#this was 1916 so yeah it was a long time ago

[whaleiumsharkspeare]

It’s Indy 500 day which means my Hoosier self awakens like a sleeper agent to be like “yay let’s go Indiana!” even though I’ve never even been to the race lol

[doudouneverte]

LW

a/n: I don't know what to say so just fuck off Rubiales, Vilda and the Spanish Federation

*not my GIF*

Pairing; Laura Wienroither x Chelsea WFC! Reader; Chelsea WFC x AustriaWNT!Reader (also Zinsby x platonic!reader)

Summary: You love Laura since as long as you can remember but she's oblivious so, this season you decide to get more direct but you can't count on your teammates for help.

Type: Fluff AF

Warning: nothing

word count: 1916

note: in a univer where the two LW never tore their ACL

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You've known Laura since you were young. You both played together back in Austria, and you quickly fell in love. Well, the problem was that even if you showed her your affection in every possible way (staying polite and respectful, of course), she never got it.

Coming back to England after the national break, you had one idea in mind: definitely confess your feelings for the last time. But you didn't want to be rude or anything, so you needed a plan.

And what is more helpful than an almost-married couple on your team for love advice? So, for your first day back at training, you were quick to find Magda and Pernille, who were chatting about something.

"Moms, I need your help." You declared getting instantly their attention, as well as other teammates' in the room. "I want to confess my feelings to Laura, and I need advice."

There was silence for only two seconds before all the room burst into clapping and cheers. All your teammates knew that you loved the defender since you joined the club last summer, and it was confirmed when they saw how you act around her every time you played against Arsenal.

"And that's when we make our apparition." Sam said, sliding to your right side, while Guro was sliding to your left side.

"Uh, well, actually, I wanted..."

"Don't worry, Y/n, we're the best wingmen, well, wing women, you could dream of." The Norwegian cut you off, making some of your teammates laugh.

"I really appreciate that, but..."

"Where are we starting?" The Australian said this time, "Oh, I know. We can make a big panel with 'Laura, I love you' written on it."

"Yeah, and you could show up at their next match with it." The winger approved.

"But I think we can do better than that." Sam said, she was really thinking deeply about that.

"Don't you think we should stop them?" Pernille whispered to the Swedish defender.

"Yes, but I want to know how far they'll go," Magda admitted.

And that's how the whole training session went: the two players proposed some extravagant ideas, and you politely refused them.

"And if we do something more simple?" You asked, gaining their interest, and you watched around to see something that could help you until you spotted Eve. "We can just write her a poem with flowers." You proposed.

"It sounds boring." Guro said, hurting your feelings.

"Yeah, totally overacted." Sam confirmed.

"Well, at least it's still the most realistic thing to do." Niamh said, coming from nowhere.

"Yes, and it's still pretty romantic if you find the good words." Jessie added.

The two strikers looked at each other for a long moment before agreeing, "Okay, we will try that." The Norwegian said.

You released a breath you didn't know you were keeping and thanked your auto-designated sisters. Now, the second step was to write the best poem, and for that, you had an idea.

Back in the locker room, you were searching for someone when you collided with Magda. "Hey, careful little one. Why are you running?"

"I convinced Sam and Guro not to do one of their plans, and now I need help to write a poem." You replied.

"A poem? It seems pretty romantic." The Danish said.

You didn't stay longer and resumed your way to the locker room, where you found your French teammates. "Eve, I need your help."

"The last time you said you needed somebody's help, which was literally a few hours ago, you finished being chased by Sam and Guro during the entire training session." She gently reminded you, making you laugh.

"View it like this; it's a little funny." You admitted. "But really, I really need your help. I convinced Sam and Guro to give up their crazy for something more... realistic. And now I need someone who knows how to write a poem."

"I don't know why, but it sounds more unrealistic than their crazy ideas." The French player joked. "I'm not really good at writing poems, so let's not talk about writing them in English or German, but I can suggest some famous poets if you want."

"It would be fantastic." You said. After a few names written in your notes and a little drive back home, you were ready. You spent almost all your next free day writing it, and when you were proud enough, you let your teammates give their opinions.

"Honestly, it's pretty cool." Millie said.

"Yeah, we can feel all the love you have for her." Pernille added, making you more proud.

Now only one last step remains in your plan.

A few days later, Laura was ready to train with her teammates when Katie came in the locker room with a letter.

"Girls looked at what I found. They said it was for some of us, but there is not a name, just the initial LW." After hearing this, Manu almost groaned in exasperation.

She was aware of your crush on the defender; she was the one who made you realize it, and she was the one who convinced you to finally confess your feelings. You read her the letter, and her reaction was the same as your teammates'.

Everything was good, but she should be prepared for you messing up at least one thing.

"And there are flowers too." Stina remarked.

Lia Walti and Laura were focused on the flowers, while Leah Williamson was reading the letter loudly. When she finished, everyone in the locker room was shocked by this. It was more than good; for some, it was maybe the best thing they heard, but one question was on everyone's mind.

"Who wrote this?" Katie asked.

Leah looked at the bottom of the paper, and her eyes were wide open. "Y/n Y/l/n." She announced.

"What, Y/n, like Chelsea's player?" Jen asked.

"Apparently yes." The blonde captain replied, a little surprised by that.

"Well, now the important question is, who's LW?" Manu asked, trying discreetly not to put more pressure on you.

"Well, she's not clear about. She talks about a recent injury, but the three of us had a recent injury, so I don't know." Lia replied.

"Well, if I remember correctly, we play them tomorrow, so maybe you could ask her after the game." Frida said.

Meanwhile, Laura was processing everything. It was impossible that it could be her; maybe you just fell in love with one of the older players during your first season here. She didn't know, but somewhere in her mind, she felt like she would be sad if you didn't talk about her.

The next day was match day. You were really worried because Manu told you the next night that you messed up with the most important part of the plan, and now her teammates are trying to figure out for whom you wrote this.

In the locker room, Magda sensed that you were a little stressed by that and tried all she could to relax you. "You can always tell her everything in person if she doesn't understand it." She told you, joking about how many times you tried to be subtile, but the defender never got the hints. "You just need to be you. You're an amazing person, and I'm sure she doesn't need a poem or flowers to see that, but you'll need all your courage today to tell her how you feel after we beat them, okay?"

Like your captain predicted, you won the game, and you even assisted on a goal. But now the real thing could start. On your way to Arsenal's side, you were stopped by some teammates wishing you good luck. You walked to your destination until you were stopped by two figures just before you reached your national teammates.

"I think we need to talk." Leah said with a treating tone. You looked at the two of them, a little confused.

"I think she wants to say that maybe you have something to say to us." Lia corrected when she noticed how you seemed uncomfortable.

"Uh, I don't want to be disrespectful or anything, but what are you talking about?" You asked.

"What do you mean you don't know–" Leah started to say a little irritated by the situation, but she was cut off by her teammate.

"Who is LW?" Lia asked. It took a moment for your brain to understand what was happening. The two players, the irritated tone, LW, and—wait, LW? The letter?

"Oh, my god, are you talking about the letter?"

"Yes, we're talking about the letter. What did you expect?" The blonde captain asked.

"But why did you read the letter?"

"Because you wrote it." The brunette said this time.

"Wait, does one of you have a crush on me?"

"What? Of course not!" They told you at the same time. "But you have a crush on us," the English player added.

"Me? Of course not. Well, don't get me wrong, but my heart already belongs to someone else."

"So why did you write something like this if you already love someone?" The Swiss captain asked.

"Because LW is Laura." You said like it was obvious (technically it was). There was a little silence after your words; the two Arsenal players exchanged an awkward look before they looked behind them to finally notice the Austrian player.

Laura seemed shocked by the news. Fortunately, the two older players left you after they apologized for this misinterpretation.

"Oh." The defender said.

"Yeah. Oh." You repeated.

"But since when?"

"I don't know, maybe since we played together back in Austria."

"Wow, it's been a long time then. But why didn't you tell me anything?"

"Are you kidding me?" You rolled your eyes. "I really spent all my time giving you hints. It was so obvious that Sarah and Laura treated to lock us in a closet until I found the courage to confess. And it was only on our second camp."

"Wow, now I feel stupid." She said, and you laughed a little. "I mean, at the last camp, I heard you talk with Sarah P, and you said that you already had a pretty girl in mind when she asked you about meeting one of her teammates."

"Yes, that's because this pretty girl is you." You said and almost cringed at how it seemed cheesy.

Laura played with the hem of her shirt a moment before she met your eyes. "Can I ask you something?"

"Go on."

"Do you want to go on a date with me?"

You were shaking, unable to control yourself. "Yes, of course yes." You replied, and she smiled.

"Can I ask you another thing?"

"Yes."

"Can I kiss you?" At this moment, it was like your soul was leaving your body; you felt too much happiness for a lifetime. You nodded with a big smile on your face. She approached you, and being smaller than you, she landed one hand on your shoulder while the other cupped your face. She pushed on her toes and gently pressed her lips against yours.

"Finally!" Manu yelled. "It started to be physically painful to see you two in the same room doing nothing but looking at each other like teenage girls."

You pulled away to give her the middle finger until you heard Pernille said "Behave Y/n." You groaned but returned your attention to the girl in front of you, pressing a quick peck on her lips before joining your teammates.

[nickgerlich]

A Hole In One

I am no golfer. I have shot two rounds of 18, and they were the most agonizing…I dunno, it seemed like an eternity to me—afternoons of my life. I don’t watch it on TV either, if only because I will nod off in about five minutes. On the other hand, I have played many a round of miniature golf. Put a putter in my hands, and I’ll show you how to drop the ball in the cup.

So please excuse my lack of experience in the category. It’s just that as a marketing prof, I am qualified to at least address what happened yesterday. The long-standing PGA—that’s Professional Golfer’s Association—merged with upstart LIV Golf.

To the casual mind, you may be scratching your head, wondering why this is even a big deal. It’s just that it signifies a time when another country’s money managed to effectively take over an entire sport.

The PGA was formed in 1916, and served to promote professional golf. The PGA Tour was considered the top echelon of play, and the best golfers earned millions annually. It was a monopoly if you will, and similar organizations exist in other countries, as well as the LPGA here for women.

But a year ago the Saudi government decided they wanted in. They formed LIV Golf, word play writ large. LIV has been pronounced “live” or “lyve.”

Furthermore, the letters—all caps—are Roman numerals for 54, and 54 is how many holes will be played in a LIV tournament (18 X 3). And…wait for it…54 is the number of strokes a player would have if they birdied—came in one under par—on each hole, which typically has Par 4. Thus, 18 X 3 once more.



The Saudi Public Investment Fund pumped in $784 million last year to fund its new league, and lured away rock star talent like Phil Mickelsen and Greg Norman, among others. The PGA responded quickly by banning anyone in its own tournament who had ties to LIV.

At this point, you may still be wondering why this is a big deal. Now let’s look at football. I mean soccer. You know…the sport the rest of the world calls football. We had to find another name, since we use it for a sport that rarely involves using feet. But I digress.

You see, Qatar, a Saudi neighbor and similarly filthy oil-rich nation, effectively coerced FIFA last year to the point of forcing the international soccer—I mean football—association to move its quadrennial World Cup tourney to December, a time when it is only somewhat like Hades in Qatar. This affected many players, especially those in European leagues who would otherwise be playing their regular seasons.

Basically, just as with LIV Golf, money talks, and once again, a government muscled its way onto center stage.

I am concerned about this trend, because even though this is professional and not amateur athletics (like the Olympics), it means that sport is for sale to the highest national bidder. Could you imagine Dubai wanting to form its own pro football league here, luring top players with fat salaries? Yeah, it could happen.

As for the PGA, its brand will forever be tarnished. The fact that they caved only one year into LIV Golf says just how afraid they were, and how powerful LIV Golf actually is. Saudi pockets are much deeper than on any of the goofy pants pro golfers might be wearing. Wait. Those goofy pants are in curling, but you get the idea. PGA pants pockets are small and have holes in them.

I am sad to see such a time-honored tradition as PGA Golf—107 years in the making—now forever changed, even though I don’t have an eagle, birdie, or a divot in the game. And as much power as the PGA had in its position, it crumbled quickly in the face of Saudi wealth. Think about that the next time you watch a PGA/LIV tournament. It’s a new game now, and is a double bogey in my book.

I just need to find a rich nation to start a professor’s league. You know. Hire the best talent and make a league of our own (notice I included myself already). We’d be talking then.

Dr “Can I Have A Mulligan?“ Gerlich

Audio Blog

[orithyia-eriphyle]

Blue Steel

Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: Bucky is head over heels for his best friend, (Y/n), and wants to know about her unspoken past.

Pre-relationship

Warnings: I mean, basically fluff and anxious Bucky also speak of the Bible but it has to do with the being that he Reader is, I'm not asking you to believe it. (Reader is inspired by the TV show Supernatural)

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Where does he start? Bucky grew up with his best friends Steve Rogers and (Y/n) (L/n), constantly flirting with the woman he had feelings for. She would always flirt back with a teasing smile, making his heart flutter. Everything seemed okay until he fell off of that dreaded train.

Bucky didn't think he would remember everything nearly 70 years later, finding out Steve was still alive and the girl he loved was Death. Yes, that's right, Death. One of the Four Horsemen of the Apocolypse. Hidden away for years as a normal girl growing up in the early 1900s. When he was finally him again, he was shocked to find out. Was she lying to him and Steve all those years ago? Did his friendship even mean anything to her? Bucky had to know. And know he did.

It was late at night in the Avengers Compound. Bucky was up late as per usual. 70 years' worth of nightmares was kind of hard to shake off. He noticed her sitting in the kitchen, still in her odd attire. A black leather coat that reached to her ankles. A large outline of a cross embroidered on the back. Her knee-high black combat boots that clicked when she walked. The dark-wash leather pants that reached her hips and her barely there black top. No matter the type of body she had he still found her astoundingly beautiful.

Her scythe was out of sight, clearly done with the day's duties. As he approached her from behind her head turned and they made eye contact. Every time he met her steely gaze he would feel his heart skip a beat, almost forgetting to breathe. She smirked at him and spoke leisurely, "Hey Buck, another nightmare?" He grabbed a cold bottle of water from the fridge before standing on the other side of the counter, directly across from her. "Yeah." His short reply wasn't out of the ordinary, he talked little in general but after a nightmare, he would talk even less.

"Can I ask you something?" Now that was new. (Y/n) hadn't expected him to say anything. They would usually sit in comfortable silence with one another when it was late into the night. "Fire away Barnes." She leaned back in the cushioned barstool, anticipating his question. "Did you really care about Steve and me back then?" Now (Y/n) was never shocked, and if she was she hid it well but Bucky's question stumped her. Of course, she cared, and now she needed to find the right way to tell him that.

"Yes Buck, I cared a lot." Bucky crossed his arms, anxiousness shooting up his spine. He didn't want to upset her but he also wanted, no, needed answers. "Then why'd you never tell us about who you really were?" (Y/n) let out a dry chuckle, kind of anticipating his next question. "Well, the fact I couldn't remember that I was Death was definitely a contributing factor." She smiled coyly at Bucky, he better than anyone knew where she was coming from. He gave her a look as if saying to continue. "I've been around for billions of years, way before God created humans. Reaping souls of monsters that have been on this Earth nearly as long as I have." She locked her fingers together on the dark countertop.

"God put me to sleep in the year 1916, telling me I wouldn't reawaken for nearly a hundred years. I was a normal human for a while, that's when I met you and Steve." Bucky was leaning on the counter, listening attentively to your story. "Like I said, I didn't know who I was. You and Steve were the closest things to a family I had, and when I thought you died..." She paused, Bucky had never seen her so emotional. She was always cocky and had nerves of steel, something he had always admired about her. "I lost it, I went out into a field and screamed and yelled for what felt like hours, but was really only minutes."

She smirked down at the counter, kind of proud of what comes next. "I guess it was the pure rage and pain I felt, I'm not really sure, but I broke God's spell. All I remember was the surge of power and strength in my body and when I awoke, I opened the gates of Hell and went back to work." Bucky's hand was interlocked with yours now, his thumb rubbing small circles on your hand. "You don't have to say anything else Doll." You stood and walked around the counter to Bucky. Bucky followed your movements, becoming nervous at your next move.

The next thing he knew your arms were around his neck and he was locked in your tight embrace. His arms wrapped around your waist, becoming lost in the feeling of your touch. You enjoyed that this was something only you could do. The only person besides Steve allowed to touch and be close to him like this. You smiled into his shoulder and Bucky closed his eyes in pure contentment. "Out of my billions of years of living, you're the best thing that's ever happened to me, James."

Bucky's breath caught in his throat at your words. And hell, if you couldn't feel his rapidly beating heartbeat before, you could now. His mind ran rampant at your words. Could his feelings for you be reciprocated? He had to know. "Fuck it." Bucky thought as he pulled away from your warm embrace. He placed his now shaky hands on your arms. He looked at you with seriousness but also noticeable nervousness in his eyes. "Doll, I... I've got to tell you something." You looked at Bucky with a smile that calmed his nerves just a bit. "What is it, Buck?"

Bucky took a shaky breath before speaking. "I have no idea how you're going to take this but I can't keep this to myself anymore Doll." He could barely meet your burning gaze but he managed. "Even back in the day, I've had feelings for you (Y/n). When you'd laugh at my stupid jokes or when we'd wrestle by the docks at the lake and nearly every time you kicked my ass. When you fought next to Steve and me in the war even as a woman. When you'd never fail to fluster me with your constant flirting and teasing." He looked into your shocked eyes and continued, a little more confident. "Hell, nothing has changed even 80 years later. You still manage to make my heartbeat at speeds I didn't think were humanly possible."

He stepped closer to you, both your hands in his. One of his rare smiled made its way to his lips. "I'm in love with you Doll, and I always will be."

Your mouth was agape in utter shock, never thinking Bucky would admit his feelings for you. Yes, you knew, you always knew. From his nervous fidgeting around you to his ears that would turn red when you complimented or flirt with him.

Bucky stared at you, the anxiety creeping back up. His eyes searching desperately for an answer. He was about to pull his hands from yours when a blinding smile broke onto your face. "You have no idea how long I've waited to hear that Buck." You grabbed a handful of his collar, taking him forward. Bucky's heart seemed to stop beating when his lips met yours. The kiss was sweet and tranquil. Both of you getting what you wanted after years of waiting.

You had to pull away when Bucky needed to breathe. His unsteady breathing made you smirk in triumph as you placed your left hand on his stubbly cheek. "I love you to James, and I always will."

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

[twinkleallnight]

Marshmallow

(Part-12) Hope

Book: The Royal Romance

Pairing: Liam x MC, Drake x Hana

For previous chapters: catch up here

Prompt 1: This fic is my submission for this week’s #WackyDrabbles. The prompt is appears in bold.

Prompt 2: This is a submission for choicesweeklychallenge. The prompt appears in bold.

Word count : 1916

Tags: @ao719 @aloneautumn @bebepac @charlotteg234 @choicesficwriterscreations @choiceskatie @cordonia-gothqueen @cordonianroyalty @sfb123 @drakewalker04 @gardeningourmet @gkittylove99 @glaimtruelovealways @kat-tia801 @hopefulmoonobject @hopelessromanticmonie @iam-the-kind-and-thoughtful @idontknowwhysblog @islandcrow @jovialyouthmusic @jaxsmutsuo @kingliam2019 @lovablegranny @mrswalkers-blog @mom2000aggie @no-one-u-know @ntoraplayschoices @princessleac1 @ritachacha @speedyoperarascalparty @shanzay44 @texaskitten30 @queenrileyrose @sanchita012 @theroyalheirshadowhunter @wackydrabbles @xpandabeardontcarex @yourmajesty09

I get behind the wheels while Max is yelling something from his SUV. My phone buzzes right at the same moment. I roll down the glass to listen to him, and receive the phone call with my other hand.

“Hello!” says the sharp voice over phone.

“Livy?”

“Happy birthday…” her sound is drowned against the shout out from Max, “Happy birthday grumpy guy!” Hana and Riley laugh out loudly.

I give him a glare and roll the glass up and focus back on the call.

“Umm… thank you.”

“I see you are busy with someone.” She says with a sarcastic tone. “Since when did you start partying? Seems you are a changed man.”

“Look who's talking!” I sneer back.

“What do you mean?”

“At least I don't keep secrets.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about. Anyways, I think I should leave you with your commoner friends to enjoy. Bye.”

And just like that she drops the call.

“What the hell!” I shout at my phone.

Why did she call? To wish me or to irritate me? Why does she spoil everything! Damn! I was so happy, for once, but she had to call up and mess it all. I rev up the engine and hit the road with a surge of anger. I drive down to the Applewood manor and decide to call it a day.

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Morning comes with a fresh start. The court and nobles are all busy celebrating the Apple blossom festival with their king and queen while I keep myself occupied by the stables. I check the horses selected for next day’s event -the foxhunt, where a mountain trail is to be covered on horse’s back. I know as soon as they conclude the festival in orchards, the excited nobles will turn to stables to tend to their rides for tomorrow. I want to make myself scarce before that.

I am about to leave when Riley visits the stables with Bertrand. She is the first one to come, as she doesn’t have a horse of her own. Liam follows them.

After exchanging pleasantries, we get to business of choosing her ride.

“I love horse riding but I have no idea how to choose the horse.” Riley says perturbed.

Liam takes the opportunity before Bertrand can reply. “Why don’t you let me do it instead?”

“That will be great!” Riley claps excitedly.

They both start looking at the unclaimed horses, and Bertrand tags along. I observe the couple keenly. They are so relaxed in each other’s company. Liam forgets all his worries around her, and Riley is like a live wire in his presence, full of energy and enthusiasm. I love to see them together. I wish…!

They turn around and Riley jumps up. “Hey Walker, I am not just borrowing, I am buying a horse.!”

“Really?” I look at Bertrand wide eyed.

“I can’t believe you talked me into this.” Bertrand says in an annoyed tone, looking between Liam and Riley.

“ Congratulations!” I try to distract Bertrand.

I help Riley by checking Belle, the horse she selected. While Bertrand starts discussing official things with Liam, Riley is enraptured in narrating the events that she experienced at the festival. “You should have been there. We had such a good time. I was in Olivia’s team.”

