#what's taking it a step further and agreeing to give up your life (metaphorically) by languishing in jail for 10-80 yrs

[little-mouse-adventures]

@orangerosebush's post here, with my comment and @fowlblue's tags today got me thinking.

Artemis Senior has been teaching his son matters of business from a young age. Not only was Artemis, at 11 years old, discussing stocks with his father, but Fowl Senior had been imparting his wisdom onto his son for years by that point, discussing the ever-increasing value of gold with him before tucking him into bed. Even outside of pure monetary value, Sr. had tried to go legitimate with his business dealings, leading Artemis to have a few legal ventures of his own.

We also see very early on in the books that Artemis has been regularly using Butler as a resource for his plots: bouncing ideas off him was apparently a fairly common tactic when he was scheming.

Both Artemis Senior and Butler are interested in (or at least, not opposed to) educating Artemis on the ways of their lifestyle(s). It would be Artemis Senior who would have taught his son the value of banks and safety deposit boxes and hidden safes but it was Butler who was actively working with Artemis to rob those safety deposit boxes.

In the same vein of breaking-and-entering, TLC also gives us the fun little moment where Butler hands Artemis his own lockpicks, to get into the workings of the bomb.

With one line we learn that Artemis knows how to pick locks, but does not have his own set of lockpicks. Butler, on the other hand, has both the tools and knowledge how to use them. Partnered with a brief mention in TTP of some the specific trades of those previously employed by Artemis Senior (including such things as crime lords, insider traders, and cat burglars), we can extrapolate that Artemis Senior would generally hire someone to pick a lock for him, rather than do so himself.

It's pretty logical to conclude then that Artemis learned big-picture management from his father, and day-to-day skillsets from his bodyguard.

Essentially, Artemis Senior taught Artemis how to run a criminal empire. Butler taught Artemis how to be a criminal.

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

And Eat It, Too: Chapter Twelve: Webbed

In which final plans are made for the Unknowing, Jon and Tim begin to heal over a silly meme, and Jon makes the choice to step into the Dark...

>>> NOW ON AO3!

Jon's fear of spiderwebs and control is true and valid and we should say it.

(Masterpost including playlist)

*

CHAPTER TWELVE

Elias must have some ability to tell the future, because he is not there when Jon wakes up and immediately rolls over to hit him.

The sheets are cool. Elias fled early, then.

And Jon feels…

Amazing.

(Sick.)

Energized.

(Nauseated.)

Rested and healed (and ashamed and violated) and so damn good that he has to wonder (victimized) if Elias was right, and he did have to be shown what he wanted.

That thought causes surging panic, and Jon embraces it long enough to snap out of that terrible thought spiral.

He didn’t want this. He certainly had not asked to benefit from it.

Jon clenches his hands into fists. Can’t push the shame aside (felt so good, by the end), but he can redirect all of this to the person at fault.

At least, he can try.

Jon storms down to the kitchen.

The place smells great. Elias is there, fully dressed, an apron protecting his clothes, as he cooks at the stove.

He is humming.

It’s kind of a bouncy tune, if weirdly old; it sounds like something Jon might hear on a historical pub night, all metaphor and bawdy behavior in Merrie Olde England.

The Bird in the Bush, the Eye informs him, and Jon does not care. “How dare you,” he snaps.

“Well. Not even a warm-up, today?” says Elias, quite cheerfully. “I do hope you’re not trying to pretend you didn’t sleep well.” He gives Jon a heated look over his shoulder, eyes half-lidded and dark. “I know that you did.”

Guilt wages war with a body at rest, with a mind feeling eerily sated. “That’s what you meant by helping me?”

“Yes.” Elias looks innocent. “Helping you to embrace your gift? To feed your patron? To be fed in turn, and wake refreshed, healed, energized, and ready to face whatever terrors you may encounter today? Oh, goodness, you’re right, Jon, I should have left you to suffer.” He smiles and returns to the stove.

Humming.

Why, it’s a song all about seduction and sex, heavily coded, because of course it is, and now Jon knows and has no appetite whatsoever.

(Michael would not have…) “You should have warned me. You should have asked me.”

“Would you have agreed if I did?” says Elias easily, evidently unflappable on this fine and awful morning.

“Of course not!”

“Well, there you are, then,” says Elias as though Jon has made his point for him, then looks at him again. “You cannot, of course, cast your patron’s gaze upon the Stranger like that in real life. Not yet, anyway. It would be nice, though, wouldn’t it?”

Jon clenches his jaw shut.

Yes, it would.

It’s part of the reason he’s so angry.

He woke knowing he could not do that, simply look them all to death, no matter what happened with Mustermann, and for good or ill, he dearly wants that power.

Wanting power is a new and dangerous need. Jon does not like where it could take him.

“Was it really so bad?” Elias says, sounding serious for the first time. “I have shown you what you need to do, what you must do, to fight these nightmares properly and empower yourself at the same time. You would not have believed me. You would not have listened. Yet here you are—you have color in your cheeks. You actually look like you’ve slept, which is a thing you rarely manage to achieve. You have energy. And, I daresay, absolutely nothing hurts.”

Jon can’t argue with any of that. “That isn’t the point.”

“Then what is, Jon?”

That the monster was the better option, Jon thinks, and doesn’t know how he feels about that revelation, so he jukes left instead. “Why did you kiss me?”

Elias smiles like a pleased panther.  “If you honestly don’t know why, Jonathan, I really don’t know how to clarify further. Though I must add… you hardly seemed to mind.”

Jon’s face is hot.

He hadn’t been fighting at the end, had he? That was true.

But was it right?

His anger is feeding on itself, fizzling, sending up black and dying smoke. Jon storms back upstairs, trying to ignore how easy the movement is right now, how limber he feels.

He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to feel about this. If there’s even a right way to feel.

Elias continues to hum.

#

Jon refuses to talk to Elias again until they’re at the office and actively planning.

There is still no sign of Basira and Melanie, and it is taking every ounce of control Jon has not to take that information straight from Daisy’s head.

That’s not who he wants to be. He will fight it.

Daisy and Martin have figured out the perfect placement for each plastic explosive.

“It’s going to take at least an hour,” says Daisy, frowning at all the red x’s. “And that’s assuming it’s all… open. We don’t know everything that’s been done. These struts could be walled off. The Stranger could have posted guards. Anything could get in the way.”

“I propose suicide vests for all,” says Tim, and he’s being all gallows humor again, he isn’t serious, but he still gets shouted down in a chorus for a truly bad idea.

Especially because now, Jon is thinking about it.

“No,” Jon is told, and they simply move on.

Daisy takes some time to show them all how to use a knife. She has a gun; there are no more to distribute.

Jon thinks a club might be more effective. “Bashing parts loose. They’re not as well-put together as you think.”

“For you,” Elias says, almost gently. “I am afraid that for everyone else, swinging a stick will not do.”

Jon feels chided. And angry.

And out of his depth.

“We really have to wait until it’s started?” says Tim, who really did not enjoy Jon’s summary of the previous Unknowing attempt. “What’s going to prevent them from making us forget who we are, once it has?”

And Elias gestures to Jon as if revealing him at the dramatic crux of a play.

Tim is… not encouraged.

Daisy studied Jon. “Monsters fighting monsters. All right.”

“Jon is not a monster,” snaps Martin.

No one adds to that. Jon cannot meet his eyes.

“I have people watching the museum day and night,” says Elias, and Jon is still a little gobsmacked at how smoothly he inserted himself into their plans and became the leader. “We will know when it starts. I suggest we remain on high alert.”

It’s frightening, how Elias just… did it. They’d literally been trying to figure out how to kill him (or at least have him arrested) as recently as last month.

But that was easy while Elias sat in his ivory tower, only descending to the mortal plane to dole out punishment and horror.

When Elias is here, he subsumes conversation, somehow establishes himself as knowledgeable and helpful and trustworthy in a few damned sentences, and Jon is weirdly frightened and gratified to watch it happen.

Frightened because Elias knows what to say on a level that implies intimacy down to the soul.

Gratified because maybe Jon isn’t pathetic as he feared for being steamrolled. Even Daisy submits in the face of him.

Everything really had changed when Michael let Jon go. It was more than just the Distortion coming on to him. What it was, he didn’t know. 

He wonders if Annabelle does.

Her stories as a concept suddenly lure him, the idea that he could know so many new things if he could get her to talk.

I have a problem, thinks Jon, only half joking to himself.

And then the plan is done, positions are assigned, and there is nothing left to do.

“Daisy,” starts Jon, soft. “About Basira—”

“Fuck off, Sims,” says Daisy, and stalks away, not even waiting around to enjoy the blasted expression she left on his face.

Martin looks sympathetic, but goes without a word.

Elias gives him a pointed look he’s at a loss to interpret, and leaves.

Tim doesn’t, yet. “Hey, boss,” he says.

Contemplating his fucked up hands, Jon takes a moment to look up, blinking. “Hm? What?”

“I found you in a meme.” Pause. “You know what a meme is, right?” says the man who personally dragged Jon through hundreds of them when they were still friends.

“Yes, I know what a meme is,” says Jon tartly, and Tim offers his phone.

It’s a simple graph—two perpendicular lines, forming four cardinal points. Starting at the top and moving clockwise, it reads, “Covered in Blood (Victim)”; “Pathetic (Wet Cat)”; “Covered in Blood (Murderer)”; and “Pathetic (Kicked Puppy)”.

Jon stares.

“See,” says Tim. “You’re all of them at once.”

And it is so stupid, and so pointless, and utterly insulting and completely absurd and obviously not literal (except it sort of is), and Jon finds himself starting to laugh.

The miracle happens then: Tim laughs with him.

It’s not long; this is no scripted resolution, issues solved and forgotten in 50 minutes, but it is real, and for once, they’re both trying, and that makes the five or six awkwardly shared chuckles into something priceless.

“I think I see your point,” says Jon, his smile feeling completely foreign.

“Right,” says Tim. “When we have our office Christmas party—which we’ll all be alive to attend, and happy, and married to rich, gorgeous, bisexual rock stars—I’m giving out t-shirts with this, but it’s your face in the middle.”

And Jon risks it all, trying to be a little funny: “Meow.”

They stare at each other for a moment.

Then they laugh again. It’s not longer, but it is… better.

“I will pay you actual money never to do that again,” says Tim, wisely standing to leave before things can go downhill, before resentment and old wounds can find their way free.

“No need. Believe me, that was a one-off,” says Jon, and is surprised to find he is crying. He wipes a tear. Stares at it.

Tim balances on a precipice, just for a moment. This was good; but they’re not good yet, so he doesn’t say anything, angry or sad.

Tim leaves Jon to his frailty.

Jon stares at his fingers, his scarred and uneven hands.

He thinks about a company Christmas party when all this is done, with everyone alive, except Sasha, who won’t be, because he wasn’t a good enough Archivist in time.

Wonders if Michael could join him in such an event. Wishes it could. Tries to imagine it in one of Tim’s t-shirts, and nearly loses it - laughing or crying, he doesn’t know.

And then, Jon feels the tug—not an assault on his will, but an invitation—to go to his office alone.

Of course the Mother is acting when he’s been reminded how much he has to lose.

Oddly, Jon thinks as he hunches his way through the archives to his gloomy space—to the room where Elias beat Leitner to death with a pipe, where Prentiss’ worms almost killed them all when Jon broke through the wall, where a hidden compartment gave him Gertrude’s laptop and all the hope in the world—he’s glad.

If he keeps his friends all where they should be—front and center, of most importance—his own life seems less fraught, and he feels less likely to do the stupid thing and screw it all up.

Even thoughts of Elias don’t ruffle his feathers right now.

He waves at Martin, nods at Tim, and closes his office door behind him.

#

There is a new phone sitting on his desk.

Because of course there is.

Is Elias watching? Have they done something so he can’t see in here? No, that would bring him at a run.

Honestly, as possessive as Elias has been all morning—a million little touches, persistent personal space intrusions, even through the silent treatment��Jon is amazed the rest of the place doesn’t know there’s something going on.

But Elias was careful. No one saw.

Jon has to admit he’s grateful for that.

“Suppose I’m lucky he thinks the archive is so secure,” Jon says as he walks around the desk, not yet touching the small black device. “Or he’d be in here now, or making me be up there with him.”

No answer, but he knows they heard.

There are spiders everywhere, visible or not.

Jon takes a breath. This is one of those decision-gate moments. An act that changes it all. A crossroad, faced alone.

There is no foreign urge to pick up the phone.

They’re not going to make him.

This is all his choice.

“I suppose you think I just need to know,” says Jon, staring at the unbranded device. “That I’m doing this because of the Eye, and my own curiosity, but you’d be wrong.” He considers. “No. You know why I’m doing it.” He takes a deep breath. “Thank you for not threatening my friends.”

He picks up the phone. It’s a very thin thing, unnervingly expensive, and a video call starts the second he touches it.

Annabelle appears, taking up the screen. “If we’d done that, you would just dig in, no matter where you found yourself. That isn’t an ideal outcome.”

“Not really, no.” And because he has to know, “How are you keeping Elias busy?”

“He’s got a meeting with some donors to cover the damage to the library until insurance comes through,” Annabelle says, brightly. “Unfortunately for him, they’ve all got some very awkward questions.”

Jon frowns. “About the fire?”

“About you.”

He blinks. “What? Why?”

“It’s not a good time to tell you that,” says Annabelle, “but soon. After you’ve gotten back.”

Cold fills his spine. “From the Dark?”

“Yes, Jonathan Sims,” says Annabelle. “And I do know that unanswered question will eat at you like an itch you can’t scratch, so I give you my word you’ll get the answer. But I also promise that knowing it now would distract you—and you can’t afford distractions.”

“Into the Dark and Back Again, an Archivist’s Story,” blurts Jon without thinking. “No, I mean, ignore that—”

But Annabelle laughs. It sounds genuine.

“I’m not that starved for affection,” Jon mutters. “You don’t have to laugh.”

“Oh, you are that, Jonathan Sims,” says Annabelle with a frightening smile, “but I laughed because that was cute. I like you. I hope you succeed.”

He stares at her.

“In your drawer—the one with the ashes—you’re going to find Salesa’s gift.”

Jon stiffens. “I didn’t pay for it.”

“He knows. It’s all right. Now, that’s the easy part, I’m afraid. The next component is one you’re not going to like,” she says so lightly, so cheerily, that Jon knows it’s going to be very, very bad.

“I’m not becoming a spider person,” he says quickly.

“Nor would we want you to—you really don’t have the temperament,” she says, sort of gently. “Besides—if you did belong to the Mother, you could not retrieve the book.”

His heart is pounding. She’s putting it off. He is definitely going to hate it.

“There’s really only one way to guide you through the Forever Blind,” she says, but before she moves on, before she’s even finished that sentence, he knows and rockets toward a full-blown panic.

“No,” he interrupts her.

She just smiles at him.

And waits.

His heart tastes funny. Is that a thing? “I said no. You can’t put web on me.”

Smiles, silence. Fondness, assuming she could feel it, but her Oh, you are that, Jonathan Sins has rankled him to believing (or suspecting) that she is trying to use the fact that he is, indeed, lonely.

Rankled. It’s a good word. “If you actually think I’d believe for one moment that becoming some kind of marionette—”

Annabelle shakes her head.

“What?” Says Jon. “What does that mean?”

“What would you say if I reminded you that you must be in control of your own mind and body for this?”

“I’d say then what was the point of offering to… string me up like sausage?”

“We didn’t actually offer that,” she says with such good humor that if she weren’t right, Jon might have said something he’d regret.

Instead, he goes still.

He knows. Just like the Spider knew he would.

The guide through the dark has to be her web—one of the few factors utterly unaffected by light or dark or depth or height or any other horror.

“No,” he says again.

“We would not wrap you,” she says. “You wouldn’t be able to move like that.”

She thinks this is funny.

He’s shaking his head.

“The idea would be a few strands, just lightly connected,” says Annabelle. “We both know you wouldn’t handle anything else very well. The downside is that if this goes wrong, those threads will snap, and you’ll be trapped in the Dark forever.”

“It’s a horrible idea,” says Jon, because that much is true, because he can’t think of another way, because the idea of willingly doing this makes his gorge rise and his body feel like it’s trying to disappear into itself like a dwarf star.

“So is the end of the world, wouldn’t you say?” says Annabelle.

He’s trying so hard. “Wh… where would the w… the w…”

“The webs?” she says, gently.

He swallows. She waits until he can finish his question. “Yes, all right, the webs. Where would you put them?”

“Your left hand, since you can feel it there, and your right forearm. They’ll be very lightly connected. Fragile, Jon. It’s a shame you won’t accept anything more secure—but then, it’s not surprising. You’ve never been in the Dark, and you don’t know what it can do.”

“I know very well what the Dark can do,” he says.

“No, you don’t,” says Annabelle. “It’s not just being unable to see. It’s far worse. It’s a blindness that goes all the way through you, cuts everything off. The Beholding cannot see you in that place.”

He wants to make a joke that maybe he could get some damn sleep for once, but it dies on his lips.

Cut off from the Beholding. What would he have given, two months ago, for that?

Now, it… now, he wonders if that will kill him. “Are there actually monsters in there?”

“Oh, yes. The Still and Lightless Beast, Those Who Come From Shadow, the Dread Pools…”

Jon had never heard of those last two. “What are those?”

“Fear of the dark, made manifest.”

She said the webs were fragile. “Can they break the webs?”

“Yes. If you draw attention to yourself.”

So if he completely ignores the things that scare him more than the other things that scare him, the second might not rip out the first and leave him stranded.

This sounded like a plum idea. But he’s doing it. He wants Michael back. “How do I find the book without help from the Eye?”

“You’ll be moving as Jonathan Sims—who you are, with your mind, your will, your memory. That—combined with being the Archivist—will allow you not to lose yourself.”

“That’s why you keep using my name,” he says, triumphant in deduction.

She smiles fondly again. “We’ll help you find the book. We made sure to… keep track of it before your boss threw it in.”

He stares at her. “You were already planning that I’d go get it.”

“Correct, Jonathan Sims.”

“So why can’t I just follow your web to the book? Why do I have to be… entangled?”

“Because the web to the book is… not accessible to you,” says Annabelle in a way that makes Jon’s mind spin with inter-dimensional designs. “You won’t lose yourself in there, Jonathan Sims; but you won’t escape without help. Once you get the book, Mister Pitch will definitely notice and cut that web.”

“And if… all the webs are severed?”

“You could find your way out on your own,” says Annabelle, “but you’d have to gouge out your own eyes. Wouldn’t advise it.”

He shudders.

He’d lose the Beholding, too, if he did that, and he shudders with the realization.

It’s a stunning thing to know. An escape.

He can’t do it. Maybe he could have, a few months ago, but now? Even when this is all over, he knows, he just… can’t. Won’t? (Does it matter?) “Right. That’s not happening..”

“That reminds me,” says Annabelle, as if all of this wasn’t fully scripted. “Look in your drawer again.”

He does. A jar of ashes, some small white elephant gifts he’s never used—

A long, narrow piece of black silk.

Jon turns the phone around, showing her (which is probably unnecessary). “And this?”

“What do you think it is?”

He shakes. Knows. “Silk. Your silk. Your… you… you made that silk.” He gasps. “It’s a blindfold.”

“Extra protection for you. Your eyes, Jonathan Sims, are very important, and I promise you that Mister Pitch will feel them open, even if you can’t see. You’ll draw him right to you—unless we do a little misdirection.”

He nearly throws the phone. Rises instead, paces back and forth, snarling at it. “So let me get this straight.”

“By all means.” She’s smiling.

“You want me to go into the Dark—where I will be utterly vulnerable, helpless. To do it connected by choice to your webs, which you promise with sugar on top will not control me. And to do it wrapped in a blindfold made from silk from your own body, which could do any damn thing to me, infect me, put webs in my brain, I have no idea—and what? Am I supposed to thank you for this?”

“I’d prefer if you’d finish it, then go on to save the world,” says Annabelle.

“I need a minute.” He sits back down, elbows on desk, head in hands.

She’s silent.

He’s silent.

Is Michael worth all this?

His heart answers before his brain can: yes.

It’s more than that, though. Without Michael’s doors, everyone but him will die.

He has no reason to doubt Annabelle’s word on that. She wouldn’t lie about something like this, because he’d never trust her again. He knows.

He also knows he’s going to do it, and that nearly sends him into a panic attack.

A knock at the door.

“Come in, Martin,” Jon says to the desk, and Martin peeks around the door.

“How’d you know it was me? You know what—never mind. I brought you some tea.”

It’s an apology for Daisy, who won’t give her own. Jon sighs. “Thank you, Martin. Just put it here.”

The phone screen, he notices, has gone completely black—but the little green light says it’s still  broadcasting.

Of course.

Martin puts the cup down, then shifts from foot to foot, wrings his hand, and swells a little as if preparing himself to do something completely unpleasant, but he has to, and it’s for the good of all, and—

Jon realizes it’s fake.

He blinks up at him, frozen in the act of reaching for his tea.

Not all of it is fake. Martin is a kind, good person, by choice; but this act, these smiles and shrugs and awkward stammerings… were a device.

A tool.

A very effective tool, making you forget how large he was, or that you were doing a thing you didn’t really want to do but he somehow nudged you into it, or that you liked Martin after all, even if you started out not liking him.

Jon finds he isn’t upset at it. He sort of admires it; he can’t get anyone to do anything. “You, uh,” he says, peering. “You’re not some sort of spider-person, are you?”

Martin has the exact expression he would if Jon had whipped out a milkshake and dumped it on his head. “What?”

Why the hell did I say that out loud? “Sorry, no, I, that isn’t��”

“Because I brought you tea?” says Martin, who (thankfully) seems to be finding this funny instead of offensive.

Jon has no way out. “I… look, I’ve just been thinking about Annabelle Cane lately, and there were webs in Elias’s house, and—”

“You were in Elias’ house?” Martin blurts.

Jon can’t hear Annabelle laughing, but he is completely sure that she is. “I think I need to start this conversation over.”

“I’m not a ghost either, in case you forgot,” Martin ribs, then goes right for the jugular. “What in the name of all that’s holy are you doing in Elias’ house?”

“Trying not to die,” snaps Jon.

“With… the guy who’s killed two people.”

Jon groans into his hands. “Do-over. Please.”

“Jon, are…” And here is the real Martin. Jon feels it, like a shade lifting to reveal the sun. “Are you all right? Are you safe? Because I have room. I told you before, but I mean it. Elias isn’t safe to be around.”

No stammering. Neither hemming, nor hawing. Just Martin—gentle, thoughtful.

Good.

Jon peeks over his fingertips.

Martin is serious; he’s not shifting his weight, and there is a hardness just there, beneath his soft features.

As if he’s ready to do something on Jon’s behalf.

“I don’t deserve you,” says Jon.

Martin blinks at him. Reddens. And stammers, but this feels a little less planned. “You… what?”

“Sorry,” says Jon. “I mean… as a friend. I think you’re the only one who hasn’t… just abandoned me, or… cursed me out, or… wished me ‘best of luck,’ and then run off into the sunset.”

It comes out more bitter than he planned, and far more sad.

Saying it made it real.

Jon sighs, leans, covers his face.

“Can I say something?”

He didn’t know if he wanted Martin to stay or go. “Of course, Martin. Say whatever you need,” Jon says to his desk, which hears all his confessions these days.

“I’m worried about the whole… monster-thing.”

Becoming monstrous, Jon thinks. “You think I’m not worried?”

“Not enough. You’re acting like it’s a person. You have for a while, now. And it eats people, Jon. It fools them, and tricks them, and they… they die alone, and scared, and you’re not… remembering that, somehow.”

Oh. “I, uh,” Jon says.

“You call it a name and everything—and I listened to that tape, the one where it stabbed you—and you told me it was a bread knife accident? We’re coming back to that someday. But that monster didn’t care that you used its name. It just said, ‘That is a real name,” as if that means… anything!”

Hearing Martin try to mimic Michael’s weird voice is too much, and Jon bursts into laughter.

Martin looks offended. “Jon, I’m serious!”

“No, no, so am I, I just… I thought you were talking about me. Being a monster.”

Martin’s mouth works. “Well, hanging out with that thing can’t be doing you any good! I mean, now you’re staying with Elias!”

“I haven’t been ’hanging out with it.’ After it rescued me, Elias trapped it and threw it away.”

Martin stares. “He… he what?”

“Trapped it. In the Dark. Alone. That’s where it is now. I don’t even know if it can be saved.”

“Well… good, then. That’s good, Jon. No, no, look at me: that’s a good thing.”

Jon goes very still. “Should I be trapped, too, then? Locked up and thrown away, somewhere guaranteed to hurt me forever, if I can’t just die?”

Martin stares at him as though Jon has asked him to murder someone’s grandmother. “Jon, it’s not the same.”

“I’m beginning to wonder. About a lot. About choices, and… how few we really have. And…” He swallows. “Balance.”

“Jon—”

“Gazelles aren’t too happy about the situation, either, but at least they don’t create the damned lions.”

Martin stares at him.

“We made them, Martin. The Fears. We make them, every day. Do you understand? It makes no difference how many we lock up and throw into the dark places! Our fears create them. Did you think that was the only Distortion? Did you think the Fears just happen to have a huge concentration in England, and the rest of the world is left alone?”

“I… I don’t…”

“We made them. Maybe it’s only fair that we feed them, too,” mutters Jon. “And we’ll re-make them every time we destroy any part of them, because we can’t stop being afraid.”

Jon didn’t know he was thinking all of this until it came out of his mouth.

He… hates it.

That must show on his face, because what he sees on Martin’s face is a terrible combination of things. Shock, anger, more shock—and then pity.

“This is really getting to you, isn’t it?” Martin says, softly. “I’ll bet staying with Elias isn’t making it any better.”

“No. It definitely is not. He’s sold out to these things. To his thing. I’m… I’m at least… trying to… stay who I am.”

And now, because everything is terrible, Jon is crying again. Silent about it, at least, but the tears won’t stop. He hides his face.

After a moment, Martin speaks again. “Oi, Jon.”

Jon swallows a couple of times. “What?”

“Tell me a weird fact that you like.”

