioned to us. “Who I asked to give me a second before I talked with them…” The glare he was giving us pulled me away from staring at her longer than what would have been socially acceptable. 
“Thank this one for the interruption,” I shouldered Sam harshly which he became slightly unbalanced from and gave me another glare. 
“Just seemed rude to not introduce your colleagues,” Sam gritted through his teeth, talking to me when the comment was directed to Tony. 
“It’s fine,” Ms. Clark spoke up, breaking the growing tension between us three, and I immediately turned my attention back to her. “I was here to just drop off these two things anyway.” 
“Yeah, well, I had a few things I wanted to discuss without,” Tony continued, only taking a second in between to send us yet another death stare, “this interruption.” 
“I appreciate what you’re offering, but I’ve already told you I have a job set with another district after this year,” she smiled professionally, and I couldn’t help but smile myself at seeing someone say no to Tony. 
“Yeah, but… Money.” His eat-shit grin worked on the weak-minded, but clearly, she was not that. 
“Money is great and all, but it's not what this is about, Mr. Stark,” she chuckled, readjusting her tote on her shoulder. "Maybe after winter break and I get some paperwork back from the new school I'll be at, we will better understand what I'll have on my plate."
“That sounds like a well-worded way to put this conversation off,” Tony smirked. 
She returned it which proved he was right, but she wasn’t falling for his schemes still. 
“It’s Christmas break, Mr. Stark. Have a great vacation with your family and happy holidays,” she nodded, turning to walk out, but not completely turned away. “You two as well. I hope the world is kind enough to give you all a break as you deserve during this time.” 
“If I know anything about teaching, I know you’ll be needing a break just as much,” Sam shouted in her direction with a smile. 
She laughed at that and it was a sound that made it hard not to smile as a reaction to it. 
“Happy Holidays,” she said one final time, waving kindly and moving to the exit. 
“Well, she seems nice,” Sam grinned in a teasing manner and turned to face us both by taking her place. 
“This is why I haven’t brought her around here,” Tony sighed heavily and ran a hand through his beard. “Now, what do you two want?” 
Sam followed quickly after Tony, who was already walking back to the lab, but I couldn’t seem to pull my eyes from the red checkered jacket that was out the doors now and walking down the steps. 
It was another feeling that I couldn’t quite put into words…
I unfortunately don't have a release date for the next chapter as I am going to stick to my promise of finishing the series before I post any further. This is just to give an idea of what's to come! As always, any likes or reblogs, and comments (even if just a heart or a gif) makes my blood, sweat, and tears for this series feel validated :') ANYWHO!! I'm excited to share with you all the stories to come with this series and these characters because in writing them, I've fallen in love with them myself.
Let me know if you want to be tagged by sending me an ask here!
Finding Memories Taglist:
@tinkerbelle67 @a-beaverhausen​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @caruhleener​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @fanfictionjunkie1112​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @sjsmith56​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @nancymcl​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @kaygilles​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @laisbeltrans​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @matchat3a​​​​​​​​​​ @ambrosia1846​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @peachiestevie​​​​​​​​​​
Marvel Tags:
@thejourneyneverendsx​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @death-unbecomes-you @mythos-writes​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​  @srrymydood​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @xa-dia​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @redhairedfeistynerd​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @morganclaire4​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @connie326​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @captain-asguard​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @mollygetssherlockcoffee​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @teenagedreams-bucky @shower-me-with-roses​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @livstilinski @basicallylool​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @starryeyeseunbyul​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​
My Lovelies forever:
@natura1phenomenon​ @lauravicente​ @kakakatey​ @traceyaudette​ @notyourtypicalrose​ @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce​ @sandlee44​ @thorne93​ @thefaithfulwriter1​ @essie1876​ @greyeyedsmile14​ @capsiclehan​  @xostephanie​ @averyrogers83​ @awesomenursingstudent​ @gh0stgurl​ @cs-please​ @jjlevin​ @rainbowkisses31​ @deannotmoose​ @their-bibliophile​ @kitkatd7​ @willowbleedsonpaper​ @mariaenchanted​ @snffbeebee​ @couldabeenamermaid​ @rebekahdawkins​​ @alyispunk​​ @billyseye @hallecarey1​​
Bucky Barnes Tags:
@chloe-skywalker​ @charmedbysarge​ @jbarness​ @bellamy-barnes​ @katiaw2​ @aikeia​ @stopjustlovethemcu​ @enchantedbarnes
It's being weird with the tagging so please let me know if this tagged you!!
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blarrghe · 5 months ago
Note
Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Spread the self-love ❤️
Hi and thank you! How nice :) Five favourites feels like a lot since I'm always deciding things are bad, actually, like a month after posting them. Don't do that, kids! Your writing is worth promoting still even if you have improved as an artist! Ehem. So, taking my own advice and a page from your book of picking these based on which ones were the most fun to write:
The Hunter, the Snake, and the Fox. ~60K words, Pavellan. It's so good. My first time posting a completed fic after having written all of it, it comes out on a regular schedule every Wednesday, or will do for the next three weeks! I'm almost done posting it and I think it's a really fun ride. Enemies-to-lovers canon-divergent Dragon Age Inquisition fic without the Inquisition. Dorian is a Magister, Taren First of his clan, they are thrown into an adventure together and have to slowly figure out how to get along (and manage their sexual tension ;)). It's also a tragedy and I'm really excited to break some more hearts, so go read it!
Strange Feelings in the Party Camp. 34K words, Zevran x Alistiar x Warden. This one is a sidebar romance within the events of Dragon Age Origins. Just a messy love-triangle-to-polyamory story, it's very sweet and they all figure it out eventually.
Matchsies. @onionjuggler YOU are the reason this monstrosity exists, thanks. I did eventually finish it! ~200K words, and there's a sequel. Pavellan. Modern tattoo-shop au slice-of-life complicated romance... thing. There's a lot of modern-with-magic worldbuilding and some beautiful relationship development stuff in this fic. I loved writing it, and I'm happy with the full final result, but I do look back on this one in embarrassment for how long the chapters got. Read it, but take breaks ;)
A Complicated Match. ~120K words, Pavellan. The Sequel to Matchsies. Rounds out the story in a nice happy ending, lots of great Dorian angst, Tevinter modern-with-Magic worldbuilding, slightly shorter chapters than its prequel. Really proud of them both.
Let's do something short and silly - I Hate You (and your little cat too.) ~4000 words, Fenders. Anders' cat escapes to his downstairs neighbour's balcony. His downstairs neighbour is Fenris.
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crystalyssa35 · 1 year ago
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Chapter Length Tips/Guide
Despite me writing for five years now, I still find myself struggling to make sure my chapters are the right length and size. I never really realized how short my “chapters” usually are. And when I finally glanced over at the final draft of the chapter, the word count would only be a little more than 500 words (that’s around four minutes). So, if you also struggle with chapters that are too short, then worry not! Thanks to Reddit user KaraNCTS’s answer on a post from r/AO3, we have an answer...
“...3000-5000 base count per chapter and then you can always adjust in editing, moving a scene to the next chapter or combining two chapters if it feels like one long chapter.”
When I read this, I had to try it for myself. On Google Docs, I use the font “Pangolin” at 12px for the main text, and “Croissant One” at 20px for my chapter titles. I try to aim for the midpoint: 4000 words per chapter. If I need to add a few more words or finish at less than 4000, I can. Each chapter in Google Docs averages out to about 10 pages per chapter, which is a mighty amount!