I am busy inspecting Belle but I stiffen on mention of Livy’s name. I curse myself for the reaction. I need to get over the differences between us. I promise myself to act better next time.

Riley continues, “ We made an apple pie and you won’t believe our team won. I think our winning streak was Hana’s specially crafted roses on the crust. I tell you, that girl has so much talent!” I can see Riley’s eyes trying to find some reaction from me but I simply nod in agreement.

I pat Belle and give my approval to Riley.. “Here, all good to go!” They wrap up the deal, and we all walk out.

There are other nobles who pay visit. The stable boys help them out. There is nothing major, where my services are required. So, I take a stroll around the lush gardens of the manor. I have my plans to sit near the lake, my favourite hideout since childhood. But when I walk down to the edge of the gardens, my eyes fall on the figure who has seized my special place already.

She is lost in her thoughts, her eyes staring far away into the horizon, where the sky is pink and the golden ball of sun is about to drown itself into the unknown lands. The ebbs in the water are shining with the ochre reflections. Her calm form is adding into the serenity of the landscape. I stand there absorbing the beauty of nature for some time before I walk towards her, as much discreetly as I can.

“Hana!” I call out softly. I don’t want to disturb the tranquillity surrounding her.

She turns to look at me. Our eyes meet and she beams, “Marshmallow!” She stifles a laugh. Her teasing brings a smile on my face.

I rub the back of my neck, beaming at her. She moves making space next to her and pats her hand guiding me to sit beside her. We both sit there quietly, listening to each other’s breath, till she leaves a sigh, and shakes her head, as if disagreeing with her own thoughts.

“What is it Hana?” I ask with concern.

“I don’t know what to do. Since my childhood, I have been trained to be part of the court. Each class, each lesson was meant to place me at a higher pedestal in front of the nobles. This continuous struggle to achieve something, fulfilling their expectations” she purses her lips, “it’s tiring. I want to live a carefree life, where I live for myself. Where it is okay to make mistakes. Where I can build up a small house and fill it up with my desires to make it a home.”

“That’s a beautiful wish. What is it that’s stopping you?”

“My parents want to see me married to some noble.” She lowers her eyelashes avoiding eye contact with me. “I know they anticipate of something I can’t live up to.”

“It’s your life Hana, your parents should not be the ones making decisions for you.”

She gets up, frustrated, and takes few steps towards the waters. “That’s the whole problem.” She says. “The culture from where I come is very different. Its closed environment with families dominated by parents. It’s hard for me to explain that even if they pressurize me to do things, I still love them. I don’t want to hurt them. I want them to understand my choices.”

I walk up to her, and clasp her shoulders to turn her to me. Her usually peaceful eyes seem to be deep into some storm, piercing into mine, searching for the shores. Yet, it doesn’t falter my mind, instead it seems to be encouraging me to make stronger resolutions. “Take baby steps. Break your desires into tiny goals and try achieving one at a time.”

Her mind is still out on a wild chase as she rests her soft little palms on me. Her touch acts like a pacifier for my pacing heart. Her lips quiver to pour out the questions her eyes have stored. “How will I answer them? What will I say if they ask?”

“We will cross the bridge when we reach there.” I reply. I see the storm in her eyes calming down as the soothing honey colour dances in them again. She closes the distance between us. Her head rests on my chest and our arms embrace each other.

My eyes take in the view at the horizon. The pink of the sky has changed to purple. The waters are dark and the twilight sparkles over the lake. The storm that left her eyes suddenly is hitting the waves of my mind. 'We will cross the bridge… I said to her. Why did I promise myself into it? What am I doing? I am letting myself fall into valley of flowers, except that these flowers are going to be roses, roses with thorns. I don’t know how many wounds they will create before the eternal bliss.

“Thank you for being there for me.” Her mellow tone creates another smooth wave, overpowering my self-destructive thoughts. ‘We WILL cross the bridge…' a voice inside me resonates.

We start walking back to the manor. “Ready for tomorrow’s hunt?” I ask her.

“Yes. It’s going to be fun. I can practice my dressage.”

“You have a training in horse-riding?” I stop in my tracks and turn to her, wide eyed.

“Yes. Why are you so shocked?” She says in a casual manner.

“You never cease to amaze me.” I shake my head and start walking again. “It’s definitely going to be fun tomorrow.”

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We start early morning with the trail. There is a long line of nobles trotting on their horses across the countryside. Liam is up ahead with the king, while I am at the tail end of the group with Max. We are talking about the turn of events since our new york trip just before the social season.

“What made you take that instant decision of sponsoring Riley for the social season?” I ask Max.

“Have you ever seen Liam so happy? Have you observed the way he looks at her?”

“Yeah, I was thinking the same the other day.”

“It was this look, that made me take the decision.” He confirms as our eyes gaze at Riley riding beside Hana at a distance ahead of us.

I have another question in my mind, and ask,“What is wrong with Bertrand though?” I remember his annoyance at the stable a day ago. “He is so serious nowadays.”

“House Beaumont is juggling a bit with some financial matters and since father left, Bertrand has taken it up as his sole responsibility to keep up the name.” Max's expressions brighten up, “Don’t worry. It’s nothing much. Lord Maxwell is here for the rescue.” He strikes a knight pose riding his horse.

We laugh it out. Max makes sure to keep everything cool and under control, always. A quality, I admire.

------------

“You are not the one to lose. What’s the secret?”

We have covered mountain trail, and reached the tiny village. Hana did not fail to impress with her horseback skills. But when the king announced the horseback race at the last leg for the suitors, Hana finished second.

Throughout the trail she has been either with Riley or Penelope or Kiara, and now finally I get a chance to talk to her. That is when I ask her.

“You noticed.” She smiles. “I would be sitting with the prince for the dinner had I won.”

“So?”

“So, who would have given our poor little marshmallow a company?” she pouts her lips.

I know I am grinning, ear to ear, with that comment. “Thank you Lady Hana for giving me the honour!”

We sit down for the feast. My friend’s all around me. Riley and Liam making me believe that there will be that one person in your life who will make a difference. Max, bringing the best out of worst and Hana, my new person, making me realise that not all is lost when there is still one thing that keeps us going – hope.

[schrijverr]

Joe Comes Home

Joe finally returns from the front as well. After witnessing a nightmare from Will and the tenderness between Will and his brother, he brings it up later and the relationship comes to light.

Part of a series that starts with Returning Home.

On AO3.

