#though looking at it now I might change the living room wallpaper in a future update | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

zmediaoutlet · 3 years ago

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in support of Texas relief, @padaleckimeon donated $100 and requested Dean Jr. meeting Sam and Dean in heaven. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post. (no longer taking prompts)

(read on AO3)

When Dad dies, Dean takes a week off. It wasn’t sudden, or a surprise. Dad had been sick for a while, his body starting to fail him. At first Dean had been scared, and then he’d been angry. He was only twenty-four when Dad got the diagnosis and it wasn’t—fair, in some stupid but essential way. He’d barely graduated from college and, yeah, Dad was kind of old, older than a lot of his friends’ parents, but—he thought, somehow, that him dying just wasn't… applicable. Dad was just—there, always. Solid, supportive, kind of boring maybe but also stronger than anyone Dean had ever known, or would ever know, and it wasn’t right that he could just be sitting in his apartment midway through a novel and get a call and kind of sigh, because he was in a good part in the book, and then to sit up straight with his hair standing on end to hear Dad say, quiet, I'm sorry, buddy. We need to talk about something. That’s what he said, first. That he was sorry.

There were treatments, but not many. Dean had flown out and gone to a few of the appointments with the oncologist and Dad had been quiet, listening to the options. He’d researched a lot of this on his own, because Dean had done the same thing, and they’d both been nodding along during the options. Injections, radiation. Chemo. Dad had asked, polite, what the life expectancy was for each option, and Dean had watched the side of his face and not the doctor, and when the answer was given Dad had closed his eyes briefly, and then looked away from both Dean and the doctor, out the window at the snowy day, and Dean had known, then.

Dad made it past Dean’s twenty-fifth birthday. He had a party with his friends, at his girlfriend’s apartment, and they tried to keep his spirits up but it was a pretty shitty party, all told. The next day, his actual birthday, he flew back out to Dad’s house and he was in good spirits—had a mini-cake, even, with a single candle that he made Dean blow out—but he was thin, and his hair was growing back in snow-white and tender-soft, and when Dad fell asleep in front of the crappy old cowboy movie that Dean had picked just because he knew Dad for some reason liked it, Dean went out onto the porch into the nearly-springtime air and he cried, pissed at himself. Pissed at everything. Then just—unbearably sad, because he liked his current girlfriend but he didn’t think he was going to marry her, and that meant that whatever girl he did marry would be one his dad would never meet—if he had kids, they’d never know how his dad concentrated like a motherfucker on crossword puzzles and obsessed over documentaries and knew every single piece of the inside of that behemoth car in the garage and was just the smartest kindest most stubborn person. Just—the best person. They’d listen to Dean’s stories maybe but they wouldn’t know, because Dad would never meet them, and that was just—unbearable, that night. In the morning, Dad made oatmeal and Dean added a bunch of sugar because Dad’s oatmeal was inedible otherwise, and Dad smiled kind of rueful like he always did when Dean did that, and then Dad said, I’m sorry, again, kind of quiet, and Dean reached out and held his hand—thin, and the bones feeling frail—and he said don’t be sorry, Dad, and four months later, Dad was dead.

Dad was always pretty up-front with him about most everything, especially after he and Mom split up. When he was twelve, Dad explained the supernatural very carefully, telling him that he was safe but that other people might not be, and why. When he was thirteen, Dad told Dean that Hell and Heaven were both real and that there was, definitely, confirmed, a God, and maybe it wasn’t the same God that other people knew but that Dad said he was kind, in his own way. The person in charge of Hell, Dad said, was maybe less so, but she wouldn’t hurt Dean, ever. Dad said he knew that for fact, and he said it so certainly, looking Dean in the eye, that Dean believed him. When Dean turned eighteen, a few months from graduating high school, Dad took him to a tattoo parlor and said for maybe the first time in Dean’s life that something was non-negotiable, and Dean hadn’t cared because what other kid in the senior year was going to walk at graduation with a kickass demonic tattoo?

There were other things, though, that they didn’t talk about. Dad said one day a lot when Dean was little but then, when he was older and it was clear that one day would be never, he just said—I can’t, buddy. I wish I could.

After the week off, rattling around the old house, and the cremation with no service that Dad had insisted on, Dean drives out to the lawyer in Sioux Falls. She’s nice. Respectful but not cloying. The Samuel Winchester Estate that Dean is the sole beneficiary of is—a lot of money. A lot more money than he knew Dad had, or that he could have ever earned. Dad has assigned some of the money to go to charities, and to some people Dean doesn’t know—the lawyer doesn’t say who in the specific, but says they’re kids of some of Dad’s old friends. Dean didn’t know Dad had many friends, much less ones who’d get trust funds in inheritance. Aside from the stock options and the accounts and all the money left over, Dean inherits a list of assets. The house, of course. The Chevy in the garage, with the stipulation that he can never sell it. A safety deposit box, from which the lawyer has already retrieved the contents.

She leaves him alone, to go through the box. Neatly organized, like everything else in Dad’s life. File-folders of pictures, printed out all old-fashioned. Some of Dean when he was a baby. Some of when Dad and Mom were still together, leaning against each other, Dean hugged between them. Some—much older, creased and faded, stored in little plastic sleeves so they can't degrade. He recognizes a few from the framed copies Dad always had in the house. Some he hasn't seen. Most of them—almost all of them—are of his Uncle Dean, who died before he was born, and he looks especially at one that just—hits him in the gut, in this awful way where he has to sit there looking at the soothing taupe paint of the conference room wall before he can look at it again. Uncle Dean's facing the camera, sort of, although he's laughing about something and not really looking into the lens, and there's Dad, laughing too. He looks… young. Younger than Dean is now. He flips the picture over. Dad's handwriting, careful: 2006, Bobby's house. Almost fifty years ago. An entire life he didn't know. He thinks again of his imaginary future kids. These lives they have, grandfather to father to son, that overlap like a venn diagram but—not enough. Not close to enough.

What's a life? How to summarize, from beginning to faded end, in a way that would make sense to anyone but who it happened to?

Dad left letters, explaining, but he's gone and the context is missing. There are so many questions Dean wants to ask but he can't, of course, anymore. The first letter is attached to the key to the bunker, where he would never take Dean when he was alive, and on winter break from med school Dean flies from Boston to Kansas and rents a car and drives alone through the snowfields.

Dark, inside. He throws the big switch and the lights crackle, hum on, almost reluctant. He has no idea how it's getting power. Dust, but not as much as there could be. A library, a kitchen. Archives upon archives. Dad had explained, but what little he'd said both in life and in the letters didn't come close. It was home, he wrote, for over a decade. The only one we had with four walls, for our whole lives, although we didn't think of it that way. I didn't, at least. Dean doesn't know what that means but he looks into the bedrooms and sees… emptiness, plain bunks and old desks and funny lamps. I just picked a random room, Dad said, and as Dean's looking he really can't tell which was Dad's. Figures. Their house when Dean was growing up didn't change a bit, no matter how terrible that wallpaper was. It's only when Dean pushes open the door to room 11 that there's any personality, and he flicks the light and stands there blinking, surprised. Guns and knives on the wall. Books, piled up. Empty beer bottles crowded on the little table. Dust, but—not as much as there could be. He walks in, cautious, this feeling in his gut like he's in someone's home and they've just walked out, and could return any moment. A food bowl on the floor. A shirt flung over the chair. On the desk: more books and magazines and a folded actually-on-paper newspaper from 2024, and a job application, half filled out. Dean Winchester, it says at the top, in mostly-neat capitals, and Dean rests a hand on the back of the chair and feels… strange. He tries to picture it—the man from the pictures, Dad's brother, filling up this space. Drinking beer and reading pulp westerns and checking out—oh, weird, magazine porn. Dean shakes his head. Impossible.

In the letters, Dad said: Hunting was all we knew how to do. With everything we knew, it was our duty to use the knowledge the best way we could. I went back and forth on it. Your uncle never did, even if I know there were times he wished he—that we both—could be something else. I don't want that for you. I want you to live exactly the life you want for yourself. No expectations, okay? Not from me or anyone else.

There are printed files that go back a hundred years. More than. Paper files, but old SSDs too, with connectors Dean has to find adapters for. Dad: If you want to know what we did, it's digitized. I know I always said I'd tell you one day, but I never knew how to say it. I'm sorry for that. I always thought I'd be one hundred percent honest, if I ever got a kid, because of how we were raised. I didn't know how hard that could be. Stuff that you'd want to say, but when it came time to just open your mouth and say it there weren't any words.

Dad wrote up all the old hunts, it turned out. Simple notes about where/when/how, the kind of monster it was, the number of people who died and the people who were saved. The people they had to explain things to, who knew now about the supernatural underbelly to the universe. He noted, too, if there were injuries, and Dean reads with his hand over his mouth a long, long litany of Dean W. shot, right arm; Sam W. broken bone in hand; Dean W. concussion; Sam W. strangled. On and on. No wonder Dad didn't make a big fuss when Dean broke his leg in the fourth grade.

He sleeps in the bunker overnight, in one of the spare bedrooms that's not room 11. There's a fan on the ceiling, dusty office supplies on the desk. By lamplight he reads the letters, on his back on the stiff terrible mattress, his eyes stinging and past-midnight tired. Our lives weren't the kind of thing anyone would want, Dad wrote. I spent so long trying to get away from it because I thought 'it shouldn't be this way' – and I was right, you know? It shouldn't have been how it was. But it was that way, anyway, and in the end that was something I was okay with. We were making what difference we could. We were happy. A lot of people have it worse.

'We'. Dad hardly writes Uncle Dean's name but he's in every letter. We, we, we. Dad told Dean stories, of course, the dumb stuff they got up to when they were teenagers, or the (sanitized, Dean's sure) adventures they had as adults, but despite the pictures on the wall at home and the pictures in the deposit box and the whole life that's here, Dean can't—see it. Beer bottles on the table in the bedroom, one on either side of the tiny table. The shirt slung over the chair. We were happy, he says, but—how? Dean can't imagine it.

In the last letter Dad wrote, I think I'm writing this when I've got a month or two left. Dr. Hendricks isn't sure. I wish I had more time, to explain how it was. Who we were. I never told you the most embarrassing thing in the world, but I'm old and I'm not going to be around and not much will be able to embarrass me anymore, so screw it. (Fifty years ago I would have gotten really mad at myself for that kind of comment; more things age can fix.) There are books about us. There's a hard drive, in the bunker. It's labelled BURN THIS. (That's your uncle's handwriting.) They're true, more or less. Written by a really crappy, amateur writer, but he was a kind of prophet, and he knew everything there was to know about us, and he wrote books for about five years, based on our life and the real things we did. Some of it is exaggerated and melodramatic. A lot of it is just how it happened. You'll have to decide which is which. I don't come off too well in some of them but I hope you'll understand that the world… I don't know how to describe it. Somehow the world felt different, then. It was just us, trying our best. I hope it gives you some idea of the life we had. No matter what happened, I'm glad that life led me to you.

What's a life?

Dean marries. Not the girl from college but a woman, later. Red hair, blue eyes. Absolutely no sense of humor beyond puns. Hates cooking and has strong opinions on movies from the 1980s. They have three kids, a girl and then a boy and then a girl again. All dark-haired, smart. Dean gives the boy the middle name Samuel and his wife holds his hand, says it sounds great.

He's a doctor. He meets hunters. He sets bones for free and prescribes medication when needed and when it will be needed. A woman, last name Novak, calls him and says you know, your dad was one of the greats?, and he meets people—older than him by twenty, thirty years, with scars and dangerous lives and guns hidden in every corner, and he hears stories. Sam Winchester, who saved the world. Dean knows—he's read the books—but there are more years that the books didn't cover, more people who didn't die because of his dad's intervention. "They were the best," one man says, shrugging, and gets no argument, nods and shrugs from every hunter in the room, and Dean goes home that night and kisses his littlest girl where she's already tucked up in bed, and he thinks: what will she know, about who her grandfather was? Who their family is? What could she possibly know?

Dean's wife dies in her eighties. An accident. A broken hip, an infection following. Still happens, even in this new century. The kids are grown, have kids of their own, and the funeral is big, and there are people at his elbow who say to him we're so sorry and who share anecdotes of her life and who support him to his chair, even though at ninety he's perfectly capable of getting to his chair himself. He's a cranky old man, he realizes. She would've laughed at him. He thinks, inevitably, of his own father's death. Silent and unmourned, except by one. What's a life.

He writes letters, for his children. The estate is handled. He calls the oldest girl and explains to her that she's going to be the executor, and that there are things she has to keep. A key. A car. Pictures, so that her boys will know where they came from. "Of course, Dad," she says, placating a little because he's old and clearly starting to lose his grip, but she'll do it. She's a good kid. Dean learned how to raise a kid from the best.

When he dies, he's expecting it. The trip to the hospital. The monitors. He knows the pain meds even if he's retired and his doctor looks like an infant but she gives him the good stuff. It's—easy. A slipping away. He closes his eyes to sleep and there is a moment where he thinks with surprisingly clarity, this is okay, isn't it, and has the feeling of someone's hand laid on his, and then he sleeps, and doesn't wake up again.

He opens his eyes in an armchair, in a house that he doesn't recognize but that feels instantly familiar. Music playing, somewhere, and a gold-tinged afternoon spilling through the window, and tone-deaf singing from the kitchen. His mind feels clearer than it has in… Tears come to his eyes but it doesn't hurt. He puts his fingers to his mouth and smiles, breathing in slow, and thinks—well, this is it. Heaven.

Time is no longer time. Space is—immaterial. There's a house, not their house, but it's roomy and it has what he needs and the bed he crawls into with his wife at the end of a day is comfortable, and that's what matters, as he lays his hand on her hip where he used to lay it always, and she sighs against the pillow and squirms and tucks herself into a fetal pretzel, like she always used to. The spill of her hair red against the pillow. Her warmth, plush against his bones. She smells not of honeysuckle or vanilla but just like warm, human skin, the faint bite of salt-sweat at the nape of her neck, the must in the morning in thin bluish light when she turns over and finds him awake, and smiles. Incredible. The weight of her is real, and the spot between her breasts when he kisses her there is real, and he'd always believed in some distant way that what his dad had told him was true—that there was a heaven, that there would be some kind of justice after death—but it was distant, and academic, because of course there was a life to live and patients to care for and children to raise and a wife to bury and a death to get through. What a thing, to come to. This place, with her hair on the pillow, and her smell. He hadn't forgotten it, in the end, after all.

The house sits in some place that feels like South Dakota. Home, or close to it. A lake among trees. A distance between things. He reads, and plays games he barely remembers from being a kid, and he watches the Ghostbusters movies again because his wife insists and they are, he has to admit, still funny, but he makes fun of the weird museum guy anyway, and she kicks him where her feet are tucked in his lap, and he tickles her in retaliation, and then—well, the movie will be there, later, when they're done.

She rides her bike every day. One day she comes back and says she was just visiting her mother, and Dean sits up and says, "What?" But—of course. What's time? What's a space, between this shared slow heaven and another? She shrugs—his mother-in-law says hi—and he sits there on the couch with his game paused, watching her go into the kitchen and shake her sweaty hair back from her face, redoing it into the practical twist at her neck like she always does, and he thinks—okay. Okay, maybe now.

The bookshelf has every book he could want, and seems to know what he needs to read before he does. Raining outside, spattering gentle on the eaves, and his wife made a huge pot of tea and took it to bed upstairs and left him just a cup, and so he sits at the kitchen table with his cup of tea and opens the book—Home, by Carver Edlund—and reads it, lingering, even if he's read it three times before online, his thumb brushing over the cheap too-thin pages of this physical copy. There's a poltergeist, preposterous. The psychic, odd and familiar. The brothers, united, and he reads the next-to-last chapter very slowly, lingering, as they find the box of pictures, as they get into the car together. Drive off, to meet some new dawning day.

He finishes his cup of tea. Puts on a clean shirt, combs his hair. "I'll be back," he says, to his wife, and she blinks at him from her nest of blankets with her own book and then only nods, and Dean goes downstairs and gets into his car and finds the road, beyond the garden gate, and drives.

He doesn't know where he's going but that doesn't matter. He turns on the car radio and it's playing—oldies, but really oldies, the stuff that was old when he was little. What childhood sounded like. Farms appear, melt away. Trees rising, through hills. He sings along, under his breath, remembering: a roadtrip to his grandma's house, Mom sleeping in the passenger seat and Dad driving through the night, and Dad singing very, very badly, as quiet as he could, and Dean thinking even as a kid that this was some private thing, to see, and he had to be silent and not show that he was awake or it would disappear. That feeling, it crept up on him at the oddest times, when he was an adult, and later. That sensation of the armored tank of the car moving through the dark, and the silence around them, and the quiet music inside, and Dad, in a world of his own, entirely separate from the world he shared with Dean.

Another hill. Climbing a mostly-paved road. Not raining anymore but the sun coming in slanted gold through the trees. Distance, and a curve, and then: a house. Old-looking. Older maybe than the one Dean and his wife share. In front of it, a car. The car.

Dean parks. He gets out, and the air smells washed-fresh, a little fecund. Like summer. He puts his hand on the hood of the Impala and it's sun-warm and he tears up, completely unexpected, and has to sit on the hood and hold his hands over his face, his heart—full, in a way he's felt since dying, but not in this particular way, this way of feeling that he thought had mellowed, a lifetime ago.

So much for putting on a good face. He wipes over his mouth and dashes his eyes clear. A porch, with new-carved railings. A door, painted blue. He knocks, his body feeling empty and clean and young, terribly young, and before he's quite ready the door opens, and it's—his uncle, in a purple plaid shirt and paint-spattered jeans and grey socks, frowning at him, saying, "Uh, hi?"

He looks—almost exactly like he looked in the pictures. Maybe forty, lines beside his eyes and heavy stubble on his jaw. The age he was when he died. Dean opens his mouth, can hardly dredge up what to say, and then he hears a voice say, "Dean?" and Dean and his uncle both turn their heads to see—Dad, young too, completely shocked, standing on the far side of the porch in running gear with sweat slicking his hair back from his head, and Dean drags in air and says, "Dad," and Dad grins at him, that big creased dorky-looking dad-smile that Dean only got once in a blue moon, and he steps forward and they're hugging, then, and it's—heaven. That's all he can think. Heaven, Dad's arms tight around him, his shoulders slotting in under Dad's because—Dad was so tall, and this is where Dean fit and never would fit again once Dad was gone. Here, under Dad's arm. Like being a kid again.

Dad's hand on the back of his head. A startled, shaky, deep breath in, and then hands gripping his shoulders, and being shoved reluctantly back to have Dad look down at his face, serious and worried. "How long has it been?" he says. "Are you—you didn't—?"

"I was ninety-seven," he says, and Dad's eyebrows go high and he smiles, big and glad and real, relieved. He touches Dean's face and Dean smiles back, tears rising again for no reason and for so many reasons. "I look good, don't I?"

Dad huffs a laugh. "You look great," he says, and then his eyes lift over Dean's head, and Dean has to turn around because—

What to call him? Uncle Dean. Standing there with his shoulder against the doorframe, his mouth tucked in on one side. Like from right out of one of the pictures, returning Dad's look. His eyes drop after a second to meet Dean's and Dean feels this odd jolt, in his chest. Bizarre, to see. He's real. All Dad's stories, the wall of memories, the books, and here he is, in grey socks, looking all over Dean's face like he's seeing it for the first time. "Guess you got your looks from your mom's side of the family," Uncle Dean says, finally, and Dad says, behind him, "Nice, dude," and Uncle Dean shrugs, unrepentant, but with an unexpected dimple quirking into his cheek, and holds out his hand to shake, and Dean takes it and has another shock at it, warm, callused, firm, real—while Uncle Dean says, wry, "Well, I guess some introductions are in order, huh?"

Uncle Dean and Dad share the house. It's nice, inside. Old fashioned in a way that feels comfortable, as Dean's come to expect. (He wonders, in a few hundred years—will new arrivals to heaven expect old-fashioned arcologies?) Uncle Dean brings beers from the kitchen and Dad takes his without even looking, drinking in Dean's face when Dean's doing the exact same to him. He looks so young. Younger, maybe, than he was even in the few pictures Dean has of him being a baby, held tiny in the crook of Dad's massive arm—some past time, some time Dean doesn't belong to, but Uncle Dean clearly does. Dad shakes his head after a few seconds, huffs again, rueful. "I don't even know where to start," he says.

Uncle Dean rolls his eyes, behind him, and says, "How about you ask the kid how he's doing, genius." Mean, but he squeezes Dad's shoulder too, and Dad bites his lip, looks at Dean, his head tipping. Asking.

It's awkward, but only in the way Dean would expect. To see his dad after so long—and both of them dead—and to explain… what? A life. Being a doctor, meeting a wife. Children. Grandchildren. "Great-grandpa Sammy," Uncle Dean fake-whispers, "told you you were old." Nudging Dad, half-sitting on the arm of his chair. Looking proud enough he could burst, although Dean doesn't know exactly why.

"Are you going to make dinner or are you just here to heckle?" Dad says, looking up, exasperated, and Uncle Dean raises his hands, says, "Oh, I'm here to heckle," but he gets up, too, says, "You get tired of the inquisition, kid, we've got more drinks in the kitchen," and cuffs Dad around the back of the head before he disappears down the blue-painted hall—and music comes on, after a moment. The kind of music that was on Dean's radio as he drove. Comfort sounds that go deep into some space beyond his bones.

"He's a lot, sorry," Dad says, after a second.

"I know, I read about it," Dean says, and Dad blinks at him, mouth half-open, before he remembers.

They have dinner. Uncle Dean makes burgers, fries, a spinach salad that Dean and Dad both groan at, and he looks at them across the table with his burger in his hands and shakes his head. No salad on his plate, Dean notices. They talk but about—nothing. Uncle Dean asks if the Broncos ever won the Superbowl again and Dean tries to dredge up an answer. Dad asks what his wife did for a living. Dean wants to ask things and doesn't know how. There's time, he knows, but for now all he can do is—watch. Dad leaning back in his chair with a beer, smiling at him while Uncle Dean tells some probably well-worn story about trying to fix the Impala in a rainstorm, and Dad was pissed for some reason and so kept handing him the wrong tools. "It was too dark to actually read the grip numbers," Dad says, patient like it's the hundredth time, and Uncle Dean says back, immediately, "Who needs the numbers? You can feel the weight in your hand!" Old arguments, well-worn, in the well-worn house. The way they move around each other, washing dishes, putting plates away. The way Dad's eyes will jump across the table, half a second before Uncle Dean's even opening his mouth, a smile already waiting to be pushed back down.

When it's night he says he should get back to his wife. "I'd like to meet her," Dad says, "some day."

"Gotta see who's willing to put up with a Winchester," Uncle Dean says, eyebrows waggling.

Dad sighs but nods, too. Dean gets folded into a hug, there under the tuck of his arm, and then he hugs Uncle Dean, too, impulsive and just—wanting to, feeling like a kid. Uncle Dean startles but hugs him back right away. "You're good, kid," he says, quiet against the side of Dean's head, and Dean nods and says, "Thanks," for more than he can say other than that, right then on this particular day, and then he gets into his car and pulls away from the house and looks back to see Uncle Dean gripping Dad's shoulder again while they watch him move away—and when he's home, after a blurring drive that's long enough for him to settle himself, he comes up the stairs to where his wife's warm in bed and slides in beside her and she says, sleepy, "How was it," and he says against her hair, "Perfect," because—it was. It was perfect.

Dean comes alone to their house twice more, on days when he needs it and doesn't see a reason not to. He brings his wife, the third time, and Dad's extremely polite and Uncle Dean asks her about engineering and Dean enjoys it, from the couch, while she gets the same interrogation he did, and they're driving home with her at the wheel, his eyes on the passing trees, before she says, "They're an interesting couple," and it doesn't strike him, for what may be a mile of blurring distance, why that sentence wasn't quite right.

It should be a shock. It isn't. That it isn't should, itself, be a shock, but he sits with it for a few days, the easy rhythm of heaven sliding around them.

He goes to see his mother, finally. She's in a place on a lakeshore. Her first husband, kind but remote, giving them space. She presses his hands between her own and he goes through the list of answers to all her questions, smiling, feeling déjà vu, and then says, cautious, that he's been to see Dad. "Oh!" she says, and doesn't seem upset. "How is he?"

"Good," he says. They never married, his parents—Dad had told him, much later, that it just didn't occur to him to ask—and he knew they didn't resent each other, but there wasn't much closeness there. He didn't realize how little until he was married himself. Still, he's cautious as he says: "He and my uncle have a place. Uncle Dean, you know?"

Mom sits back in her chair. "Well, then," she says, soft. She's youngish, too. Fifty maybe, her hair shot with grey. "That sounds about right."

He doesn't know how to ask but there's no way to do it other than just—to ask. "What do you know about him?"