However, there’s no need to stress about your word count. I’ve made short stories that are around only 1000 words, and they’re still wonderful to read. In other words, your quality of your writing should be put first and foremost over the quantity of your word count. If you make your scenes in sections (I do this), then combine them to make a full chapter. Take note that your chapter should have an overall themes, meaning that your scenes should try and align with your chapter theme.
Hopefully, this guide helps with making the length of your chapters consistent. Feel free to post an ask if you have questions about writing! I’ll be happy to answer and and all questions. No matter how silly you think your question might be, a question is not useless if it helps you to learn!
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recurring-polynya · 1 year ago
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Writing/Art Update 10/17/2023
In a shocking turn of events, I am still working on Ductwork. I actually made some significant progress this week, or at least they feel significant to me. The main thing is that I have finished Chapter One. Now, usually, I am very good at starting a fanfic, and I'll churn out the first chapter as the first thing I do. In this case, though, I wanted to stick a flashback in somewhere early on, maybe Chapter One, maybe somewhere else. I couldn't decide, and also, I didn't really want to deal with it, so I skipped that and left a bunch of To-Dos there instead. Eventually, I decided to do this in the hardest way possible, which is to chop the flashbacks up into a thousand little flashbacks and alternate between real-time scenes and flashback scenes. I am also alternating narrators, so basically it goes Rukia-real time, Rukia-flashback, Renji - real time, Renji - flashback, etc. Byakuya starts getting narration at some point, I'll deal with that when I get to it. The important thing is that I now have a thing that could pass as a first chapter. I have about half of Chapter 2 done, as well. I have two flashbacks to write, and two scenes that I've already written that I need to copy over and make sure they still fit (at least one of them is going to need some fixes.)
The only one of the documents I worked on this week was the Clean, Contiguous Version, which now stands at 12,443 words. That's an increase of 5,523, but some of that was a scene I had already written (although, to be fair, it required some significant edits, which worked out, because there was a lot about it that I didn't like). My actual words for this week was about 4,348, which is very good!! It's more than 4000, the completely arbitrary number I have decided is a good amount of words to write in a week.
Also, yesterday, I pulled out that smut I was writing a few weeks ago and wrote 1,637 words on that, as well. It's basically done, but it needs to be edited pretty badly, and I should really try to make the ending better. I sort of shoved it aside into "don't look at it" space for a few days to marinate. It's kinda weird and I'm not sure if anyone will like it. At some point in writing it, I realized I could write it one way and it would be Nicer and More Normal and probably get more likes, but then I decided to let Rukia be rowdy, instead. I always question why I bother posting these things, but then I go ahead and do it anyway. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
I think I'm actually going to experiment with making a pseud and moving all my smut to the pseud. It just feels better organized to me, and I just really don't like having all my gnarly pornos mixed in with my regular ones on my works page. I don't think this should be disruptive to anything, but if it is, I apologize in advance.
Speaking of objectifying Renji, I did my yearly pin-up last week (it's autumnal instead of summery!) I don't love how it came out, but it wasn't getting any better the more I worked on it, and it was already kind of a lot of work. I still think it shows progress compared to previous years' efforts, which is kind of impressive considering how little drawing I've done this year. I feel like I need to go back and do a study in how to draw faces again, but I appear to be Back on my Writing Bullshit for once, and I'm just trying to keep up my momentum on that for as long as I can.
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homenecromancer · 1 year ago
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i need to be annoying about this again, also i have some actual new material this time... here's the first chapter (and a chunk of the second) of this fic im writing. 4000+ words!
summary: the year is 199X, and the employees of the School decide to throw a Christmas party. things go either poorly or very well indeed, depending on your point of view. this fic is my answer to the question “what if Jeb Batchelder had angst about his crush on Roland ter Borcht?”
this is a fic that exists for me to turn the “self-indulgence” dial all the way to eleven, and for no other purpose 
- - -
Until the Christmas party, you didn’t get along. After that, you did, and that was worse.
Roland ter Borcht had been a late addition to your team — he had come from Itex after the buyout, and that meant he simply hadn’t been there during the startup phase of things. You knew him — the professional circles you moved in, even before he joined your company, were small enough that you’d have had to put effort into ignoring him — but you didn’t consider him a friend. Just a face you saw in the halls.
But at the end of the first full year after the buyout, you were all in a festive mood. Things were going well, better than you’d dared to hope for, and of course the increased funding you got from Itex helped smooth things over. And so, you decided to throw a Christmas party.
Valencia did most of the decorating, which should have made you suspicious. But you were busy figuring out how to throw a party whose centerpiece wasn’t a bathtub full of jungle juice, and you were just grateful someone else was hanging the decorations. She’d even brought her camera to take pictures of it all.
You were pouring the last of the punch into the bowl when you heard a knock at the door.
“Come in!” you called, stirring cautiously with the ladle. One of Valencia’s friends had contributed the recipe. There were little chunks of fruit in it.
You didn’t have so many coworkers that you couldn’t recognize him just by voice. It wasn’t necessarily a pleasant voice, but the accent was distinctive. And you still knew few enough Europeans that you found it faintly exotic.
“Am I too early?” he said. He’d signed up to bring potato chips, and he had — his arms were full of bags. Well, at least he wasn’t a flake.
“No, come in,” said Valencia, who was busy setting out stacks of napkins and paper plates.
You stirred the punch a little more, then took three cups from the stack next to the bowl, and began ladling out the punch. “We’ll start a little early,” you said.
You didn’t really register that ter Borcht had come to the table next to you and set the chips down until you heard Valencia laugh.
“What?” you said.
You looked at her, and wondered why her camera had suddenly moved from hanging by its strap to sitting poised ready in her hand. Then she pointed up, above your head, and you understood.
Stapled to the foam ceiling tile, positioned strategically above the punch bowl — was a strand of mistletoe.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you said.
“That’s hardly fair,” ter Borcht said, next to you. There was a nervous edge to his voice.
Valencia only laughed again and, worse yet, raised her camera. “Gotcha,” she said.
“You’re not going to blackmail me, are you?” you asked. You knew she wouldn’t settle for a quick greeting kiss on the cheek, either. No, she would want you to pose.
It all happened very fast after that. A hand tapped you on the shoulder, and you automatically turned to face its owner.
Ter Borcht said, “Take the picture.”
Then he grabbed the front of your shirt and, unflinching, pulled you towards him — and kissed you.
You didn’t have an extensive record when it came to kissing, and were therefore rather lost when it came to what to do next. Luckily for you, he kept things brief — he brought his lips to yours, kept them there a moment, and released you. He smelled like aftershave.
You opened your eyes and said, “I hope you got the picture, because there’s not going to be a repeat performance.” There was a hot flush on your cheeks, as though you’d been outside in the cold.
Valencia laughed and patted her camera. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I got it.”
///
The rest of the party went well, though you couldn’t decide if you felt betrayed, embarrassed, or some other, third thing. Valencia was in high spirits, and ter Borcht surprised you by staying the whole time — so whatever you were feeling, neither of them shared it. You settled for just not thinking about it until, very suddenly, you found that the party was over. And ter Borcht needed a ride home.
