#every time I try to draw them without adding scars and a white lock of Jay's hair

[wareagleofthemountain]

Here’s a compilation of all my behind the scenes HCs that I imagine Thranduil and his queen shared in their domestic lives

Being that they often stayed up late working on paperwork, battle strategies, and other royal duties, Thranduil and his wife had a mental cookbook of DIY recipes. This came from the countless times they’ve whipped up a last minute dish made from leftovers at 2 AM. Including desserts and, as a law, they feed each other a spoonful of whipped cream whenever one of them takes the container out.

Thranduil’s wife loves to tease him for having a “Doriath accent” whenever he speaks in Elvish. Which he of course passes on to Legolas. Sometimes, when he’s pronounced a word particularly heavy in his Doriath inflection, she’ll chuckle and repeat it back to him just as he said it so he can’t deny his accent as he always does. But, for all her teasing, she thinks his speech is adorable.

Thranduil has a slightly lopsided smirk due to the burn scars on the right side of his face. Even with his masking spell, the right half of his lip droops down when he smiles.

Thranduil’s wife always takes care when approaching him on his blind side, touching his shoulder and gently brushing her body against his side to make him known of her presence before she speaks lest she startle him.

Thranduil wears low cut v-necks at his wife’s request. She loved to brush her fingers over his collarbone whenever she passed him as a sign of affection so he made it a point to keep that area accessible to her.

No personal space for the queen. Although she had her own throne, Thranduil much preferred to hold her in his lap with his chin atop her head during meetings.

Every night before bed and every morning before breakfast, Thranduil rests his head in his wife’s lap and holds her free hand as the other works healing salve into his scars. She’s the only one, besides his healers when he’d first been burned, that he allows himself to drop his protective shield around. He was fearful at first that she may be put off by what she saw, but she only loved that part of him fiercely and shamelessly.

Thranduil’s elk and the queen are very close. He often follows her around whenever she goes for a walk, and he’ll still try to follow her even when Thranduil is trying to ride him in a different direction. The king will have to tug on his reigns and put in a good deal of effort to get his mount on a different path.

The white gems were a just because gift for his wife, as Thranduil was so thankful to be married to her that he often surprised her with gifts.

When meetings become long and dull without any important topics being discussed, Thranduil and his wife will entertain themselves by passing a paper back and forth. The rest assume that they are just taking notes, but really they’re drawing. Someone starts on the picture and they pass it around, adding on to it until the meeting is over. The end result is always interesting and Thranduil has a locked drawer in his office where he keeps them.

The queen and baby Legolas often drop by the king’s throne room and bring him flowers they’ve picked while out on a walk.

The night Thranduil was crowned king, before his official ceremony, his wife and son crowned him in their bedchamber after everyone had finished getting dressed. They didn’t have a silken red carpet so the queen rolled out a long red bath towel. They didn’t have a royal scepter so toddler Legolas fetched a branch he’d brought inside. But they did have the crown, so Thranduil took a knee before his wife and she said, “by the power vested in me by Prince Legolas Greenleaf of the woodland realm, I name you king Thranduil Oropherion. Leader, protector, and defender of our land.” She placed the crown atop his head, Legolas tapped his shoulders with the stick, and Thranduil tackle hugged them both. He’d never felt more like a king than in that moment, and he always considered this his true right to rule.

The king and queen dislike being apart longer than absolutely necessary, and never tire of each other’s company. The queen considers their marriage as having an eternal sleepover with her best friend. Which is accurate as I think they have been close since childhood.

They made a game of hiding one of Legolas’s stuffed toys in various places around the palace. Once it’s found, it’s the other’s turn to hide it.

They can’t sleep unless they’re cuddling.

Whenever someone new moves into their kingdom, Thranduil and his wife make them a welcome gift basket filled with local plants and foods, as well as a few household staples.

The couple are good friends with Lord Elrond and Lady Celebrian. However, the Queen and Celebrian are on another level. They’re practically sisters and declare a “no boys allowed” hang out session whenever they visit. They just wanna drink wine, try on dresses, and plot to take over the world (but you didn’t hear that from me).

When they were pregnant, the ladies took turns hosting vacation weekends at their estates.

Thranduil gets rather possessive of his wife when around human men, keeping his arm wrapped around her at all times and glaring if someone stares at her a moment too long. It’s not that he doesn’t trust her, it’s just that he knows human males aren’t as well mannered as elven men. Plus they tend to stare more and he hates that. Same for dwarves.

They rarely ever argue as the couple has always made it a point in their relationship to be open with one another. There is truly nothing that can’t be discussed between them.

The first time the queen saw how terrifying and brutal Thranduil could be in a battle, she was actually quite scared and it took him a few days to ease her back into feeling comfortable around him.

Whenever they go out for a ride in winter, Thranduil always seats her on the saddle in front of him and hides her in his cloak with her back pressed against his warm chest.

He’s definitely the type to shamelessly check out his wife from atop his throne as she walks by. They also playfully flirt with one another whenever they can.

Thranduil loves to nuzzle his face into the crook of her neck from behind, his arms wrapped around her waist.

Sad, but the Queen’s body had been so brutalized by orcs that there was not enough of it to bring back for a proper burial, so Thranduil ordered the statue be built in place of a grave. On his worst nights, when he’s absolutely sure no one is around and fails to drink himself to sleep, he’ll curl up on the forest floor at the foot of the statue for some sort of comfort in order to close his eyes. He also sometimes pays it a visit just to plant more flowers and tell it about his day or how much Legolas has grown. Obviously he knows it’s an inanimate object, but he misses her so much.

He and the Queen have an inside joke involving Elros. Thranduil had hired the guard himself without the presence of his wife, so it wasn’t until the next day that Elros encountered the Queen while standing watch at Thranduil’s side during a public audience. The Queen was never one for formality so she was easily mistaken by him as a commoner due to her simple attire. When she’d attempted to step out onto the stage beside her husband as he spoke, Elros drew his blade and told her that she was standing too close to the king. Now, sometimes when she’s standing near Thranduil, she’ll take a few steps back and say “wouldn’t want to stand too close to his Majesty” with a wink. It makes Thranduil grin in amusement and Elros blush terribly.

Thranduil is constantly holding his wife’s hand.

During holidays, the queen sees to decorating the palace herself and always comes up with at least one fun craft for her and Thranduil to try each season.

[perriewinklenerdie]

Anything you want (Ethan Ramsey x MC)

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x Claire Herondale

Word count: 3,1 k

Summary: They go home together for an encore. Added content to OH3 Chapter 7

Warnings: NSFW, strong language, by viewing this work, you consent that you’re 18+.  

A/N: The dress in the chapter wasn’t tragic in my opinion but it’s not stellar either - so I went ahead and changed it. 

The entire Diagnostic Team let out a collective sigh of relief when Leland Bloom turned around on his heel and walked away. After a whole evening of schmoozing and rubbing elbows with wealthy morons, all Ethan wanted to do was go home. And take Claire with him, if he had any say in it.

Tobias finished a phone call, turning towards the group. “I think we can call the evening a success.” Harper nodded, slipping her arms into her coat. “Let’s hope this sedates him for a while.”

“If by ‘a while’ you mean until tomorrow, then I think you’re right.” Ethan scoffed, but not at Tobias – and they all knew that, without the need to see a hint of a smirk on his lips. Their boss was getting on everyone’s nerves and the last thing they needed was an inside fight. Claire and Harper were ecstatic about it – maybe they would finally start getting along more and the team could move on from the weird tension that developed with a new addition to it.