“There’s a cloud named Hector,” Jon says without hesitation, because this is a thing he’s always liked, because this is a thing he’s always felt was incredibly human. “It’s a recurring thunderstorm, basically, that forms every afternoon in the Tiwi Islands, northern Australia. From September all the way through March. It’s so reliable that World War Two pilots were able to use it to navigate by.” He wipes his face.

He finally looks up.

Martin is wearing an expression that pierces Jon to the heart.

It’s deeply affectionate; it’s also deeply sad.

It is a goodbye.

He knows it’s the end of… something. Some book, just closed.

“See?” says Martin. “I knew you were still you. You’re not a monster, Jon. No matter what… powers, or whatever, are happening to you. You’re still you. And I trust you, Jonathan Sims.”

Jon inhales. Stares at him.

Martin taps the mug. “It’s getting cold.”

“I…” Jon is undone. “I… right. Thank you.”

“Tim asked me out,” Martin suddenly says out of nowhere.

“Good… for him?” says Jon on pure reflex.

His response apparently confirms whatever Martin was thinking. Martin nods. “I’m always going to be your friend, Jon. You can’t get rid of me. Even if you go paranoid again and start stalking me to the grocery store.”

“That was one time,” Jon says.

Martin laughs again; it’s soft. It’s sad. But it’s oddly… lighter. “See you soon, Jonathan Sims. We’re going to go blow up some actual monsters.”

And he’s gone.

What just happened? Jon thinks.

“That was very well timed, I think,” says Annabelle, whom Jon had forgotten completely.

“Oh, damn,” he mutters.

“Relax. And no, lest you ask—Martin isn’t one of ours. Though you’re correct —he could’ve been. Right temperament.”

Well, that was unnerving. “Anything else?”

“Before you leave? Not really. I think you understand what comes next as much as you can without experiencing it.”

“You think I’ve made up my mind?” Jon bluffs, because he has.

“Have you?” she says, because she already knows.

“I hate everyone,” says Jon.

“No, you don’t,” says Annabelle. “If you did, we wouldn’t be talking, and everyone around you would be in very, very bad places.”

That… was ominous. “O…oh?” says Jon. “H… how would… what do you…”

“When you’re ready,” says Annabelle, “Stand and hold out your arms. We’ll connect webbing; you get a final say about all of it. When that’s done, pick up the sphere. Put on the blindfold—no cheating; this will hide you from Mister Pitch. Throw the sphere down. Then just… walk forward.”

“Walking blind unto destruction,” Jon mutters.

“Isn’t that just all of life, though?” says Annabelle.

She wasn’t wrong.

“Elias is busy?”

“Will be for another few hours. There were some… unscheduled visits,” says Annabelle with such diabolical glee that Jon almost throws the phone.

“Will it take me that much time to do this?”

“The honest answer? Far longer. The domains of the Dread Powers don’t obey the human concept of time—you know that. Keep your eyes hidden. We’ll lead you to the book. Wait for those gentle tugs. Fight, and they’ll snap. Simple, right?”

“Only completely against every instinct I have,” Jon says.

“Naturally,” says Annabelle, and the phone goes dark.

Without being told, Jon stands.

He stiffens.

Spiders have come out of the walls.

Just where the fuck they’d been hiding, he has no idea—it’s like they popped out of the plaster, just boom, there, and they’re all coming toward him.

He’s breathing hard before they even reach his shoes. Arms out. Shaking. Swallowing a lot to keep from shrieking, or stomping, or anything else insane.

Spiders climb his legs, spiders he cannot feel, but oh, he can see them.

He shakes as they crawl soundlessly along his outstretched arms, and there is a tiny, strange, tickling moment as they begin to spin their thread.

He’s not being mummified. These spiders (strange colors, too big, we don’t have these in England) dot the web to his left hands and fingers, his right wrist and forearm, all of it loose and sticky and almost not there at all, and then they simply climb back down him and go away.

He has them in the center of his left palm, on the back of his left hand, all around his right wrist, just inside his shirt sleeve.

It feels awful because he barely feels it at all.

The webs stretch out into… nothing. Jon can’t see where they go.

One final spider comes down from the ceiling, lowering itself.

It is large; it is aware. Intelligence gleams in its horrid black eyes, and Jon hyperventilates as it lands on his left shoulder and crawls to his hand.

There, it sticks a different strand to his left pinky. This one is different, slightly thicker, as if a reminder of what Hopworth has done, or maybe a reminder that the Fears will never let him go, or—

The big spider eyes him as if to say, Don’t panic already, Sims, and climbs back up the ceiling, where it just… disappears.

Knowing they’re all here (have been, for who knows how long) makes him want to torch the place, but he has to focus.

He checks his hands. Flexes, clenches, swings them.

The webs stay attached—but he can feel the little tugs on his skin where the stickiness has been tested.

He’s going to have to be very, very careful.

He picks up the blindfold.

It seems darker than night, darker than pitch, a gateway to a galaxy far beyond where there are no stars.

Stars make him think of Michael.

He’s doing this.

Jon puts on the blindfold, amazed in spite of himself at how soft it is against his face. He tangles his hair a little as he ties it, but it doesn’t matter.

He finds the sphere by touch, takes a deep breath, raises it over his head, and throws it down as hard as he can.

It barely makes a sound.

A tiny tug on his right hand—forward.

Jon takes a deep and final lighted breath, and he obeys.

(part thirteen)

[pyroclastic727]

Luz’s love language and what it means for the season finale

Content warning: discussions of Luz’s depression and suicidal tendencies

The Owl House is back!--and it’s a lot more depressing than before. While the adventures are just as deadly as the last season, this time our lovely Luz Noceda is being affected by their trauma-inducing qualities, and now she has depression. 

This is largely reflected in the series itself. During Separate Tides, virtually every discussion is about the loss of powers. The townspeople deprive Eda of money and publicly humiliate her for her lack of magic. Luz goes bounty hunting for money to deal with magic. Luz literally tries to commit suicide in that cave, to get money that would somehow offset the debt of ruining Eda’s life.

Then we get to Escaping Expulsion, and things don’t brighten up. We meet the abusers--sorry I meant The Blights--and get a firsthand look at the source of Amity Blight’s fears. They spend the entire episode trying to kill Luz, because she doesn’t have any magic. Then Amity delivers a lovely speech about wanting to be a better person, while alienating her entire family and pretending to be crushed to death for an audience--yet another example of a character cutting ties and being publicly humiliated in order to express their love for Luz.

Overall the tone has become much darker--not in the way that there’s more eyeballs in places we shouldn’t have any, but in the way that Luz genuinely doesn’t believe she deserves to be loved, and the only way the message gets through to her is when other people copy her suicidal behaviors.

The issue, you see, is that she’s been showing signs of that for a while-- I just didn’t know how far Owl House was willing to take that. One of my analyses from last year points out that Luz demonstrates and understands love via acts of service--which is why she’s always throwing herself into dumb situations, and why she really appreciates when Amity ditches her friends to join her Grudgby team. 

Season Two takes it a step further. In the ultimate act of love, Eda lets the curse overtake her and basically gives her life in order to let Luz get out of there in one piece. Luz didn’t come out unscathed, though, because now she’s seen that the best way to show affection is by suicide. 

And she does this.

A lot.

You see, Luz doesn’t think she deserves love. She asserts this throughout the season. So these last two episodes have consisted of the people around her trying to piece her back together. Eda delivers the most amazing speech about self-worth--and while it’s the type of speech to frame on your wall and read every morning, it’s not quite sinking in for Luz. 

That’s part of why Amity’s heroic display of love hits Luz so hard. Amity isn’t doing what she usually does, and trying to hold Luz’s hand for a minute at a time. This time, she threw away her relations with her parents for Luz-- a much more dangerous version of cutting off Boscha for the grudgby team. That’s why Luz blushes, that’s why she stammers a reply. Amity put her life in great danger, signing herself up for a much worse fate from her parents (as they’re now fueled by revenge) and, for that moment, agreeing to get literally crushed by an abomination. 

You can also read all of this as a metaphor for how homosexuality is frowned upon by capitalist society and condemns you to public humiliation and ostracism in order to support the one you love, but that’s not what we’re discussing today. We’re discussing what this means for the finale.

Because here’s the thing. If Luz wants to show love, she has to do some grand and heroic gesture. If Luz wants to do something grand and heroic in the Boiling Isles, she has to have magic. That’s part of why she’s so damn suicidal lately: that’s literally the only thing she has power over. That’s the only thing she can do.

But there’s one thing that people haven’t taken into account yet. You see, magic is a force that’s shrouded in mystery, that’s granted to certain people via biological factors. It’s a privilege based on species. But at its core, magic is just a science that has yet to be understood by the people of the Boiling Isles. Luz, Eda, and Lilith have an ability that no one else on the entire island has: they know how to use glyphs.

Now, let’s say that everyone loses the ability to use bile sac magic, and glyphs are the only magic remaining. 

That would give Luz an edge, right?

If glyph magic is all that remains, that means Luz can be the one to save Amity, instead of the other way around. As the person who’s been practicing glyphs the longest, she’d be the most skilled and the most capable. 

She wouldn’t have to endanger herself to prove the lengths she’s willing to go. Not when she has an ability beyond what most others can do.

But that’s not reasonable, because why would everyone lose their magic? It’s not like there’s one person who is capable of restricting magic, and if he chose, he could take everyone’s magic for himself...right?

Oh, right. Emperor Belos.

You can check my post on covens as a capitalist metaphor for my full discussion. At the time, I read the capitalist metaphor as a statement on the world and nothing more. But now it has chilling implications.

You see, the point of capitalism is for one person to accrue all of the money for himself and force everyone else to work for him. Belos is this person, this monarch who takes the power of others. He’s building a portal for something, I don’t know what. That’s not the important piece here. 

What’s important is that, once he has that portal open, does he need the covens?

Does he need his exploited labor force? He’ll have an army of abominations, so there’s no point in having any skilled fighters. So anyone who wants to use war magic loses that ability. At the season 2 ending, if he wants, Emperor Belos can take every kind of magic in the Boiling Isles.

Which makes sense, right? He outlawed wild magic for a reason, and it’s like Eda said. If it’s wild, Belos can’t control it. 

But Luz, Eda, and Lilith have wild magic in their control. They’re the only ones who can. So if Belos takes all the power for himself, if he becomes a god among men, there will still be three people who can stop him.

And one of them is willing to do anything to justify her existence. Luz Noceda stop at nothing to take Emperor Belos down, and give wild magic to everyone.

[ladyvesuvia]

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@justadreamyhufflepuff: GSJSVSKSBSJD BABY CONGRATS- CAN I PLEASE GET A 🎠 -> Harry potter + soft love + fluff + prompts 9, 10, 32, 42 from prompt list 1. || for my 300 followers celebration

Prompts:

9. “You took all the pillows so I’m using you as one.”

10. “Stop moving and let me braid your hair.”

32. “Make a wish!”

42. “Darling I love you and all, but please step out of the kitchen.”

Pairing: Harry Potter x Fem!Reader

Summary: Moving into your new house with Harry.

Words: 3.1k

Warnings: fluff but with slight and subtle mentions of sexual activities + let me know if i missed anything!

A/N: omg yay harry fluff :DDD ok sorry go ahead btw this hasn’t been proofread yet mbad

After years of setting things up, they could finally move into their house. Of course, there were some parts of it that still needed fixing but they’ll eventually work it out. Right now, they wanted to bask in the comfort and triumph of their own house.

“Got your key?” said [Y/N], holding out her own key. She had already attached a duck keychain to it.

“Got it,” replied Harry, showing her his own. They both sniggered at his ridiculous bathtub keychain, which looked undeniably out of place but she was glad for it nonetheless. See, she had bought it years ago when they first talked about getting a house. “Will you do the honors?”

“You know, we could easily Alohomora the heck out of this bas —”

“Do the honors,” he teasingly urged, poking her on the waist where her tickle spot was and she recoiled. “Do it, [Y/L/N].”

“Ha! I’m Potter now, too. Ergo you’re not so special anymore,” she said as she marched up the raised porch. It was a lovely sight indeed — she could already imagine inviting the others to come over: roasting marshmallows either here or at the backyard and such. She giddily walked towards the door. This is it, she thought. “Wait, this is unfair. You carry me as you open it so I’ll be like a pretty wife.”

“That you are,” said Harry as he scooped her up into his arms. She let out a whoop of approval, patting his cheek as he put the key in and swung the door open.

All their boxes were on the floor already, with a lot more scattered all over the house. “Ooh, this is a lot of work. Wanna sleep it off?” she yawned, kicking some boxes aside on her way to the stairs. “What, you gonna protest, Mr. Potter?”

“Not at all, Mrs. Potter,” said Harry, and they both stopped and looked at each other, eyes narrowed while scrutinizing the name. “Mrs. Potter.”

“Does it sound a bit weird to you? I mean, no offense. I mean, I’ve waited for this half of my life but — you know?

“Yeah, like, [Y/N] Potter,” he said again, making arm gestures as if parting a curtain. She started to laugh. “I see what you mean.”

“You look like a . . . getching shooba driver but on land,” she said with a yawn.

“A what?” This time, Harry was the one stifling his laughter.

“Glitching scuba diver on land,” spat [Y/N], taking off her jacket. When she saw he’d been eyeing her with a dazed expression on his face, she made a show of getting off her right jacket sleeve with a suggestive smile on her face. “Wait, uh, can’t get it off. Sweat, I think. Help?”

“Will do, will do,” said Harry, approaching her and reaching out to pull it off her with a tight smile in an awful attempt to keep his laughter.

“Whatever. Can we sleep now, please? Where’s our bed again?”

“There,” he pointed somewhere in the kitchen room.

“I thought our room was upstairs?”

“Our room is upstairs, the bed is here.”

“Why would that be the ca—oh, no. D’we really have to assemble it?” she whined. They had to travel by Muggle transportation due to issues with the Floo network and they wanted to minimize suspicion, and the it was finally taking its toll on their entire energy: [Y/N]’s back was cramping from the long ride, Harry’s head was already hurting like hell. To make matters worse, neighbors were peeking through their windows so they had to go inside immediately.

“No, we can just bring the mattress up and assemble it all tomorrow, yeah?”

“Oh, yeah,” she said with a moan, tossing the jacket on the kitchen counter. “Yeah, yeah.”

“Oh, are we — ?” He shrugged hesitantly.

“No! I mean, do you want to? Now?”

“Do you?” The two chuckled nervously. They were standing there for probably around half a minute or one when the doorbell dinged and the two of them jumped. [Y/N] volunteered to get it.

A woman younger than her for about a year stood in front of her doorstep when she swung the door open, carrying a tiny baby probably about a few months old in her arms. [Y/N] managed a friendly smile as she wiped away a drop of sweat from her forehead.

“Hi, welcome to the neighborhood. I’m Karolina Martin. I live right across and I brought you something!”

“The . . . baby?” [Y/N]’s shoulders tensed as she thought about this over an over until she realized that was highly unlikely.

“No! You’re hilarious, though. I like you. I actually came here to give you” — the woman put down a bag she hung over her shoulder down on the floor — “this.”

Inside was a basket with a bottle of what [Y/N] could only assume was fine wine or champagne or whatever it was couples with a number of chocolates and cookies inside. She realized with a start there was also a pot inside.

[Y/N] laughed, holding up the pot. “Funny, because we’re Potters?” she asked, setting it back down again.

“You are?” Karolina said, impressed. “So which do you suggest I should start with first? Stoneware or earthenware? Ooh, what about fire clay?”

It took a few seconds before [Y/N] realized the direction of the conversation. “Oh! Well, heh, not that kind of potter.”

Karolina flinched, eyeing [Y/N] with suspicion. “You smoke — ?”

“No! Not that kind of potter. We don’t smoke po—Sorry, that’s on me, I should have clarified. I’m [Y/N],” she said. Karolina still looked confused. Composing herself, she managed a tight smile. “[Y/N] Potter.”

“Oh! Oh, my goodness. I’m so sorry!” Karolina chuckled. “I was a bit confused, I’m really sorry. I haven’t met someone around here about my age.”

“Don’t worry about it. Thanks for the welcoming gift, by the way. I just moved in with my . . . husband.” It still sounded surreal to call Harry that way, but she liked it all the same. Her eyes fell on the chubby little kid.

“Right! This is baby Sydney, she’s turning six months old next week. Would be really nice if you and your husband could come — and kid or kids, if you have some?” Maybe it was the coos the baby made or her adorable eyes and hints of two teeth growing, but [Y/N] felt intimidated by the little kid. She was bigger than she thought babies would be. Is this what she’d push through her bottom? She shuddered. “Do you . . . want to hold her?” asked Karolina, oblivious to the thoughts going on in [Y/N]’s heads.

“Listen, I’m really grateful you stopped by but we’re kinda tired. I’m so, so, sorry! Thank you a lot for these stuff. We’ll definitely come by next week — me and Harry, just Harry and me.” [Y/N] chuckled nervously again, smiling at the baby.

“I totally understand. Me and Joey were also very tired when we first moved in, hence Sydney.” Karolina laughed. [Y/N] simply chimed in the laughter as well, not wanting to jeopardize a newfound friendship over a joke. “Have a lovely evening, [Y/N]. I’ll see you around!”

When she shut the door with the bag over her shoulder, she jumped in fright at the sight of Harry just behind the door with an amused grin on his face. “What?” said [Y/N] as she rubbed her eyes.

“Husband?” he mused. When she shot him a glare saying not to push it further, he resorted to giggling. “Sorry, my wife.”

“Shut up, Harry,” she said. “Now, where’s that damned mattress?”

“Worry not, I got it upstairs already, all we gotta do now is take a quick shower and go to bed.”

After they finished dressing into more comfortable clothes, they made it a point to plop down as hard as they could on the mattress. To her relief, Harry had settled a plain white bedsheet on top of it earlier while she was talking to Karolina. She was the first to jump in, stretching her legs all over. “Finally!” she exclaimed.

“Your turn,” she said, pointing at a spot right next to her. Harry took off his glasses and was about to jump in next when she asked where the pillows were.

“Er — Accio pillow!” She could hear the sound of boxes moving downstairs bumping each other when a pillow came hurtling in and landed on Harry’s chest, forcing him to plop down on the mattress.

A shrill squeak sounded, and the two of them froze. [Y/N] narrowed her eyes, pointing her finger at him in accusation. “Did you fart?”

“No, we just still haven’t removed the plastic from the mattress.”

“You want to remove it?” she suggested, ready to get up and get her own wand when Harry gently nudged her back down.

“Okay, where’s my wand?“

[Y/N] looked left and right until she found it tying on an old bedside table he managed to set down earlier that day and said, “There! Bedside table.”

“Eh.”

“Agreed, let’s just say you did fart.”

“Agreed,” said Harry, who unconsciously wrapped his legs and arms around the pillow on top of him and closed his eyes to sleep. [Y/N] was quick to act. Not to take his pillow, but to turn him into one — metaphorically, of course. She laughed at the thought of using Transfiguration to turn Harry into a literal pillow.

Just as he wrapped his limbs around the only pillow, [Y/N] did the same to him. He woke up with a jolt, but did not take her off him. “I’m the little spoon?” he asked with a smile.

“Yes, and I happen to like little spoons a lot,” she said casually. Harry turned his head in her direction, with a wide grin on his pretty face. “Okay, that sounded wrong. It’s just that you hogged the only pillow so now I’m using you as one.”

“Well, do you want it?” he offered obliviously.

“Nope, I like this set-up. Go back to sleep.”

And he did — they both did. At some point during the night, they turned each other into a pillow. Harry, however, awoke to the sound of her snoring. It wasn’t like his Uncle Vernon’s, though. Looking at her face seemed to dull it all out. It wasn’t exactly an endearing sound, but the sight of her was more than so — tousled hair, mouth slightly open. . . . With one last smile on his face as he watched her sleep, he felt himself drifting off into a deep slumber.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

A loud clanging from downstairs awoke Harry. Had he overslept? He found that his back ached whenever he did so much as move, but knew better than to bide his time if there was danger nearby. He reached out to the bedside table to grab his wand, but realized he had to put his glasses on first.

Harry ran downstairs, clutching his wand tightly with his outstretched hand as he listened for anything there was to hear. He paused. A stranger walked out of the kitchen, and he pointed his wand at them.

The stranger held their hands up with a bewildered look on their face until [Y/N] came out of the kitchen all sweaty with a frilly apron. “Harry!” she cried in bewilderment at the sight of him pointing his wand at their new neighbor. “Alright, uh, Karolina, this is my husband, Harry; Harry — stop pointing your . . . stick at her — this is our neighbor who lives across from us, Karolina.”

“Er — hello, Karolina. Sorry about the wa—” [Y/N] shot him a dirty look. “—ander. Wander. Sorry about the bad . . . wandering. You know what? I just woke up on the wrong side of bed and I got paranoid with the . . . new house and all.”

“He tends to get jumpy,” said [Y/N] in hopes of wrapping this up immediately. “Anyway, five minutes left till it’s done. Thank you so, so much for the help, Karol! One last thing, for the whipped cream, do I. . .”

He then noticed that some of the furniture were already arranged such as the sofa and the dining table. Some cabinets were decorated with non-magical framed pictures of them. Harry begged to disagree, though. Each picture there was more than just ma— Is that a baby? Sleeping in a car seat on their couch?

Harry blinked. It stirred, eyes fluttering open. Harry was now holding his breath in anticipation. It was watching him curiously. When he did not move, the little thing started to giggle. Smiling sheepishly back, he made a show of raking his hand through his hair and walking into the kitchen.

It was still messy, but the fridge was on now, and some condiments were put where they belonged.

Karolina was washing a bowl on the sink when the baby outside started crying. She washed her hands quick and ran out, excusing herself while smiling apologetically at the two of them.

[Y/N] opened the oven, pulling out something that smelled of a scent that made Harry’s mouth water.

“Is that Treacle Tart?” he blurted out.

[Y/N] almost dropped the pan of delight she held in her mittened hands. She cleared her throat in an attempt to maintain her composure as she set it down on the counter and pulled off her mittens. Still panting, she looked at him and said, “Harry, darling, I love you and all but please step out of the kitchen.”

“Sorry,” he muttered as he pressed a kiss against her head.

“Don’t do that, my hair stinks. I haven’t showered yet,” said [Y/N].

“What do you mean? It smells just fine.”

“Yeah? Well, it’s greasy. Is it greasy?”

“Yeah, you kinda look like Snape from where I’m standing. Ow! Sorry, bad joke. Okay, keep doing what you’re doing while I. . .” he trailed off as he grabbed her wrist gingerly and pulled off the scrunchie off it and started braiding her hair whilst she shook the whipped cream. “Could you just stop moving and let me braid your hair?”

“Oh, shut up! This tart’s for you, anyway.”

“So it is a Treacle Tart?”

“Uh, Doy,” she said mockingly. “It’s for your birthday, genius.”

“But it isn’t till next month,” said Harry.

“Eh, well, thought we could spend some time together in our new house without a crowd for a while. Why’re you even braiding my hair?”

“That baby got me thinking about it,” said Harry, as the child’s sobs started to cease. “You know, like . . . do you think we’re ready?”

“Well, what will be, will be.” She squeezed whipped cream on each side, scanning the final product with narrowed eyes. Harry tied the poorly-done braid with the scrunchie, letting her hair fall down to her back. [Y/N] turned to him. “Honestly, I’m kind of scared about the whole thing, you know? Like, aside from the . . . bloody pushing, it’ll be a huge responsibility. And I want to know if you’re up for it.”

“Okay,” he found himself saying so casually.

“Okay?” [Y/N] repeated to him, with an expression the combination of excitement and disbelief. “Okay as in, ‘okay let’s start trying?’”

“Okay, yes! Let’s start trying now!”

“Okay, but not right now, though,” said [Y/N] under her breath.

“Why not?” he said. Merlin, I have to stop.

“For one, Karolina’s right there at the doorway with Sydney.”

Harry shifted his gaze from [Y/N] to Karolina, who was now trying hard to stifle her laugh with a sleeping Sydney in her arms. “Okay, I’m gonna pretend I didn’t just hear that,” she said with a suggestive smile. “I’ll get going now, [Y/N], Harry.”

“Oh, you won’t try the Treacle Tart out?” called out [Y/N].

“Nah, we’ve eaten a lot of that already. We’re having cheesecake for tonight. Anyway, see you two.” With a friendly wave, she went off her way, leaving the two of them alone in their house.

Harry expected her to berate him, but she was already facing him with a slice of a tart resting neatly on a plate with a lousy candle set in the middle of it. “Make a wish,” she told him.

“Uh. . . I’m bad at wishes, you know that.”

“Then wish to be better at making wishes then make a better wish next month,” she said.

“Okay, I wish to be better at making wishes,” said Harry before blowing the candle out. [Y/N] pulled off the candle and lead him to the living room, where she put down the pan and separated the entire thing to put it on an adorable floral plate she loved.

“Happy super advanced birthday, Just Harry,” said [Y/N], kissing his head this time. “Have some Treacle Tart. I tried, okay?” Laughing, she put a fork on his plate and went to slice one for herself.

“Thank you, soft love,” said Harry as he helped himself to his slice. “Merlin, this is per—”

[Y/N] bursted into laughter, a couple crumbs spitting on the table. She had to get a tissue and wipe the table as she bellowed. “What’d you say?”

“Soft . . . love. Does that mean something bad?”

“No, no, no. It’s just funny to hear it from you. Say it again,” she said, resting her elbow on the top rail of a chair, eager to hear him.

“Soft love?” said Harry hesitantly.

“Oh my— Who told you to say that? Where’d you learn that?” choked [Y/N], wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. “Okay, sorry.”

“Er — you see, before we left to go here, Ron told me to experiment with . . . pet names.”

“So you delivered?”

“Do you not like it?” said Harry, his fork frozen in mid-air.

“Oh, I do. I so do,” she replied, chuckling. “I’ve had enough of tough love, I could use some soft love. But d’you know what it means?”

When Harry shook his head, she took one step forward to run her hand through his hair, grinning. “Means you accept all flaws instead of trying to build up a wall just to better and correct those flaws.”

“Then what’s so funny?” he asked with genuine curiosity rather than annoyance.

“Oh, Harry. Nothing! I just find you trying new stuff very, very amusing. Moving in here was a good choice, you know. Now I get to find out new things about you,” said [Y/N].

Harry smiled back, his cheeks a tad warmer than usual. “So which do you prefer? Tough love or soft love?”