Ships: Will Schofield x Tom Blak

Warnings: PTSD, nightmares, light disassocation and mentions of homophobia. Tell me if I missed anythine and be careful!

~~~~~~~~~~

January 18th 1919

Dear mum, Tom and all the Schofields,

I am writing this letter with the knowledge that it will be short, for I will be able to tell you my stories in person shortly. I am returning home and am set to arrive at the London platform on the 21st of January.

I am able to go home now, since my boss at the butchers has put in an application to get me back for work, so send him my thanks in advance and tell him I’ll be back for work on Wednesday.

I am looking forward to seeing you again or meeting you.

Yours,

Joseph Blake

This was the letter that arrived the day before Joe would be arriving. The people living in the home had been writing regularly with the last remaining soldier of the family on the front and stories about lives had been swapped throughout the months. Mary and Jane were very excited to meet this new potential uncle and Mrs. Blake had been near tears when she’d finished the letter.

It had been decided that Tom and Will would be the ones to pick Joe up from the station and travel back home with him.

Tom was very excited about the prospect, but Will was still slightly terrified that the older Blake brother would be angry with him after delivering false news about the death of his beloved brother. Tom, and Joe in his letters, had reassured him before, but he still worried.

That night he and Tom laid in bed, both on their backs. Tom had tucked his hands under his head and Will rested his head in the crook of Toms armpit. Tom was smiling up at the ceiling as he said: “I’m so happy were seeing Joe again tomorrow. The last time I saw him must’ve been just before his leave was over in 1916, right before I joined as well.”

“That is a long time to not see someone.” Will agreed.

Then Tom thought of something and he said: “Huh, I guess, you’ve seen him last out of all of us.”

Will cringed as he thought back on that day and the state he had been in. He replied: “Not in the best of circumstances, sadly. I don’t know what he will think of me.”

Tom looked down and frowned: “He’s not going to think bad of you. I’m sure he’s going to love you.”

“You don’t know that.” Will pouted, “It could be horrible and he’ll hate me.”

“He’s not going to. He said so himself in his letters, no hard feelings.” Tom tried to reassure him.

Will bit his lip and replied: “Yeah, but what if he sees me and suddenly changes his mind? Or what if living with two seven-year-olds is bad and he hates Mary and Jane? Or what if Polly and he just don’t get along? You can’t prepare for those kind of things.”

“Will, love, don’t worry.” Tom said, “We can’t prepare for them, sure, but worrying about them when they might not even happen is useless.”

“I know that.” Will said with a frown, “But it doesn’t make it easier.”

Tom smiled, but didn’t say anything as he started to run his hand through Wills hair, hoping to lull his lover to sleep so that he could stop worrying for today. It seemed to work, since he heard a soft sigh into his neck as Will snuggled closer. Toms smile broadened and he settled down for the night as well.

It wasn’t an easy night. Worry of the day wormed its way into Wills dreams, causing him to wake up with a scream around four in the morning. If anyone else in the house had been woken by it, they didn’t come. Everyone had learned quickly that it was best to leave Tom to deal with it after the first few times they had barged in and Will had flipped even more.

Tom blinked a few times, before his eyes focused on the heaving figure that sat up straight next to him. When he looked into Wills eyes they weren’t far away like usual, but alert and anxious. Carefully Tom laid his hand on Wills shoulder and whispered: “It’s alright, love, just a dream. Probably a shit dream, but just a dream.”

In any other state of mind, Will probably would have chuckled at the description, but now all he had was a small huff as he focused on Tom.

Tom started to rub his shoulders. Bit by bit they started to relax, first they unclenched then the knots disappeared until Will was practically slumped again him. Tom smiled softly while he kept up the ministrations. After a while he asked: “Do you want to try and go back to sleep or do you want to drink some tea?”

It was a habit they had fallen into the past half year. Whenever one would wake from terrors past they offered the same thing to one another: tea or sleep. Sometimes they were able to go to sleep again, but usually they got up for tea. The idea was that the small break could make it easer to go back to sleep again, although most of the time it was the start of their day.

“Tea.” Will answered and Tom wasn’t really surprised.

They got up and went downstairs in their nightclothes. Tom put on the kettle, while Will sat down in one of the chairs and rubbed his face with his hand.

Once they both had a cup of tea in their hands, Tom gently broached the subject and asked: “Want to tell me what you were dreaming about?”

Will shrugged and replied: “Just the usual, mostly.”

“Mostly?” Tom repeated as question.

Will bit his lip, before he said: “I was running over the trenches and then along them, like I did back then. I stumbled and- and I fell, when I looked down it was a corpse of a solider. It was Joe. He- he grabbed me and accused me of murdering you. I tried to explain that you weren’t- you weren’t dead, but he didn’t want to listen. He pointed and asked me what that was then and it was you, also- also dead. That’s when I woke up.”

Tom took a pensive sip of his tea, before he said: “That sounds awful, I wish I could take those dreams away from you.”

Will sighed and answered: “I do too, sometimes. But if some nightmares are the price I pay to have you here by my side, then I will pay that price a thousand times without question.”

Blushing Tom ducked his head slightly, before looking up and meeting Wills eyes. They were soft and sleepy. The corners crinkled slightly as Will smiled sweetly at him. Tom returned the gesture as they continued to sip their tea in silence.

After they were done, Will said: “I don’t think, I’ll be going to sleep again, but I don’t mind to be alone. I still have that book to finish.”

“Okay, but wake me early, love.” Tom replied, getting the message: Will wanted to be alone and clear his head.

Will promised he would and Tom went back to their room, where he laid down on Wills side and burrowed his face into Wills pillow, still holding Wills comforting scent. He was away in seconds.

Keeping his promise, Tom was awoken at half past six in the morning by an apologetic Will, who kissed him softly before he said: “I wanted to wake you later, but I don’t know how early you meant with early and Myrtle was begging me to take her on a walk and I didn’t want to leave without you.”

Tom yawned, then slung his arms around Wills neck and tugged him down as he mumbled: “Warm.”

Will chuckled: “Yes, I am warm. I sat by the fire, but you have to get up now.”

“Don’t wanna.” Tom whined.

“You’re going to have to, Tom. Otherwise we’ll be late to pick up Joe.” Will answered with a smile, totally smitten by the adorable picture Tom made while being so sleepy.

With the mention of Joe Tom stirred some more and stopped grumbling as he got dressed quickly, while Will made the bed.

They took a shorter route that morning, but Myrtle didn’t seem to mind that much. When they got back the others had awoken as well and Mrs. Blake was preparing breakfast for them and making sandwiches for lunch that they could take with them. She greeted them and said: “I’m so happy to be making lunch for Joe again. I made him his favourite, that’ll cheer him up.”

“It will, mum.” Tom agreed.

After packing their lunches and eating their breakfast they were on their way to the station. The walk was short, but the ride to London felt like it went on forever. The closer they got, the more Tom wiggled in his seat, until he was practically vibrating with excitement.

Will smiled softly at it and continued to do so, when Tom grabbed his wrist and tugged him out of the train and over the platforms the moment they had arrived.

They were a bit early, which meant that they had a great spot on the crowded platform when the soldier-filled train came. Tom craned his neck in an attempt to spot his brother, but it was Will with his extra few inches that spotted him first. He called out: “Lieutenant Blake!”

Immediately Toms head whipped to the direction Will was looking at and he spotted his brother. Will could pinpoint the exact moment Tom saw him, because his face lit up and he yelled: “Joe” as he started running towards him.

Will followed as quickly as I could, apologizing to jostled people as he went.

Joe had spotted them as well and had dropped his bag just in time to open his arms and catch his younger brother. He hugged him tightly and exclaimed: “Tom! And Will! What a pleasant surprise. I thought, I’d see you when I got home.”

Tom let go and said: “Do you really think mum would let you arrive with no one here?”

Joe shook his head and replied: “Got a point there.”, he looked at Tom again, “You’ve grown so much, Tom. Lost all that baby fat, have ya?”

Tom rolled his eyes and huffed: “I lost that a long time ago. Besides, do I see grey hairs there? You’re getting older by the day, Joe.”

That earned him a shove and a “Sod off.”

Before the teasing could escalate, Will said: “It’s good to see you again.”

Joe stuck out his hand and smiled: “The same. Nice to meet you under better circumstances.”

Will shook the hand offered and agreed wholeheartedly with the sentiment. He finished by saying: “Hopefully you can forgive me for bringing the false news. If I had known Tom was still alive, I would’ve never left him there. I’m terribly sorry.”

Joe clapped his shoulder and said: “It’s no use to dwell on the past. We all made it, the war is over and we can go home. I fully believe you would not have acted as you did, if you had the right information. But you didn’t, neither of us did. You did no wrong, Will. And Tom made it, so it all was good in the end.”

“Tom is right here, you know.” Tom told them, making them both laugh. He huffed: “Yeah, laugh if it’s so funny, but we’re going to miss our train if we don’t hurry.”

That made them sober up as they rushed to their own train up North. When they were seated in a compartment with their sandwiches, Tom asked: “So, did anything happen between now and your last letter.”

“I got the news of being shipped home, of course, but mostly nothing.” Joe said, “A lot of people weren’t happy with how long it’s been taking to get everyone home. I mean, the peace was signed in November last year and it’s already more that halfway through January. We were there the whole winter. Rather be at home with Christmas, you know. “

And they knew. That Christmas had been weird. It would be the first with the Schofields and Blakes if Joe had been there. Tom and Will had already celebrated Christmas together once before, but this was different, more domestic, more a choice.

Trying to lighten the mood, Tom said: “But you’re home now and you’re not leaving.”

Joe smiled and then told the two of them some stories that weren’t fit for children's ears or his mothers for that matter. And where the way to London had seemed to take hours, the way back passed in what felt like minutes.

Walking through the town, Joe was stopped by a few people, who wanted to welcome him back and ask him how he was. He always replied that he was fine and on his way home to his mother, which made most people leave him be, ushering him homeward.

Mrs. Blake was standing on the front porch when they arrived and she threw herself at her son as she hugged him close. She then inspected him for injuries as she said: “I’m so glad you’re home. I missed you so, so much. Thank the Lord, you’re alright. You aren’t hurt right? Not like Tom was at least, that scared me so much.”

Joe waited patiently for the word storm to end, before he answered: “I’m glad to be home too, mum. And I’m fine, really. I don’t know how I did it, but I’m not hurt.”

That made Mrs. Blake pull him in again for a second hug, which he allowed with a roll of his eyes and a look to Tom, who commented: “You should’ve seen her when I woke up. I don’t think I could handle so many kisses.”

Joe laughed and Mrs. Blake chided: “I was allowed to be happy my son hadn’t died.”

It fell quiet after that, no matter how long had already passed, the thought of Tom not making it still dampened the mood a bit. In an attempt to lighten it Joe said: “I’ve heard we got some new family in the house!”

Everyone took it and Joe was brought inside to meet the new members of the household. Will was dreading this moment, it felt like the final judgment. Like this was the moment of truth that would decide his and his sisters fate.

Polly was waiting in the living room, allowing the family to reunite first before she introduced herself, but when she heard the door open she made her way to the hall, where a handsome fellow stood, who looked a lot like Tom, but a bit older. She stuck out her hand and said: “Polly Schofield, it’s an honor to meet you after all I heard.”

Joe took her hand and kissed it, while he said: “Hopefully all good things. Joseph Blake, but call me Joe. At your service.”

Tom elbowed Joe, but it was ignored. Then Mary and Jane came into the hall as well. They’d been playing in the backyard and it had taken them a while to catch on to what was happening, but now they came running.

Skidding to a halt, Jane introduced herself first. She confidently stuck out her hand and said: “I’m Jane, you must be Joe. That’s Mary.”

Mary waved and softly said: “Hi.”

Joe shook Janes hand, then Marys. He said: “I am Joe, it’s a pleasure to meet you both.”

Pleased Jane smiled, then demanded: “Can you tell us a good story? One about France. Uncle Will and Uncle Tom ran out.”

Polly chuffed her lightly and berated: “Jane, be polite. How many times have I told you not to demand things. You ask nicely, with a please.” the she turned to Joe and said: “I’m so sorry about that. Kids, you know, they’re excited easily and they love stories. Please, don’t take it too hard.”

Joe gave her a warm smile and assured her: “It’s quite alright. I don’t mind at all. I’d love to tell these two lovely girls a story, but I would appreciate something to drink first.”

“Of course, thank you. I put on the kettle, fancy some tea?” Polly replied, showing them to the kitchen.

Meanwhile, Will sighed with relief. Joe seemed to like Polly enough and he hadn’t been bothered by Janes forwardness. He was lucky the Blake family was so warm and friendly.

Joe then spend a few minutes on the floor petting and cuddling with an excited Myrtle, before the seven of them sat down around the table and drank in peace, while Joe told them about his journey back. It hadn’t been too bad and he was mostly sad that it had taken the government so long to get them home. He said: “There are a lot more poor buggers out there in the fields. It’s gonna be months before everyone’s home, maybe over a year with how it’s going.”

Will grimaced at the thought, while Tom commented: “At least there won’t be more shells flying ‘round.”

“That’s true, but it still isn’t fun. Wouldn’t surprise me, if there is going to be some angry men causing trouble.” Joe replied.

“No, politics and negativity.” Mrs. Blake said, “There are children here and you’ve just got home. Why don’t we enjoy that?”

“Sorry, mum.” the two brother said in sync and Will couldn’t help, but chuckle at it. Tom looked at him and grinned: “What are you laughing at, Scho.”

Will straightened himself and answered: “Nothing, just- No, it’s nothing.”

“Was something I said funny.” Tom asked teasingly as he poked Will in his side.

Will shook his head and bit his lip to avoid laughing some more at the continuing pokes. When they didn’t seize Will exclaimed: “Stop it, Tom.”

Tom stopped and raised a brow at him, so Will explained: “Just hadn’t realized how much you two are alike until I saw you next to each other.”

“We don’t look that much alike.” Joe complained, “Why does everyone always say that.”

“Well, if you don’t mind,” Polly said, “you do both have the same hair and the same eyes. And you kind of have the same face shape, although Toms is softer.”

The two brothers hummed and looked at each other, then they both burst out laughing. The giddiness of seeing one another after all that time finally settling in.

It took them quite a while to calm down, since every time they mad eye contact they would start laughing again. The others just looked at them with bemused expressions, but finally they calmed down.

By that time it was near supper and Mrs. Blake and Polly went to prepare dinner, while Jane and Mary ran off to play some more, leaving the three ex-soldiers alone at the table. Since it had been a tight fit before, Will and Tom were sitting almost pressed together, but even with the new space they didn’t move. Joe noticed, but didn’t comment.

They sat in silence for a moment, then Joe asked: “So, how’s it been here. I know some things, but I can’t imagine you told me everything.”

“We told you quite a lot.” Tom said, “Jane and Mary are enjoying school, mum is happy to have a daughter, Will works at the bookshop and I got a permanent job at the Lee farm.”

“But that’s just superficial, isn’t it.” Joe told him, “I haven’t seen you in years, you’ve grown up, there are new people living here. There must be new habits and stuff I don’t know about.”

Tom wracked his brain, before he replied: “Well, me and Will walk Myrtle every morning now. Usually ‘round five or six.”

“What are doing up so early in the morning.” Joe ribbed him.

Will winced, feeling a bit guilty he was usually the reason, while Tom explained: “Can’t really sleep in that late most of the time, both left over from the army training and the nightmares, you know. Do you have a lot of nightmares already?”

Joe frowned as he shook his head.

“I’m glad.” Tom said, “I haven’t got it that bad, but sometimes it can get to you. If you do get them, don’t mind waking one of us up to keep you company.”

“That sounds horrible.” Joe exclaimed.

“It is, but there not much to do about them.” Will shrugged, “I mostly feel bad that I wake the whole house along with me.”

“I think mum sleeps through them already and I haven’t heard the twins about it either.” Tom tried to assure him.

“I hope I will avoid them, but I will keep you to your word if it comes to pass.” Joe told them.

“Please do.” Will responded.

After that the conversation turned to a happier pace as Will told Joe about Pollys dream of owning an inn that he was saving for and the hospitably he had received from their mother. Tom in turn talked about Myrtles puppies he had seen before they were sold and the twins antics and love for stories.

Then they all ate supper and it was bedtime for the girls. When they’d been put to bed the adults drank tea by the fire place until one by one everyone retired upstairs. First it was Mrs. Blake then Polly until Joe was also ready to collapse after the day he had.

Before he left he asked: “You two sure, you’re alright?”

From the couch the two nodded and Tom said: “Yeah, we’ll try to get a bit more tired before we’re going to bed, but we’ll see you in the morning.”

Joe shot them one more look, before he left to sleep a peaceful night. He had to be up early the next day to go back to work after all.

And over the course of the next week they all fell into a new rhythm with Joe back. Tom and Will were still usually the first two up, followed by Jane and Mary, who woke up Polly to make them breakfast, then Joe, who usually was in time to join the three girls and finally Mrs. Blake, who was always in time to wave everyone off to work or school.

It was Monday night when the peace was disturbed. Will was honestly surprised it had taken that long for a big nightmare to hit, so it didn’t come out of nowhere.

The tossing is what woke Tom up. Will was pressed up against his side, so when he bumped into him multiple times it was only natural for him to wake up. He blinked blearily a few times then turned to Will and whispered: “Will, wake up, love.”

Will didn’t react, so Tom poked him and shook him softly as he whispered his name again, now a bit louder. No response came, besides a twisting of the head and a pained expression. Tom frowned, most of the time Will would be awake after that.

Beside him Will started to whimper along with more violent shudders. His head whipped from side to side and his face was contorted. He clenched his fists tightly.

Tom realized he had to wake Will and quick, so he shook his shoulder again and said his name out loud. But Will only flinched from the touch and didn’t wake. So, Tom tried again, this time he got a fist swung at him, which he barely dodged.

He was completely alert now and he saw that this was one of the really bad ones. They barely happened and had lessened over time, but when they happened they were terrifying and Will always felt horrible after. Especially that one time he had managed to punch Tom accidentally in his sleep. Tom had assured him that he knew Will couldn’t help it and it was fine, but the other man had been extra nice to him for weeks.

Acting as fast as he could, he expertly swung his leg over Will to straddle him and pinned his right arm and the wrist while holding the left shoulder down, being careful of Wills left arm.

Will was now twisting even more violently as he tried to escape the grip, making the bed creak heavily. He was also grunting and attempting to kick his feet, which Tom was holding down with his feet on Wills knees.

Tom was now also just yelling at Will to wake up, so they were making quite a ruckus.

Mentally he felt bad to wake the entire house, most of the time they never really woke anyone, but with these it was pretty unavoidable. The girls had learned to leave them alone and check up on them in the morning, but Joe had never experienced this so when he heard the noise he got out of his bed and rushed towards the room Will and Tom shared.

When he got there Will had calmed down considerably and Tom was leaned over him trying to get him to the land of the conscious.

As Joe threw open the door he was met by the sight of Tom straddling Will on the two beds pressed together and he was just in time to hear Tom say: “Will, love, you need to wake up. Please, wake up, love.”

Feeling like an intruder, Joe silently closed the door only to knock on it and say: “I’m coming in.” as he opened the door again.

Tom looked at him like a deer in headlights as he realized the compromising position he and Will were in. He didn’t leave his position though, just said: “It’s not what it looks like, okay. He’s having a nightmare. Just give us a moment, I think I almost got him.”

Joe stood on the threshold awkwardly, while Will blinked with confusion as Tom carefully released his hold on him.

Normally Tom would hug Will close once he had found his bearings, but with Joe there that wasn’t an option. So instead he put a hand on Wills shoulder and asked: “Are you there, mate?”

He hoped Will would catch the unusual nickname and realize what was going on, before he did something stupid.

Luckily Will was too out of it to do something stupid. He looked around with a frown as his brain tried to catch up to what had happened. He saw Toms concerned eyes with in the background the open door where he could make out Joe's silhouette. He asked: “It happened again, didn’t it? I’m so sorry, really.”

He let out a frustrated sigh and pinched his brow as he hunched into himself.

With a sad look on his face Tom looked at his lovers reaction. He wanted to comfort him, but with Joe there that couldn’t happen, so he turned to his brother and said: “Can you go and put on the kettle for some tea? We’ll be right behind you.”

Sensing the underlying message of ‘get out’, Joe nodded and turned on his heel as he hurried downstairs.

Now that Joe was gone, Tom gathered Will into his arms and let Will listen to his steady heartbeat as he gently stroked his hand through Wills hair and whispered: “It’s alright, love, just breathe for a second. Nothing is wrong, it happens. It’s alright. You’re okay. You’re okay.”

He heard Will mumble: “But it’s not.”

“How come, love?” Tom asked as he lessened his hold so that he could look in Wills eyes.

Will looked away and softly said: “I could’ve hurt you.”

“But you didn’t.” Will hunched farther into himself, “Will, love, look at me.” Will looked at him, “You didn’t hurt me, we’re both fine. It happens and I know you hate it, but it’s alright now. We’re gonna go downstairs and drink a cuppa with Joe and then you’re going back to bed.”

Will started to protest, so Tom shushed him: “I know how exhausted you are after these dreams and it can’t be later than three and you still have work in the morning.” then he dropped a kiss on Wills nose.

Pouting Wills shoulders sagged in defeat and he started to get up, but before they could leave the room he fearfully asked: “Oh no, what will Joe think?”

“Joe might pity you,” Tom told him honestly, “but he won’t think less of you. He was a commander, he’s seen a lot of things in France as well.”

That calmed Will considerably and he ran his hand through his hair one more time, which didn’t help the bird nest it had become during the night, then he walked down the stairs. Tom on his trail.

There Joe had already put down three steaming mugs on the table, which he was sat at. He smiled at them when they walked in and said: “Glad to see you awake, Will.”

Awkwardly Will rubbed the back of his head as he replied: “Sorry for waking you. I should’ve warned you more or at least told you, you could stay in bed when that happened. You shouldn’t have to get up in the middle of the night for this…”

He trailed off and gestured vaguely at the air to mean all that had happened tonight.

Joe gave him a comforting older-brother smile and said: “Don’t worry about it. I don’t mind, I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“Exactly.” Tom said as he pushed Will down into a chair and sat down next to him, gripping his tea.

The silence that hung over the trio while they drank was tense. Will felt already awful about the nightmare and about waking Joe, while Tom was worrying about Will and how Joe had found them and Joe was unsure where he stood right now and what was okay to ask both about the nightmare and the compromising position.

When the tea was gone and they had gone upstairs. Joe asked Will: “Are you sure you’re okay to go back to bed?”

Tom answered for him: “He is. He still needs rest if he wants to function tomorrow.”

Behind him Will smiled at Tom, before looking at Joe and nodding. He answered too: “I am, thank you, Joe.”

Then they parted ways.

The next day Joe didn’t see them at breakfast. They were already gone with Myrtle and apparently they were walking a big route that day, already having lunch prepared for themselves and barely stopping by to bring Myrtle back later.

At breakfast Joe asked: “Did you all wake up last night. ‘Round half past two?”

Polly gave him a look and asked: “You mean when Will had a nightmare?”

Joe nodded and Mrs. Blake said: “Yeah, we did. It’s terrible, the poor dear. We’re just happy Tom knows how to handle it, we would be lost. Many people around you after that doesn’t help, so we try to leave them be. Tom knows when to ask for help.”

Jane piped up: “Yeah, Uncle Tom is always there for Uncle Will.”

Mary agreed: “They love each other.”

Immediately Polly got big eyes and said: “Girls, stop that. You shouldn’t say that about your uncles. People can misunderstand that, just use care or are there for each other, okay. It’s different.”

Joe mulled that over, it seemed like Polly hadn’t notice how close her brother and his brother were, but then he saw her and his mum exchange a scared look before they looked at him. Were they afraid of what he would say? No, right?

He decided to leave it for later, and just said: “I’m glad to know that they don’t have to go through it alone. I saw a lot of men out there seek comfort in one another. People need other people to survive and they seem like good friends.”

Then he went back to eating like nothing happened and just hoped the other two adults had caught what he truly meant: I see it too and it’s okay.

But it all wasn’t mentioned again until weeks later. In that time Joe had observed many moments between Will and his brother, along with behavior from Polly and his mum that helped the two. He played along of course, but after a while he got sick of it. He knew they were all okay with it and he hated walking on eggshells in his own home.

They were sitting by the fire late at night on a Saturday. The kids had been put to bed, but Polly and Mrs. Blake had decided to stay up later as well. They were just chattering on about nothing particular when Joe said: “So, I noticed you’ve been waking up less, are the nightmares getting better?”

Immediately Mrs. Blake and Polly gave him a startled look, while Will ducked his head in embarrassment and Tom glanced at Will. Joe winced and asked: “Were we not supposed to mention it?”