“I say, let’s stop thinking about work and just enjoy the rest of the evening, however you might choose to spend it.” Tobias concluded, waving his hand at the group of doctors in front of him, then turned to Ethan with a grin. “I called you a cab too, E.”

Claire scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest with a challenging look in her eyes. “What about me? Is that some special treatment I’m sensing?”

“Nothing of the sort, Herondale, I just figured that since you two were so handsy with each other all evening, one cab for the two of you would be perfectly fine.”

Her mouth fell open as she tried to answer, but no sound came out. Instead, she laughed, shaking her head at her new acquaintance. Ethan grinned, not even trying to deny it, his eyes finding Claire’s, sharing a private look with her.

As their cabs arrived and they all separated, Harper called out after the couple. “Don’t be late to work tomorrow or Bloom will have your asses!”

“And try to not scar the poor cab driver with making out in the backseat.” Tobias added, winking at them before getting into his cab.

Ethan opened the door for Claire, sitting down next to her in the darkness. Their car turned around and started towards his apartment. The driver seemed to be too occupied with what was happening on the road to notice two doctors that were trying to be on their best behavior. ‘Trying’ being the key word.

They got out of the car as soon as they could, leaving a hefty tip to make up for his wandering hands and whispers that might not have been whispers. He wouldn’t know, he was too occupied with his girlfriend.  

Ethan threw Claire over his shoulder, laughing at her surprised gasp. Henry, a friendly older man that worked in the lobby of Ethan’s apartment building, and who Ethan – and now Claire – were friends with, saw them and smirked, nodding at the pair wordlessly. It wasn’t the first time he saw the older doctor so loved up with his beautiful partner, and he hoped they wouldn’t lose that spark.

Claire did the only thing she could, given how fast Ethan was walking towards the elevator, and waved at Henry with a happy grin.

Elevator door closed behind them, leaving them in the privacy of the four metal walls. Claire slid down his body, stopping right above his hips, knees squeezing his sides as he held her up with his hands, gripping the undersides of her thighs.

Their gazes crossed, want clear in the way he touched her and looked at her. She ran her fingers through his hair slightly, the carefully put together hairstyle now slightly dismantled.

“I think I just messed up your hair.”

“Feel free to destroy it completely.” he muttered, nuzzling his nose against hers. She tried to kiss him, but he shook his head and opted to kiss her cheek instead “If I kiss you now, we’re going to have sex in the elevator.” She opened her mouth to say something - he beat her to it. “I wouldn’t mind, but I doubt Henry would appreciate it.”

“In that case, you better get me home.”

As he opened the door, Claire dug her hands into the pockets of his jacket, embracing him from behind. Standing on the tips of her toes, she kissed his ear and whispered. “Hurry up.” He stuttered, the keys in his hands shaking slightly. He made a definitive move, unlocking the door and twisting around. His arms went around her and he pulled her onto him, kissing her with abandon as her body pressed his into the door. His tongue ran along her lips and the moment she granted him access, his hand started searching for the handle in great haste. The door fell open with a quiet hum and they would have fallen onto the ground if it wasn’t for her quick thinking that caused her to twist them around. She pushed him inside, kicking the door closed with her heel, then pulled on his neck to slam them against the wooden panel.

“Do you know what’s been on my mind the whole evening?”

“I have a feeling but enlighten me.”

“Every time you looked at me.” He whispered, kissing her in between his sentences, each kiss more heated than the last. “Every smile you gave me.” His hands found their place at her back, pressing them flush against each other. “Every time you laughed or so much as said a word.” He pressed his forehead to hers, looking deeply into her eyes, growling his last words. “It made me think of the sounds you were going to make for me.” His hips pressed against hers, drawing a sigh out of her. “I would have made you scream back on that balcony if I could.”

“I was hoping you would.” She panted, gliding her hands up and down his arms.

“I still can.” He replied, slowly falling to his knees before her. “And I will.”

Without much of a preamble, he brushed his fingers up her legs, pushing the fabric of her dress upwards until it bunched around her hips. With unhurried movements, he hooked his index fingers into her panties and pulled, dragging them down until they fell to the floor, neither of them giving it a second thought.

Her shoes came next, one after the other, pressing loving kisses to her calves.

He looked at her with a storm in his eyes. “Hold onto my shoulders.”

And then he dove forward, letting his tongue swipe through her folds, lazily, tasting and testing her limits. Her hands grabbed him immediately, a soft sigh slipping past her lips. She’s always been responsive to every little thing he did - and he knew it damn well, judging by the smirk he was currently sporting on his face as he picked up his pace a little bit, moving his hands to the back of her thighs to press her even closer to him.

Chasing the sound he so desperately wanted to hear, he moved upwards a fraction, finding her clit and pressing on it with the tip of his tongue. A broken moan escaped her, her grip on his jacket tightening so much that her knuckles began to turn white.

Encouraged, he fully focused on that spot, closing his mouth around it and sucking gently, then with more force, alternating between the two paces. Playing her like his cello.

Claire moved her fingers towards his head, grabbing a fistful of his hair when his teeth grazed a sensitive bundle of nerves, moaning his name into the dead of the night. He squeezed her ass, staring up at her, savoring the flush on her cheeks, the hungry eyes she was giving him and the absolute look of ecstasy that slowly overtook her features. She was close, so close that keeping her voice down was becoming impossible. And he didn’t want her to be quiet. He moved one of her legs onto his shoulder, then the other, balancing her with his hands.

“Come for me.”

He grinned widely when she gave him a sigh, then went in for the kill and focused on pushing her over the edge. The new position changed the angle only slightly, but just enough to make her sing him praises the moment his lips made contact with her soft flesh again.

Alternating between firm strokes and insistent lapping, he made her rise higher and higher, her voice following suit as she whimpered and chanted his name until she pulled on his hair and came, her eyes falling shut. Ethan squeezed her again, a silent plea for her to keep looking at him as he guided her through it.

Their eyes met and remained locked long after the sparks stopped coming. Claire laughed breathily, sliding her legs off his shoulders slowly. He held her upwards, anticipating the weakness of her knees, stroking her thighs gently.

“How was that?”

“Like you have to ask.” She scoffed, brushing his hair back tenderly. Ethan smirked.

“I just love hearing you tell me how good I am.”

“How about I show you just how good you are?”

Claire pulled him up to his feet, then pushed on his shoulders to guide them towards the bedroom, stripping him of his clothes along the way. His jacket. On the floor. His shirt. Hanging off the door. His pants. Forgotten by the bed.

When she reached for his underwear, he caught her hand. “Not so fast. You’re overdressed.”

“I thought you liked the dress.”

“I do. Which is why I want to rip it in half.”

He reached for the zipper of her dress, dragging it down with surprising gentleness of movements, taking his sweet time to uncover each part of her body. The fabric didn’t even hit the ground before she kicked it away from them. His hands flew up to her sides immediately, feeling every and any part of her he could reach. The tips of his fingers trailed a path up her back, reaching the clasp of her bra, but before he could undo it, she shook her head and moved his hands back to her hips.

“You had your fun. Now it’s my turn.” She muttered, then hooked her fingers beneath his underwear and tugged, pushing it down his legs the same way he pushed hers a while back.

With a sly smirk, she sat him on the edge of the bed and sank down to her knees, once again mirroring his moves. With the tip of her finger, she traced nonsensical patterns along his inner thigh while leaning forward to plant a path of openmouthed kisses from one hipbone to the other. A shiver ran through him, making him realize that he was entirely at her mercy, not for the first time, and – he hoped – not for the last time.

Claire seemed to make it her point to avoid eye contact – she didn’t even so much as glance up before she ran her tongue over the tip of his cock. His mind perked up instantly, acutely aware of even the smallest of her movements.