“Eh, a relationship can’t work with just one of the two. Both works. Now eat your slice before we get working on this house,” said [Y/N] as she snapped her fingers, picking up her own plate and savoring her own work. “Chop chop.”

“You mean home?”

“Yep, I mean home,” answered [Y/N] without any hesitation. Oh, and, just one small update: they didn’t remove the plastic wrap of the mattress until next week.

Taglist: @gingerale2017 @maybanksslut @hey-there-angels @mrzweasley @gwlvr @booksarealwaysbettersworlds-blog @greenlyblue @henqtic @meiitanoia @badass-yn @catching-the-train-to-hogwarts

[arrowflier]

I wish you would write a fic where the gallaghers + kev & vee find out about ian's 87% comment and they all give their opinions and ask why mickey, ian's husband who's been a part of ian's life for nearly eleven years only gets 87% of his heart, if the other 13% goes towards his toxic exes and why since they're not in his life anymore, ian explaining himself and ends with ian taking the comment back so mickey has 100% of his heart

I decided this was perfect for Gallavich Week Day 5: Fix-It! Thanks as always to @gallavichthings for hosting💖. Also on AO3.

Eighty-Seven Percent (Anatomy of a Heart)

It was a normal morning in the Gallagher kitchen.

That is to say, it was chaotic.

Carl and Liam sat across from each other at the narrow table, tossing dry loops of off-brand cereal at each other over Franny’s backpack, which lay open between them. The girl herself was running circles around them both in her pajamas, Debbie chasing after her with a stern face and a frilly dress held in outstretched hands.

“Come on, Franny,” she muttered impatiently as her daughter evaded her again by diving under the table, “just put on the dress!”

Mickey laughed when Franny ran to him instead, trying to hide behind his legs where he stood by the brewing coffeemaker. Ian ruined her attempt by swinging her up into his arms and twirling her around until Debbie snatched her from him, resulting in an angry shriek as Franny writhed in her hold.

“For fuck’s sake, keep it down in here!” Lip hissed, coming in from the living room where Tami had just gotten Fred settled in his play pen. “If you get Fred crying again, I swear I’ll fucking end you all.”

If anything, the kitchen got louder as everyone there chimed in in their own defense.

Mickey just snorted as he grabbed two mugs and got to pouring the fresh coffee. “Good luck with that,” he offered to Lip, amused. “You get one Gallagher going, you get the whole fucking pack.”

Lip glared at him, opened his mouth the say something undoubtedly scathing and most likely regarding Mickey’s place in the family, when Carl laughed and chimed in from the table.

“Funny, man, that’s what Trevor said to me and Ian at the station yesterday.”

The room went quiet.

Or maybe it just seemed that way to Ian, who could see the way his husband’s back immediately tensed at the familiar name, the way he gripped the handle of his mug a little too tight and poured the coffee a little too high before setting down the pot with a hard clack.

“Trevor, huh?” Mickey asked, voice deceptively mild, and Ian winced behind him.

Carl didn’t get the memo.

“Yeah, you remember him, right?” he checked. “He still works at that youth place, came in to post bail for some kid when Ian was bringing by lunch.” He shrugged, tossed a handful of cereal into his mouth. “We chatted a bit,” he mumbled as he chewed.

Mickey gripped the edge of the counter, knuckles going white under his tattoos. “Funny,” he said quietly, “Ian didn’t think to mention that.”

Ian sighed, ignoring the eyes of his family on their quickly unfolding drama. They’d been fighting a lot lately, a lot more than they used to, and today had been shaping up to be better, damn it. Now he had to do damage control again instead of enjoying a quiet day in with his husband.

“We’ve talked about this, Mickey,” he started, a tad bit exasperated. It must have come through in his voice, because Mickey’s shoulders went up. “Trevor’s not a bad guy, and I’m not gonna avoid him if I see him around.”

Mickey released the counter to grab his coffee again, taking a long, scalding swallow. “Right,” he said finally, not looking at Ian. “Not a bad guy at all. Just wanted to leave your ass rotting in jail when you couldn’t be his poster boy anymore, that’s all.”

“Mickey…” Ian warned, but it didn’t stop him.

“Tell me, Ian,” Mickey mused, turning to face him with hard eyes. “How much of that thirteen percent belongs to him?”

Fuck. Not that again.

“Wait, what’s he talking about?” Debbie was the one to ask first, voice cutting through their palpable tension. She’d even stopped trying to force the dress over Franny’s head in the interim, allowing the girl to escape up the stairs unscathed. “What thirteen percent?”

“Oh yeah, he told me about that,” Lip butted in. “Said Mickey got all bent out of shape cause Ian still thinks about his exes, or something, right?”

Ian closed his eyes against the hurt in Mickey’s as his brother revealed that he knew about their squabble. Fuck his family right now, seriously.

“Not quite,” he gritted out, but when he opened his eyes again, Mickey had schooled his face back into disinterest.

“No, that’s just about it,” Mickey confirmed. “Got my nose out of joint because Ian, here,” he gestured at Ian with his mug, ignoring the hot coffee that splashed over the side, “said I only got eighty-seven percent of his heart.”

Someone whistled, low and long. Ian couldn’t tell who.

“It’s not that big a deal,” he insisted yet again. “My whole life is a fucking shrine to you, Mick. If my heart was a room, there’s be posters of you on every fucking wall.” He took a step closer, until Mickey’s mug pressed into his own chest, leaving a wet spot on his shirt.

“You really can’t let the others have a little space in that room? Not even in the bottom drawer of a dresser that nobody uses anyway?”

Mickey was still, and silent. Then he spun around and slammed his mug back down on the counter, shoved past Ian, and stormed off up the stairs.

“Where are you going?” Ian called after him.

“To clean out the goddamn drawers!”

It was quiet in Mickey’s wake, and then—

“Dude, that’s fucked up,” Carl said frankly, and Liam nodded in agreement, eyes wide.

“Did you really say that?” Debbie asked, sounding horrified, and before Ian could answer the back door slammed open.

“Morning neighbors!” Vee greeted as she came through, Kev on her heels. She was holding something, a dish covered in foil, and a carton of juice hung from Kev’s hand.

“We brought you guys some…” Vee trailed off when no one even looked at her, noticing the tension in the room.

“Uh,” she voiced, confused, “what did we miss?”

Carl answered, still looking at Ian in disbelief. “Ian told Mickey he keeps stuff from his exes in a drawer, so Mickey’s up there looking for it.”

“Oh, that’s cold man,” Kev breathed, and Ian exhaled.

“It was a metaphor,” he muttered, and Vee heard him.

“A metaphor for what?” she asked, curious.

“For the thirteen percent of Ian’s heart that belongs to other people,” Debbie revealed, and Vee set down her dish with a clatter.

“You said that to him?” she clarified, and at Ian’s reluctant nod, shook her head and turned to Kev.

“You ever say shit like that to me,” she said firmly, “I’ll cut off thirteen percent of your dick.”

—

A few long minutes later, after he had finally escaped his family’s inquisition about the state of his relationship, Ian made his way upstairs, alone.

When he got to their bedroom, Mickey wasn’t actually going through their things. He was just sitting on their bed, back to the wall, spinning his wedding ring round and round on his finger. Next to him, balanced on their folded blanket, sat the little box with the fancy ones they used in the ceremony just so they wouldn’t have to take theirs off.

Ian’s heart beat harder. That box had been sitting safe in the bottom drawer of their shared dresser.

The one that nobody used.

“Hey,” he said softly from the doorway. Mickey didn’t look up.

“You okay?” Ian asked, and that at least got a response.

“Do I look fucking okay to you?” Mickey returned, eyes on his knees.

He didn’t. Not really. He looked haggard, and upset, his hair spiky where restless fingers had combed through it. Ian couldn’t see his eyes, but he had a feeling they were rimmed in red.

Ian let himself into the room, sat opposite Mickey on the bed with his feet still firmly on the floor. He reached out to trace a finger over the rings in the box, and then the ring on Mickey’s finger.

Mickey let his own hand fall away when he did.

“You know that’s not how I meant it, right?” Ian asked, suddenly desperate to hear Mickey agree. He needed to know that Mickey understood, that just because he remembered his past, it didn’t mean he wasn’t dedicated to his future.

But Mickey just shrugged.

“Not a lot of ways you can mean it,” he said, and shit. Ian had really fucked up this time. “Either I have your whole heart or I don’t,” Mickey continued, “and I don’t. So,” he shrugged again, “whatever.”

Ian took a moment. A long one. He thought of Mickey’s reaction the first time he had said it, when he was mostly just teasing. The way he had been shocked to think that Ian still had fond thoughts for other men. And he thought of his family downstairs, each one more fucked up than the last, all in agreement over the severity of his error.

And to be honest, he still didn’t quite get the uproar. But maybe that was because none of them got his side, either.

“You’re right,” he began, “you don’t.”

Mickey tensed further, pulling away from him on the bed, but Ian wasn’t done.

“You have all the good bits, you know,” he continued. He went to rest a hand on Mickey’s chest, saw his stiffness, and pointed at his own instead.

“You have all four chambers,” he told him. “Atrium and ventricle. You keep my blood moving, keep it useful, keep me alive. And you have my valves,” he added, trailing a finger side to side to point to the right spots as he spoke. “Mitral and aorta, pulmonary and tricuspid.” He smiled. “You keep me going in the right direction.”

Mickey was softening, he could tell, the tension seeping from his limbs as Ian droned on. He kept going anyway.

“You have all my arteries, Mick,” he whispered. “You’re in all my veins. You said I was under your skin, once?” Ian laughed. “Well you’re under my skin, too. And in my muscles, and in my blood.”

“And the others, they’re like…” he hesitated, searched for the right words. Better words than he had used before. “They’re like cholesterol,” he settled on, “plaque. Or…like the scar tissue from a triple bypass, the parts that don’t work anymore.”

Mickey’s lips quirked, despite himself, and Ian counted it as a victory.

“You have a lot a heart surgeries, Gallagher?” he questioned softly, catching on.

Ian smile widened, and he reached out to take Mickey’s hand. This time, Mickey didn’t pull away.

“Maybe a few,” he admitted. “And maybe I’m better for it.”

He lifted Mickey’s hand to his lips, held it there.

“I don’t mind the broken bits,” he told his husband. “The pieces they left behind. Because you pushed through them every time, and made me healthy again.”

Mickey fidgeted, and nudged himself off the wall to settle closer to Ian’s side.

“Alright,” he allowed, “I get it.”

“Do you?” Ian asked earnestly. “Because I want you to, you know.” He dropped Mickey’s hand to hold his face instead, gently stroking a thumb over his cheek. “I want you to know that that thirteen percent, it doesn’t really matter. All that matters are the parts that are you.”

"I chose you, Mickey," he murmured. He reached out blindly for the spare rings in their box on the bed, worked one free. Slipped it onto Mickey's finger without looking away from his eyes. Mickey's hand clenched around it, around Ian's hand, and held tight.

"I married you," Ian added. "Because I love you with every real part of my heart, every little bit that works."

“All eighty-seven percent?” Mickey prods with a soft expression, leaning forward until his nose brushes Ian’s.

“All eighty-seven percent,” Ian confirmed, and kissed him.

[sekceesimps]

Dying Light (a yandere Zhongli x reader oneshot)

summary: Zhongli comes to claim his darling after she fails to fulfill her end of the contract 

a/n I wish I could say this was requested but I love this man too much. Writing this one had me feeling some kind of way… Hope you all enjoy and leave some requests (pls do yandere Genshin 🤧 smh)! 

Sincerely Coffee

His dark hair shines vividly in the solemn moonlight. Amber eyes radiant, like the purest of diamonds, and fixated right on you. You stand before him and try to subtly shrink away under his piercing gaze. The candles in the room flicker from some gusts of wind coming in. Zhongli seems stiff and at attention, but at the same time far away, lost in thought. Your light and unconscious movement backwards out of fear, unnoticed by you, immediately snapped the archon’s thoughts back to you. 

A ghost of a smile begins to dance its way onto his handsome face, a stark difference to the dangerous threats he had whispered into your ear just moments ago. The light gave him an eerie appearance. 

“Darling Y/N, I’m afraid that you didn’t uphold your end of the bargain,” he frowned and cocked his head mockingly. You step backwards some more until your back hits the wall of the funeral parlor. He has a predatory gaze now as he steps forward and pins a hand on the surface next to your head. He leans forward to further take in your panic. It brought him distress to see that you weren’t comfortable around him. 

“I’m sure you were a good girl and read the fine print. Surely you must be aware that at the end of our contract, if it was that you couldn’t fulfill your end of the deal, then you must join the greatest contract of all time with me?” he continues and runs another hand hand teasingly down your jaw. 

“Perhaps you could entertain me and tell me what that greatest contract is?” you ask hesitantly. Beginning to feel the gravity of the situation as you notice the way the archon caresses you and looks at you with eyes filled with a dangerous sort of adoration. 

“Oh Y/N, you’ve been bad, I thought you understood everything when you signed. I mean marriage of course,” he answered gleefully, eyes sparkling with affection and excitement at your shocked expression. 

Yes, just when did this feeling for you begin, he had pondered to himself. There was no mistaking that these emotions he felt for you were love. He was sure that you also loved him, so why did you look so afraid? He would show you again how perfect the two of you are. 

- - - 

Zhongli is not one to break his word. He is the archon of contracts after all. When you had approached him, as Rex Lapis, a few months ago he had decided to learn much more about you.  

You were an interesting mortal and had almost immediately caught the God’s attention. The geo archon had taken to shying away from the affairs of humans over the last hundred years or two. However he tended to make exceptions for interesting people with even more interesting requests. 

“I’d like to ask for some help,” your melodic voice said, breaking the silence in Rex Lapis’s abode. “If that means signing into a contract with you, then I accept,”

He appeared near you in an instant, “Even if that means not getting the best deal?” he asks, startling you slightly. 

“Yes,” you breathe out lightly. 

“Hmm, you’ve caught my interest,” he responds, putting a hand to his chin, as if he was thinking long and hard about a potential deal with you, “do go on with what you need my help for” he finishes. Of course, he already knew what you needed. He had been watching you for quite a while, but he loved hearing your voice and being near you for once. 

“I need to find someone and I can’t do it by myself. Could you please lend me your strength and assistance as I look for this person” you practically begged him. Oh how he wanted to hear your begging in a different context. It was taking everything within him to not tug you by your hair and bring you to his side forever by force. He knew that you probably wouldn’t appreciate that and he still had to do his job and draft a contract. That is when the idea had struck him to skillfully find a way to keep you with him forever. 

“Very well, let us start writing up a contract then,” he pronounces with a tone of disinterest, secretly preening with joy on the inside. You perk up and smile largely at him, it brought him satisfaction knowing that he made you feel like that. 

“Alright that should be everything,” he finishes and removes his quill from the scroll. “I will come to you whenever you need help, all you must do is call out my name. As for my benefit, all you need to do is find this person you hold dear and that will be enough for me. You have the next 70 days to complete this, of course there will be a punishment if you can’t fulfill your end. However I have the most faith in your skills.” you nod at him in confirmation as you take the pen from him and leave a scrawling signature on the paper. A glowing binding tying you to the archon, prompting you to blush at how close the two of you were now. “Don’t disappoint me, Y/N'' he whispered and let you leave his abode with a smile. The first step in his plan to make you his was finished. Time to wait for your inevitable failure. 

Now he wasn’t going to actively make you fail, he still was true to his job and bound himself to you so that you could call him for help. He would still assist you as well. However, he agreed to what you wanted because he knew the task itself was impossible. This brother you were looking for was long gone for sure, he made sure of that before he signed on to your contract. He couldn’t wait for when the two of you would finally be spending the next few weeks together. 

 Zhongli was smart about the way he conducted himself around you. He was careful not to give you any hints of his true intentions. Sometimes though there would be foolish people who pushed him. Whenever he saw you talking with, brushing arms with, or giving attention to others, the archon would be fuming. Of course, he would let it simmer, playing for the long game instead. It never failed to make him angry and anxious that these insignificant mortals thought they had a change with his future wife, it caused him to let out a tsch in annoyance. 

The two of you had wonderful moments in your quest. Your ability to work well together in battle allowed for quick defeats of random hilichurls on the journey. Truly your skills were something he admired and loved about you. 

The first night you left a parting goodnight kiss on his cheek was what made him truly believe in life again. Your warm lips against his skin ignited a flame within him that he didn’t know he yearned to have lit.  It began to become a sort of tradition between you two for the next months. 

 His favorite moment with you by far was when the two of you had been drinking and you allowed him to come into your bed. Now, not in THAT way. You didn’t like how he had been sleeping on the ground whenever you spent the night in a tavern so you told him to just sleep in the bed with you. It had been an awkward fit at first due to his taller frame. His long limbs were cramped painfully so you let him wrap his arms carefully around your body. Both of you take in and are intoxicated by the other’s warmth. He could get used to the way you faced him and nuzzled your face into his neck. He had fallen asleep and had the most wonderful rest for the first time in a while. 

After the two of you woke up and cuddled in the morning, “Should the day ever come where we are not together, you will continue to shine like gold in my memories” he had smiled and gently taken your hand into his own as he brushed his lips softly against your knuckles. His words and soft actions prompting a light blush across your face. 

He didn’t know how much longer he could wait for you. Every moment he was with you, but not truly in the way he desired wound him up more and more. He knew he would snap very soon. 

- - - 

You tremble against the cold breeze and his warm touch as he leans closer to you and captures your warm lips with his own in a passionate kiss. His hands traveling down further onto your flushed skin. 

Now that you were his in an unbreakable bond, he finally felt at ease. With you, Zhongli felt at home for the first time in thousands of years. He would protect you from any and all threats. If it meant keeping you safe with him, then he would tear apart all of Teyvat. After all, you belonged to this archon now. 

As the sun begins to rise, you notice the dying light within the parlor, fading candles leaving behind a darker atmosphere. A perfect metaphor you think, if he kept touching you like this then you knew that your own resolve would also die out, completely accepting the ownership that he had over you. 

Zhongli notices your wandering gaze before he takes your face between his slender fingers and forces you to look up at him. “Perhaps you’ve forgotten how much you mean to me. Let me remind you,” he announces as he lifts you up and brings you towards his room. Indeed, he would be spending the next few hours reminding you of his love, before you embark on the next chapter of your lives together, courtesy of his subclause turning you into an adeptus in addition to being his wife forever more. He had all the time in the world to get you to comply and love him as dearly as he loves you.

a/n why am I so in love with this man 🧎‍♀️

[yelena-bellova]

Safe Haven: tfatws!Bucky Barnes x fem!reader - Chapter Six

chapter five - Chapter Six: Ten Minutes - chapter seven

Series Masterlist

Plot: Y/n, Sam, Bucky and Zemo investigate around Riga for any sign of the Flag Smashers, Y/n and Bucky spend some unconventional time together.

Word Count: 6.9k

Warnings: spoilers for episode. 4, a little language, flirty Bucky (which is a warning in and of itself, Walker’s an asshole, Y/n is still a badass, sloooow burn, lil’ bit of spice 🔥

A/N: First off, I just want to thank everybody for all the kind messages/asks/comments you've left on this series. I honestly didn’t expect this kind of response when I started writing this and have been blown away with each chapter. Seriously, it means a lot! 🥰 Okay so I’m not gonna lie, this chapter’s a little slower than usual whereas next chapter is going to be...well, if you’re reading this you’ve seen the episode so you obviously know lol. But this chapter sets up some pretty big shit so it’s not useless, enjoy!!

----

I felt like a bit of a romantic cliche as I threw myself facedown on Zemo’s living room couch, hot off the heels of my realization about Bucky. But seeing as we didn’t have any leads and the Super Soldier wasn’t back from his “walk,” I felt I had earned it. “Hey,” I felt the weight of a jacket land on my back, “Whatcha got going on in that head?” I chuckled into the pillow, if Sam could see the thoughts bouncing around my brain, he’d have his wings on in a flash and would be flying around the city hunting Bucky down. Luckily, Bucky wasn’t the only thing I was thinking about. I turned on my side to see him sitting on a barstool in the kitchen, “I don’t think I give you enough credit for what you do.” “What are you talking about?” 

“I knew that avenging wasn’t some cushy day job but,” I swung my legs over the couch and sat up, “I never realized how hard it actually was and this isn’t even one of the harder missions!” Sam smirked and raised his brows, “An army of Super Soldiers isn’t enough for you? You want more?”

I rolled my eyes, “I’m just saying, you’ve faced a whole lot worse. I tangle with a couple bounty hunters and I’m gonna be aching for weeks,” I rose with a groan, eliciting a chuckle out of Sam, “Don’t get me wrong, I like what we’re doing, but I definitely underestimated how challenging it was.” “You’re doing a better job than you think,” Sam said, “I know yesterday was hard on you, but you’re handling all of the really well. I’m proud of you.” I made my way over to him and put an arm around his shoulder, “Still regret bringing me?” “Nah,” he locked an arm around my waist and pulled me into his side, “It’s nice having you here, it’s like having a little piece of home with me.” Since we were in grade school, Sam had been one of the only constants in my life and sitting in the middle of Latvia chasing down Super Soldiers, I had never been more thankful for him. I knew that becoming Captain America was out of the question but if ever there were a Cap that I would follow, it would have been Sam.

The front door and the bathroom door opened at the same time, revealing Bucky back from his walk and Zemo from his shower.

“Well, the Wakandans are here,” Bucky announced as he came to the center of the room, “They want Zemo. Bought us some more time.”

“Were you followed?” Sam asked, both of us unwrapping our arms from around one another. “No.” “How can you be so sure?” Zemo asked, staring out the stained glass windows.

“Cause I know when I’m being followed,” Bucky replied, coming to stand across from me on the other side of the kitchen island.

“It was sweet of you to defend me at least,” Zemo said. 

“Hey, you shut it,” Sam turned his attention to the Baron, “No one’s defending you. You killed Nagal.”

“Do we really have to litigate what may or may not have happened?” Zemo replied.

I leaned up against the island and squinted at the man, “There’s nothing to litigate, we all watched you shoot the guy.”

“Sam, Y/n…” We both turned to face Bucky, staring down at his phone intently. “Karli bombed a GRC supply depot.”

“What?” I said breathlessly, “Were there any casualties?” 

“Eleven injured, three dead,” Bucky read the article, “They have a list of demands and are promising more attacks if those demands aren’t met.”

Zemo walked around the island to grab a pack of cookies, “She’s getting worse. I have the will to complete this mission. Do the three of you?” “She’s just a kid,” Sam said calmly, defending the young girl so many saw as a villain.

“You’re seeing something in her that isn’t there,” Zemo waved him off, “You’re clouded by it. She’s a supremacist. The very concept of a Super Soldier will always trouble people. It’s that warped aspiration that led to Nazis, to Ultron…to the Avengers.” “Hey, those are our friends you’re talking about,” Sam stepped quickly.

“The Avengers, not the Nazis,” Bucky followed up with. 

Sam continued, “So, Karli is radicalized, but there has to be a peaceful way to stop her.”

“The desire to become a superhuman cannot be separated from supremacist ideals,” Zemo said, “Anyone with that serum is inherently on that path. She will not stop. She will escalate until you kill her,” the room’s silence became a whole lot heavier, “Or she kills you.” “Maybe you’re wrong, Zemo,” Bucky spoke up, “The serum never corrupted Steve.” “Yeah,” I agreed, peeking over my shoulder at Bucky, “But it didn’t corrupt you either.” Zemo picked up a ring shaped cookie on his finger and pointed to Bucky, “Touché, but there has never been another Steve Rogers, has there?” He popped the cookie in his mouth and shrugged, turning away from us to make further use of the kitchen. 

“Well,” Bucky made his way to the living room, “Maybe we should give him to the Wakandans right now.” “And you’ll give up your tour guide?” Zemo asked, searching through cupboards. 

“Yes,” Bucky answered harshly before sitting himself on the couch, leaning his head back and shutting his eyes.

“From my understanding,” Sam said, “Donya is like a pillar of the community, right? So when I was a kid, my TT passed away-“ “Your-“ Bucky squeezed his eyes shut and leaned forward, “Your TT?” “Yeah, my TT, yeah,” Sam replied plainly. 

“Who is your TT?” Bucky annoyedly and confusedly asked. I chuckled at the exchange from beside Sam, “His aunt. The whole neighborhood had this big ceremony, it lasted like a week.” “Maybe they’re doing the same thing for Donya,” Sam finished.

“Worth a shot,” Bucky shrugged.

“Your TT would be proud of you,” Zemo said to Sam before tossing him a wrapped candy, “Turkish Delight, irresistible.” ——

We were out the door soon after and heading to Donya’s last known location, a refugee camp in the downtown area.

“Shame what’s become of this place,” Zemo commented when we arrived, “When I was young, we used to come here for fabulous dinners and parties. I knew nothing of the politics of the time, of course, but I remember it being beautiful.” It was hard to picture the beige building ever having been beautiful, the setting was so dismal and grey. It was filled with children and workers, refugees, who all collectively looked worn down. The GRC poster that hung on one of the walls that showed smiling families with their mission statement ‘Reset. Restore. Rebuild.’ was a stark contrast to what those words actually delivered.

“We’ll take a look around upstairs,” Sam said, gesturing to me before turning to Bucky, “See what you can find out and keep an eye on him.” 

I left with Sam, climbing the quiet building’s staircase and wandering down the hall. Sam headed through an open doorway that led to a sewing room. “Hey, kid,” he called to one of them, “Excuse me,” he approached one of the only ones who hadn’t run out of the room at our presence, “You heard of Donya Madani?”

“Um,” the girl said, rising from her seat and making for another room, “No. Sorry, no.”

We stood there dumbstruck in the suddenly empty room, it wasn’t until Sam caught the Flag Smasher’s handprint symbol on a sewing box and pointed it out to me that the locked lips made sense. I took the lead and navigated through the crowded rooms, spotting another young person leaving at the sight of us. “Excuse me, do you know the name Donya Ma-“ The boy shut the door on me before I could finish my sentence, I turned to Sam who was close behind me. “Something’s not right,” I mumbled, walking in step with him further down the hall. We finally stumbled upon what looked like a classroom, one man crouched was next to a desk helping a kid and a table with two others who didn’t bolt at the sight of us. 

“Excuse me,” Sam announced our presence, “Do you know a woman by the name of Donya Madani?”