Trying to get over his embarrassment, Will said: “No, no, it’s fine. It’s not like everyone here doesn’t know.”

The others let out a relieved sigh at Wills dismissal, but those breaths were sucked in again when Joe went on: “Good, I’m sorry about that. You at least have Tom here to help you.”

Tom stopped in the middle of his sip, while Will froze except for his eyes which darted helplessly from Joe to Tom.

A beat of silence passed like that before Tom coughed slightly and said: “Well, yeah, he does the same for me. We’re friends.”

Will swallowed heavily and nodded, his eyes full of relief at Toms deflection. Mrs. Blake also was relieved and with the hope of shutting Joe down completely, she got up and asked: “Anyone want something else to drink?”

“Really?” Joe exclaimed annoyed, throwing his hands up, “We’re not going to talk about it? At all?”

Trying to play dumb, Mrs. Blake said: “About what, dear?”

“The walking together, the fact that the both of you make excessive noise before entering a room they’re alone in, the knocking instead of opening the door to the bedroom they share, the help with the nightmares, the heart eyes they make at each other during dinner. Just everything!” Joe ranted as he gestured to the two on the couch, “We all notice it.”

Tom chocked on his tea and started coughing, while next to him Will seemed to shrink into himself as he got a cagey look in his eyes and Polly shot Joe a betrayed look. Mrs. Blake just looked defeated as she sighed and berated: “Joe, you know what I’ve always said: ‘Live and let live, if it’s none of your business then you shouldn’t make it yours.’ Okay?”

At that Joe did look a bit guilty. He bit his lip then as he shrugged he said: “I just don’t get why we won’t just let the cat out of the bag and allow them to at least be happy in their own home.”

“That’s not for us to decide, dear.” Mrs. Blake told him.

Meanwhile, Will and Tom were beginning to function again. Tom chocked out: “You all knew?”

Polly asked in return: “You two thought we didn’t?”

“Tom, dear, you’ve never been the most subtle chap. You left your beds pressed together after you left with Will for London, to go meet his family.” Mrs. Blake said.

Tom flushed with embarrassment and replied: “I thought, you didn’t seek much behind it.”

“Yeah, I heard you call Will love.” Joe chipped in, “Missed the subtle mark on that.”

Will tried to mentally distance himself from the conversation and just pulled his knees up to his chest, but Tom just demanded: “When!”

“When Will had that nightmare.” Joe replied, “I walked in and you were straddling him and I heard you tell him to, quote: ‘Please, wake up, love.’ I pretended I didn’t see and walked in again. You really didn’t notice that?”

“No.” Tom said.

“Oh, I thought you did and we just agreed to pretend we both didn’t.” Joe said.

“But it’s no bid deal, right.” Polly chipped in, “We know and we don’t mind.”

“Sure, but just because you don’t, doesn’t mean other people don’t still want to murder us over it if they ever found out.” Tom shot back angrily.

He and Will lived in fear every single day, terrified of what everyone would think, if they started to suspect something was up even in the slightest and here they were. They had all known and now they were pretending it wasn’t a big deal.

His comment had silenced everyone, leaving them with a disquieted look on their faces. Polly said: “Sorry, I didn’t realize how that was for you, I just meant that this can be a good thing. You can just be yourself, here, at home.”

“I suppose, but how will Jane and Mary take it? How can we make sure they keep it secret? They’re kids, they might get excited or just forget. That is a huge risk.” Tom said.

“I can talk to them?” Polly offered.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” Tom told her.

“Just think about it for a few days, dear.” Mrs. Blake said, “This wasn’t the plan for tonight and must be very sudden,” a sorry from Joe, “but it might take away some anxiety.”

“Yeah, it probably will, but it’s just a lot to process all right now. We just need to talk about it for a moment.” Tom replied, then realized that Will hadn’t said a word the entire time. He turned to the ball that was Will and frowned with concern. Gently he put his hand on Wills shoulder and asked: “Are you alright, Will?”

Will didn’t respond for a moment, then he nodded, but you could see in his eyes that he was far away. Toms eyes softened and he sighed quietly as he repeated himself even more gently.

Polly was also very concerned and she asked: “What’s wrong?”

Tom looked at her and smiled before assuring her: “He’s okay, just not here. Just give him a moment.” then he turned back and said: “Will, love, come back here, please.”

He was still hesitant to use the pet name, but he supposed it couldn’t do more harm now and it was usually effective. It didn’t disappoint this time either. Will blinked and slowly the haze left his eyes and he asked: “What?”

“Nothing, just checking if you’re alright there.” Tom answered with a smile.

Will swallowed and said: “Yes, I suppose so.”

“Good.” Tom told him then asked: “Did you hear what happened or did you miss it?”

After wracking his brain for a moment, Will answered: “I think I did.”

“Good.” Tom said again, not pushing a lot further. He knew how Will could get, he himself was scared about this as well, but at least it was his home and his mother and brother, instead of people he barely knew. Polly was there as well, of course, but she kind off owed them for letting her and her children stay, which sounded horrible in his head, but did keep him a bit calmer around her in this situation.

Mrs. Blake clapped her hands and stated: “I think that was enough excitement for one evening. Why don’t we get back to this later, once everyone got their thoughts in order. I am for one knackered and I still have to attend church tomorrow, so I’ll be going to bed now.”

Glad to have an excuse to get Will alone, Tom said: “You’re right.”

Then he stood up and pulled Will up as well. Will went along willingly as Tom steered him upstairs. Tom was aware of how this could look, but he reckoned that with all this no minds would stray along a dirty track.

Once they were in their room, Will was fully there again and he flopped on the bed with a groan. Tom laughed: “Gosh, me too.”

Peeking up Will asked: “Did that really just happen?”

“That it did.” Tom nodded.

Will groaned again, but sat up and looked at Tom. He thought for a second then said: “Could have been a lot worse.”

Tom agreed: “Yes, it could’ve.”

“You don’t sound awfully happy about that.” Will said, bit of concern at what could be wrong creeping into his voice.

“No, no, I am. Of course I’m happy about this outcome.” Tom quickly said, “It’s just weird, you know? I feel like they will look at everything differently, like every action will be analyzed and I don’t want my mum to look at me like that. And how are we going to do that with Mary and Jane? I mean, they are smart girls, but one time will be enough, but if we have to hide from just them that will be a whole other set of gymnastics. Sorry, I’m rambling.”

“No, it’s good to get it out there. Get your thoughts in order.” Will assured him, glad to have something as familiar as Toms ranting to focus on.

Tom sprawled over the bed next to him, then turned to look at Will and ask: “What do you think? About the whole thing, I mean.”

Will fell back down again and laid next to Tom sideways over the bed, feet hanging over the side as he thought about it. After a moment he carefully said: “I think, it is a good thing.”

“You do?” Tom asked.

“Surprised?” Will replied with a smile.

Tom rubbed his face and gestured into the air as he said: “I mean, kind off, with the whole reaction to it.”

Will shrugged: “Fair, I just got overwhelmed by the idea of it so suddenly, you know?” Tom nodded he understood, so Will went on: “But it also feels a bit freeing, like I don’t have to carry the burden of that lie so much. And as far as Mary and Jane go, I think we don’t actively have to hide. Maybe tone it down a bit around them, but I think if Polly sits them down as has a long talk with them that they’ll understand. They’re almost eight, they can handle it.”

“You really think that?” Tom asked.

Will nodded and Tom replied: “Then I guess it is pretty good.”

The next day they gently pulled the three adult aside one by one. Joe apologized again for just bringing it up like that and was glad they forgave him. Mrs. Blake just gave them both a hug and told Will he already was like a son to her, which almost made Will cry. Polly was also happy and she promised to be very clear and strict to the girls.

After that things mostly stayed the same. Will and Tom still took walks together, Mrs. Blake still waved everyone off each day and the twins still demanded stories. But now Tom used ‘love’ more than Will, they held cuddled up together on the couch, sometimes gave each other a peck on the cheek before leaving and Joe had been upgraded to Uncle Joe.

It was good.

Not perfect, but good. Very good.

They still had to hide for the outside world, but they had their own little bubble of acceptance where they could be themselves and be happy. And that was more than enough.

[lilacmiracle]

The Terrifying Case of Iplier Manor - Chapter 1

Beta read by @mysterio-is-the-truth

Fandoms: Markiplier, Buzzfeed Unsolved

Note: Quotation marks are Ryan narrating, bold is Shane speaking, italics are Ryan speaking, both bold and italics is the psychic, both bold and italics and in all caps is the spirit box

(AO3) Words: 4,356

The video opens on a series of clips that are presumably filmed later in the episode. The first clip shows Ryan in front of a broken mirror while looking over at Shane, asking, breathlessly, “What the fuck?” The second clip shows Ryan, still in front of the broken mirror, with a bottle of what is presumably holy water. He sprays it at Shane. The third and final clip shows Ryan, Shane, and a new person, all in a different room, this one with a wood fireplace, with a flashlight that has been brightly turned on. The flashlight switches off, and Ryan screams very loudly. 

The video then cuts to the intro for most ‘Supernatural’ episodes, with the building in the background being a version of the Manor, rendered in a 2-Dimensional style.

The video then cuts to Ryan and Shane standing in front of the double doors to the Manor, with Ryan on the right and Shane on the left.

“We are here at Iplier Manor, site of the Warfstache Disappearances, for this season’s finale and my one demon sacrifice for this season.”

I’m really fucking scared, man. I -- I don’t wanna do this.

It’s fiiiiiine. I mean, what’s the worst that’s gonna happen? Spooky lawyer ghosts?

We could die! We could disappear like those other people!

Only if the Colonel comes.

“This house, if it is, in fact, inhabited by a demon, is by far the most dangerous location that we have ever investigated. As such, we have brought in a psychic to help us in our investigation.”

The new person from the third clip steps into frame. She appears to be an older woman with short, gray hair and loose clothes. She is wearing loose necklaces and an abundance of bracelets that hang off of her wrists.

Hello, my name is Lily, and I am here to help these two with their investigation on this Manor right here.

With that, the Ghoul Boys™ and Lily head inside of the Manor.

I have a Bible and my holy water.

You’re gonna be fine, Ryan.

I sure hope so.

“This episode is going to be rather out of the ordinary with regards to our other demon investigations, considering the fact that we have already covered the history of this house in our last True Crime episode. However, there are a few odd occurrences inside of these walls that were not covered in that video.”

The video cuts to black, fading into a black-and-white image of Mark Iplier. Ryan’s narration continues.

“This Manor has a long history of misery, being the place of many a divorce and untimely death, all of which were ruled to be by natural causes. Things start getting weird when the actor Mark Iplier buys the house for himself and his new wife, Celine Iplier, in early 1913. Investigators found a diary that is believed to have been owned by Celine Iplier. The entries in this diary paint a terrible picture -- Mark was being twisted into the form of a monster, wrote one entry.”

The image on the video had shifted into an image of Celine when Ryan mentioned her. Now, it shows an image of aged paper, with a message written in practiced cursive. A female voice begins to read:

“Friday, February 20, 1914,

This house has become more and more oppressive. I sense darkness within it, and I think that Mark does as well. I am concerned, for if he feels what I can -- he is not trained in anything beyond our world, he has no access to what is past our mortal realm. For the house to make itself known, even to him, is a sign of something terrible.

I can feel him changing, shifting; he has been ever since he bought this place. Hell, he changed the moment he set foot through those damned doors. I don’t know what the house is twisting him into -- I just know that I won’t like the end result.”

There is a sound effect of the turning of a page, and the image onscreen is replaced by a new one -- another aged piece of paper, the same perfect penmanship, a different message that’s somehow even more ominous. The same voice begins to read:

“Wednesday, August 5, 1914,

Mark hasn’t gotten a job in months. He quit the studio in June, and he keeps telling me that he’ll try for a job with another. He’s not going to, and I don’t have to be psychic to see that. He keeps wasting away in his office, today is no different. He keeps going to the wine cellar, but whenever I go, no wine is missing.

I don’t know what he’s doing. Mark’s beginning to scare me -- he fired our butler. Again. He wouldn’t have done that two years ago. This Mark isn’t the one I married two years ago, either. 

This house is twisting him, and I fear the image that he is being molded to. My concerns aren’t being listened to, either -- everyone’s saying it’s the stress of the War. That’s not it, wars don’t make men stay away from their wives for weeks at a time. Wars don’t make men fire staff member after staff member, or buy car after car, while doing nothing at all with the luxuries that they’ve bought. Wars don’t change men like Mark has changed.

I want my husband back. And I want this fucking house burned to the ground.”

Another page turn, another piece of paper. It’s still old, and still covered in Celine’s perfect handwriting. A new message is upon it.

“Friday, May 14, 1915,

Mark is dead, and whatever’s walking around in his body isn’t him. I’ve mourned and made my peace with that. The thing wearing his face is a selfish and awful monster.

It still hosts parties like Mark did -- the same poker nights that are always won by (the writing is redacted. Written over it, in white, is “The District Attorney,” despite the fact that the person that it must be referring to won’t even be the DA for another 5 years), the same cocktail parties for the sole purpose of social climbing. Those parties are the same as before, which is almost insulting. The only difference is that Mark, our friends and I used to make fun of the pompous jerks, afterward. Now he sends them home with everyone else. He never speaks to me, either.

Parties are the only times I see my brother anymore. I miss Damien, almost more than I miss Mark. But I know that Damien is within reach. I know that I can worm my way past the monster, if only for a few hours. But Mark is too far gone to even be contacted through the beyond. I fear that I will never see him again, even after I die. That almost scares me more than the monster.”

Another entry.

“Saturday, October 7, 1916,

William returned yesterday. He says to call him Colonel now, but I don’t think I ever will. It’s too impersonal, and it glorifies the War far too much. The War cost William his leg, and too many others their lives.

Will may be my only escape from the monster. He hasn’t let me leave this house in months, not even to see Damien. There’s a poker night on Tuesday, the 10th. I know that William will be there, and I know that the layout of the house will disorient him. When he gets lost in the house, I can find him. He’ll be away from ‘Mark,’ far enough away that I can convince him to run away with me. I know that he will, I know that he still loves me, even after our breakup, and even after my wedding.

I only have one chance to escape. William is my last hope, and if I fail, my fate will be at the hands of the monster.

At times like this, I think of my husband. My real husband. I miss Mark dearly, but I know that I could never bear to look at him if he came back. His image has been far too tainted by the thing that is wearing his face.

This will be my final entry. I am hiding this diary in the hopes that it may one day be found by those who may purchase this accursed Manor. Know that if I have mysteriously died or disappeared, it was caused by something taking the form of Mark Iplier. 

Know that this Manor isn’t safe.”

Well that was something.

That was an adventure. We’ve got body snatchers, we’ve got cursed houses, we’ve got reclusive husbands. Hell, this would make a great book!

(wheeze)

“These diary entries tell the horrifying tale of Celine Iplier, who was terrorized by the demon within this very Manor. It took the form of her husband, Mark Iplier, whom she was later able to divorce. She regained her maiden name, which has now been lost, along with many other names of those present at the party almost exactly four years later.”

What’s weird -- and I mean it’s really fucking weird -- is she did still disappear mysteriously. With whatever made itself look like her ex-husband.

That is weird, yeah, but it’s also four years later. I think it’s a coincidence.

But it’s four years to the day!

Coincidence. Although -- this does paint Warfstache in a whole new light.

It does, actually. He’s the hero now!

Good for him.

“Speaking of Warfstache, we are now going to be entering the room that matched the location of his supposed ‘séance room.’ When it was investigated, there was no evidence of anything supernatural at all, though it doesn’t hurt to look.”

The crew enters the room, which is set up with a table in the center. Around it are three chairs, presumably meant for Shane, Ryan, and Lily. There are three lit candles sitting on the center of the table.

We are going to be performing a séance in this room, the one where Damien and Celine allegedly disappeared. We will be attempting to contact their departed spirits, in the hopes that they will be able to give us answers as to the events that transpired in this house.

Shane, Ryan, and Lily all sit at the table. They join hands around the table, encircling it.

Close your eyes, everyone.

Shane, Ryan, and Lily all close their eyes.

We are reaching out to one or both of the twins Damien and Celine, who disappeared in this house in the year 1920. If either of you are present, please send us a sign.

Nothing happens for a moment. The room is silent, the only light coming from the flames of the candles.

Lily visibly shudders.

Something is here. I do not know who, or what, it is. Ryan, if you could ask your first question?

Yes. Are you Damien or Celine?

I -- I just felt a “No.” In my head. I don’t think that it’s either of them.

Are you, or were you, human?

Another “No.”

Are you a demon?

Lily breathes deeply, as if steeling herself.

“Yes.”

Ryan visibly tenses. Shane continues his questioning.

Are you the demon that looked like the actor guy?

Lily becomes unnaturally still for a moment, as if she’s listening to something that nobody else can hear.

It -- it says that it never looked like him. It never possessed him. It just ... spoke to him. Are you intending to harm anyone in this circle tonight?

Silence. The video cuts ahead, almost imperceptibly, as everyone is still in the same position as before.

Fifteen minutes have passed with no answer. The demon has ended the séance.

Lily opens her eyes and releases Shane and Ryan’s hands. The others follow suit.

I’m really freaking out now.

You’ve got your holy water, man. And your Bible.

I -- yeah. I have holy water and I’m not afraid to use it.

You think it was telling the truth? About not possessing the guy?

Are you actually admitting that a real demon was talking to us?

I’m not admitting anything. I’m invested in the story, though.

The story.

Yeah, the story. Was the guy possessed like the wife says, or did he just become a total douche? Fame can do that to people, you know.

You didn’t need fame for that, you dick.

Shush, you.

“After the séance, we’re going to be walking around the Manor so that Lily can get a general sense of the place and if there’s anything that she can pick up on that we haven’t.”

I would just like to say, before we leave this room -- I can feel something here. Unrelated to the recent séance.

Ryan hesitates, then says, 

Please elaborate.

Something ... bad ... happened here. In this room. I sense feelings of confusion, betrayal, loss ... regret. I -- hang on.

She moves to another area of the room, closing in on herself.

Something terrible happened, right in this spot. Somebody died right here. The thing is, though, I can usually sense if it’s a masculine or a feminine presence. I can definitively say that there was at least one masculine presence, the one that died in this spot. But the other ... seems to alternate between the two. And not in a natural way, either; it feels like a woman was possessed by something male. These ‘presences’ aren’t here right now, though, Ryan, you can relax.

Ryan had tensed up, but now he relaxed slightly after Lily told him to.

These are ... echoes of people that were here, ones that went through something awful. These echoes feel very similar to each other, at least, the masculine one and the feminine part of the other. I think that Damien and Celine did die here. I can also sense that they are still wandering this plane, still stuck roaming the mortal realm ... but they left this Manor long ago. We won’t see any of them tonight.

With that, she exits the room, beckoning for Shane and Ryan to follow.

“Our first stop is by an object that most paranormal investigators have agreed is one of the most active places in this Manor.”

The crew stops near a broken mirror on the first floor of the building. There is a large hole just to the left of the center of the mirror.

There is a lot of energy here. You boys might like to use your ‘Spirit Box’ here later. I can feel ... quite a lot, a lot of people, a lot of emotion, right here. I can feel an echo of a man, just over there.

She points to an area just past the mirror, towards what appears to be a room with large double doors leading outside. They are covered by curtains, and made almost completely of glass.

There is a sense of ... pity. Towards him, from someone over here. This mirror feels ... empty. Not empty as in ‘there’s nothing there,’ but empty as in apathetic. Someone fought desperately, kicked and screamed and did everything in their power to get someone, anyone, to help them ... but nobody came. So, they slowly gave up. The fight drained until they finally realized that nobody would, or even could, save them. Now they’re trapped in the eternal hell of the mirror, abandoned by those they thought to be friends. I ... don’t know where that came from, I’m sorry.

Don’t be.

Well, I can tell you that the presence in the mirror was human, but now they’re a spirit. Neither a masculine nor feminine presence, but I think that that discrepancy is a natural one. I can also feel ... something familiar, similar to the room we were in a few minutes ago.

The séance room?

Yes. It is only an echo, but it feels ... powerful. Very, very powerful. And ... angry. On a quest for revenge, hoping to right the wrongs done unto it. Them. It feels like multiple people in one echo, which ... I don’t like that. But ... that echo held the souls of Damien and Celine, but ... not. It was them, but broken. Only bits and pieces of their souls were pieced together into this ... amalgamation. I just ... I really don’t like the energy over here anymore. May we go on?

Of course.

Shane and Ryan hang back a bit.

That was intense. Maybe it possessed her? A bit? Or the thing in the mirror was lonely, and went kind of overboard in expressing itself. Maybe?

We can ask it with the Spirit Box later. Of course, I would not be at all opposed if you didn’t want to.

Why? You scared, Shane?

It’s loud and annoying and, frankly, if I don’t have to hear it then I wouldn’t mind at all.

Yeah, it is kind of loud and annoying.

Thank you.

But we’re still doing it.

*sigh*

The video cuts to the crew walking around various hallways and into various rooms. A few occasional creaks and thumps can be heard, but they’re all easily explainable as the house settling. It is uneventful, until Lily suddenly stops at the top of a balcony on the second floor. Shane and Ryan turn around to see her grasping at the rail with a white-knuckled grip, her eyes squeezed shut.

I ... someone died here. Someones, actually. Two people died in this general area.

Can you tell us if you have any idea of who?

Yes. I need a moment, though.

She walks back to a window that she had passed a moment ago. She kneels below it, her head bowed. She stands again.

I can feel it. A man died right here, very suddenly. I would say that I smell gunpowder, but I don’t smell it, I only sense it. This man wanted justice, he wanted answers for ... I’m sorry. I don’t know.

That’s alright. Can you give any more insight as to who he was?

Yes. Something about him is very ... fixed. He stuck to what he knew, and what he was familiar with. He always had a partner, even though none of them lived to tell the tale.

The Detective.

That seems to make sense, considering everything that I’m getting from him. I think his name was ... “Abe.” 

Thank you. Now, can you tell us anything about the other death?

Yes. It was over here, I believe.

She walks back to the balcony, gripping the rail. She never looks over the edge, instead staring into the camera.

It was just as sudden as Abe’s. A gunshot. They were trying to help their partner, though they didn’t blame the culprit. Everyone was high-strung at the time, and the Detective was ‘poking the bear,’ at least, that’s what I’m getting from them.

Their partner ... this must be where the District Attorney died.

This feels eerily similar to the spirit in the mirror.

One could hear a pin drop, with how silent it got. After a moment, Lily continued.

They were shot, and then they fell over this balcony right here, all the way to the ground below.

Lily looks over the railing, gripping it with both hands. Her knuckles are white, when suddenly she reaches out, screaming,

IT WAS AN ACCIDENT, I SWEAR!

It echoes in the hall for a moment. Everyone, even Shane, stands there in stunned silence. Lily retracts her hand, resting both gently upon the railing. She looks down. Her eyes are closed. She murmurs, softly, almost to herself,

It’s not fair, is it?

Lily shudders and looks up and around, coming back to herself. She folds her arms tightly across her chest and breezes past the camera, murmuring, 

I’m sorry, I have to go. I’ll be in the last room.

The video shows Shane and Ryan looking at each other in confusion and concern. The video shows the crew chasing after her for a bit, then cutting to a room with a couch and a fireplace, with a hardwood floor. It is the room that was shown in one of the clips that was played at the beginning of the video, the clip with the flashlights. Lily is there, with Shane and Ryan. Lily is standing in front of the fireplace.

Are you sure that you want to do this?

Yes, I’m sure. The flashlights will provide a mode of communication, so nothing will have to use me. This will actually be the safest thing that we have done thus far -- provided, of course, that we continue to adhere to the rules of proper conduct.

What are those? We haven’t heard of any kind of rules, except for not to directly incite anything to speak.

No, that’s not what I meant. You received general advice, of the kind that could be used in contact with any run-of-the-mill demon. This one, however, requires a bit of ... decorum. Most powerful demons are like that, and this Entity is no exception.

What are these rules, exactly?

You don’t need to worry, I’ll let you know if you come close to breaking any. Just continue as you were.

Okay, well, if you’re sure ... 

“We are currently sitting in the room that contained the makeshift crime scene, that was supposed to belong to Mark Iplier. The area that the body supposedly occupied was in front of that fireplace right there -” he gestured over to the fireplace “- and it is also here that he reportedly died. Once again, this was covered in our True Crime video, however, there are a few supernatural elements that we neglected to mention. Specifically, Warfstache’s reports of the body having disappeared less than 24 hours after it was discovered.”

The “poof” strikes again.

(uneasy laughter)