As it turned out, he was even in the same apartment building as you. So you didn’t even have the excuse that it would take you too far from home. Faced with this pressure, you folded.
Standing next to your car in the parking lot, you said, “Don’t make it weird.”
He looked at you silently for just a moment, then said, “Pardon?”
His grasp of English idiom was still a little patchy, you decided. “Just get in the car.”
He stayed quiet as you started the car and poked your way through the darkness away from the School; the whole car rattled on the gravel access road. You realized, with shame, that you were still a little drunk. You held the steering wheel harder, as if that would help.
You almost forgot you had a passenger until you were turning onto the highway back to town. His voice was soft. He said:
“Sorry I ruined the party.”
You were a little started; you couldn’t remember, just then, what he was talking about. “Huh? You didn’t ruin the party.”
“At the beginning, when I--” He broke off there, and made an embarrassed hand gesture you could only partly see while driving.
“Oh,” you said, before he could finish the sentence with a lethal verb. “Uh, yeah. Don’t worry about it.” You fumbled for words. “Valencia is – kind of a prankster, sometimes. She plays jokes on people.” And there was no way she was ever going to let you live this one down.
“I know the type,” he said, after a pause.
You doubted that – you didn’t know him very well, but you also knew that no one seemed to know him very well. He was polite but never friendly; when you sent the invitations out, you hadn’t expected him to show up to the party. The shape of his character was, to you, a pure negative space, defined by that absence of knowledge. A flicker of alcohol-fueled determination went through you. To hell with the polite fiction of self he showed at work. You wanted to know the man.
That was your excuse to yourself when you let him invite you to his apartment. You could’ve just gone straight home without fear of committing a social faux pas. But as you parked he said artlessly, “Do you know, I’ve been living here a year already, and I’ve never had a visitor?”
“Really?” you said, and you followed him upstairs.
His apartment looked familiar the moment he opened the door. It looked like Valencia’s apartment – like yours. The furniture was lazily-arranged and clearly on its fourth or fifth owner, and nothing seemed to quite be in its proper place.
There was only one thing on the walls, you noticed. (Valencia’s apartment was virtually wallpapered with framed posters and artwork. You, on the other hand, hadn’t so much as put up a calendar.) The couch was an earth-toned relic of the 70s, its familiar Western pattern worn by years of use. And above it, tacked neatly to the wall, was a photograph you knew.
It showed a ruined village, protected by a looming outcrop of stone that hid it from the sky. The buildings that remained upright stood in the loose rubble of their own slow collapse. You knew that, in real life, the soft, ashy gray of the bricks in the photo was a warm brown that echoed the sheltering mass of sandstone overhead – and you knew that the photo didn’t show the dark black lines of desert varnish that laced that stone.
Ter Borcht had gone into the kitchen – you could hear the sink running and cabinet doors opening – but he heard you when you said:
“Hey, I’ve been there.”
“What?” he called.
“The picture,” you said. “That’s Mesa Verde; I didn’t know you’d been there.”
“Oh, I haven’t.” His voice preceded him out of the kitchen. He was carrying two glasses of water, and he offered one to you. You took it. He said, “I found that in a – thrift store.”
Ordinarily you would have shut up and just let that statement hang awkwardly in the air. But tonight you said, “It’s a national park in Colorado – I went when I was in college.”
He looked at the photograph for a moment, silent. There was a distant look in his eyes. “I thought it was very beautiful,” he said quietly. “You could take me sometime?”
You were a little startled by that, simply in logistical terms. You were torn between the potential joy of showing someone a place you had loved, and the practical fact that you barely had enough time off for sleep, much less driving across multiple states. “I mean, if we’re ever in Colorado,” you said. You cast about for something else to offer. “There are some petroglyphs, rock carvings, in some of the canyons around here, I could show you those.”
“I would like that,” he said, and smiled. You were just close enough to see the faint wrinkles that feathered the corners of his eyes. Your chest felt warm, and the skin between your shoulder blades prickled. You took a sip of water so that you wouldn’t have to say anything.
He said, “I am sorry about the party — I’ve never done that before.”
Your mouth spoke before you could think. “Kissed a guy?”
Your palms were sweaty, and you wished you’d gone straight home. At the same time, you didn’t want to leave.
“No, I have some experience with that,” said ter Borcht. His tone was casual enough, but even you could see the trace of a flush that arose on his cheeks. “I mean — for an audience.”
You didn’t need to think to defend Valencia. It was automatic. You said, “She likes to play jokes, but she’s discreet. Trustworthy.”
“So.” He paused. His cheeks were still pink, as though it were actually cold outside. He looked away from you for a moment, at the photograph. His voice was quiet, but you heard him perfectly. “Do you… want to do it again?”
You were helpless. This was not a situation you were equipped to deal with. Your prior experience in love was minimal at best, and you’d essentially written the whole thing off as something that happened to other people. But now, it seemed, it was happening to you.
“Yes,” you said before you could think about it. You remembered his hands, knotted in the front of your shirt. “Yes, I want that.”
He took his glasses off, and slipped them into his shirt pocket; you set your half-full glass of water on the coffee table. You’d never been so aware of your own tongue. A horrible feeling came over you that now he was going to laugh at you, and your stomach tightened. You suddenly wanted another beer, or anything that would take the edge off, make you feel less like you were looking over the side of a tall building.
Ter Borcht looked at you and smiled gently. Backlit by the light from the kitchen, his hair shone like sunlight. He put out his hand to cup the back of your head; for no reason you could name, you turned away from him. His skin smelled clean.
“Hey,” he said. Your eyes felt dry and overused. “Hey, hey — what are you thinking about?”
His voice was soft, but consolation wasn’t what you wanted. Heart pounding, you turned back, leaned toward him and kissed him like it was the last thing you’d ever do on Earth.
///
For one heart-stopping moment the next morning, you were happy. It was a weekend, and you were in a warm bed, under the covers. Your life felt like a never-ending sprint sometimes, and your body welcomed any chance for rest. You laid there and dozed for a while, blissful in your ignorance of what time it was.
Then you noticed that these were not your blankets; this was not your bed, nor your apartment. The pillow smelled like someone else’s shampoo. You were not at home at all.
Your body threw itself into motion, rolling over and groping for the bedside table, where, thankfully, your glasses were folded. Your clothes lay disordered on the floor by the bed, and you dressed in a hurry. You couldn’t hear ter Borcht moving around the apartment, but that didn’t reassure you. Maybe he was just quiet at home. He seemed like the type. You opened the bedroom door as though he might be standing on the other side of it.
He was not. The lights were off, and morning sunshine streamed in through the sliding glass doors to the tiny balcony. Your shoulders relaxed.
Part of you wanted to linger, to look around the apartment by daylight — you were invited into other people’s lives so seldom that this was a rare opportunity indeed for you. But it seemed sadly vacant and quiet with its owner absent, and it was an emptiness that cried out to be filled. So you left. You slipped your shoes on, closed the door behind you, and fled for the relative safety of your own apartment.
You found no refuge there. It looked exactly like it had when you left the night before, but now the familiar disarray seemed pathetic. You’d left the blinds closed, and after the sunny openness of ter Borcht’s apartment, your gloomy living room seemed that much darker. There were still cardboard boxes pushed into the corners of the room, left where you’d put them when you moved in.