Mom smiles, slow, and looks out at the lake. "Honey, your dad's a good man, but I think you know as well as I do that he doesn't give a lot away." Dean follows her look. A boat, far out on the water. Not close enough to hail. "He didn't talk about his brother, much. That said more than I think he knew it did. All those pictures. Well, you remember." She shakes her head, looking down at her lap. "I resented him for a while. A dead man. Silly of me. But then I suppose your dad could have resented Luke, if he'd—cared more. Sorry. That sounds like I'm angry, but I'm not. There just wasn't much left in Sam, that's all. He loved you and he loved someone that wasn't here anymore and there just wasn't room for me, or at least not room for what I needed. I wished I could've known him. Dean, I mean. I would've understood your dad a lot more, I think, but then—I don't think I would've ever met him, if Dean were around."

When he gets home he pulls a book off the shelf. Frail, the spine cracked badly. Supernatural, the first book in the whole series. When Dad was at college and the whole thing started. He sits on the floor by the bookshelf and lets the cup of tea his wife brings go cold on the rug, and reads again and again the scene—coming down the stairwell, finding the car in the garage, going through the details of the voice on the tape, on where their dad (Dean's grandfather) could possibly be, and Dad says there's this interview he can't skip. His whole future, on a plate. In the story, it's Dad's point of view, and he looks at Uncle Dean and Uncle Dean smirks, and Dad thinks, This is exactly what I was getting away from. Dean drags his thumb over the page, looks at the shelf. All those books. All the years in them, and the horrors in those. Hell, and apocalypse, and none of it euphemisms or easy metaphor. All the things Dad wanted to get away from—and then all the years, after, where he stayed exactly where he was. And then—a lifetime later—to come back home to a house, with a blue door, and his eyes not bothering to follow his brother as he leaves a room, because he knows without doubt that he'll be back.

In bed, he asks his wife, "When do you think the kids will get here?" and she turns over and stares at him, and says, "Hopefully not for years?"

He shakes his head, folds his arm under his head. "Duh," he says, and gets her to punch his chest lightly. "Ow. I meant… I don't know. What do you think their lives will be? Like… who will they be? I can't even imagine."

She stops trying to lightly beat him and goes thoughtful. Her thumb finds the little scar on her chin and rubs it, as is her habit, and her eyes slip over his shoulder to the distance. "They'll be—them." He raises his eyebrows, and she shrugs, rolling closer. "I mean, what do you want from me? I knew Abbie for fifty-one years and I still think that girl's a mystery. When she's… probably a grandmother herself, now, I guess. Is she still at Notre Dame? Are she and Andre happy? Are the boys healthy and do they like each other, and did she ever get Jacob to stop drawing cartoon dicks on the walls?" Dean laughs—god, he'd forgotten that—and she smiles at him, props her head on one fist. Says, softer, "Did she live the life she wanted to have? I don't know. I guess when she gets here we can ask her, but we'll never…"

No, they'll never. Dean touches the scar on her chin and she focuses on him, instead of some other world they're no longer privy to. "It's a venn diagram," he says, after a moment. "All of us. Abbie, overlapping with you and me, and then us overlapping with our parents, and on and on, all the way back. I guess we don't get to know what's outside the center parts."

"Even if there's a hundred and four crappily-written books about the other parts," she says, raising her eyebrows, and Dean shrugs, caught. She grins, shaking her head at him, and then squirms in close, tucking in under his chin. Kisses his throat, sighs. "Why not stop at a hundred? Seems random."

"I don't know, maybe the publisher wanted him to stretch it out," Dean says, and she hums, and puts her nose on his collarbone to settle in. He smooths her hair back, away from her shoulder. His favorite book is Swan Song, probably. The final one, as far as most people knew. His dad, the hero, saving humanity and the world, but that wasn't the best part. The best part was the army man, stuck in the door. His dad, looking at that, and meeting his brother's eye, and that being—enough. Just that, and all the life it represented. Enough.

"Venn diagrams," he says, aloud, quietly.

"Yes, you're very brilliant, Dr. Winchester," his wife says, mumbling. "Now go to sleep."

He kisses her hair, and does.

#ffcc #wincest #dean jr #my writing #this is again just sort of a collection of paragraphs #and it's--mostly what you asked for i think?#but mainly it's me musing about the unknowability of parents and children #so uh #that's what i was able to manage #hopefully i'll remember how to construct a story soon lol

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angsty-nerd · 3 years ago

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Meta: Echo’s Big Fight in 3x09

Let's talk about the Big Echo fight. Because wandering around in the fandom this past week, I’ve seen a lot of very specific conclusions as far as what they were or weren't arguing about, and I’m not sure my take on that scene really aligns with other folks. So let me try to break it down a bit and give y’all an alternative perspective on it.

To start with, the scene opens with Max on edge because they're breaking and entering. Liz is singularly focused on the mission, and he's kinda freaking out. Instead of responding to his concerns, Liz gets straight to business.

"Ooh, ooh, this is interesting. Heath left Genoryx two days after I did. Must have realized he didn't need to be working underneath their corporate thumb."

Liz is kinda projecting here. Heath never once displayed any discomfort with Genoryx as a company the way that she did. He wanted her to stay. He wanted the resources there. We know these things as an audience, and Liz would too if she was thinking through the big picture at this point in time.

Max, on the other hand, doesn't know any of that. Here's what Max hears from Liz: he hears surprise. He hears Liz acknowledge that this is unexpected news. And right as he’s processing this unexpected reveal...Max sees Heath's Wild Pony t-shirt.

Weird coincidence #1 from Max's POV was Heath (the guy who is currently so pissed at Liz that he won't take her calls) supposedly rescuing Liz's science out of the good of his heart so that Genoryx doesn’t get their hands on it? This doesn't add up.

Weird coincidence #2 was Heath quitting Genoryx - a decision Heath made that Liz wasn't expecting.

The Wild Pony t-shirt is now the 3rd thing that doesn't add up. And if the t-shirt clue isn't adding up for you, see my post about it here:

The T-shirt is strike 3 for Max. He can't really pretend that he's not suspicious of Heath anymore. So he broaches the subject with her.

"How much do you know about this guy, Heath? How close were you?"

Max is feeling uncomfortable and looking for more information. He's trying to make the clue make sense. Why would Heath have the T-shirt? Does he have a connection to Roswell that Liz doesn't know about? And Liz doesn’t listen.

"This isn't the time to be jealous about a boy I met."

For all that Liz is clinical and on mission, she jumps very quickly to assuming that Max is NOT on mission. Yes, Max is inherently more emotional than she is. But throughout the episode he's been asking questions about Heath and NOT JUMPING TO CONCLUSIONS. That's one of the keys to me here. Max really is trying to give her the benefit of the doubt about him.

At Liz's house, he asked about "the boyfriend" but he wasn't doing it in a jealous or judgy way. If anything it could almost be interpreted as concern. He started with "were you happy" and only when Liz kind of metaphorically admitted that any happiness was a façade...that's when he brought Heath into it. And yeah, Liz says that he impacted her life and helped her grow, but she didn't exactly express romantic feelings that would make Max jealous. So when she basically jumped straight to the jealousy assumption instead of actually discussing this with him, he starts getting worked up. Because she is not hearing him. She is not acknowledging that the facts they have found during this investigation are not adding up. So he is honest and blunt about what he's thinking.

"I'm just saying it's possible that he took your one-of-a-kind alien spores and quit, so that, just like you, he could use the research himself, free of Genoryx."

Max is the one who brings the science into this conversation. Not Liz. And he's not criticizing or questioning HER application of the science. He's questioning the trustworthiness of Heath. Because the lies are starting to jump out at him like a friggin’ neon light.

BUT — now that he's specifically brought up the science, he has her attention. Because Max questioning her science is HER sore spot. So what does she say back to him? Something kinda judgy.

"That grand trust speech certainly had a short shelf life."

Side note: I really don't think there actually was a "grand trust speech" in this episode. I can think of a few scenes where there might have been an opportunity for one. In particular during the milkshake scene when he admits to saving her tapes. But they actually don't talk about trust in that scene. They talk about having hard conversations. They talk about moving forward instead of looking backwards. But they don't talk about trust. My guess is that there might have been content cut for time at some point in this episode, that may have included some grand declaration from Max, but that's really just speculation on my part.

Regardless…Liz's response to Max bringing up the science is to basically accuse him of not trusting her. Which is not what he was saying. He was not questioning her use of the science. He was questioning her trust in Heath through the context of her science. So he elaborates on what he IS saying, and as he does, he's getting more and more worked up...because this does relate directly to his personal fears, and, frankly, his buried trauma that he's never properly addressed.

"I trust you. Okay? But I don't trust some guy I have barely met with a secret that could endanger me, could endanger my family and break the frickin' Internet if it came out."

Max doesn't know Heath, and he doesn't trust Heath with a secret that could endanger Michael and Isobel. His emotions are escalating, because now he's thinking about the science that scares him in the hands of a guy that all signs points to being potentially untrustworthy, and he's triggered.

BUT he doesn't back up his argument. He doesn't point out the very specific evidence he's identified that Heath is probably lying to Liz.

And Liz is inherently reactive and sometimes overly defensive (see 1x09 list of Liz's flaws). So even though he's focused on Heath, she immediately reacts defensively and takes it as a criticism of HER.

"You think I would let myself be conned?"

"No, I think you came out here looking for a partner, and it could blind you."

*deep breath* and this is where it starts to get personal. And rough. Max isn't entirely wrong here. But he also kind of is. Liz didn't choose Genoryx for partnership. She was looking for resources, freedom to do the science she wanted to do, and to save her father from deportation.

But partnership? Yeah, Liz wanted that. But she wanted that from MAX. She was looking for partnership in life, not in science.

And now that Max has thrown that direct criticism out there, Liz is going to throw a bomb right back at him.

"Just because you sabotaged me when I thought you were mine does not mean that Heath would take the same path."

Ouch. This is the hardest line in this whole scene for me to work with. Because it is combative. And purposefully hurtful.

BUT…she is NOT TALKING ABOUT HER SCIENCE. She has not said a single word about her science in this argument. She moved past that. She had the epiphany that she was wrong and she apologized (3x03). That is in the past for her.

This argument, for Liz, is about betrayal. This is about her believing that they were going to be partners and move their lives forward together (2x12), and right when she believed in that future, Max made another massive decision that directly impacted her life (just like he did in 1x13) instead of working with her to make big decisions together.

"And just because you changed the wallpaper doesn't mean you've mended your blind spots."

I really hate this "change the wallpaper" line. It feels like they're mixing metaphors. Liz called her life a commercial. Max is saying that she's changed her decor. Like...pick one and stick with it.

That aside… I think this barb is about her arrogance. Earlier in the scene, she seemed baffled at the idea that Max believes she could have been conned by Heath, because Liz is used to always being the smartest person in the room. She thought she was smarter than Diego and he figured her out. She believed her lab was secure, but Diego (possibly) got in. Sometimes, like most scientists, Liz is so bogged down in the complicated, brilliant details she’s thinking through, that she misses simple things that contribute to the big picture. And I think that's what Max is getting at here. In her arrogance, she believes that she can control the Heath situation. But she's not acknowledging the human factor here - that Heath is a person who may have his own unspoken ulterior motives driving him. Just like Diego did. She's just not seeing what Max is seeing.

BUT - again I'll say. Max is also not communicating the scope of the evidence he is collecting. They're both wrong here.

"I have learned my lessons, but you... oh, my God, you sound an awful lot like the guy who blew up my lab. So forgive me, but you're making it perfectly clear why I felt like I had to go and change the wallpaper."

This is the only line where Liz even comes close to talking about her science, but again, she's talking about his betrayal. She's talking about him undermining their partnership. She's talking about her need for a change of scenery from HIM.

And that’s when Max blows out the safe and they put the fight on hold to finish their investigation.

But, to sum it up…the fight was all about trust and betrayal. It was necessary for them to work through it, though frankly? I wish they could have finished the discussion. Because instead of them coming to some sort of peace with their trust in each other, the truth came out about Heath, Liz realized that she was wrong, she apologized, and they moved forward together, on mission.

I can’t help pointing out though…after the fight and Liz's epiphany about Heath, Max and Liz spent at least 15 hours in a car together. And I'm sorry, I refuse to believe that they didn't talk about anything important for 15 hours. Fic writers assemble? 😆

Many thanks to @ober-affen-geil for doing a quick review and checking me on opinions vs facts. Very important.

And for my next trick… road trips, life choices, and Robert Frost! Coming soon to a Tumblr near you…

#rnm echo #rnm season 3 #roswell new mexico #max&liz #my meta #max evans #liz ortecho #rnm meta

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alittlefrenchtree · 3 years ago

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Helloooo! Guess who’s back? The Dune notes! yaayyyyy!

ok, chill.

SPOILERS BOOK 2 : MUAD’DIB (Chapters 1-4)

Chapter 1:

I’m still struggling to get all the politic aspects and understand who’s on which side but that’s not what I’m focusing on right now. Once I’ve read the whole thing and had the whole picture, I’ll study all the details of this part of the story.

I loved this quote:

in the French translation, and thought it was beautiful to see Arrakis through Paul’s mind and eyes only to find out that the original quote said stuff like Cheddar-colored. Damn you, American people.

Chapter 2:

Bless you, Muad’Dib, your father and Princess Irulan. Might your words be heard loud and clear on every planet of every universe.

I love, love, love this chapter. This whole conversation between Hawat and the Fremen, the world building made through it and through the Fremen is really good. I don’t think the Fremen has a name because he’s exactly what he describing of his people. He’s only one to serve the whole clan.

Many interesting stuff about the conversation and the scene.

First, I wonder if the Mentat’s abilities can work on Fremens? This part seems to say that they can’t : "But still he did not know what this Fremen wanted and this rankled. Mentat training was supposed to give a man the power to see motives." Then here again : "He said worm. He was going to say something else. What? And what does he want of us?" It’s funny to see how Hawat’s powers seem to be limited after we saw part of what Jessica and Paul were able to do.

"You must make a water decision, friend."

is my favorite quote of the chapter. The whole chapter is built to make Hawat and the reader really understand how primordial the water is. Blood doesn’t exist in the Fremen’s mouth, life is all boiled down to water. They doesn’t seem to care about the Spice either. When he’s thinking in terms of currency, it’s not about the Spice or money, it’s still about water:

"You think we have the Byzantine corruption. You don’t know us. The Harkonnen have not water enough to buy the smallest child among us."

It’s one thing I find fascinating about sci-fi/fantasy writers who are creating whole new worlds in different universes. It’s not only about thinking about crazy new technologies or super powers or anything like this. It’s when they shift the whole logic because context is different and you see it in the smallest details, in ways of speaking, in turns of phrases. It’s where you find so much richness for a fandom. And get so easily immersed in the said new universe. Every time I'll get really thirsty in the future, I'll think about this chapter. And the water decision.

I’m guessing water is one of Dune’s real plot? Every stranger coming to Arrakis comes for the Spice, thinking it’s the goldmine of the planet, the way to conquer it and truly owns it. But it’s not and the Fremen are still the one owning the desert powers because they’re the only one seeing that Arrakis needs to be ruled by water and not by the Spice? I don’t know. But that’s where my guesses are heading at the moment.

About this,

I’m really curious about how they’re going to handle on screen the deep religious roots of a large part of the story. We all know how tricky it can be. Is it going to be tone down? Are we going to see people living in the desert worship a young white male? We’ll see.

Chapter 3:

It’s cute to see how, even if Paul sees himself as a some kind of monster or as something else and undefined, he’s still sensitive to what he sees with his powers of prescience. But it's difficult to get a grip on what he is exactly, and how he feels.

Ok-- wait a minute. Last time I’ve heard about Liet, it was supposed to be a local divinity and now… Liet is Kynes. Ok. If you say so. — does it mean there going to be some kind of competition between Liet and the Muad’Dib? About who has the biggest divine aura? About who’s supposed to lead?

Anyway, what Kynes says, it goes with what I mention earlier. About how all the different people who came on Arrakis have failed to make it a Paradise because they were all focused on the Spice instead of the water.

I love how convenient Paul and Jessica are as characters to introduce the descriptions of every room they step in. You can go wild on details and just be like that’s not me, the bene gesserit/mentat/whatever Paul is things are calling for all. the. details. I should do that. Only write characters who allow me to naturally waste 7 lines of words on the pattern of a wallpaper. Frank Herbert doesn’t do that, but I definitely would.

Again, it’ll be interesting to see how Tim is going to handle the Paul and Kynes’ confrontation/conversation. We’ve seen him touch on these kind of feelings and behavior with The King but Paul seems to require a lot more of everything. So I’m impatient to see.

And I’ve already leaked the quote but let's look at it once more time. Quickest way to prove Timmy is the right cast for Paul.

"In this moment he'd give his life for Paul, she thought. How do the Atreides accomplish this thing so quickly, so easily?"

Because that’s what Timmy does, right? Makes people ready to give their life for him.

Ok about Duncan… We’re back at it, right? He’s not dead until I’ve seen the body. And I didn’t see the body so, he’s not dead. I think? Paul’s abilities don’t seem to be 100% reliable (at least not yet) so even if he believes Duncan’s dead, he might not be. I certainly hope so. My boy Jason deserves more.

I still wonder how the power of prescience is working. Are the blind spots blind because Paul is living through them at the moment and can’t have knowledge of the immediate future OR would they have been blind even if he had looked in their direction long before?

I was also wondering if Paul was going to rely too much on the new dimension of his abilities and how long it was going to take until he realized he made that mistake. It was… quick but I guess it’s Paul, so it shouldn't be surprising.

And that fear litany ❤️ I could kill to write something as iconic and powerful. I could read it every day and still got the chills each time.

Chapter 4:

The Baron is like me, he needs to see bodies to believe in death. I’m delighted to have common ground with that creepy, disgusting asshole. Delighted. To be honest, I’m not that interested with the Baron himself. So far, he’s been nothing but clichés over clichés and really not the best ones. He’s the evil character so he's all the kinds of evil. Shocker. I usually like evil characters (very often more than I love "good" ones) but not him. Really not him. I hope it'll change but I’m afraid he’s too far gone and beyond redemption.

I’m very interested by what’s Hawat is going to become though. Will he turn his allegiance to the Baron? It kind of remind me of Teal’c in Stargate SG-1, but the other way around. The Baron opposes two things : Hawat’s loyalty and his admiration towards those who calculate without emotions. Based on what we know about Mentats and how the human part carried by the human body overpower the Mentat’s education and training, I’d say loyalty should win? And the part of me who is part Mentat agrees on the loyalty so, we’re all good. But it can be an interesting storyline, so I’m waiting for it.

What’s funny about this quote

is that he could very much be talking about Paul and still be right. Or the baby sister. Or Lady Jessica. All Harkonnens are waiting.

And what’s also funny is how The Baron thinks of Feyd-Rautha. In addition of being absolutely disgusting there are some similarities between what the Baron wants for Feyd and what Paul is meant to be/already is.

I wonder if Feyd is meant to become some kind of opposite alter-ego to Paul. A better, more subtle opposant than the Baron. Could be fun.

You know what? Every time I start this kind of post, I said to myself: I'm pretty sure I haven't that many notes this time, it should be quick. And then here we are again 🤷🏻‍♀️ See you next time! 🌖💛

#DUNE FIRST READ

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theheartsmistakes · 4 years ago

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The Last Night Part XXVIII

*Warning: Mild Adult Content at the end of this chapter.*

Cordelia sat upon the chaise lounge staring wonderingly into the flickering red and orange curls of the fire the maid had just added fresh wood to. Her eyes felt like cotton, no matter how many times she blinked. She could not erase the images of Tatiana Blackthorn’s story in her mind. Images of Belial— of Lucie— doing horrible things to this world under his control.

She thought of her dearest friend and the years of secrets she’d managed to keep well within herself. Secrets Cordelia could only wish Lucie would have felt comfortable enough to share with Cordelia, of all people.

Despite herself, she could not help but wonder whatever she’d done to cause Lucie to feel she could not trust her with such sacred information. Perhaps she could have been of more help.

But then how could she judge her friend for harboring secrets when Cordelia herself had plenty of secrets of her own. Perhaps they could have helped each other.

As her mother was always preaching, it doesn’t do to dwell on the past. The future can be changed.

The old grandfather clock in the study rang eleven times marking the hour. She’d left the drawing-room to allow the Herondale’s their space to discuss the rescue of Lucie; however, no one seemed to have a logical plan without knowing exactly how to access her. James took Matthew and Christopher aside to fill them in on the details of the afternoon.

Not wishing to be in the way or draw attention to herself, Cordelia snuck away into the study and found herself curling up on the sofa for the past hour.

When her legs had grown stiff and the fire had dwindled to a pile of flickered black coal at the bottom, the door to the study creaked open on aged hinges.

The firelight created shadows over James’s face making him look more beautiful than he already was. His eyes had lost the spark they used to hold except when they fell upon Cordelia. Even know as his gaze found her on the lounge, his shoulders dropped away from his ears and a small smile lifted at the corners of his mouth. Her heart sped up just a bit. “There you are,” he said. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

Cordelia smiled as much as she could manage and pulled the throw blanket up over her shoulder.

“You slipped away without telling anyone.” He came to stand beside the end of the lounge where Cordelia’s bare feet rested.

“I know, I’m sorry,” she said and filled her lungs. “I wanted your family to have a moment to talk. I did not want to be in the way.”

“Cordelia,” said James and slowly sank onto the edge of the lounge. “You are never in the way. Lucie is as much your family as she is my own.”

“Thank you for saying that,” said Cordelia, “But I cannot help—“ The words trapped in her throat.

James tenderly and without hesitation reach up and brushed a fallen strand of hair away from her face. His finger curled underneath her chin and he lifted her eyes to meet his own.

“I know what troubles you,” he said, his golden eyes flickered across her face. “They are the same troubles as my own. But this is not your fault.”

Cordelia exhaled sharply. “If I just been more available to her.”

“No.” James cupped her face between his hands. “Lucie still would have kept her secrets and Belial would have gone even farther to acquire her, even so far as removing one of us from his way.”

Cordelia nodded and pressed her cheek into his palm. “I just feel so useless. I want to go after her— I want to do something.”

“As do I,” said James. “But after what Tatiana said, Magnus assured us that the best thing we can do is prepare for Belial’s first strike. If he’s already possessed Lucie then we must find a way to separate them. If she’s managed to fight him away, then we’ll be ready to assist her. Whatever the case, we must wait.”

She hated waiting. Never having been very good at it in her short seventeen years.

“She must be so scared,” said Cordelia, imagining her time alone with Belial. It’d been the most terrifying experience of her life second to almost losing James.

James took her hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. “If I know anything about my sister, she is not making this time pleasant for Belial. I would almost be more concerned for his sanity rather than her own.”

“Are you trying to make light of this situation?”

James scowled. “On the contrary, I’m being quite serious.” He turned on his hip and stretched his legs out beside Cordelia. The chase lounge was just large enough to hold them both. It still felt odd to be alone with James without a chaperone, as if someone were to walk in on the two of them she’d still find her reputation compromised in some way, but then she remembered that her reputation had been quite compromised in all the ways it counted. For this man, she’d found herself in ruin. For this man, she’d given up the life dreamed and worked for her. And for this man, she’d do it again.

To offer him comfort; to offer him what strength she could give him, she’d do it again.

And tonight it seemed they needed both from each other. James leaned his head back and looked up at the wallpapered ceiling.

“Where has everyone gone off to?” She asked, tucking herself closer to his arm.

“My father and mother have gone to Henry and Charlotte’s to inform the Consul of Belial’s plan,” said James as if recited a list. “Grace and Jesse are with the Silent Brothers. Matthew and Christopher were called to report to Charles about today’s patrol. Nothing interesting to report except for a rouge Deatrix demon that was living in the sewers in Bath and a rogue werewolf with a mighty big temper. Alastair took your mother to a secondary location in case Belial decides to come here first and Thomas went with him, I believe. That’s about everyone. No one could find you to invite you along.”

“Oh James, you shouldn’t have stayed on my account,” said Cordelia. “I would have been perfectly all right.”

“Of that, I have no doubt,” said James. “In truth, I wanted to stay behind. My mother has enough to handle with my father and the consul, whom I’m sure he’ll share some choice words with if they so much as attempt to condemn or criticize my mother for the kidnapping of Lucie. She did not need my company there as well. And I did not go with Matthew and Christopher on patrol as you well know, so I would have had nothing to report.”

“Is that all?”

“And…” James turned to look at Cordelia. “I much prefer your presence over any of theirs.” His eyes drifted down to Cordelia’s mouth and lingered there a moment before he met her gaze again. When he moved closer towards her, the warmth of his breath brushed against her lips, and she did not move. A silent, welcoming answer to his question. His mouth covered hers in a kiss that started soft and tender. She felt his hand slide across her waist to wrap around her back and he pulled her closer, deepening the kiss.