“There is no evidence to suggest that this body was moved through supernatural means, in fact, there is also no real evidence to suggest that a body was even here in the first place. The crude shape of a body lying on the ground was constructed of white tape, however, it was not likely that it was constructed by actual authorities, given that no records definitively place a body in this spot.”

Not to mention that the tape structure had a dick on it.

Wait, really? Like, the real outline had a dick?

Yep.

(disbelieving laughter)

“Additionally, many tests have been performed in this area to determine whether any bodily fluids, fingerprints, or any kind of remnant of a human body was present in this area. All that was found was half of a thumbprint, which could not be identified.”

The thumbprint was in the general area of where the thumb would have been, judging from the tape, but that’s not enough conclusive evidence to say, “yes, Mark Iplier did die here.”

It could’ve been any thumbprint, from anyone who was making the tape thing.

Yeah. Personally, I think that it was Iplier’s, but some may not exactly be inclined to believe that.

Lily takes the end of Ryan’s narration as her cue to begin investigating the room for an echo or a presence of any kind.

There was death here, but ... I do not sense any emotion from the victim. That’s ... very odd.

The “victim?” So the person that died here, were they mur-

NO!!!

Ryan and Shane glance at each other in shock.

Don’t say that word. It’s a rule for this demon.

Ryan gives a shaky exhale.

Thanks.

But to answer your question ... yes. The victim was ... killed by someone else.

Do you have any idea who?

I ... barely. He seems very similar to the man I sensed earlier, the one who was pitied by something near the mirror. I know it isn’t much, but ...

Thanks anyway, Lily. Now, let’s get into Shane’s favorite part ...

It’s flashlight time! 

A flashlight is set up as usual, with the setting almost hovering between on and off. It’s currently on, but it would be very easy to turn off completely. 

Okay, my first question: is anyone or anything with us right now? Please turn the flashlight off if you are willing to communicate.

The flashlight doesn’t change for a bit. Then, slowly, it dims and turns off. Ryan tenses up immediately, while Shane hardly reacts.

For the record ... this does feel very similar to the demon from earlier.

If you’re a demon, turn it back on!

The flashlight turns on almost immediately. It is shining rather brightly, brighter than before. Ryan shrinks back a bit. Shane, however, is laughing.

Turn it off ... if you’re gonna kill us!

The light turns off, and Ryan screams. Shane laughs at Ryan’s reaction.

Okay, demon, just one more question before Ryan starts talking ... turn the flashlight back on if you’re gonna disappear us like those other guys.

The camera focuses on the flashlight for a few minutes, but it remains off.

Wow, we’re not even gonna be a mystery? You’re just gonna kill us and not even bother making it interesting? You have no taste.

Shane is shaking his head in mock disappointment as Ryan laughs uneasily.

I am gonna be slaughtered in cold blood, and when I do I want it to be a goddamned mystery! I wanna be on Buzzfeed Unsolved! Fuck you!

Ryan is laughing louder now, and is beginning to relax.

Okay, uh, let’s get down to business. Did you kill the inhabitants of this Manor in October of 1920?

The flashlight remains off, immobile.

I think I scared him off.

Try one more question, Ryan?

Okay. Did you enable, or help along in any way, the deaths of the inhabitants of this Manor in October 1920?

The flashlight remains off for a moment. Then, slowly, it dimly turns itself on. Ryan jumps, but doesn’t freak out as badly as before. 

I ... I think that we’re done with the flashlights tonight.

Awww!

Shane pouts, while Ryan grabs the flashlight and turns it off. Lily stands, and nods at Ryan and Shane.

It seems that it is time to make my leave. Goodbye, you two.

Lily begins to walk away, as Ryan and Shane wave a short goodbye. Then as soon as she is about to leave the room, she stops and turns back.

Good luck. You’ll need it.

Then, she walks out of frame.

Tags: @lildevyl @ghostly-quest @turtlecrow @sandinthetardis

[dashuisofanubis]

Ghost AU

A house named after a deity of death has many secrets to hide.

A/N I came up with this AU over 2 years ago now, and started writing a fic for it, but I never finished it, so here's a tidied up version of the plotline. I might write some oneshots for this AU at some point but idk.

KT, Eddie and Willow are students at the University of Liverpool and are searching for somewhere to live. They find a house which, despite its size and grandeur, is cheaper than most houses around. They work things out with the landlord, Trudy and are soon ready to move in. They find out the reason this house was so cheap is because 5 years ago a student died at a party after having a tainted drink, and no one really wanted the house after that, saying it had a bad energy. While disturbed by the news, they move in anyway.

Willow says the energy isn't bad, if anything the house feels sad, or lonely. Trudy agrees with her and says the house could use some company.

They plan to get more roommates to help cover the costs, but first they have to clean the place up. Then they realise they already have some roommates....

Order of Appearance:

1822 - Victor (???)

1898 - Amber, 20 (Fell down the stairs) - hallway

1907 - Fabian, 19 (Fire) - tower room

1916 - Jerome, 18 (???)

1919 - Alfie, 16 (illness. His family moved out soon after) - lower bedroom

1953 - Joy, 17 (murdered) - attic

1953 - Patricia, 17 - (murdered, 2 weeks after joy, they were best friends and she was searching for her) - attic

1977 - Mara, 16 (drowned in the pond outside)

1996 - Mick, 15 (went in the house for a dare while it was derelict and fell through the floor) - tower room

2008 - Nina, 20 (tainted drink)- lounge

Amber and Fabian know roughly how Jerome died, but they're not telling. Alfie has some idea, but refuses to pry.

Mick, Mara, Patricia and Joy did not live in the house, they just died there. Jerome technically didn't live their either, he was staying with family friends (the Lewises)

They appear as they did when alive, but in times of stress or extreme emotion, they will look how they did at the moment of their death, i.e. Mara will drip water, Fabian will be covered in burns. While usually incorporeal, they can go poltergeist, which allows them to cause havoc. Usually this happens when they're angry, but they can do it just to mess about.

Jerome's usually silent and brooding, but Alfie can get him to loosen up and have fun. The few weeks before Eddie, KT and Willow know about the ghosts, they mess with them constantly.

For instance, Eddie is certain he left his keys on the counter, but for some reason they're in the fireplace. Both his housemates deny any allegations, but he still thinks KT did it.

Willow is most aware, feeling almost imperceptible changes in temperature. Plus, it doesn't help that she saw Amber looking back at her through the mirror on their first day. Now she just need to convince the others.

KT is confused when she sees the word 'same' written on her desk, right under her pride flag, but guesses she wrote it last night while drunk.

The ghosts try to help, in their own way. Fabian and Mara like to help with the budgeting, Joy and Patricia like to shout film recommendations, Alfie likes to try and help cook.

Each ghost has some negative habits, brought about due to their deaths. Fabian has a fear of fire, so even candles and incense are banned, though Fabian and Willow came to an agreement that she could keep some in her room, so long as she kept the door shut when using them. Nina has a habit of smashing bottles of alcohol left on the side. Patricia tends to talk about all the details of her and Joy's deaths when she's nervous, and neither will go in the attic.

There's also an old ghost in the place, even older than Amber, who appears at 10 o'clock every night in the foyer. No one knows anything about him, except his name, which Amber knew from her childhood.

Jerome and Alfie keep trying to guess Eddie's full name

(They know exactly what it is, but it's fun)

"Edward could you lend a hand?"

"Theodore?"

"Edwina?"

Trudy knows about the ghosts, and was glad when she got some people to come live with them.

At some point Eddie, KT and Willow have to search for new housemates because despite having 7 that laze about in the house NONE OF THEM PAY RENT.

It's just unfortunate (or potentially fortunate) that their first applicant, a 22 year old music student, turns out to be Mick's baby sister. She ends up not moving in, but comes to visit so often she might as well have.

So yeah, basically this au is tired, suffering uni students trying to deal with coursework, adult stuff, and ghostly shenanigans at 3 in the morning.

[brianharoldmayjune]

How Could I Stay Mad at You?

Request: Just some fluff with mr.mazzello, maybe the bean is sick, that turns into some smut? thanks!

Pairing: Joe Mazzello x Reader

Warning: Just when you think its pure fluff- bam! its not.

Notes: You making Joe feel better... but like, more than just giving him medicine. Maybe a blow job? Guess you’re about to find out. 

Word Count: 1916

It had been an hour. A good hour of you waiting outside, sitting on a bench. You had work that day and Joe promised to pick you up once you were done. He said text him, which you did, and he’d be on his way. Although, when you texted him (an hour ago) he failed to answer.

Now, ten phone calls and way too many texts later, all that got no response from Joe, you decided to walk home. Even though your shared condo wasn’t that far, the heels and business attire you were clothed in made your journey five times worse.

“Unbelievable,” you huffed to yourself as you trudged down the side walk.

“Joe, you had one fucking job,” you continued to yourself. You concentrated on the ground to make sure you didn’t trip on anything, approaching the nearest intersection to your place.

You buzzed your fob to get in the main foyer, waiting for the elevator to pick you up. “You are never going to hear the end of this Joe,” you mumbled, stepping into the elevator, ready to lay it all on him.

You reached your door, jamming the key into the slot, nearly breaking it down as you did so. “Joseph Francis Mazzello,” you annunciated in a louder tone compared to a tone you would usually do.

You kicked off your heels, making your way into the condo, “I swear to god if you are in this-”

You stopped your sentence when you saw the sight in front of you. Your boyfriend, Joe, covered entirely under a large blanket with only his hair sticking out from the top. A tissue box was right beside him, with a few tissues layering the floor.

You ran over to him kneeling in front of his sleeping figure on the couch. “Baby, are you ok?” you said softly, gently pulling the blanket down that was covering his face to see him.

His face didn’t look paler than usual, though you could tell he was most likely drained and needed sleep. You placed the back of your hand to his forehead to feel his temperature.

“Y/n,” he said softly, opening his eyes slowly. His eyes remained slightly hooded as they adjusted to the light, looking up to you.

“Yeah, it’s me- are you ok?” You question, as he responded with a nod.

“How long have you been feeling like this?” You ask him, sitting down on the side of the couch beside his body. You rested one of your hands gently on his cheek, giving him a small frown.

“I left work at around noon with a headache and stuffy nose. I took a nap and well, here we are.” He looked up to you, giving you a small smile.

“Are you feeling better at least?” You lean over placing a kiss to his nose.

He nodded, “yea, my head doesn’t hurt anymore. It’s just my nose that is stuffed up, I think it’s my allergies.” You smile to his response.

“Well, how about I make you some soup. Get you fully restored?” you said standing up, having Joe quickly grabbed your hand to stop you.

“I never picked you up from work. Oh my god, how did you get home? I didn’t think I’d be asleep this long, baby,” The boy started to ramble, and all you did was giggle.

“It’s fine, Joe. I’m home, I’m alive, it’s all good.” You ruffle his hair, walking into the kitchen to make him soup. “Now, it’s time to make you feel good!”

“Do you need any help?” He asked, sitting up to watch you getting out the ingredients and placing them on the counter.

“No, babes. You just relax.” You turn back to look at him, giving him a mischievous wink.

“Alright, Joe. It’s done.” You say in a sing-song tone, pouring the contents into a bowl and bringing it over to him. He takes the bowl from your hands placing it in his lap, allowing you to sit down beside him.

“Thank you, I don’t know what I’d do without you, y/n,” he leant over kissing your cheek. He ate at the contents in the bowl, picking up a spoon full of soup and holding it to you. You smile, opening your mouth so he could slide the spoon in. When he pulled the spoon away, you made sure to purse your lips a little extra, staring him dead straight in the eyes.

“Can I have another one?” You ask with a tone softer than previously, leaning the side of your body against his. Joe simply nodded, raising another spoon to your mouth. This time, you made sure to lick your bottom lip after the spoon left your mouth.

“I’m still feeling a little hungry,” You give him a slight pout, looking up to him from under your lashes. He took another spoon to his bowl, raising it up to your mouth, except, you pushed his hand away.

“I was thinking something else,” you state plainly, taking the bowl and spoon out of his hands going to place it on the coffee table.

“And what exactly would that something else be?” He said with a slight sniffle at the end. He may be sick, but goddamn, he was the sexiest boyfriend you could ask for.

You stood up from your spot on the couch placing yourself to stand directly in front of him.

“What else did you make?” Joe asked, looking up to you. All you did was smirk.

“Oh, no- it’s what you’re gonna make,” you say with dominance lacing your voice. And with that, you got down on your knees. You put your hands on his knees, spreading his legs apart and fitting yourself in between them.

You rested your chin on the edge of the couch, inches away from his crotch, running both of your hands up his thighs till you got to the waistband of his pants. You looked up to him batting your lashes while looping your fingers through the belt holes of his pants and tugging them towards you.

“May I?”

All he could do was nod quickly, letting out a shaky “yes.”

You brought your hands to his zipper, unzipping his pants and unbuttoning the top button. You gently patted the side of his waist signifying to him he needed to lift himself up. He did just that, helping you tug both his boxers and pants down to his knees.

And just like that, there he was, sitting vulnerably in front of you, dick on full display just for his one and only.

“I’m gonna make you forget you were ever sick today, how does that sound, baby?” You ask, wrapping one of your tiny hands around the base of his cock.

“That sounds fucking beautiful,” he nearly moaned out, putting his hands in your hair to pull your head closer. Clearly, Joe was impatient but who could blame the guy?

You licked his tip, causing him to throw his head back with a loud groan emitting from the back of his throat. You swirled your tongue around his tip before bringing your tongue to lick a delicate line from the base to the top of his shaft.

His hands remained laced within your hair, head fully rested on the back of the couch as his focus remained towards the ceiling with his eyes shut. You started to slowly pump his cock with the hand that was already wrapped around it, allowing your other hand to gently massage at his balls.

“How are you feeling so far, honey?” you ask in the most innocent little girl voice you could put on. You know, juxtapose the whole dominant character thing.

After only responding with a nod, you decided that wouldn’t do.

“Use your words, I want to hear your moans, want to know you’re feeling better,” you say, replacing your pumping motions with gentle stroking.

“Feeling better,” he said quickly, trying to suppress his moans from you. In return, you removed both of your hands from his cock, bringing them to his thighs to rub them up and down.

“Is that all?” you ask teasingly, watching as his hips raised of off the couch to regain all of your touch back. All you did was place a hand on his stomach telling him to stop doing that. He obliged.

“Better- Much better,” Joe let out with a shaky breath, wanting your hands back to where they were before.

You nodded happy with his fixed response, grabbing his hands from out of your hair and placing them on either side of his legs, “Those stay there.”

With that, you brought your mouth around his dick, wrapping your hand around the length you couldn’t cover. With you sucking him off, it was getting difficult for him to contain his moans.

You though much needed dirty talk would fix that. Pulling your head away, which caused Joe to whine, you used your hand to pump his length.

“Your cock is so hard, baby. Do I make you do that... You going to cum for me?” Your pumping motions continuing as you flicked your tongue at his tip.

At this point, he was a moaning mess as you teased and toyed with him.

“Please, y/n. I’m so close.” his breathing heavy, hands clenched around the blanket that used to be wrapped around his own body keeping him warm.

“Please what, Joe?” you ask with a smirk, giving his tip another flick with your tongue. Another whiney moan escaped from his lips.

“Please, make me cum.” he stated, both sounding and looking as if he was about to give in and pump himself off to reach his climax.

“Only because you asked nicely,” you smile, giving a quick peck to his inner thigh then bringing your mouth back around his cock.

With what took only a few more seconds of pumping and sucking on him, a loud moan filled the room followed by, “I’m gonna cum.”

And he wasn’t lying, as a wave of bliss went over his body, falling limp against the couch, you felt his warm seed fill up your entire mouth.

You pulled away without swallowing to keep his cum in your mouth, straddling his lap and grabbing his chin. He opened his eyes to be met by yours, and just like that, you made sure to swallow his seed right in front of his eyes for him to enjoy.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, placing a long hard kiss on his lips. Once, you pulled away, you placed another small kiss on his forehead.

“And, how is my baby feeling now?” you ask, as his arms snake around your waist to pull you closer.

“Your baby is feeling one hundred time better,” he grinned, leaning towards you to give your lips another kiss. Of course, you kissed him back, catching his lips softly between your teeth and tugging on it as you pulled away.

“I hope you’re right when you say these are allergies, or I’m definitely going to catch whatever you got,” you sigh, although not with annoyance, leaning in to give him another kiss.

“Well, even if I’m wrong, I’m sure it wouldn’t be that bad,” Joe said smugly placing a final kiss to your lips. A kiss which soon turned into a lengthy make out session.

To say the least, you were hoping to get sick knowing Joe would know exactly how to make you feel better.

MASTERLIST

- Yours Truly, R.

[thathpheadcanongirl]

Why the Weasley’s are “Blood Traitors”

((I recommend treating this like a little chapter of the Black Family History Book. It coincides with the Bellatrix headcanon I posted a while ago. You don’t have to read it if you haven’t already, but it’s good to know some backstory before we get into another backstory. Anyway, below the “Keep Reading” tab, is a VERY in-depth speculation of why and how the Weasley family became “Blood Traitors”. Enjoy!))

Here’s the Black Family Tree for reference:

This is all speculation and guessing, but I believe that the Weasley family was a respected family in the Wizarding Community from the beginning of the 19th century until 1959. They had a good hundred years under their belt. Humble folk, the Weasley Family earned their keep by owning many successful farms and being the main agricultural resource for the Wizarding World. Their produce and livestock were always top-notch; they created many magical techniques and spells for the perfect product.

They were not “rich”, but respected. And respect, at the time, was all that was needed to be part of the “Sacred” families. That’s not to say they were poor; on the contrary, they were well-off. But of course, there were some shallow people in the exclusive group that were not very keen to share the same title as farmers. Still, the first generation of Weasleys would attend many a party, feeling a little out of place, but always courteous.

Their views on Muggles were more or less the same as everyone around them: Muggles did not have the advantage of magic; therefore, Wizards were superior. Did they seek out Muggles to trick them or cause them harm? No. I don’t think the first generation went too close to Muggleborns, but then again, there weren’t many Muggleborns revealing themselves at the time. If the Weasleys came across a Muggleborn, I believe they’d be a bit ignorant, but never intentionally.

Fast-forwarding to maybe the third generation of Weasley (assuming we’re following the Black Family Tree)… Cedrella Black was born between 1916-1918. Let’s assume, for the sake of argument, Cedrella was born 1917. We could speculate that Septimus Weasley was around the same age.

To give a brief summary of what we think the Black Family was like during that time… Arcturus (Cedrella’s father), Sirius II (Cedrella’s uncle) and Regulus (Cedrella’s first cousin from her Uncle Sirius) must’ve been very big advocates for blood purity (probably active Grindelwald supporters) and had to have done extraordinary things in the name of the Black Family to inspire Orion and Walburga to name their sons after them. Keeping that in mind, I believe the three of them were insanely bigoted and sadistic, quite like Bellatrix or what we could imagine Walburga was like.

To the Black family, the Weasley family was not extravagant enough to be accepted into the family easily. Besides the abundant success the Weasleys had with magical agriculture, they were “plain” and “simple”. (They were also almost all Gryffindors, which was received with big eye rolls from every Black.) But listen, Cedrella was quiet, so she was often put in the “plain” category too. I like to think Cedrella met Septimus in their mid-twenties, so in the 1930s. Despite their “plain” and “simple” stereotypes, Cedrella and Septimus end up hitting it off and remembered as the “life of the party”.

It wasn’t long before Septimus asked Arcturus for Cedrella’s hand. Arcturus initially said no because Cedrella was betrothed to her cousin, Regulus. (Oh, yeah! Regulus is, like, too gross-looking and too pro-Grindelwald for any outside suitor and Cedrella is too passive to say anything against her father’s wishes.) He also passive aggressively said that he didn’t think Septimus could take care of his daughter with the “little fortune” he has inherited. And he was also pretty sure that Septimus was only asking just so he could have a ration of the Black family inheritance. So, being the Gryffindor he was, he said “I’d rather be a poor man and in love than rich and heartless.” And that mere ripple started a very spiteful rivalry.

Septimus refused any and all of Cedrella’s inheritance for his personal gain. He encouraged Cedrella to keep it and use it when she wanted to, but he never touched it. He wanted to show Arcturus that he can make his own fortune.

He had inherited a portion of the Weasley farms (assuming he had other siblings before and/or after him). It wasn’t much, but he used creative means to make his portion flourish above the other portions. Only then did Arcturus give his daughter to Septimus (and yes, being the Weasley man he was, he damn-well waited for Arcturus’s approval).

Very shortly after getting married, Septimus and Cedrella had their first son out of maybe three. (The youngest of which was none other than Arthur Weasley.) They lived a “plain” and “simple” life with their successful farm.

At some point, possibly in the mid-1940s, times were getting a bit harder economically. Grindelwald’s infamy fragmented the socio-economic system, leaving the Wizarding World divided by class. That meant more “rich and influential” had the notion that they were so superior to Muggles and Muggleborns that anyone with magical blood who associated with them were just as inferior. And after Obscuri became public knowledge, there were task forces in every country centered on locating any magical activity coming from any household. This lead to many more Muggleborns being exposed and accepted into magical schools. ((I think I accidentally explained the whole FB epic plot lol!))

 After Muggleborns left school, most of them were forced to go back into the Muggle World because the segregation was REAL. No one wanted to hire them and it was really sad that most of them were super talented. Septimus’s business needed workers, and work was work regardless of “blood status”. This earned much hate from his in-laws and other people in the “Sacred” families. His fellow Weasley clan didn’t seem to mind, but it was tough on business for them to sell their goods as well. Nevertheless, his Muggleborn workers were friendly, happy to work and, dare he say it, better than he would have done. He paid all of his workers equally.

Business was bad on the Weasley farm in the mid to late 1940’s. Septimus was baffled to see such a decline in produce quality and quantity. Cedrella offered to help out with her inheritance, and, with that Gryffindor stubbornness, Septimus refused to touch it still. Cedrella tried to reason with him; they had another child on the way, and they had workers to pay. They couldn’t afford to do both. Septimus studied day and night on how to regrow his produce in time for harvest season. Just as he found a way, he woke up to all of his livestock dead in his fields. One of his Muggleborn workers was said to have poisoned them with the wrong food. (Some of the workers of “Wizard Decent” were passive blood purists and didn’t want to share the same place with “Mudbloods”. So, they “framed” the Muggleborns.) Septimus had no choice but to fire the men that were framed because of all the evidence pointing them to the crime. In doing so, Arcturus welcomed him with open arms. It was strange to be on his father-in-law’s good graces, especially now. And quite honestly, he wasn’t going to ruin it.

Cedrella was the one that thought it was wrong. She explained that her father liked him because he thought he had picked a side. She, for one, didn’t like sides and would have rather stayed in the grey area.

Septimus was okay with it until Arcturus invited him to the ritzy parties. And these parties were all full of influential people that supported Grindelwald’s hierarchy. Tom Riddle was a welcomed guest as well, with his few intimidating followers. Septimus felt uneasy sitting in on these dinners; they were full of bigots and loud elitists, and he wanted no part of it.

At some point, Septimus found a good time to start fighting back. Arcturus gloated about how his son-in-law fired all of his “Mudblood” employees, and Septimus boldly fires back that he had to clean house entirely.

 “Unfortunately, I had to let go the men who had falsely accused my good workers. But, luckily, I have those workers back. Bless them, for being so forgiving.”

 The whole hall went silent. Arcturus laughed to cut the tension.

 “Oh, Septimus,” barked Arcturus. “Always the kidder of the family. My daughter sought you humor, surely.”

 “She suggested it.”

 Arcturus’s laughter dwindled down to a low chuckle, then stopped completely. They had an awkward spat. Then, it came down to that line, whether he was on their side or the other. Septimus tried to reason that taking sides was a waste of time…

 “We teach Muggleborns for what reason? To make sure they don’t kill us with their power? What rubbish!”

 “We shouldn’t be teaching Muggleborns anything! Magic should be kept within the families it has been in for genereations.”

 “Magic had to have started somewhere. What if they are the first in their family?”

 “Bah…”

 “Frankly, Arcturus, I think your belief in preserving the Black family line is as outdated as the wig you wear to keep people from seeing your bald spot. There are potion remedies for that, or have you tried that already?”

Thoroughly insulted, Arcturus kicks Septimus out of the party until he was ready to apologize for embarrassing him. But that’s the thing: Septimus never planned on apologizing. He was forced to pick a side, so he chose not to pick sides. In not choosing a side, the Weasley side was chosen for. They were now against the regime, unless they renounced their name in favor of elitism.