She closed her lips around him, sucking gently, drawing out a whimper out of him that sounded like a plea. When she licked along the vein on the underside, the whimper turned into a rather insistent moan.

Only when she finally took him into her mouth, inch by glorious inch, did she make eye contact with him. Dark eyes, pulling him further into the whirlwind of ecstasy she provided, the small hums she let out creating the most delicious vibrations that sent him flying even higher off the ground. And a playful spark, telling him that she knew exactly what she was doing when she denied him the luxury of staring into her eyes as she began her exploration.

Ethan’s fingers flew to her hair, guiding her gently as she worked, up and down his length in a slow and rhythmic pattern, familiar sparks of electricity running over his spine. Before he could stop himself, a very vivid and a very insistent image flooded his mind, and his mouth was suddenly opening to speak.

“I had this dream and - fuck - you couldn’t keep your hands off me” he panted, his hips moving off the bed slightly when he felt her tongue join the movements of her lips once more.

“Really?” She murmured, having retreated and resorted to licking him slowly. With her hands, she undid the clasp of her bra and let the fabric fall to the ground somewhere behind them, neither caring where it landed. Ethan swallowed heavily. “You dream about me?”

“Every night”

“Well then, how about you show me what you dream of?”

His eyes darkened, blue turning into a shade so deep that she couldn’t tell what color they were, and suddenly she wasn’t on the floor anymore. Instead, she was seated in his lap, facing away from him, her legs spread wide, knees locking him in place. The mirror on the wall showed them both a picture of two people, perfectly fit for each other – so in love that they could see it in their eyes and bodies, despite having not said a word about the said emotion.

Ethan pressed his lips to her ear, his breath hot against her skin. “Are you ready?”

“Fuck me, Ethan.”

With a groan, he lifted her off his lap just enough so he could slide into her, letting her sink down with a shuddered breath. They remained that way for a moment or two, just feeling the closeness of one another. Ethan’s eyes fell shut, his forehead pressed against her shoulder, and he wondered what he did to get her. What number of good deeds did he manage to gather up for the universe to set her on his path.

All that debating was cut short when she squeezed her inner muscles, letting him know that she wanted them to move. He opened his eyes again, only to be met with the same image in the mirror. This time, however, it unlocked something primal in him, his body unable to stay put any longer, his brain craving anything she could give him.

His hands fell to her hips and he lifted her up slowly, letting her sink back onto him. And again, with shuddered breath brushing against the skin of her back. Their eyes met in the mirror as Claire picked up the pace herself, rising on her knees and falling.

“Look at you, taking me so well.” He whispered into her ear, looking at her the entire time. She bit her lip, sighing heavily.

Claire’s hand went behind her, reaching for his neck. With her fingers twisted into the hair at the back of his head, she pulled him closer, anchoring herself as he kissed her skin and stroked her from the inside. He had one palm spread over her chest, tracing her nipples and pinching them from time to time, while his other hand found itself a place between her legs, teasing her with fleeting touches.

She gripped his thigh with her free hand, holding onto him any way she could, panting heavily as the sensations continue to flow through her. Flooding her with mind-numbing pleasure, almost blinding her. Closing her eyes for just a moment, she tried to shield herself from it, when Ethan’s voice rang in her ear.

“Open your eyes.”

And she does, staring at the two of them, reflected in the mirror. Two lovers, entangled in each other, hands grabbing and pulling, mouths open in silent pleas. His hips snap up into her and she slams down onto him, the sound of skin hitting skin bordering on obscene. But they were alone, free to do whatever they wanted, even if it was to press each other’s naked bodies onto any surface available.

“Again. Give it to me again.” Ethan groans, unable to stop the urge to bite down on her shoulder when her muscles spasm around him exceptionally tightly, convincing him that he must have died and gone to heaven.

She moaned and stood up, which would have made him protest if it wasn’t for the fact that just a second later, she was climbing onto his lap again, facing him, wrapping her arms around his neck and sinking down onto him. His hands were full of her once more, grabbing her ass to guide her, giving as good as he was receiving.

With his head buried in her chest, kissing and nipping on her skin, making sure that there was no way she could wear a regular blouse the next day without exposing his marks, he pressed into her deeply, reaching his peak and muttering her name so many times that it’s become a blur with one common theme – devotion.

Claire nodded, pulling him close to her by his hair, her insistent movements helping him ride it out as she searched for the spark to throw her off the edge. His fingers, back in the same spot his mouth was at not that long ago, did the trick, circling and squeezing her until she cracked with a loud sigh.

Ethan leaned away, guiding her towards him so their lips could meet in a lazy kiss. He fell backwards onto the bed, pulling out and twisting them around so he could hover over her, hand on her hip as he explored her mouth leisurely. When they eventually separated, both breathing heavily, a relaxed smile washed onto his face. Claire observed him with a look of wonder.

“I like seeing you like this.”

“Sated after sex?”

“No.” she shook her head, very obviously trying not to laugh at his equally obvious attempt to crack a joke. “Relaxed. Happy.”

“Well, you make me very happy.” He responded, lying down and pulling her to his side, his lips pressing a warm kiss to her forehead. She sighed contentedly, letting her eyes close. Ethan’s voice broke the silence. “Are you?”

“What, happy?”

“Yeah.” His voice was uncharacteristically quiet, almost insecure. Like he was afraid of her answer. Claire propped herself on her elbow so she could look at him. Locking her eyes with his, she nodded softly.

“More than you can imagine.”

All the tension left his body, a wonderful smile lighting up his face. He reached up with his hand, stroking her cheek with the back of his fingers. “I think I can.”

Notes

Until further notice, I’m pulling the Mariah and I suddenly can’t read the ending. The balcony scene was good, though.

Thank you for reading! <3

 Tagging separately

[91percentpynch]

jean moreau x pride months

happy pride month kids, here‘s some wholesome jerejean content for your soul!! does this make any sense? no. is it a mess? yes. hope you enjoy this!!

the first pride month

it‘s the beginning of june and jeremy starts acting weird

he smiles more, the real smile normally reserved for winning an exy game or when he‘s alone with jean

he started drawing flags on his face or on his eye lids, jeremy never wore make-up, not more than his usual eyeliner and nail polish

„what does that mean?“, jean asks, pointing at the flags on his cheeks.

„the pink, yellow, blue one means i‘m pan. you know, i like more than one gender, i told you that already. and the grey, purple, white and black one that looks like an arrow? that means i‘m demisexual, you know how i only feel sexual attraction to people i have a bond with? that‘s demisexual. those are pride flags, it‘s pride month. didn‘t you know that?“

of course jean didn‘t know, after all he was locked up in a bassement for 10 years and he didn‘t exactly talk the first time he came over here last year at the end of june.

„what‘s pride month?“, jean asked softly, knowing that jeremy would never judge him, never think he was stupid.

„it‘s a month for lgbtqa+ folks. that stands for lesbians, gays, bisexuals, transgender, questioning, asexuals, aromantics and everything inbetween. we celebrate ourselves this month, show how proud we are of ourselves and our community. we celebrate marsh johnson, the black transgender, gay sex worker who started the riots, stonewell, and basically threw a brick at a police officer and started the fight for gay rights“

„how do you know you‘re not straight?“, jean asked quietly. thinking about the way his mind keeps wandering back to jeremy, keeps wandering back to the thought of kissing him, holding his hand, the feeling of his soft, badly dyed ginger hair between his fingers.