The teacher stood to his full height, “We’re not refugees, for we have nothing to seek refuge from. We’re internationally- displaced persons, for what it’s worth, and we don’t trust outsiders.”

“No, I understand,” Sam stepped forward, “I’m not from here, but I have a pretty good track record of helping out.” “I know what happens when people say they’re going to help out,” the teacher tiredly stated, “Nothing. The Global Repatriation Council promised to send more teachers, supplies. That was six months ago.” “What’s your name? I can make a call,” Sam offered immediately, ever the helper.

“I know who you are, but I can’t trust you. I’m sorry,” the man dismissed him, grabbing his other two students and ushering them out of the room, “Let’s go.” The silence was sobering for us both, we may not have found anything about Donya but we’d certainly stumbled upon something of importance. And as we left the building with our heads metaphorically hung, I could feel that he was just as impacted as I was by it. “I didn’t realize it was so bleak,” I said as we went down the stairs, “The government’s done a great job of painting a different picture for people like us.” 

“That could be said for a lot of things,” he replied, “But no, I didn’t think it was this bad either.”

We rejoined Bucky who was watching Zemo intently as he sat in front of a grouping of kids, a pile of candy in between them. “This is starting to feel like a dead end,” Sam commented.

“The hell is he doing?” Bucky accompanied.

“And why in Latvia does nobody raise an eyebrow at a stranger offering kids candy?” I observed as Zemo stood, approached the kids once more and came back to us. “Cute kids,” he smiled, leaving the three of us to share an unconvinced look after.

——

We returned to our hideout shortly after, defeated and all too aware of how fast the clock was ticking. 

“Well, I got nothin’,” Bucky said as the three of us made our way to the couch, “No one’s talkin’ about Donya.” “Yeah, it’s because Karli is the one fighting for them,” Sam replied, “And she’s not wrong.” “What do you mean?” Bucky’s tone was low and exhausted, but I could have sworn that his eyes brightened for a millisecond when I plopped down next to him.

Sam sighed, “For five years, people have been welcomed into countries that have kept them out using barbwire. There were houses and jobs. Folks were happy to have people around to help them rebuild. It wasn’t just one community coming together, it was the entire world coming together. And then, boom,” he snapped his fingers, “Just like that, it goes right back to the way it used to be. To them, at least Karli’s doin’ something.” “He’s right,” I chimed in, memories of how the world was for five years flooded my brain, “Things were messy but they were…one. Everybody came together because we needed to, there was less room for segregation or prejudice. When things went back, the government made some really bad decisions. And for those of us who weren’t blipped, it was difficult to watch. I’m not saying that I support the Flag Smashers but I do understand why Karli’s doing what she’s doing.” “You really think her ends justify her means?” Bucky’s furrowed brows bounced between Sam and I, “Then she’s no different than him,” he gestured to Zemo who was making tea, “Or anybody else we’ve fought.” “I didn’t say that. She’s different,” I argued, tucking my legs under me and twisting to fully face him, “She's not fighting for word domination or something, she’s fighting for those who’ve lost everything. She’s just...misguided in her approach. ”

Zemo came and set the tray of cups and tea down on the table in front of us, a little too quiet. “That girl,” Bucky addressed him, “What’d she tell you?” The Baron kept up his silence as he thought to himself, eyes flicking between the three of us. “The funeral is this afternoon.” I blinked and awaited the rest of the answer, “That’s all you want to say?” “You know the Dora’s coming for you any minute,” Bucky stated, a bit of amusement in his eyes at the thought of the Wakandan warriors taking him away, “In fact, they’re probably lurking outside right now. Keep talking.” “Leaving you to turn on me once we get to Karli,” Zemo hummed, “I prefer to keep my leverage.” Exasperatedly, I looked over to Sam who looked just as done with the Sokovian royal as I was. Bucky rose from beside me and circled around to face Zemo, ripping the glass heeled in his hands and launching it at the wall, it shattered upon impact. “You wanna see what someone can do with leverage?” Bucky growled, I had to ignore the pit in my stomach that developed anytime Bucky’s voice reached a low decibel.

Sam and I were up and ready to deescalate the situation, him stepping behind Zemo and me placing a hand around Bucky’s metal arm. “Take it easy,” Sam said cautiously, “Don’t engage him. He’s just gonna extort you and do that stupid head tilt thing.” I turned in towards Bucky, the close proximity allowing me to talk softer. “He’s not worth it,” I muttered, his head moving slightly in my direction as I spoke. 

“Let me make a call,” Sam said, walking off and slapping Bucky on the shoulder as he left.

My loyalty to Bucky prevented me from leaving until I knew he was alright and wouldn’t pummel our only lead to a pulp. As his stare lessened in intensity, so did my grip till my fingers ghosted over his bicep. “You want some cherry blossom tea?” Zemo awkwardly asked. “No, you go ahead,” Bucky answered with contempt, walking away with me following close by. 

“So what are we supposed to do?” I asked as Bucky and I walked through the luxurious apartment, “Sit on our asses until he decides to give us breadcrumbs of information?”

“He’ll talk, eventually,” Bucky grumbled, “Even if I have to make him.” Why I was finding this side of him attractive, I couldn’t make sense of. Shoving that aside, I took the more practical approach. I gripped his arm to stop him from going further, “He wants to screw with your mind, don’t let him.”

Bucky bit down on his bottom lip and dropped his line of vision to the ground, silently admitting that I was right. There was something so strange about how easy him and I had become around one another so fast. I could level with him now like I’d known him for ages and he’d actually listen to me. The oddest part was that it felt so natural.

“Now,” I dropped my hand from his body and went to place it on my hip, “Sam’s on the- ow!” 

“What? What is it?” Bucky jumped to attention, his metal hand instinctively reaching for my arm.

The pain had stemmed from my abdomen, radiating down to my waist. I pulled up the hem of my shirt and looked down to see an ugly purple bruise on my side. “Shit,” Bucky mumbled, bending down but quickly popping back up with an innocent gaze, “Can I…?” “Yeah,” I quickly replied, watching him crouch down to get a look at the injury, one of his metal fingers running over the colored skin with a featherlight touch. I prayed that he didn’t take notice of how my breath hitched when the cool Vibranium made contact with my body.

“How did you get this?” he asked with a laser-like focus on my stomach. “Must’ve been from yesterday in the shipyard,” I eked out, we were in close enough proximity that he was starting to cloud my head, “One of the bounty hunters had me in a death grip at one point.” 

Bucky shook his head, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he rose back up. “I’ll be fine, it’s just a bruise,” I said, pulling my shirt back down when a lightbulb suddenly went off in my head, “Although…” “What?” “I think I’ve got an idea on how you can work out your aggression and this,” I pointed to my side, “Can happen less.” I made my way down the hall, trying to find the right door that would lead to the right room. Turning each knob, I finally found a set of french doors that led to a terrace with a view of the beautiful city. Expecting and correctly guessing that Bucky had followed me, I spun around to face him. “Teach me how to fight.” “Are you kidding?” Bucky’s scrunched in disbelief, “No.” “Come on,” I pleaded, “I think we can both agree that I’m lacking in combat skills and if we’re going to end up fighting more Super Soldiers, I need to be more prepared than last time. Plus,” I pointed a finger at him, “You’re pissed and you need to let it out.”

Bucky scoffed, “I’m not going to let it out on you.” Rolling my eyes thoroughly, I created a force field to separate the two of us, “I’m pretty sure I can handle myself. But if you want to let me get my ass kicked, that’s fine…”

I watched as he let out a single chuckle, “You’re really gonna be like that?” “Yes,” I replied, trying to contain my smile, “I’m really gonna be like that.

He took leisurely steps toward me and started to circle me. I turned with him to keep the force field between us, smirks spreading across both our faces. “Alright, fine. As long as you promise not to go full throttle on me,” he gestured to the hands that had blue energy flowing from them.

“Fine,” I thinned my eyes at him, absorbing the force field back into my body, “But you better keep that arm in check.”

We separated from each other and I walked to my corner of the terrace to remove my jacket. When I turned to see Bucky doing the same, my eyes fell to his fit torso that was threateningly to bust the seams of his tight black t-shirt. In the Latvian sun, you could see the outline of each muscle of his chest and each vein that bulged in his arms was highlighted. Since the first time I’d gotten close enough to admire him, I’d had no shame in admitting to myself that Bucky was attractive. Now that I was actually starting to fall for him, there was a nervousness that came with appreciating his roguish good looks. I shook my head and dragged my gaze away from his body, trying to focus on his eyes as we walked towards one another. Not that I was any better off, they were just as enticing as the rest of him was… “Do you know how to punch?” he asked, I held up a fist and he examined it, “Okay, so that’s a no.” He placed his hands on my hips gently as to not disturb my bruise and turned me around, “Bring one of your feet back and out a little,” he instructed, I listened and he took a step back to accommodate me. “Now,” his hands moved to lightly grasp my arms, “Tuck your elbows into your body.” I swallowed hard as I followed his directions, his chest was now almost flush against my back and it was more than distracting. The closer Bucky and I got, the more muddled my thoughts became until he became the only clear one. With him pressed against me, his hands gently holding my arms and his breath fanning my shoulder, it was a miracle I could remember my own name.

“Now squeeze your abs, as long as it doesn’t hurt too much,” he said softly, inching a little closer as if to make sure I could hear him properly. Goosebumps I hoped he didn’t see erupted across my skin, I did as he said and ignored the pain it caused me. Bucky could have given me any instruction and I’d have followed, I was completely under his spell. 

His hands left me and he came around to stand in front of me, “When you swing, you want to move with your whole body. You’re gonna push off with that foot,” he nudged my furthest ankle with his boot, “And turn your hips with it, but don’t over exaggerate or else you’ll lose your momentum. Your hand,” he took my improper fist into his palm and positioned my thumb below my fingers, holding onto it as he looked back up, “Should look like this.” My lips parted as I watched him mold my hand to his liking, my heart rate picking up as our eyes met. Bucky let go and held out his flesh arm to act as my target, smirking once again, “Alright, give it all you’ve got.”

I swung my fist forward and met his hand, only succeeding in making contact and nothing more. For a second I forgot that I was fighting a Super Soldier.

“Good,” he commended me nonetheless, “Again.”

I readjusted my stance and brought my fist forward again, I still couldn’t move him.

“Again.” Smack.

“Again.”

Smack.

“Again.” Smack.

“Again.” With hardly a thought, I focused my energy out of my fist as it collided with Bucky’s palm and sent his arm back in a mist of blue. I pulled my elbows back into my torso, gasping at what I’d done but not entirely unhappy with the results. Bucky looked just as surprised, turning to me with widened eyes and his pouty lips shaped in an ‘o’.

“Did you know you could do that?” he asked.

“I don’t know, the idea just came to me,” I answered, “Can I try that again?” Bucky held out his palm again and I repeated my attack, his arm jolting back upon impact once again. “I think I may have just made this a fair fight,” I said slyly, challenging him with one raised brow.

“I think you’re exaggerating a little,” he shot back, I could see the mischievous gleam in his eye that accompanied his words.

I shrugged innocently, “Guess we won’t know until we test it.” 

Bucky’s wandering tongue darted out to the side of his mouth as he smiled, “I only taught you how to punch, but alright.”

He took a step closer to me, slowly and playfully putting out a hand towards me to act like he was going to attack me. I held my hand up and built a small force field to block him. Going a little faster, he raised his metal hand and I repeated the action of shielding myself. We kept going until him and I were moving across the terrace with me creating force field after force field to block Bucky’s attack. When my back hit the ledge, I shot up into the air and landed a few feet behind him.

“Is that a fair fight?” Bucky asked as he approached me.

“No, it’s not,” I sighed and lowered my head, looking back up with a smile, “It’s actually a little too easy.”

Bucky started throwing punches, me blocking each one with my palm radiating energy to lessen the impact of his hits. I was so focused that I didn’t see him lift his foot until I had landed on my back with a groan after he’d swept my leg. He pinned me, holding my arms above my head and gripping my wrists so I couldn’t attack. I squirmed a little, unable to move underneath his weight that simultaneously crushed me and sent a thrill through me.

“You were saying?” he smirked, our faces only inches apart and his lips just a little too alluring to continue ignoring. This was a different Bucky than I had become used to, he was playful and flirtatious. We were getting down to who he really was when we weren’t dealing with such serious circumstances.

Taking away the temptation to close the distance between our mouths, and eager to point out he’d made a mistake in pinning my wrists, I lifted and aimed my hands at him, firing two blasts at his shoulders. The grip he had on me was lost as his full weight landed on me, I quickly locked my legs around his and used my energy to flip us so Bucky landed on his back with me on top of him. I pinned his hands at his sides, two steady blue streams flowing from my fingers. Bucky tried to wrestle out of my hold to no avail, I took great joy in leaning over him and giving a shit-eating smile.

“You’re right,” I shook my head, “It’s not fair.”

Bucky breathily chuckled and stopped fighting, instead letting himself be defenseless underneath my body. At some point, the laughter and grins faded and the reality that I was straddling Bucky became very real. If I released my hold on his hands, I wondered what he would do. Would he scurry to lift me off of him and leave as quick as he could? Or would he dare to put his hands on my waist like he had in Madripoor, pulling me into him as close as he could? Nervously, I absorbed the energy back into my fingers and freed him, his hands laying limp where they were but his blue eyes held no intention of looking away. We rested there, trying to catch our breath and not daring to make a move that would shift either of our bodies or the moment. “Bucky, Y/n, where you at?” I heard Sam’s voice drift down the hall.

Stolen moments, that was all I could get with Bucky. I had only just discovered how I felt about him, I didn’t know how to handle it but I knew that when I did get time with him, it never lasted long enough. I unhappily levitated off of him and landed on my feet nearby, leaving him without a word to open the door and find Sam.

I looked down the hall and spotted my brother walking down the hall in search of us. “Hey,” I called, he turned around and changed his course, “Any leads?” “Sharon’s got access to a satellite, she’s gonna keep an eye on the camp,” he said, “And Zemo agreed to take us out to meet someone who’s got information on the funeral. Where’s Buc-“

Bucky appeared at that moment, his jacket back on and covering his build while carrying mine in his hand. He handed it to me, his eyes darting up to meet mine with some sort of meaning in them, “Did he say where he’s taking us?” “No,” Sam answered, “But at least he’s talking.” 

The three of us headed down the hall and out to the living room where Zemo was waiting on us like a parent waiting on their children to get ready to leave. We left and entered the city once again, me trying to keep a little distance between Bucky since my cheeks were still burning. The memory of how he’d felt under me was still all too real and I needed to have a clear head for what was about to go down.

We hadn’t been walking for more than ten minutes when an unfortunately familiar voice sounded off in our vicinity. “Karli Morgenthau is too dangerous for you guys to be pulling this shit.” “Ah, how’d you find us now?” Bucky called across the street, John Walker and Lemar Hoskins hurrying down a set of steps toward us. “Come on, you really think two Avengers can walk around Latvia without drawing attention?” Lemar replied.

“No more keeping us in the dark,” Walker seethed, “You could start by telling us why you broke him out of prison.” I over animatedly shrugged my shoulders and looked between Sam and Bucky, “You told us to stay out of your way so that’s what we did. Can’t have it both ways, Walker.”

“And he broke himself out technically,” Bucky answered Walker’s original question.

“Oh,” Walker was practically spitting with rage, “This better be an unbelievable explana-“ 

“Hey,” Sam stepped in and placed a hand on his chest, “Take it easy before it gets weird.” Walker promptly stepped back and took a breath.

“I know where Karli is,” Zemo offered, stepping to the side along with Bucky and ready to continue on our path, before being stopped by Walker.

“Well, where?” “All we know is, it’s a memorial,” Sam answered, “So we’re gonna intercept her there.”

Zemo gently moved Walker’s hand off of him, and led the way, Bucky, Lemar and I following. “That means civilians,” Lemar said, “High risk of casualties.” “We won’t let that happen,” I replied, “And if they’re fellow funeral goers, neither will Karli.” 

“All right,” Walker said, joining us along with Sam, “We’ll move in fast, take her by surprise.”

“No, I wanna talk to her alone,” Sam protested. As much as I wanted to stop my brother in the street and question the validity of his sanity, we were a united front against Walker and I couldn’t drop it. I’d wait for my turn to voice my concern.

“I’m not losing her again,” Walker pushed back. “Look, the person closest to her died, she’s vulnerable,” Sam argued, “If there was ever a time to reason with her, it’s now.” “What?” No. Wait, no! No! Stop. Hold on,” Walker jogged to get ahead of us, his sidekick following suit, “Stop, okay? I think we’re way past reasoning with her, unless you forgot that she blew up a building with people still in it.” “Sam, you walk in there cold, she could kill you,” Lemar may have had a problem with the plan, just like Walker, but he came at it from a different angle. That I could give him credit for.

“And if I go in hot and the op goes wrong, more people will die,” Sam countered confidently. “You’re gonna let him do this?” Walker addressed Bucky, “Are you gonna let your partner walk into a room with a Super Soldier alone?”

“He’s dealt with worse,” Bucky replied, “And he’s not my partner.”

“I used to counsel soldiers dealing with trauma, okay?” Sam stated, stepping around us to stand in front of Walker, “This is my wheelhouse.” “Yeah, I know. And I know those soldiers, which is why I know this is a bad idea,” Walker shot back. “Wait, John,” Lemar stopped him from going any further, “If he can talk her down, it might be worth a try.”

We stood, anticipating whether or not we’d have to fight harder or if Walker would agree to let Sam handle the situation his way. He scoffed and shifted his weight between feet before turning to Zemo, “We’ll deal with you later.” “I’m sure it will all come to an agreeable conclusion,” Zemo replied and gestured down the path, “My associate is just up ahead.”

We looked ahead to see the same little girl the Baron had been offering candy to earlier in the day. I fell in step alongside Sam and lowered my voice, “Are you sure about this?” 

“Did you act like you agreed with me just to piss of Walker?” he asked, equally quiet.

“…Maybe…” 

He pulled his hand out of his jacket pocket and we bumped fists, “Trust me, this is our best option.” 

The five of us watched Zemo approach the child, handing her something and guiding us to follow where she was leading. She took us to an older factory, bringing us in through the back door of the boiler room. “Karli’s in there,” Zemo said.

Sam broke from our group and headed for the doorway while Walker slammed Zemo up against a furnace. “Hey,” he called to Sam, “You got ten minutes,” he handcuffed Zemo, “Then we’re doing things my way.”

With Sam gone and me not there to protect him in case things took a turn, there wasn’t anything to do but wait. Walker paced, Lemar stood and Bucky stared. I was leaned up against the brick wall that held Zemo, trying not to think of all the ways the plan could go wrong. Karli was young, quick to help but also quick to fight and the sight of Sam may be enough to trigger her into attacking before listening. But Sam wasn’t usually someone to get cocky about something he knew he couldn’t handle and I trusted his judgement. I just wish that I was trusting it in a less dangerous situation. 

“Y/l/n.” I turned to Zemo, “Huh?” “In Madripoor, you said your last name was Y/n Y/l/n,” he continued in a hushed tone so nobody else would hear.

“So? What’s so interesting about my name?”

Zemo paused like he had just come to some conclusion I wasn’t going to be made privy to. “It simply sounds familiar.”

“What does that me-“ “Hey!” Walker exclaimed, staring me and the Baron down, “What’re you two talking about?” Zemo turned away from me like we’d never been speaking, the confusing conversation dissolving in the already tense air. “Nothing,” I lied, pushing off the brick wall and brushing past Walker, “That concerns you at least.”

I landed at Bucky’s side, he nodded his head towards Zemo and looked back to me. “What was that about?” “I’m not sure,” I answered, there was something unsettling about how Zemo’s gaze rested on me, “But I don’t think it was nothing.” We waited in another thirty seconds of silence before an antsy Walker spoke up again, “No, no, no, no, no, this is a bad idea.” “It hasn’t been ten minutes John,” Bucky said, “Just sit tight.”

“Don’t do that,” Walker looked over his shoulder at us angrily, “Don’t patronize me.”

“Then don’t start whining because you’re getting fidgety,” I replied, annoyed with his lack of patience, “Sam knows what he’s doing and if you let him do it, this could all go a lot smoother than Munich.” 

He walked away, staring at the wall in deep thought before coming towards us. “I’m goin’ in,” he stated, punctuating his words with a punch to the shield. 

Bucky stepped forward to block his path, I quickly stuck a hand in between their two bodies and created a force field to further state our point. My apprehension about leaving Sam to handle himself had lessened when he’d assured me he had it under control but I wasn’t sure if there was anything that would get Walker to back off. 

“This is all really easy for you, isn’t it?” Walker grumbled, staring Bucky down, “All that serum runnin’ through your veins. And you,” he skimmed his hand over the unpierceable shield I’d made, “With that X gene of yours. Your brother,” he pointed at Bucky, “And your partner need backup in there. Do you really want his blood on your hands?” The images that Sharon had planted in my head were filled in by Walker, it suddenly became all too easy to picture Sam’s lifeless body on the ground. Just like the one I’d left in the ship yard. No, Walker was not in my head, I wouldn’t allow it. The man who had threatened me with the accords, who waved the name of Captain America around like a free ticket to do whatever he wanted. He could manipulate whoever he wanted, except for me. “You’re not getting past us, Walker,” I firmly stated, bringing his widened eyes to me, “Sam’s got this.” There weren’t many people that stood up to Captain America without a second thought, and the irritated expression on his face reflected that. “So that’s how it’s going now? You’re giving the orders?” “If it means giving Sam a better chance of ending this, then yes,” I countered, digging my heels further into the ground.

He looked me over, debating his options, “Fine.” After observing him for a few cautious seconds, I dropped the force field and stepped to the side of Bucky. No sooner than when my hand fell to my side did Walker shove past Bucky and storm up the stairs, the two of us quickly rushing to draw him back. “Walker!” Bucky shouted.

I aimed my hands out to pull him back in, the blue energy barely leaving my fingertips when Lemar came up behind me and pulled my hands down to my sides. I tried to wrestle out of his grip but he didn’t let me go until Walker had safely gotten up the stairs to a point where I couldn’t see him. “Are you serious?!” I cried as Lemar shot ahead of me up the stairs leaving me to follow pathetically. “Captain’s orders,” he replied over his shoulder as we hurried to catch up to the heated, impatient joke of a Captain. 

“Karli Morganthau, you’re under arrest,” I heard Walker announce, spotting Bucky taking the stairs two at a time behind him.

As I entered the room, my hopeless eyes met Sam’s surprised set. Karli was just as shocked, the redhead asking Sam if it had been the plan all along to bring us in. Lemar pushed in front of me and Bucky, acting as a barrier to prevent us from interfering any more than we had. Bucky attempted to shove his arm away just as Karli landed a punch to the shield, sending Walker and Sam flying back into a table. I used my energy to shove Lemar back, freeing Bucky and I to jump into the fight. Bucky bolted after Karli who was making a run for it while I helped Sam to his feet. “We said ten minutes!” Sam exclaimed, glaring at Walker’s retreating form. 

“I tried,” I said as we made for another staircase to try and catch Karli on the other side of the building. We went through a series of various halls, there was no way to make heads or tails of which way was right. Sam tugged me and led me up another set of stairs with no luck in finding her. “Shit,” I mumbled. On the opposite side of the landing was Bucky, looking just as confused as us. “I lost her,” he said defeatedly. “This place is a maze,” Sam panted.

I took a look at our surroundings, spotting a window and quickly forming an idea. “She could be out of the building by now. Bucky,” I ran to the nearest window, “Help me out.”

Catching on quick, he raised his metal arm and landed a whopping punch, shattering the glass and leaving a gaping hole. I took a few steps back and took a running start, ignoring the sounds of Sam’s protests and diving out the window. I threw my hands out to my sides and expelled energy, ceasing my fall and allowing me to shoot up higher in the air. I landed on the building’s roof, taking a look at the city below me and trying to spot Karli’s mop of red hair. I stayed atop the ledge searching until I heard gunshots from inside the building, dropping and flying back in through the broken window immediately. My blood ran cold with fear, Sam and Bucky weren’t where I had left them. I rushed down the closest hall, hearing a commotion from a room somewhere in the building and praying desperately that they weren’t in the middle of it. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever been so relieved to see the two of them as when I’d spotted them after turning a corner. Upon hearing my boots slapping against the ground, Bucky and Sam turned, both their faces showcasing the same relief. “Thank God,” Sam breathed, waiting for me to catch up with them before tearing off again.

We ran through the building until we found the one hall we hadn’t been down yet, we entered to find quite the scene. Walker was standing over an unconscious Zemo, vials of the super serum smashed on the floor and no sign of Karli.

“What did we miss?” Sam asked, still a little breathless from our chase.

I wasn’t a naturally angry person, but the irateness I felt with John Walker was enough to make my face warm with rage. He had proved that arrogance and impatience were his main modes of operation. He had no problem giving the orders but following someone else’s lead was nearly unbearable for him. His eagerness to jump headfirst into battle may have served him well in aspects of his career, but in this case it had ruined everything.

“You said ten minutes,” I gritted out, staring down Walker from our position on the stairs. His eyes didn’t carry an ounce of remorse for what he had done. Without another word, I turned on my heels and stormed out of the room without waiting for Sam and Bucky. We’d come so far only to lose to a completely preventable situation. I’d never worked with Steve professionally, but I knew that he would have never have sabotaged a mission because of his ego. Just one more reason why John Walker could never truly be Captain America.

----

A/N: I find myself having to reel myself in when writing Walker or else I’ll let my hatred of him show through a little too much lol. Let me know what you thought or if you’d like to be tagged :)

Safe Haven taglist: @tanyaherondale​ @wanniiieeee​ @asoftie4bucky​ @edencherries​ @i-reblog-fics-i-like​ @ttalisa​ @gcfty @withyoutilltheendofthismess​ @rinaispunk​ @weirdowithnobeardo​ @felicityofbakerstreet​ @godlypotterwhodiaries @eternalharry​ @voguesir​ @mizz-kraziii​ @okayline​ @smellmymisunderstoodfluff @wanderin-stories​ @nicklet94 @intricate-melody​ @aesthethickks​ @stumbleonmywords​ @simplybarnes​ @21bruhs​ @lostinwonderland314​ @superbookishhufflepuff​ @kaelyn-lobrutto24​ @zozebo​ @fandomxreaders @kittengirl998​ @sarai-ibn-la-ahad​ @i-know-i-can​ @x-judyjude-x​ @thebi-valkyrieofvalhalla​ @buckverse​

[imamotherfuckingstar-lord]

Next to You

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warning: angst/fluff.

a/n: GIF requested by @captain-pikas-world​ . I haven't written much since my dad passed in December. This is my attempt to get back into it. Hope you enjoy.