A quickening fluttered in her core as his hand moved over her hip and down her thigh.

She felt as if she could scarcely breathe. She needed, wanted him closer. As if in response to some inner demand, her hands slid from the curve of his jaw, down the plains of his chest where muscles and bones contracted beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. Her fingers found the hem and the soft, warm skin that lie beneath.

James shuddered.

“I’m sorry,” she said breathlessly.

He chuckled against her mouth. “Your fingers are cold.” He held her hand where it was against his abdomen. The lines and peaks of each muscle that could be felt along her fingertips had her breathing erratic again.

“A thought for a thought, Cordelia,” whispered James.

She did want to expose what she was thinking.

She looked up at him. His pupils were dilated making his eyes more black than gold. He watched her for a long moment, his eyes following the flick of her tongue over her bottom lip. “Cordelia. You’ve started calling me Cordelia— not Daisy. Why?”

His hand tightened around her own stopping its trail right above her heart. “When I gave you that nickname, we were but children. Whenever I saw you thereafter, I pictured you amongst those delicate flowers. But we are not children anymore. Ever since that moment I watched dance at the Hell Ruelle, Daisy just didn’t seem appropriate anymore. I look at you now and I can scarcely breathe. I look at you and I think about wanting you so badly that I have trouble concentrating on little else. I think about how I almost lost you and what I would do if I ever did.”

Her heart stumbled a beat. She no longer knew what to do with her arms, her legs, her face. She steeled her spine for what she was about to say, “I’m thinking— I’m thinking how if this is to be our last night alive— the last night we have with one another, then there is no one else in the world that I’d rather be spending it with. I’ve loved you since I was a little girl. And to hear you say such things… God, it feels as if I might burst. And given the current situation, considering our efforts should be focused on Lucie, perhaps that makes me a terrible person or a woman worthy of ruin—“

“It doesn’t,” he said and pressed his forehead against hers. “For tonight, there are no expectations, I just want to hold you. I want you as close as you’ll allow me.”

Cordelia sank closer into him as she drew her hand away out from underneath his shirt. She took his hand that was holding her face and showed him exactly how and where she wanted to be touched. The rough callouses of his fingers grazed the side of her neck, down to her shoulder, and over the full contours of her breasts, that felt too full for her usual corset.

His eyes never left hers as his hand kept moving down her stomach and only paused when he reached her lower abdomen.

“Have you ever—?” She blushed. “With anyone?”

James shook his head. “Though Matthew is quite vocal about his own endeavors, I have not.”

“Not even Grace?”

James shook his head again. “Grace and I barely shared a kiss. What you and Lucie saw that night was nothing more.” His fingers played with the fabric of her gown. “We don’t have to do anything tonight unless you wish to.”

“Do you wish to?”

His nose grazed her jaw and she arched beneath him. “I am yours, Cordelia. In whatever way you will have me, I am yours.”

Something hard pushed against her center. Heat flooded her and the breath was stolen from her lungs.

He let her lead for a time. Her shaking hands unbuttoned his shirt and helped remove it from his shoulders. She discovered every inch of his bare chest, kissing her way up until he couldn’t stand it any longer and he claimed her mouth.

He made quick work of unbuttoning her gown and with inhuman strength, he broke the small clasps of her corset ripping it open where it was secured at her front. When she was free, he took his own time discovering her. An exhilaration and ecstasy she’d never felt came over her with each tender kiss to her exposed flesh. All the while her body begged for more. For him to be closer. For the burning to stop.

When the moment came, it was not as she’d always feared as a young girl. There was a brief moment of discomfort, but she clung closer to James relishing in the way their bodies responded and adapted to one another. Then there was no more pain, only pleasure. At that moment, she understood why this act was so forbidden. Why worried mothers guarded their daughters and men climbed rafters and went to war. Because to be so close to him, to feel his heart beating against her own chest, Cordelia could not remember a time when she’d been happier or felt more loved.

Whatever happened tomorrow, or the days granted after, no longer mattered. For the night, she’d forget about the end of the world. They’d help each other to forget.

____________________________________________________________________

The grandfather clock chimed again this time with four distinct rings. Cordelia stirred besides James, his arms were banded around her, his breathing deep and even. He was already awake and gazing at the ceiling above them. His index finger drew lazy patterns across her bare shoulder.

For a moment, she wondered if it’d all been a dream. But from the slight, delicate tenderness between her legs, she knew it had not.

“Are you all right?” James whispered into her hair.

Carefully, she twisted to face him. His arms tightened around her as if to keep her from disappearing.

“Yes, quite,” she said quietly.

His eyes were solemn as he looked at her.

“What is it?” She asked. A terrible fear came over her that he might be having some regrets. “Did I do—“

“Will you marry me?” The words spilled from him and seemed to bring with a quick release. “For real this time? Would you be—“

Before he could ask again, Cordelia had flattened herself against him, pressing her mouth to his.

“Yes,” she smiled deeply. Without warning, he sat up so that she was straddling his lap. “Yes.”

His broad hands slid around her back as he kissed her. Neither of them thinking of the troubles to come.

(Author’s Notes: I have been so hesitant to post this! I’ve read of it twelve different times and even had my friend read it. You all can blame her for this because she said go for it. It’s not as good as any CC can write, but I thoroughly enjoyed letting James and Cordelia get frisky. Sorry for the wait! I shall see you next Monday 2/1 and we’ll be back to see what Lucie’s up to. I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. As always, thank you for reading, liking, and reblogging this story. It seriously means SO much to me.)

#The Last Night #the last hours #chain of gold #Chain of Iron #chain of gold fanfic #the shadowhunter chronicles #james and Cordelia #james x cordelia #james herondale #Cordelia Carstairs

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gukyi · 4 years ago

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ice prince (post-script) | jjk

summary: you travel the world together as the country’s favorite ice dancing couple and celebrity romance, but you can’t help but wonder what the future has in store for you and jungkook.

{established relationship!au, ice skating!au}

pairing: jeon jungkook x female reader genre: fluff word count: 1k warnings: none a/n: thank you to @sopseokjin for commissioning this piece and donating to the #blacklivesmatter movement!! i had so much fun revisiting the ice prince couple. if you remember me writing the entire 22k fic in 4 days, you qualify for a veterans’ discount.

There is something different about hotel windows.

They’re always enormous, always spanning the size of the wall, a big Plexiglass screen separating you from the world outside. They always come with two curtains, a semi-transparent one that lets you see into other people’s rooms, and a thick one with the pattern of an old wallpaper or vintage couch.

And they always make you feel as though you’re both looking out into a sea of lights, into a city slowly beginning to fall asleep, and as if you were trapped inside, the window being your only source of contact.

It’s no wonder you always find yourself staring out of it, wrapped in a white robe after hopping out of the shower, a long day of competing and skating behind you. Normally, you’d soak your feet in the bathtub as well, letting the water wash away of the soreness, but you feel quite light tonight.

You gaze out into the city, looking over the roofs of buildings, over the air vents and grey cement that covers all of the skyscrapers that surround you. The yellow glows in the top-floor windows of the buildings are your stars tonight, lighting up an otherwise empty navy blue sky. It’s such a shame that there isn’t a cloud in the sky, and yet you cannot see a single star. Your window doesn’t even face the moon.

“A penny for your thoughts?”

You look up to see Jungkook standing behind you in the reflection of the glass, soft brown hair tousled and messy, like he just got out of the shower and let it dry as is. He’s wearing an old shirt from your home rink and some shorts. Comfort clothes.

“Just looking out the window,” you tell him, letting him come over and watching your reflection as he wraps his arms around you, swaying softly.

“It’s pretty,” Jungkook meets your eyes in the window.

“Is it weird that, no matter what city we go to, I always feel the same when I look out the window?”

Jungkook pauses for a moment, then says, “No. I feel it, too.”

Does he?

Does he feel the way that even if the world changes you feel as though your place in it has remained stagnant? Feel like you’re trapped repeating the same few days over and over and over again? Ice skating is perhaps one of your truest passions in life, something that you seldom dread doing despite all of the injuries over the years. But it is as though you do not exist without your skates. That your sense of belonging is defined by being on the rink rather than off of it.

You wouldn’t know who you are without ice skating. It’s brought you so much joy, so much love. It carried you to Jungkook.

“I shouldn’t be complaining.” you say with a shake of your head, pulling yourself out of his grasp and settling down on the side of the bed. The sheets are tucked into the bed frame so tightly you’re half convinced that they might rip if you pull them any further. “We get to go to so many nice places and stay in fancy hotel rooms and skate for a living.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t find negatives in what we do,” Jungkook says with his eyebrows turned down as he joins you on the bed. “You can be grateful and critical of things at the same time.”

“I just feel like…” you sigh, unable to find the right words. You aren’t by any means discontented with your life, with what you get to do. Every morning you wake up and look forward to what the day has to offer, look forward to tugging on your skates and getting onto the ice, look forward to seeing Namjoon and Hoseok and Taehyung and, especially Jungkook. “Like we’ll be stuck doing this forever.”

“You know that’s not true,” Jungkook tells you, reaching out to take your hand in his own. He strokes the back of it with his thumb, calloused fingers pressing against your skin. “We can dp whatever we want with our lives.”

“I don’t really know what I want,” you admit. You’ve always been rather indecisive. It is one of your greatest flaws.

“You don’t have to know,” Jungkook assures you. He has always been so driven, so focused. He looks to the future fondly, rather than in fear. His heart guides him through each and every day, and even if he makes a mistake he knows it will never steer him in the wrong direction. “You just have to see where life takes you.”

You turn to him, watch his eyes grow bigger as they stare into yours. “Where do you want life to take you? When this is all over, what do you want to do?” When younger skaters far more talented than you will usurp you, will achieve far more complex jumps and challenging lifts, effectively sending you on a slow decline out of the top leagues. When the spotlight will no longer shine on you, lighting up your path on the ice, when no more medals will hang around your neck and no more trophies will be placed into your hands.

“I’m not sure,” Jungkook says. “I’ve always wanted to learn piano.”

“You can do that now,” you remind him.

“Not with our schedules, I can’t,” he says.

“There’s a piano in the lobby,” you remember. It’s an upright, nothing too fancy, but no staff seems to play it and barely anybody spares it a second glance. “You can try.”

“Maybe some other time,” Jungkook says with a laugh, letting you rest your head on his shoulder. You’re still facing the window, but it’s different when you’re sitting down, further away from it. Like you’re watching a late-night movie. Like you’re not a part of the scene at all. “I’d also coach, maybe. Like Namjoon and Hoseok, I think that’d be fun.”

Ice skating will never leave him.

“You think we’ll still be together after all of this?” You ask. It’s a weird, hopeful sort of ask. Like you hope he says yes even if the odds are against it. There’s a part of you that fears, that has always feared, that ice skating was your only link, the only thing keeping you connected. You would not have known Jungkook without skating, and you know him now as someone who is just like you. But what will happen when all of that ends?

You feel the way Jungkook sits up straighter, feel how he stiffens, making you look up at him. It’s an honest, candid question. What does the future hold for the two of you? Is there even one to begin with?

“What do you mean?” He asks. “Of course I do.” A pause. “Do you… not?”

“No!” You tell him. There is nothing you fear more than being away from him, than losing the last part of your life that preserves what little personality you have left. “I want to be with you for the rest of my life. I just—I wasn’t sure.”

Jungkook reaches his other arm out, both of your hands wrapped up in his own, and he squeezes tightly, making you look at him. He’s got that steely, certain look to him, the same determination you see right before a competition performance.

“I don’t know what goes on in that head of yours,” he begins, “but you have nothing to worry about. Not about ice skating, or competitions, or our future, or me. Because I love you, and I’m proud of you, and I know that whatever you end up doing will be beautiful and meaningful to all of the people whose lives you have touched. And I will always stand by your side, even when we stop skating, even when we are cranky coaches, and even when we are old and lazy.”

The words are music to your ears. A soft smile draws itself on your face, and he lifts a hand up to press it under your chin, leaning in to place a soft kiss on your lips. It’s incredible, what he makes you feel.

“I’ll marry you, one day,” he promises. “And we can live wherever you want. We can have cats and dogs and plants and, maybe one day, we can have kids too.”

“If we do have kids, I hope they don’t inherit your ego,” you tease, making him laugh.

“No,” Jungkook says, shaking his head. “They’ll inherit my devilish good looks, instead.” You giggle, and Jungkook shuts you up with another kiss, taking away all of the breath in your lungs, making your skin tingle. “I love you, did you know that?”

You grin. You did, but you love hearing the words anyway. “I love you, too.”

↳ links are broken, but don’t forget i’m still taking commissions!

#jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #bts fluff #bts angst #bts scenario #jungkook scenario #bts imagine #jungkook imagine #bts au #jungkook au #w: ice prince

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gripefroot · 4 years ago

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Feel So Yellow [1/12]

The key has warmed in the palm of your hand, shielded from the bitter cold of the January evening. You, on the other hand, are not so shielded - the coat you’d brought from the city isn’t cutting it against this biting wind. Eager to preserve some warmth, you fumble to stick the key in the lock of the door. The windows are dark and as far as you know, no one has been inside in weeks. Not since you’d driven north to view it with the realtor and happily signed the next thirty years of your life away.

The thump-thumping of your heart harmonizes with the squeal and screech of the frozen wooden door, forced open and inward to the entryway, lit only by the headlights of your car that you’d parked to shine inside. Though your breath puffs and dissipates in the freezing air, giddiness starts to warm your blood better than any heater.

Your house. Your house. Peeling paint and scuffed floors and bald carpets and rusted faucets and all. It’s yours.

And he’d said you couldn’t do it. Lips curl into a self-satisfied sneer, and you venture inward into your house like a queen over her domain, chin high and keeping back a cough on the rising dust.

The only real point to coming tonight was to satisfy your excitement. Mortgage signed and keys handed over at the bank just an hour earlier, it had proven impossible to resist the draw here. A motel room before going back to the city would’ve been warm, but this is yours.

Floorboards creak. Some spiderwebs drift lazily in the air currents, and on second thought you pull your phone from your coat pocket to turn the flashlight on, lighting your way from the hallway and into the dining room. The way is flanked by discarded knick-knacks and empty boxes.

Nothing has changed, of course; abandoned houses are like that, but the scrutiny of an owner’s eyes make possibilities bloom. Wallpaper. Chandelier. Windows, of course. Curtains. A new table and chairs. Restored fireplace.

The kitchen will have to be gutted, but that might be the most exciting part. After it’s cleared of probably twenty years’ worth of junk build-up - it wrinkles your nose to smell the waft of rot and dust even cold as it is, and sniffling, you wander through the back hallway and into an empty back room. Another fireplace; ornately carved but looking worse for the wear. It’ll be lovely in future winters, just not this one - with a smile tied up in hopes and dreams and a new life, you turn into the living room.

“Hello?”

Fear drops your heart to your feet - immediately thoughts of kidnappers and murderers seize hold of your panicked mind, and when footsteps follow the call your heart zips right back up into your throat to lodge uncomfortably there. A beam of flashlight is drawing near from the entryway, why won’t your feet move, and then a dark shape looms -

A shriek works its way out from between your lips, and the stranger yelps in reply, dropping the flashlight to the floor with a crash and lighting up the room in odd shadows.

“What are you doing here?” you force out through gritted teeth, and an attempt to brace yourself against getting murdered tightens your fingers on your phone, shining the light forward and making the stranger blink as he - yes, it is a he - bends down to pick up the flashlight with a gloved hand.

“Kicking a squatter off the property, if necessary,” he says, and his voice is deeper now, thrumming in reverberations through the empty room. And he shines the flashlight directly at you, making you blink as you reach up to shield your eyes.

“I’m not a squatter!” you snap. “I bought this property just today! The mortgage is in my car, if you need proof. Now kindly leave.”

“Oh, you’re the buyer!” Relief seems to flood his voice. His face is pale beneath a baseball cap, you notice, and his jacket seems much too thin for such a cold night. But then his mouth breaks into a grin showing off even teeth and a dimpled chin. “Then I’m sure you were told about me. I rent the carriage house down the road.”

Oh. Oh.

“Oh,” you say. “Yes, they told me about you. Bucky, right?”

“Yep, that’s me.”

“Ah.”

Silence, unbroken by anything but the distant hum of your car engine. Light beams graciously moved away from faces, and you tilt your head to study him better.

“I just saw a car up here and wanted to make sure it wasn’t a squatter or some idiot kids,” Bucky goes on, smile turning rueful. “I wasn’t expecting you up here until spring - the realtor said that’s when you’d be moving in.”

“That’s true,” you allow. “I just wanted to see it one more time before I went back to New York.” A gust of wind rattles the flimsy windows then, and you shudder, sucking in a breath - immediately Bucky straightens, and says,

“It’s getting late. Probably shouldn’t stay out too longer, even if the last recorded coyote sighting ‘round here was in the 1950s.”

“Huh?”

“Got a place to stay tonight or are you headed back?”

A personal question, but it’s tinged with kindness rather than rudeness - at least your new tenant is personable, and shifting your weight from foot to foot, you bring a fist to your mouth to breathe warmth into. “Um, I’m going to get a room at the motel in town. Go back tomorrow.”

“Why don’t you stay at my place? It’s closer,” Bucky suggests. “Plus, I can vouch for the sheets being washed yesterday. Can’t say so much ‘bout that motel.”

“ - Ah. Well, I don’t want to impose - ”

“You wouldn’t be,” he interrupts, and his smile seems to be broadening. He tips back his cap then, throwing into dim relief scruffy cheeks and bright eyes. Oh, he’s younger than you’d expected…

“I mean, I’m not so sure it’s a good idea to stay with a stranger,” you tell him. “Tenant or not. I don’t know you.”

“I’m safe,” Bucky says. “Scout’s honor. There are locks on my doors.”

“Well…” Truth be told, a one-minute drive is more appealing than a twenty minute one, and it would save you a hundred dollars. And clean sheets are appealing, as always. “Alright,” you decide, attempting a smile but feeling too begrudging for it to be genuine. “That’s very kind of you. I appreciate it.”

“‘Course,” Bucky says, and flicks his flashlight towards the door. “It’s my pleasure.”

Awkwardly you walk out of the living room and out the front door, grasping tightly at the collar of your coat as the air bites and nips at your cheeks. Behind you, Bucky closes the door - oh. Turning, you tug out the key to lock it, fingers shaking but managing as he hops down the broken front steps.

“I walked,” he calls back over his shoulder. “Wanna follow?”

“I can give you a lift,” you tell him, rushing over the crunching snow for your car and promised warmth. “It’s only fair.”

“Oh!” Is that surprise? “Sure.”

Heat from the vents start to thaw out your hands as Bucky opens the passenger door to slide in. Well, scrunch in - he’s taller than you’d realized, but he fits. Barely.

“Thank you,” he says. He fills the small space entirely; with his body, his voice, and - you blink stupidly - his smell; a musky, leathery, piney sort of smell. With a sideways grin, he lifts his cap from his head to run a gloved hand through shoulder-length hair. “Do you need directions?” Bucky asks after a moment.

“Oh! No, no I don’t.”

I do need to stop staring at strangers, though, you think scathingly to yourself.

The ride is, indeed, very brief - only a few hundred feet from the driveway you’d come in on, a plowed path leads to a much smaller house. The paint isn’t peeling on this one, you notice, and warm light flickers out the windows. The tires of your car crunch on the snowy gravel in front of the house as you brake at Bucky’s instruction. Ahead, an old truck sits beneath a shack with a tin roof for protection. Not much of a garage. If you get around to building one for yourself, it might be a good idea to get one for the carriage house, too…

Killing the engine, you pull out the keys and open the door to follow Bucky into the house, pausing to grab an overnight bag from the trunk. Then, cold nipping fast and merciless, you hurry up the porch that happens to be in much better repair than yours.

Ah, that’s better - through the door is a wall of heat, and immediately breathing is easier. Bucky tosses his flashlight and cap onto a table next to a - a dog leash and a set of car keys? The soft padding of footsteps precedes the entrance of a large and very hairy golden retriever, which seems to smile up at Bucky as he crouches down to scratch its ears.

“False alarm,” he informs it. “This is our new landlady. Be polite; Chessy, she could kick you out at any moment. Probably will, once she sees how much you drool.”

“I wouldn’t,” you vow, and with a smile you hold out an empty hand for the dog to sniff. A single, delighted bark, and you can’t help laughing a little as you pat her head.

“Chestnut,” Bucky clarifies, straightening.

“Chestnut,” you repeat. “Cute name. She seems sweet.”

“She is. Local rescue.”

“You got lucky.”

“Can I hang up your coat?”

Befuddled, you stare up at Bucky’s expectant expression for a half second before jolting, and unzipping your coat to slide off your shoulders. He takes it with a smile, and disappears down the hall. With another pet for Chestnut, who seems content to attach herself to your leg as you wander about, curiously taking in the sight of a comfortably furnished - but by no means fancy - sitting space, fit with a sofa and a few bookshelves and a vintage looking floor lamp. On the sofa is a crumpled afghan and an overturned book sitting precariously near the edge, as if he’d left in a hurry. To investigate a potential break-in at your house? Tilting your head, you consider the idea of tall and strange Bucky sitting on a sofa, reading a book. With a huff Chestnut jumps onto the cushions, settling in with a yawn, her head resting on the blanket as she gazes over at you with pretty black eyes.

Sitting on a sofa, reading a book, and cuddled up with his dog. Seems like a normal guy.

“This is a pretty nice place,” you say aloud, at the sound of Bucky’s returning footsteps.

“Thank you,” he says, and you turn to give him a smile as he enters the room - the ceilings seem lower with him beneath them. He’d taken off his jacket, too, revealing a green shirt that might - just might - be a size too small. He certainly doesn’t hide his physique, does he? Except his hands - he still wears the black gloves. Your eyes snap back up to his as he explains, “The previous owner was more than happy to let me fix it up to my heart’s content.”

“Well, you did fantastic,” you tell him, and add as a joke to lighten up the tension, “Are you a contractor by chance? I wouldn’t mind my house turning out this nice.”

Bucky laughs. A low but delighted laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners and displaying a pair of handsome dimples. “No,” he admits. “My pop taught me a few things though.”

“I’m very impressed, then.”

“If you’d like,” he goes on, and because it seems like the right thing to do, you perch yourself in an overstuffed armchair, and Bucky takes your cue to sit on the sofa beside Chestnut, who he pats absent-mindedly. “I have some extra supplies and the tools. I could help you out with your place.”

“Trying to play nice with your new landlady,” you say with a laugh, gratified and embarrassed and uncertain and flattered by his offer, all at once.

“I don’t want to get evicted,” Bucky grins, leaning forward. Though his eyeline is now even with yours, it doesn’t make him seem less...present. Trying not to squirm at his scrutiny, you lean forward as well, daring yourself to be his equal.

“I hope to be easy-going,” you smile. “I’ll be even easier to get along with if you help me clean my house of all that garbage.”

“Done,” he says promptly.

“But that’s all,” you tell him. “I can’t afford to pay you for anything else.”

Bucky shrugs. “Not necessary. You’d be doing me a favor by giving me a place to get rid of all that extra plaster and insulation. Won’t have to go to the dump, then.”

“It’s a tempting offer,” you admit. “But it wouldn’t feel right to take advantage of your time.”

“I’ve got all the time in the world, I promise. And if you want to compensate me, you could pay for my gas or something.” This with another shrug - it seems clear by the spark in his eyes that he feels like he won something, and your head tilts as you consider this.

“That could work,” you say slowly. “Do you work from home, then?”

“Nope. Retired.”

Retired? He can’t be more than thirty-five! Gosh, can you get on his career track?

Chestnut lifts her head for a yawn, wheezing out slightly as she rests her head in Bucky’s lap. “Bedtime, huh?” he asks her, and then glances at you. “You can have the bedroom through there. It locks. Bathroom’s down the hall. Use whatever you need.”

“I have everything I need,” you assure him, and rise to your feet. “Um - thank you, Bucky. Not for nearly giving me a heart attack when you snuck up on me - ”

He’s laughing. “I didn’t know it was you!”

“ - but thank you for the place to sleep. And offering to help.”

“It’s no problem,” Bucky smiles. “I’ve been wanting to get my paws on that house up there for months. It’ll be fun.”

“Yes,” you say. “I think it will be.”

A stilled moment - eyes meet, smiles frozen for a heartbeat, for a breath - and then shatters into something you don’t quite understand as you turn to go.

continue

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel #fatws #mcu #bucky x you

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megalony · 4 years ago

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Deadly obsession- Part 2

Here is the next part in my Ben Hardy series, thank you all for the lovely feedback so far. I hope you will all like this part.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr @rogermeddow @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefan @omgitsearly @luckytrashgooprebel @scarsout @deaky-with-a-c @killer-queen-ofrhye @bluutac @vousmemanqueez @jonesyaddiction @ambi-and-sunflowers @milanosaurus @httpfandxms @saint-hardy @7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls @mrsalwayswritex @rogerina-owns-me @peterquillzsblog @im-an-adult-ish @crazylittlethingg @allauraleigh

Series taglist: @benhardysbaby5 @onceuponadetectivedemigod

Series masterlist

Summary: Ben and (Y/n) are in a great place in their marriage but (Y/n) starts to get worried when she has a stalker who starts to get very obsessive over her and who seems to know a lot about her.