You took your shoes off and collapsed onto the couch. You still didn’t feel entirely awake, or entirely in your body. You wanted to go back to bed and sleep for a thousand years. You breathed deeply.
Then you reached for the side table, picked up the phone, and called Valencia.
There was a little bit of an edge to her voice when she answered. “Valencia Martinez.”
“It’s Jeb,” you said — and that was about as far ahead as you’d imagined this conversation going, so you quit. I mean, really, you rationalized to yourself, how can I even tell her about —
Hell, you couldn’t even think about it to yourself.
“Did you just get home?” Her voice had softened just a little. From the angle of the sun — you still hadn’t seen a clock, and you hadn’t worn your watch to the party — it was mid-morning, and she probably didn’t get a lot of phone calls on Saturdays. Or maybe she did. You only had your own personal life to judge by.
“Yes.”
For some reason, she laughed. “Have a good night?”
Fragmented memories swept over you. You couldn’t say anything; you thought of the smell of his shampoo on the pillow when you woke, faint but spicy, unfamiliar and exotic.
And you remembered how, after he’d kissed you in the living room, he’d taken your hand in his and raised it to his lips to kiss it, as if he were a knight, and you his lady. He kissed you like he wanted to do it — like he wanted to put his lips on every part of you. To stake a claim on you. The shock of discovering that you were an object of desire, that someone could want you, ran through you still, like the vibration of a struck gong. Your palms were a little sweaty just thinking about it.
You said, “Yes.”
She paused for a moment, then said, “Wanna go to Denny’s?”
The most inviting thing in your fridge was some half-finished Chinese takeout. You agreed to go.
“Great,” she said. “I’ll come get you.”
///
“You’ll feel better if you eat,” she said. Food was the absolute last thing you wanted. Your stomach was a clenched fist in the middle of your torso.
But you’d already let Valencia force a glass of water in you, and once she’d gotten her way, there was no stopping her. She was going to get you to eat; there was no real point in resisting. You stared listlessly at the menu. Toast. You could probably handle some toast.
She looked at you across the table and said, “Let me order.” And before you could object, she went on. “Take the leftovers home with you. Or I’ll eat them, or something. But you look like shit—”
Oh, God. Did you?
“— and you need to eat.” She pointed at you. “And then you’re going to tell me about last night.”
“You just want to gossip about me,” you said, but you didn’t really mean it. She had as much of a stake in the School as you did, and destroying your reputation would destroy it as well. And she knew much worse things about you, anyway — if she wanted to take you down, she would have done it already.
“Only a little,” she said, and grinned. She flagged down the waitress.
Valencia ordered a pot of coffee, and what sounded like half the menu to go with it. You waited until the waitress left to ask what the hell a Moons Over My Hammy was.
“You’ll see.” She sipped her water. Her bracelets clicked against each other as she set the glass down. “So. Where does he live?”
The whole drive over, you’d been paralyzed by thoughts of what she might say to you. And it wasn’t like you could really resist answering her questions. She knew exactly how to push your buttons. “Same building as me.”
“Makes the walk home shorter,” she said. You had to laugh; you couldn’t help it. You had fled in such a hurry, you couldn’t even remember the trip from his apartment to yours. “I thought — well, I mean, for all I knew, he was sleeping in the lab somewhere. Always shows up early, and he leaves after I do.”
You hadn’t noticed, but then again, he didn’t work in your department. If he was working longer days than Valencia, that was saying something. “Really.”
“I wasn’t even sure he’d come to the party,” she said. “Like, it might be too much fun for him. But he came.”
“He sent an RSVP, didn’t he?” You’d seen his name on the sign-up sheet, inscribed in neatly-formed handwriting that made yours, on the line above it, look childish. There was an undertone of stale cigarette coming from the smoking area. It did nothing for your appetite.
“Yeah. But you know how it is.” She waved a hand dismissively.
The coffee arrived, and Valencia let you get through half a cup before she went on. “It’s been a while since I had one of these conversations, so I’m just going to ask one more question, and then I can try to give you advice.”
You steadied yourself a little. She at least seemed to have a roadmap for whatever type of conversation it was that you were having. You, on the other hand, were hungover and clueless.
Valencia leaned toward you and looked at you directly. There was a serious look in her brown eyes.
She said, “Do you want to see him again?”
“What?”
Which was, of course, when the food arrived.
Once the waitress was gone, she repeated herself. “Do you want,” she said calmly, “to see him again?”
“Well...” You poked at your scrambled eggs, trying to buy yourself time to think. “I mean, I can’t really avoid him, it would look weird --”
“I mean, like, a date,” she clarified. “You’re gonna see him around anyway – and I don’t think he’s the kind of guy who would kiss and tell. So unless you start telling people, no one is gonna know.”
You looked out the window, avoiding her gaze. It was a clear, cool day, and the section of sky you could see over the buildings outside was a promising blue.
“I don’t know what I want,” you said.
- - -
2
You did what you had always been so good at doing, and pretended that none of it had ever happened.
On Monday, you went back to work with your heart in your mouth, sure that somehow word would’ve gotten around and you would be out of a job. But instead you found something else: absolutely nothing had changed. The gate guard greeted you by name before going back to his crossword; the building did not crumble when you walked inside; even the air smelled the same, that cocktail of cleaning products, preservatives, and dust still intact. Every cell in your body ached with tension, and you could not make yourself relax.
You didn’t see ter Borcht at all for another few days, but that was normal. Your offices were at opposite ends of the building, and on different floors – and these days you seldom found yourself in the labs, where you otherwise might have crossed paths. After the buyout, you’d found yourself the most senior employee left standing, and while Itex ground through the process of finding a suitable replacement, you had been serving as interim CEO. Which often left you feeling like an actor who had forgotten his lines – you knew lab work, and a little about the bureaucracy that that entailed, but all your duties as a CEO seemed to involve either interminably dull meetings, or frustratingly opaque paperwork.
Valencia, your partner from the word go, had wiggled her way out of consideration for the position of CEO, and though she laughed at your complaints, she was also quick to reassure you that it would someday end, and you’d be back in the lab. “One day at a time, that’s all you can do,” she counseled.
But now you were glad to find yourself once again drowning in mundanity. Here was the latest report from Itex on their CEO search – they were down to three candidates, but were pausing the process until after the new year. Reports had come in from the avian recombinant project – things were creeping towards completion in primate trials, and they were beginning to look ahead towards the use of human subjects. The IT department needed to perform system maintenance, which meant taking the servers offline overnight. And on and on. None of it, you found to your dismay, required your full attention; none of it had the power to distract you for more than a few minutes.
Your memories of the party began to fade as the days passed, to your relief. You picked at their edges like you would at a scab; some details just wouldn’t go away fast enough. Such as the fifteen minutes you’d been trapped listening to someone’s husband lecture you about deep-sea fishing, and every time you caught Valencia’s eye, she smirked. Or the sad, drab feeling that the room had after the party was over – the sudden lack of life that came with its metamorphosis back into an ordinary conference room.
The things you most wished to bury, though, refused to stay dead. They seemed to follow you.
When you stayed late at the office one night, the week after the party, you stopped for a moment after starting your car to go home. The clear night sky through your windshield looked just the same as it had then; ter Borcht had said something about the stars that night, but you couldn’t remember what. Something about how close they had seemed, how clean the air was. You hoped that if you did remember what he’d said, that scrap of memory would lose its urgency and simply vanish.