The air is heavy, it always feels heavy to Bucky as he steps out into the world. Every time, his breath is slacked with nerves trapped at the tip of his tongue. He eases towards the crowd of people, everyone gathering near the lake. His eyes moves around to each face, his instinct is to look for Sam. His best friend now, the person who has pushed him further than he thought he could go. It would be a lie to say the pair had an easy start, it was rough but like the leaves underneath his boots – they were able to snap into something new. New pieces of who they are after Steve's departure, and Bucky was the first to admit, it works. Everything therapy and Sam has taught him, along with his own self reflection, has helped. In the mirror, each morning, he sees something new. A mixture of his old self and who is he now – he actually smiles now. Yet, he knows something has not entirely come back – the ease of being around a woman he adores.

His eyes finally land on Sam, but they only are on the man for a few seconds before making there way to you. Where you are standing next to his friend, the two of you facing the lake. Bucky's heart starts to race as he forces himself to move forward, feeling ridiculous that one single person was making him stumble over his steps. Of all the things he has gone through, this was what was going to give him a heart attack. Muttering to himself that he was being stupid, he reaches Sam's side with a slight smile.

“Sorry I'm late,” he apologies and you turn to him. His throat clenches as you smile and point out to the lake.

“Sam was thinking we could charter a boat for the day, what do you think? Was Steve a fishing type?”

Right,  Bucky thought to himself. The day was about celebrating the one common factor in your friendship – Steve Rogers.

“We went fishing a few times, but neither of us were exactly fishermen.”

“Or men,” Sam snorts and you laugh.

“Ah, well, it's the thought that counts, right?”

Bucky grins finally, eyes entirely on you. He nods lightly. “Yeah, that's all that counts.”

Sam's facial expression changes and suddenly he's declaring that he was going to go see about a boat near the dock station. You wave him off and ask Bucky to help with the poles and supplies from the car. The two of you walk in silence through the crowd, it was a national holiday so the lake was a little crowded.

“Maybe we should have come a different day,” you sigh, unlocking your car. Bucky agrees, but opens the trunk and gives you a small nudge.

“Your idea is great, it's going to be great.”

His reassurances turns your stomach warm, the sun bearing down on your skin as he hands over the poles. “Take these and I'll get the rest.”

Effortlessly, Bucky gathers all the supplies for the boat, including an oversize ice chest and asks you if you were ready. You feel anxious as he walks at your side, wondering out loud if Sam was able to secure a boat for the day. There is a handful of boats already out on the lake, so the prospects were looking bad as the two of you caught up to Sam. Yet, he is all smiles, tossing up keys in the air, catching them with a smirk.

“Great, he's going to gloat all day about this.”

“Maybe being on a boat with the two of you was a bad idea,” you tease.

Bucky laughs. “Too late now.”

“I'm steering,” Sam declares, although neither Bucky or you even knew how. “I'm Captain on and off land, so let's go.”

The boat is nice, large enough for a handful of people. It only takes about twenty minutes to leave the dock, after getting settled and making sure everything was accounted for. Sam takes to the wheel and whistles when the engine comes on, Bucky rolls his eyes but the smile on his face is clear as the day. You sit across from him as Sam takes the boat out into the middle of the lake. Bucky catches your eyes several times, always looking down at his lap with a bashful expression. You try to not overthink his looks and just enjoy the ride of it all. When Sam is finally satisfied with the perfect spot, the three of you gather in the middle of the boat with drinks in hand.

“To Steve, if it wasn't for him, I wouldn't have either of you in my life,” Sam proposes, nodding his head to Bucky and you. “Now whether that is a good or bad thing is up for interpretation.”

“Jackass,” Bucky mutters, but you laugh, like you always do. It's a simple, telling laugh that clutches Bucky by the heart each time he hears it. A laugh that eases him in any situation, a laugh he misses at night when he is alone in his apartment.

“To Steve,” you declare, holding up your beer. The two men follow suit and you allow Sam one sip before taking it away. He obliges and lets you, finishing it off. The men applaud you, even though you apologize for the small burp that comes out of your mouth.

“It's fine,” Bucky smiles, taking the empty can from you. “It's kind of cute.”

Sam's eyes widen and he claps his hands together. “I'm going to check on the wheel real quick, make sure everything is good. Then we eat, I made some bomb ass sandwiches.”

Bucky tries to ignore the wink Sam gives him before making himself scarce. He's almost too afraid to glance your way as you sit back down. He manages to take his seat, quickly stealing a look at you. His heart races as your eyes stare back, his face tightens.

“I miss him,” you whisper and Bucky immediately understands.

“Yeah, I miss the punk too.”

Looking down at the beer can in your hand, you sigh. “He really just went and made a life for himself. You knew, didn't you? Sam didn't. I didn't.”

Bucky's eyes move down to his lap, his throat warm as he nods. “He told me his plan and who was I to stop him? I couldn't do that to him. Sam and you, you were his closes friends – he...he didn't want to hurt you two.”

“I understand, but can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Why didn't you go back?”

Everything seems to go quiet as the question touches Bucky's ears. This was a question no one ever thought to ask. A question he has asked himself plenty of times until he was finally able to gather an answer – an answer he never had a reason to say out loud. He opens his mouth, but his chance is interrupted by Sam's reappearance.

“Whose hungry?”

The food is delicious, the three of you sit around and eat for the next hour. The air is fresh as each of you take turns telling a Steve story, the boat is flooded with laughter as the tales are told. Bucky takes to recalling old days, Sam brings up the time Steve took him to a ball game, and you mention all the failed attempts at getting Steve a date. The afternoon slowly turns into a soft evening as fireworks light up the lake. The screams of delight fill the air as Sam, Bucky, and you stand side by side. The boat rocks gently, causes you to stumble into Bucky. He grins and takes a hold of your shoulder with his hand, as Sam claps and hollers at the light show. He is not paying attention to his friends, instead he's taking video on his cell for Sarah and his nephews.

“Are you okay?”

“Metaphorically or in the moment?”

Bucky's face softens and whispers, “In the moment.”

You ignore the booms of the fireworks surrounding the lake, instead focusing on the weight of his fingers on your shoulder. “I'm good, you?”

Slowly, his smile fades and he glances over to Sam. He is either to busy recording the show or is trying to be a good friend by pretending nothing is happening between his friends. Bucky looks back at you and sighs. “I have an answer to your question. I – I thought about this a lot. I want to tell you.”

Bucky's eyes seem vulnerable and it is something you do not take lightly. Having know him for years now, you always have made sure to take things at his pace. Your friendship was what you had always offered to Bucky, because that was what he needed after Steve left. Yet, love slowly crept its way into your heart a few years back. Sam was the only person aware, his encouraging words were always a blessed curse, because what if the feelings were not mutual?

Losing Bucky, after losing Steve, would only hurt more.

“Tell me,” you whisper back, heart racing.

He looks up at the sky, for encouragement before laying his eyes on you. “Steve, he had something to go back to. At the end of the day, he was still that boy from Brooklyn. I wasn't, I wasn't the same, after everything, going back – going back would have been torture. I had to settle things here and going back would have been running away. That's why I couldn't go with him.”

You stare at him as his hand slips from your shoulder, but before it could reach his side, you take it. His hand is warm as you hold onto it tightly, struggling to get the words out. Holding onto his hand as the fireworks explode into the sky, the colors reflecting in Bucky's eyes. It was obscene, the look in his eyes as you felt his thumb across your skin. It was a look of something more than lust, it was fate.

“You've atoned, Bucky. You are a free man, this world belongs to you.”

His eyes close for a moment, heart racing as the feeling of something new bursts colors into his insides. All the atonement, the self reflection had gotten him here – on a boat with his best friend and the woman of his life. This, it felt, was what it was all  about.

The torture, the self hatred, the loneliness.  

Bucky was truly free now.

All that is left, the last thing on his list, is you.

Looking over to Sam, he chuckles when he realizes his friend has once again disappears. Grinning, Bucky squeezes your hand before gently pulling you towards him. Your hand falls on his chest and he reaches up to touch the side of your face. Your heart is racing, as his is. The two of you can not manage a single world, but as the fireworks illuminate the sky in a grand finale, he kisses you on the lips.

[heauxplesslydevoted]

Silent Treatment (Ethan x MC)

Summary: Naomi decides that if Ethan isn’t going to treat her like a valued member of the team, she’ll teach him a little lesson.

Based on chapter 1, some spoilers for chapter 2, and my own speculation, so read at your own risk.

I highkey hate this but I’m posting it anyway

~v~

Naomi is quiet. No, she is unusually quiet. Ethan has seen her get silent when it’s time to buckle down and focus on a task, or if something is weighing heavily on her, but at this point he knows her well enough to know it’s neither of those. She’s withdrawn, and he doesn’t understand why.

Her presence is hard to miss, the young resident has enough charm and charisma in her pinky finger to dazzle an entire room. And she’s never this quiet. Naomi demands to be heard at all times. With unapologetic vivacity. With her hands. Eyes sparkling when she gets an idea, or fiery when she needs to dig her toes into something and fight. Nothing about Naomi Valentine is ever subdued, so why the hell is she so silent?

She didn’t speak much during the last few team meetings. He and Harper have led all of the conversations, bouncing ideas back and forth, building off of each other’s ideas. Occasionally, Naomi would offer input, merely to agree or disagree with a theory, before going back into her shell.

It’s even bleeding into their personal life. For the better part of the past 3 months, she’s stayed with him, the two of them holed up in his apartment in the Back Bay, but now she’s opting to stay at her own place. It’s been going on a few days now, this random despondence, and Ethan isn’t a fan of it. He’d take it a step further and say it's driving him crazy. This isn’t the woman he’s known for the past two years, even at her lowest was she never this reclusive.

As he walks down the halls of Edenbrook, he spots Naomi, her personality back to what it once was. She’s with Ines at a vending machine, and Naomi wastes no time animatedly talking to the now attending about a fun date she went on with her girlfriend.

Heart hammering wildly in his chest, Ethan swallows thickly as he listens to her talk. He’s missed the sound of her voice, the affectionate way her strong accent curls around her ‘r’s’ and dramatically elongates her ‘o’s’. It becomes clear that she’s willing to talk, just not to him. Ethan doesn’t like that idea at all, but it’s the only one that makes sense. And if that’s the case, he needs to get to the bottom of things and remedy the situation.

“Naomi, can we talk please?” He asks once Ines is no longer in their presence.

He doesn’t miss the way she bristles upon hearing his voice. But Naomi nods anyway. “Sure, what’s wrong?”

“Can we talk in the office?”

The walk back to the seventh floor is marked with awkward silence as Naomi refuses to initiate conversation with him. The more time ticks on, the more anxiety settles in Ethan’s chest. What’s going on with her that she refuses to divulge?

The office is unoccupied when they arrive, as Harper has already gone home for the evening. Naomi stands by the door, opting not to settle into a seat or even move further into the room. Everything about her body language reads that she’s poised and ready to strike at any given moment. He frowns. She’s never been this defensive against him, at least when they’re not in the middle of an argument. “What’s going on?”

“Are you okay?”

The question catches Naomi off guard. She blinks slowly before shrugging in nonchalance. “I’m fine, Ethan.”

“You’re fine? Really?”

“Is there a reason why I shouldn’t be fine?”

“Not really, but you haven’t been acting like yourself recently.”

Because you’ve been quieter than a church mouse for the past few days. You don’t talk during meetings, you’re silent when we interact with the patients, it’s like you’ve completely tuned out.”

With the way he’s been acting, Naomi is almost shocked that he even realized what she’s been doing. Wow, so maybe the great Ethan Ramsey hasn’t lost his attention to detail.

“Oh, so you’ve actually noticed?”

“I’m a diagnostician, I notice everything,” Ethan deadpans. He can feel the sarcasm wafting off of her. “What, was this an intentional act for my attention?”

“Intentional, yes. But for your attention? Not necessarily,” Naomi answers.

His eyes narrow at her, his gaze near piercing. She’s playing some sort of childish game with him, first with not speaking and now with the vague half answers. “Okay, so walk me through your thought process. Why has the cat stolen your tongue?”

“I decided that if my input wasn’t going to be valued during team discussions, I might as well not speak at all.”

Ethan gapes at her, confused. Where did that come from? “Naomi, what on earth are you talking about? When have I ever not valued your input?”

“I’m talking about the fact that for the past two cases, I’ve stood on the sidelines while you’ve either cut me off mid-sentence to talk over me, or ignore my presence altogether. I might as well blend into the wall.”

“That’s not–”

Naomi doesn’t give him the chance to refute.  “Please spare me the attempt at arguing. Last week, Harper’s first day on the team, you literally had to circle back to me because you cut me off while I was speaking. And now, we’re working on a case, and you and Harper aren’t even taking this patient seriously! I’ve had to redirect the conversation and tell you guys to focus, because you two were too busy acting like bosom buddies, sharing anecdotes about hangovers, and stupid flamenco lessons, and dates you went on in the past, which is not only inappropriate and disrespectful to the patient’s time, it’s disrespectful to me.”

“So either you are completely oblivious, which I find hard to believe for someone as astute as you are, or you have no respect for me, not just as your colleague, but as the woman you claim to be in a relationship with,” Naomi continues. The floodgates have been opened and now that she’s started, she can’t stop herself. “And maybe it’s the latter, because I set that standard. I’ve let you go days, weeks, months without speaking to me with zero consequence, I’ve let you shut me out and slam doors in my face, make snide comments last year when we were treating Leland, I’ve let you have carte blanche over the pace of this relationship. I’ve always just been here and allowed your shitty social graces and piss poor communication skills to rule, and time and time again, you’ve gone unscathed, but now I’m just really tired of it.”

For the first time in a long, Ethan doesn’t have a clue what to say, and as always, Naomi is the woman who puts him in this position.

“Naomi, you can’t possibly think that I think so little of you.”

He can tell by the way her eyes darken that he put his entire foot in his mouth just now. The warning bells go off in his brain, and he scrambles to think of how he can correct this latest blunder.

Naomi bites down on her lip, and she’s actually shocked her mouth isn’t instantly flooded with the metallic taste of blood. She’s getting Punk’d obviously. The office is bugged, and Ashton Kutcher is going to jump out and announce his presence soon. That has to be it. Ethan has to be pranking her, because there’s no way a 38 year old man could ever be so dense, right? Surely his response to her grievances isn’t to dismiss her claims.

“You know what? You’re being obtuse, and we clearly aren’t getting anywhere, so I’m going to cut this conversation off now.”

She refuses to look like the psycho in this scenario and breathe any more life into this argument, and she’s not about to plead her case any further like she’s the one in the wrong.

Ethan’s eyes soften, and he takes a step forward, arms outstretched to touch, soothe whatever hurts he’s heaped upon her, but Naomi sidesteps, moving out of his reach.

If he wasn’t nervous at the start of this conversation, he is now. If the physical act of Naomi blatantly refusing to touch him wasn’t clear enough, the metaphorical chasm between the two of the just widened by a few yards as well. A chill races up and down the length of his spine.

“Naomi, I’m sorry,” Ethan says gently. “I…” His words taper off and he pauses, struggling for what he wants to say next. This has never been his strong point, being vulnerable.

And Naomi doesn’t offer him a lifeline. She’s not going to give him an out or assuage him of anything he’s currently feeling like she usually does. She’s laid out all of her cards, and things are in Ethan’s court at this point. Like always. 

“I’m going home,” she announces. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

~v~

The sun is barely out when Naomi shows up for work in the morning. Most of the hospital is still, the last of the night shift heading out as she’s on her way in. She heads towards the residents’ lounge, wanting to put her things away before checking in on her patients and having a team meeting.

As soon as she opens her locker, she spots a gorgeous bouquet of red roses wrapped in newspaper invading the space. There’s no note attached to the bouquet, and she spared a quick glance around the room to see if anyone else is there. The lounge is empty, save for another resident in the corner, sleeping.

Naomi takes the bouquet out of her locker, careful not to smash the petals and holds it up to her nose, inhaling deeply. 

Deciding to not put more thought into where they came from, Naomi simply cradles the bouquet in the crook of one of her arms, stuffs her bag into her locker, and continues on with her morning routine.

She’s passing by the nurses’ station on the 7th floor when someone catches her attention. “Oh Dr. Valentine! You have a special delivery.”

Her steps slow down as she approaches the front desk where Sarah, one of her favorite RNs is stationed. Sarah steps aside, revealing an even larger bouquet of roses, these ones white.

“Where did these come from?” Naomi asks.

“They were delivered about half an hour ago,” Sarah replies with a wink. “No note, though. I won’t let Dr. Ramsey know that you have a secret admirer.”

And that’s when it clicks into place. Memories of her fight with Ethan come flooding back, and it becomes clear that he’s the one gifting her these flowers. Before she even realizes she’s doing it, her eyes roll. If he thinks a couple of bouquets of roses are a good enough apology, he can think again.

Naomi plucks a white rose right from the center of the bouquet and hands it to Sarah. “For you.”

“Really? Are you sure?”

“I insist,” Naomi says. “Happy Friday, Sarah.”

“Thank you, Dr. Valentine!”

Seeing the smile on the senior nurse’s face is almost enough to cleanse Naomi of the annoyance she feels towards Ethan in this moment. After exchanging a few more pleasantries, Naomi manages to scoop up this new batch of flowers – they’re in a vase, to which she adds her red ones – and finishes her trek to the office.

She isn’t expecting it to be covered in bunches of bright yellow sunflowers.

Their communal desk is covered in them, along with Ethan’s personal desk and the couch. “What on earth was he thinking?”

“I was thinking that sunflowers are your favorite flower,” Ethan answers, and Naomi jumps, startled at his voice. She whips around and sees him standing in the doorway. “And so I got up well before the sun was shining, went to the Boston Flower Exchange and bought every single one I could get my hands on.”

“And the roses?”

“White is supposed to be symbolic of new beginnings and forgiveness,” Ethan explains. “And you simply can’t go wrong with red.”

“If you think buying me flowers is going to cut it, you must not know me well,” Naomi says. Him buying her things doesn’t impress her, no matter how much she jokes about his money.

“No, but I figured it couldn’t hurt.” Ethan takes a cautious step into the room, shutting the door behind him. A sleepless night without her beside him forced Ethan to do a lot of thinking about how he wanted this conversation to go. A peace offering is always a good start. “And it got you to talk to me.”

Naomi scoffs and sets her flowers down. “Barely.”

“I’m sorry,” Ethan says. “I’m an idiot, and an asshole.”

“It’s good that we can agree on something.”

Okay, it’s clear that she is not going to give him any leeway. “You were absolutely right to call me out on my behavior towards you.”

“Why did you do it?” Naomi asks.

“I wasn’t thinking,” Ethan says simply. “I got so caught up in having Harper on the team, and it’s easy to slip back into old habits without even realizing.”

“It wasn’t a simple one time thing. It was more than once that you and Harper completely forgot I was even there. And I like Harper, I don’t think I could respect her more than I already do, and I have a very healthy sense of self esteem, but even the toughest person on earth wouldn’t like being in my shoes, on the outside looking in while you and your ex reminisce on old dates and inside stories. Ethan, you couldn’t handle a modicum of the shit I have willingly put up with in order to be with you.”

His stomach knots up at the thought of an ex-boyfriend of Naomi’s coming into his personal space, sharing personal jokes with her, ignoring him, and monopolizing her time. If the thought of it had him this twisted, he can’t believe he’s been putting her through that reality.

“You were right to call me out on my bad communication skills. I am terrible at relationships. I’m not using it as an excuse, it’s just the truth. But I’ve gotten complacent, which is unacceptable.” Ethan takes another step towards Naomi, and when she doesn’t instantly recoil, he takes it as a sign to get even closer. “The last thing I ever want to do is stifle your voice, or make you feel invisible. Naomi, you are...invaluable. To this hospital, to this team, to me, and I am so sorry that there was ever a time where I made you feel like you weren’t. You are the most important person in my life, and what we have is something I’ve never had with anyone else.”

“Okay, so start acting like it,” Naomi challenges. “I’m your equal and I demand every bit of respect you have to offer. Anything less than that cannot be tolerated anymore, personally or professionally.”

Ethan nods emphatically at her words. “Of course.”

“I mean it.”

“You have my word, Naomi. I’ll never let it happen again.” He closes the gap between them and cups her face in his hand. “Just please...never give me the silent treatment again. Yell from the rooftops, argue with me, I don’t care, but I can’t take not hearing your voice.”

“You needed to be taught a lesson,” Naomi says simply.

“I learned my lesson, and I hated it,” Ethan confesses, his lips dangerously close to hers. Naomi doesn’t budge, not even an inch. She’s terribly stubborn, even at the end of a fight. “It was torture.”

“Good.” Deciding to put him out of his misery, Naomi tilts her head up and captures Ethan in a kiss. He doesn’t waste a single second returning it. His free hand wraps around the small of her back, pulling her in closer. How did he go this long without touching her?

He doesn’t know how long they’ve been kissing, but he finally breaks apart from her long enough to bury his face in her neck, allowing her scent and soft skin to soothe any of his fraught nerves. She smells like home.

“Does this mean I’m forgiven?” Ethan asks.

“The jury is still out on that one.”

“You’re going to make me work for this, aren’t you?”

“Are you up for the challenge?”

Ethan untangles himself from their embrace and takes a step back, so he’s able to look Naomi in the eyes. He takes her hand and presses a soft kiss into her palm. “For you? I’ll do just about anything.”

~v~

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[herinsectreflection]

Faith, Buffy, Dreams, and Secret Kisses

This is one of my favourite scenes in the series. Partially because it’s just my personal jam - I admit that I am Fuffy trash, and I have a real love for dream sequences. Buffy had great dream sequences, but this is where they take a step up. It’s a precursor to Restless in this regard and others. It feels weighty and meaningful, but also a little off and incongruent with itself, in that way that only dreams are. Lines are exchanged that don’t quite follow as direct responses to each other, clashing in interesting ways. It’s packed with foreshadowing, metaphor, and other juicy things. And beyond that, it’s a conclusion to Buffy’s entire arc this season about dealing with her shadow self, and it leads to what I think is the single most romantic moment in the series. I want to talk about this scene and unpack some of what I think it’s saying.

First of all, let’s talk about the setting. We’re in Faith’s apartment, bought for her by the Mayor. Essentially, the villain’s lair, where the two Big Bads plotted their evil plans against our hero. But it’s also a set where we saw most of the bonding and semi-familial love between Faith and the Mayor. A place of both evil and love. And for Buffy, a place of trauma. This is where she makes the decision and takes the action to kill another human. I don’t think she was unjustified in doing so, but it’s still an immensely traumatic act for her, and I think she loses a little part of herself when she does it. The location is very much a reflection of Faith, and Buffy’s relationship to her. I don’t think Buffy loves Faith romantically at this point, but I think she cares about her, and remains concerned about her, and I think it’s fair to call that a kind of love. Faith is also evil, a figure of betrayal but also temptation to the “dark side”. And she is also a figure of trauma, clear deep-seated trauma that she fails to resolve, and just gets worse over the course of the season. Buffy is essentially inside her own relationship to Faith, inside a stadium of sin, trauma, love, and shattered glass. Faith looks out of the broken window that they fought through, and we are reminded that their relationship too is broken, unrepaired, littered with the detritus of conflict. There’s no going back from this - even in dreams that window remains broken, and their relationship will always have this damage.

The props too are an interesting choice. TPN’s video on Graduation Day pointed out the painting of a giant snake with a man’s head on the wall. More conflicting feelings here - the Mayor is Faith’s closest connection to humanity and love right now, and also the reason for her betrayal of Buffy. Her redemption and damnation. We also see boxes of various things piled up - including the crossbow that Faith stole in Bad Girls. The image of packing up a room into boxes makes me think of moving away as a student. We must remember that Buffy is graduating today, on the verge of packing her life away and taking it somewhere else, and this reminds us of that.

The first thing of real substance we see is the cat, which jumps up on Faith’s bed. This is one of the aspects of this dream in direct conversation with Restless, where a cat symbolises the Slayer - a specifically feminine, solitary predator that stalks the night. In Restless, we cut to Miss Kitty stalking the camera from shots of the First slayer stalking Willow. Here though, the intercut images are between the cat and Faith, lying bruised and helpless in a hospital. The cat (and the Slayer) is, as far as Buffy is concerned, not a danger but a creature in need of help.

Buffy: "Who's going to look after him?" Faith: "It's a she. And aren't these things supposed to take care of themselves?"

They’re very clearly talking about their respective approaches to slaying, and to life in general. Buffy tries to encourage ties to humanity, telling Faith back in Revelations that she is on Faith’s side. Faith retorts that she alone is on her side, and she repeats that sentiment here. But Buffy is obviously proved right - Faith is lying almost dead because she rejected all help and care.

Buffy: "A higher power guiding us?" Faith: "I'm pretty sure that's not what I meant."

If the cat is the Slayer in this conversation, then the “higher power guiding us” could refer to the Watchers. It makes sense that Buffy delivers this line with a little wry smile, given that she’s just resigned herself from the Council. This allows a little bit of ambiguity in their debate - Buffy has taken on a little bit of Faith’s advice in emancipating herself and so making herself as the Slayer more self-reliant. The show agrees that that too is the right move. A little independence is good and healthy. What Faith means when she talks about “taking care of herself” is not self-reliance or independence, but emotional hardness and self-marooning to avoid hurt. This is something that Buffy will continue to struggle with for the rest of the series. Faith is kind of right when she states that the Slayer is alone and must take care of herself, and it’s up to Buffy to find a healthy way of dealing with that.

"Oh yeah. Miles to go - Little Miss Muffet counting down from 7-3-0.”

The scene shifts a little, and we get some foreshadowing for Dawn (Little Miss Muffet), and for Buffy’s death (730 days from now). This is done with the the lighting too, as Faith faces the camera, and the light of the dawn hits her face, in a shot extremely similar to the end of The Gift.