Enjoy.

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

"Are you okay?" Those three little words whispered against the shell of her ear made shivers crawl up and down (Y/n)'s spine and caused her stomach to tingle with electrified nerves.

With a gentle smile and a hum, (Y/n) leaned her head back on Ben's arm that was resting behind her on the back of the leather booth they were sitting in. She knew he was asking because she had been spacing out for a few minutes now and seemed to be sitting in her own little world. It wasn't a bad thing but Ben wanted to make sure (Y/n) was drifting rather than overthinking or panicking about something. He would hate to sit and chat to their friends as if everything was fine if (Y/n) was worried about something.

For a few moments, (Y/n) looked around the booth they were sitting in which was in the corner of the cafe out the way of everyone else. It was just Ben, (Y/n), Rami and Lucy in the booth after they decided to meet up for breakfast since they all had the morning free. It was nice to catch up and get away from the stress of work and colleagues and just life in general but (Y/n) couldn't help how her mind liked to run away without her every so often.

Slouching down a little further on the leather seat, (Y/n) leaned her head a bit to the right until her forehead was pressing into Ben's shoulder and she could feel his hand moving from the back of the seat to rest on her shoulder. His fingers slowly feathered over her shoulder as she tried to work out what the topic of conversation had shifted to and see where she could chip in to show them she was still listening.

(Y/n)'s eyes shifted from looking across at Lucy to looking up at Ben when he suddenly moved around. He pushed his shoulders back into the seat and lifted his legs up from the seat so he could grab something from his back pocket.

"Babe your phone keeps going off in my pocket, it's like I'm sat on a vibrator."

(Y/n) quirked a brow at Ben's comment that he didn't even bother to say quietly causing Lucy to press her lips together to smother a smirk. And the way Ben looked neutral as he spoke made it seem like a normal thing to inject into the conversation.

Since (Y/n) didn't have any pockets or her bag with her Ben just shoved her phone into his back pocket like he normally did when they went out and he never minded anything in his pockets like that. (Y/n) knew a lot of the time he had their house keys in his back pocket and he could sit down and not be bothered by the jagged keys poking into his skin at all which was intriguing to (Y/n). But he didn't like how (Y/n)'s phone was going off every few minutes in his pocket and with it being on vibrate it wasn't the best feeling in the world.

"So, we were thinking about having the house-warming party on Thursday if you can both come?" Lucy swiftly changed the topic back to what it had been seconds previous and a broad smile pulled at her lips. The way she tangled her hands together showed (Y/n) just how excited she was to be moving into a new house- the first home she would be sharing with Rami.

"Yeah, we can make it." (Y/n) smiled at Lucy's eagerness, she knew how long her friend had been waiting to get this house and she was itching to renovate it and strip all the wallpaper in a few weeks.

(Y/n) remembered when she and Ben first moved in together, it had been into the house they had now and they were lucky enough to not have to redecorate the whole house. Only their bedroom and the living room had to be decorated, everything else was fine and up to date for their taste but it did feel good to hang pictures and ornaments up and make sure everything had a place that it suited around the house. Now (Y/n) was itching to buy a pregnancy test and see if one of the spare rooms could be redecorated anytime soon.

It was all planned out in her head, she would get a test- or maybe two, on Saturday when it was safe to say that she had missed two periods. And if they came back positive she wanted to tell Ben when they were home alone. (Y/n) didn't want to try and make him guess or figure it out or give him a baby onesie or baby shoes and surprise him, she just wanted to come out with it and tell him. No big gestures or questions or surprises.

When (Y/n) felt her phone buzz in her hand she felt her body tensing and it took all the effort she had to stop her smile from slipping off her lips.

It had been four days since she first got a text from a random person who somehow knew her name. The next day she didn't get a text message and she thought it was safe even though them knowing her name put her on edge. But the next two days since then (Y/n) had gotten two or three messages each day. She hadn't woken up to a message this morning so she hoped that maybe they had given up since she hadn't replied once.

But she didn't know who it was, they never put their name or said anything that indicated who it could be and this didn't seem like a prank someone was playing on her. None of (Y/n)'s friends would do this sort of prank, they would mess around and tease her or buy her stupid joking gifts but no one would go as far as to get a new number and start sending weird texts to scare her. But this person knew her name and that told (Y/n) that it had to be someone she knew. Why would a stranger be messaging her, how would a stranger even know her name anyway?

Glancing her eyes down to her phone, (Y/n) felt her hands beginning to tremble as she turned her phone on and swiped across to go to her messages. Part of her really didn't want to read these texts and see what had been sent to her. She didn't want to know what this stranger was saying because she was getting herself worried over relatively nothing.

Ben always told her that if there was something worrying or bothering her she should tell him and he would listen and try to help, but what could he do to help? This wasn't something (Y/n) wanted to tell him because it made her feel foolish. Someone was just messing around and sending her stupid texts, she didn't want to tell Ben because it wasn't anything bad. They weren't threatening her or saying they knew where she lived or what she was doing or trying to hurt her or get her to do anything. There was nothing to be done here because it was nothing serious so Ben didn't need to know and be worried or annoyed about it.

(Y/n) had gotten four texts in he last hour, all from the same number.

'Hey beautiful, what are you up to today?'

'(Y/n) please I don't get why you're ignoring me.'

'It's because your husband's there, isn't it?'

'It's been five days now, why won't you just talk to me honey?'

A shudder ran down (Y/n)'s spine as she scanned the texts over and over again. This man was clingy and he was desperate but there was something else behind his words that made (Y/n) feel uneasy. It was as if he truly thought he was talking to his wife who was ignoring him and it was making him angry.

Maybe there was another (Y/n) out there with a similar phone number and who was also married and she was having an affair with this man. Maybe she had a long affair and didn't know how to cut it off and so she changed her number or was simply ignoring him and wishing he would go away like (Y/n) was. But it was a big coincidence that there was another woman out there with the same name, similar phone number and who was also married who this man was trying to talk to.

But if these messages were truly intended for (Y/n), who on Earth were they from?

(Y/n) hadn't given out her number to anyone in months, she had no new colleagues or friends who needed her number and she couldn't see how a stranger could get her number. Nor was she having some kind of affair like these messages were implying because the person was angry and kept mentioning a husband.

(Y/n) loved Ben with everything she had and they might be having a baby together, she hadn't and wouldn't cheat on him with anyone else so it was no one night stand or affair that was trying to get back in touch with her.

A wave of unease rattled through (Y/n) as she felt her heartbeat starting to pulse through every muscle in her body. She held her breath deep in her lungs as she clicked on the number information and scrolled down until her thumb was hovering over block caller.

She had to block him, she didn't know who he was or what he actually wanted other than her undivided attention that (Y/n) wasn't willing to give. She couldn't keep letting him message her five times a day demanding that she speak to him and getting angry when she doesn't. No response didn't seem to make him understand that (Y/n) didn't want to talk to him. She didn't know who he was but she didn't want to know either and she didn't want him to keep messaging her constantly like this.

Before (Y/n) registered what she was doing she blocked the number just as her phone vibrated from another message. She didn't get to see the message and something told her that was a good thing in case there was more aggression in the next message.

That was it, she had blocked the number and whoever it was would find out very soon that any future messages wouldn't be able to get through to her phone. The message was clear now that (Y/n) didn't want to interact with whoever it was who was persistent on her attention.

Moving her phone, (Y/n) placed it down on the seat next to her before she leaned her head back on Ben's shoulder.

"Okay?" Ben mumbled quietly as he kissed the top of (Y/n)'s head and rubbed his hand up and down her arm. He had wondered for a moment if something was wrong when (Y/n) seemed to space out when she looked at whatever messages she had gotten. But when she tilted her head up and smiled at him the new nerves in his stomach settled down and he smiled softly at her.

"Perfect."

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

"You know we have to leave in five minutes, right?" (Y/n) bit down on the corner of her lip to try and stop her lips from curving up into a smirk. Her brows rose at Ben who was leaning over her, his hands were holding her hips that were pressing against his own and his lips were grazing over her neck.

She was sure that Ben had forgotten that they were supposed to be going to his parents house in half an hour and it took almost that time to get there from their house. They had to leave soon and the way Ben was going he seemed to really want to make them late.

"If I drive fast we can leave in ten."

Biting her lip harder, (Y/n) hooked her arms around Ben's neck and leaned into him a bit more which she knew took him by surprise because he was expecting her to push him back because they really didn't have the time. (Y/n) tucked her face into Ben's neck and pressed a butterfly kiss to the soft skin behind his ear causing him to shiver against her. But the moment (Y/n) kissed him, she unravelled her arms from his neck and pulled out of his arms.

"As much as I'd love to, I don't fancy a speeding ticket and your mum hates us being late so we need to go." (Y/n) knew Ben was a good driver but she didn't fancy getting stopped or getting a ticket because he tried to get to his parent's house on time.

Ben's mother had a thing for being prompt and on time or early and (Y/n) felt much the same. The last time they were late Ben wore a shit-eating grin through the whole dinner and that caused his mum to keep glancing over at (Y/n) and all she could do in response was turn beet red. (Y/n) wasn't sitting through another family dinner looking like a tomato.

"You're a tease, you know that?" Ben leaned closer so he could press his lips to her jaw before he turned on his heels with a smile and moved to grab a shirt. He didn't want to annoy or upset his mother by turning up late.

(Y/n) smiled to herself before she moved over to stand in front of the mirror and quickly put her hair up into a bobble to keep it from her eyes.

Tomorrow was Saturday and (Y/n) had it set in stone in her mind that she was going to take a pregnancy test and find out whether her and Ben's future was going to be changing anytime soon. She was almost certain that she was pregnant and she knew if she was then Ben was going to be ecstatic and his parents would be thrilled as well.

(Y/n) was going to find that new out tomorrow, they were going out for dinner with Ben's parents today, yesterday had been Lucy and Rami's housewarming which had been a great night. And to top everything off, (Y/n) had blocked her persistent pen-pal as she thought of him and since then no weird texts had been lighting up her phone. Everything was going great right now and (Y/n) didn't want anything to make this week go downhill.

Nodding to herself in the mirror, (Y/n) turned around and moved over to where Ben was just about to walk out the bedroom. He stopped where he was when he felt (Y/n)'s arms winding around his waist and her chin perching on his shoulder.

"What, you think we should be late after all?" Ben turned his head to look at (Y/n), quirking a brow as he moved his hands to hold her own.

"No, I'm just happy." (Y/n) kissed his cheek and tightened her arms around his waist. When Ben started walking again he kept hold of her hands so she walked with him still wrapped around him like a vine attached to his back.

When they got downstairs (Y/n) headed over into the kitchen to grab her phone and her bag before she made her way back to Ben.

"See, I got you here on time." Ben kissed (Y/n)'s cheek when they got out the car outside his parent's house. He checked his phone and nodded to himself when he noticed they were five minutes early and he didn't even try and speed to get here quicker.

(Y/n) linked her hand with Ben's as they headed inside and made a beeline for the kitchen where they both knew Ben's mother would be, she would already be making a start on dinner. It was a normality for them all to have dinner on a Friday night rather than a Sunday, it was their own tradition.

"There you two are, how are you?" Kate smiled as she leaned over and flicked the kettle on, knowing already that Ben would want a coffee.

"We're good mum, you okay?" Ben leaned over to kiss her cheek before (Y/n) moved over for a hug.

"Do you need help with anything?" (Y/n) moved over so Ben could make himself a drink but the knowing look (Y/n) got from Kate was more than enough to tell her that she didn't have to help. Kate liked everything a certain way and she liked doing the cooking herself, it wasn't that she didn't like or appreciate the help, she just wanted things doing her way so normally everyone let her do her thing and made sure to offer to tidy and clean up instead.

"No, but thank you."

(Y/n) leaned against the counter, smiling as Kate started up a new topic of conversation before her eyes suddenly looked down at her bag when she heard her phone go off. She put her bag on the counter behind her and took out her phone, the tone told (Y/n) it was her email but she didn't know if it was a work email or personal. If work rang or texted her then it was a sign someone wanted her to cover a shift and (Y/n) didn't like covering shifts at such short notice so at least if it was work it wasn't any shifts for her to take.

When she opened the email she realised it was her personal one which calmed down the way her heart jumped with a small bout of anxiety. But as (Y/n) read over the email she felt her blood running cold in her veins and her muscles tensed up like she was slowly turning to stone.

'Hey beautiful,

I realised you probably blocked my texts to stop that husband of yours reading them and if that's the reason then I do understand. But I'd really prefer if you didn't keep ignoring me, it's getting hard going this long without hearing from you or seeing your beautiful face. I know your with your husband now but can you respond to me soon please?

Love you (Y/n).'

How had he gotten her email? (Y/n) didn't usually talk to anyone via her email, it was mainly for when she bought stuff or got subscriptions or talked to long distance friends. Not even Ben or Sasha sent her emails and (Y/n) hadn't given out her email address to anyone in quite a while.

(Y/n) could feel her lungs tensing and closing off and her throat started to tighten like her muscles were expanding and trying to touch one another so she couldn't breathe at all. Tears formed in her eyes but it didn't stop her from being able to read the email over and over again until her body started to shake.

Who was he? Why was he doing this to her? (Y/n) was happily married, she didn't know this person and she didn't want to know him either. Blocking his number was a big sign that (Y/n) wanted nothing to do with him but he knew her number and email in the first place. He had to be someone who knew (Y/n) because he knew her details and he knew her name, why was he so fixated on trying to get her to talk to him? He sounded like he was in love with her and like they were in some kind of secret relationship but they weren't.

He wasn't leaving a name either so he either expected (Y/n) to know exactly who he was or he didn't want her to know this was him because they had to be friends or acquaintances.

"Babe... baby, what's the matter?" Ben put his drink down as his eyes narrowed and he felt his chest tightening when he looked across at (Y/n).

She was staring down at her phone like she had just been told the world was ending, there were tears welling up in her eyes and she was beginning to shake. The pieces clicked in Ben's mind that she was panicking over something but it scared him to think what she was worried about. He had seen her have panic attacks before and he knew how to calm her down and how to help but it never stopped him from panicking about what the problem was. She had been fine five minutes ago.

Ben moved until he was stood in front of (Y/n) and he gently took her phone from her hands, not bothering to see what was on the screen before he locked it and put it carelessly on the counter. He gently tangled his arms around (Y/n) and guided her through the kitchen and out into the back garden, he knew people seeing (Y/n) having a panic attack only made her feel worse and his mother had seen him have enough of them to know what was wrong with (Y/n).

"Okay baby, you need to try and breathe with me." Ben took (Y/n)'s hand and pressed it to his chest so she could see how he was trying to keep his own breaths calm.

He waited a few more seconds before he placed his hands either side of her face and pressed his forehead against her own and slowly started to swipe his thumbs under her eyes to brush away her tears. He felt (Y/n) brushing her fingers over his chest like she was stroking him or trying not to scratch him as she tried to copy his breathing.

When (Y/n) slowly started to breathe better and try to copy Ben's breathing, he pulled back a little until he could wrap his arms around her and hold her to his chest. He tangled his hand in her hair and gently kissed the top of her head a few times until he felt (Y/n) tightly wrapping her arms around his waist and burrowing herself into his chest as much as she could.

"Baby, can you tell me what upset you?" Ben tried to look down at (Y/n) but she burrowed into him tighter until he could feel her rapid, uneven breaths forcing into his chest like she was trying to give his lungs her oxygen. "Alright, alright you don't have to tell me. But please tell me it's nothing serious."

Ben slowly started to card his fingers through (Y/n)'s hair to keep her calm and he pressed his lips to the top of her head. He felt his heart calming down just a little when (Y/n) nodded against him to show that this was nothing serious and her arms wrapped tighter around him.

But she didn't know if this was serious or not.

#ben hardy #ben x reader #ben hardy imagine #imagine #BoRhap #dad! ben #rami malik #lucy boynton #deadly obsession

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heartofether · 3 years ago

Text

Episode 14 - Hungry TRANSCRIPT

[You can listen to the show wherever you get your podcasts, or go to our “Listen” page if you’re on desktop.]

VAL

Hey there. I just wanted to say before the episode that you may notice that Phoebe's voice sounds different than it did before. We now have a new voice actor who will be playing Phoebe Wood. We wish her previous voice actor, Nyx King, all the best on all of their future endeavors. Phoebe's new voice actor is going to be Lark Pelletier, who we are delighted to have on our cast.

I just wanted to let you all know so you didn't get confused when Phoebe's voice sounded different, and it was some sort of plot-related Not!Phoebe thing. Other than that, I hope you enjoy the episode, and stay safe out there.

AUTOMATED VOICE

Please state [THE VOICE GLITCHES] your message.

[THEME SONG BEGINS PLAYING.]

VAL

Three-Eyed Frog Presents: The Heart of Ether.

[THEME MUSIC FADES TO A STOP.]

[PHONE BEEP.]

[INT. THE POPPY GARDEN MOTEL, AGENTS MAY AND JUNES’ ROOM, NIGHT.]

[AGENT MAY IS HEARD FLIPPING THROUGH PAPERS.]

AGENT MAY

This is the audio log of Operation Saturn, phase 1.2. This is day one, part two. Conducted by Agents May and June. All recordings are legal property of the Harper—

[HE STOPS, THEN, FRUSTRATED] Goddammit, where did he put that photo?

[HE CONTINUES TO SORT THROUGH PAPERS, THEN, DISGRUNTLED] After our conversation with Irene Gray, Agent June and I had to re-organize the folders she disturbed. Of course, June had no understanding of how the folders were sorted, so he shoved papers wherever he saw fit. [UNDER HIS BREATH] No mind to the effort I put into labeling each folder.

It must be here somewhere.

[THE DOOR SWINGS OPEN AS AGENT JUNE WALKS IN, ARMS FULL OF SNACKS. HE'S HEARD CLOSING IT BEHIND HIM AS HE TALKS.]

AGENT JUNE

You are not going to believe this, my man. Okay, so, this motel is cheap as hell, right? Super dusty, the wallpaper’s peeling off, kinda smells like someone’s dog died in the lobby. Honestly, lowkey hoped the Foundation would have been a little bit more generous with their funds, but also I’m not surprised they stuck us here. I mean, hey, what do I know? Maybe this motel is haunted and they expect us to Ghostbuster the place up.

[AGENT MAY GROANS LOUDLY.]

AGENT JUNE

[CONT.] But! Here’s the kicker! Vending machines downstairs? Jam-packed. They have king-sized candy bars!

[THERE ARE WRAPPER NOISES AS AGENT JUNE SHOWS OFF HIS FINDS.]

AGENT JUNE

Look at this! Man, I haven’t actually eaten candy in so long. The drink machine is all off-brand soda, though, so, sucks to suck, I guess.

[HE DUMPS THE SNACKS ONTO THE BED.]

AGENT JUNE

Oh, and there is a pool. Hot tub, too. Though there were some stray cats in the bushes who were…well, I’ll leave that up to your imagination. Still, if you packed a swimsuit, maybe we could hit that up later?

AGENT MAY

I did not pack a swimsuit. Unlike some of us, I came here to do my job.

AGENT JUNE

Hey, that’s not fair. Of course I’m doing my job! I just, you know, enjoy having a life outside of work. Know what that’s like?

AGENT MAY

Of course I do. I just don’t intend to do any messing around while we’re here.

AGENT JUNE

Oh, yeah?

[AGENT JUNE CROSSES HIS ARMS.]

AGENT JUNE

What do you do outside of work?

AGENT MAY

I cook. I read, though recently, I haven’t done so as much as I used to. I keep up with the news. I, you know, run errands. [AS THE LIST GOES ON, HE STRUGGLES MORE AND MORE TO COME UP WITH THINGS.]

AGENT JUNE

Okay, only half of those things are potentially fun. Not even guaranteed fun, just the potential for enjoyment.

AGENT MAY

What does it matter to you what I do in my free time, anyways?

AGENT JUNE

Because nobody should be trapped in that miserable cycle where you just do your 9-to-5 until you die, dude! Come on.

Alright, how about this: from here on out, my mission within this mission is to get you to do something fun. Got that? You’re walking away from here with one new hobby or so help me.

AGENT MAY

What about our actual job?

AGENT JUNE

I’ll find time in between! You just watch.

[AGENT JUNE PLOPS DOWN ON HIS BED. HE OPENS THE WRAPPER FOR ONE OF THE CANDY BARS. THERE’S A PAUSE.]

AGENT MAY

Do you think Irene Gray will come back around?

AGENT JUNE

Mm, not sure? She didn’t seem too happy with us.

[AS MAY CONTINUES, JUNE IS HEARD EATING ONE OF HIS CANDY BARS.]

AGENT MAY

I’m just worried she won’t agree to work with us after today. I mean, our mission just started, and we might have just lost what could have been a valuable connection. I mean, you saw how suspicious she was when we entered her house. It’s possible that she knows exactly what it is we’re after—and if she’s familiar with Valencia’s work, well, who knows what she knows?

AGENT JUNE

[THROUGH CHEWING] I get what you mean. [HE SWALLOWS.] Though, to be fair, our method was kind of…

AGENT MAY

[A BEAT.] Pardon?

AGENT JUNE

[HESITANT] Don’t you think it’s kind of cruel? Using Rosemary to lure her in? It’s clearly a sensitive topic for her, and we just kind of, you know, ripped the bandage off a wound that may or may not have healed properly.

AGENT MAY

[STRAINED] You have a point.

[UNCOMFORTABLE] We were following orders, though.

AGENT JUNE

I guess.

[THERE’S A PAUSE, FOLLOWED BY MORE CANDY WRAPPER RUSTLING.]

AGENT JUNE

Speaking of which, what does the Foundation have on the agenda for us next?

AGENT MAY

Plenty to keep us occupied. We are going to be interviewing a woman named Lorelei Foster—

[AGENT JUNE GROANS.]

AGENT MAY

We’re not trying to bait her or anything like that. This is just an interview. She lives on the outskirts of town, but she used to own Moon Cloves, the only metaphysical store in town. She is also one of the only people who was close to Valencia that is still alive.

AGENT JUNE

Gotcha, gotcha.

[AN UNCOMFORTABLE PAUSE AS AGENT JUNE CONTINUES TO EAT HIS CANDY.]

AGENT MAY

Would you mind not eating on the bed?

AGENT JUNE

Mm! Actually, so glad you brought up the uh, singular ‘bed.’

[AGENT JUNE SHIFTS AROUND ON THE SINGULAR BED TO EMPHASIZE HIS POINT.]

AGENT JUNE

What do you plan on doing about that?

AGENT MAY

Haven’t thought about it. Say, do you know what happened to that photo we had of the bicycle?

AGENT JUNE

Oh, no clue.

[AGENT MAY GROANS IN FRUSTRATION.]

AGENT JUNE

[COOING] You’re avoiding the bed situation, aren’t you?

AGENT MAY

[GRUMBLING] You can have it. I’m fine sleeping in the car.

AGENT JUNE

[SURPRISED] Woah, you sure? I mean, I’m used to uncomfortable sleeping arrangements, trust me.

AGENT MAY

I’ll be fine. I prefer the uh, privacy, of the car.

AGENT JUNE

[UNCONVINCED] Sure.

Uh, thank you. For the bed. [HE CHUCKLES.] How did the Foundation manage to mess that one up, anyways?

AGENT MAY

Apparently, there was a mistake in the paperwork.

AGENT JUNE

That sucks.

AGENT MAY

Indeed.

[A PAUSE.]

AGENT MAY

Right. We should probably get some rest soon, anyways.

AGENT JUNE

[HE SCOFFS.] Dude, are you kidding me? It’s like, 8:30! Okay, I refuse to go to bed that early.

AGENT MAY

We have a busy day ahead of us.

AGENT JUNE

Yeah, and I’m used to functioning off of five hours of sleep, so I’ll be fine.

AGENT MAY

My apologies for having a healthy sleep schedule. Anyways, I’m turning this off—

[PHONE BEEP.]

[RECORDING ENDS.]

[ANOTHER PHONE BEEP.]

[INT. “VEIL,” A HIP, MODERN RESTAURANT DOWNTOWN, MIDDAY.]

[THE RESTAURANT IS BUSTLING WITH ACTIVITY. THERE’S FAINT CONVERSATION AND DISH CLANKING IN THE BACKGROUND.]

AVERY

Is it on?

IRENE

[UNEASY] Um, yeah. Say, how did you know I was going to record this?

AVERY

Hm? Oh, it was a lucky guess. I just wanted you to wait until we got done ordering.