You’d never thought of yourself as a romantic person – you’d even come to appreciate its total absence from your life. As though it made you cleaner, in some metaphorical way. Your heart was a carefully-tended garden, and love was a weed you’d eradicated.
But now it – or something like it – was trying to grow back, and you didn’t know what to do with yourself.
It would’ve been one thing if your feelings had stayed localized to the places where the events of that night had actually happened: the conference room, your car, his apartment. You had a whole life outside those places, outside what had happened there. The problem was that the two seemed to be growing into each other. Merging. You didn’t like it.
A week after the party, you were shaving and stopped partway through without planning to; it took you a moment to retrace your steps and assess the wordless thought that had stopped you. Against the white background of shaving cream, your mouth stood out in isolation. You captured the thought: these are the lips he kissed that night. You threw down the razor, and it clattered in the sink.
It was clear that you were going to need more time to get over the whole incident.
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ao3feed-ineffablehusbandz · 2 years ago
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That's Not How Temptation Works
That's Not How Temptation Works
by irisbleufic
"I suppose," ventured the angel, tentatively, "that it'd warrant no more notice than when we do standard swaps, would it?"
"Nope," said Crowley, relaxing a little. "You'd only be pointing them out to me. And giving pointers, of course."
Aziraphale chewed the inside of his cheek, seriously considering it.
"Heaven knows I've got the time. Given Gabriel's cancellation, I consider myself on leave. Your lot are being hard on everybody, it sounds like."
"I'm everybody," Crowley sighed, not even faking how pathetic he felt.
Words: 4000, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English
Fandoms: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Categories: M/M
Characters: Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens), Dagon (Good Omens)
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley & Dagon (Good Omens), Crowley & Humanity, Aziraphale & Humanity
Additional Tags: Falling In Love, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Conversations, Temptation, Epic Fail, Comedy, Romantic Comedy, Comedy of Errors, Heaven & Hell, Fallen Angels, Demons, Workplace Relationship, Work Performance Reviews, POV Crowley (Good Omens), POV Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Miscommunication, Slow Burn, First Kiss, Good Omens Holiday Exchange 2022
From https://ift.tt/7VsYFMg https://archiveofourown.org/works/45719911
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em-writes-stuff-sometimes · 2 years ago
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prūmȳs nuhus (my heart) │ Chapter 2: A Revealing PREVIEW
terms of endearment ‘verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!
I am sorry this is taking so long - I'm at just over 4000 words, aiming to get to around 7000! I think I'll be doing a Tumblr blackout a little later tonight so I can get more of this done! Aiming to have it out ASAP!
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“From my learned understanding, I estimate that the Princess is less than halfway through her time,” Gerardys declares, glancing hesitantly at you before returning his gaze to Daemon. Given that he had asked the question, he ought to appear a little surer of himself. The Maester directs his next enquiry to you. "You have missed three courses, Your Highness?”
He can feel your shoulder twitch against his thigh from his stance above you, and he purses his lips to restrain the smile that threatens at your clear discomposure. You look up at him with flushed cheeks when he strokes the hair that falls between your shoulder blades. He jerks his head towards the physician to prompt you.
You clear your throat.
“Uh – yes, that is correct, I think,” you say sheepishly, frowning in concentration. Your mouth twists as you consider your response. “No, wait; only two. Perhaps.”
“It is no matter, Your Highness,” Gerardys placates, though Daemon notes the brief flash of something inscrutable in his eye. Hm. “At any rate, you’ve not felt it quicken, yes? Unfortunately, that is the surest way in which to assess progression.”
“I – what should it feel like?” you ask hesitantly. “I am not familiar enough with the sensation to know if it has occurred.”
Gerardys chuckles.
“I have heard many a woman say that it feels much like a… flutter in the belly, as though a tiny bird is flapping its wings,” he replies, and you nod slowly as you absorb this new information. His little know-it-all. You will forever be determined to seek out new deposits of wisdom.
“I have not felt such a thing yet,” you express finally, expression troubled. “Is that – normal?”
“Oh, yes! It simply means you have not progressed beyond the first post, of which there are three; ‘tis our way of dividing the child’s growth into early, middle and late stages.”
As valuable as this knowledge is, he cannot help himself but to ask before Gerardys starts in on the next lecture he is sure to have prepared to sate your indomitable curiosity.
“My lady wife and I have one further concern,” he states. Smirking, he lets the innuendo seep into his next words. “We’ve grown accustomed to partaking in – certain activities, with regular occurrence. What adjustments, if any, must be made to accommodate the babe in this?”
“Daemon!” You hiss, mortified. He grins mischievously down at you, cupping the back of your head when you bury your face into his leg, arms winding around his knee to block out your surroundings.
You’d wanted to know just as badly as he, he thinks to himself fondly. Desperate tart.
“Ah, yes,” the physician blusters, though his attempt at affecting an unbothered disposition is weakened by the fact that he won’t look him in the eye. “It is no bother, Princess,” he assures you. “It is not uncommon to hear such queries from husbands.”
You make little effort to acknowledge this overture, clinging to him like a limpet.
“If one is… mindful of her condition throughout the act,” Gerardys resumes, turning back to him, “and employs no undue vigour in doing so, there is no reason such activities cannot continue.”
He’s already bored of goading the man – it’s hardly any fun when they’re not easily provoked. Allowing himself one final too-wide leer, he eases up on his torment. How irritating.
“Excellent.”
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atlas-tries · 5 years ago
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Shatter Me
A Patton angst fic by yours truly
Read on AO3
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Summary: All the sides have secrets, but none have one as lethal as the one Patton is keeping. Can he keep it under wraps long enough to resolve it or will the trauma of it all spell his undoing? 
Hey guys, so this has been a long time in the making (aka since January). But I finally got this finished and I’m very proud of how it turned out. This was all based on a simple headcanon I had about how Patton experiences emotional pain. I hope you enjoy it, and the next chapter will be out next Monday! Check the notes for definitive links to the next chapter.
Chapter 1: Sticks and Stones May Break My Bones but Words Hurt Far More Deeply
At some point or another, all the sides had kept secrets from each other.
Mostly, it had to do with where they had been in the past or something silly, like the time Roman “accidentally” ate all of Logan’s Crofters. The others still kept some, likely to make a well-placed or dramatic reveal of it, and Patton was no different. He himself occasionally had physical manifestations of emotional pain. However, there was one thing he knew that wasn’t a secret.
Patton knew how they all really felt about him.
Sentimental.
Overbearing.
Naive.
Worthless.
Even if they rarely said any of those descriptors out loud or in his presence, the unspoken words came through loud and clear every time they thought he would mess something up. Which was in almost every video he appeared in. They thought he didn’t notice the dismissive remarks or the eye rolls whenever he had any ideas to share when Thomas had an issue that needed working through. It’s just ol’ Patton spouting off whatever random thoughts and/or dad jokes pop up in his head like always.
For the most part, Patton could handle whatever emotional turmoil they threw at him. He knew that despite what they thought, they still cared about him and valued his opinions. The occasional pain was worth it if they were happy. And they were, especially after Thomas had introduced them to his online community of Fanders (the part that made him the happiest). Even Patton himself had been ecstatic to reach out to so many other kiddos out there. At least, he was until they had gotten in front of the camera.