Interestingly, Faith is repeatedly used in this way. In This Year’s Girl, Faith talks about “little sis coming” as she and Buffy make the bed in her first dream. In Restless, that scene gets a callback (”Faith and I just made that bed”), in a scene that ends with the most anvilicious foreshadowing (”Be back before dawn”), as well as a callback to the 7-3-0 line (”Oh, that clock’s all wrong”). In Graduation Day, Faith refers to Buffy as being “dressed up in big sister’s clothes”, however to me Faith has always felt more as being the “little sister” in this relationship. She looks up to Buffy yet is also deeply jealous of her. She wants to be Buffy, to have her friends, her life, the love of her mother. She’s kind of a precursor to Dawn in this respect, so it makes sense that she’s a prophet for her coming.

Slayers having prophetic dreams is well-established, so it makes sense that a dream shared by two slayers would allow them to prophesise a little further ahead in time. Faith hints at this, remarking "Sorry, it's my head. A lot of new stuff.". You have to wonder what other “new stuff” Faith is becoming aware of. Perhaps a new perspective on everything Buffy’s been saying all season. Sharing a mind temporarily is often helpful in seeing another’s point of view. Faith does seem unusually thoughtful as she looks out of the broken window and remarks "They are never going to fix this, are they?".

This is perhaps my favourite line in the scene. It’s a slight mislead, as it comes right as we get a flash of the cat-as-Faith in the foreground. So we assume it’s a reference to her own injuries, which she is expected to never recover from.

But the Faith that’s talking isn’t looking at her own body. She’s looking at the broken window. The symbol for her broken relationship with Buffy. She has become us, the audience, looking at Buffy and Faith and saying “boy, those crazy kids really are never going to work it out, are they?”. It’s true for Faith, it’s true for Faith&Buffy, and it’s true for Buffy herself. When that knife entered Faith’s gut, all three were irrevocably changed forever. You can never put back the life you had before after it’s broken like that. All you can do is take what you can work with, and try to make something new.

Buffy: "What about you?" Faith: "Scar tissue. It fades. It all fades." Buffy confirms that the previous line was not about Faith specifically by asking “what about you”, in a lovely expression of concern. After everything, Buffy does still care about Faith. Faith’s reply of “scar tissue” is an obvious reference to the literal wound she is now carrying (emphasised by the shot of the knife that Buffy sees afterwards), but it’s interesting that she gestures to her face when she says this. It feels like a reference to her entire self. If we accept Faith as Buffy’s shadow self, then “scar tissue” is an accurate description of her. As Buffy herself says, Faith is who she could be if her life was worse (or, perhaps, who she would be if she allowed the tragedies of her life to rule her). She is the part of Buffy’s unconscious self that is revealed after receiving violence. She is the physical proof of trauma. The self that remains after pain. 

Buffy: “Is this your mind or mine?” Again, hitting that note of symbiosis; emphasising how inextricably tied these two characters are. The lines between their psyches are blurred to the point of no longer existing. This is such an intimate moment, almost sexual, with Buffy and Faith unable to tell where their own mind ends and another begins. Imagine the intimacy of that - entering another’s mental space and allowing them into yours, so wholly that they become one and the same. It becomes a mutual recognition of unity and shared pain, and an affirmation of the eternal divisions between them.

I love the ambiguity of the “human weakness” line too. One way we are invited to read it is that Faith is doing a heel-face turn, and intentionally giving Buffy the means to defeat the Mayor. But we’re not allowed anything that easy, to wash away Faith’s sins with a quick redemption before the climax. Faith has miles to go before she can achieve that. It’s just as likely that Faith is talking about herself, and the human weakness that led her down a dark path, or that Buffy is talking about Faith through the Faith in her head, or Buffy is just working it out on her own, etc, etc. This is the information that saves the world, and I like that it remains an unknown. A permanent “maybe”, just as Buffy and Faith’s relationship is. 

Buffy: "How are you going to fit all this stuff?" Faith: "Not gonna. It's yours." Buffy: "I can't use all of this!" Faith: "Just take what you need. You're ready?"

As the scene reaches its climax, we see the most obvious recitation of the season’s themes. S3 is about Buffy coming into conflict with her own shadow self, and here the show tells us how she does that - by taking what she needs. I mentioned earlier that we saw the crossbow from Bad Girls, from the “want/take/have” scene. Here, Faith is telling her the same thing, but in a more healthy way. She cannot just hedonistically consume everything like a crazed id-monster, but she also cannot deny herself things that she needs. 

Most importantly, the “stuff” they are referring to is Faith’s, but as Faith says, it’s also Buffy’s. Everything that Faith is, Buffy is too, because she is her shadow self. Buffy must recognise this, accept it, and incorporate the shadow self into her own identity. She cannot be consumed by the shadow self and simply become Faith, allowing her shadow to consume her conscious personality (”how are you going to fit all this stuff?”). Instead she must recognise her dark mirror, and take the healthy parts, and integrate them into herself as an individual (”take what you need”).

It is at this point of healing and merging between Buffy’s self and shadow self that Faith reaches out, almost touches her in an action that feels so tender, and Buffy becomes conscious. She literally becomes her conscious self by making peace with her dream (unconscious self). She stands up, and walks over to Faith’s bed. This is the moment that their relationship all season has been leading to. She leans over, and places a kiss on her forehead.

This kiss is everything. It’s an act of thanks, as Buffy realises Faith may have given her what she needs to save the day (at the cost of Faith’s one familial figure). It is an act of service, as Buffy literally gives Faith the kiss she asked for when they started to fight in Graduation Day. It could also be an act of forgiveness. We know from I Only Have Eyes For You that forgiveness, Buffy learns, is done not because somebody deserves it, but because they need it. Faith at this point probably does not deserve it, does not want forgiveness (she wants to be punished), nor can she recognise it in her current state, but Buffy gives it anyway, adding another layer of heartbreak. It is given not for any purpose, but for its own sake.

Above all though, this is an act of recognition. We must consider the previous forehead-kiss that these two shared, back in Enemies, and Faith’s words directly before: “What are you gonna do, B, kill me? You become me. You're not ready for that, yet.” And in Graduation Day, just after Buffy stabs her: “You did it. You killed me.” And her words in the dream, just a few seconds ago: “You're ready?"

Now I don’t think that Buffy stabbing Faith to save Angel is morally equivalent to Faith voluntarily killing people to help an evil guy become a big snake. I don’t think the show wants us to think that either. But the line is firmly blurred. Angel says in Consequences that the act of taking a life will change Faith irrevocably, and Faith agrees. She sees herself as tainted from that point on, and if Buffy took her life, she would be tainted too. And though it’s understandable and morally defensible, there’s no doubt that a part of Buffy - her innocence - dies on that balcony when she sticks that knife in. That act is forever. The choice to do violence is permanent. 

So when Faith says “you killed me”, she is saying “you have become me”. She identifies a common nature in them. And when Buffy kisses her, returning it in the exact same way as when Faith first said those words, she is saying “I know”. She recognises and responds to Faith’s mirror by holding up one of her own. She matches similarity with similarity. She is finally “ready” to assimilate her shadow self, and does it by telling her shadow self that she sees her, and that she was right. 

The beautiful part of all this is that it is silent. Faith would’ve been aware of their unification in the dreamscape, since it was happening in both of their heads, but she has no way of knowing about this. I wonder if Buffy would ever tell her. I doubt it. This is the core of the Faith/Buffy tragedy. This is why I find this relationship so compelling. Buffy performs this act of recognition and devotion entirely in secret. It is a stolen kiss and a private confession. A whisper made to a sleeping lover. A letter written, sealed, stamped, and set on fire. It is an act of love and tenderness made entirely for its own sake, without witness or reward. 

This is the single most romantic moment of the show for me. In this show that in many ways about how when nothing you do matters, all that matters is what you do, what could be more romantic than this gentle kiss that changes nothing against this aching hole of violence and betrayal between them, but exists anyway, just because Buffy felt it needed to be done. It’s a silent moment that nobody but Buffy and us are privy to. Neither Faith nor the rest of the world will ever know it happened, but I know I for one will never forget.

[tsarisfanfiction]

Libel (Part 2)

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Family Characters: John, Scott, Grandma, Tracy Family

Day 6 “touch and go” for @whumptober-archive and for the prompt bruises my muses decided to add on to my day 3 chapter, so have a rather displeased John.  I’m not expecting this one to go any further, but then again I wasn’t expecting to add onto it at all, so who knows what’ll happen the rest of this month.

<<< Part 1

Grandma was waiting for them when they got home, the smell of something heavenly and clearly take-out wafting through the front door as it opened, and John felt a flash of guilt for forgetting to warn her about Scott’s physical condition when her mouth parted slightly in clear shock.

Scott’s weight had increased against him slowly but steadily as they’d finished the trek home, until his head was resting against John’s and his arm hung awkwardly around his shoulder. His eyes were rimmed with an angry red, and salted tear tracks cut down across the blossoming bruises.  One eye, in addition to the tell-tale sign of crying, was swelling shut with a purple-black mark blooming around it, but while that was the worst mark on his face, there was barely any untouched skin. The exposed arms were also littered with colour, including vibrant handprints that told a story all of their own.

John was certain that Scott’s t-shirt was concealing more.

“What happened?” Grandma demanded after a moment, swooping in and gingerly cupping Scott’s face in her hands.  His brother’s messenger bag dropped to the floor, and John let his own do the same without ever relinquishing his grip around Scott’s waist.  Scott was clearly feeling the emotional damage more than the physical, but that didn’t mean that the physical didn’t promise pain in his brother’s future.

The weight against him increased again as Scott sagged at the question.  John couldn’t see his face very well from his angle, but considering how wrecked his big brother was about the whole thing – and understandably so, in John’s furious opinion – he couldn’t envisage him repeating the tale again.

“Bullies,” he said shortly, enough to give an answer without tormenting Scott further by retelling the whole thing in his earshot.  At some point the rest of the family needed to know that Scott and Christie were no longer together – preferably before one of them made an innocent comment – but he wasn’t going to dredge that up in Scott’s vicinity.

In his pocket, Scott’s phone hadn’t stopped vibrating with incoming messages.  If they were all along the same vein as the ones John had seen initially, he was very glad he’d decided to, for all intents and purposes, confiscate his big brother’s phone.  He’d probably need to change his number before it was safe to give it back.

“Terrible children,” Grandma muttered beneath her breath, before slowly stepping back and letting her hands reluctantly part with Scott’s face.  “Your dinner’s in the kitchen and your brothers are upstairs in bed.”  Had they stayed out that late?  “Alan’s sharing with Virgil and Gordon tonight so you two don’t need to worry about him.”  That was a relief – John loved Alan, and neither he nor Scott minded sharing a bedroom with the youngest, but tonight the last thing Scott needed was Alan’s innocent blue eyes forcing him to struggle to hold himself together.

Dinner sounded – and smelled – inviting.  Grandma had taken his warning text seriously and gone straight for Scott’s favourites, from the smell of it.  It was definitely a pleasant surprise in John’s book, and he hoped that Scott was up for trying to stomach at least some of the comfort food.  If nothing else, the apple pie, whose cinnamon-tinted scent was wafting through invitingly, should entice his brother in.

Scott hadn’t said a word since choking out what had to be an extremely brief summary of events, and his silence continued as he kicked off his sneakers – still not separating from John for a single moment.

It was familiar behaviour;going to a brother for comfort when the world went mad was a common tactic, but the brother they all went to was Scott.  He was never the one seeking comfort – that is, until now, and John couldn’t blame him in the slightest, so he stayed close and kept one arm around his brother without saying anything, hoping that it would help Scott as much as Scott’s presence always helped him.

“Get some food in your stomachs,” Grandma instructed.  “Scott, have you taken any painkillers?”

Hair rustled in John’s ear as Scott shook his head.  He still didn’t say a word and John rubbed his back gently.

“I’ll get you some,” she said, ushering them through the kitchen door.  “Once you’ve eaten, Scott, I want you to take a hot bath.”  She didn’t wait for a response before disappearing, leaving John to guide his brother over to the table, where Scott’s favourite burger waited.

To his relief, Scott didn’t need any convincing to eat, although the way he mechanically took each bite told John that he wasn’t really tasting it.  The apple pie went down a little better – while Scott still didn’t speak, or smile, his mouthfuls seemed to be a little more organic, and irregularly frequent.  John ate his own in equal silence, aware of the still-vibrating phone in his pocket but refusing to check the messages while Scott was next to him.

Grandma reappeared with Tylenol and a cold compress as Scott sipped at the soda, both of which were gratefully received, even if Scott’s reaction remained unusually muted.  Still, he finished his meal, accepted the painkillers without a fuss, and let Grandma press the compress gently over his swollen-shut eye, which was as much as John could ask, given the situation.

All the while, Scott stayed in physical contact with him, leaning in and seemingly trusting John to hold him up so he didn’t fall to the floor.  It felt rather like a metaphor, so when Grandma eased the compress back again several minutes later and nudged Scott towards the bathroom where she promised a nice, warm bath was waiting for him he didn’t hesitate to escort him.

The door clicked shut behind them and Scott sank onto the tiled floor, wrapping his arms around his knees. John settled down beside him and put his arm around him again, letting his brother lean in to the touch.  Silence continued to reign.

Outside the room, he could hear the running feet of several brothers – probably all of them – and the subsequent scolding for running in the house, followed by a reminder that they should be in bed and that they’d see their eldest brothers in the morning. John would be very surprised if no black or blond heads poked into his and Scott’s room during the night.  Dad was moving around, apparently finally appearing from his office for food, and John heard the outraged outburst as Grandma no doubt told him about Scott.

At least John could be confident that Scott wouldn’t be allowed into school tomorrow – with both Grandma and Dad on the warpath, his brother would be kept safely at home, likely not doing any work at all, although he might poke at some of his preferred subjects.

Speaking of his brother, Scott was showing no signs of getting in the water.  John nudged him gently.  “It’s going to get cold,” he prompted.  “Do you want me to leave?”

His brother groaned lightly, but straightened enough to yank at his top.  John shifted out of the way as the fabric came off over messy brown hair, and did his best not to let his reaction show on his face.

As suspected, Scott’s torso was awful.  Bruises littered the skin, the fabric doing almost nothing to protect it from the blows it had taken, leaving it a rainbow of red hues.  One in particular caught John’s attention – a large, darker area that sprawled across one side as though it’d been hit multiple times in quick succession. It took him a moment to yank his eyes away, shifting his entire body until Scott was out of view, and not turning back until water splashed and then stilled again.

Only his brother’s head and shoulders were visible over the edge of the bath, complete with one arm hanging over the side, fingertips just brushing the cool tiles of the floor. The heat of the water was rapidly adding even more pink to Scott’s skin, as though it needed it when there were enough broken blood vessels below his brother’s skin to change the hue all by themselves.  Even with the painkillers Grandma had bestowed, John knew Scott was in for a sleepless night.

Then again, the heartbreak probably hurt more than everything else put together.

“Do you want me to leave?” he asked again, already gathering his legs underneath himself in preparation.

“No,” Scott rasped, the first word he’d spoken since returning home.  His voice sounded scraped raw and weak, and John obediently settled back down again.  “Please.”

John was going to destroy everyone who had a hand in reducing his big brother to this.  There would be no mercy, and a large number of them were obligingly making his life much easier by blowing up Scott’s phone with messages his brother would never see hide nor hair of.

“Okay,” he agreed, settling his back against the toilet and shifting around until it was halfway comfortable. From that angle, Scott couldn’t see anything that might be on a phone screen, so while his big brother soaked in an attempt to ease the bruising, John got to work.

First was a message to Grandma from his own phone, giving her the basic rundown of events.  She didn’t reply, but she did leave him on read, so he knew she had seen it.

There was no doubt in John’s mind that she would do everything in her considerable influence and power to make sure Scott didn’t have to go in to school again, or at least until it all blew over.  His big brother was in good hands.

Still, John was not about to let things lie himself, either.  Scott’s phone was a veritable goldmine of information, and while there was little John could do without his laptop, he could at least take note of the names sending threats and begin to scheme how he was going to get revenge.

No one hurt his brother and got away with it.

Quiet sobs that started up after a while, muffled in a way that sounded like Scott had a hand or arm over his mouth.  John reached out for the dangling arm and tangled his fingers lightly with Scott’s even as he scoured his way through the social media of Christie’s two brothers, looking for the most damaging place to hit them back.  If he played it right, he could ruin their football aspirations with a neat black mark on their record.

Oh, he understood why they’d reacted the way they had – if he’d gone to Scott and said someone had hurt him, there was no way Scott wouldn’t have launched himself straight into the situation entirely on his side.  That didn’t mean John was going to spare them from retribution; he wasn’t that benevolent.

Christie herself he left for the moment.  If he was going to hurt everyone who had hurt Scott, he was going to destroy the girl behind it all in the first place, and that would require his full attention. It would be most efficient to eliminate everyone else involved first.

From the state of Scott’s phone, it was a long list of targets, but John was nothing if not thorough as he sifted through the hateful messages.

Some of them were truly vile, and there were threats in there that made John feel sick just thinking about them.  He set those aside to show Grandma; some things needed an adult’s intervention to handle effectively, and he was certain that some of the threats were jail-worthy if acted upon.

Scott had barely moved since getting into the bath, and John wondered if he was falling asleep in the pleasant warmth.  Part of him hoped so; it was much better than wallowing in negative thoughts, especially ones he didn’t deserve.  He squeezed his brother’s fingers lightly and was rewarded with a twitch in return.

His brother still didn’t talk.  Not when he stopped crying again, wiping away tears with a wet arm.  Not when Grandma lightly knocked on the door to suggest that they get ready for bed.  Not when he got out of the bath, either, skin pruned and wrinkly, and John averted his gaze so he didn’t see anything he didn’t want to as Scott slowly dried off.

Dad was waiting when they left the bathroom, Scott wrapped up snugly in his favourite pyjamas, and wordlessly folded Scott into a big, warm hug which his big brother sank into bonelessly.  John took the chance to slip away, finding Grandma downstairs and slipping her Scott’s phone.

She took one look at the first message on the screen and her face turned to granite.

“Neither of you are going to school tomorrow,” she told him.  John hadn’t expected to be included in that, but it was clear there was no arguing.  It worked in his favour anyway; vengeance would be easier to enact using his laptop without the prying eyes of hovering classmates.  “And whatever you’re planning, John, don’t get caught.”

She followed him back up the stairs.  Dad and Scott had migrated into their bedroom and John took the chance to get into his own pyjamas – although sleep wasn’t on his agenda just yet – before going to join them.

A door creeping open as he passed caught his attention and he paused to see three pairs of worried eyes peering out.

“Is Scott okay?”  Alan was the one that spoke, not yet aware of the nuances of the indoor voice, but making a good go at whispering regardless.  John could see the question reflected in two pairs of brown eyes as well and sighed, shoulders slumping.

“He broke up with Christie,” he explained, keeping his own voice low enough that there was no way the brother in question would be able to hear from down the hall.  It was Virgil’s eyes he met, knowing that he was the only one old enough to comprehend what his next words would mean.  “It was a bad breakup.”  Sure enough, chestnut brown eyes widened.

“But is he okay?” Gordon asked, frowning, and John swallowed, not wanting to lie, but not wanting them to worry, either.

He settled on shrugging.  “He will be.”  I hope.

They surged forwards, apparently taking that as an invitation to go see him, and John had to plant himself firmly in the doorway to stop them. There was no way Scott would want them to see him in his current state.

“Tomorrow,” he said, somewhat sharply.  “He needs space right now.”

They grumbled malcontentedly, but he stood firm, pulling upon his rarely used big brother clout to get them to obey until the door closed again.

In all likelihood, they’d be sneaking in later, but hopefully Scott would be less visibly distraught by then.

John padded into his bedroom and headed straight for his bed.  Dad was sitting with Scott on his brother’s bed, arms firmly around him and one hand running through his hair as he sobbed. From the way he was slumped, and the weakness of the sobs, Scott was on the cusp of sleep.  John wasn’t naïve enough to think that he’d sleep all through the night, not with all those bruises, but he’d gladly support any sleep Scott could get.

For his part, he pulled up his phone and continued scrolling through the names of Scott’s year mates.  Most of them had left a message on his phone.

“Don’t stay up too late,” Dad cautioned suddenly and he jumped, checking the time to see it was much later than he’d realised.  Scott was neatly tucked into bed, the vision of a perfect slumber ruined by the tear tracks down his face.

“I won’t,” he shrugged, an acknowledgement but not a promise.  “Night, Dad.”

“Goodnight, John.”  He was pulled into a brief hug, kiss pressed against his brow, before Dad slipped out of the room, leaving him with his sleeping brother.

Armed with his laptop, phone, and the simmering fury kept at a boil by the sight of his battered brother, John got to work.

[kintatsujo]

LoZ AU- The Courage of Running Away Part THIRTY

Previous Post Is HERE

This is the last outline post!  But like I said before I’m probably gonna take a run at NaNo with this story this year because of how thoroughly it got out of hand lmao and probably will keep doing smaller art posts and shit at this point.

And again there’s already ideas for a sequel in the works, although that’ll probably trickle in MUCH more slowly for the time being.

Next week I’m probably going to take a break from Tumblr altogether bc of Real Life Stuff and the fact that this project turned So Big.  Maybe.  Possibly.  Don’t take me at my word lmao

This is a text heavy post and I apologize but there was a lot to cover; each section is separated by headers.

Content warning for mention of hanging used as a metaphor.  

#AU August

#LoZ AU: The Courage of Running Away

Astramorus’s Sentencing 

Astramorus is stripped of his rank within Hylia's Church, although he's allowed to keep his home at the sky commune since he and Catena had shared it since before her death and Zelda isn't cruel. She assigns him a Shiekah escort-and-therapist on Impa's recommendation, someone he's not allowed to leave the Sky Temple Commune without until further notice, and Astramorus tells her it's generally much more generous than he expected even considering the help he'd offered.

Link doesn’t go home with him, at Astramorus's insistence.

"Listen to me, Link," he says, touching Link's face gently. "For all that I'd LIKE to undo the last twelve years of our lives, do it better, you're still healing from everything I did wrong."

"Uncle Seren was-" Link starts.

"Giving me the rope with which to hang myself," Astramorus finishes. "I still took it in hand, son. We both need a little distance to start, you to heal and me to sort my own head."

Link frowns at him. "You need to heal too," he says. "You wouldn't have taken that rope if Mama had been here to stop you."

"Probably not," Astramorus agrees. "But that's why her Majesty is assigning someone to follow me around, isn't it?"

[Image Description: Link throws his arms around Astramorus, to his father’s surprise.  When Astramorus hugs him back, looking like he’s ready to collapse into the hug, Link opens one eye and tells him sternly, “Take CARE of yourself, Father, or we’re gonna have WORDS.”  “Mhm,” Astramorus mumbles. End ID.]

(Hilda, it should be noted, tells Astramorus and Link that they’re both welcome to visit Lorule Castle at any time, trying to hide her eagerness until finally admitting; “You both know what having Serenumbra in your head is like.”  And Astramorus and Link agree with that and promise to meet there in a few months, once they’ve had that time to sort themselves out.)

As for Serenumbra, for now Eltani decides to let him “enjoy” some solitude in the Gerudo City prison while she deliberates more thoroughly on what to do with him.  He did quite a lot, after all.

What to do About Ghirahim

Eltani and Zelda Sr discuss what to do about Ghirahim more privately, with Aldway, Impa, and Vaba (Eltani's oldest advisor) there to offer input.

"You say he froze upon being presented with the mere image of his old master," Aldway says. "I'm not sure I trust that."

"It wasn't like-" Zelda starts, then starts over. "He was like a frightened child, darling." She pauses, reevaluates. "Or like a dog expecting to be beaten."

"Like Link?" Aldway asks mildly.

She shakes her head. "Much worse than even that, my dear."

"Even knowing he's half mortal he has trouble stilling his tongue towards me," Eltani notes. "Faced with his former master, he was struck silent."

Vaba speaks up. "You say that Serenumbra called the thing he summoned a god's nightmare, correct?"

"The boy Link saw a figure he couldn't hope to live up to. Your Majesty saw a figure from history you've tried to avoid being since you were her age. Whose nightmare was Demise? Dinravi didn't know his face, and you tell us Ghirahim stepped in the way. Dinravi only faced a copy of Ghirahim's master because he was reflected from Ghirahim's half human heart."

They decide to let him stay.

What Dinravi Would Like to do About Ghirahim

And in the meantime Dinravi and Ghirahim are having their own discussion somewhere else in the castle, partly because Eltani asked Dinravi to keep Ghirahim away from where they're discussing and partly because of course they are, it's been a lot, the last day and a half or so, between Ghirahim saving Dinravi from assassination and Dinravi punching Nightmare Demise in the face. And finding out that Ghirahim is definitely around half human now, there's also that.

There's a bit of an awkward silence, at first. It's so, so much. Ghirahim is stealing a lot of glances and Dinravi seems to be collecting himself.

And then Dinravi asks: "Can I kiss you?"

Ghirahim stares at him for a moment, eyes wide, mouth small in surprise, bright red, and then he smiles a little and looks away and says "You still don't... my prince, you don't need to ask PERMISSION to do whatever you PLEASE with me."

Dinravi goes quiet. "... Is that how it was with him? Demise?" he asks. His face is gentle and open, nonjudgmental, but Ghirahim sputters.

"Of course it was," he says, "is there a problem with that?"

Dinravi studies him. "Apparently there is," he says. "Because you're shaking."

Ghirahim jolts in horror and stares at his hands, which are indeed trembling, almost as badly as at the sight of Nightmare Demise, and he screams: "DAMN this frail useless human body!!"

Dinravi takes a step backwards, watching him, and says, "Ghirahim." And at getting his attention, he asks, "Does this mean that you came to me, tried to seduce me into conquest... Knowing that might mean you, too?"

Ghirahim stares at him for a breath, vulnerable, then looks away, frowning. "Of course I did," he says.

Dinravi sighs. "Of course you did," he echoes.

"I was FORGED for this," Ghirahim says helplessly. "To serve Master Demise, or the one who inherits from Him. Whatever that might mean."

"Ghirahim," Dinravi says gently. "You're almost half human now. I believed in your choice before, when we were thinking you entirely demon, but... Being human means getting to choose."