IRENE

Right.

[A BEAT.] How long do you think we’ll be here, exactly? I have plans to meet someone back at my house this afternoon.

AVERY

Oh, that’s fine. It shouldn’t be long. You could technically leave whenever you like, since I’m taking the bill.

IRENE

What? No! I’m not letting a teenager pay for my food—

AVERY

How old are you, again? You look college-age. You’re wearing a university t-shirt—say, did you live on campus? Maybe have a meal plan? I mean, you don’t look like your parents have money, but I could be—

IRENE

[CUTTING THEM OFF] Okay, okay, I get it. Thank you for lunch, I guess.

AVERY

Not a problem.

[THERE’S A LONG PAUSE.]

IRENE

[AWKWARDLY] So, are you going to explain it?

AVERY

Explain what?

IRENE

The meat thing.

AVERY

Oh, you want to discuss my eating habits? That’s kinda rude, you know.

IRENE

I mean, you just ordered your burger, quote, “as rare as you’re legally allowed to serve it,” and then offered me your side. Plus, I’ve seen what your mom buys at the store for you.

AVERY

Oh, don’t preach to me about the ethics of eating a living thing or whatever. I’ve heard enough of that. You know, it’s not as black and white as—

IRENE

[OVERLAPPING, WITH A GROAN] Look, I may be vegetarian, but it’s not like that. I’m not talking from a place of judgment or moral high ground, I just—wanna know if there’s a reason for it. Your meat diet.

[SHE TAKES A DRINK OF HER WATER.]

AVERY

I’m not human.

[IRENE PROMPTLY SPITS HER WATER OUT.]

AVERY

Mm, well, I think I’m pretty close to human. And don’t mix this up as some sort of identity thing—I actually had my gender slash identity crisis before my transformation.

[MUTTERS] Actually thought I had myself pretty well figured out before the change. Keyword being ‘thought.’ There was still this part of me that was desperately trying to be something I wasn’t, I think. It led to me becoming something I didn’t want to be in a very literal and permanent sense.

IRENE

So, you weren’t always like this?

AVERY

Nope. I used to be a person just like you. That is, until I got involved with some heavy stuff. Stuff I shouldn’t have messed with, you know?

I did a ritual I shouldn’t have done, and—hey, do you know how it feels for your insides to be rearranged by some otherworldly force? As if your internal organs are a completed puzzle, but somebody decided it didn’t look right, so they just started jamming the pieces together in an attempt to make a new image?

IRENE

[UNCOMFORTABLE] That sounds painful.

AVERY

Obviously! Anyways, I’m doing better now. That was a couple of years ago. The big difference is that now, raw meat is pretty much the only thing my body is good at digesting. I can technically eat other food, but it doesn’t take much before I start getting sick.

IRENE

That sounds…jeez, I’m sorry.

AVERY

Hey, there are perks to it. I mean, my canines are super sharp, so I kinda look like a vampire if you look hard enough. Oh, I’m also super strong. Like, not “pick up your car” strong, but I could probably lift this table up.

IRENE

[SLOWLY BECOMING INCREASINGLY OVERWHELMED] Right.

AVERY

Does that answer your question?

IRENE

Yeah, but it spawned, like, five more, uh—

[IRENE STRUGGLES TO COLLECT HERSELF FOR A MOMENT.]

AVERY

You’re not going to figure this all out in one day, so don’t try to. Seriously. You look really overwhelmed. It’s not about making out the whole bigger picture right away, just focus on like, the upper right-hand corner of it.

IRENE

[CALMING DOWN] Right. Right, okay.

AVERY

I’ll let you ask a couple more questions, though.

IRENE

So, you did a ritual that shifted your organs around and made you something…slightly to the left of human?

AVERY

That’s correct.

IRENE

Where did that power come from? What made that happen to you?

AVERY

[THEY THINK FOR A MOMENT.] That’s a more complicated answer than I think you’re ready for. I mean, if you don’t even know what Ether is—

IRENE

[CUTTING THEM OFF, IN REALIZATION] Ether! God, Valencia had that written somewhere, I think—when I went up to the attic during the—

AVERY

So you do know Valencia.

IRENE

Well, yeah. I’m living in his old house.

AVERY

I know. That house has a reputation, you know. Almost as much as the man himself. [WARNING] People take note of things like that.

IRENE

So, Ether is the source of your power?

AVERY

Mm, sort of? It’s complicated. Ether is the source behind a whole lot of things, but I’m not sure it has any sort of agenda.

IRENE

Is it linked to the mold at all? Or, wait, do you even know what the mold is?

AVERY

You mean the Spread? Yellow, infects people upon touch, kind of has a mind of its own?

IRENE

…the Spread?

AVERY

That’s what Dorothy and Valencia called it. They had all sorts of weird names for things.

IRENE

That explains the Folk.

Did they have a name for what you are?

AVERY

Yeah. [MUTTERS] I don’t like it, though.

IRENE

What is it?

AVERY

[WITH DISTASTE] The Hungry.

[A BEAT.] That’s really the only name there is, though, so, I kinda have to just suck it up.

IRENE

How did you find all of that out? From what I’ve seen of their research, it’s mostly blank—

AVERY

[WHISPERING] Might want to keep your voice down about the research. People could be listening.

[A PAUSE.]

IRENE

[WHISPERING] What the fuck.

AVERY

[AT NORMAL VOLUME, TRYING TO PLAY IT OFF] The naming conventions are the only part of their research that sort of became common knowledge over time. At least, among those who knew what Ether was. I think even that stupid Foundation picked up on the names after a while. Dorothy and Valencia never really agreed on how exactly the names should be determined, and they died before they could finally stop having petty arguments over it.

I knew Dorothy, though, before she died. She helped me figure out my whole [UNSEEN VAGUE GESTURE] situation. She was a much kinder person than Valencia, you know.

IRENE

I’ve gathered that much. Damn, that means you know more about this than even her own granddaughter.

AVERY

Phoebe Wood? I don’t know her that well. I only saw her around the bookstore once or twice—well, and at Dorothy’s funeral, obviously.

IRENE

I see.

AVERY

Any other questions?

[A PAUSE.]

IRENE

Why did you invite me here?

AVERY

…hm?

IRENE

I mean, why did you invite me to lunch? This—whatever you’re involved in—is clearly far bigger than me. Why would you want to talk to me, of all people?

AVERY

[THROUGH A SMILE] You’re clever, Irene. Nosy, too. That might cause you some problems later.

Anyways, this whole lunch was a test.

[A BEAT.] Oh, why do you look so shocked? What did you think this was about, anyways? Leisurely conversation with some random kid who came to your house?

Anyways, I’ve been involved in this business for, mm, two years? After a while, you get really good at reading people, you know? Most people who choose to get involved in this are just flat-out stupid, but you, Irene, are a special breed of stupid.

Like, you’re not pretentious or egotistical like some of them are, but you’re stubborn, you know? You don’t go down easy. Take that as a compliment. Or don’t. I barely know you, what does my word count for?

[IRENE STUTTERS SOMETHING INCOHERENT.]

AVERY

[CONT.] What I’m saying is that you might just be stupid enough to accidentally do something smart. That’s the kind of behavior that can save you from getting killed. Am I making sense?

IRENE

Um, maybe?

AVERY

Great. Anyways, I hate to be the one to break it to you, but you’re in too deep at this point. You were already kind of cursed the moment you were naive enough to move into Valencia’s house. There’s a reason it was empty for so long, you know. Again, reputation, or whatever.

If you’ve already encountered the Spread, however, well, that’s kind of the final nail in the coffin. You’re in this game, whether you like it or not.

IRENE

Calling it a game implies that it’s fun.

AVERY

[THINKING] For some of them, it is.

IRENE

And who are they?

AVERY

If you learn to shut your mouth, you may never have to find out, but you’re not very good at that.

IRENE

[OFFENDED] Hey—!

AVERY

[OVERLAPPING] Anyways, you clearly need some help getting your footing in all of this. Wouldn’t it be nice to have someone on your side who isn’t out of their mind or a murderer? I pride myself in that.

IRENE

[WARILY] You said this was a test.

AVERY

That I did.

IRENE

…did I pass?

AVERY

Yep.

[HESITANT] The test wasn’t to see whether or not I would help you, though. I planned on offering my assistance regardless—well, unless you were a complete jerk, but you’re not.

The test was to see…well, to see if you could help me.

IRENE

You need my help?

AVERY

[TRYING TO HIDE THEIR WORRY] I think the waiter has our food. You should probably turn off the recording.

IRENE

[REALIZING] Oh. Okay.

[PHONE BEEP.]

[RECORDING ENDS.]

[ANOTHER PHONE BEEP.]

[INT. IRENE’S ATTIC, THE SAME DAY, MIDDAY.]

[THERE IS THE SOUND OF PHOEBE AND HOLLY CLIMBING UP THE LADDER AND INTO THE ATTIC.]

IRENE

[TO PHOEBE] Can you climb up over the—

PHOEBE

[OVERLAPPING] Yup, yup, just um, please—

[IRENE HELPS PHOEBE UP ONTO THE ATTIC FLOOR.]

PHOEBE

Sorry. Thank you.

IRENE

It’s not a problem. Will you be able to get down?

PHOEBE

That should be easier, I think. My legs just hurt a lot if I move too much. It’s fine. I’ll be fine.

[HOLLY CLIMBS UP INTO THE ATTIC.]

HOLLY

Here’s your cane.

PHOEBE

Thank you.

HOLLY

Of course.

PHOEBE

Oh, Irene, I hope you don’t mind I brought someone else. Holly is, uh—

HOLLY

[OVERLAPPING] We’re dating.

IRENE

Oh. Oh! Right, I didn’t know you were dating someone, Phoebe.

PHOEBE

[FLUSTERED] We just started recently—I mean, like, very recent.

IRENE

Well, congratulations.

PHOEBE

Thank you.

[FOOTSTEPS AS HOLLY LOOKS AROUND THE ATTIC.]

HOLLY

So, this is it?

IRENE

Unless he has something hidden beneath the floorboards, then, this is all of it.

HOLLY

[SHE CHUCKLES.] At this point, that wouldn’t surprise me.

IRENE

Good point. [A BEAT.] We’re not ripping up my floors, though. This house may have belonged to Valencia, but it’s mine now.

[PHOEBE IS HEARD FLIPPING THROUGH SOME PAPERS.]

PHOEBE

This looks just like what Grandma Doe has.

IRENE

There’s more than just that.

[IRENE HANDS PHOEBE ONE OF THE BOOKS.]

PHOEBE

[READING THE COVER.] Daughtler: The Heart of Ether.

[SHE FANS THROUGH IT.]

PHOEBE

[SURPRISED] None of this is written in code. Irene, have you read any of this?

IRENE

Not yet. I haven’t had the time. We found these books when we got cornered.

[PHOEBE CONTINUES FLIPPING THROUGH PAGES.]

PHOEBE

It never got finished. He must have died before he could get around to it.

[HOLLY'S FOOTSTEPS ARE HEARD IN THE BACKGROUND.]

IRENE

What do you think he planned on doing with these?

PHOEBE

I’m not sure? Maybe he wanted to make the knowledge more accessible?

[HOLLY IS HEARD OPENING A CARDBOARD BOX.]

HOLLY

Hey, have you looked in this box?

IRENE

Um, no. I haven’t sorted through everything yet. Why?

[AS IRENE TALKS, SHE WALKS OVER TO WHERE HOLLY IS.]

HOLLY

There’s a bunch of undeveloped film in here.

IRENE

What do you think is on it?

HOLLY

Hell if I know. Do you have a place to develop film?

IRENE

No. Do you know anyone, Phoebe?

PHOEBE

Um, no. Sorry.

HOLLY

We can try putting an advert out. There’s a bulletin board outside of the Open Eyes Bookstore. Maybe if we post something, someone will reach out?

IRENE

That’s a good idea. I can put my number on it, too.

PHOEBE

[NERVOUS] Are you sure that’s a good idea?

IRENE

We don’t have to say what the film is for, right? It wouldn’t hurt to try. I mean, what if Valencia took a photo of something really important? Until we figure out how to read the other research, this may be the only tangible evidence we have.

[A BEAT.]

PHOEBE

Yeah, um, about that—

HOLLY

We figured out how to read the research. Well, correction, Phoebe did.

IRENE

[SURPRISED] Actually? That’s great news, Phoebe! How are you going to do it?

PHOEBE

[NERVOUS] Well, you see, it’s er, um, complicated. You might want to sit down?

IRENE

Oh, I guarantee you, nothing can surprise me after the conversation I had earlier. Try me.

PHOEBE

Well, the reason why the papers look blank is because they’re written in a way the human eye can’t read. Everything the two of them researched, it all stemmed from this thing called Ether, though I’m not sure entirely what that means yet other than it’s something like a power source.

My grandmother and Valencia had, um, special abilities? That allowed them to read and write in ways nobody else could understand, as well as do other stuff. So, if I want to be able to properly continue their work, I have to do the same thing they did. Acquire those same powers.

IRENE

So, is there, like, a ritual you have to do?

PHOEBE

You’re not freaking out?

IRENE

[DEADPAN] What did I say? I’ll accept anything at this point.

HOLLY

It is a ritual, yeah. We haven’t done it yet, because there’s a specific way to do it, and the consequences of fucking it up can be pretty bad. Dorothy left instructions on how to do it.

Phoebe’s going to be the only one trying to—how do I say this, ascend? Obtain the magic, or whatever it is? I’m going to be there to help in case anything goes wrong, though.

IRENE

That’s your plan, then? You’re gonna try to get supernatural powers to continue your grandmother’s work?

PHOEBE

It sounds kind of surreal when you put it that way, but, yes.

IRENE

Are you sure that’s what you want, Phoebe? I mean, I’m not saying you shouldn’t—it would definitely be helpful to have someone who can understand all this stuff, but… [SHE TRAILS OFF.]

PHOEBE

But?

IRENE

It’s your life. You don’t have to do what your grandmother did. This sounds like a really big deal. I mean, is there any way to reverse it once it’s done?

PHOEBE

Not as far as I know.

HOLLY

Trust me, we had this conversation. [HOLDING SOMETHING BACK] I have my worries too, but—

PHOEBE

But it’s not really a choice. For me, at least. I’ve thought really hard about it, and I’ve decided that if Grandma Doe thought I could handle it, then I trust her. I know there’s no turning back, but, I’m willing to accept the responsibility.

IRENE

Okay, then. That’s good. I hope it didn’t seem like I was trying to scold you, I just—

PHOEBE

No, you’re fine, don’t worry! I know you’re just looking out for me. I appreciate it. [SHE SAYS THIS WITH SLIGHT DISCOMFORT, SINCE SHE ISN’T USED TO PEOPLE CARING.]

IRENE

Of course.

[A BRIEF PAUSE.]

HOLLY

Well, should we get back to the shop and post that ad?

PHOEBE

That would be a good idea, yeah.

[PHOEBE CLOSES THE BOOK.]

PHOEBE

Um, do you mind if I bring this book with me, Irene?

IRENE

Go right ahead.

PHOEBE

Thanks again.

IRENE

Yup. Let me know how it goes.

[HOLLY HELPS PHOEBE GET ONTO THE LADDER.]

HOLLY

Are you good?

PHOEBE

Yup, yup. Thank you.

HOLLY

Unless you need my help, you can head to the car. I’ll be down in a minute.

PHOEBE

I’ll be okay, thanks.

[A LONG PAUSE WHILE PHOEBE CLIMBS DOWN AND LEAVES.]

HOLLY

Irene?

IRENE

Yeah?

HOLLY

What’s your endgame here?

IRENE

[TAKEN ABACK] Um, what?

HOLLY

I mean, why are you doing this?

IRENE

I didn’t have a choice. The mold attacked me first.

HOLLY

But you didn’t just move to a different place. You didn’t try to run away.

[A TENSE PAUSE.]

IRENE

[WARILY] You know what they say. Curiosity killed the cat.

HOLLY

Oh, come on, it’s not just that.

IRENE

[A BEAT.] No. No, it’s not.

HOLLY

Whatever it is, could you promise me one thing?

IRENE

I can try.

HOLLY

Don’t get too close. You’re already in dangerous territory. Not long until you’re gonna get burned.

IRENE

[SHE SCOFFS.] Not the first time I’ve heard that today.

HOLLY

[DEFENSIVE] And no matter what it is, you don’t put Phoebe at risk, in any way. You don’t touch a hair on her head, got that?

IRENE

I’d never dream of it.

HOLLY

Good. Take care.

IRENE

You, too.

[HOLLY LEAVES. THERE’S A LONG MOMENT WHILE IRENE LINGERS, WAITING UNTIL THEY’VE LEFT THE HOUSE.]

IRENE

There’s one more thing I need to tell you, Rose.

When Avery asked me to turn off the recording, it wasn’t just because our food had arrived. They said they needed my help with something.

You know how they said they were part of a wider, I guess, subcategory of weird? The Hungry? They know other people who are like that, and apparently, the Hungry are starting to go missing. It’s been most prevalent in the Washington area over the past month, but it’s been going on across the country for a long time.

Avery thinks someone’s killing them. One by one. Hunting them down.

They asked if I could help figure out what’s happening. I agreed. Not sure why. I have no clue how I’m supposed to catch a killer. Guess I’ll have to figure it out.

I should get going. I have a lot of thinking to do.

Talk to you soon.

[PHONE BEEP.]

[RECORDING ENDS.]

[ANOTHER PHONE BEEP.]

[INT. IRENE’S BEDROOM, NIGHT.]

[THERE IS THE SOUND OF CRICKETS FROM OUTSIDE.]

IRENE

[SOFTLY, TINGED WITH SLEEPINESS] Hey. I know it’s late. Trust me, I’ve tried sleeping, but it just isn’t happening. I have too much on my mind. Avery’s problem, Phoebe’s plan…Ether. Whatever that means.

But, above all of that—above the chaos my life is slowly dissolving into—I’ve realized something: I might see you again. For years, the thought of being with you has been a passive daydream. Now, for the first time in ages, it’s a real and tangible thing in my hands. It’s not just a hope, but a possible future.

I’ve thought about how I might react. Hell, I’ve thought about that ever since you first went missing. Will I start sobbing? Will I scream? I have no idea. I might not do anything. Might just stand there and stare at you, dumbfounded.

[TENDER] I can be sure of one thing: if I find you, I promise not to let go. Whatever is chasing you, whatever tries to hurt you, I won’t let it. You’ve run for so long. You must be so tired.

If—no, when—when I find you, I’ll…I’ll give you anything, okay? A hundred flowers. A thousand paper cranes. Easy mornings, trips to the bakery, that domestic life you used to romanticize so much, but never got. My flesh, my blood, my bones, my whole entire being. I’ll give it all to you. Of course I will.

Goodnight, my dove.

[PHONE BEEP.]

[RECORDING ENDS.]

AUTOMATED VOICE

Today's quote is: “I will take the sun in my mouth

and leap into the ripe air

Alive

with closed eyes

to dash against darkness.”

E.E. Cummings in Crepuscule, 1917.

We are all there is here. That which we harbor will not spoil you with rotten words. There is no cause for concern. There is no cause for concern. [THEN, SLOWER] There is no—

[THE VOICE IS CUT OFF BY A GLITCHING NOISE.]

[OUTRO MUSIC & CREDITS PLAY.]

ELI ESDI

The Station Arcadia podcast tells stories from a dystopian world where dieselpunk, steampunk, cyberpunk and solarpunk societies all exist side by side. These diverse stories are told through a radio station on a shifting island, and given voice by the Station's Host - Kassandra.

KASS

Did that man just try to offer jerky as a consolation prize for someone’s daughter?

ELI

Woven through each stand-alone story are threads that come together to tell the story of a revolution, and hope in the face of a dying world. MEMORIE

I understand enough. The revolution still has hope and I want to help.

ELI Breaks in the narration bring us on-site to each society, where we hear four unique and powerful stories.

[ALICE GRUNTS]

TEDDY

Stop squirming!

ALICE

I can lift myself through the window let me just-!

[DULL THUD FROM BEHIND A WALL.]

ALICE

[MUFFLED] Ow.

ELI

Station Arcadia broadcasts Fridays at 9 am Pacific Time. Transcripts and additional information are available at stationarcadia.com.

Remember listeners; Stay Safe, Stay Moving, and Stick Close. You’ve been listening to Station Arcadia, the promo.

#heart of ether transcripts

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shreddedparchment · 5 years ago

Text

Pseudo Princess Pt.05

A Consummate Marriage

10/06/2019

Pairing: Steve x Reader Word Count: 6,878

Warnings: language, dub-con, semi-graphic, teeny bit of violence, angst

A/N: This is the first time I’ve ever written a scene like the one I write towards the end. Please be kind as it is important for the story and it’s not meant to be sexy at all, at least not after a certain point. If you do not like dub-con, please consider not reading this chapter. Or if you do, please remember you were warned. I’m super nervous about this chapter but also excited to share it because it is SO important for the future of the relationship in this story. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work!

Your world is a flurry of planning. Measuring. Nervous questions muttered into Nat's ear as she shakes her head to the woman measuring you to alter your wedding dress.

“Isn’t tomorrow too soon?” You worry, watching the gray-haired seamstress as she stoops down low to pin the lower hem of your dress.

She’s sweating, her white cap—really just a glorified headband—slipping sideways to expose her flushed cheeks.

“Steve wants it tomorrow.” Mother says, moving to hold your sleeves back while she also points at your side. “Bring it in here as well.”

“Yes, but everyone’s having to rush.” You fret.

“My sweet girl, this is not rushing. It’s excitement. Right?” She asks, checking on the women moving around you and pinning your dress, fussing with fixing your bath which Nat suddenly notices.

She rushes towards them and takes the basket of soaps and oils away to look through.

The large copper tub—similar to the one you’d had back at Stark castle but longer—is placed before the large dark stone fireplace. The walls of the room are lined with dark, golden wallpaper that almost seem to glow with the warm light of the fire and candles lit around the space.

The high ceiling is made of similar dark chocolate wood as the hallways in the rest of the castle. The bed, four post with soft pink curtains and beige lace, is made of the same. Soft black sheets and golden pillows fill the plush bed. You’re so exhausted it takes all of your willpower to keep from jumping in.

Frowning at the selection of scents in the basket, Natasha hands it back and then chases the maids off.

“Yes, your Majesty.” The seamstress grunts, sighing in exhaustion.

She doesn’t seem excited.

Your heart aches with fear as she suddenly smiles up at you and you do see the sparkle of join at a wedding. A royal wedding. A reason to celebrate.

But not for you…

“Mother…” You say breathlessly, terror in your eyes.

When her blue eyes meet yours, her smile vanishes.

“Leave us.” She suddenly orders and the women who had been preparing your bath hurry to leave. “Are you done, Moira?”

“Yes, your Majesty. I will go prepare my station.” The seamstress says.

“Thank you. I’ll have Natasha bring you the dress shortly.” Mother tells her, dismissing her too.

The woman leaves and with a nod to Natasha, Natasha moves to make sure that the door is closed, no one around to listen.

“Are we alone, Nat?” She asks, and Natasha nods.

“Yes.”

“Come.” She pulls you towards the large pale blue armchair by the fire behind your tub, sitting you down first before she sits beside you in the other. “What’s the matter? Have you changed your mind?”

She probably doesn’t mean to sound disappointed, you know that. But she does. And you can’t blame her. If you jilt King Rogers, you’ll possibly tarnish relations between the two kingdoms permanently.

“No.” You shake your head, “No. Of course not. I just…”

“Did something happen when you met with Steve earlier?” Nat asks suspiciously.

Steve? Why do they all use first names? They don’t seem to regard titles at all.

Turning shocked eyes on her, she frowns.

“I told you, Pepper. I told you that his rushing meant something was off.” Nat places her hands on her hips, fuming she moves to your bath and begins to prepare it, grumbling underneath her breath.

Mother sighs. “I had hoped that maybe he was just eager to come back to us. That it meant that he’s ready to move on.”

“No one gets stuck in the past like Steve.” Nat gripes.

“What happened?” Mother asks, reaching out to take your hand in her own.

“Nothing.” You smile at her, but it’s forced, and she sees that.

“Y/N, please. If you can’t do this, tell me. The King and I will not force you to do this.” She promises.

You do believe her. Even though you know that she’d rather do this to you than to Morgana, you know that she at least cares.

“I can do this. I know I can. I just wasn’t expecting him to be so-” You take a deep breath and then smile at her. “He told me that I could never make him happy. But there was also something in his eyes…I want to try. Even if he says that I can’t. However, I’m so scared that he’s right and that I will never be able to make him happy. I don’t know if I could live with that type of disappointment. Knowing that I failed as his wife?”

“He actually told you that you could never make him happy?” Nat asks, sounding upset again. Scoffing.