Yeah, his jokes didn’t land with the others, it wasn’t a big deal. That was no different than telling them in the Mindscape on most days. However, he really wanted to do that four-part harmony when Roman suggested it, even after they immediately shot it down when he came in. But Patton could shake that off, too. He was strong. So, imagine his surprise when he discovered short, thin cracks radiating from over his heart when he was changing into his cat onesie that evening. “Oh,” he said, running his hand delicately over them, “That must’ve gotten to me a little more than I thought.” No matter, though, they always went away within a few days.
Everything went back to relative normal in short order and Patton was back to being a happy pappy. The next few videos came and went without much fanfare. He was even featured by himself to help Thomas with his adultery! There was nothing better than that. The cracks didn’t return until just before they started planning out The Mind vs. The Heart.
That morning, Patton had been making breakfast for everyone as he almost always did. This morning was especially pleasant for him because Thomas had actually listened to Patton yesterday when he suggested he go and pet all the puppies in the pet store on the way home. Having that thought at the forefront made it easy to softly sing to himself as the bacon sizzled. Roman was already eating his as fast as he could fancifully manage.
“Roman, I know my food is good, but please don’t choke up on your swallow through,” Patton said with a smile, taking the last batch of bacon out of the pan and putting it on a plate. Roman just nodded and kept doing exactly what he was doing. “Say, you didn’t happen to see Logan when you came down, did you?” Patton was getting a little worried about Logan. It was early, yes, but the logical side always made his appearance long before now.
“Haben’t sheen ‘im thish morning,” Roman said with a mouthful of pancake.
Patton hummed, set his and Logan’s plates on the table, and grabbed some forks. He sat down at the table, picking at the eggs a little. He would feel better about eating when Logan came. As if on cue, soft squeaks came from the staircase. “Huh, speak of the devil,” Roman mumbled. Patton immediately perked up.
“Good morning, Logan!” Patton shouted. Logan stopped at the bottom of the stairs and covered his ears.
“Too loud, Pat,” Logan grumbled, making his way slowly to the table.
Patton softly replied, “Sorry. I made breakfast.” He couldn’t help but notice the dark circles beneath Logan’s eyes as he approached; they were almost dark enough to rival Anxiety’s. Patton was very much hoping that Roman wouldn’t notice, if only to preserve the peace (and the rest of his good mood, but Patton didn’t want that to be the focus).
“Thank you.” Logan sat and went straight for the coffee, downing half of it in only a few seconds. So far, so good. “Ugh, aren’t I a little old for cat-shaped pancakes, Patton?”
Patton shook his head with a smile. “You’re never too old to have a Patton paw-ncake!” he said cheerily, batting a pawed hand in the air for emphasis.
“Wow, looks like someone’s been to the dark sides this morning. Can we get a bag check on Logan’s eyes?” said Roman, going for another mouthful of bacon.
Logan wasn’t amused. “I’m sorry some of us have to work overtime to make Thomas make the right decisions,” he spat. “Sometimes it’s like I’m the only adult here.” Patton felt that familiar pain ghost across his chest.
“Ex-cuse me, how dare you say such a thing, and when Padre was nice enough to make you breakfast! And anyways, you are NOT the only one who has to pull late nights, Snide and Prejudiced,” Roman countered.
Patton said, “It’s fine, Roman, ple—”
“Really?” Logan adjusted his glasses. “Because it seems to me like you only keep Thomas up at ungodly hours fantasizing about the things you want.”
“Oh, and you don’t?”
“As the most important side, no, I don’t.”
“Oh well ex-cuuuuuuse me, Mr. President—”
From there it devolved into them shouting over each other. Roman slung eggs and syrup everywhere while wildly gesticulating. Logan kept smacking the table trying to make his points. Chocolate milk was going everywhere. They had never been so tense with each other.
“Um, kiddos?” Patton said. Neither of them heard him in the midst of their shouting match. “Kiddos?” he said a little louder, reaching out toward them. “Maybe if we just—”
“THIS DOESN’T CONCERN YOU, PATTON!” both of them yelled. Patton recoiled. Another crack split painfully across his chest. Both of them went back to screaming at each other. He couldn’t stand to see them like this, even if they were hurting him in the process. What else could he do but meet them at their level?
Patton stood abruptly and slammed his hands down on the table. “That’s ENOUGH, both of you!” he scolded. They instantly hushed, flustered and in awe that Patton could even raise his voice. He took a breath and calmly continued, “Roman, I appreciate you defending me like the noble Prince you are, but it’s okay. We know that Logan isn’t the only one that works the graveyard shift, but we shouldn’t make fun of the sides that do when they’re not in their best shape. And Logan, I know you’re tired, but—”
“Yes, from trying to mitigate the effects you had on Thomas yesterday,” Logan interrupted. “We almost adopted one of those puppies when we have neither the resources nor the time to look after one. And who was the one who had to convince him that it was a bad idea? Me!”
Even though Patton wasn’t sorry about that in the slightest, he still apologized. “You did the right thing, Logan. Why don’t you go back to bed for a little while? You’ve earned it,” Patton said. “I’ll even keep your breakfast warm for you.”
Logan nodded and left wordlessly, taking the coffee mug with him back up the stairs. With him gone, Patton looked to Roman. “You owe him an apology, mister,” said Patton.
“What? Me? He was the one being snippier than an Edward Scissorhands wannabe!” Roman cried.
“Well, you didn’t help that, now did you? But he also owes you an apology, too.” That garnered a little “oh” from the Prince. Patton sighed and took Logan’s plate to the oven, turning it on to the lowest setting.
“You know we would’ve worked it out on our own eventually, right?” Roman said. “This is just what we do.”
“I know,” Patton responded. “I think … I should start cleaning up. There’s chocolate milk everywhere.”
Roman nodded. “Okay, Padre. Is there … something I can help with, at least?” He got up and handed his mostly empty plate to Patton.
“Thanks, but I can handle it,” Patton said softly, voice barely above a whisper. He felt Roman’s hand on his shoulder and looked up at the Prince.
“You shouldn’t worry about us so much. We’ll be fine. And, uh, I promise I’ll make it up to the Grinch up there,” said Roman with a small smile.
We don’t need you smothering us.
Great! Now Patton’s thoughts were going to take it upon themselves to put translations after the other’s words! Patton tried to return a smile despite the pain in his chest growing. It must’ve convinced him because Roman, with a final pat on his shoulder, turned and left. As soon as Roman was completely out of sight, Patton rubbed at the cracks to try and soothe their aching. It never worked, but it made him feel a little less like a sad dad. Oh well. At least they’d disappear soon enough.
Or not.
A few days after Losing Motivation came out, Patton had once again busied himself in the kitchen, this time baking chocolate chip cookies while humming along to the Disney showtunes that Roman had playing in the living room. No doubt Thomas would have them stuck in his head by the end of the day. Not that it was a problem in Patton’s mind; the music really helped him ignore the constant throbbing pain that those ugly fractures left on his chest. Better to have Disney showtunes on the brain than a recent ex-boyfriend, right?
The oven timer let out a short ding! at the start of the chorus to Prince Ali. “Oh cookie, where would I be if you weren’t hooooot,” Patton sang over the lyrics. He danced over to the oven while putting on heart-patterned oven mitts. “So full of sweets from eating way more than I ouuuuggghhht. To.” He took the finished cookies out of the oven and twirled around to the music, kicking the door closed and sliding the baking sheet onto the stove in one smooth motion.