Ghirahim is adrift and he looks at the floor, the ceiling, out the window, and finally back at Dinravi, trying to find solid ground.

His voice is small. "Please kiss me?" he asks. Dinravi smiles and steps forward, leaning into him, brushing his lips tenderly with his own. Ghirahim whimpers and surges forward, and Dinravi puts his arms around him and steadies his stance, chuckling, soothing him, kisses him again. Ghirahim gasps as his knees buckle and he slides downward, almost ragdoll as Dinravi catches him again.

"Are you okay?!" Dinravi asks, holding him against his chest.

"I'm fine," Ghirahim whispers, hanging on for dear life. "C-can- Can we take this somewhere your MOM won't stumble on us, or worse one of the BRATS running around the castle? I'm about to become very embarrassing if we keep this up." He gives Dinravi a significant stare, face crimson. "Maybe with a bed?"

Dinravi's eyebrows shoot up. ".... Would you like me to carry you?" he finally asks.

"I think you're going to have to," Ghirahim admits.

We're going to give them some privacy. XD

[Image Description: Dinravi is tilting Ghirahim into a kiss, the sun setting through the window behind them.  Ghirahim’s eyes are open but he’s pliant in Dinravi’s arms, one hand curled against his chest.  Dinravi is smiling, eyes closed and his grip gentle but rather thoroughly in control of the situation.  End ID.]

Back At the Sky Commune

Maurice and the other priests/monks at the Sky Temple Commune had some word of what was going on by the time Astramorus returns, and Maurice has more or less been put in charge now, in recognition of his years of service and care of the commune’s day to day.

He’s a bit annoyed at Astramorus about the whole thing, if he’s honest, which he is, but he also does care about his former superior, and once Astramorus has settled back in and the Sheikah escort is being shown around he approaches him in his quarters, finding him by the window thrown open, chin resting in his hand, looking out of place in the kind of civilian clothing Astramorus has barely worn his entire life.

“So what are you going to do with yourself, Astramorus, once the Queen’s man has decided you’ve moped around here enough?” he asks.  Maurice is kind but he’s also gruff.  Birds don’t tend to care about your word choices, and Maurice spends much more time with pigeons and cuccos and loftwings than with people.

Astramorus shrugs, not turning from the view of the blue sky.  “Honestly Maurice, I was raised by Hylia’s Church.  Mayhap I’ll find something else, but.  Well, it was kind of the Queen to let me keep these quarters for more reasons than memory of my wife.”

Maurice bristles his mustache, and then he says, “You know... she stripped your rank.  There’s nothing about your sentence as I read it that says you can’t start over from the beginning.”

Astramorus finally turns to him, and Maurice is struck by how... well, how much happier the other man looks.  He’s lost nearly everything, and yet it’s like a great millstone’s off his neck.  And Astramorus smiles:

[Image Description: “Maybe,” Astramorus says, smiling against his hand.  He looks relaxed and happy, and maybe like he’s considering it seriously.  The sun shines on him gently.  End ID.]

What Now, Link?

And perhaps at the same time, now that he’s said his goodbyes and everything’s settled down, Marla finds Link sitting on a balcony rail of Hyrule Castle, looking out at Castle Town and looking pretty peaceful himself.

She comes up behind him and folds her arms against the rail, smiling up at him.

“So, Link, we finally got your father to listen to you,” she says, and she’s thinking of that conversation at the Shrine of the Furious God when she says it.  “What now?”

Link shrugs.  “I suppose I’ll stay here for a little while,” he says.  He wants to see Gray recovered, and to spend more time with the Royal Family, and it’d be nice, if he’s honest, to rest a while himself.  “The Queen says my mother’s family are probably still running around the continent somewhere, so I might look for them after that.”  Adventuring runs in the family, apparently, because Zelda Sr. only has some idea of where his grandparents have gotten off to, only some idea of where to find his mother’s younger siblings.

“Sounds like a plan,” Marla says.  She looks out at Hyrule Castle Town for a quiet moment, enjoying the sound of Link breathing.

“Do you think,” she says, “That we could take a few weeks to check back at Windfish Isle?  I have this horrible suspicion that the Mayor has filled Tonbo and my house with fishing nets and I’d like to let him know to find someone else to live there before the walls take on a permanent stink.”

We’re staying with you so we should let them know goes unspoken, but Marla has known for a while she’s tying herself to Link for the rest of his life the same way she’s tied herself to Tonbo for the rest of his life, and the world’s a bit wider than it was when she and Tonbo left with Link, and if Link’s going to be in the wide world, Marla and Tonbo should be too.

And Link knows what she means.  Because family means the people you don’t need so much courage around.

He smiles.  “Yeah,” he says.  “We can do that.”

[Image Description: Link and Marla.  Link is sitting on the balcony rail while Marla is leaning on it.  They’re giving one another fond smiles.  The sun shines on them gently, giving the image a slightly faded look.  End ID.]

[apocalypseornaw]

Walk Away-3

After so long apart you finally agree to see Sam and tell him the truth

You groaned as you sat back against the wall hoping this newest wave of nausea would pass.. It was normal according to the obgyn Tasha had helped you get into. You had just entered into your second trimester and found out the gender of the baby at your last appointment. She was growing perfectly and doing a number on your insides in the process. You heard someone clear their throat and looked up to see Max leaned against the doorway leading into the bathroom with a cup of tea in his hand. He held it out to you with a smile “Ginger tea with honey and lemon” You thanked him as you took the cup and allowed yourself a small sip of the warm liquid. 

He walked a little further into the room before sitting down next to you his long legs stretched out in front of him “Donna Hanscum called again” you nodded before saying “That doesn’t really surprise me..has Jody and the girls started their rounds again?” he let out a sharp laugh “Not yet, it holds them off when they can talk with you but I had to tell Donna you weren’t here considering you don’t want Sam to know you’re currently starting to move past smuggling a basketball into smuggling a beach ball” “He doesn’t need to know” you mumbled but Max shook his head “He loves you Y/N. I don’t know what happened but he wouldn’t be trying this hard to get you to talk to him if he didn’t”

You leaned your head back against the wall then rolled your head over to look at Max “If and it’s a big if but if I was to agree to see him and Dean could you put a glamour on me?” his eyes went to your ever growing stomach “Oh you mean to hide the bump?” you nodded and he scratched his chin in thought then nodded “I think I can manage that with Alicia’s help. I’ll call Erik too, he's better at stuff along those lines” “Thanks Max and thank Erik for me too” he stood to go call Erik who was his boyfriend of a little over three years. You’d known him for a while but had gotten to know him better over the last few weeks considering his mom was your doctor. “When are you going to call Sam?” he asked from the door so you shrugged “When Jody calls I’ll tell her it’s fine to give Dean my new number then go from there” he nodded then walked out the room.

------

Sam was sitting at the table in the kitchen nursing a cup of coffee and trying to ignore just how much the bunker itself seemed to miss your presence. How had he messed everything up this bad? How had Dean been able to see just how much pain you were in but he couldn’t? Christ he was an idiot. If he could do it over he would have never gone on that very first hunt where all of you met Lila.

She didn’t hold a candle to you. You were...hell you were a force of nature. Everyone who knew you was drawn to you. You were caring but strong, courageous but smart. You would dive in feet first to help someone you cared about and even strangers. He’d seen you go toe to toe with more than one demon just to save a life. You were a soft touch when needed but also was the first to make someone shake off any self doubt and get their fire back.

When Alex had needed help paying for college you’d found grants seemingly out of thin air. When Patience would get upset about her broken relationship with her father she’d call you. You were one of the few people Claire would take advice from without rolling her eyes.

As for the way you’d changed not only his life but Dean and Cas’ as well he didn’t have the words for. Dean never got a chance to withdraw into himself with you around because you’d be at his door slipping new cds under it or bribing him out with food and western movie marathons. Cas always seemed to brighten up when you walked into a room because you never let a day pass without reminding him just how important he was to what you called your family group.

When you’d come into Sam’s life you’d knocked him flat on his ass metaphorically speaking and literally speaking. He’d ended up catching a punch from you on accident. Dean had teased him that your right hook was what made him fall in love with you. Looking up to see a woman as beautiful as you were apologizing but calling him an idiot for getting in your way at the same time did help matters. From that day forward you were all he could think about. The day you finally moved into the bunker was the happiest day of his life. 

The dreams of a so-called normal life was behind him but with you a new normal started to form in his mind. He never felt more whole than when you were in his arms. Waking up to you curled against his chest or with his arm around your waist was the most peace he’d ever felt. He loved you more than he ever dreamed possible to love someone after losing Jess. He felt like such a failure because he had apparently not shown you that. When you started to talk with Donna, Jody and the girls at least he knew you were alive,healthy and indeed staying with the Banes twins. 

He knew they lived near a small town on the upper west coast but that was all he did know. He wanted nothing more than to track them down and beg for the chance to see you but for now at least knowing you were ok was the best compromise he was going to get. He sighed and looked down at his laptop. He had a few news websites up but his heart wasn’t in trying to find a case, his heart was wherever you were. He could hear Dean talking to someone in the library and thought maybe he had a case until he heard Dean say your name. 

He quickly moved around the corner to see Dean pacing across the floor as he spoke on the phone. He caught a few words of what Dean was saying “Are you sure?...Yeah I promise...look you have my word...I will...ok...and sweetheart it’s good to hear from you” Was Dean talking to you? Why had you called Dean? Was something wrong? Were you hurt? He was so wrapped up in his own thoughts he hadn’t realized Dean had not only hung up but had called his name three times.

“SAM!” Dean spoke harshly and he blinked a few times glancing at the phone still in his brother’s hand “Was that Y/N?” Dean nodded “Yeah she told Jody it was ok to pass her new number on to me..She’s willing to see you but she has a few conditions” “Anything, I’ll agree to anything” Sam answered quickly his mind going into overdrive at the thought of seeing you. 

Dean nodded again then said “Grab your stuff. I’ll text her and let her know we’re hitting the road. I’ve got to call Max when we get close enough and he’ll come meet us to lead us up to their place”

------

“Are you sure you can’t tell?” you asked Erik for the sixth time since he’d finished the glamour. He sighed and shook his head “I’m sure. I’ve hid entire buildings, your little baby bump isn’t even a challenge” you smiled then smoothed the shirt you were wearing self consciously. 

“Alicia why did I agree to talk to Sam again?” She walked in behind you and held out a bottle of water “Because you’re still in love with him, it’s blaringly obvious no matter what happened he’s still in love with you because they’ve made the trip from Lebanon in record time. Even if today doesn’t go well at least you know you tried” you took a deep breath and nodded. She was right of course. When Erik’s phone went off you nearly jumped out of your skin but his hand on your arm kept you in place “Calm down Y/N, that was just Max. They’re coming up the driveway”

No sooner than the words came out of Erik’s mouth you heard the familiar rumble of the Impala’s engine. Any other time that was music to your ears but now it made you a little queasy. Erik shot you a smile before grabbing his jacket “Me and Max are headed into town but when you want to lower the glamour I showed Alicia how ok?” you nodded “Thanks again Erik” “Anytime”

------

You took a deep breath when you heard the boots on the porch so Alicia moved to answer the door. You weren’t in direct eyesight so you heard Dean first say “Alicia, good to see you” she greeted him then said “Hi Sam” you felt your heart flip when he said “Hey Alicia, I um thank you for being a place she could come to” “She’s always welcome wherever me and Max are and we make sure she knows it” that was one of the many things you loved about Alicia. Her words and tone of voice was friendly but the underlying venom of having comforted a hurt friend was still very much there.

“Y/N?” Alicia called out as she shut the door behind the boys as if she didn’t know for a fact you were hiding in the small hallway between the front door and kitchen. “Right here” you replied stepping around the corner. Dean smiled when he saw you “Well you’re a sight for sore eyes” you were glad when he just hugged you with one arm around your shoulders on the off chance of him brushing against your stomach.

“I see you’ve actually managed to stay alive without me which is a miracle in itself” you teased with a tense smile trying to calm your nerves before meeting Sam’s eyes. God those fucking eyes of his. You stood there for a second staring at each other before Dean turned to Alicia “You got something to drink? Alcoholic or otherwise. I’d settle for tea or coffee” she gave him a small smile before winking at you and herding him towards the kitchen.

Once the two of you were alone you both started to speak at the same time. You laughed nervously “You want to go first?” he nodded then let out a harsh breath “I’m sorry. I know that probably falls flat but I am. You are the most important person in my life. I love you with everything in me and I failed to show you that. I failed to realize how much my actions were hurting you. I made you think I wanted someone else and I pushed you away. I don’t expect you to forgive me and I don’t expect you to come back with me but I’m grateful you chose to let me come here and tell you that face to face”  You should’ve known with pregnancy hormones on top of everything else that you’d end up in tears. You wiped them away before they could fall before saying “Sam..god just tell me why? Why did you act like that towards her? Was the attachment to me the only thing stopping you? The fear of all our friends taking my side? Of your brother siding with me?” 

“Baby no” he breathed and took a step towards you but when you quickly crossed your arms over your chest and stepped back he froze in his tracks. “I guess it was the feeling of losing someone you love to a demon. I’ve been there before then with what happened to her husband. It got me thinking about what happened to Jess happening to you. That’s not an excuse because you told me that you wanted other hunters backing her and I didn’t listen but please baby please know I have never wanted anyone else since the day I met you” 

“But you didn’t listen to me Sam. That’s why I left! That’s why I came here and got them to ward me so you couldn’t find me. I couldn’t sit around waiting for you to break my heart and I’m not coming back with you no matter how much I want nothing more than to jump into your arms right now. If you want us...If you want a second chance before I tell you something I need a promise that you’ll be ok with it taking time, with me being here and you in Lebanon. I need you to actually think about it before you answer me Sam” you were trying so hard not to cry because you knew for a fact Dean and Alicia were standing just on the other side of that kitchen door waiting to intervene if you needed them to.

“I’d do anything for a second chance for us, to prove to you just how much you mean to me” you nodded slowly then called out “Alicia can you and Dean come here?” the door swung open quickly to both of them nearly stumbling over each other. “Yeah sweetie?” she asked so you braced yourself then said “They need to know” “And you’re sure?” she questioned so you nodded “Yeah I’m sure” 

“Need to know what?” Dean asked but Alicia was already repeating the words Erik had told her would drop the glamour. The moment it faded and your stomach was back visibly rounded Dean’s eyes widened and poor Sam looked like he may faint or puke. “Is that why you left?” Sam asked quietly and you shook your head “I didn’t find out until about a month after I left. That’s why I came here”

Dean recovered quicker and held a hand out “Can I?” you nodded “She is your niece after all” “Niece, so it’s a girl?” he asked with a grin. Your hand came to cover Dean’s so you could place it on the light movements but your eyes never left Sam’s as you said “Yeah I just found out last week” a light kick made Dean’s grin get bigger “Look at that. She’s strong already” “Just like her mom” Alicia replied then reached for Dean’s arm “Let’s give them another minute” Dean nodded and kissed your cheek before saying “I love you kid and I’m gonna love her too” then followed her back into the kitchen.

Sam had remained silent so you finally looked up at him “Are you going to say anything?” a slight smile slipped onto his face before he quietly said “Can I touch you now? Because I really want to hug you and feel our daughter move” you moved towards him and he pulled you against his chest without hesitation. One large hand held your back while the other rested on your stomach “I love you Y/N. I’ll prove to you that things will be different. Nothing means more to me than you and her” you smiled up at him through the tears in your eyes “I love you too Sam” 

Tags: @delightfullykrispypeach @fofisstilinski @chengukargbo @rosalynshields @hunting-the-grievers @spngirl05

[harley-style]

DREAM SMP Swap AU

Dream = Wilbur : Dream comes into the server to help these two kids who are trying to stir shit up -- why not, right? He's got a fondness for chaos but also very protective and caring over his friends. VERY FOND OF TUBBO. To the point of.. well, brotherhood. Wilbur = Dream : He had a vision, to create a place where people could emancipate -- he's not above being the bad guy to keep that ideal in place. He's charming and self-confident and isn't afraid to use blackmail or get all up in your business. Has dirt on everyone but Dream. Constantly threatens secrets but subtle, yanno? Again, very charming, very persuasive.

Tubbo = Tommy : Still very sweet, but Big Crime often comes out to play more often than not. Also a huge trouble magnet, tried to start a...Honey smuggling empire? For some fucking reason, despite its innocent sounding plan, is a threat to Wilbur's land but no one has any idea why. Tommy = Tubbo : Tommy has an innate fucking fixation on music discs. He's got Cat and Mellohi personally. He dreams of starting up a music cafe/music area...? He and Dream get along swimmingly, Dream actually gifts Tommy a few music discs too, but also pins Tommy with the name discount Dave Strider.

Fundy = Eret : Was convinced earlier on by Wilbur to continue his 'legacy' and ideals. Fundy further grows into a neutral party, doing things only when it benefits him. Is the traitor from the first war. Eret = Fundy : Gets far too involved with stuff and the only way out is if he wiggles through the restraints on him. Yes that's metaphorical.

JSchlatt = Technoblade : Assists through uses of contracts and business deals. Like, hello, Tubbo's Honey smuggling business? He and Dream make an agreement, he supplies Dream and Tubbo with shit, and Dream does favors for Schlatt. Technoblade = Jschlatt : Anarchy lmfao. Was actually brought on by Wilbur in secret. Acted as a benefactor for Dream before turning around and causing chaos in the land Dream Tubbo and Tommy built. Blood for the blood god, only the strongest gets to the top kind of government. There's always fucking pitfights. Oops.

Philza = Callahan : Largely uninvolved in the events, mostly just there to supervise Wilbur, Tommy and Techno. Duh. Callahan = Philza : Has personal history with Dream, tries to convince him not to do the thing that could hurt everyone else. Minimally succeeds.

Alyssa = Niki : Ready to defend her home and her family. Niki = Alyssa : Neutral, but ready to back Wilbur up if need be.

Sapnap = Bad : Arsonist, goes around and burns shit whenever he wants to. His base is a Nether inspired fortress. Also, he has to deal with a Nether problem in reference to the Red Vine problem from the original SMP. Hotlands? LMFAO Bad = Sapnap : Helps when asked. Started out on Wilbur's side, as a favor, but slowly shifts neutral due to the conflict between factions.

Karl = Skeppy : Gets held hostage? That's what preoccupies Sapnap's time. He suddenly disappeears or gets trapped in a cell. Skeppy = Karl : Runs around doing supply runs. Gets his friends into various stints to try and settle the conflict through friendly rivalry and competition. It doesn't always work.

George = Ranboo : Unlike original Ranboo, George is highly unsympathetic and needs concrete fucking facts before he acts, and that kind of backfires on him in the end. As a favor to Dream (how many favors is Dream involved in honestly) he runs messages back and forth from Tubbo to Tommy. Ranboo = George : Largely uninvolved in the conflict, like Niki, but unlike OG George, is not absent. He's just there to assist. One of the most innocent and purest people on the SMP, knows when to keep his head down. When his house burns down, he doesn't really believe its Tubbo who did it -- he knows the kid has been framed because he'd been WITH him at the time, but Wilbur pressures him to admit it.

Quackity = Punz : Wilbur's loyal paid henchman. Quackity will cause shit for the appropriate price, he's not exceptionally picky. That stunt he did as Mexican Dream was great and everyone in L'Manberg loved it. Punz = Quackity : One of the best fighters under Techno. Has more morals, but keeps them secretly. Very good at hiding his true intentions/feelings.

(sorry about the other characters not being on here, i dont know them enough to make swaps, or dont know who they'd make a good swap with. Swap who you wanna swap though! i'd like to hear your take on this matter! HEADCANONS ACCEPTED TOO AT THIS POINT EVERYTHING HERE IS FROM WHAT I REMEMBER AND MY HEADCANONS)

PLOT

-Wilbur starts the SMP with Niki, slowly invites others like Ranboo, Tommy, and Tubbo.

-Tubbo expresses a desire to Fuck Shit Up and Tommy says they can get Dream, he's an expert at getting away.

-Dream is extremely protective of them both. Tubbo more than Tommy but that's fine because Tommy is largely independent.

-Tubbo gets in the weirdest shit but Tommy can roll with the punches really quickly.

-Wilbur gets tired of their crap and burns down Tubbo's establishment. It's like the Disc Wars except it's the Great Honey War. Bee War? Basically he's tired of Tubbo hogging all the Honey related expenditures.

-Dream gets the idea to make a honey smuggling empire, as a joke, but Tubbo is Big Crime and he's going with it. Tommy just wants chaos, and he was getting bored tbh.

-Eventually the Honey thing turns into Resource management, so Tubbo Dream and Tommy have a hold on all major supplies

-Shit happens and Dream, Tubbo, Tommy, Eret, Sam, Fundy and Alyssa establish an independent nation. Dunno what to call it bc the server is called the L'manberg SMP so....

-The fight for indepencence still happens. Instead of 'Green boy' Wilbur is named 'E-boy'. Dream still says "WE HAVE NO MERCY FOR YOU" when Wil calls for a ceasefire negotiation, but Wilbur does threaten the nation saying  "If there is no white flag by tomorrow, then you can kiss your sorry little arses good bye. That's my final warning."

-Turns out Fundy's been secretly funneling information to Wilbur in exchange for the safety of his friends, and also because Wilbur's his dad....uhm. Also! He and Dream are circling each other and others are like "OH MY GOD YOU GUYS ARE DEAD RINGERS FOR QUEERPLATONIC MATES JUST MARRY ALREADY" bc I like FundyWasTaken but others might not and its okay, we'll label it as platonic, but can be read otherwise depending on your tastes. But for this, it's very close platonic.

-Wilbur goads Tommy into a fight, as brothers do, but Tubbo steps in and Wilbur fucking jumps at the chance.

-This is the start of Dream's descent into madness. No one fucking threatens or pulls one of his friends like that. Denied. It's still subtle though, so he's okay for now.

-Tubbo and Wilbur face off. When Tubbo pulls back bc he genuinely doesn't want to hurt anyone, Wilbur takes the chance and beats him.

-Tubbo, however, makes a deal. Let their nation stand on its own, and he'll give up the Resource Empire he started. Wilbur accepts, with the condition that they unify their alliance with a...marriage? So basically, political marriage between Wilbur's heir, Fundy, and Dream, the leader of the revolution.

-YEAH I WENT THERE THIS IS VALID

-They're strained at first, but Dream and Fundy slowly mend their relationship post-betrayal.

-Fast forward a few months later. The Nation doesn't really have a leader, as per the agreement, but it does have a representative. All decisions are made via majority votes, and that decision is voiced by the rep and sub-rep, Dream and Tubbo respectively. Tommy's just there to have a good time and causes chaos as per usual.

-Enter Technoblade. He's been called in by Wilbur to...ah. Dismantle a little...nation. Sounds right up his alley. But he asks Wilbur to wait and see what happens.

-Tommy and Dream get the idea to hold a tournament to celebrate their independence, an all out brawl for everyone to kick back and relieve stress. There. That's where Techno comes in.

-He gets Punz to join him after like, being paid (ofc) and they fucking dominate the tournament. Dream's about to congratulate them but Techno turns the fuck around and declares his right to rule the nation. If anyone wants to fight him for the title, they're welcome to try.

-Dream loses another life to Techno trying and failing to fight it. He and a few others lost their first life sometime elsewhere? I guess? Probably by being blown up by Wilbur, idk.

-Tubbo and Dream are chased out by people who reluctantly follow Techno's orders, and Tommy, torn between his friends and his brothers, stays behind. Oh jeezus.

-Since Techno is a fighting GOD, no one's able to usurp him to make things turn back to normal. But Dream is smart, and knows Wilbur's 100% behind this. Fundy kind of knew but didn't do shit about it, which is why Dream rejects Fundy's offer of sanctuary. He can't be sure his husband will stay on his side, after all. It's nothing personal.

-Dream and Tubbo hide away somewhere, probably not a ravine but?? A mountain or something? They manage to get Sam away enough to ask him to build a super cool Redstone contraption thing that opens for them. ooooo.

-I'm not good at names but for the sake of jokes I'm gonna call their land the 'Bee's Knees' bc at some point Tubbo finds a fuckton of Hives hanging from Trees. Bee Mountain if Dream's feeling especially salty.

-SPEAKING OF DREAM. his insanity is on course now, it's slowly eating away at him and in fear of hurting Tubbo he's slowly distancing himself away. Tubbo's like what's wrong but Dream can't answer -- he doesn't know what's wrong with himself either.

-Tubbo and Dream need to go back and confront Techno, but they can't wait for long else Techno's going to obliterate everyone and their extra lives. They call Schlatt in.

-Schlatt's a pure business man and draws up a contract. He'll aid them in terms of supplies, but most of the revolution is on them. They agree.

-Tommy is actually really fucking good at lying and skirting around what he reveals to Dream and tubbo as a spy that Techno would have believed him if he didnt' know his brother. and Wilbur's warnings, of course. That results in Techno just being fucking done with Tommy's bullshit and plans his execution in another tournament? I guess?

-It doesn't go like the festival. First of all, Schlatt can't fight for shit, so why would Techno call him up the stage? No, Schlatt fights dirty. techno doesn't set much rules so theres no rule against poisoning Tommy quick and easy before the fight. Tommy loses another life and is on his last. Tubbo is spitting mad, but Schlatt points out that nothing in the contract covered this, so he's free to do as necessary. Tubbo is stopped by Dream who, at this point, is just overtaken by the need to one-up Techno.

-Also, Wilbur's been slowly persuading Dream to just. Let go. Let the monster inside of him free, he 'deserves it'. By the end of it all, Dream does. He snaps and lets loose the monster crying for blood inside him.

-Callahan is left to convince his old friend not to do it. In a moment of clarity, Dream stares on in horror of what he'd done. In his rage he managed to deplete ALL of Techno's lives (not really but shhhh), cause massive bloodshed, and terrified everyone in the process. He asks Callahan to kill him. Callahan does.

-Yes we'll get to Ghost Dream eventually.

-Anyway, Schlatt still does the Wither plan, because, uh, Drunken Rage. He was so stressed out from the ensuing conflict that he's like "LETS JUST FINISH THE REST OF YOU. THERE WILL BE NO CONFLICT IF YOU ARENT THERE TO FIGHT."