„well i always payed more attention to the personality, than the gender. i never really cared what‘s between the legs. and it took me quite a while to figure out that i only feel sexual attraction to people when i have a connection to them“

„have you ever kissed a guy?“, jean asked, curiously now. in the nest it was forbidden, but kevin wanted to try it once, in the dark of the night, the saftey of their room. jean couldn‘t tell if he enjoyed it or not, he never really felt any kind of attraction really. only bone deep fear. burning anger. and whatever the fuck his heart was doing when kevin held him close.

„yeah, i had a boyfriend throughout highschool, sophmore year until the end of summer of our senior year. and then freshman year of college i had this girlfriend who was really controlling and yeah. that‘s it. have you?“, his voice was soft, it reminded jean of the sunlight forming some kind of halo behind jeremy.

„kevin wanted to try it once. riko caught us. that‘s how it began“, jean replied, a shadow crossing over both his and jeremy‘s face. in a moment of weakness, at the beginning, jean told jeremy what they did to him in the nest, after jeremy accidentally touched him from behind.

„do you want to try it again?“, jeremy asked, a small smile on his lips. „with me, that is“, he added, barely audible.

„okay“, jean replied, leaning in.

jean was a couple inches taller than jeremy, and jeremy had to stand on his tiptoes to close the last few inches between them.

it was a soft kiss, a different than the stolen ones from kevin. better. these tasted like sunlight, like warmth, like home.

jean kissed jeremy back. carefully, softly, being scared he would break him, destroy him with his darkness.

„how was it?“, jeremy smiled at him after they were done, exchanging kisses, not stealing them. they were equals, no one would hurt him for wanting this

„i think i‘m only attracted to you“, jean admitted quietly. „but like not sexually. i don‘t like sex. never did. i never thought anyone was sexually attractive, i never wanted this and i still don‘t. i‘m sorry“

„you don‘t have to apologize, jean. that‘s being called asexual, the lack of sexual attraciton that is. and the not wanting sex part? sex repulsed. very valid. i will never be like them, i will never force you to do anyhting you‘re not comfortable with“

„and what if you miss having sex and want it and i can‘t give it to you?“, jean asked, tears burning behind his eyes. „i‘m not worth of your light, your warmth, your love as it is. i‘m broken, i‘m dark, i‘m everything you don‘t deserve. you deserve someone who is fixed and happy and can give you the entire world and go places without a panic attack and and and“

„ssh, jean. it‘s alright. it‘s alright. i want you. no one but you. i really, really like you and i am glad you like me to. you‘re not broken, you‘re not dark. you are wonderful. and no one is fixed, we‘re all a little broken in our own ways. i struggled with an eating disorder. i have adhd. sometimes i feel a little sad without any reason and can‘t get out of bed. sometimes i can‘t sleep and other days i could sleep for days. i don‘t need the entire world, i just need you“

it was this june, about a year after jean arrived in california, that he not only found a person who saw more in him than his scars, but a person who loved him not despite of them but for them

the second pride month

it‘s been a year since jean and jeremy kissed for the first time. a year full of highs and lows, fights and making up, miscommunication and cuddles, sweet kisses and ones tasting of tears. but it was also the year jean figured out that he might not be a boy after all.

„do you ever feel like you‘re not a entirely a boy?“, jean asked softly, threading his fingers through jeremy‘s soft blonde hair.

„dude, i‘m genderfluid, remember? alvarez bursted in our room and threw these in our face so people could refer to me with the right pronouns“

„that‘s why you changed your middle name to sol isn‘t it? because you like the sun and you like your hispanic heritage and it‘s a female name?“

„exactamente mi corazón“

„what are you today?“, jean asked softly, as he did every day.

„they/them, i don‘t feel like a guy or a girl today. just vibing“

„i- i think i‘m not entirely a boy either. like i know i was born as a boy and i‘m okay with that. but i feel like there‘s more to that. i can‘t put it in words but i think i want to try to go by he/ they. what do you call those people who don‘t quite find in the binary? i think i‘m that“

„that‘s nonbinary darling. i‘m proud of you. you‘re doing great“

jean didn‘t know how to repeat to that so he just decided to pull jeremy closer to him.

this pride month jean found a little part of himself, another puzzle piece to the mystery that his own person and it felt like a tiny little step towards a future he never dreamt he would have.

it was also the month he started wearing nail polish, because he loved the look on jeremy‘s face when they did them. occasionally he will wear some eyeliner.

the third pride month

another year passed, this year jean got himself a support dog. to help with the anxiety attacks. to help him heal.

it‘s a dalmatiner, called luna. she was trained to feel when he is uncomfortable and come closer to him, licking his hands, being close, being there

it is also the month he wanted to join jeremy for pride

„what are you today?“

„a girl i think. jeremy or sol are both fine“

„will you draw the flags on my face?“, he asked on the day of the parade.

„are you sure you want to go honey?“, sol asked softy, while she went to the bathroom to get her things.

„would i have asked if it wasn‘t moi amour?“, jean replied. „wait hold on, don‘t answer that“, he laughed looking at jeremy‘s face.

„but i‘m sure. first of all it makes you happy. second of all you missed it the last two years. third of all it will piss kevin off and i love that almost as much as i love. and lastly i have luna, she makes sure i‘m fine and i can always leave when i feel uncomfortable“

„okay, babe. what do you want me to do?“

„i want my flags on my face and maybe you can do my nails“, jean replied, smiling at jeremy as he did ever so often. „cover the tatoo, will you?“, he asked softly, touching the cursed three, counting the days for his cover up appointment in july.

„it‘s soon gone honey. it‘s gonna be alright“, jeremy whispered, feeling the tension in jean‘s shoulders.

„which color do you want your nails? mine are pastel rainbow look! alvarez got me those for my birthday last month! do you want matching nails?“

„whatever you want darling, you can choose“

„neat!“

this year jeremy‘s hair were a soft pink. it was 2 am when he bursted into the room whisper shouting „jean i‘m gay i must do something drastic to my hair. help me?“ and who was jean to question his beautiful date mate.

so jeremy took jean‘s face carefully in his hands, starting to draw jean‘s pride flags (demiromantic, asexual, nonbinary) on his face, hiding his tattoo underneath the black/ white/grey/ purple stripes of the asexual pride flag.

„they have no power over you anymore mi corazón. and if anyone gives you shit i will come for them“, jeremy whisperes against jean‘s lips before softly kissing them. „and now give me your beautiful hands so i can do your nails. i‘m feeling a pastel rainbow“

for the parade jean is wearing one of the shirts jeremy got him. it‘s yellow with a rainbow on it. „so you have a little brightness in your life“, he would tell him when he go it for him. it was before they started dating. it was before jean was able to tell him „but you are the brightest thing in the world and somehow you chose me as your person“, paired with light blue ripped jeans and his yellow fans. they started wearing yellow when they came to california, cutting off black completely, replacing it with colors and brightness.

jeremy on the other hand wore rainbow dungarees with a white shirt and white doc martens. his hair was up in two space buns, little pride flags put into them.

„do you think they get the hint?“, she smiled with a blinding smile.