 The Weasley farms were targeted by many extreme followers. Their crops were scarce and their employees were quitting left and right. Some were quitting to keep their families safe and some were quitting because they were prejudice. Either way, it was bad business for the farm. Pretty soon, the farm consisted of a huge garden, protected against any spells that might poison or harm it. He had a few faithful workers, most of whom he promised to keep safe from terrorists. Pretty soon, he was basically harboring Muggleborns in his home.

 Around this time, Arthur was born. While growing up, he was exposed to a few Muggle things here and there because of the “visitors” living in his home. Cedrella was okay with this; she had no issues with the people living in her home… Until she started getting threats from extreme followers.

 Don’t get me wrong, there were extremists on both sides. Septimus and Cedrella would kick anyone out who came home talking about how they were going to start an uprising in the other direction. At one point, one of the Muggleborns in hiding confessed to being part of a resistance group (there were many small ones at the time) and saw one of his group members kill Sirius Black. Septimus shouted at the man to leave, asking why he thought it was appropriate to come back to his home with this knowledge. He and his family could be targets. They already were, but now they would be targets to kill.

 After Cedrella’s uncle died, her father told her that she had a few chances to leave Septimus and marry her cousin, Regulus, like she was intended to in the first place as penance for Sirius’s death. He even promised that she could keep her youngest son, since he was too young to actually obtain anything Muggle related yet. Cedrella didn’t reply to any of the pleas. She loved her family; she wasn’t going to give them up for anything in the world. Besides, being with Septimus had given her more of a voice and she wasn’t afraid to spout her opinions anymore. This only gave Arcturus more incentive to “erase” her off of the family tree, but there wasn’t real evidence to them being absolute blood traitors, since the Weasley farm was essentially out of commission from terrorism.

 It was 1959. The Weasleys’ whereabouts were hidden, but the oldest sons were in Hogwarts already. I believe they were in Fourth Year and First Year respectively. Arthur was nine. Septimus’s business went belly-up by this point. Any crops or livestock he produced was for his family’s use only. Ironically, the family used Cedrella’s portion of the Black family fortune to survive for a while.

 Around wintertime, Cedrella and Septimus received a letter from the Deputy Head Master, Albus Dumbledore, that their sons have been part of a huge duel between some Slytherins and they were very badly injured. Some of them were part of the Black family in some way or another. Probably a Crabbe or Rosier. (If it was a Crabbe, it would have been Cedrella’s Uncle Cygnus’s first son’s wife’s relative. If it was a Rosier, it would have been Cedrella’s Uncle Cygnus’s first son’s third son’s future wife’s relative, aka Druella Rosier’s relative. As I’m typing this, I like the idea of connecting their stories in some way. Like, around this time, Druella has had Narcissa, but is still making up for her “mistakes”. Her family makes a statement by being super supporters and terrorizing anyone they were taught were not on their side. Yup… that’s what happened.)

 Cedrella and Septimus are forced to sit in with the Rosier’s (and, fuck it, the Crabbe’s are there too). The Rosier’s and Crabbe’s look at Cedrella and Septimus like they are scum. They argue that “boys will be boys” and it’s left at that. Dumbledore gives his two cents, fully aware that the divide is REAL.

 “Here’s to a better world in which fighting is a thing of the past. And may your sons learn from your mistakes.” There was an uneasiness in the air after that meeting.

 Cedrella and Septimus, along with Arthur, I guess, visit their oldest two in the Hospital Wing. They look terrible; they almost looked like they were beat with fists instead of wands.

 (I have now named Arthur’s brothers Walter and Bilius because those are also simple Medieval names and one is confirmed.) Walter was known for being a spitfire and Bilius liked excitement. That combination with their secret made for a recipe for disaster. Cedrella was SO cross with them for fighting, and Septimus was about ready to give them even more bruises for spilling their secret. However, they couldn’t help but be proud of them for sticking up for “what was right”.

Because of them telling the secret, Cedrella and Septimus did their best to protect the small fortune and property they had left. It was only a matter of time before Tom Riddle’s supporters came knocking again. This time, they were in masks. They came in the middle of the night, ready to murder the Muggleborns and the Weasley family in their sleep. Luckily, Cedrella had basically become an insomniac at that point; she wasn’t able to sleep, afraid that something bad would happen to her family.

 They came bursting through the door, masks and all. Cedrella was at the ready and flew spells in every direction, killing nearly half of the masked intruders. Some Muggleborns were too late and perished. Septimus helped Cedrella fight off some more masked intruders. They heard a scream come from Arthur’s bedroom. As quick as lightning, Cedrella burst through Arthur’s room and didn’t hesitate to kill the hooded figure about to take her son away.

 As the man thudded to the floor, she grabbed Arthur into her arms and said no harm would ever come to him. Septimus ran to Arthur’s door with another masked figure chasing him. Cedrella immediately cast a shield charm on the door (and idk, some of Arthur’s untapped magic solidified some walls too). Septimus stepped through it, but the masked figure halted in his tracks.

 “Uncle…” said the masked figure.

 Cedrella’s heart stopped. The hooded figure was her father, Arcturus. She had killed her father without hesitation to save her son.

 The man on the other side of the door unmasked himself to reveal her betrothed cousin, Regulus. His yellow teeth and cold, black eyes burned into her very soul. “Traitor!” he declared shrilly. “Blood traitor, Weasley! Blood trai-”

 And some Muggleborn killed Regulus from behind. The rest of the masked figures still alive Disapparated, and it was forever known that the Weasleys were blood traitors. No one knew that Cedrella had killed her own father; as far as anyone knew, the Weasleys harbored Muggleborns that were in for questioning and those Muggleborns had killed Arcturus and Regulus in a raid. In the Black family (and among Tom Riddle’s supporters), Arcturus and Regulus were honored like heroes to their cause. They had managed to kill nearly three whole families that night. Cedrella had lost all of her fortune from the Black family, as she was officially disowned from the family.

 The Weasleys were humble folk, forced to take a side. And they chose love over duty, pride over prejudice, if you will, whether they meant to or not. They were known as Blood Traitors and Cedrella had chosen to stay with a Blood Traitor family, which is why she is marked off of the Black family tree for marrying Septimus Weasley. Septimus was always on thin ice, and this event was the proof they needed.

 I think Arcturus’s intent was to kidnap Arthur and teach him the Black family way of thinking, just like the Rosier’s did to Bellatrix, which seemed “successful enough”.  Arthur was old enough to remember the Muggle stuff, too young to be able to process what had happened that fateful night. Walter and Bilius protected Arthur through their time at Hogwarts, not to say that he couldn’t stick up for himself. He has only known that he was part of a Blood Traitor family and they were proud. They encourage Arthur’s Muggle fascination; if anything, they think it’s endearing. Walter turns out to be a bit of a drunk, because he was old enough to remember too much (tying in the Weasley Uncle who almost thought Polyjuiced Harry was “one of his” at Bill and Fleur’s wedding), and Bilius was also old enough to remember some dark stuff, but ultimately uses physical comedy as a coping mechanism (as per what Fred and George had said was their muse for pranks).

So, that’s it! I didn’t have much of a narrative ending to the explanation. But we now have one more chapter completed in the Black Family History Book. More to come soon!

[lil-creatorwritings]

Turning Tables [Mitsuhide Akechi]

Fandom: Ikemen Sengoku

Pairing: Mitsuhide Akechi x MC (Natsuki)

Word Count: 1916 words that love to tease--wait what this is even longer than the first one

Warning: NSFW. Honestly, why would you think it’s anything else? xD

A/N: Y’all should thank (or blame) @xathia-89 for the idea she planted in my head, and it pretty much went downhill from there. And for letting me borrow her OC again. xD I didn’t think it was appropriate to change OCs at this point lol. The business jargon inserted here is made up. If it doesn’t make sense, don’t think too much on it, because I sure didn’t. Sequel to Phone Call.

---

The late night variety show played in the background of the dimly lit living room. It had been an hour since they talked on the phone, and Natsuki already missed her lover’s voice. Dinner had been neatly packed and stored for tomorrow, or in case Mitsuhide comes home in the next couple of hours. She still hoped that he would, no matter what time that would be.

She opened her phone to check her messages. Nothing. His last text was nearly thirty minutes ago, which meant that they could be in the middle of a good discussion.

Her mind came back to the call earlier. It been steamy enough to give her some momentary satisfaction, but she still longed for him. Simply ‘rubbing one out’ wouldn’t ease the ache she felt inside. She could still recall the dominant tone in his voice, how he teased her with his words. The original intention was for her to tease him, not the other way around. He certainly knew how to turn the tables on her. If there was a way to get back on track with that..

Natsuki bolted up from her seat, shutting the program off before skipping to their bedroom. She giggled over the idea brewing in her head, and this time, she would certainly be the one teasing him.

Over at the conference room, the meeting took longer than Mitsuhide had anticipated. Nobunaga wanted everyone’s input and opinion, which sprouted to several routes of action. Not all of them were productive, as Masamune offered to set the competition’s building on fire as a means of hindering their operations.

“Masamune, that’s a crime.” Ieyasu jabbed at him.

“Yeah, but it’ll be fine as long as no one catches me!”

They all rolled their eyes at him. Hideyoshi looked over at him with a hint concerned. “I know you’re smarter than that, but please don’t do things like that. It’ll give the company a bad reputation.”

Mitsuhide leaned back on his chair before he felt his phone vibrate. Curious, he fished it out of his pocket, seeing that it was a message from Natsuki. And with an attachment? That was quite unusual. What could be so urgent that couldn’t wait for when he got home?

His eyes widened briefly upon the image’s completion.

The bathroom floors were pristine as the photo showed Natsuki in quite a revealing outfit; a lacy two piece lingerie in a baby blue shade. The view of the camera was above her, positioning herself in such a way that showed off her delectable curves and breasts. He raised an eyebrow as he sent her a reply.

M (9:57 PM): That’s quite the outfit you have there, little mouse.

Not a minute later, his phone vibrated again.

N (9:57 PM): I can show you more of it, if you like.

He laughed under his breath before he received another photo. This time, she sat sideways on the bathroom counter, making sure that her ass was in just the right angle. His eyes raked over it, remembering the softness of her skin. He thought about the way he colored those ass cheeks pink, preferably with his hand as he smooths them with his palm to ease the sting.

M (10:00 PM): You like to show off, don’t you?

N (10:01 PM): Yes, but only for you. I hope I’m not distracting you too much from the meeting.

Everyone was currently in tuned to Hideyoshi discussing what sort of upgrades they could utilize to attract the customers. Masamune had taken the liberty to start dozing off, slouching back enough for Ieyasu to shadow him. Something about expanding the motherboard and increasing the memory capacity. It all sounded technical gibberish to him, but the price on those materials he mentioned were already popping into his mind. He tapped Mitsunari on the shoulder, telling him the numbers as the younger man started a spreadsheet.

It felt like forever until the next shake of his phone.

The camera looked like it was perched on the counter’s edge. His lover was on her knees, bra discarded off somewhere as her hands cupped her breasts together, noting the way her nipples were perking up. It must have taken her quite some time to capture the angle just right, making it as if he was standing in front of her.

N (10:12 PM): Waiting for you under your desk like this.

He fidgeted slightly in his seat as his mind raced with imagination; the feel of auburn hair in his fingers, the warmth of her supple breasts wrapped around him as he tilts her head back. Emerald eyes trained on him as he pushes in her mouth, watching as she obediently takes his length. Mitsuhide wouldn’t need to say anything. One look from him would be enough, sucking him as his head slipped past those luscious lips.

The next one came after three minutes. He knew because he kept track of the timestamps in an attempt to tide him over until the end of this meeting. A shot showing Natsuki’s lower body, knees apart, hips tilted just right for the camera. Fingers pushed the strip of fabric to the side, baring herself to him as she held an egg vibrator on her clit. His cock throbbed against his pants as he remembers the smell of her arousal, how heady she tastes on his tongue. The way her body trembles as he eats her out like a starved man in the desert, finding waters for the first time. Slowly edging her to release as his tongue thrusts faster--

“Mitsuhide, how much would this cost?”

Not one to miss a beat, he responded gruffly. “8-15% more of the original budget.”

Nobunaga turned to look at him. “Are you certain?”

“Yes. Mitsunari should be coming up with the same result, taking into account which materials the tech department would prefer to use. Based on our trend for the past 5 years, the company earns back 25% more of the original budget. There’s a high chance we can earn that 15% back within a year after the launch.”

The wait for their genius mathematician was agonizing. Mitsuhide knew he was in his zone and would be repeating what he said moments ago. The next set of vibrations went straight to his cock, clenching his hand under his arm to refrain from opening his phone. As soon as Mitsunari confirms his calculations, the meeting will be over.

“That’s an 8-15% additional cost on our side. If we use the following..”

Mitsuhide gracefully stood up, ignoring Masamune’s knowing look. He knew the other man noticed him checking his phone often, and god knows what sort of thought he had based on that observation. He wasn’t staying to give him any ideas.

“Alright, that’s enough for tonight.” Nobunaga’s voice filled the room as he reached the door. “We convene on Monday.”

He paced himself as he returned to his office, excusing himself on how he needed to fix up some things before leaving. The rest of the board members didn’t bother over it as they also returned to their respective offices, eager to get some good rest.

With the door closed behind him, Mitsuhide checked his phone, seeing a text message.

N (10:21 PM): This is what you’re missing on.

It was a video.

Natsuki was now on her knees, a certain kind of toy suctioned to the tiles. He watched as she shifted around, easing herself down on the dildo, the speaker recording her wanton moans. Mitsuhide let out a low groan, thinking about how her walls would squeeze around his cock. How she would scream for him as he stretched her, filling her up in a single hard thrust. She kept the vibrator on her clit, her fingers working the toy as her hips started to rock back and forth. Her voice echoed in the empty bathroom, each sound sending a pulse to his hard cock. The way his name fell from her mouth was like music to his ears.

Even virtually, he could pick up on the telltale signs of her orgasm. What caught his attention was how short of a line there was left on the progress bar. Oh, she was so close, he could almost hear the exact moment--

Until the video stopped.

“Natsuki, you little tease.. ” he mumbled under his breath. Mitsuhide smirked to himself, locking the door and moving towards a spot with good lighting. Oh, he was definitely going to pay her back. And this was just the start.

Meanwhile, Natsuki leaned forward on the counter for support. She almost forgot to stop the video in time, too caught up in the pleasure of her toys. It wouldn’t be much of a tease if she recorded the whole thing, thought she would’ve loved to see the look on his face when it stopped.

After a quick change of clothes--she decided to keep wearing the lingerie underneath her cotton shirt and shorts--she plopped back down on the sofa after storing the cleaned toys back in the drawer. Her phone pinged twice, both notifications were from Mitsuhide.

Natsuki clicked on the audio file, letting it run in the background as the image loaded. She felt her jaw drop, her cheeks flushing red with heat. It only showed his pants and belt, both undone and pushed down enough to give her a good look at his hard cock. Her cunt clenched at the sight.

"No matter how hard you play with your toys, they'll never be enough, will they?” The lust in his voice reverberated through her body as he spoke. “Not like how I can stretch you, how deep I can push to reach that sweet spot of yours, how full you feel as I thrust all of my length in you.”

A soft whimper escaped her lips. Even without his physical presence, he certainly knew what buttons to push and how to push them to rile her up. She heard him chuckle, and the brief roar of a car engine could be heard in the background.

“Only my cock can satisfy you.”

The audio ended. Natsuki clenched her thighs together. It was all too much and she wanted him home now. Screw what his boss and colleagues would think.

She dialed his phone, getting up to pace around the room as his voicemail played. She hung it up and dialed again. This time, it only took three rings before he picked up.

“Mitsuhide, where are--”

“Natsuki.” he cut through her voice. Without much thought, she glanced behind her by the doorway. A familiar sight of white hair made her stand up.

He didn’t wait for her to say anything. Mitsuhide shut the door, dropping his coat on the floor. In quick strides he had crossed the room, rounding the sofa to stand in front of her. As soon as his feet stopped, he pulled Natsuki into a fierce kiss, crashing their lips together. She automatically responded to him with just as much fire. The intensity of his kiss made her dizzy with a new found heat, his arm tight around her waist. She gasped into his mouth as his erection pressed against her thigh; he took the opportunity to slide his tongue in her mouth, deepening the kiss.

They pulled away briefly, chests heaving to regain their breaths.

“This game is over, little mouse.” His voice was taut. “It’s time for me to pay you back.”

[drsilverfish]

Dean’s Jungian Shadow Arc in S14 - Confronting the Internal Father (2x22 to 14x20)

“This meeting with oneself is, at first, the meeting with one’s own shadow. The shadow is a tight passage, a narrow door, whose painful constriction no one is spared who goes down to the deep well. But one must learn to know oneself in order to know who one is” 

(Jung, The Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious 1991: p21) 

Jung believed that the psyche was composed, in part, of a relation to “archetypes” (shared human psychic formations). One of these is the archetype of the father.

He distinguishes between the actual father (i.e. your Dad) and the “imago” of the father (a term he borrowed from Freud). That means, the psychological internalised construct of the father, which partly resides in the unconscious, and which is not identical to your real Dad, because it’s about your childish and foundational perception of them, but, also, for Jung (not Freud) it is linked to the archetypal (or mythic) father. The father archetype (for Jung, who has a gendered perception of the world rooted in his time-period) is about power and control. And when someone subconsciously over-identifies with the father-archetype, this results in out-of-control power fantasies:

"The danger is just this unconscious identity with the archetype, the more a father identifies with the archetype, the more unconscious and irresponsible, indeed psychotic ... he ... will be"

 (Jung, 1906-1916 writings collected as Freud and Psychoanalysis: 1961:p316).

So, subconsciously over-identifying with the father-imago has negative consequences for a person, and those around them. 

Let’s talk Dean, The Shadow and Dean’s Daddy Issues.

Remember this? (Gods but the colour palette was gorgeous back then).

This is Dean shooting Azazel, the yellow-eyed demon who killed his mother, Mary Winchester, with the Colt in 2x22 All Hell Breaks Loose Part II.

He does it with his father, John Winchester’s spirit’s help (released from Hell):

But, when I say help, remember that, symbolically, John has also been mirrored to Azazel, by means of Azazel’s possession of John (1x22 Devil’s Trap):

Hooboy -  Daddy issues right out of the gate. That’s not news to any of us. The whole show is about “wayward sons”, after all.  

Fast foward twelve years, and this is Dean (in the role of The FatherTM) almost shooting Jack, his own adopted Nephilim son (who also represents his child-self) with the Hammurabi, the mystical gun Mark II, which Chuck forged and named after an ancient Babylonian law which codifies “an eye for an eye” (i.e. a “Revenge Gun”TM):

Jack the Nephilim, whose eyes glow yellow when he is in his power, and who has (apparently) killed Mary Winchester (again):

(Jack in 13x14 Good Intentions)

Notice that both scenarios - Dean, mystical gun, yellow-eyed supernatural being who killed his mother - take place in a graveyard. 

Mary is dead twice (at least as far as Dean is concerned) and her death haunts the scenes.

Chuck has deliberately set up the second scenario to mirror the first (he is, in my view, testing Dean, the way he tested Abraham).

At this moment, in Moriah, we could say Dean is possessed by his Shadow, in the form of the father archetype, the Ghost of John Winchester, in his subconsious. He is ready to act out John Winchester’s revenge quest redux, and in doing so, to do violence all over again to his child-self, in the form of Jack, who symbolises child-Dean in this moment. 

A repetition of the damage done to Dean himself as a child; who was forced, by the tragedy of Mary’s death, and his own father’s traumatic revenge-quest, to grow up too fast, is playing out before our eyes.

Jack-the-mirror, who lost his own mother at birth, and looks twenty-something but is only two, kneels, a willing sacrifice, in the role of child-Dean, before his father, adult-Dean, who is shadow-possessed by John’s Ghost, ready to be murdered, just as John “murdered” Dean’s childhood. 

“The psychological rule says that when an inner situation is not made conscious, it happens outside as fate. That is to say, when the individual remains undivided and does not become conscious of his inner opposite, the world must perforce act out the conflict and be torn into opposing halves.” 

(Carl Jung, Collected Works “Christ: A Symbol of the Self”).

Jung suggests we are subject to “fate” (i.e. our own unconscious forces taking control of our actions) when we do not confront our Shadow. 

Ties in beautifully to Supernatural’s larger theme of fate vs free will, right?

Now, back then, when Dean shot yellow-eyed demon No 1, Azazel, Dean was (as his subconscious taunted him at the time) “Daddy’s blunt little instrument” (3x10 Dream a Little Dream of Me)....

Back then, Dean obeyed his father and called him “Sir”,  “...following Dad’s orders like a good little soldier” (Sam in 1x10 Asylum). Sammy was the rebellious one.

When Dean stood up to his Dad, it wasn’t for himself, it was to protect Sam:

(1x20 Dead Man’s Blood). 

Dean’s obedience was linked to his angel-engineered role as the Michael vessel (God’s obedient son) whilst Sam’s rebelliousness was linked to his equally engineered role as the Lucifer vessel (God’s rebellious son).

They ripped up that script and wrote their own ending in 5x22 Swan Song, but, while Sam said “Yes” to Lucifer (his Shadow-self) and beat the Devil, Dean said “No” to Michael.

S14 is the season in which Dean, having said “Yes” to AU!Michael in order to beat Lucfier (again) in 13x23 Let the Good Times Roll, undertakes his own Shadow-work. 

Dabb’s Ouroboros narrative is in full swing.  

Back then, John’s revenge quest, to get the yellow-eyed demon who killed Mary Winchester, became Dean’s mission too. He internalised it (even before he knew about Azazel). Sam wanted to get out of hunting, Dean was driven to follow in his father’s footsteps (whatever his real feelings and desires were, he buried them to follow the “family business”). 

Here is Young!Dean in Bad Boys (9x07) looking out of the window at Young!Sam in the Impala, about to give up his happiness at Sonny’s and his young love with Robin in order to put his Dad’s way of life (hunting/ revenge), and his brother (who needs him) first:

One way a child deals with a parent who is hurting them is to want to become them, to idolise them and to believe that they’re right (Dad’s car, Dad’s music, Dad’s machismo, Dad’s heterosexuality, Dad’s way of drinking and squashing down emotion). 

DEAN: “We have the coolest Dad in the world.  He’s a superhero.” (3x08 A Very Supernatural Christmas). 

Jung would say Dean internalised a strong identification (partly conscious, partly unconscious) with the father imago. 

Dean’s been on a long, long journey to get out from under his father’s shadow. We’ve seen that struggle over many seasons.

AU!Michael in Dean’s head in S14 represented the repressive ghost of John Winchester embodied as a destructive archangel in Dean’s mind, i.e. serious crunch time for Dean’s psyche - things coming to a real crisis point for him, psychologically. 

Dark!Kaia makes the parallel in 14x03 The Scar (just hear “John Winchester” for “him”):

KAIA: “You’re no different from him. Threats, violence anything to get what you want.” DEAN: “I am nothing like him.” KAIA: “Yeah you are: you always have been!”

You can read some of my previous meta on Dean’s struggle with AU!Michael as his repression/ the Ghost of John Winchester here (which also emphasises that one aspect of John’s repression of Dean is, in subtext, the repression of Dean’s queerness):

Queer Gods and Monsters (14x02)

https://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/179226151009/queer-gods-and-monsters-14x02

14x03 The Scar - Dean Confronts Dark!Kaia (Dopplegangers, Mirrors and John Winchester’s Ghost)

http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/179463975289/shirtlesssammy-14x03the-scar-meta-writers

AU!Michael and the Closet (14x10 Nihilism)

https://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/182120562849/aumichael-and-the-closet

Jung and Dean’s Journey Towards Self-Integration in 14x11 Damaged Goods

http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/182299438269/jung-and-deans-journey-towards-self-integration

In 14x02 we get this shot of Dean facing his mirror-self, AU!Michael, and Michael tells him, “I own you!”

In 14x10, Dean, desperate to contain AU!Michael, manages (with Sam and Cas’ help) to lock him in a fridge-locker in his own mind:

 And he says, “I am the cage!”

Dean then builds a Ma’lak box and intends to lock himself in it and throw himself (and AU!Michael with him) to the bottom of the ocean. Yikes. At the start of 14x12 Prophet and Loss, he dreams that he is alone, and terrified, in that very box:

Sam says to him about this plan (14x12 Prophet and Loss):  “But what you’re talking about is far worse than death. Michael’s an archangel. He could literally keep you buried in a coffin, alive, forever.”

Remember Dean also described his possession by AU!Michael as like “drowning” over and over (14x03 The Scar): 

DEAN: “I don’t remember most of what Michael did with me because I was under water. Drowning. And that I remember. I felt every second of it - clawing, fighting for air. I thought I could make it out but I couldn’t: I wasn’t strong enough.”

Now hear what is happening, psychologically... 

Dean’s subconscious, his Shadow-self (aka AU!Michael representing the Ghost of John Winchester) i.e. Dean’s own self-repression and over-control, both inherited from John’s impact on him, is saying to Dean “I own you” and “I am the cage”, you will be buried in a coffin, alive, with me forever. You are under water and you can’t make it out.    