-and then he uses the line from the Lego movie on Tubbo like "Oh, Tubbster. It's nothing personal. It's just Business(tm)".

-Schlatt still dies of stroke. He does come back as a ghost though, that's one main difference.

-After everything's said and done, and the dust has settled, everyone decides to disband the nation, and just live their lives. like, they're done, wilbur, they get your point, jfc, let them rest.

-but uhhhh someone frames tubbo for setting fire to ranboo's (the server sweetheart) house. wilbur immediately decides to exile tubbo in 'anger'. acutally, he wants tommy and tubbo separated.

-tommy's not standing for it though, he fucking fights his way until wilbur threatens him and tubbo's like YES FINE OKAY I'LL AGREE TO BEING EXILED STOP THREATENING YOUR BROTHER

-tubbo's exile arc is not as sad as tommy's, but rather very tense because wilbur keeps riling tubbo up and taunting him. he still keeps contact with tommy though because they arent going to be separated just like that. no way. tubbo just gets a little more mad and gets short tempered like a lot.

-ranboo's not even that mad about it, he knows tubbo would never burn his house, there was a conspiracy on board and even if there wasn't he's like "arent yall overreacting its just a house, didnt you all do this like before the first war even began, what even (also, ranboo was WITH tubbo at the time of his house allegedly being set on fire. Not that he'll admit to it, because he and tubbo made that agreement long before)

-eventually he finds out that wilbur just wanted to pin the blame on tubbo to make him leave, and ranboo's like "IM DONE WITH YOUR CRAP WILLBUR STOP HURTING THE PEOPLE I CARE ABOUT" and leaves

-with the nation gone, people started to solidify their groups. sapnap and karl deal with their own thing, quackity still runs errands for wilbur, george is the main person ferrying messages from tubbo to tommy back and forth, etc.

-there's a funeral for dream, ofc, fundy arranged it. all of dream's shit was hidden because fundy doesnt want wilbur to get it.

-niki's still there managing her bakeshop but doubles as an informant for wilbur because she's well liked within the server

-ghost dream is present and he's a chaotic troll who mostly hangs around tommy. he's really hyper active and is always on the move, you can never catch him sitting still for like, 5 minutes

THAT"S ALL I HAVE FOR MY SMP SWAP AU PLEASE BE GENTLE I DONT HAVE TIME TO GET ALL THE FACTS STRAIGHT FROM THE OG SMP qwq

[ambientstars]

Praise - part 3 (Whittaker!master x reader)

Gif credit: unknown

Warnings: angst, alcohol, eventually nsfw (tied up, blindfolded, praise kink, waxplay), but mostly a bunch of softness you’re welcome

Note: SURPRISE!! I didn’t plan on making a third part to this, but literally one person asked and that all it took for me to write it. This will be the final part because I don’t think I can take it any further. Kind of a longer one this time (2k more than usual) because ya girl tried to put some more storyline into it. Anyway, enjoy my loves!

———

“How do I look?”

You stood facing the mirror, smoothing out your outfit and taking in your reflection.

“You could be wearing a paper bag and I’d still eat you up,” The Master stood behind you, hands on your waist, her fingers digging into you almost painfully. “But I must say you look delicious in this.”

You frowned, confused. “I’m not a snack, you know?”

She laughed, moving hair from your shoulder and placed a wet kiss on the side of your neck. “No, darling, you are the whole meal.”

You turned, amusement clear on your face. “Are you hungry or something? Do you want to go and get some space food instead?”

The Master snorted, stepping away from you and picking up her jacket. “Let’s just go.”

Today was the anniversary of your renewed relationship with The Master. It marked one year of being by her side, of calling her yours and of being the happiest you’d ever been in your life.

And boy, what a year it had been. It started off just like it had before, full of passion, heated desire for one another and spending most days close to each other, taking every opportunity to touch, kiss and caress the other every chance they got.

Except this time, it didn’t fizzle out, it didn’t turn sour and it didn’t become toxic. Your relationship became stronger every day, your trust for each other grew to new heights and you considered it to be healthier than it ever was before.

Tonight you were going out to celebrate, to the club you reunited with The Master at. She had said it would be a nice full circle moment and you had to agree, for if you hadn’t gone there in the first place, you wouldn’t have seen her again and began a new journey with her.

——

The club was just as packed as it always was, each area full of aliens of all kinds, the line to get in twisting around the building.

The Master walked right up to the entrance of the club, ignoring the queue entirely. You hurried along with your hand in hers, trying to keep up with her quick pace despite her high heels.

The bouncer at the door nodded at the timelord in recognition and opened the door without a single word, allowing you both in immediately.

Sometimes it slipped your mind that you see a different side of The Master, others viewing her as dangerous and evil, not to be messed with and granting her whatever it is that she demanded for the sake of their lives.

She led you straight to the bar, pushing past the crowds and stopping at the VIP spot of the bar where orders were taken first before anyone else waiting. She ordered your favourite drink without you having to tell her and it made your stomach flutter that she actually did listen and learn about what makes you click and your favourite things.

The drinks were on the house just like they always were. The Master never paid for anything, ever and it was a hard press to even think of a time you’d seen her with real money in her possession.

“What’s got you so tense, darling?” The Master slipped a hand around your waist and pulled you in close, which admittedly did help to relieve the odd tension in your shoulders. “Relax, enjoy yourself. There’s no danger here. Not with me around.”

You didn’t need to look at her face to know a self satisfacted smirk was painted right across it. “Something just feels off.”

She took the glass from your hand and released her gentle hold on you, effectively removing the protected feeling it gave you. “Why don’t you go and dance for a while? Burn off some of that tension.”

You finally looked at her, your cheeks heating up just at the sight of her under the colourful lights. “I don’t know… I’m not really feeling it.”

Placing your glass on top of the bar, she held your chin between her finger and thumb, and brought her face inches from yourself. “I’m not asking. I want to watch you dance. Now be a good girl and give me a show.”

After a quick peck on the lips, she moved away from you and seated herself at an empty table with a perfect view of the dance floor.

You did as you were told, making your way over to the dance floor and taking a deep breath, trying to push away the bad feeling in your stomach and allowing yourself to enjoy the music playing loudly throughout the building.

You performed as best as you could for The Master, your eyes closed, your hips swaying and your hands roaming your body like you were exploring it for the first time. Eventually your muscles relaxed and you could let yourself move freely with the music, a soft smile gracing your face towards the end of the song.

The sinking feeling in your stomach returned, however, when you opened your eyes expecting to see The Master watching you with a proud look and instead catching the eye of The Doctor who stood only a few meters away from you.

He was with someone, a redhead woman, who stood closely by his side, smiling up at him.

She was beautiful, from what you could tell at this distance with flashing lights in your eyes, her frame petite and clothing that seemed more casual than your own, almost like she didn’t expect to be brought here and instead dressed for a different kind of outing - which didn’t seem entirely impossible given The Doctor’s habit of landing in wrong places at the wrong time more often than not.

You held his gaze for what felt like an eternity, your face no doubt mirroring his own expression of shock, confusion and hurt.

You hadn’t seen or spoken to The Doctor since you left him a year ago, abandoning him yet again without saying goodbye. You often wondered how he was, hoping you’d bump into him one day if only to know that he was still alive and well, your guilt eating you up inside, but now that it was happening, it felt like a metaphorical house of emotion was crushing you, not at all feeling the way you thought it would when you eventually saw him again.

In your stupor you hadn’t noticed The Master come to stand beside you, also looking in The Doctor’s direction, but eyeing up his new companion instead. “See? I told you that you’d be replaced in no time.”

The Master loved a good I told you so moment and this one hurt, like salt in a wound. She was right, of course she was. She knew from the very beginning that your spot would be filled by someone else almost as if you never existed and deep down you knew it too, but a small part of you hoped that it wouldn’t be so soon, that you meant more to him than just someone occupying an empty space in his life and replacing you as soon as you left.

You broke the eye contact with the timelord you once viewed as your best friend and turned to walk in the direction of the restroom. The Master was hot on your heels, throwing an unreadable look towards The Doctor as she also turned.

You fought back tears as you reached the door, flinging it open and pushing past everyone inside to get to the sink, ignoring the grumbles and annoyed comments thrown your way for the intrusion. You leaned against the basin, breathing deeply to try and keep the sobs at bay, your throat tightening.

From beside you, you heard The Master tell everyone inside to leave and give you both some privacy or else face the consequences. Of course they all listened immediately and hurried out until it was just you and her left in the room.

“What’s all this for?” She came to stand beside you, leaning back against the sink next to the one you occupied. “You’re actually sad? Need I remind you, you left him?”

You sniffled and shook your head, willing yourself to calm down. Again, The Master was right. You had been the one to leave him, not the other way around. You had no right to be so upset to see him with someone else when you came here with your own someone - someone he’d been at war with since post childhood, someone he thought would kill you in cold blood, someone who was the last person he wanted to see you run away with.

“I just didn’t think he’d find someone else so quickly.” You released a shaky breath and quickly wiped away a stray tear that had managed to escape. “Just hurts to know I’m so replaceable, that’s all.”

The Master laughed lightly from beside you despite you not having told a joke, her body twisting to face you. She turned you also, holding your shoulders in her hands and forcing you to face her.

“Darling, look at me.”

You did as you were told once again, bringing your watery eyes up to meet hers, the hazel colouring of them appearing darker under the dim and almost useless lighting of the small room.

“First things first, you are not replaceable. And secondly, the man is an idiot.” She rolled her eyes, genuine disbelief on her face. “He brought someone new into his life so fast because he didn’t know what he had standing right in front of him. He doesn’t define your worth, no matter how you felt for him.”

“And you do?”

She smiled softly, moving a hand to rest on the side of your face to gently stroke your pink cheek. “No, my love. Only you do, no one else.”

A warmth came over you, a deep and genuine love for The Master filling your chest. It wasn’t lost on you that during your year together, she had become softer, kinder and more loving. It seemed as if she was a different person from who she was in your first attempt at this relationship, more willing to show vulnerability and voicing her feelings out loud.

Although this was only ever shown to you. To everyone else she was still the heartless monster who killed for fun, none of them understanding how she managed to find someone to love her despite her evil ways. You had to admit that you understood their point of view, but to you, she wasn’t those things.

The door suddenly swung open and in walked the redhead who had taken your spot in The Doctor’s life. She smiled politely and grabbed some tissue from the stall furthest away from you, using it to blot away a wet patch on her tshirt.

“My friend is such an idiot sometimes,” she began talking as if you’d known each other forever. Or at all.

At that The Master made a face at you that said see? He really is.

“Spilt his drink down me while he was distracted by something. Not sure what he was looking at or what he was drinking, but it will come out, right? Do alien drinks stain? I guess I could— I’m sorry, have I interrupted something?”

You hadn’t noticed that by now both you and The Master were staring at the girl with unwelcome looks, your eyes having since dried up and The Masters hand that had fallen to your arm tightening.

“Your friend, what’s his name?”

The redhead gave a look of confusion towards The Master, but remained polite. “The Doctor. Maybe you know him? He’s quite well known.”

Your lover sniggered, stepping away from you and moving towards the other woman. “Indeed.”

You prayed silently that she would be nice, it wasn’t your replacement’s fault you were in this situation. She seemed nice enough and knowing The Doctor as well as you did, he probably hadn’t even told her you existed, that you held her place before her, that he had just been left alone without so much as a word about it.

“Let me buy you a drink.”

The Master’s tone seemed genuine, kind even. You didn’t understand what her motive was, but you sent out yet another prayer that it wasn’t sinister given that your last prayer was seemingly heard and granted.

It took very little time to convince the other woman to allow The Master to buy her a drink, the excuse of let me make up for his mistake passed by your ears and you knew that although it was said directly to the redhead, it was also meant for you.

Your hand stayed firmly planted in The Master’s, a new drink held in your other. You sipped on it slowly, feeling tired at the wide range of emotions you had experienced in such a short amount of time and hearing The Master make small talk with the other woman who also had a new drink in hand.

From the corner of your eye you saw The Doctor standing on his own, just like he had been the first time he’d been left on the dance floor all that time ago, bewildered at what he was seeing.

It suddenly clicked in your mind what The Master was doing, why she had invited the redhead for a drink at the bar. She wanted The Doctor to see that she had yet again taken his friend from him, allowing him to see that they would rather spend time with her than with him and sending out a message that no matter how many times he replaced his companions, she would be there each time to steal them away and give them something better.

The Master was smart and carefully calculated, her plan working perfectly, The Doctor’s fists bunched up and his brows knitting together into a displeased frown.

The redhead eventually felt bad for leaving ‘her friend’ behind and said her goodbyes, making her way back over to the man who still looked lost and angered.

As you sipped on the neon green liquid in the glass you held, you turned your attention back to The Master. She was already looking at you, a brow raised as she waited for you to say something.

“That was painful.”

“I know,” she moved a strand of hair away from your face and behind your ear. “But I had to send a message. No one hurts my girl.”

Your breath hitched in your throat, a surge of emotions yet again came crashing down on you like a tsunami. Tears brimmed your eyes once more and had The Master not pulled you in for a loving kiss, your bottom lip would’ve begun to wobble.

“My good girl.” She kissed you over and over again, placing her drink on the bar so that she could wrap her arms around your waist and pull you onto her lap, making you straddle her on the bar stool that miraculously took your combined weight without a problem.

You continued to make out in front of everyone, your arms around her neck and her hands grabbing at your body in a desperate need to feel more of you. It wasn’t long before you unconsciously began to wiggle in her lap, grinding down on her thighs in search of a little friction.

“Take me home.”

The Master smiled against your lips, opening her eyes to search yours for confirmation that you actually meant what you said.

But of course you did. You wanted nothing more than to be in the comfort of your own home in the TARDIS and to spend the rest of the night in a blissfully heightened state with your lover on your anniversary.

——

“Bath?”

Stepping into the TARDIS, you shrugged off The Master’s jacket that she had placed over your shoulders to keep away the chill on the short walk from the club to the timeship that she had disguised as a house not even a few minutes away, insisting that it was too cold for you not to wear it because humans feel temperature differently to timelords and you’d freeze to death if you didn’t.

You hummed happily at the thought of soaking yourself in hot soapy water. “I’d love that.”

You both made your way to the bathroom and you began to strip down as The Master ran the water into the tub, joining you in removing her clothes once she had added the bubbles to the running water.

She reached out for you and held you in her arms, both of you naked and falling into a quiet moment where no words had to be spoken to know what each other were thinking and feeling.

Once the bathtub had filled up with enough water, you both slipped in, moaning in unison at the muscle relaxing temperature. You spent a while washing each other and unwinding in each other’s embrace, The Master’s hand slowly rubbing circles between your legs until you shook and came undone for the first time that night.

When the water began to turn cold, you stepped out and dried off, carefully rubbing each other down with soft fluffy towels until you were dry enough to make your way to the bedroom without creating a trail of water droplets behind you, the air drying you off completely by the time you got there.

You laid on the bed patiently, ready and waiting for The Master to join you.

She pulled a pretty patterned tie from the drawer and smiled at you when she came to meet you at the bed, your submissiveness never failing to bring her happiness.

She leaned down to kiss you softly, crawling on top of you in the process. “Arms up, love.”

You obeyed without question, lifting your arms above your head.The Master tied them up, looping the tie between the bars of the bed frame so that you couldn’t bring your arms back down.

“Is this okay?” She brought her kisses down to your neck, wet and warm, and torturously slow.

You moaned out a yes, your stomach twitching at her touch that was moving lower, your toes curling in anticipation.

She kissed down your body, making sure to hit all the sensitive spots that only she knew about, her hands skimming down the curves of your waist towards your legs.

She lifted a leg and rested it on her shoulder as she brought her head between them. She kissed lazily down from the inside of your knee to where you desperately needed her between your thighs, your hips raising on their own accord.

“I’m sorry tonight didn’t go as planned, but I’m going to make it up to you, darling.” The Master used a finger to slide into your wet heat, her tongue quickly following, earning a strangled moan in response. “I promise.”

It was rare for The Master to apologise for anything even for something that was her own fault, so for her to apologise for something out of her control was new territory for the both of you.

You wanted to tell her not to be so silly, not to apologise for something that wasn’t her fault, but whimpers and gasps filled your throat, not allowing any words to be spoken.

You also wanted to hold onto her, your hand tangled in her hair, keeping her where she was and encouraging her to keep going, but with your hands tied to the bed, the best you could do was tug desperately on the fabric restricting them and pray that it will eventually break and set your arms free.

The white hot coil in the pit of your stomach began to wind up tighter and tighter, and you knew that with The Master’s mouth working you so expertly to the edge, it wouldn’t be long at all before you fell apart.

And you were right, crying out at the blinding pleasure, setting a new record for yourself at how fast you had tipped over the edge.

The Master sat up and reached over to untie your hands, slipping the tie from between the bars and allowing your arms to flop down either side of you.

“Can you keep going?”

You nodded breathlessly, your eyes falling closed in an attempt to concentrate on bringing your breathing back to a normal rhythm.

“Keep your eyes closed.” The soft tie was placed over your eyes and tied behind your head after she had encouraged you to lift it up for a moment. “Good girl. Now tell if it gets too much and I’ll stop, alright?”

“Alright.” Your voice came as a whisper, raw and forced.

The sound of sparking hit your ears and your head turned in its direction, unable to make out what it was just by the sound of it.

The Master laughed softly, her arm smoothing over your arm reassuringly after seeing your reaction. “Relax, I just lit a candle.”

You took a deep breath and allowed your body to fall limp into the mattress beneath you, revelling in the feeling of The Master’s slow kisses that she was now placing along your stomach.

“Another deep breath, love.”

You drew in another and as soon as your lungs were filled with air, a sharp searing heat hit your sternum, right where The Master had placed a kiss seconds before.

You released the breath quickly with a whimper, your mouth agape in shock. “What was that?”

“Wax.” The Master spoke nonchalantly. “Want me to stop?”

You thought it over for a moment. Did you want her to stop? This was certainly new and sure you’d spoken about it previously, but you hadn’t been expecting it and no, you decided, you didn’t want her to stop.

This was akin to spanking, pain at first that fizzled into pleasure. The heat of the melted wax that was poured onto your skin lasted mere seconds before cooling into something warm and tingly, setting your nerves on edge and bringing a heightened sense of gratification.

“No, keep going.”

You knew that she was smiling, pleased with your willingness to experiment and the trust you had in her to keep going and not bring you any unnecessary pain.

And keep going she did, dripping hot wax across your body, watching how you reacted to the heat in more sensitive areas compared to the more desensitised parts of your body that saw the light of day more often.

Each time the wax settled onto your skin, it hurt less and less, stinging pleasantly and morphing into a heavenly warmth. The Master kept up the practice of kissing right where she planned to pour, giving you a heads up every time, something you were grateful for.

With your sense of sight taken away from you, your other senses intensified, making each touch, each whisper of encouragement all the more rewarding.

The Master eventually stopped despite your moans and begging for more, supposedly because the candle had burned down and run out of wax, but she continued to show you attention in other ways.

She remained close, her hands roaming your body lovingly, worshipping you with her kisses and her words. She allowed you to rut against her thigh, leaving a wet spot on her skin as she sucked on your neck below your ear, your arms encircled her shoulders and keeping her in place so that you didn’t lose your rhythm against her if she moved.

“So good for me, darling,” her whispered words in your ear felt like a song from an angel, supporting you on your journey to otherworldly bliss. “My good girl.”

After a little while longer and a few more orgasms, you were completely spent, your body aching deliciously, your eyes feeling heavy after a long evening.

The Master held you close as you drifted off to sleep, tracing sloppy figures of eight onto your exposed back and breathing in the subtle scent of lavender from the soap she had washed you with.

Taglist: @queerconfusionthings @another-doctor-who-blog @crazylittlereader2474

[onlydreamofmysoul]

Imagine what it would be like if Remus never got injured. Like he’s plays professional hockey, was first round draft pick like expected. How would he and Sirius have met and how would they have ended up together??? Would they be on the same team or different teams or like Remus having just got traded to the lions.

I hate how much this took over my brain. (Just kidding I loved it.) These are just a couple of snapshots of what life in the Lions might have looked like with Remus as a player.

Characters of course by the one and only @lumosinlove

Sirius stepped into the locker room for his first official day as a member of the Gryffindor Lions. He’d already met all of the team but this was different, this day had weight. His mother's parting words, a hissed whisper echoed in his ears.

Toujours pur.

The Snakes motto. A not too subtle reminder to do everything he could to get traded. Sirius looked around at the little hush that fell when he walked into the room before Pascal.

There were more than a couple shouts of “Rookie!” and before he knew what was happening, Sirius was being ushered to his stall by someone talking a mile a minute. 

“Talkie, give the rookie a break will you? Much more of you and he’ll be begging for a transfer before the season begins.” Came a joking voice and Sirius looked up to see none other than Remus Lupin standing in front of him.

Sirius knew who Remus was - how could he not? He had been first draft last year and had played spectacularly since. The media couldn’t get enough of him, he was like the all American boy with his perfect hair and perfect smile and perfect family.

“Look Loops, just because you’re not technically a rookie anymore doesn’t mean I’m going to stop treating you like one so until further notice you can’t tell me what to do.”

Remus burst out laughing and pushed Thomas away lightly before those sparkling eyes met Sirius’.

“Welcome to the club.”

The team was… not what Sirius expected. Even more unexpected however, was how he never wanted to leave. His mother’s words still haunted his dreams but Sirius knew; somehow he would have to stay. So he worked. He trained and he slept. Then he slept and he trained. His days were a never ending cycle of eating, training, sleeping, repeat. Even the nights out with the boys seemed the same. Sure, they went to different places, met different people but… the essence of it was the same. The only thing that wasn’t constant in his life was Remus. Sirius couldn’t figure him out. He laughed and joked with the guys, but he was clever and sarcastic and so brilliantly witty, Sirius just couldn’t get enough of listening to him talk. Yeah, one thing was for sure, he would have to stay.

“Remus! You were so good! That goal! It was like one minute you were here and then you were there and the goalie was all ‘woah!’ and I was like ‘woah!’ and like… woah!”

Sirius smiled as he overheard Julian Lupin come in. Remus’ little brother had become the team's little unofficial mascot, appearing frequently in the locker room, peppering everyone with questions and following Remus around like he hung up the moon.

(Although, knowing Remus Sirius wouldn’t be surprised if he actually did).

“Sirius! You were amazing!” Jules buzzed, appearing right in front of him, at a level of pure excitement that only children ever seemed to fully reach. Sirius reached out and ruffled his hair. “Thanks bud, did you have a good time?”

Julian stared up at him, wide eyed. “Yeah.” He breathed. “It was so cool. And mom says I only have ten more minutes because it’s past my bedtime but I want to stay with all of you.”

“Hmm, I’d say your mom probably knows best kiddo, but…” Sirius said, lowering his voice conspiratorially and leaning in, Jules copying his movements, “That is enough time to help me with my cool-down stretches, would you be up for that?”

Julian’s enthusiastic, affirmative response would replay in Sirius’ head for days.

“You’re good with him.” Remus commented later, leaning against the doorframe in the kitchen. The muscles in his arms and shoulders tensing to support himself. Sirius swallowed and forced himself to look away. He never let himself look at Remus too much. Never in the showers - it would do too much to him. It would also hurt too much to know exactly what he was missing out on. This was at least, Sirius could pretend that Remus was horribly misshapen.

(Though Sirius would love Remus if he looked like a toad).

“He’s a good kid.” He said simply, blinking and realising several seconds had gone before he had responded.

“Yeah I think so,” Remus agreed, moving into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. “But I suppose I’m biased.”

“Nah, he’s just a good kid, no bias in sight.”

Remus met his eyes and smiled. Sirius closed his and wished.

Sirius and Remus rose through the ranks. The metaphorical ranks. By which Sirius meant they were no longer treated like rookies. They had Finn and Logan now, so Remus and Sirius were off the hook.

“So what do you think of the new rookies?” James asked him as they stood at the bar, having offered to get the next round of drinks.

“They seem okay, I haven’t talked to them much.”

James nudged his shoulder playfully. “Of course you haven’t.” He said, rolling his eyes. “Well, I like them.”

“Of course you do.” Sirius replied, taking the cue to roll his eyes. Pots liked everyone.

“Hey! They’re nice! And they already know each other so that should help them adjust a little quicker.” James speculated and Sirius glanced back over his shoulder to see the two rookies sitting with their heads close together as they talked. As he looked around, he spotted Remus, who was talking to Thomas but as he watched a girl walked right up with him and started talking. Thomas took his cue to walk away and Sirius took it as he=is cue to leave.

He could stay with the Lions. He could leave his family. He could find a new home here.

But he wouldn’t watch Remus potentially find a home with someone else.

The day Sirius made captain was the best day of his life. For an insurmountable amount of reasons. However one Remus John Lupin pulling him in for a bone-crushing hug and whispering; “You deserve it Captain.”, well that played a big part of it for sure.

(For sure - now Sirius was starting to even sound like Remus.)

For a moment, everything went quiet. Sirius didn’t know how to describe it - everything happened so fast and yet it was like it happened in slow motion. Sirius felt it like an outer body experience, like when you watch a game on the TV and see the replays. It was just like that except it wasn’t on TV and it was happening to him. Snape had made a dirty play. And Sirius was falling.

He fell for forever and for no time at all and he knew only the cold of the ice yet it felt like for a split second the secrets of the universe were revealed to him. 

Then the pain kicked in.

His eyes found Remus’ as his team rushed to him, but stayed a distance away to give the medics space. Remus came the closest, his gloved hand reaching up to cover his throat as his lips mouthed Sirius’ name. Sirius looked at him until Remus was out of sight and after that, his hazy, drug-induced dreams were full of laughing eyes, quirked smiles and ridiculously long eyelashes.

Sirius’ recovery was long, but he did it. How could he not? If the choice was hockey or no hockey, well it wasn’t even a choice really. Sirius needed hockey like he needed oxygen, both were key to his survival. He returned to the ice. He pucked around with James and chatted with the baby rookie Leo and played with the Dumais children. He hung out with Remus. A lot.

Until one day, Sirius accepted a dinner invitation, on a stormy night.

Twenty four little candles on a cake, ready to put their special little magic to use.

Sirius closed his eyes and wished.

(And well, we all know how that works out ;) )