You can only look down at your hands, wondering if maybe seeing you in person is what prompted him to know you won’t make him happy. Maybe he thought he’d like you from your portrait but now that he’s seen you in person, he knows that you won’t?

“There’s something I think you need to understand, darling.” Pepper begins, scooting to the edge of her seat, making her royal red gown to rustle. She takes a firmer hold on your hand, caressing it with comfort as her blue eyes bore into yours. “Steven Rogers was a very happy man. There is a large portion of his life that you will have to discover on your own because no one can tell Steve’s story like he can. It’s his to tell. But the last bit. The bit that’s stuck with him the strongest, is the one that matters right now.

“Steve married the love of his life.”

Strange how that hurts to hear.

“He met her when his Kingdom had just gone to war and their love was very passionate. It was one of those loves that embeds itself into your bones and changes you forever. Margaret was strong. She knew herself and she had firm opinions that Steve admired. She was happy. She laughed and laughed the most with him. Together they were two halves of one whole and when he asked her to marry him, the Kingdom rejoiced. The War was won, and they got married and I’d never seen him so happy.

“His life was everything that he’d hoped it would be and then she died. He lost everything. Not just Margaret but his love of life. Any hope for his future. Any sort of happiness. She took it with her, and Steve hasn’t been the same since.

“We were all very close at one time and the treaty didn’t help but when Margaret died, he completely cut us off. Tony has been reaching out since and Steve only just responded.”

“Why?” You ask, feeling sick to your stomach.

You’re marrying a man who has already had his happy ending. He was as happy as life could possibly make him and then it was taken from him. You can never make him that happy again.

“We think that maybe he was receiving some pressure from his council members. He’s young and he should have a wife. He also needs an heir to the throne.” Nat provides, standing up after spreading more wine-colored peonies over top the water steaming from your tub.

“So, it’s out of a sense of duty that he’s marrying me?” You’d thought that might be a possibility, but you’d begun to hope with the quick way he’d responded to your portrait that maybe he actually likes you.

“Love can grow from duty.” Mother offers. “We’ve said this over and over, but you need to know that this will be hard. For a while, you will probably have more bad days than good.”

“And things might also never get better, right?” You sigh.

“Yes.” Mother nods. “They might not. You don’t have to do this, Y/N.”

You smile at her weakly, then get up and move to Nat. She moves around you and begins to unlace the back of your dress and carefully slides it off your form.

“Yes, I do.” You tell mother, “I will serve my father. And my Kingdom. I’ll marry him and make the best of it. I can do this.”

“That’s the spirit.” Nat praises before offering her hand so that you can step into the tub.

Naked, you settle into the hot water, gasping lightly at the burn.

“Darling,” Mother says, getting up and moving around to squat down beside the tub in front of your fire. “If things don’t get better. You always have a home with us. Just say the word and Tony and I will come and get you. He meant it when he said that you’re family.”

Her words make you happy, but there is no question of you ever leaving. You will make this work or die trying. You will serve your kingdom and even if he think you can’t, you will find a way to make Steve happy.

The bells of the city ring continuously as you and Steve ride through the city. The procession is large, with carriages in front carrying your family, Bucky and another Knight you’d met just before the ceremony named Samuel—or Sam, as he insisted—ride on horses on either side of your carriage.

The rabble cheer. Rose petals of every color rain down on you and Steve from the windows of tall buildings where the citizens of Steve’s capital city celebrate.

You can’t help but smile as his people celebrate their new Queen. Your dress is beautiful, off the shoulder with sheer white voile sleeves that hang off your arms with golden hems and intricately embroidered white roses that run along the entirety of the gown.

Your hair had been picked up, carefully piled atop your head in messy waves that somehow still look majestically disheveled. The large golden crown atop your head, perfectly round with an even bottom and a tapered top, several silver stars adorning the center all the way around definitely helps with the regality of your outfit.

Nervous beyond reason, you turn your bashful smile on your new husband. Steve is a vision in white silks, silver and golden embroidery along his top, his trousers are black, a line of golden vine along the sides.

His own crows sits atop his own head.

He’s beautiful and kingly, and he’d taken your breath away when you’d walked into the large church to get married.

His own gaze has remained the same. Save for a small uncertainty when you’d first met his eyes across the church, he’s looked just as stoic as he does now. The only difference is that in the church he’d had his jaw clenched the entire time.

Now, there’s a defeat in his expression that makes your smile fade.

“Your Majesty?” You check, reaching over to take his left hand but just as your fingertips touch his hand, he lifts it and waves at his people.

“Wave at our people, your Majesty.” He orders and avoids looking at you.

You do as he asks, chewing on your lower lip as you remind yourself that you signed up for this. You could have told father—King Tony—no when he’d first asked you to do this. You could have gone back to your sewing hut and gone on starving and being free to come and go as you please, but you accepted this path.

Patience. You urge yourself. Knowing that getting through to Steve will not be easy. It’ll be a long time probably before he’ll even feel comfortable enough to speak around you without that hint of animosity in his tone.

You want to tell him that you’re sorry. That you wish he could have his Margaret back, but you think if you said that, he’d probably hate you more. Plus, you really want him to tell you about his pain in his own time.

“Your Majesty…” You begin again, not looking at him as you wave and force a smile. “…Steve.”

Your heart stops and you wait for him to get angry, but there’s only silence from your right.

“Please, call me by my name when we’re together. I-I’m your wife now. I want to know you.” And those last words are heavy. You mean that in every sense.

“You must do as you wish, your Majesty.” He says pointedly.

With a pit in your stomach, you try not to let your shoulders slump but you’re realizing that this is going to be harder to deal with than you thought.

“Never mind, your Majesty. I will follow your lead.” You continue to wave as Steve sighs heavily beside you.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Steve,” Bucky begins as he dismounts and watches as Steve steps off the carriage then turns to offer you his hand.

“Not now.” Steve tells him, not a care in the world that you’re standing there with him while he clearly argues with Bucky.

“Yes. Now.” Bucky stops beside him, scowling at him as you step down.

“I won’t have this discussion again.” Steve insists.

Once he’s sure that you’re safe on the ground he turns and walks away with Bucky trailing behind him.

By the time you lift your dress a bit to follow, his long legs have already taken him away from you a bit.

Bucky looks back at you, shooting you an apologetic look before he turns back to Steve with a frown. “Steve, you need to think about what sort of precedent you’re setting. It’s your wedding days. The servants are watching you and the new Queen. How do you think they’ll treat her if you don’t-”

He must have seen the two of you talking on the way back to the castle.

“Your Majesty?” Nat says, and you turn to look at her as Steve and Bucky fall out of earshot.

This time you force yourself to look happy. To look fine even though you feel like there’s an anvil in your chest, weighing you down.

“Nat…” You begin as she curtsies deep. “Stop that.”

“I can’t.” She chuckles. “You are Queen now and you are the highest women in the Kingdom. You deserve respect and admiration and I am more than happy to give it.”

If only Steve felt the same way.

“Thank you.” You keep your smile, intent on making sure that no one sees what Bucky did in the carriage. “Let’s go catch up with the King.”

You can see Steve and Bucky bickering by the large pale doors settled against the dark wooden wall. Beyond it you know there’ll be a wedding feast with more food than you’ve seen in your entire life. There’ll be music and merry making and dancing and everything that doubles and triples joy when there is a wedding to be celebrated.

They stop as you get closer and Steve turns towards the doorway and holds out his left arm for you.

“Shall we…” Steve looks at Bucky then clears his throat. “…my darling?”

Hearing Steve’s deep tone say those words, call you by something so sweet, nearly makes you faint. But the excitement is momentary as you realize that Bucky’s scolding is what’s prompted him to say it. He’s doing it for show and stupid girl that you are, you want it to be real.

You nod.

Steve leads you through and the cheers that greet you are deafening, quickly followed by lively music.

~~~~~~~~~~

The timbrel is too loud. The clack, clack, clack, of the jingles keeps pulling your eyes to the band on the second floor of the large ballroom. It’s not obscenely large. Enough for the gentry, all of Steve’s council, and friends.

But it’s full and the dancing has been going on for a while. The lute plays its melodies and the harp makes you happy. The recorder sounds pretty, and you enjoy the slow dances as well as the fast ones.

It’s when the fast ones play that you edge to your seat and clap along. You look to your side and Steve sits still, elbows on the arms of his chair. Storm blue eyes intent on the crowd, endless in their daze.

He’s no here. You can see that.

He’s somewhere else and you wonder what heartbreak he must have endured to withdraw from his friends. How lonely must he have been these past two years? How much must he have loved Queen Margaret to still be this sad?

Not that you expect he’ll ever think of her without feeling sad. Losing someone, you know there’s no forgetting them.

Your parents are always with you and you miss them and sometimes it kills you to think of them because you can never have them again. But it’s always a few moments taken to feel it and then you move on, because that’s all you can do.

Steve must be struggling with that. How can you help him?

You follow his gaze and this time notice that he’s watching Nat and Bucky. They’re twirling around each other, laughing as the music picks up in beat.

Slowly, Steve’s expression softens, and his lips curve up slightly on the corners. It’s subtle but so beautiful and your heart pounds in your chest at the sight.

“They make a beautiful couple.” You lean over slightly to say to him.

There’s no need to whisper as no one is paying attention to you or Steve. Everyone is celebrating. Occasionally someone will look towards the two of you and raise their sparkling crystal goblets and both you and Steve will nod slowly, but they go back to their fun and leave the two of you to sit at the head of the table, observing the party with piles of more food than you can eat in front of you.

“Yes.” Steve agrees, still smiling.

Then, like he’s just realized that it’s you speaking, his smile vanishes and he looks at you with a small scowl that furrows his brow.

He’s like sculpted marble, hard and gorgeous, blonde hair looking soft enough to run your fingers through.

You want to do it, but you know that he’d hate it.

You’re in too deep, Y/N. You chastise yourself, recognizing the affection you have for him already even though he’s been cold towards you.

“Why aren’t they married yet? From what I saw of them together, it seems like Bucky would like very much to-”

“Bucky?” Steve suddenly asks, voice tight with tension as he eyes you, his scowl deeper. “Bucky?”

You realize your mistake a little too late. Referring to him so casually… “I mean, Sir James. I-When I saw him last, he asked me to call him-”

“If he asked you to then do as you wish.” Steve settles and looks away from you, angling his body towards the opposite side from where you’re sitting.

Internally you cringe. Hating yourself for letting Bucky’s name slip. He’s already apprehensive of your being here, and you call his closest friend by his first name? He must think you’ve gotten too comfortable too quickly.

Three more dances pass, another quick and two slow. As the fourth begins, more upbeat, you angle yourself towards Steve again and this time reach out for his hand.

It settles hesitantly over his, fingers light as feathers as you bask in the surprisingly rough texture. Not abhorrently rough. Rough like yours. Like he’s had to work with his hands.

He has been to war. That makes sense. He must also have scars.

“Your Majesty?” You check, speaking slowly. It’s like you’re afraid to startle him. As if he were a deer listening for the twang of a bow.

He stares at your hand, eyes intent as he observes it?

“We haven’t danced yet.” You tell him, as if he doesn’t already know. “Isn’t it customary for a King and his Queen to-”

Suddenly he rises, his chair crying out as it scrapes against the stone floor beneath your feet. He turns his hand over and takes yours, pulling you up to stand.

Everyone stops what they are doing, turning to face you and Steve, waiting with bated breath while your heart flips and your stomach tumbles.

Finally, a dance!

“We will retire to the marriage bed.” He says, and your heart falls.

However, you have no time to look disappointed because he’s pulling you around the chairs as everyone bows and curtsies. You search for your adoptive parents, yearning to see Tony’s and Pepper’s faces before your life changes forever, but they are nowhere in sight. You catch Nat’s eye and she’s frowning, staring at you as you plead with her silently for help.

This moment you hadn’t thought at all about. The one thing that would make this marriage irreversible. Another duty. One that you would have been eager to perform if you weren’t completely sure that Steve hates you.

You see Nat jab Bucky’s side and together they move around the crowd and take a back door as Steve leads you down hallway after hallway in silence towards your room.

Every echoing step takes you closer to uncharted territory. You’ve never been with a man. Of course, that’s what people expect.

You’re a princess after all. One from an esteemed house and a virgin is what a King deserves.

Steve finally stops before your door, drops your hand and looks you straight in the eyes.

“I’ll return in ten minutes.” He promises, then turns and moves down to the end of the hall where he disappears through another door.

A second later, Nat turns the far corner of the hallway and she hastens her steps, Bucky behind her.

“Come along, your Majesty.” Nat says and she scoops you into the circle of her arms to nudge you into your room.

Bucky walks past you two and heads to the end of the hallway where Steve had disappeared.

The room is stifling.

“It’s hot.” You tell Nat and she hurries to douse the fire with a pitcher of water. It sizzles and weakens but doesn’t die completely.

She throws the windows open but then she’s on you, peeling your dress away. Carefully she pulls your arms from their lace sleeves.

“Nat, what am I supposed to do?” You wonder, fear slowly taking hold.

“Do?” She laughs. “Nothing. He’ll do most of the work. I think that’s usually best for nights like this. When you two know each other better then maybe you can explore your strengths but for now, just lay back and try-”

“Will it hurt?” You ask her, and she stops unlacing your back to turn you around.

“Are you really a virgin?” She wonders, searching your face for a lie.

You nod.

“I thought that maybe-” She begins.

“That maybe because I was born a peasant that I’d lain with someone already? Just because I’m poor, that doesn’t make me-”

“No!” Nat gasps, shocked by your train of thought. “No. Sweet Y/N. That’s not what I mean. I just thought that—rather I hoped that maybe you’d been in love before. That this wouldn’t be the first time you felt something for someone and that maybe you wouldn’t be unprepared for tonight.”

You understand her hope and her worry.

“And you’re not poor anymore.” She gives your arms a squeeze then turns you around again to finish undressing you. She removes your under garments and you stand there, naked until she sets your wedding dress aside and helps pull over your head a sheer white lace chemise. It runs all the way down to the floor, flowing outwards like a lily but loose and clings only to your bust and the first bit of your torso. She ties it at your neck, a loose bow then pulls over that a second sheer robe that does little more to hide your body than the nightgown itself.

It feels divine against your skin though, and you grab a bit of the robe to examine the lace pattern.

“Peonies?” You ask her and she smiles.

“You remind me of a peony.” She admits. “Shy and honorable. I also hope that you have a happy marriage and I may have suggested to Pepper that if we got you a nightdress with them laced in, that maybe it would bring you luck.”

You smile at her softly, touched by her forethought. “Thank you.”

“Of course. Let’s just get your hair down, and you’re ready.” She reaches up to unpin your hair and it falls down across your shoulders in those carefully ironed waves.

She moves it, adjusting it until it’s just right when the door behind her opens.

Your heart drops into the pit of your stomach and all previous worries vanish as Steve walks in wearing the exact same trousers he’d been wearing for the wedding, but his regal white jacket is gone, replaced by a plain white shirt, untucked. The neck open exposing the hard edges of his chest muscles, a soft patch of dusty blonde hair peeking out.

He’s watching you, eyes trained on you with a relentless stoicism that you can’t decipher. Is he as excited as you are? As nervous?

Your hands feel weak. Like the fuzz when a limb falls asleep. Detached, like they might float away. Legs too. Your entire body is floating and clearly, no longer yours.

It’s his.

Nat backs away from you, moving to the door before she gives a deep curtsy and with one last encouraging smile, she backs out and shuts the door.

Your mouth is parched from nerves and no words can form in such a desert. So, you simply look up at Steve’s face then back down to his hands as they hang limply at his sides. Then back up to his face, at his staring storm blue eyes, then back down.

He steps closer and you guide your gaze back up, searching his face for a hint of what he might be thinking.

Those storm blues are taking you in, running down along your legs to your feet then back up slowly along your hips, waist, stomach, chest, shoulders, and finally your face.

Is he disappointed?

You open your mouth as if to ask him, but nothing comes out but a soft rush of anxious air. The anticipation is unbearable.

As he moves towards you slowly, causing you to back up until your legs hit the end of your bed, he reaches back behind his neck to pull at his shirt. He takes it off, then throws it onto your pale blue armchair.

The sculpt of his body is stunning. Just as you’d imagined, he’s chiseled with the labor of his training and…more than that. He’s without flaw. Like he was made to be so. Carved from clay and cooked until he’d hardened into solid mass.

Maybe he’s part God? Maybe his father was Asgardian or his mother? How can he be so ethereally beautiful and not be?

He reaches for the drawstring at the front of his pants and your eyes follow the movement.

You swallow hard, terrified to be a disappointment for him but when he drops his pants, you can see that you are not. At least in this way, you’ve pleased him.

You sigh, relieved, eager, scared.

He stands erect, long and sufficiently thick peach cock, soft pink swollen head, throbbing visibly in a patch of more blonde hair, and you wonder if it hurts him to be so stiff.

You want to touch it. Having never touched one…but more importantly, you want to touch Steve. Your mouth is very nearly back to normal as it begins to water with surprising desire.

When he steps out of his pants, your attention is drawn back to his face and away from the array of fantasies that have overtaken your mind.

He’s only a foot away from you now and you can’t back away anymore so when his hands find your hips—a scorching touch that burns through your thin nightdress—you nearly fall back against your mattress but reach up to take hold on his shoulders.

For one long moment he stares into your eyes and you stare into his. His arms wrap themselves around you, tracing the curves of your woman’s body. The way they linger and caress, it feels like he’s been needing this type of touch.

The skin of his shoulders is so soft, you trace the shape up to the nape of his neck where your fingers tickle the small hairs for only a moment before a strange hiss from his lips draws your eyes to them.

You want to kiss him, those pink lips, but then his hands are hard on your waist. Too tight.

He lifts you and pushes you back onto the bed, moving a bit more quickly now and his previously intense expression is altered, pained. As if something is hurting him.

“Steve?” You wonder as you lay on your back and he begins to crawl over you.

He frowns.

Gripping the bottom of your nightdress he yanks it up. The sound of a tear startles you.

“Steve, wait.” You whisper, breathless as his weight pushes you down into the mattress.

“Stop saying my name.” He grumbles.

He forces your nightgown up until it’s wrapped around your waist and he nudges your legs apart with his knee.

You try to resist for only a second, but his strength is too much and you remember that it must happen. In one split second, you remember that this is your duty.

Trying to relax you put your hands on his shoulders again, but this makes him move faster and he’s up, kneeling between your legs as he takes firm grip of your thighs and spreads them wider.

Your neck and ears burn in embarrassment as he opens and exposes you for him to see. Your hands fumble down to cover yourself but Steve shoves them away as he settles between your legs again and without warning he nudges at your entrance.

You gasp, shocked by the stretch of just his tip. “Oh…” You cry, suddenly terrified by the large girth and length you’d seen earlier.

He stops for a moment, staring down at you as you meet his gaze and you see confusion flash across his face.

“Ste-?” You begin but then his confusion is gone, and he pushes into you in one hard thrust.

You make to scream, to cry out in agony as he pierces you and rips you apart inside. All that comes out is a high-pitched wheeze.

The feeling of something being where it doesn’t belong, uncomfortable. The burn of his stretch, painful.

Your body stiffens and you fist the black sheets of your bed as he stills for only a second then he’s pulling back and you shake your head.

“Please…” You beg, wishing he’d go slower. Wishing he’d stop for just a moment so that you can wrap your body and your mind around this new sensation.

It’s too painful and you need time to adjust. If he’d just go slow…

But he doesn’t listen. He doesn’t stop. He thrusts into you again. And again. And again, and again and again.

He burns you and scars you as he pushes himself up off of your torso to gain more traction and pump himself into you faster. Harder. The sound of his skin slapping against yours is loud and you shake your head some more protesting the lurid sound.

A trail of tears stain your cheeks and drip into your hair as your legs bounce and your body is jerked upwards with every thrust. With a sudden bloom of heat from between your legs, you quickly look down and shudder at the sight of blood.

“Wait…” You plead. “Please...I beg you…”

But Steve doesn’t stop. He moves faster, huffing with the effort of thrusting into you. His hands wrap around underneath you, to hook up into your shoulders.

“Please…” You cry, a sob. “Steve…”

He growls, frustrated. “Stop saying my name!”

He reaches down to hold your hip down into the bed with one hand while he pistons into your bleeding and torn cunt.

“Steve…” You plead, one final time as he groans and buries himself deep within you, a splash of heat warming you from the inside again, but this time you know it isn’t blood.

He thrusts two more times, emptying himself into you as it is his duty to do so and you wait while he does, as you’re supposed to.

Your duty. Produce an heir. This is your job.

But you’re crying, and your body is trembling. There’s fear in your eyes and sorrow in your heart.

He pulls away from you. As he slips out of you, the discomfort renews and you cry out, tears rushing down your cheeks.

Steve stops.

He stares at you, storm blue eyes narrowed in disbelief as you sob.

You turn away from him, trying to hide the shame of the red between your legs. You pull your nightdress down, legs pulled up as you curl in and try to relax your body from the savage consummation of your marriage.

Steve slides to the end of your bed and he sits at the edge for what feels like an age. Hands at his sides, gripping tightly to the bed as he stares at the floor of your room while you continue to sob quietly.

At last, without a word, he rises. He pulls on his pants and his shirt and without another look back at you, he leaves you alone in your room to fall apart in peace.

~~~~~~~~~~

Nat turns towards the doorway as she hears the inner doors open. She wasn’t expecting it to be over so quickly. It hasn’t even been half an hour.

The second set of doors open and Steve marches out looking sweaty and pale.

He stops, staring at Natasha for a moment before he looks at Bucky.

For two minutes he merely stands there. Mute. Thinking. When they can no longer take the silence, Bucky opens his mouth first.

“You’re not staying with her?” Bucky asks, startled it seems by Steve’s reappearance. “I thought-?”

But Steve doesn’t wait. He moves between them and heads back to his own room.

Nat meets Bucky’s equally concerned gaze.

“I’ll go see what happened.” Bucky tells her.

“I’ll do the same.” She nods.

Bucky moves past her and hastens after his King. When he’s out of sight, Nat turns towards the doors to your room and heads inside.

She’s not sure what she was expecting to find. From the way Steve stormed out, she was thinking that maybe he hadn’t been able to do it.

It’s been so long since he’d been with anyone that she could see him being nervous or anxious about sleeping with you. She also knows how much he misses Margaret and she would have understood if he hadn’t been able to sleep with you because of that reason but the room wreaks of sex and what she finds is not what she expects.

“What are you doing?” She asks you, watching you stoop down to lay your black sheets in the basket she’d designated for your dirty laundry.

You stand up, smiling at her sweetly before shrugging and fixing your new nightdress, the plain white one with the small bow at the neck that you’ve been wearing since you moved in with Tony.

“I bled.” You admit to her and Nat narrows her eyes.

“Where’s your other nightgown? Are you alright?” She asks you, suspicious by your calm demeanor.

“Yes. A little sore.” You turn away from her as she gets closer and move to your remade bed. “But I’m okay. I’m tired.”

She can clearly see you avoiding the first of her questions but watches you sit on the edge, and the careful way that you settle onto it.

You’re more than just sore…why are you lying?

“Consummation was a success.” You declare and turn to smile at her. “But, really, Nat. I’m very tired. I’d like to just go to bed, if that’s alright?”

“Of course, it is.” How can you still not understand that what you say goes? She’ll drill that into you until you accept it. “Sleep well, your Majesty.”