„you‘re so unbelieveably beautiful sol“, jean replied.

they got luna and went to the parade.

it was scary, yes. but it was also beautiful.

people approaching them, asking for selfies, talking to him.

at first he was a bit anxious, but sol took their hand and luna licked his feet and it was alright. no one was hurting him. no one would punish him. he was surrounded by pride and love and happiness.

at some point he asked a girl with rainbow hair, she reminded him of renee, if she could take a picture of him and jeremy. she said yes, took one of them smiling, one of them kissing, and one of them where jeremy just smiled at his person.

it was the pride month he came out via social media. it was the pride month kevin called at two am, telling him how happy he was for them. that he himself found a boy, fell for him, but is too much a coward to do something about it. it‘s the year where he gets a lot of love, many fans telling him how proud they are of him and at least the same amount of hate. but it was alright. they had jeremy and that was all that truly mattered.

now

year after year they returned to the pride parade, with flags on their faces, or around their shoulders

sometimes neil and andrew or aaron and kevin would join them, sometimes they would go with laila and alvarez and sometimes jean and jeremy would go on their own

after college jean quit exy, jeremy went pro and gave his money to moriyamas, while jean opened his own tattoo studio, wrote songs, wrote crappy poetry and slightly better novels, tried himself as a part time model and fashion designer

they found happiness and home in each other and celebrated their love not only in pride but also every single day of the year

jean and jeremy got more dogs, an apartment of their own with big windows so they could watch the sunrise and sunset together

they have their ups and downs, like every other couple, but that doesn‘t matter. never did. what truly matters is that they keep finding back to each other. that they keep ending up in the same bed, in each others arms.

jean moreau never believed in love, never believed in soulmates and yet he found their soulmate, found the love of his life. and they are happy they stayed, kept fighting, to find this. to make a difference to the world. to be finally free. to be alive, living instead of only existing.

„jean?“, jermey says, fidgeting with his fingers.

„what is it moi soleil?“, jean relies getting lost in these ocean blue eyes.

„do you remember what happened five years ago?“, jeremy asks, his eyes looking anywhere but jean.

„we kissed for the first time?“, jean answers, panic slowly crawling through his veins.

„exactly so i thought we could celebrate this at the beach. you know, where our first date was?“, jeremy says nervously.

„honey are you alrighgt?“, jean is getting more and more worried, jeremy has never been that nervous.

„sure, come on mi corazón“

so jean slowly gets up and carefully puts on his shoes. something is weird here, something is wrong

jeremy seems off the entire ride to the beach they had their first date at.

when they arrive jean takes jeremy‘s hand, noticing that they are shaking ever so slightly. it is something like a nervous tick of them.

jean and jeremy arrive at the beach in time to watch the sun setting, making place for her lover the moon.

jean looks over to jeremy, when they suddenly get up and start pacing.

„jer, you‘re scaring me. please tell me what‘s going on up there“, jean says touching his head lightly.

„okay. i can do this“, jeremy mumbles as he gets down on his knee. „jean moreau, you are the love of my life. the light of my existence. ever since i saw you for the first time i knew i liked you, more than i was supposed to. i never dared to hope you would ever like me, or love me for that matter, but somehow you did. somehow you didn‘t turn away when i told you i‘m demi or pan or genderfluid. you stayed. you supported me. you love me. and i want to spend the rest of my life with you, so do me the favour and in the name of god, should they exist, do me the favour and marry me“

jean feels tears running his cheeks. „of course i will marry you, you loser“, he laughs, as he pulls jeremy down to him and connects their lips together. and it feels like their first kiss. it always does. and they would do that for the rest of their lives.

[bestialchorus]

“AFTERMATH”- (Chapter 18 of “The Woman in the White Dress”) A Lady Dimitrescu Fic

The young woman is awoken by the sound of loud knocking. She grabs a nearby shawl, confusion evident on her face as she heads towards the tavern’s front door. The knocking carries an air of desperation as it bounces throughout the tavern’s walls, accentuated by the silence of the night.

“Daniela?” The server addresses the visitor while wiping sleep from her eyes. Concern immediately replaces fatigue as the woman takes in the vampire’s appearance. Puncture wounds cover the blonde’s body while dried blood stains the entirety of her arms.

“Jo….” Daniela says while nervously rubbing one of her wrists, her voice low. Jo takes notices of the puffiness around the vampire’s eyes, evidence of recent crying.

“..I did something bad….something very bad.” Daniela closes her eyes as she relives the night’s horrors, slightly shaking.

The brunette feels herself hold back as she processes the vampire’s broken state, wanting nothing more than to embrace her. She instead decides to gently place a hand on the blonde’s cheek, making her lightly gasp.

Daniela quickly leans into the touch, opening her eyes and finding no judgement on the woman’s face, only compassion. (salvation...)

Jo’s voice is soft. “Come, let’s get you cleaned up.”

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

*A few hours later*

Alessia delicately pushes back a strand of hair that covers your face, she barely makes contact with your skin, afraid you’ll crumble under the slightest touch. But the scars your skin adorns say otherwise. The woman studies the scrapes that pepper your face, her expression both warm and sad. The girl’s marked face reminds her of memories she locked away long ago. Memories she was forced to face again after so many years.

The voices that surround the redhead are drown out by various thoughts as she guards the halfling. The dangers are gone for now and yet, she can’t help but stay by the girl’s side.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

“We are forever indebted to you and your pack, Vera. I am forever indebted to you.” Alcina addresses the alpha while tightly gripping the curtain that covers her, the only fabric nearby they could find long enough for the woman’s body.

The leader politely denies the matriarch’s words, waving a hand before her face.

“Our creed requires us to protect the loved ones of our clan. If you want to thank anyone, thank the human who managed to hold off the hunters before we arrived. She seems quite resourceful.” Vera states while nodding her head in Zhera’s direction.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

“Do you really think she’d say no?”

“Lena. Please.” Zhera answers firmly with her arms crossed as the vampire holds onto her, gently squeezing her bicep.

“Would it be so bad to just ask. One of you is a dream but adding that beautiful alpha to our bed would be the stuff of legends. Plus, I can’t help but be curious of what lays under her partner’s bandages.” Lena explains shamelessly, while wiggling her eyebrows at the mercenary.

Despite the vampire’s light tone, Zhera takes notice of how the woman’s smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She decides now is not the time to comment on it.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Jo gently passes a small washcloth over Daniela’s cheek, trying to wipe speckles of blood without disturbing the woman’s injuries.

The vampire doesn’t look at her, instead choosing to stare down at the tub’s now sullied water. Jo silently studies Daniela as her eyes burrow into the water, wincing as she recalls the night’s events. The vampire had shut down as soon as Jo began preparing her bath. Daniela had said nothing while her clothing was removed, lost in a daze. The brunette responded to the blonde’s catatonic state by tying her tight curls up, preparing for the long night ahead of them.

She knows eventually they’ll need to talk but right now her priority is making sure Daniela is taken care of. She carefully washes the blonde’s body. Despite the vampire’s state, she can’t help but thank the gods that Daniela survived in one piece.

Jo can’t help but feel a mixture of frustration and helplessness as she washes the vampire. She never believed anyone could ever truly harm the blonde. For gods’ sake, they met because Daniela protected the server against a patron’s unwanted advances. The image of a dinner knife stabbed through the man’s hand while Daniela mocked him was still fresh in her mind. Later that night the vampire would take her bed. That night, Jo experienced a pocket of heaven only read about in stories, feelings that went beyond flesh and bone and all before Daniela even touched her.

She realized the vampire had such a strong effect on her because she was her polar opposite in every way.

Of course, the blonde was physically enticing, what with her striking features and her deadly allure. But what made her truly fall for the woman was how Daniela was unapologetically herself.

The vampire lived her life with a level of honesty and bravery she had never seen before. Underneath all the grumbles and threats was a woman who refused to settle for a life she didn’t want. It also didn’t help that she found all the vampire’s quirks endearing to no end.

Before tonight Jo always believed Daniela was untouchable. But the image of the woman in her tub tells her otherwise.

Jo wasn’t a vindictive person, far from it and yet, right in this moment she wishes nothing more than to be like Daniela. To be powerful enough to find whoever has broken the vampire and to make them suffer. She can’t help but feel frustrated by her human status. But tonight, isn’t about her anger.

A low voice snaps her from her thoughts.