Patton made quick work of getting them off the baking sheet and onto a plate. “Cookies are ready!” he shouted. Quick, thundering steps met his cry and in seconds, Roman was in the kitchen juggling three.
“Don’t mind if I do, Pat,” said Roman. Fear never deterred Roman, not even when in the face of third degree mouth burns from oven-fresh cookies. Patton would be lying if he said he wasn’t proud of his son for being so brave (even if another part of him was terrified of Roman getting hurt). “Hanksh,” he said with a mouthful of molten cookie, pretending that it wasn’t actually too hot but still doing the hashafashafa thing to cool it down while he ate.
“You’re welcome, son,” Patton replied. He looked at the cookies and remembered why he was making them in the first place. Ever since Anxiety had made himself known, Patton had been trying to reach out to him. Sure, he was dark and broody and sometimes the others had a little trouble seeing how important his contributions were, but he wasn’t the villain that they made him out to be. Anxiety deserved to feel welcome, and that was something Patton would always advocate for.
He set a few of the cookies on another plate for the rest of the sides (and himself) and poured a glass of milk. “Anxiety’s gonna love this!” He picked the cookies and milk up and danced them out of the kitchen, making sure to pass by Logan on the way. Not that it was hard, he was almost always studying at the dining room table. “Hey Logan, do you wanna eat a cookie?” Patton sung to the tune of Do You Wanna Build a Snowman?
Logan glanced up from his book. “I would prefer not to as I am attempting to set a good example for Thomas by abstaining from sugar,” Logan responded.
“Ah. Well, more for me and Anxiety, then!” said Patton. “If you change your mind, there are some more in the kitchen.”
Logan put the book down and said, “Hold on, are you telling me you’re still intent on making friends with him?”
“Well, yeah, what’s so bad about that?” Patton asked.
“I can’t believe I have to explain this to you again. Anxiety has no place with us, Patton, and it’s time that you stop pandering to him. There’s a very good reason why he lives with … them, and not us.”
The little fissures began slowly spreading. Patton was getting good at keeping it under wraps. And under shirts. “Now Logan, just because he’s a little different from us doesn’t mean that he has bad intentions. Sure, he started out in a bad place, but who’s to say that he can’t grow out of that? Sometimes, people just need a push in the right direction to shine. Bright like a diamond~,” Patton sang the last part, which earned him a groan. “I promise, if I felt fishy about any of this, I wouldn’t be doing it.”
“Why would you feel like a fish? Do fish even feel?” Logan said, genuinely perplexed.
Patton sighed. “Gosh, words can be tough. What I mean is that I don’t feel bad about reaching out to Anxiety, not when he’s been reaching out to us in his own way. I don’t get the feeling that he means us harm.”
“But you have to admit that when it comes to character judgement, you can be too forgiving,” Logan said.
“… Is that a bad thing?” Patton quietly replied, wincing a little as the cracks splintered further.
Logan’s eyes narrowed. “Patton, are you feeling alright?” he asked.
Oh, no.
“Of … course I am!” Patton said. “I’m Morality, why wouldn’t I be feeling?”
Logan grunted and adjusted his glasses. “Let me rephrase that. Patton, moments ago, you clearly indicated you were in pain. Am I interpreting this cue correctly?”
“Um …” Patton stalled. Maybe it was time to tell someone about this; it wasn’t like he could keep hiding it forever. With a sigh, he replied, “Yeah.” Oh no no no no, he couldn’t do this.
Logan stood there silently for a few moments before realizing that no explanation was going to come out of him without prompting. “Would you care to explain what’s causing it? I can perform first aid if necessary,” he said, stepping toward Patton.
Patton backed away and put his hands up. “I’m alright, really. It’s just … a little heartburn is all. You know me, not waiting until the cookies are cool to start munchin’! It should go away soon,” he replied. He couldn’t describe how badly he wanted to get out from under Logan’s scrutiny.
“If that’s all, then, here,” Logan conjured some Tums, “please take two of these.” He offered the bottle to Patton, who took it with a smile.
“Thank you, Logan, where would we be without you?” said Patton. He took some out of the bottle and made a show of chewing them up. Even if he didn’t really need them, he wanted to be sure that Logan felt listened to.
“What is that on your neck?” Logan asked, gesturing on himself where he thought he saw something.
“Hmm?” Patton felt around in that general area, squeaking softly when he felt a small but deep fracture across his skin. How did he not notice that before? Quick, Patton, think of something! “It’s uh … it’s chocolate!”
Logan’s eyes narrowed again. “Chocolate?”
Patton smiled. “Yeeeaahhhh, I must’ve gotten chocolate on myself when I was making these cookies. Silly me,” he lied, waving a dismissive hand. Well, it wasn’t totally a lie; he did still have some chocolate on his hands.
That seemed to sate the logical side. “Very well then, be sure to wash that off. And I know that no matter what I say, you’re still going to take your cookies to Anxiety. Just, please be careful around him, no matter how he makes you feel. We do still need you to help keep Thomas functioning normally,” said Logan.
“Thank you, Logan, I appreciate that. I promise I’ll be careful,” Patton said with a smile. Logan gave him a curt nod and went back to his studies. Some of the pain subsided with that last comment, which Patton was very grateful for. If it had been anywhere near what it was before, he couldn’t have done what he had set out to do without cuing Anxiety on to his problems. With as much of a smile as he could muster, Patton picked up the cookies and milk and headed down to Anxiety’s room. Thankfully, Logan didn’t notice him adjusting his cardigan along the way.
Patton always thought it was odd that the doorway to the darker side of Thomas’s mind would be inside the broom closet at the end of the hall. In another way, it made a lot of sense when he thought about it a little harder. Anything he wanted hidden would be stowed in here for safe keeping until he was ready to confront it. Plus, it made an excellent visual pun that made Patton giggle every once in a while. He opened the door, carefully balancing the plate on his arm.
“Let’s see, last time I made two rights, a left at the weird eyeball painting that stares at you, another right, then a left, and it’s the last door on the left,” Patton mumbled to himself as he walked through the dark side’s labyrinthine corridors. “Please let there be no spiders this time.”
In between the first two rights, a yellow-gloved hand slithered its way around the edge of the corner in front of Patton, making him stop dead in his tracks. No no no, not now! “Well well well, if it isn’t Morality,” Deceit stepped out in front of Patton, “have you finally decided to join us AND bring us cookies? I know we would all be devastated if you did.” His ever-present smirk seemed even more delighted than normal.
“Um, no. I’m just bringing Anxiety some cookies like I’ve been doing for a while now. You know that,” Patton replied. This definitely wasn’t making him uneasy.
“Indeed I do, and I also know something else.” Deceit strode forward until he was uncomfortably close. “You’ve been hiding something I find to be … most exquisite. If you keep that up, you’re liable to put me out of a job. Tell me, how long do you think you can play my game but keep me away from the field? Or even better,” he slowly circled Patton, eyes ever trained on him, “how long do you think you can keep their prying eyes away from your little secret?” He gently touched the center of Patton’s chest, which made him hiss and nearly drop the cookies and milk.
Patton had to take a moment to catch his breath. “I refuse to … make this their problem,” he gasped. He could’ve sworn he saw a few glowing drops of his essence through his shirt where Deceit’s finger had been.