And the fact that you lay down and don’t fight her on the title gives her worry. Certain that something has gone wrong, she turns on her heel and follows Bucky to investigate herself.

~~~~~~~~~~

The small table hits the wall and shatters into pieces. Legs and knobs fly around the room. Bucky ducks to avoid one.

Steve moves to the large desk in his office and he slams his hands against the sturdy oak, making it creak under the strength of his weight.

“Are you going to trash your office now? Oh, yeah. That’s an excellent plan your Majesty, by all means, break everything in sight.” Bucky snarks annoyed with him more than anything.

Steve knows that he’s being unreasonable, but he needs to relieve this stress somehow and it’s too late to go hunting.

Shoulders heaving, he hears the door open and the quiet step of his other best friend.

“What happened?” Nat asks, disapproval in her voice probably for the mess that Steve’s made of his office.

He looks up behind his desk, staring at the source of his woes.

Margaret—her portrait—sitting there in her bright red dress, red lips, carefully curled brown hair, that twinkle skillfully painted into her eyes just as she’d had in real life…she’s watching him. Smirking at the way he’s struggling.

“Steve’s throwing a fit.” Bucky sighs.

“No. What happened?” She asks pointedly and Steve’s heart drops.

“Oh.” Bucky breathes in deeply, then releases the breath slowly. “He didn’t exactly make the best first impression on her in bed.”

“That tells me nothing, James. Did you or did you not sleep with her?” Nat asks, glaring at Steve’s back.

“I slept with her.” Steve relents. “I…”

He looks down at his hands again and it all flashes back like a bad dream. His hands gripping her flesh too hard, fingers buried in against her skin as she struggles—he’s sure she didn’t even realize she was struggling as much as she was—and the sobs that tear through her throat.

And all he could do was push into her.

“I hurt her.” Steve grieves, looking up at Margaret again.

“Did she ask you to stop?” Nat asks through clenched teeth.

Steve shakes his head. “No. But she asked me to slow down. She asked me to…I should have been gentler. I just…”

“You just let your stupid ideas about Margaret get in the way.” Bucky supplies. “She’s dead Steve.”

“I know that.” Steve says sternly.

“You are allowed to be married again. You are allowed to sleep with your wife.” Bucky insists.

Steve says nothing, but his back tenses and Bucky pounces.

“Yes, Steve. You heard me. Wife. She is your wife now, Steve. You married her today. You had a week to change your mind. You saw her picture. You chose her. You accepted her. So, you’re going to have to put her first from now on. Margaret is no longer your wife.”

“It doesn’t feel like that to me!” Steve shouts, turning to look at Bucky with raging blue eyes. “Maggie still feels like my Queen. She is my queen. My wife. I married her. I chose her. I…I wasn’t ready for...for Y/N.”

Both of his friends stare at him with disapproving scowls and he knows that he’s wrong, but he can only be honest. If not with them, then with who?

“I’m not ready for her.” He admits.

Nat sighs, shutting her eyes as she covers her mouth with her hand. Steve can see her regretting her part in this marriage even if she holds no guilt for what he just did or for what he’s still doing.

Bucky moves towards him, shaking his head.

“You had a choice in this, Steve. The council gave you a year to find someone to marry before they would begin proceedings to move your cousin onto the throne. You decided to reach out to Tony. You had the chance to reject her when he sent her portrait. You have set your course and now you can’t undo it.

“Whether you��re ready for her or not, you have a wife and she’s your responsibility now. She doesn’t deserve what you did to her tonight.”

“I know.” Steve laments. “I know…I just…she wouldn’t stop saying my name and all I could hear was Margaret and I-”

“It felt like infidelity?” Nat offers.

“Yes!” Steve nods, grateful for the understanding. “Yes, I felt as if…like I was being unfaithful to Maggie.”

“You’re an idiot.” She counters. “However, you are my king now. And I will serve you and your Queen until the day I die. I will do so with unwavering loyalty. But you will fix this, Steve. I don’t know how, but you better make this up to her.”

Steve knows that she’s right but as he turns to look at Margaret’s portrait, he feels his heart waver, wishing that she’d come back to him and make this all go away.

#king!steve x reader #king!steve x reader fic #king!steve x reader fanfic #king!steve x reader fanfiction #king!steve x you #king!steve x y/n #king!steve rogers x reader #king!steve rogers x reader fic #king!steve rogers x reader fanfic #king!steve rogers x reader fanfiction #king!steve rogers x you #king!steve rogers x y/n #avengers x reader #medieval au #marvel au #marvel fanfiction #medieval fantasy au #pseudo princess pt05 #pseudo princess

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vtmb2s · 4 years ago

Note

Past 1, 3, 6, 8 for Jason my beloved and Present 5-8 for Jenny annnd Future 2, 5, 7 for Helena! 😏

─ JASON

1. Briefly describe the way their parents grew up, and how it affected the way they raised them.

Both his parents were two regular middle class new yorkers, Frank (his dad) grew up in New York's suburbs and had a very conventional upbringing, he was the middle child of three siblings and thus kind of ignored so he usually just minded his own business... that very much carried over into adulthood, he was very reclusive and didn't really bother spending much time with his family -_-

Jason's mom, Gina, was a 2nd generation italian-american who grew up in a huge family with a billion siblings and cousins who are all very different from her husband. She liked it in the beginning but she became more and more unhappy and kind of underwhelmed. She really projected all her dreams of ever becoming someone on her kids that failed with her because she was stuck in a boring marriage with the most unambitious and boring man ever 😑

3. Describe their family. Who raised them, and who had the most impact on them? Did they have any siblings? Who were they closest to? What were the family dynamics like?

This ties in with the previous question but Frank was a bit of a loser, not particularly attractive and more timid & shy.. he was a very unambitious guy who worked a boring office job all his life without any intention of climbing the ladder. He really spent most of his time off work with his boring little loser hobbies :/

Gina was a much more spirited and lively person than her husband, Jason takes a lot more after her than his dad. She wasn't a great mother by all means due to the fact that she was unhappy in her marriage and with her life and kind of took that out on her kids, in a way where she placed certain expectations on them which Jason never really met. They weren't particularly close due to Jason's more.. rebellious nature he had as a kid, which in turn made him cause more trouble because that was the only way his parents gave him any attention at all :/ He also has an older brother, Richard, who their mother very obviously favored. Frank didn't really give a fuck about either of his sons -_-

He had a very close relationship with his mother's family though, particularly with one of her brothers. Carlo (said uncle) was a lot like him and never had any kids on his own so he became somewhat of a father figure to Jason :-)

6. Did the location they grew up in affect them significantly? Do they still go there?

He grew up in some little house in New York's suburb, not the prettiest house there because they didn't make enough for one of the nicer looking ones. He's not that fond of the boring suburbs (even in Boston), he spent more time in the city with his relatives and preferred that over his actual home. Other than that it didn't affect him much 🤷‍♀️

8. What was their childhood/teenage bedroom like?

A small little room with an ugly sports wallpaper that his parents never bothered to replace as he got older. It always looked a little messy and had a few mismatching mid-century decorations and furniture in there. As he grew older he started to cover the walls with random posters he had, to hide the ugly baseball wallpaper.

─ JENNY

5. What kind of people do they usually interact with? Who are their friends, the people they look up to/trust, and who are their “associates”?

She interacts with all sorts of people in New Bordeaux' criminal underworld - if you do anything illegal chances are you'll know Jenny. As for her actual friends, she's friends with the 3 other criminal 20 year olds in town, Danny, Lincoln, Ellis, unfortunately Giorgi (frenemies would be more fitting) and Lena. Her closest and best friends would definitely be Gavin (of @dannyburke fame)and Juliet (of @jennystahl fame) though, they're also pretty much the only ones who would fall into the "people she trusts" category... they're the only ones she'll have long weed induced therapy sessions at 1 am while the monkees are on tv.

6. What is their current relationship with their family?

Complicated... the love is there and all that, it's more of a business relationship though rather than a parent-child thing, especially with her dad. It's nothing that she ever questions (until aforementioned therapy sessions with her friends), she grew up in an environment where affection isn't really something she sees often and almost all her friends have messed up relationships with their parents too so while there is some resentment she never really questions that the way they raised her might not be ideal :c

The relationship with her siblings is complicated as well, especially because they're both a LOT younger than her. She was an only-child until the age of 13 and moved out of her childhood home when they were eight and six years old so there's this weird disconnect but there's a relationship nonetheless, which is weird. Eldest daughter AND only child disease 😓Not to mention that her parents are looking to make her little brother head of the family because he's a boy or whatever.. drama!

7. Do they have a partner? How did they meet, and what’s their relationship like now?

Yes.. she and Ellis met on some random job in the Hollow in 1963 that her dad was taking her along with (he and Sammy did random deals together and were also good friends 😌) and Jenny was like wow how boring. What if I just talk to this this guy's sons instead.... she thought he was some annoying teenage guy and only really talked to him whenever necessary (when her dad's business trips to Sammy's got REALLY boring). She forced herself to hang out with him more after Lincoln went to Vietnam and realized he's not so bad so they became friends :)

In actual game canon nothing really happens because he dies, Jenny just becomes sad that her friends were killed (him, Danny, Sammy and maybe Michael too because of Juliet connection.. she doesn't give a fuck abt Giorgi anymore that little rat can die) and wonders if she liked that goofy little guy with the ugly shirts, but in any case it's too late now.

We're doing au's here though (also this is as of '68) so in the good timeline they get together in 1968.. sort of. It's not a friends with benefits thing, more that sort of relationship that you know will end sooner or later for various reasons, so you're kind of living in the moment and have fun while it lasts. It IS genuine and not just about hooking up from time to time of course, it's just not the kind of thing that was built to last because it's based off of a dumb 20 year olds friendship and one of them (Jenny) doesn't really plan on sticking around in New Bordeaux. But well, who knows what will happen 😏

8. What hobby or pastime of theirs do they consider most important to them and why?

Well, she's big on making music, she plays the guitar and sings (she has a pretty nice voice c: ), she grew up in a pretty fucked up environment so that was her sort of escape in her youth, to be a normal kid who's playing the guitar very very badly. She doesn't play it badly as a 23 year old anymore of course and it's a little thing she shares with her best friends so that means a lot to her 😳

─ HELENA

2. Are they content with their future situation? Is there anything they would change?

Well, she's certainly not happy with the whole vampire situation - her dreams of becoming famous for acting were pretty much ruined, now she's legally dead and nothing more than a photo on true crime blogs and conspiracy theory websites... Famous but for the wrong reasons, in a way she's more bitter about "dying" before she had the chance to become famous than about the whole vampirism thing herself. There would have been something incredibly poetic about a beautiful young actress dying at the height of her career, now she's just some random nobody :/

It could be worse though. She's known among L.A. vampires for her lack of loyalty to any of the factions (despite her working for the Camarilla earlier) and her just helping whoever she feels like which is fine to her, most of them will just leave her alone. In any case, she's not in Los Angeles anymore after the events of Bloodlines!!

5. Did they get married or have a family? Why? If otherwise, why not?

See she would like to get married eventually, making a promise to love someone and be with them for eternity (literally... because... vampires) is incredibly romantic and she would love that (THIS is her wedding... not really because she's not that cringe but also.. yeah), so who knows what might happen.

Family though, no!! Starting one isn't possible, at least not with biological children since she's a vampire. It doesn't bother her that much, she always did envision herself with one child in the future but she's not desperate to be a mother anyway so she doesn't beat herself up about it. She does wonder what it might be like to have children and laments it from time to time (she's a little overdramatic) but overall she doesn't mind that much.

7. Are their friends still a part of their life? Are there people they are no longer in touch with, or newly important people?

Yes, sort of! As I mentioned before she's not in L.A. anymore post-bloodlines and she never had many friends there to begin with so she keeps in touch with the few she has there. She miiight make a few new (or old) connections once shes out of Los Angeles too, who knows!

#THANK U ❤❤❤#three hotties..#i got SO many for Jenny i'm gonna end up having to replay mafia by the time i'm done with this #queennymeria #ask #c: jason #c: jenny #c: helena

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barnesandrogersfanfics · 5 years ago

Text

Home - Part 9

A/N - This is just a little fluffy chapter while i work on the next part 💕

After putting the groceries away we had lunch out back and watched the girls run around playing, they would wander over towards the horses every and now then but never got too close. After a couple of hours they were beat and started getting irritable, Rosie had already thrown herself at Bucky and fallen asleep in his arms so we took them all inside for an afternoon nap.

While the girls were asleep Bucky and i started making the fort for movie night later on. This was clearly not Bucky's first rodeo! He was a pro! hanging various sheets around and over the sofa like a tent, god knows how he got them to stay up! Bucky dragged the mattress off the spare bed to lay on the floor infront of the sofa and then we scattered cushions over the floor until it was covered. I pulled some chunky blankets inside too so we could get snuggled later on, it was perfect.

"Well if you ever want a career change Buck you could always be a fort builder" i smiled at him admiring our fort.

"Funny" he chuckled pulling me into his arms "you like it though?"

"I love it! I might keep it like it" i said half serious, i really did love it.

"Wanna try it out before the girls wake up?"

"Hell yeah!" I laughed grabbing his hand and pulling him down to the mattress with me. We were laying side by side, Bucky pulled me so i turned on my side, half my body resting on his, legs a tangled mess, my head resting on his chest as his left hand traced up and down my back.

"This is real nice" i mumbled stroking my hand over his abs.... there was no dad bod where Bucky was concerned!

"It is. I could happily stay like this all day"

"Me too"

"Hey, how you feeling after seeing Jack? You doing okay?" He asked after a few seconds of silence.

"I was a little shaken up I'm not gonna lie but I'm okay now I'm with you"

"I called Sam, his going to go have a chat with Jack this evening"

"When did you have time to call him? Ive been with you all the time"

"When you were making lunch and i went to the bathroom" he smiled before placing a kiss on my forehead.

"Your amazing you know that?" I told him truthfully reaching up to place a kiss on his lips.

"Your pretty great yourself" he said with a smirk before he leaned in to kiss me again.

After changing into my pyjamas that consisted of grey sweats and white t-shirt with a dinosaur on, simple but comfortable for family movie night, i headed back downstairs and set out snacks and pizza along with juice boxes for the girls, soda for me and Bucky (i had some beers for us to have once the girls were down for the night).

"Okay girls last thing, pyjamas!" I said smiling holding out pyjamas that matched mine, theirs had long grey sleeves though. They squeed happily running over to collect their new pyjamas.

"Oh wow you guys are gonna look great"

Bucky smiled as Brooke and Allie started to change in the middle of the living room. Rosie was in front of Bucky holding up the top half to him to help her change.

"Let me do that, you need to put these on" i smirked handing Bucky a pair in his size.

"You got me some too?... thats so cool! No wonder Steve wanted matching PJ's"

"Yeah but Steve wanted pink unicorn ones! At least you've got dinosaurs" i chuckled as i helped Rosie get changed.

We were soon all snuggled in the fort watching Minions, the girls laughing all the way through. After Minions was Beauty and the Beast. I was laying with my head in Bucky's lap, his hand running through my hair (which i loved by the way!). Rosie was asleep on my chest, Brooke and Allie were laying on their fronts at the bottom of the mattress singing along when i heard a camera noise. I looked up at Bucky to see him looking at his phone smiling.

"Did you just take a photo of us?"

"Yeah, you all look so cute. Plus its me and my girls, i want photo's to remember these times"

"I guess so, they grow up so quick. Their not always gonna wanna make forts and have movies nights"

"They do, but thats not what i meant" he laughed before aiming the phone towards me and snapping another photo.

"I want to remember these times as a family, with you"

"You should be in them too" i said sitting up holding Rosie to my chest being careful not to wake her up. I sat beside Bucky and shifted Rosie slightly.

"Hey girls, come have a photo with us real quick" i said to Brooke and Allie who jumped up and dived at Bucky being careful not to knock Rosie.

Bucky held out his free arm getting us all in frame before snapping a few photo's.

"Beautiful" Bucky smiled scrolling through the photo's he had taken "i definitely need to get this framed"

"Let me see" i smiled leaning over to get a better look.

"I love that! Can you send it to me?"

"Of course doll".

8pm we took the girls up to bed, they had decided they wanted to sleep in the same bed so we put them in the guest room with the double bed. They were asleep in no time clearly exhausted from their day.

"You want a beer?" I asked Bucky as we got back to the living room.

"Id love one"

"I'll go get them, meet you in the fort!" I laughed rushing towards the kitchen.

When i walked back in Bucky had my phone in his hand smiling, he looked up at me when i entered.

"You set the photo as your wallpaper"

"I love that photo Buck"

"Me too" he held up his own phone with matching wallpaper and we laughed.

I crawled up the mattress carefully so i didn't spill any of the beer and sat next to him "what movie do you wanna watch?"

"I plan on kissing you so i don't care what we watch, i wont be paying much attention" he smiled

"Is that so...."

"Ive been dying to get my hand on you all day doll"

"Well I'm not stopping you Buck" i shrugged a shoulder smirking at him. He reached for my beer and put it on the table with his before diving at me.

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talesofealdancynedom · 4 years ago

Photo

Amadeus Rosethorn, in fairy robes; He’s an all grown up professional travel paladin!

Tale 17: Calliope Cwenfyre, Amadeus and Andromada Rosethorn (chapter 2 - Amadeus 2/5) part 3. Stories of True Love

self harm

Amadeus Rosethorn was a fair boy from a wealthy wizard family. The wealth came from the large property of Rosethorn manor, and its magic garden, in which homed rare and exclusive plant fey for centuries. The traditions of watering, singing, gathering, and preparing these botanical treasures, was a long running family tradition that effected the whole magic community. Amadeus was the only heir of the Rosethorn manor; As his mother was the only remaining owner of the assets, and did not want more children.

Though born in the Grand West, his half Far South heritage would make one suspect Amadeus, and his father Gemini, to look far more different than they were. Unlike his father however, Amadeus was born a pale as snow without having to go dark. No magic charge was required to change his colours to the nearly unnatural; Which should have been the first sign he was a mage. His father, Gemini Wintersleep, was the witch of the magical forest village of Pepperidge, in the Grand West. Gemini got his magical political position by local recomendation, as he was well known and liked. Amadeus was a single child, with prestigious parents, and a lot of expectations to live up to.

Amadeus’s mother wanted him to marry a girl who was also in a magic house; and he never quite knew why. It came with extracurricular grooming, to give heritage tours of the property, manage finances, please the tree fey, and have proper formal etiquette. His mother obsessively raised Amadeus in hopes he would be a responsible owner of the old property, that supplied the world with rare magic herbs. If he wasn’t a capable successor, Rosethorn manor would be claimed as heritage site, by the government of The Grand West. Which was a group of wizards that did not know how to care for it properly. But Amadeus’s life on Rosehtorn manor was about to get better. When Amadeus was six, his aunt Tchichi and cousin Rah, moved in from the Far South. They were refugees, as his uncle was being abusive. This gave Amadeus a sibling, but no escape from his mother’s form of love. She wanted him well off; even more then he already was. He was not spoiled, because Gemini refuted his mother’s wishes to give him needless niceties, and though Amadeus should know what things are worth. And be vaccinated. In general, Amadeus became a balanced nobleman, and knew what he was worth. Financially and globally.

At thirteen, Amadeus was unaware of how bad the pressure to be the next Rosthorn owner bothered him. Desiring control, as he could not determine his future, Amadeus began to take his feelings out on an awkward boy he passed while biking around the Capitol. Amadeus had been sent to study magic at the acclaimed paladin academy of the Grand West. Only the best for for his mother’s little boy. Unknown to Amadeus, the boy he bullied was rejected, or more prevented, from attending magic school like him. This was Morgan Cyendom. Amadeus would go to no end to prank or ridicule Morgan, about his magical failure and crushed dreams; usually while taunting him, by using magic in front of him. Amadeus would intervein Morgan’s yearning to visit the wizard markets, almost daily. They kept crossing paths outside magic districts. Unknown to Amadeus, Morgen went home, after an entire day of ridicule, to a mundane bungalow to be beaten roughly for being tardy, as his family assumed, he had been around magic. Morgan was not allowed to use magic, as a family tragedy made his parents to fear magic; and thus, his safety around it. Over time, violence was used as a deterrent.

Meanwhile, Amadeus would go home on the weekends, to the luxurious Rosethorn Manor; It had two large magical courtyard gardens, back and front, which homed the precious mythical flora. The black marble block walls surrounding the property, were topped with rose engraved gothic pearl spikes, and matching front gate. The mansion was also black: wood stain, tiles, carpet, flooring, and wallpaper. The exception being accents in each room that where white, such as: furniture, floor bords, window frames, curtains, and rails. Amadeus resided with his loving parents, aunt, and caousin; and there was lots of room for everybody. Amadeus and his cousin Rah might of well have been twins, given how close they were. Inside this beautiful heirloom, it was safe and wonderous; the exact opposite of Morgan’s situation at the time. When Amadeus or Morgan went home, Morgan said nothing about his bully or going near magic. And Amadeus didn’t mention how he loathed his life’s expectations, and how it led to him tormenting a stranger. However, when his parents found out, Amadeus was expelled from the paladin academy, and placed in the troubled youth and international magic school, outside his home village.

In third year, at his local magic school, Amadeus saw Morgan again. thus, he attempted yet again to taunt him. Morgan seemed to have arrived in classes out of nowhere. It was rumored Morgan had disappeared for about two years, and was placed in the academy by the government. He also brought a lovely lady, Emilia, and his cousin Regina; both of which limited Amadeus’s opportunities to get at Morgan. Morgan now had a familiar, a girlfriend, and was attending the same classes as Amadeus. Morgan quickly became the school’s top seer, and proved himself capable with a sword, and communing with fey. It provoked Amadeus. Falling in love with Scarlet Stankild, who was a lovely heartman with a Dalmatian familiar, and being the school’s top paladin, was not enough. Amadeus was convinced he was not worthy of his family’s fortune or prestige; even if in the back of Amadeus’s mind, he knew he was loved regardless of his accomplishments. Amadeus was at an age where comparison is a plague. Amadeus wanted a familiar, be able to use impressive spells, and have a good reputation like his parents. He felt like Morgan was getting ahead. This poor quiet boy Amadeus ridaculed in the capitol, was on par with his years of training and work. Amadeus was livid. Then, Morgan turned out to be a mage; a person in a magic house, who are born with more magic flow, that wield old, powerful, and forbidden magic.

“That boy at the academy is wearing me down.” Gemini said at dinner. “This Morgan Cyendom, who is a mage; making my job incredibly difficult. Even if he is just another troubled student, and only a seer that restores ancient books, I don’t want dangerous magic in my community; Though I respect his talent. The government is breathing down my neck, as the Grand West can’t sweep this under the rug.”

“You usually don’t disclose work details; this must be a really big deal. I wonder how his family feels…” Amadeus’s mother said. Everyone turned to Amadeus.

“He should be in your year Amadeus. Best you stay away from him for now. The witches want him isolated in Pepperidge, at the academy; to give him an education and support that may prevent him from becoming corrupt and dangerous. Which is likely from what I’ve read.” Gemini said. Amadeus thought he had material to work with; information to pull himself above his rival. Magery was cheating and punishable.

After school one day, Amadeus followed Morgan onto Tiberius Gate, which was just down road from the academy. Morgan had opened Tiberius Gate, and now lived on the gate with his uncle, aunt, and cousin. Amadeus stalked Morgan right into the epicenter of the magic forest, for one more chance to snap at Morgan in private. Just before the tower’s steps, Morgan turned around.

“Why are you following me?” He asked. Morgan was connected to the gate after opening it, and thus felt anyone who was on it. Morgan remembered Amadeus, but gave him the benefit of the doubt. This interaction turned out to be nothing like what either of them were expecting, or intending. Amadeus began to shout and point at Morgan, but his words went from malice to tears.

“Why do you get a familiar? A girlfriend! Powerful magic! An entire magic forest! Two legendary lost swords, by just summoning them! You’re an incompetent, scraggly, worthless wizard! How does a nerdy bookworm, who has never been to magic school, achieve all this! To come to this school, even when you practice dark magic, makes me disgusted. My dad should have Master paladin Melida Daigandun, or Estella Celestine, arrest you! But instead, the Grand West forces him to hide you here. Why do you get those things so effortlessly!?!?!” Amadeus yelled. Most would expect Amadeus to be calm and eloquent, like a spoiled brat, but instead he was in tears of defeat. It would be fair to assume that Morgan would confront this intruder without mercy, yet instead, he put a comforting palm on Amadeus’s shoulder.

“You don’t need a familiar, or be a mage, to be a powerful wizard and paladin. You already are one. I had no idea you were so upset; Is that why you were so mean? Your family must have put a lot of pressure on you to fit a mold, and accept your family inheritances. It didn’t take long for me to hear about it; I wasn’t stalking or anything. Actually, I hear a lot of good things about you; it’s kind of sad you don’t see it.” Morgan said. In all those years Amadeus had tormented him, Morgan had never once wanted to, or did, fight back.

“Want to meet a beast king?” Morgan asked, in a chipper tone. He stood up and reached out to Amadeus with a smile.

“What?” Amadeus said. He had no clue what a beast king was. Before he could ask, Morgan had grabbed his wrist, and pulled him across Tiberius Gate toward a wolf statue. This work of art was a door that led into the shadow veil. The numb gray ether of Ealden Cyndom that is made of, and is the source of, all magic.