That’s pretty scary right? Dean is trapped by himself (by the traumatic internalised impact of his past and his consequent over-identification with his father).

If this were IRL, we’d have given Dean the name of a good therapist, a long time ago. But it’s Supernatural, so instead Dean gets to confront the ghost of his father, John Winchester, in the flesh, in 14x13 Lebanon. He wishes on the magic pearl to get “Michael out of my friggin’ head” and lo and behold John Winchester magically appears before him (cemeting the symbolism of AU!Michael in Dean’s head representing/ mirroring John Winchester). 

Dean gets to hear his Dad say, “You are a grown man and I am incredibly proud of you.” Dean gets to say to Sam, that he wouldn’t change anything: “I’m good with who I am. I’m good with who you are. ‘Cause our lives – they’re ours.”

He gets to tell his father he “has a family”, not a conventional one - “an angel and Lucifer’s kid”, but it’s good: 

 An Angel, and Lucifer’s Kid? Queer-Coding and Dean’s “Found Family” in 14x13 Lebanon

http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/182794294534/an-angel-and-lucifers-kid-queer-coding-and

And he gets to choose to let his Dad go, with love. What beautiful psychological progress, huh? AU!Michael is out of his head and so is the controlling Ghost of his Father, replaced by a loving one!

But, it’s not that simple. When the pearl is destroyed, time is reset and AU!Michael is still installed in Dean’s noggin. It’s only when Dean and Cas have been whammied by the Queer Gorgon, that AU!Michael (Dean’s repression, remember) finally gets out of his mind (14x14 Ouroboros): 

The Kiss of the Queer Gorgon in 14x14 Ouroboros

http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/183323000224/the-kiss-of-the-queer-gorgon-in-14x14-ouroboros

Jack (Dean’s child-self mirror) kills AU!Michael (John’s repressive ghost mirror) but, the burden is great and the cost is (at least part of) his soul. 

Moreover, when Mary is subsequently “killed” by Jack (you all know by now I have a theory she’s been fake re-fridged, and she’s actually been blasted into an AU, and we’ll see her again), Dean regresses. He goes back into uber-controlling mode, over-responsible mode, as a way of dealing with the fact his world has fallen apart again. Psychically (as many of you clever people have already pointed out) he’s been taken back to the trauma his 4 year old self experienced when Mary died the first time. 

So, Dean puts on his control-mask, the one he learned from his Dad, and (just like John did) he focusses on dealing with the yellow-eyed “monster” who killed Mary, to contain the pain. He refuses to listen to Sam or Cas. He tells them to get on board with his (suicidal again) plan or get lost. HE is the one who instigates locking Jack (remember, also a representation of his child-self) in the Ma’lak box:

And he is the one who won’t listen to his loved ones,  but jumps all over and obeys without question, the Word of God (the Law of the Father) that the only way is to shoot Jack with the new mystical gun (Colt Mark II) when Chuck shows up with it. 

 Displaced-in-time John said, in 14x13 Lebanon (having been filled in by his sons):

JOHN: “I-I went out takin’ out Yellow Eyes. I mean, that was the point, right? I mean, get the thing that killed mom.”      

Chuck offers Dean the same choice (and, again, I think it’s a test).

Remember, as well as being the Revenge GunTM, the Hammurabi is also know as “The Equaliser”, so whatever happens to the person who is shot, also happens to the shooter. A perfect, perfect metaphor for the way in which John’s revenge quest rebounded on his sons (compounding the emotional trauma of losing their Mom). 

If Dean’ follows in his father’s footsteps and shoots the yellow-eyed “demon” who killed Mary, his own adopted son Jack (who, did I mention, represents his child-self) he will die - literally, according to the “law” of Chuck’s mystical gun, but also symbolically.

Because symbolically, that choice represents the fact that Dean has been crushing the life out of himself, for a long time, thanks to the internalised Ghost of John Winchester in his head (demanding that he be a substitute-parent to Sammy, that he stay “on mission”, that he perform a certain kind of masculinity, that he is responsible for everything and everyone, that he constantly fails [because he is trying to live up to an impossible standard]).

And at the last, Dean passes the test. He says, “No,” to the ultimate Father FigureTM (God) who is shouting at him to pick up the gun and pull the trigger.

He says “No” even when Chuck promises to bring Mary back from the “dead”. 

He does not repeat the cycle of his father’s revenge quest. He lowers the weapon of RevengeTM and of Re-bounding Suffering/ DeathTM.

He (finally) has compassion for Jack and thus (hopefully, hopefully) for his own child-self mirror. 

On symbolic Mount Moriah, Dean confronts his Shadow-self, the part of him that is “just like” his father, the part that keeps controlling or pushing away his key relationships (with Sam and Cas and now Jack) the part that finds safety in orders, and in a black-and-white view of the world where monsters are monsters, and in which revenge is the answer.

Confronting the Shadow, as I wrote before 14x20 aired, can release us from “scapegoating”:

The Scapegoat: Speculative Musings on S14′s End (Moriah) (Linked to the Season’s Jungian Themes - Scapegoating and the Unacknowledged Shadow)  

https://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/184068368304/the-scapegoat-speculative-musings-on-s14s-end

So, Dean says, “No” to God, the ultimate father-figure, and in doing so he is released from his Shadow-possession by the father-imago in his unconscious

DEAN: “No, my Mom was my hero, and I miss her, and I will miss her every second of my life, but she would not want this.” 

As a counter-point, he embraces the feminine (his internal anima, according to Jung). He evolves.

And so, the mirror is broken through between the self and the Shadow-self, the ego and the id. AU!Michael/  the Ghost of John Winchester/ the Voice of God are out of Dean Winchester’s head. They can no longer control him: he has faced them all. 

Now,  Dean has to learn to be himself, a whole new final chapter in the journey.

“The shadow, when it is realized, is the source of renewal ...  no progress or growth is possible until the shadow is adequately confronted and confronting means more than merely knowing about it. It is not until we have truly been shocked into seeing ourselves as we really are, instead of as we wish or hopefully assume we are, that we can take the first step toward individual reality” (Connie Zweig, Meeting the Shadow, 1990).

And, if you’ve been following the thread in the links to my other meta on Dean’s Shadow here, on how John’s repression in Dean’s mind was depicted (in subtext in S14) as, in part, Dean’s repression of his queerness (the Ma’lak box and the fridge-locker in Rocky’s mind-bar being symbols of the closet) then this culminating confrontation with the repressive image of The FatherTM in the form of God himself, as symbolic of Dean’s own controlling, self-repressing, self-closeting, Shadow-self, does seem to clear the way for... interesting developments (dramatic irony claxon - Dean still doesn’t know God is, in fact, himself bisexual). 

However, as always, I caution that the overtly homoerotic denoument is more than likely to remain closeted at the last, in favour of the “familial”. 

[dabblinginmarvel]

Searching for a Dinosaur at the Museum

Request: Hiya! Can I please request an imagine where Steve Rogers falls in love with a nerdy, sweet, innocent, short (I’m 4ft 10 1/2in btw LOL) Kindergarten teacher (I’m also a kindergarten teacher😂). They meet when she takes the kids on a field trip to the museum (the one that has all of the Captain America and Bucky stuff), they talk a lot and he asks her on a date + he introduces her to the Avengers as his girlfriend + Steve being soft for the reader + sweet kisses, cuddles, and hugs.💜

Plot: You and Steve meet in the Smithsonian as you take your class on a tour to learn about heroes and you two develop a relationship.

Blog Tag: @kpopgirlbtssvt

A/N: Hm, yeah, this got longer than I had anticipated. I also altered the prompt slightly. Happy Valentine’s Day!

Warnings: None, maybe mildly unedited.

Word Count Total: 2030

Long Imagine #25

Title: Searching for a Dinosaur at the Museum

Field trip days were some of your least favorite days of the year. Anymore, it was hard to get chaperones, with everyone off at work or just plain unavailable.

Sure, you didn’t have to schedule them, but some of your units benefited from the educational experience they provided. It was all for the kids, after all.

You looked up at the display on the wall, not paying a lot of attention to it since you had come through two days ago for educational purposes, instead thinking of the enormous NCIS news you had learned last night while watching the show. You were pretty excited about what had transpired to the point that you accidentally bumped into someone behind you when you backed up a step.

“Oh, dear, I am so sorry!” You spun around and found yourself looking up into the blue eyes of a tall, broad-shouldered man. He was wearing a ball cap pulled low over his forehead.

He smiled. “Oh, don’t worry. It’s okay, I wasn’t looking where I was going, anyway.”

You at him, eyes squinting a little in thought, then they widened when you realized who it was. “H-hi.” You stuck out your hand.

“Hello….” He shook your hand.

“Y/N.”

“Y/N. Nice to meet you.”

“You, too.” You grinned. All too soon, the smile faded and you remembered your job. “Oh, shoot, I can’t stay long. I have something to take care of. I’m sorry.”

You took off seven feet to your small group of students admiring the Bucky Barnes exhibit. They were pointing at the pictures.

“Miss Y/L/N! What does this say?” one of your students yelled.

“Joey, please remember our indoor voices.” You looked up at what he was pointing at. “This word is endured.’ It means it was something he lived through.”

“And this?” He pointed at another word, but his voice was quieter.

“Liberated means freed.”

Monica raised her hand. “Why does that number say 1916 and his birthday say 1917?”

You frowned at the inconsistent data. “That is a good question. Someone may have made a mistake.” You knelt in front of her. “You made a good catch today. When you find something like that in a museum, it’s always good to question that. We can go speak to someone that works here and find out before we leave.”

“You mean you don’t know?” Alexei asked and crossed his arms over his chest.

“That’s right. I’m not afraid to admit that sometimes even I have to ask questions. Adults are still learning, too. A good student learns from life along with their teachers. Can you do that?”

Alexei pursed his lips, then nodded.

“Good. Thank you.”

A clearing throat came from behind you. “If I may answer your question?”

It was the man. Steve.

“Steve, these are a few of my kindergartners. We’re learning about real-life heroes.”

“Bucky would be flattered.”

“You’re included in that, Captain.”

You glanced at the kids, their eyes wide and you knew you had split seconds before one of them made a noise. “Remember, inside voices.”

“It’s Captain America!” Joey squealed, bending at the knees and squeezing his eyes shut along with his fists.

“And he can only talk to you if you stay quiet!” you raised your voice by two decibels. The kids stopped chattering, but stayed antsy. “Now, what is James Barnes doing with two birth dates?”

Steve’s smile didn’t falter as he glanced at you, then the kids. He knelt in front of them.

“Bucky pretended that he was a kid that followed the rules, but he lied on his form when he was drafted. It was easier to lie about a birth date when no one was paying enough attention.”

“It says he enlisted, too.”

Steve shook his head. “He was drafted.”

You thought for a moment, then raised an eyebrow at Steve. He stood and his eyes looked confused. “We will have to talk more later about this. I want my students to do reports on heroes and I am sure at least some of them would love to talk about Captain America and his best friend.”

Steve’s mouth upturned in one corner. “I’d be happy to help your students.”

You didn’t miss the faces your students traded between each other. “Alright, kiddos, feel free to keep exploring this exhibit.”

“Are you getting his number?” Alexei asked.

“We have to get that information for your projects, don’t we?”

The kids dashed off to the costumes exhibit, which was five feet away.

You smiled again. “Thank you. I see we have a lot to learn from you, should you be willing to talk about it.”

He dug around in his pocket and you eyed the children in your care. It was much easier on a quieter museum day like today to watch the kids.

“I don’t want to keep you from the kids, so could I get your number?” Steve asked.

“Sure.” You typed in your number and hit save. “I will see you later.”

He waved back when you waved over your shoulder at him.

It took an hour before the children were back on the bus back to school and another half hour after that before all of the kids were being picked up by their parents.

Alexei was the last to be picked up and he turned to you, a frown on his face. “Did we really see Captain America today?”

You nodded. “You sure did.”

“Will we see him again like we did today?”

You looked up, thinking. He looked up, too. When you responded, you told him you would ask Steve Rogers if he would be willing to visit the class and a grin grew on Alexei’s face. His mother showed up and Alexei ran to her. They both waved at you, which you returned.

When you returned to your classroom, you pulled out your phone. Two text messages were waiting for you.

- Hey, it’s Steve, I hope I’m not disrupting your class, but here’s my number.

- Steve again, when you get this, would you like to meet me at Torri’s by the museum? I’ll pay for milkshakes.

You smiled and texted him back, asking if he meant today.

- I’m sorry, Sam decided to ask for me. I was going to wait a couple of days. But if you would like to, yes.

You practically beamed and agreed to meet him there in a little less than an hour if he was willing. Most of that extra time was used to do end-of-class checks. Quick as you could once your tasks were completed, you gathered your grading folder, purse, and lunchbag. The door got locked behind you and you walked to your car.

Steve met you at the little mom and pop shop just as you got to the door. He opened it for you with a smile and you followed him to the counter, offering to pay out of courtesy, and then to a booth with your shakes.

“So, you’re okay with this?” you asked, stirring it with your spoon. It had been established in line that this wasn’t supposed to be a date, but more of helping the kids. While both of you agreed to it, you still felt a little empty about it.

“Yeah. Are you?”

“Yes. But I meant you’re okay talking about this?”

He nodded and readjusted his milkshake by spinning it around on the table with the tips of his fingers. “Yeah. first I want to ask what that face you made in the museum was all about.”

“I was just thinking of my grandfather.”

He leaned forward.

“The army had a history of screwing up not only the health help he got, but his records.”

“What did they mess up?”

“Oh, you know, information about his wife, his service records….”

“Service records?”

“Yep. They got those wrong. I worry Bucky may have gotten the same treatment.”

Steve thought for a moment. “It could have happened. Maybe he didn’t lie.”

You shrugged, then sipped your milkshake.

The two of you spent the rest of the evening going over some questions for the kids - it was all basic details, like getting Bucky’s exhibit correct. By the end, he had also agreed to come in and talk to the class.

The class talk ended up being a success and most kids wanted to do their report on Steve or Bucky, to the point you had to randomly assign heroes to kids to be fair.

Steve kept in touch with you and you both grew increasingly closer over the next two months until Steve asked the question.

“Would you like to meet my friends? They keep asking about you.”

“Oh, do they now?” you asked slyly. He wrapped his hands around yours.

“Yes. Would you be up for it?”

You nodded. “I would be honored.”

He took your hand. You bit your lower lip in a smile.

As it turned out, you met them after you held a Valentine’s party for your students. The drive was nice and you both had a lot to talk about. When you entered the building, you were startled by the welcoming party. All of the team had come to meet you two inside.

“There’s your girlfriend!” Tony Stark yelled. A smile grew on your face as Steve blushed.

“Is this old man bothering you?” Tony continued, causing you to giggle and shake your head. Everyone greeted you and introduced themselves before you moved into a common room. Drinks were brought in on robots and you could tell it was Tony’s invention, these server bots. You made eye contact with Steve and he rolled his eyes to you.

“Y/N, were you searching for a dinosaur in the museum?” Natasha asked and tipping her head in your direction. Steve opened his mouth to protest, but you cut him off.

“Not originally. It seems he found me.”

The team laughed.

“Steve, if you lose her, I’ll take her.” Natasha held her glass up in cheers.

“Would you guys stop, I haven’t asked her out yet!” Steve blurted out.

That caused everyone to fall silent and you turned to him. “Excuse me, yet?”

Steve looked down at his glass and swirled the water. “Yet.”

You waited for him to continue, but he didn’t. “Is there a place to talk alone for a moment?”

Steve gestured for you to follow him and as you left, you heard chatter behind you. You both turned a few corners and were finally far enough away from the team that hopefully your conversation would give you privacy.

Steve chewed on his lower lip before speaking. “I’m sorry about them.”

“Don’t be. I was already under the impression we were dating. They weren’t the only ones who had the wrong impression.”

His mouth dropped open in shock. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I’m not used to the way dating is today. I thought you went out on a few dates before you made it official.”

“Before? Yet? Steve, when were you planning to ask?”

He shrugged. “I almost chose yesterday, but I didn’t want to make it seem like I chose yesterday because it’s Valentine’s Day week.”

“I wouldn’t have minded if you had asked because of Valentine’s Day.”

He stood up a little straighter and it made him so much taller again. “Really?”

“Really. Steve, would you like to go steady?”

“Aren’t I supposed to ask you that?” He smiled bashfully.

“Well, you haven’t done it, yet. So I’m asking.”

“Yes. I want to go steady with you.”

A male voice (Tony’s, you would later realize) yelled from around the corner, “It’s about time!”

Steve’s face crinkled with frustration and you took his hand to calm him. Slowly, he turned back to you. He took your face in his hand, brushing your cheekbone with his thumb. You closed your eyes and smiled.

Gently, he pressed a kiss to your forehead and your mouth opened slightly, wanting more than just a forehead kiss.

He must have noticed because the next thing you knew, he was kissing your mouth just as tenderly. The hesitation from him didn’t worry you and you kissed him back.

- - -

Masterlist on blog!

Permanent Tag List (please alert me if you change your username, want to be tagged for only one character, or if you want to be untagged): @abbybills22, @breezy1415, @coffeebooksandfandom, @cxptain-americaa, @deceivedeer, @dreamer821, @everything-but-the-not-natural, @elxrini, @fangirling-equestrian, @feelmyroarrrr, @hellomissmabel, @httpmcrvel, @iamwarrenspeace, @kudosia, @m4df4n, @marrvelle-fics, @mindlessnerd89, @ms-cellanies, @mylittlefandomfanfictions, @princessleah129, @space-helen, @susiejustsusie, @tea-with-loki, @thisismysecrethappyplace, @wired-girl @wkndfrvr, @wxnchestervevo (tag list is open!!)

Strikethroughs are blogs I can’t tag.

[vintagesimstress]

21 Questions Tag

It’s the first time I got tagged to do something like this, exciting! Many thanks to @batsfromwesteros :).

Rules: answer 21 questions, then tag 21 people you want to get to know better.

(It got quite long, so I’m putting it all under the cut!)

Nickname: I don’t have one and never had. Some people tried to come up with something, but for some reason it never worked.

Zodiac: Leo

Height: slightly over 170 cm

Last thing searched: 1890s music

Favourite musicians: ehmmm, it seems I live almost without music these days, mostly listening to radio. Katie Melua, but rather her earlier CDs, until ‘Secret Symphony’? Right now I’m a bit crazy about those guys as well. What else... <franticly looking around the room in search of any CDs> ...Brahms? Honestly, have you ever heard anything more beautiful than this, especially from 9:22?

Oh, am I’m kind of a fan of Roksana Węgiel, the girl who won last year’s Junior Eurovision. I wouldn’t call her a ‘musician’ yet, but with that voice she can achieve a LOT. And yes, I know she’s 14. Sue me.

If you had a time machine, would you go back in time or visit the future? I’d go back in time... But only if I was sure I can come back to the present day whenever I want. With all my interest in history, I can’t imagine my life without radiators, thank you very much.

Do I get asks? They are rather comments than real asks, but technically yes. And they make me very happy :)

Following : 54 people

Would you rather be rich or famous? Come on, we all know that EVERYBODY WANTS TO BE FAMOUS!

Honestly though, I think too much of either of those things is dangerous for your mental health and can turn you into a very shitty human being. So, yeah, rather famous, but not superstar level - and famous for some cool skill or something I did and not just because many people know I exist.

Oh well, being a bit richer than I am now wouldn’t hurt either...

Amount of sleep: you mean the amount I get or the amount I need? The first one would be around 8 hours, the second - minimum 10 h per day. Yep, I’m no Napoleon.

What I’m wearing: Black ‘office’ trousers which are my normal casual wear since I quit working in an office. An organic cotton, fair trade blouse in royal blue from Living Crafts which I bought last week, to finally have some proper long sleeves in my wardrobe. No 3/4, 4/5 or whatever, but something that will actually reach my wrists. And some super old, white, knitted, short-sleeved sweater over it. Yeah, there’s a reason why I mentioned radiators earlier.

Oh, and saturated pink socks. My fashion taste is impeccable, as you can see.

Dream job: Something connected to environmental protection and research. I wish I’d realised it 10 years ago.

Dream trip: I’ve been dreaming of Finland for years! And probably yet another trip to Portugal would be yet another dream.

If you were an animal. What would you be? A bird. Flying around freely, travelling around the world.

What are some of your favourite books/films/shows/games/etc.?

Books: too many to name them all. Some examples from the couple of past years: The Heart is a Lonely Hunter by Carson McCullers Ali Smith’s Autumn Youth without God by Ödön von Horvath Ariosto’s Orlando Furioso Anatoly Rybakov’s Children of Arbat series most of the stuff by Chingiz Aitmatov Jo Baker’s Longbourn Jeannette Walls’ The Glass Castle A Tree Grows in Brooklyn I Capture the Castle Eco’s The Name of the Rose lots of Jostein Gaarder To Kill a Mockingbird The Poisonwood Bible Swann’s Way ...and tones of others.

Also, as an honourable mention: Charles Bukowski’s The Captain is Out to Lunch and the Sailors Have Taken Over the Ship probably saved me from a mental breakdown some years ago, so it’s quite dear to my heart.

Films: I’ll just list all my 10 and 9 stars’ movies: Pan’s Labyrinth (2006),  Intolerance (1916), Alive Inside (2014), Pulp Fiction (1994), Kimi no na wa / Your name (2016), Paterson (2016), The Fountain (2006), I am (2010), About Time (2013), Samsara (2011), Yume / Dreams (1990), Melancholia (2011), The Godfather (1972), Interview with the Vampire (1994), White Oleander (2002), What Dreams May Come (1998), Shrek (2001), Frida (2002), Volver (2006), Notre-Dame de Paris (the musical, 1999), Fiddler on the Roof (1971), Once (2007).

An honourable mention goes to Mamma Mia, which is technically a garbage movie, but it makes me smile like no other.

Shows: I’m not really into shows. Let’s say I’m currently watching / waiting for new seasons of Anne with an A, The OA and Babylon Berlin, but I’m not super hyped for any of them.

Games: I play only TS4 right now. Used to love Heroes of Might and Magic, Civilisation, Age of Empires and all that strategy stuff. My all-time favourite award goes to The Longest Journey and it’s sequel, Dreamfall.

Play any instruments? No. Sadly. I have some basic idea of playing the piano, but I’m not really into it.

Language(s): Fluent or close to it: Polish, English, German, Japanese In the making: Portuguese, Russian, French, in this order, with French being ridiculously bad.

Describe yourself as aesthetic: ...what do you mean when you say words?

I lost track of who was already tagged and who wasn’t, so sorry for any doubles and omissions! I TAG @linzlu, @retro-pixels, @pandorasimbox, @smallcowplant, @girlwithaheadamongclouds, @retro-vintage-sims, @mrtri91 and anybody else who’d like to participate :)

[mr-lancers-english-class]

Waiting to Die Part 3

Waiting to Die Part 3!

AO3 isn’t working for me, but I’ll update when it is.

Word Count: 1916

Sam didn’t go to school the next day. She had woken up with a massive headache, and when her mother checked, a perfectly normal temperature of 97° (for Sam that was absurdly high, but Pamela didn’t know that). As a mature and responsible high school junior who was definitely totally worried about getting good enough grades to get into a good college, she spent all day texting Danny and Tucker. She tried using Discord, but after twenty messages with no responses, Sam remembered that first, the school wifi had recently gone on another purge and now blocked any sight deemed “games” or “personal” or “messaging,” and second, Danny had English Literature and Tucker had Statistics and neither teacher was particularly forgiving when it came to phones. After watching half of a movie and knitting a hat, she tried again, this time via text.

SM: Am I missing anything good?

TF: No

DF: Yes

TF: Definitely not

DF: Wes has decided that Tucker’s a ghost

SM: But…

SM: He is. Is that news?

TF: Ha ha

SM: I’m here all week, folks

DF: Lancer gave me your homework. We’re starting presentations next week, and we all need to make an outline for next class

SM: I thought only six people are presenting?

DF: Yeah, but we don’t know which six, and I think Lancer’s gonna pick based on the outlines

Sam groaned. She had not enjoyed reading The Great Gatsby, and did not want to have to think about the book any more, much less give a ten minute presentation.

SM: Well fuck

TF: Lol

TF: That’s what you get for taking Lit honors

DF: Moderately jealous

SM: You did this to yourself, Fenton

He had. Where her parents had made her take the hardest courses, his parents often didn’t even realize he was at school, much less think about his course load.

TF: Sooooo……… how’re you doing?

SM: My head hurts and I have a fever

DF: How high?

SM: 97 F

DF: That’s not good

SM: I know

DF: Aren’t you normally like a 93?????

SM: Yeah

TF: When do you start melting?

DF: Dude!!!

SM: Right under 100

DF: You don’t ask somebody when they start melting!!!!!

DF: But Sam, if you get up to 98, let me know and take an ice bath

DF: I don’t want to have to explain to your parents why you’re missing and there’s a puddle of ectoplasm in your room

SM: That’s fair

TF: Gtg. Tetslaff is yelling at me for not changing out

SM: Good luck! Don’t die!

DF: He should be fine…. Right?

SM: Nope

Suddenly, Sam straightened up. Her hair started to float up around her head and the air smelled a lot cleaner. She sighed, and climbed out of bed.

SM: Ghost. I’ll text you when i’m done

DF: Valerie just “went to the bathroom”

SM: Got it

DF: Be safe! You’re still sick

Sam pulled her hair back into a quick ponytail, stuffed a pillow under her sheets and turned the lights off to keep her mother and father from noticing anything, and shuffled over to the window.

“Well then, guess I’ll die.” As her voice trailed off, the two rings split around her waist, and she transformed. Immediately, she staggered and fell against the wall. “Oh, no no no. Not good. Come on, Sam. Just one ghost. You got this, you got this.” She quickly turned her arm intangible and reached through her wall, grabbing the Fenton Thermos and Fenton Wrist Ray she kept there. Danny had been both building and stealing his parents weapons since the Trio first started fighting ghosts, leading to the rather sizeable hidden collection they now maintained. Aside from the three other guns and extra thermos in her walls, Sam had stuffed an arsenal into the school walls, her locker, Danny and Tucker’s locker, her car, an old oak tree in the park, the library bathroom, and the Nasty Burger.