“It’s all my fault.” Daniela whispers, still not looking up. The brunette patiently waits for her to continue.

Daniela squeezes her fists, digging her nails into her skin. Jo takes notice of the gesture’s intensity, quickly becoming worried she’ll draw blood.

“Dani..” She gently turns the blonde’s face towards her, gold eyes meet clear blue. Jo’s eyes always helped Daniela escape but, in this moment, they become the anchor she needs.

“What happened tonight?” The server asks softly, concerned.

And that’s when the dam breaks.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Alessia and Lena slowly pull back from their mother’s tight embrace, both secretly wishing they could stay there forever, a place where it’s always safe and warm. The lady of the castle stays bent at the knee as she addresses her children, fighting back the anger that threatens to resurface as she takes in their injured state.

Vera takes notice of the moment and silently waves away any nearby pack members, giving the women their much-needed privacy. The members are more than happy to oblige, content the brutal night was finally coming to an end.

Alcina softens her expression, focusing on how internally grateful she is for her children to be alive, for all of them to be safe- at least for tonight. The matriarch takes a small breath in, trying to keep a steady voice as she speaks, “there is so much I wish to say to you, sweet ones. Words that could fill a lifetime as I try to process the idea of someone ever putting my sweet daughters in harm’s way-”

Alcina squeezes a fist under the curtain, drawing blood but feeling no pain- only anger and sadness. “We know this unfortunately won’t be the last time this happens…it is both the curse of our nature and of life itself.”

The mother closes her eyes with a small sight as she processes the weight of the statement, missing the slight twitch in Lena’s eye. The brunette tries her best to keep her expression neutral as flames burn within her, feeling a mixture of emotions she hasn’t felt in centuries. The  vampire wonders if this is how her younger sister feels before craving a hunt; pure, raw energy that demanded to be let out.

Normally Alessia would have taken notice of her sister’s underlying reaction but she’s too fixated on how soothing she finds her mother’s voice. After a night like tonight, she simply wishes to escape; to disappear into every touch and sound that eases her mind. Alcina’s presence was slowly helping her escape away from the night’s horrors but there was something that kept gnawing at her, something that kept her from moving on. The redhead knew there was someone she needed to talk to, the only person who could rival her mother when it came to making her feeling safe.

“But regardless of whomever dares to cross us, to harm us, to make us feel we are less worthy of life and happiness- I need you both to remember one thing.”

The women lock onto the intensity in their mother’s eyes as she holds their hands in hers and squeezes.

“Remember that I love you more than my very existence and if there was a way to love you more, I would.” Alcina says softly, looking at her children with tender admiration.

Lena feels tears prick at her eyes at her mother’s statement, overwhelmed by the honesty behind it. Alessia instantly squeezes her mother’s hand back, feeling her own eyes get watery.

“Being your mother is the greatest privilege I will ever have. You all give my life a layer of meaning and purpose that goes beyond the mortal realm. Heaven and hell could send every soldier they have, and it still wouldn’t be enough to stop me from loving you. I love you girls and I will never stop loving you.”

Alcina flashes the women a small smile as she gently wipes the tear that runs down Lena’s face. The women immediately embrace their mother again, tightly hugging her as their tears freely fall, no longer holding back.

Lena’s voice cracks as she tries to address the matriarch, “Mother-“

But Alcina gently interrupts her with a whisper, “Shhhh, my love. I’ve got you- I always will.”

The brunette continues to further stain the curtain as she sobs into her mother’s shoulder. Alessia shamelessly buries her head deep against her mother’s body, equally staining her outfit as she sniffles. The surrounding world melts away as the women they give into the moment, releasing hours of built-up emotions onto their mother’s presence. Alcina happily absorbs her children’s fears and frustration, if possible, she would transfer all their pain into her at the drop of a hat. [I would be nothing without you.]

“My beautiful, beautiful girls.”

Alcina speaks again as her children pull away. “Now-“

She gently places a hand on each of their cheeks. “I know there’s nothing you need more than to go be with certain people.”

The matriarch highlights, clearly knowing her children and their needs.

Alessia opens her mouth to refute the claim, only for her mother to stop her. “It’s okay, Alessia. We’ve all had a long night and I want nothing more than for both of you to be with your sanctuaries…. I have a feeling that’s where our dear Daniela is tonight…. at least, I truly hope so.”

The redhead nods with a sigh as she accepts the rebuttal, knowing deep down her mother was right.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Lena aggressively swings her bedroom doors open, resulting in a loud bang as wood slams against the walls. Had it not been for the weight and quality of the doors they surely would have broken under the vampire’s force. The brunette shows no concern as she makes her way towards her vanity.

Her partner quietly follows behind her, deciding it best to not comment on the vampire’s aggressive behavior. Zhera instead goes to gently close the doors, quickly noticing the fresh cracks that stretch up the wall behind them. She takes a small moment to look at the damage with a sad expression. The mercenary seals off the room, well aware that she was locking herself in with the storm that surrounded Lena. She quietly sighs as she braces herself against the entrance. The woman had single handily slain creatures only seen in nightmares, escaped death more times than she could count and yet, right now she feels anything but capable.

Does she address the night? Should she give Lena alone time? Would it be better if she took her home, away from the castle for the night? Questions swirls around Zhera’s mind as she feels completely out of her element. Lena had unsurprisingly always been the one who was better at comforting others. The mercenary was more than capable at treating wounds, patching someone up, etc. but there was always an invisible wall present whenever someone needed emotional support, this is where Lena shined. There’s a reason why she called Lena “a light”, the woman naturally illuminated the world around her and sometimes just with her smile alone.

At first the mercenary assumed the woman’s charming personality was simply a ploy to toy with her, get her to lower her guard so she could bleed her dry. Zhera originally believed the brunette must have been desperate because she just refused to leave her alone. Lena would “coincidentally” show up on jobs she had been hired for and flirt with her excessively, again, she refused to crack. But one day the mercenary found herself on death’s door, just barely defeating a giant as she braced herself against her sword, unable to support her own body weight. As her vision started to blur, she saw the brunette show up out of nowhere, concerned riddled on her face as she threw the warrior over her shoulder. Zhera didn’t have the energy to refuse, more confused as no one had been able to carry her since she was an adolescent.

When Zhera finally woke up she found herself in an infirmary, the nurse highlighting a panicked young woman had brought her in the night before. She wasn’t stubborn enough to believe the vampire was still trying to hunt her when she had a clear chance to kill her. Lena eventually showed up again, bringing her a care package of extravagant pillows, blankets, and foods that only nobles could afford. When Zhera asked the vampire why she was caring for her, Lena answered without skipping a beat. “It would be a shame to let someone so attractive die, don’t you think?”

The mercenary rolled her eyes, but the vampire quickly followed up, “I’ve watched you long enough to know you help a lot of people. People who wouldn’t be able to afford your services if you actually charged them what you’re worth.”

The woman didn’t know how to feel about the confession, staying silent as Lena continued. “But even past your kindness…because I could…and wanted to.” The brunette finishes with a whisper.

The statement only fueled Zhera’s mind with more questions but she instead laid there in silence as she stared up at the ceiling. Lena had assumed her silence as negative reception, preparing to leave and give the mercenary the space and rest she needed. But as she said her goodbye, she felt a large hand weakly grab her.

“……you can..stay if you’d like.” The patient said with a rasp.

She wants to be here for Lena, the way she’s always been here for her. (….abuelo, que hago?) -[Grandfather, what do I do?]

“Remember, Zherazita. When you love someone, you always have to try to listen and look.”

“Well, that sounds easy, I already listen and look when I talk to someone- that’s just how talking works, abuelo. I think you’re getting old.”