“You said in fey studies, you liked the tree and wolf kingdoms right? Eobreth the Aliki Wolf you see me with sometimes, is the eldest prince of the Wolf King; and my first fey friend! He knows a thing or two about the hunt! The symbol for the wolf kingdom in the rune for hero or king warrior. You might like to meet the Wolf King; since you want to be a great warrior and noble.” Morgan said.

To Amadeus’s surprise, he felt no fear. While common folk or wizards would panic and curdle in the submersion of the shadow veil, mages found it comforting and calm. To them it was like a depravation tank. Looking up, Amadeus saw a giant armored wolf, which Morgan introduced as the Wolf King. The Wolf King was so large, with such a booming growl, and grand shining armor, it was terrifyingly radiant. Morgan then began introducing Amadeus as an acquaintance. Amadeus began to panic in confusion; he was certain Morgan and himself were supposed to hate each other. Yet, Morgan appeared to be doing him a favour. Amadeus barely heard what the Wolf King said. The shadow veil became the least of his concerns.

“A boy mage like you, from a house of the tree kingdom, is before me wishing to be a grand hero? Come here, I will give you something special to me, that will give you better control of your magic; and give you the ability to transform into one of my children. You will have their abilities and magic as well.” He growled. “You need only make a pact with a wolf child. I think it should be a moon serval. I made these children from my essence, to be guardians of weary travelers; it would suit you well! In a pact with my child, you will oath to let my brother King Mage Morgan be your friend, and guard those you love well. Be careful though; if a fey dies inside the warg mage who is enfeyed with it, will die too. Do not be burdened by grief, or betray your pact.” The Wolf King proposed.

In awe, and not objecting to the offer, Amadeus irrationally agreed to the pact. As the king said, being imbued, or enfeyed, with the magic of a consenting contracted fey, made a person a warg; someone who could turn into a fey at will. It also gave them properties of that fey and more magic to work with. It was a kingly gift to a paladin. When they returned to the day veil, Amadeus thanked Morgan.

“How can I ever repay you? After all I’ve done to you. I am in your favor, and a paladin at your side in any quest. I am so sorry for treating you poorly; I do not deserve your kindness.” Amadeus said.

“It’s ok Amadeus. I know bullies only lash out because they hurt too. I was never mad, I had bigger things to deal with,” Morgan shrugged. “Guess this means we’ll be friends at school tomorrow?” Morgan laughed. Amadeus nodded yes.

Morgan and Amadeus had been friends for a few months; and in that time, they had talked to each other about their lives and troubles. They both turned out to need that. Amadeus had also begun to pick up some magery, now that he knew he was one. Morgan had all the resources he needed. But the whole time, Amadeus felt a particular ache in his heart after learning Morgan’s full story. At lunch break, Amadeus saw scars on Morgan’s forearms during an arm-wrestle with his cousin Reggie. Amadeus was shocked in guilt. His friend Morgan, that he once bullied every day, was being beaten and deprived of his dreams at the same time. Morgan needed help, and Amadeus had no clue. When Morgan needed a friend most, Amadeus was making his life worse. He was bullying a broken man shamelessly. If he had known, he would have been that friend. Amadeus’s apology to Morgan was well received, but did not provide the closure Amadeus needed. Now he felt like a terrible friend.

When Amadeus went home for the weekend, he found Rosethorn manor occupied by his family and friends. His dad was a good host, and these fancy parties were nothing new. In fact, Amadeus used to like them; that’s how he met Scarlet. His father was at the door to greet him when he walked in.

“Son, you look so sad. It’s your birthday, and I organized you a nice little party. What’s wrong?” Gemini asked. Amadeus had forgotten it was his birthday; being so focused on his guilt.

“Oh, that’s why there are so many people here. I guess I forgot. I have a lot of things going on.” Amadeus said.

“I know. I hear from Rah you have been doing well in school, and made some new friends. I’m glad he changed his mind, and decided to peruse magic with you.” Gemini smiled. This did not make Amadeus feel any better. His mother intervened, and rushed Amadeus upstairs to his room. She was so frenzied she didn’t notice Amadeus could have used a hug.

Upstairs, His mother showed him to his room. On his bed were his heirloom fairy robes, white and black, and styled for a mage of the tree kingdom.

“I think your big enough to wear these now! Happy birthday Amadeus.” She said hugging him. Amadeus loved them; he had waited years to receive them. They were authentic, and were thus likely made by the Fairy King, for a mage ancestor. But looking in the mirror, no matter how perfect they were, all he saw was someone of privilege who was a terrible friend.

Gemini went upstairs to check on Amadeus; he was taking so long to get dressed, and looked unwell when he went to change. Gemini found Amadeus crying in front of the mirror in his room.

“What’s wrong? Your robes look lovely, and we’re about to have dinner. Do you need to talk first?” Gemini said, sitting on the bed and making a spot for Amadeus. His mother had been called downstairs after helping Amadeus put on the robes. And Gemini returned to see how his son was holding up. Amadeus leaned in, and gave a sigh.

“I hate myself. I am a terrible friend. My friend Morgan said I am a mage too; and we get along so well, yet it feels so fake after all the time I spent bullying him. And now it’s like he forgives me; he even took me to the Wolf King to become enfayed, and be a better paladin. I don’t deserve it. I care about him now, but the damage is already done; and it’s partially my fault. I could have done something. I could have been there for him.” Amadeus cried. Gemini was not impressed; being a wizard of high standing, who was against magery, did not take well to his son’s words. Even if he loved Amadeus. His father had no problems with Amadeus being a warg, but befriending a mage and studying old magic was unacceptable. At his own party, Amadeus’s father reprimanded him by ordering him to sharpen and polish his heirloom sword. Making a child do something harmless they don’t want to, is often enough negative reinforcement for trivial matters.

Amadeus’s mother was a Rosethorn, but Rah and his father were in the fairy kingdom house of Wintersleep. The old dull magic blade was incredibly valued by Gemini. Gemini wanted Amadeus was to inherit it, but he knew it should belong to his cousin Rah; who was still a Wintersleep in line to get it. Amadeus was having a terrible day. Then he realized he had been presented with an opportunity; legendary magic weapons are made by warlocks, who are mages. He would need to use magery, in front of his family, to restore the sword.

Having a new friend in Morgan, and irritated at his father’s dismay when he needed support, Amadeus proceeded to use mage methods to restore the blade. Any emotions attached to being a perfect Rosethorn predecessor were put aside. Enfeyed with a wolf child made his senses as sharp as all feline and canine fey; Amadeus used a winter steel tuner, to flick the blade and listen to the vibration of the sword. Like a crystal, the sound of every substance has its own frequency, its own flow of magic. Knowing frequencies was used in alchemy, and identification of magical properties. In school, Amadeus learned to recognized the sounds. The sword was also winter steel. Reading the runic, he determined the maker, and identified the blade by a few database searches of the digitized ancient books Morgan had translated. The blade could only be sharpened in a specific way. Warlocks always gave their magic creations intense security measures, to keep anyone who they were not intended for, from using them. Amadeus performed the following with some help from Rah:

“To sharpen and use this blade that turns all it cuts clean to ice, and I name the Is Sabre of wintersleep; must place it in a transmuted silver basin lined with the names of the winter beast kings along the inner rim, and filled with water transmuted by magic men. Then add the blood of one to inherit it as they sing the song of the frozen lake under a full moons light. As they watch it freeze, and its basin melt. Upon the last note the ice will break, and the heir may pull the blade from its icy sheath; restored once more to original form, power and glory.”

Amadeus handed the sword in mint condition to his father, and walked away from his own birthday party, with Rah and Scarlet. They then proceeded to the tower on Tiberius Gate, to spend the rest of his birthday with Morgan, Reggie and Emilia. He would rather be playing teen party games, then sitting in a room of adults talking about politics. Amadeus never let go of the regret he felt for torturing Morgan, nor his oath to protect his friends as a paladin. He wanted to there for all their quests.

Amadeus would tell this tale to Calliope, and his daughter Andromada, when he babysat for Morgan and Emilia. Calliope was Amadeus’s favourite out of Morgan’s four children; because she was the most like her father. Calliope had that sparkle, that reminded Amadeus why Morgan was his best friend. It reminded him of his dreams, oaths, and gratitude. Morgan and Calliope had the same precious glimmer of wonder, curiosity, and kindness, that needs to be protected and nurtured.

NEXT-->

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#art #tales of ealdan cynedom #short stories #story 17 #fantasy #amadeus #calliope #scarlet #Gemini #rah #morgan #andromeda

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sparkie96 · 4 years ago

Note

Being filled or Bukkake?

How about filled with a child and anger? Possible future project. VergilLeon/NeloLeon

(Summary: Good news: Leon and Sherry don’t immediately get picked up by the US Government post Raccoon City and shortly after their departure with Claire.

Bad News: They’re taken by demons in disguise who work for Mundus...though it’s not totally bad because they’re “gifted” to Nelo Angelo. The demon knight takes pity on them because he is reminded of what had happened to his mother. When Nelo hears of what the two had endured, he respects them both and even grew to love Leon and care for Sherry as if she were his own pup.)

Rated M for off-screen sexy times, language, and gore. Canon Typical stuff.

____________________________________________________________

Leon shifted uncomfortably, wearing the attire of this “realm” as that crazy creature looking thing put it. The supposed “King” of the “Underworld” and all that jazz. Leon found all of this to be insane and he was quietly wondering if he and Sherry had been taken by some angry failed Umbrella experiments. But these things did things that even “viruses” couldn’t do. At least...he didn’t think they could, he did see some crazy shit in Raccoon City.

And then there was this Nelo Angelo guy who looked pretty normal underneath the helmet and armor, at least, as normal as one could look when they had gray skin, black veins and red orbs and snow white hair. At least he was human looking, and Leon had wondered if he had once been a prisoner like them. From the few times he had taken the Omega, Leon didn’t end up infected with anything and he smelled like a normal Alpha.

Though, there was a hint of a scent that was a bit off, but not rancid like Mundus or the other whatever the fuck they were. Leon often wondered what Nelo had done to deserve the constant mocking and insults from Mundus. The Demon King often called Nelo “half-breed” or “abomination” along with mocking his mother’s death and his father’s dishonor. It had been after one particularly violent dinner that Nelo had Leon and Sherry eat in his quarters from then on, the knight eating with them, but never saying a word.

Come to think of it, Leon had never heard the Alpha say much of anything, even during sex. It had been mostly growls and grunts then. The only time Leon had heard his voice was when the knight told them where everything was in his humble abode. And even then, it was mostly one word sentences in a quiet, almost strained voice.

Leon laid on the bed with Sherry, the little girl reading a book she had procured from Nelo’s collection of books. She wore a simple blue night gown as she cuddled up to the Omega, both of them unable to sleep due to nightmares. Leon pulled at the clothes he wore, feeling a bit cold. He wore a simple white buttoned down shirt and soft black pants. He wasn’t sure if they were supposed to be sleep clothes or lounge wear here, but he wore them because they were the comfiest things he could find. Nelo hadn’t come home yet either from whatever he had been tasked to do.

Sherry was a smart girl but she struggled a bit with the complex reading, asking Leon to help her with some words and what they meant. The story itself read much like a fairytale. This one told a tale of a human woman named Eva falling for a demon knight named Sparda. Leon listened and occasionally helped read, finding himself very invested in the story as well. Two people, or well, a demon and a human, who had fallen in love, so much so, the demon gave up his power and position to be with her, sealing off the Gates of Hell so their family could be safe. He had done some other things, but Leon had no idea what they were, but he assumed it was all very honorable.

“Oh no, I read ahead by accident!” Sherry exclaimed suddenly, “I don’t know if I want to read anymore…”

“Why?” Leon asked curiously, “What happens?”

Sherry swallowed down a breath before pointing to the part she had read ahead to. Leon looked down at it, feeling a little disappointed, “Oh no...he disappears?”

Sherry nodded, “Uh huh...what about Eva? And their sons?”

Leon tried to maintain a bit of optimism, saying that they could keep reading and see if he maybe came back to be with them. Sherry nodded, hoping that he did because she would be very disappointed if he didn’t.

“He doesn’t.” A voice by the door said.

Leon and Sherry looked up, seeing Nelo standing there with his helmet under his arm, “Oh, sorry, we didn’t hear you.” Leon apologized, about to get up to help the elder out of his armor but Nelo held up a hand, telling Leon to lie back down, so that he could take care of his own armor.

“Oh…” Sherry deflated at the news, “He doesn’t?”

“No.” Nelo replied with a shake of his head, setting the armor on it’s rack, standing before them in black slacks, “Sadly, he doesn’t…”

“Spoiler Alert.” Leon sighed, about to close the book, but Sherry protested, “He doesn’t come back, Sherry Berry.”

“But I want to know what happens to his family!”

“No, you don’t.” Nelo said, “Trust me...especially since the story is based on a true story.”

Leon and Sherry looked up at the man with twin looks that were a mix of confusion and shock. Nelo sat on the side of the end of the bed, gently taking the book from Leon’s hands, closing it and looking at the cover sadly. He ran his clawed hand over the symbol on the cover, giving it a longing look before setting it down on the bed next to him.

He turned to Leon and Sherry, both still watching him curiously, “Have you two eaten dinner yet?” He asked nonchalantly, changing the subject.

Leon nodded, still in awe at the sound of the Alpha’s voice, “Yes, but I can prepare you dinner if you want, even though it’s late.”

“No, thank you.” Nelo simply replied, “I shall make something for myself. You two try to get some sleep.”

Leon and Sherry watched as the Alpha stood once more, taking the book with him. Waiting for the door to shut behind Nelo, Sherry looked up at Leon, asking him if he thought the story had been real. He merely shrugged, saying that it wasn’t entirely impossible to believe, considering all that they had seen and experienced. Sherry then asked what might have happened to the family, the little girl obviously looking a bit distressed.

“...I’m not sure.” Leon replied, gently brushing gold locks out of her eyes, “...But we can make-up a happy ending for them.”

Sherry smiled and nodded as Leon tried to recall where they had left off before making up the ending for the little family. One where the father came back and saved his wife and children from some bad demons. The little girl listened intently, seemingly a bit more at ease with their ending, blue eyes fluttering closed as she laid her head on his chest. After Leon had said that they lived happily ever after, and once Sherry had drifted off to sleep, the Omega carefully carried the little girl to her own room. After tucking her in, he gently kissed her forehead before quietly exiting her room. The door slowly closed behind him with a soft click.

Leon looked from the intricately detailed door to the living room area where Nelo now sat. The tall being now sitting on the couch, watching the now lit fireplace before him. Leon decided to not go back to their shared room, deciding to sit with him instead. As he approached, he noticed the room didn’t smell of food, but Leon could faintly smell the scent of tea. Jasmine? Green Tea? Maybe a mix of both?

As he sat beside the man, he could smell the flowery fragrance, seeing the porcelain teacup between his hands, “You’re having jasmine tea for dinner?”

Nelo hummed, not turning his attention away from the burning embers in the fireplace, listening to the crackling sound, “I’m not hungry…”

Leon gave him a sympathetic look, unable to read the expression on the Alpha’s features, “Are you okay?”

Nelo stared ahead for a moment longer before slowly turning his head and looking at Leon, blood red orbs staring into his own, “Do I look okay to you?”

The Omega studied his features, looking at the black veins that stood so prominent under the gray skin, running like inky rivers of black through bare fields of ash and smoke. The red eyes reminded Leon of blood, and suddenly the Omega found himself seeing flashes of teeth rip through flesh, the same blood red smeared across said teeth, rotten flesh and tattered clothes. He then saw flashes of the pools of blood and the spatters that splashed across the walls and windows of the RPD’s Waiting Room, staining and clashing against the blue of the wallpaper and the tiled floor. All he could hear were the growls and snarls of the hideous undead, the screeching and roaring of monsters.

Leon turned his eyes away from Nelo, gasping as his breathing picked up. He clenched his eyes shut as he tried to regain his composure, pushing the traumatic memories to the back of his mind before he could suffer another panic attack. Nelo scoffed beside him, and Leon could see the man shake his head out of the corner of his eye.

“Thought so.” Nelo merely said, turning to stare at the fireplace again, sipping at his tea before settling the cup back on the saucer, “You can’t even look at me now...I haven’t been okay in a long time.”

“No…” Leon whispered with shaken breaths, “It’s not...you, specifically.”

Nelo raised a brow, looking back at the Omega. Leon looked at Nelo, trying to focus on the man’s eyes without losing it again. The Omega was definitely shaken up, but he pushed the fear back down, explaining that it wasn’t Nelo exactly. It was Leon’s own fucked up brain, his screwed up memories and even more terrifying nightmares. That’s why he and Sherry were still awake when the Alpha had returned.

“We’re still not over what happened in Raccoon…” Leon admitted, swallowing the lump in his throat, “All that blood...all those monsters. Christ, even Sherry’s own father tried to kill her, for fuck’s sake. It’s like, who the fuck would do this? Why? Normal people like you and me turned into...these fucking things out of a horror movie...and for what? Some military contract? Money? Why?!”

Nelo listened intently, haven’t not heard Leon’s tale before this. He had been curious when Mundus mentioned that Sherry and Leon were “Extraordinary Creatures”, saying that they had “earned the honor” of not being made food or breeding mules. Hence why they had been “gifted” to Nelo, but the Alpha himself often wondered what made them so special...until now.

These monsters...were they demons? Or made into beastly creatures by demons? Sherry smelled tainted, not like any human he had ever encountered, but she never changed or acted strangely. Nelo didn’t sense danger when around her, so there was no way she was a demon. And Leon smelt like a normal human Omega...though, Leon’s scent now smells slightly off. Not like a heat...but there was something else. Something new.

Leon went into the whole process of how he and Sherry had been found by Mundus’s men, who had been looking for something but had found Leon and Sherry instead. They had disguised themselves as normal looking humans, wearing military gear and Leon explained that he and Sherry thought they were the rescue team. He thought they were there looking to help any survivors.

“And then there was this flash of light and then we were...here…” Leon noticed that Nelo was sniffing at his hair and then moving to smell around his face and neck, “Are you even listening? What are you doing?”

“I heard you.” Nelo admitted, setting the teacup down on the coffee table in front of them before grabbing Leon by the leg and pulling, the Omega falling backward onto the couch cushions, “You smell off.”

“What?” Leon asked in confusion, Nelo climbing on top of him, drawing a sound of protest as Nelo unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it open, “Hey!”

“You weren't planted with anything, were you?” Nelo asked, hands settling on the Omega’s chest, glowing a dark blue as he continued to smell the younger, “Mundus didn’t stick anything inside of you or the girl?”

Leon furrowed his brows up at the Alpha, “No. I wouldn’t even let him or his assholes near Sherry.”

Nelo kept “frisking” the younger, his hand glowing as he scanned it over Leon’s form. Not only did the human smell weird, but the Alpha sensed a demonic energy inside of Leon, so he had been a bit paranoid that Mundus had done something to the human to spite him. His hand stopped at Leon’s stomach, or rather the area where his womb was, the glow turning from dark blue to a color Nelo hadn’t seen since…

...His palm was now glowing a bright baby blue color, and Nelo felt a sense of familiarity. A sense of peace…like when he was a child. He laid his head against the Omega’s womb, his hand touching Leon’s stomach. If Dante couldn’t succeed in defeating Mundus and falling to the demon king...then there was still hope inside of the Omega.

Leon looked down at the elder, noticing that there were tears in his eyes before the Alpha shut them, “Nelo?”

Nelo looked up at him, lying in Leon’s lap, “You carry the last hope for your world should my brother fall to Mundus.”

At the younger’s even more confused and shocked expression, Nelo explained that the story Leon and Sherry had read had indeed been a true story...a story about Nelo’s own family. He told Leon the full story, how his father, Sparda, had been the greatest warrior in all of the underworld. He was the most powerful demon knight who had led Mundus’s army and had been the demon’s right hand man. He helped Mundus win many battles in the underworld before Mundus looked to move on to the human world.

But Sparda soon realized that what Mundus had been doing was wrong. He wanted to save humanity...so he did. He had defeated Mundus and sealed off the Gates of Hell across the world. He had done this for thousands of years, defeating any demons who threatened the Earth or threatened to open the Gates. He defended humanity and acted as their savior.

“And then, in the twentieth century…” Nelo began, drifting off as he thought of his mother, feeling a wave of guilt wash over him.

“He met your mother, Eva.” Leon realized, recalling the story he and Sherry read, “And she gave birth to you and your brother...which twin are you?”

Nelo called forth a sword with what little strength he had left, the once mighty katana looking quite worn and fragile.

“...Vergil…” Leon recalled, looking over the katana, remembering the description of the swords given to each twin, “That’s the…? Is that the one Mundus is looking for? Wouldn’t he have just read that book to find out what happened to it?”

The demon knight shook his head, “The book came from a forbidden archive in a city in the human world. A city called Fortuna.” Nelo explained, “It’s also where they had been keeping my sword for safekeeping...until I found out what they had been trying to do with it.”

“What were they doing with it?” Leon asked, “What does it do? Why is Mundus looking for it?”

Nelo explained that the sword is imbued with demonic energy, it’s so powerful that it could cut through anything, it could even cut open gateways between realms and worlds. It had been one of the swords that sealed off one of the Gates in Fortuna. It had been forged by his father, and was as strong as the user wielding it.

The Alpha gave it a sad look, “Unfortunately, due to my own callousness...I am no longer worthy of its power...and the Yamato is weak in my possession.”

Nelo continued on, saying that he had opened one of the gates in order to procure his father’s power from Hell, nearly destroying the human world while he was at it. He hoped to make himself stronger...but in doing so he had failed and fell into the netherworld, encountering Mundus at the same time. Sadly, he had failed at that too, and now he was Mundus’s servant and knight.

Leon looked at him in horror, “You...you did what?!” He asked, pulling himself out from under the Alpha, backpedalling to the otherside of the couch, “You’re one of the bad guys then?”

“You don’t understand,” Nelo said, shaking his head, sitting back on his knees and looking up at the Omega, “I had to. I needed to become stronger...without strength…”

“Bullshit!” Leon exclaimed, standing before the man and feeling a sense of betrayal, “People could have died!”

“Humanity is weak.” Nelo insisted, “Not all of it, but a lot of humanity is weak. Frail, helpless, fragile. It can end in an instant. Humans give in to temptation, greed, anger...they kill one another for frivolous things and reasons, oblivious to the true evil that lies beneath them.”

“Not all of us!” Leon hollered, pointing an accusatory finger at the Alpha, “Some of us have morals and give a shit about others. That’s the reason I joined the force! To serve and protect the people! Yeah, there’s a bunch of bad apples who want to fuck everyone over for their own selfish reasons, I’ve seen it first hand! I’ve fucking fought through it! But you know what? It’s up to us to stop those people! To be better than them! Not become them!”

Leon was red in the face now, “And demons like your father saw that! He helped the humans! Despite the assholes, he helped humanity! He loved your mother and he loved you and your brother! And now you’re spitting in their faces!”

The Omega was now pacing in front of the coffee table, anger radiating off of the younger in waves, reminding Nelo of an angry Lion in a cage, seconds from pouncing, “You don’t have to have all this power to be strong! That’s not strength! Strength comes from within! It’s the ability to get knocked down, get back up, dust yourself off and keep going! I didn’t inject myself with any of those fucking viruses to make myself “stronger”! I kept fighting and kept going! I had to for Claire and Sherry’s sake!”

Now it was Nelo’s turn to be stunned silent, looking up at the human before him. As much as he wanted to strike the Omega down for speaking to him in such a manner, he found he didn’t have it in him. He couldn’t. On one hand, a part of him was angry, the demon inside wanting to know what right the human had to speak to him in such a manner. On the other hand, what little remained of his humanity respected Leon’s courage and outspoken nature, silently agreeing with him.

He had never encountered a human that didn’t immediately kiss his ass or bow to him in fear. Or encourage his behavior because of his father’s name or in hopes of tasting the power he had or was trying to acquire…

...he could see why Mundus hadn’t killed Leon. Mundus preyed on fear...but Leon didn’t seem like one who was easily scared. He obviously was never one to beg for his life either. Nelo stood, going toward the still ranting Omega whom he had only admired for his physical attributes and sweetness, but now also admired for his fire and strength. The Omega who was now carrying his child and would lead them down a path to a better life...a path he himself could no longer follow.

He would get them and Sherry out of here. When he would inevitably be sent after his brother in the human world, he would leave them somewhere safe. Or he would find a way to get them to safety sooner.

“...and I will be damned if I let you do anything to Sherry or...mmph!” Leon was cut-off by lips capturing his own for a searing kiss.

A muffled protest left the Omega, pulling away for a moment, “Oh no you don’t! You’re not gonna change my mind...HEY!” Leon exclaimed, the Alpha lifting him up and carrying him over his shoulder, picking up the Yamato on the way to the bedroom, “HEY! PUT ME DOWN! WE ARE NOT DONE HERE!”

“You are going to rest,” Nelo said, “And then tomorrow, you and I will discuss your means of escape. Your friend is still on her way to Europe to find her brother, yes?”

Leon stopped struggling, looking at the back of the man’s head, “Claire? Yeah. Why? You better not…wait, escape?”

“I’ll help her or her brother. Whomever I find first.” Nelo informed the Omega, bumping the bedroom door open with the toe of his boot, “And then I will make arrangements with them to guarantee yours, Sherry’s and the child within you’s safety. You’ll keep and hide the Yamato and carry our child in exchange for me helping you.”

He set Leon down on the bed, blue eyes looking up in shock at Nelo, “Wait...there’s a baby inside of me?!”

#Moanday #vergilleon #NeloLeon #LeonxVergil #VergilxLeon #Leon S. Kennedy #Vergil Sparda #Nelo Angelo #Sherry Birkin #Mundus #abo dynamics #implied mpreg #maybe an upcoming fic?#send me asks

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