“Alright, let’s do this.” She attached the Wrist Ray to her left hand and the Thermos to her belt as she phased through the wall. It only took her a minute of meandering up Main Street to find a trail of small craters and broken bricks, and only a few more seconds to find Skulker.

“Ah, Ghost Child! You are here, which means I can-”

“Cutting you short there, buddy. I’m sick. I need to be home sleeping. I don’t have time to deal with your whole ‘Kill the Whelp! Take the Whelp’s pelt and hang it on my wall! Argh! bullshit. Can we just call it a draw and you head back to the Ghost Zone?”

“Never! I shall be victorious in this hunt-”

“Dude, seriously. You never win. Like, never. Not once. I’m giving you one chance to go home. The Red Huntress is gonna be here two minutes ago, and she’s not as nice as I am. Can you please just go away?”

“You are weakened. That means I shall-”

Skulker was cut off and thrown spinning backwards in the air as a missile hit him square in the chest. Sam groaned and dodged to the side as Valerie shot by her. She popped up, and almost went crashing to the ground just as fast, her vision fuzzy and darkening. She watched as Valerie went zipping around, peppering Skulker with rockets and plasma blasts and the occasional sideswipe with her hoverboard. If she hadn’t been on the verge of falling, Sam would have taken a moment to appreciate Valerie’s skill. Sam had never seen her equal. Back when they had dated for a month in freshman year, back before either of them knew what they were doing as ghost and ghost hunter, Danny and Tucker were convinced Sam was better. Having seen Valerie in action (and having been on the receiving end of that action more times than she would have cared for and thankfully not recently) Sam knew that, if it weren’t for her plant powers and preference for negotiation over confrontation, Valerie would have long surpassed her. As it was, most ghosts just needed a few kind words, directions to a natural portal, or a weekly shipment of boxes.

“Take that, ghost!” Valerie’s shout jolted Sam back to the present, right in time to fall into the road. She sat up as Skulker crashed a few feet away.

“I shall have your skin, huntress!” Skulker roared, clawing out of the new crater.

“I already told you, Skulker, go away!” Sam planted her hands on the ground, and let her powers loose. In seconds, vines and roots began to spring from the ground, breaking through the asphalt and wrapping themselves around Skulker’s suit.

“No! I will not be defeated by a tree!”

“It’s poison ivy right now, thank you very much, and yes, you will.” Sam pulled at the vines with her mind, and they brought the metal suit crashing into the ground. Skulker’s head popped off and rolled away, his little feet kicking frantically at nothing.

“And in you go,” Valerie laughed as she pulled out her own thermos and sucked in the head, as well as the rest of the armor. “That wasn’t too bad, eh?”

Sam smiled weakly. “Not too bad.” Valerie nodded back, her mask hiding any emotions. The two girls had come to a tentative truce at the end of sophomore year, and had been getting more comfortable with each other ever since. Sam had even gotten a burner phone so Valerie could call her at any time. She hadn’t yet, but it was the thought that counted.

“Hey, you good?”

“Mostly. Just a little under the weather.”

“Aren’t you dead?” Sam turned abruptly to glare at Valerie “Ack, wait, that came out wrong. Sorry. I just, well, I didn’t think you could get sick.”

“Oh,” Sam’s face relaxed. “Yeah, neither did I. But, here I am.”

“You should go rest.”

“I’m planning on it.”

“Like, right now. Go back to the Ghost Zone. I can take care of things here, at least for a few days. Besides, if I need any help, you have a phone number for a reason.”

Sam sighed. “Okay. Don’t die, Huntress.” She lifted off the ground a little.

“You too, Wraith.” Sam chuckled at the mention of her ghost half’s name as she flew shakily away. Valerie sped off in the other direction with the small hope that maybe she would make it back in time for the end of class.

“Now, back home I go. Slowly, very slowly,” Sam said to nobody. “Very, very slowly. Don’t want to collapse, don’t want to fall.” She faltered above the buildings. “I’m gonna set myself down right there, because falling hurts a lot. That is more power than I’ve used in a while. That was more power than I meant to use.” Sam set herself down in the middle of the road, and glanced back at where the fight had just gone down. Vines were everywhere. A few were still growing, twisting up to the sky. The entire road was blocked, along with half of the sidewalk.

“That is way more power than I thought.” Sam turned away from the destruction and pulled out her burner phone. She wasn’t sure how, but once she clipped it to her belt, the phone was always there when she transformed.

“Where is it… there it is.” She speed dialed the fire department. “Yes, hello?”

“Amity Park Fire Department Non-Emergency line. How can I help?” The operator on the other side of the phone sounded too cheery.

“Hi, yeah, it’s the Wraith.”

“Oh, hi! How are you? It’s been so long!”

“I’m pretty good, Sharon, you?”

“It’s good, it’s good. Nothing’s burned down recently.” Sharon, the operator, laughed.

“That’s good. So, I made a bit of a mess…”

“Just now?”

“Uh huh. Skulker showed up on Main Street.”

“Is everyone okay? Do I need to get an ambulance? A firetruck? The police? Did you burn something down?” Sharon’s voice rose an octave as lots of scrambling and thudding was heard through the phone.

“Nothing’s burned, Sharon, and nobody’s hurt. No police or ambulances necessary. Just a lot of vines in the middle of the road.”

“Can’t you undo them?”

“To be honest, I don’t know how. I was hoping, if there’s some extra people at the station, you could send some to burn them down?”

“You said in the middle of the road?”

“Yeah, they’re growing through the road. And a few on the sidewalk. And they’re poison ivy. Sorry.” Sam winced.

“I’ll send a crew down. Main Street?”

“Yeah, right in front of the mayor’s office.”

“Okie dokie. Sounds good. And thank you!”

Sharon hung up before Sam could respond. The woman was nice, and Sam liked talking to her. She almost never got to, but Sharon didn’t know anything about her other than their phone calls and the news, so when they did talk, Sam enjoyed the outside opinion and caring voice.

“And now, all the way home. You got this Sam. You got this.” She continued walking, slowly and shakily.

It took her another half hour to walk to her house, and then three minutes to muster the strength to fly up to her window and phase through. She wasn’t sure when she had transformed back, but a quick glance in the mirror told her Sam Manson was lying on her bed and not the Wraith. She sighed lightly, and drifted off to sleep.

[buckychristwrites]

Rein Me In | Part 4 | b.b.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: Sometimes, even super soldiers need saving. But sometimes in the process, they end up saving you too.

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: A dash of angst but fluffy too!

A/N: don’t worry, it’s chill this time

| Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | 

Masterlist 

The museum smelled the way it always did. It calmed you, bringing you back to better times.

The New York Historical Society Museum was one you had visited often as a child, and now that you were strong enough to walk for long periods without dying of pain, you decided that you had been avoiding the place for too long. And considering you were off work until further notice, it’s not like you could say you didn’t have the time.

A lot had changed since your last visit. Exhibits had been moved around and replaced. Workers had come and gone. It was almost like you were in a totally different place than the one you had visited so often such a long time ago.

Occupied by the map in your hands, you weren’t paying attention to where it was you were walking. So it came as a shock when you looked up and came face to face with a large cardboard cutout of Captain America himself. Brows furrowed together, you looked around. Red white and blue flooded the entire exhibit, covering the walls and most of the displays. Words of praise for Captain America and the Howling Commandos could be seen everywhere, along with their pictures. The motorcycle that Captain America had used when taking out HYDRA bases was kept in shape as it stood behind a velvet rope. The sound of a narrator talking about the life and achievements of the Patriot echoed throughout the room. You continued to look around until your eyes fell on a sign on the wall.

The Captain America Exhibit is being temporarily borrowed from the Smithsonian Air And Space Museum in Washington DC.

Of course it is.

For a second, you considered leaving the exhibit. It was a painful reminder, that went far beyond the Avengers. But then a familiar face caught your eye. You shook your head as you approached it. Of course he would be here too, you thought to yourself. You had completely forgotten.

James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes stared at you. A different man than the one you knew. Approaching the glass, you sighed as you skimmed his little biography next to his picture. It was weird reading his birth year as 1916. Sometimes you forgot his real age. Sorrow and guilt washed over you as you continued to stare at the black and white picture. When you turned your head to look at the attraction behind it, your eyes fell on him again. A painting of him on the wall with his military uniform on display.

You hadn’t stopped thinking of Bucky since the day you left the hospital before he could get to you. The guilt was unbearable at times, but you thought you were doing what was best. Despite your attraction to Bucky, you knew that it ended as soon as you factored in his professional life. And social life. Basically it came down to, anything about Bucky’s life that didn’t have to do with just himself as a person.

“Well,” A voice said, breaking you from your thoughts. You turned around to find Steve Rogers standing behind you, a coy smirk on his face. He was wearing a baseball cap and a pair of fake glasses, and you wondered if that poor, Clark Kent-esque disguise really worked for him. “You’re the last person I expected to see here.” You bit your lip, trying to hold back the urge to roll your eyes.

“Do you often visit your own museum exhibit?” You asked him with a slightly cold voice. He chuckled, glancing down at his shoes before turning at looking around at the room. There was something about the look in his eyes that made you eat your words.

“Just visiting old friends,” He said quietly. The room began to shrink around you, and suddenly you wished the ceiling would fall down and crush you, maybe kill you this time. It was when he turned back to you that you realized that you were holding your breath.

“God. I’m sorry,” You said, putting your hand to your forehead. “I’m such an asshole.” He chuckled.

“Yeah, I won’t argue with that,” He retorted, his voice remaining friendly. A chill shot up your spine. He turned towards the picture of Bucky on the display, his demeanor changing to something you couldn’t quite place. “‘Forging a bond that would take him to the battlefields of Europe and beyond’,” He read while shaking his head. “They don’t even know.” He paused, staring a little longer before turning back to you. “I don’t know what sort of game you’re playing with Bucky, but he’s a good man and doesn’t deserve any of it. So you have to figure out what it is you’re doing with him sooner rather than later.” You stood silent for a while, processing Steve’s words. For a second, you thought about saying some sarcastic comment back, but nothing came to you.

You didn’t mean to make it seem like you were playing games with Bucky. Part of you was just trying to protect yourself. But obviously the hospital incident and the dodging of his phone calls must have really made an impact if he was telling Steve. And if it upset Steve enough for him to say something to you the next time he saw you, then that meant it upset Bucky more than you thought. Maybe running into Steve at the museum wasn’t just coincidence, because it was enough to push you to make a decision. For the almost two weeks it had been since you left the hospital, you had been debating on how exactly to handle Bucky, so you did what you did best and avoided him altogether. But now you knew exactly what to do.

You looked around the room, your eyes stinging with tears.

“My dad and I used to come to this museum all the time before he died,” You told Steve. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him raise an eyebrow. “He was a huge history nerd and just loved the atmosphere.” Blinking away the tears, you smiled. “He was especially excited whenever your exhibit came to visit. He admired you tremendously. Had your comics, trading cards, VHS’s of your performance. The man is rolling in his grave right now because I’m talking to you.” The both of you shared a laugh. “If he knew the way I’ve felt about you these last few years, he’d probably be really upset.” You looked back at the picture of Bucky, the one you had seen so many times as a kid and thought nothing of it. Never would you have guessed that the man in this picture would come to mean something to you.

“Why are you telling me this?” He asked, his head cocked to the side. Looking back at Steve, you pursed your lips for a second. He his face was definitely not as hard looking as it had been before, which made you more comfortable. There was a reason, for sure. But you knew that this wasn’t the place for you to tell it.

“There’s a coffee shop nearby that has some of the best hot chocolate I’ve ever had,” You told him. “Let me buy you a cup.” He furrowed his eyebrows together, making you sigh. “I have some explaining to do.”

_________________________________________

“I’d like let up to the penthouse, please.”

The security guard laughed right in your face. “You think we just let anyone up in the penthouse?” You rolled your eyes before turning away from him to dig through your bag.

“Mr. Hogan, is it?” You asked, finding the piece of plastic you were looking for. “I have clearance from Captain Rogers.” Pulling out the clearance badge that Steve had given you a few days prior, you handed it to Happy. He stared at it in shock for almost a full minute before looking back at you. You raised your eyebrows. “I’ll be on my way then.” Giving him the sweetest smile you could muster, you walked away while feeling a new level of confident.

As you stood on the elevator, watching the floors go up, your heart raced. If your hands weren’t already preoccupied, you probably would be playing with your fingers. You stared at the roses you were holding and suddenly second guessed them. What kind of fucking idea was this? Buying him roses? Who are you? These questions ran through your head, and you suddenly wondered if there was a trash can somewhere that you could drop them in. But it was too late. The doors open, and you found yourself face to face with Black Widow.

She eyed you suspiciously, taking a step away from the elevator.

“Uh,” You said, stepping into the hall and letting the doors close behind you. “Hi.” For a second, she held her stance, but then her eyes suddenly widened and she relaxed.

“You’re Barnes’s paramedic,” She said, pointing at you with a coy smile. “The one we pulled from the building.” You were slightly relieved that she didn’t acknowledge the blush that spread across your cheeks.

“Yeah…” You said, looking down at the ground. “Thanks for that, by the way.” She shrugged.

“All in a day’s work. I’m sure you know that better than anyone else.” She eyed the flowers in your hands, her smile only growing wider. You exhaled deeply and wondered if this had been a mistake. She looked back up at you. “Glad to see you looking better. Barnes isn’t here but he should be back soon, if you want to wait for him.”

“That would be great…” You said before pausing. “I don’t think I could bring myself to do this a second time.” She chuckled, gesturing for you to follow her. The walk down the hallways was quiet, but you were too busy taking in Avengers Tower to care. It was bigger than you ever imagined it, with framed newspaper articles praising their accomplishments lining the walls and skylights letting the natural light flood the rooms. The hallway lead into the living room, and as you walked, you peaked out the windows that went from the floor to ceiling that lead to a balcony with lounge chairs and a pool. You didn’t realize you had stopped walking until you turned to find your escort disappearing down another hall, and you had to run to catch up to her.

“I’m Natasha by the way,” Black Widow said randomly as she came to a stop in front of a closed door. You stopped as well.

“It’s nice to meet you,” You said before introducing yourself. She nodded once at you, looking down at the floor before looking back at you. She almost looked nervous, and that threw you off.

“Rogers told me about your run in at the museum,” She said, her head tilting in a way that told you he told her everything about what happened at the museum. “I’m sorry for what happened.” You shook your head, waving her off.

“I know, deep down, that you guys aren’t to blame,” You said slowly. “I just have to remind myself of that sometimes.” She nodded understandingly.

“I would’ve been cautious with us too,” She admitted, to your surprise. “I was cautious for a while. Following someone blindly is how you get yourself killed.” She nodded towards the door. “His room. Figured you could wait here.” You nodded

“Thanks, Natasha,” You said, finding it almost unnatural sounding when you said her real name as opposed to her alias. She didn’t say another word, just smiling once more at you before turning on her heel and walking away. You watched her go, the whole conversation feeling very surreal, before letting yourself into Bucky’s room.

It was so big, you were unprepared for it. If you laid down on the floor, it would take at least seven more of you to reach the other side. Maybe the reason it looks so big was it was almost bare. The walls were a plain pale blue with no decoration coming from them. Not a shirt or sock could be seen on the floor as it was all neatly put away in either the armoire or the closet, which was opened enough for you to see shirts tidily lined up on hangers. The only scattered thing about this room was the desk in the corner, which was completely covered with papers and notebooks, with pictures and a calendar taped to the wall it stood in front of.

Without thinking, you moved towards the desk. On the wall were black and white pictures. One was a picture of Bucky with two women, you assuming them to be his mother and sister, all of them smiling widely at the camera. Bucky had his arm around the both of them. It was the him from the museum. The him you would never know. Curiosity got the better of you as you looked down at the line of papers and the calendar. The scribbles that filled the boxes on several days made you lean forward.

Connie. My 14th birthday party. Red haired girl’s name is Dot. Ma’s favorite dress. Fight with Rebecca’s boyfriend.

You furrowed your eyebrows as you wondered what these meant. On the floor next to the desk, you saw a small pile of more calendars. Setting down the flowers and picking one out of the stack, you flipped through it, catching more random tidbits like from the one hanging up.

Ma’s smile. Rebecca’s laugh. Steve. Newspaper in shoes. Zola. Sarah Rogers. Red haired girl. Howard Stark. Howling Commandos.

The more you read, the less you understood. What did all these mean? Setting the calendar back down, you looked back at the desk. The leather bound notebook was old and withered. The corners were worn, bent in and a different color from the rest of the dark covering. No, your conscience screamed. But you just couldn’t help yourself.

His handwriting was messy but legible. You flipped through pages, skimming to find anything of interest. You stopped when you came across a page with Steve’s picture taped to the inside. Steven Grant Rogers was scrawled across the top of the page. In bullet point style, there was a list of what looked like random things, but you assumed they were things that connected Bucky to Steve. You read through each one.

Tiny before serum

Howling Commandos

With you til the end of the line

Had him on the ropes?

Cyclone?

Punk

Stark expo

He threw up on the Cyclone

Coney Island

Sarah was his mom, died of tb

His list for Steve went on for multiple pages.

The pieces of your shattered heart sprinkled like dust on the carpet. Flipping through the book some more, something on a page towards the back made you stop. There was no picture attached to this one, just a name scribbled across the top.

Yours.

The flutter in your heart was so pronounced that you felt it throughout your whole body. Your list was confined to one page, unlike most of the others, but the fact that there was a page for you at all made you feel something so intense that you couldn’t even explain it. You could feel your heart swelling as you read through your list.

Saved my life

Called me babe

Sass

Sergeant Barnes.

Scared of the others for some reason

Doesn’t seem to be scared of me

Called me Bucky !

Not sure what it is about her but I-

“Not much of an interesting read.”

Slamming the book closed, you whirled around to find Bucky in the doorway, scratching the back of his neck. The two of you stared at each other for a while, the book still in your hand. Blood had rushed to your cheeks and you felt like the room was on fire.

“I’m surprised I was worth writing about,” You said, gently setting it back down on the desk. He shrugged, not making a sound for a while as he stared at the floor. You were starting to get anxious when he looked back up at you.

“My memory is shotty,” He admitted, looking back up at you. “I write down the things worth remembering. Just in case.” The thump in your chest made you visibly jump slightly. But the good feeling that had risen in your chest quickly disappeared when his eyes narrowed at you. “What are you doing here?” You quickly grabbed the roses.

“I brought you these.” You smiled widely at him as you lifted them up for him to see. “I thought that since you, you know, bought me flowers when I helped you, that I should return the favor. It was supposed to be funny, like it’s our thing. To buy each other flowers when we save the other from death. But I’m… now realizing it probably looks really stupid so I’m sorry about that.” You put your hand over your mouth so that you would stop talking. The corners of his mouth twitched upward slightly, as if he was holding back a smile.

“What happened?” He asked quietly, and you didn’t need to ask him what he was referring to. You looked down at the floor, sighing before looking back up at him.

“My family was killed by the Avengers.” The words hung in the air for a while, filling the room. Bucky shifted his weight to his other left, his head hanging to the side as he watched you with sad eyes. You looked away. “It was when New York got attacked all those years ago, the first time the Avengers were ever seen together. They were meeting me at a restaurant in Little Italy, but traffic was insane.” You began to blink more rapidly as your eyes began to sting. “They couldn’t get out of the way in time. One of the Avengers threw a truck or something large at a ship and it missed and hit a building. Large piece fell off. Landed on their car.” You nodded slowly, your eyes on the carpet. “That morning I had parents and a little sister. That night… I had nothing.” You sighed, shaking your head. “I left school for a while, worked as a waitress. I worked so much that it was distracting. I did that for a year, until I woke up one morning and just thought… what the fuck am I doing?So I got my shit together.” You inhaled deeply, pressing your lips together as you looked back up at him. “The whole thing… I wouldn’t say it made me resent the Avengers. I’m not stupid. I know mistakes happen. I’m not the only person who’s lost someone. But it…” You paused, choosing your words carefully. “It made them scare the absolute shit out of me.” This time, Bucky was the one looking at the ground. “That’s why I got squirrelly. Every time I saw them, and even you at first… it reminded me of everything I had lost.” You sighed. “So I’m sorry it felt like I was fucking around with you. I just didn’t know what to do.” You took a few small steps forward, making Bucky look back up at you. The scent of the flowers wafted in your direction as you extended them towards him. His smile was wide and genuine, unmissable, this time as he took them from you. As he pressed his nose into them, inhaling deeply, you took this chance to look him over.

His shirt was red, hugging his body just so you could see how toned it was underneath. For whatever reason, you never noticed how big he was. It didn’t even occur to you when he was carrying you out of the building like you didn’t weigh a thing. Everyone always talked about how big Steve Rogers was, but Bucky was just as buff. It intimidated you slightly, but not as much as it attracted you to him. He looked up from the roses.

“I didn’t take you for the sentimental type,” He quoted, making you smile even wider at him. He looked over at the desk before looking back at you. “How much did you read?” You smirked.

“I was just starting to get to the interesting stuff when you so rudely interrupted,” You retorted. He snickered.

“I uh…” He looked around the room at anything except for you, reaching back to scratch the back of his neck again. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you after you saved me and then visited me in the hospital and I just… wrote it down. I was hoping that writing it would make me stop thinking about you but- that didn’t really work. That’s when I had Tony find you.” His cheeks turned a deep red, which made you giggle. “And then you came around again and everything happened and I couldn’t shake you.” You looked around the room before your eyes found Bucky again.

“You, erm, you make me nervous,” You told him, his eyebrows shooting up his forehead. “Not in the ‘You scare me’ sort of way, but in the ‘You overwhelm me’ sort of way… I don’t know what it is… and for some reason, even you being an Avenger wasn’t enough to scare me away from you.” Your shoulders went up and down again.

Bucky crossed the room, taking a seat on his bed with the roses resting on his lap. The two of you stood in a comfortable sort of silence. Your confession as well as his own were floating around the room, as if waiting for one of you to address the other. But neither of you dared to speak, instead just continuing to stare at each other. Finally, you broke the silence.

“Thank you again for helping me out of the wreckage and I’m sorry for leaving you,” You said softly, your hand sliding up to grip the handle of your purse. “I should probably go.” You began to head towards the door, but stopped when Bucky cleared his throat.

“Or,” He said, shrugging his shoulder and tilting his head to one side. “You could stay for a little bit.” You bit back a smile.

“You want me to stay,” You said as more of a statement than a question.

“Sure,” He said simply. You could tell that he was also fending off a smile of his own. “I was about to make myself some dinner, I could also make you some. We can… just talk.” You laughed.

“It would probably be the first time we would actually hang out with each other in a normal way,” You said as you considered his offer. “No hospitals, no near death experiences. We’re really breaking away from our usual routine.” He laughed the most genuine laugh you had ever heard come out of him. Something about it made your heart sing.

“So is that a yes?” He asked, raising his eyebrows and smiling at you. For a second, you thought about saying no. There was still something about this whole thing that made you nervous. Especially with the rest of the Avengers being around and you not being fully comfortable with them yet. But there was something about the way his eyes twinkled under the skylight that made him so irresistible. You thought about your parents. They would never want you to give up on the possibility of being happy for their sake. Not even in this case. And you knew that for a fact. You let your bag slide down your shoulder and onto the floor before slipping off your shoes.

“Fine,” You told him, making him smile in satisfaction. “But this dinner you make me better be the best damn dinner I’ve ever had.”

“Oh please,” He said, standing up and leading you out of his room towards the kitchen. “I’ve been on this planet for over a hundred years now. I’ve picked up a thing or two when it comes down to cooking a good meal.” You laughed, looking up at him and wondering how you ever had a doubt about him at all.

_________________________________________

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