“Oh, of course you don’t. I don’t know how many times I’ve heard that one. They’re obviously trying to hurt you by saying and doing all of these little things and telling them this would only make them want to do it more,” Deceit said, coming to stop in front of Patton.
“Look, I know you’re just trying to look out for me in your … own way and I appreciate it, but please, Dee … I can’t tell them this. It would break them even more than it’s breaking me— and I won’t have it.”
Deceit’s smile faded. “You don’t want to listen to reason? Fine. But I leave you with this,” he shook a finger and slowly began sinking out, “what would hurt them more: the others finding out about this now or the others finding out about this when you’re in itty. Bitty. Pieces?” His last words echoed through the empty halls, chilling Patton to his core.
He knew Deceit was right, in his own roundabout way. That was one of his greatest assets: he was a brilliant analyst despite his airs, one that could keenly rival Logan’s perceptive inclinations. It was also what Patton dreaded about him. He couldn’t hide anything from Deceit, not that there was much he could do to hide all the cracks given how many there were.
“No!” Patton said to himself. This wasn’t the time for getting absorbed in thoughts! This was supposed to be bonding-with-his-precious-anxious-baby time, gosh darn it, and he was not going to waste any more time thinking about all the things that were hurting him! Putting on his best determined dad face, Patton quickly marched toward Anxiety’s room.
Before he could get too far, though, he saw Anxiety’s familiar, brooding figure lurking through the halls. He perked up almost imperceptibly when he saw Patton coming. “Oh, there you are. Not like I was worried about you being late or anything,” he said, fiddling with his hoodie strings.
Patton just smiled, relieved that Anxiety hadn’t noticed the little, slightly glowing stains on the front of his shirt. “Of course not. Shall we?” he replied. Anxiety nodded.
The two shared a nice, albeit short, time in Anxiety’s room talking through everything they could. Anxiety’s particular favorite seemed to be picking through Disney movies (or really any movie) to find all of the dark origins or morbid underlying themes they held. While Patton liked being able to spend time with Anxiety, the combination of being in his room for longer than around half an hour and the negative talk were lying heavily on his chest. Still, he never let it show that those cracks were slowly spider-webbing across his skin.
By the end of the day, every step was a Herculean task for Patton. He barely made it back to his room without stumbling. Still, there was one last thing to be done: survey the damage he had accrued. He trudged into the bathroom and grasped the sink with shaking arms, head hanging heavily. “Alright, head up on three, Patton. One, two, three,” he said, letting go of the sink and looking up in the mirror. Despite his weathered appearance, not much could be seen with his shirt still on aside from two small fractures that forked up either side of his neck. The few that had made it past his sleeves were so thin that he didn’t even notice them at first. Patton sighed. He really didn’t want to look at the epicenter of the damage. “Right after this, you can go to bed,” he bartered with his reflection. He gently lifted the hem of his shirt up and nearly fainted from what he saw.
The cracks at the center of Patton’s chest had turned more into chasms where his skin had chipped away like broken porcelain. His essence shone through, now a raging blue storm that threatened to break through the invisible barrier where his skin should be. From there, the light bled through into the smaller fissures that spanned his entire torso, front and back. He knew it was bad, but it had never been to this extent. He gently touched the edge of the center break and accidentally dipped his finger into the blue fluid. The tears he had repressed welled up in his eyes, spurred on by a jolt of raw emotion. Patton quickly wiped the fluid off onto his pants. The tears no longer had any driving force behind them.
“Oh Patton, you’ve got to remember not to do that,” he once again told his reflection. He had forgotten how much emotional sway his essence had when he touched it. Patton knew he couldn’t keep the happy act up like this. So, what else could he do but make himself as scarce as possible until it healed at least a little bit?
And that’s exactly what he did.
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loving-barnes · 3 years ago
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MASTERLIST ver.2
note: every story has been edited and/or re-written
LOGAN HOWLETT:
• Prom | There is a prom happening in the X-Mansion. | Words: 6600+ | smut
• Broken & Mended | Y/N leaves the team team without a word after her heart is broken. | Words: 3400+
• A Little Game | Logan’s been searching for Y/N for months. | Words: 4000+ | smut
• Remembrance | Y/N gets a sad news and she’s not allowed to say goodbye. | Words: 3400+
• Version of you | Logan is reunited with Y/N, or at least with another version of her. | 2500+ 
• Blast from the past | Logan’s old friend stumbles upon him at school. | Words: 5400+
• Annual gala | Logan and Y/N met again during a gala and things get steamy. | Words: 4200+ | Smut
• Defend your honour | Logan defends Y/N in front of her family | Words: 3700+
• Fix you | Someone important came to El Paso to give Logan a new chance at a better life. | Words: 6800+ | extremely light smut
• Begin Again | Logan and Y/N start a new life after a tragedy. | Words: 2500+
• A Touch of Hope  |  After a mission went wrong, Logan brought an injured mutant into the school. And with that, new hope has arisen - for mutants, for the school, even for Logan. | Chapter story
BUCKY BARNES: 
• First | Part Two  | Bucky talks to Y/N about her insecurities and she reveals more to him than to any man before.  | wrords: 7700+ | smut 
• Let Me Fix This |  Bucky got scared of his feelings, ruining everything and making Y/N leave. Will he be able to fix it? | wrords: 7800+ | Angst, Fluff
• I Love Drunk Me | Y/N got drunk and spilt her secrets to the one and only Bucky Barnes - the man she had a crush on.  | words: 4100+ | Fluff, comedy
• After The Blip |  Y/N helps Bucky and Sam with Flag Smashers. | words: 8600+ | angst, fluff, some smut 
• Weddings, am I right? | Bucky and Y/N hate weddings. | words: 3500+ | fluff, very light implied smut
•  My past, my mission | Y/N has a dark past and she wants to deal with it on her own.  | words: 10 000+ | angst, fluff, darker topics
LOKI:
• Whisky, My King?  | Loki finds an unexpected surprise in the compound’s library. | words: 1600+  | implied smut, fluff
STEVE ROGERS:
• Different Kind Of Wedding |  The team is stressing Y/N with the wedding. Both she and Steve plan something different that shocks the whole team. | words: 3100+ | fluff
• Ring For Sex | Bucky and Sam give Steve a very unique present for his birthday. | words: 5000+ | smut
OTHER CHARACTERS: 
coming soon...
CHAPTER STORIES: 
Vendetta 
Summary:  Years ago, Mad Man Attila broke the piece between the Foxes, Wolves and Starks. After his wife died, Attila became a vulnerable man. Hydra used him to break the New York alliance and start a war. Before the inevitable could happen, Attila was poisoned. He ended up on his death bed. That was when the family and the business inherited one of his children – the one he quietly prepared for this role. With the new head of the Fox family come revelations neither of the Wolves and Starks expected.
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader 
Status: finished
Words: 91 000+
Vendetta 2
Summary: Y/N's business is in jeopardy. Someone is trying to destroy her and her family as well as the love she and Bucky have. No one knows who is behind it all. It puts her and Bucky's relationship through hell and back as well as their alliance. People from the past come, mistakes happen and people get hurt. Can they survive it all or is their love too fragile to handle it?
Pairing: Mob! Bucky Barnes x Mob! reader
Status: On going
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OLD MASTERLIST
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