The older gentleman chuckles at the child’s bluntness.

But I mean REALLY listen and look because their tone and actions will tell you what they need, not their words. That’s how I know whether it’s a good day to slip you an extra piece of chocolate, if abuela’s in a good mood then it’s fine, even if we get caught.” The man finishes his statement with a cheeky wink.

The young girl only looks at the man with confusion, unable to find the meaning behind his message.

==============================================================================

Lena examines the prominent scratches that cover neck, frowning at their deep purple and maroon colouring. The vampire quietly hisses as she gently runs a finger over the wounds, feeling the slightest groove between flesh and scar. She’s unfortunately forced to take in her overall appearance and saying she looked abyssal would be putting it lightly. All of her sobbing had made her makeup run, her eyes puffy, hair dishevelled to no end and covered in lacerations from the head down. There is only one time she remembers looking such a way.

Lena tries to shake her head of the painful memory…. unfortunately, to no avail. Without warning, the face of the woman who sentenced her to death appears in her mirror, smiling back at her with contempt.

“To think, a heretic like yourself got eternal life while your aunt rots away as we speak.” The chaplain sneers.

Lena’s eyes widen as her mouth hangs agape, struggling to speak as her breathing quickens.

“I’m just glad we stopped you before you could corrupt her body with that disgusting dark ritual of yours. If you really think about it, it’s because of me she’s in heaven right now while little Lena’s soul is now forever tied to hell, how fitting!” The woman finishes her statement with a maniacal laugh.

The statement tears away the final piece holding Lena together, releasing every bit of rage that bubbled under the surface. Her body begins to vibrate on anger alone, feeling fire course through her veins. The beast within the woman didn’t break free, it was let out.

Heavy breathing breaks Zhera from her thoughts. Before she can react, Lena slams her fist against the mirror, instantly shattering it. Despite the glass sticking out of her hand, Lena continues to brutally punch the vanity, completely lost in a trance.

\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

………………………………………………………………

………………………………………………………………

………………………………………………………………

You slumber away in complete darkness, completely cut off from the outside world. You float in a sea of black while in a comfortable fetal position, focusing on your soft breathing. Time doesn’t exist here and because of that, neither does the past or future, there is only now. Whatever wounds, aches or sores you originally felt are no longer existent, not here.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The sounds of the night are heard from a nearby open window, allowing a light breeze to enter the space. Alcina’s room was untouched by the raid, maintaining an alternative reality where it never happened, despite this, its habitants reflect otherwise.

Alcina gently lowers her sleeping companion onto her bed, overly paranoid the soft mattress could somehow further add to your wounds. She knows the thought is irrational, but this doesn’t stop her from making sure she positions you “just right” against the plush pillow. With the halfling now safe in bed the vampire should be able to join her and finally get the rest she desperately needs but she can’t, not yet. Alcina instead ignores her aching body as she continues to prepare you for bed, covering your small body with the large comforter. Alcina didn’t have the healing knowledge of Vera’s pack, the ability to understand what your body was going through as you rest but she could at least make sure you were comfortable to an extreme. She begins tucking you in, wrapping you in a warm cocoon but freezes once her face is just a few inches from yours. The face she awoke to this morning is not the same as the one that greets her now. She finally gets the privacy to look at you after everything, to REALLY look at you.

She looks down at you with sadness in her eyes as she ruminates over your wounds.

[The pain you must have felt…]

Guilt sits heavy in her gut as she studies every scratch, mark, and bruise, the most pronounced being a small line that crosses over your lips, she knows it’ll leave a prominent scar. A mark indicating survival, yes, but also an active reminder of this night, a night she doubts she’ll ever forget.

Alcina’s hand instinctively makes it way to the scar, hovering above it for a few seconds before pulling back, ashamed she had reached for it in the first place. She wants to touch you, yes. To embrace you in her arms and to never let go but not now….not like this, you deserve to rest. After everything you deserve that much.

Her gaze travels further down your body, only to immediately stop at your neck. She looks away for a moment as she tries to process the rich bruising that greets her. Deep purples mixed in with accents of green, blue, and yellow cover your throat. It doesn’t take Alcina long to guess who could have possibly done this, instantly filling her with rage and disgust. The image reminds her just how close to death the girl was, how she could have easily lost her and with that thought, Alcina finally cracks.

Her eyes begin to water as the weight of the night catches up to her. She convinces herself she can take this moment to not be strong, just a moment. A moment where she doesn’t have to worry about being Lady Dimitrescu…..but simply, Alcina. She quietly begins to sob into her hands, releasing a weight she hadn’t realized she was carrying.

“…I couldn’t protect you…I couldn’t protect any of you.” She whispers completely defeated.

“…..I wouldn’t say that….the foyer sure looked like a bloodbath when I got there.” A voice quietly rasps next to her.

The vampire’s eyes widen as she jerks her head towards you, she watches in shock as you lay up with ease. You stretch out a kink in your neck, still feeling slightly sore overall but nowhere near as bad as when your world went black.

Your eyes fall back onto the vampire, and you can’t help but feel a rush of excitement fill you. “Alcina!-“

Without thinking you throw your arms over her, pulling her in a tight embrace. She instantly melts under your touch, only adding to her theory that this must be a daydream of sorts. Even if this isn’t real, she’s in no rush to leave this world. It feels as if you absorb her sadness, your joyful energy infectious as usual.

You pull back to cradle her face in your hands, gently wiping a lingering tear from the corner of her eye. The subtle gesture isn’t lost on the vampire.

“I’m so glad you’re okay!….unless this is paradisio? Maybe purgatorio? I’m not sure which applies in this situation.” You say earnestly while trying to process which would make the most sense, your eyes slightly narrowing while looking around.

Alcina smiles at how hard you try to think, finding humour in your look of confusion, letting out a small sniffle. She brings her hands over yours, looking at you tenderly. “I was about to ask you the same thing, considering Vera told me it may take you a day or two to wake up.”

(Vera?)

Hearing about your teacher instantly reminds you of another warrior. “Zhera-“

You instantly jerk your head towards the door as you continue, “Wait! is Zhera okay? She snuck into the castle-“

Alcina bites back a smile at the statement, well aware of how many times the mercenary has “snuck in”, mostly because Lena was always overly excited on those days. One time the matriarch actually caught the woman in the middle of the night as she made her way towards the cellar, she’s never seen Zhera look so embarrassed. The mercenary immediately sputtered out excuses as to why she was infiltrating the home at night, each more ridiculous than the last. Alcina quickly glossed over the topic, not wanting to embarrass the woman further by reassuring her she was always welcome in the castle, regardless of time or day. The vampire remembers Zhera grumbling something to herself in Spanish as she swiftly made her way towards the west wing AKA Lena’s bedroom.

“ and she saved me…and then I remember we made our way to the foyer but then…um….”

You hold a hand to your head as you try to remember, looking away for a moment as you draw a blank. “For some reason…I can’t really remember anything past that… Why can’t I remember?”

The matriarch feels the slightest hint of relief as she actually has an answer to your question. She grabs your attention by gently taking your hands and holding them in her lap.

“Vera informed me you may have gasps in your memory-“ She starts rubbing her thumb over your hand as she finishes. “Apparently, it’s common when one first shifts, it does a lot to the body.”

Her gaze travels over you. She quietly watches for signs of your status, prepared to send you to bed if you still seemed a bit woozy or off.

(Shifted.)

“I shifted?....that’s right, I guess I did shift…wow.”  Your realization ends with a whisper.

Overall, the news should have overwhelmed you, but you realize just how soothing Alcina’s presence is. Any level of anxiety you originally felt has quickly dissipated under her touch. Without thinking, you release a relaxed sigh while closing your eyes, losing yourself to the moment…only to quickly remember your original worry.

“But Zhera? And what about the girls? Are they okay??! Where is everyone?!” You question while jolting out of her grasp, your anxiety raising once again. Your hands suddenly begin to shake, you feel as if electricity courses through your veins, sending uncontrollable tremors throughout your body.

It’s now Alcina’s turn to hold your face in her hands, trying to calm the abundant energy Vera had warned her about. Her voice is soft, but firm as distress covers your face, red flickering in your eyes.

“Look at me, my love.”

Your gaze locks onto hers, you take notice of how your trembling has slightly subsided under her touch. She begins caressing her fingers through your hair as she continues, instantly comforting you. Tenderness fills her eyes as she looks down at you.

“Everyone is okay. Vera has generously set up scouts to guard the castle in case any remaining hunters return.” She answers while pushing back a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“Vera’s here?” You ask almost in a whisper while looking up at her.

Alcina gives you a light nod, “She’s nearby, yes. I was informed it was her and her pack that helped fight off the rest of hunters.”

[we wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for them.]

The vampire takes notice of how the flashing red in your eyes starts to disappear after the reassurance. She smiles contently in response to it, surprising you with a chaste kiss to your forehead, hoping it’ll calm you down further but also because she can no longer hold back.

The kiss suddenly reminds you how much you’ve missed her lips, you need more, much more.

You instinctively lean up to grab her face, only to freeze in place once it’s just a breath away.

For the first time in the entire night, you really look at her.

The air feels warmer as Alcina’s eyes flicker over your lips before locking her gaze back to yours, patiently waiting for you to continue. It takes every fibre of her self-control to not crash her lips against yours, still not sure if you’re in the right headspace for it.

[…but you make it so hard, my love, when you look at me like that.]

You feel yourself gulp as you slowly lift a finger towards her face. Her eyes follow your every move, her body perfectly still as anticipation floods her.

You gently graze your fingers over her bottom lip, and she softly sighs while closing her eyes, losing herself to the sensation. The sound ignites your hunger.

And just like that you feel it again, the world disappearing around you as all that exists is her.

You suddenly feel her fingertips slowly run down your thighs; the tantalizing sensation sends a chill through you. You’re tempted to look down, but you know the image of her hands on your body would overwhelm you to no end and you still want to focus on her. You lightly move your fingers over her face, admiring her cheekbones as she keeps hers her eyes closed while leaning into the touch.

The intensity of the moment makes you realize something you find almost impossible you didn’t notice earlier, save for fabric around Alcina shoulders, both of you are essentially bare. Your eyes linger on her chest, and you feel your breath get heavier as heat begins to flood you. It almost feels like you can’t breathe, like there’s not enough air around you both.

You try to ignore the pulse in your core as you speak, feeling little self-control left.

“Alcina…” You whisper into her lips.

Brilliant golden orbs meet your gaze as she opens her eyes. Her cheeks begin to burn under your touch as she processes the hunger looking back at her, your pupils are blown out and a dark maroon. You give her a feral look she’s never seen before. There is tenderness there, yes, but also something carnal, desperation mixed with passion. It sends a chill down her spine.

She feels engulfed by your gaze, as if her entire life has been leading to this exact moment.

She wants nothing more than to offer herself to you, to sacrifice her body to your hunger, she wants you to take her, all of her.

Your hands begin to tremble again as you speak.

“I want you….but I don’t think I’ll be able to hold back anymore..but I understand if you don’t want that-“

You’re interrupted by her mouth crashing against yours.  

“Take me, please take me.” She pleads against your lips and with that you finally decide, this must be paradisio.

[allmightluver]

First lines meme

Ooo! 😲 thank you for the tag @justanotherfoolhere !!

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20 just list them all!) See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening lines. Tag 10 authors!

I’m incredibly shy so if you would like to do this, I tag you!!

Ah I have some old stories from old fandoms (or side fandoms I should say), but as for MHA, most of my stories are just wips right now. I have approximately 5-6 stories in the works right now, however 3 are just thoughts yet, not written out, 1-2 are RP’s with another person that I’m not sure if I have the ability to share yet 😅, 1 is....extremely, well...NSFW 🙈 even the first line asfkgkka I’m not going to do that one, you’ll just have to read it on ao3 when it’s done 😖

However! I do have a massive story that’s been in the works for over a year now (atm it’s around 57,800 words), I’ve actually gotten stuck on it half way through and a friend is helping me by rping those parts with me. If anyone remembers from forever ago, I talked about writing a story about Toshinori actually becoming addicted to his painkillers, and overdosing during class, that’s this story. I have a good chunk of this written, so to make up for my lack of stories, I’ll post a few paragraphs of the beginning! (I hope that’s ok! 🙈)

((I should note, I don’t normally rp, the ones I’ve done are just with a close friend or two))

So, here’s a few paragraphs of what I’ve been calling “Painkiller” under the read more...

Eyelids sluggishly rise. Each blink seems to be getting slower and slower. And he’s still talking. How the soft furred mammal at the front of their table can speak for hours at a time without so much as a break is a superhuman feat. Of course, the principal isn’t human at all, which probably is how he can accomplish it.

Black eyes glance at the clock on the wall across from him. 1:50 p.m. This was supposed to be a short meeting. A quick briefing on the school’s protection and security upgrades. This is also the time to give feedback on how the procedures seem to be working. It had started during their lunch break at 12:30 p.m., and it’s still dragging on. Snipe as well as a few other teachers that have classes to teach at this time are absent, but the rest of the available staff are present.

Shota massages his eyelids, refraining from gritting his teeth against the stinging, and promptly tipping his head back to apply his eye drops. They’re almost gone, he’ll have to get a refill from Recovery Girl. Shota lowers his head once again, black locks falling back over his face.

He’s exhausted. A full night on patrol and then the morning teaching at UA. He’s done for the day after this, and all he wants is to sleep. He’ll still have to check in with Eri to be sure she’s been ok throughout the day, before he can collapse on his bed. 

Eri was still adjusting to living at UA, but seemed to be doing well so far. When he couldn’t be with her, she had another teacher or staff member watching her. Thankfully, there hasn’t been an instance with her quirk going out of control. Yet. He hopes to keep it that way. She’s just starting school, but slowly. She has a lot of learning in just living before she can worry much about academic intelligence. But Shota has no concerns of her being able to catch up to her age and grade level. Eri’s proven to be smarter than they’ve given her credit for. Perhaps wiser in some ways than a kid her age should have to be.

Shota usually teachers her in his spare time. His hero work has decreased due to his stacking responsibilities. Last night was the first in close to a month, and he can feel in his sore muscles that it’s been too long. Thankfully, he can rest tonight, but if Nezu didn’t hurry this conference up he’s going to be pulling another all-nighter. The temptation to pull out his sleeping bag and snooze in the chair he sits is becoming harder to resist.

Shota’s gaze moves across the room at the other occupants.

Mic sits to his right, closest to Nezu. The man’s listening, but one can see the bored expression on his face as he picks at his painted nails.

Midnight across the table seems a bit more focused. Her arms rest on her lap as she listens to the white animal, adding in her thoughts every now and then.

Cementoss and Ectoplasm sit next to her, both relatively silent.

Shota’s eyes flick to the chair next to his left before moving to the closed door at the room’s entrance.

Yagi had been here as well. A few minutes ago, he had politely excused himself from the room and had yet to reappear.

Maybe he made a break for it, Shota thinks with envy. Though he knows it’s a lie.

It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for the Number One Hero to duck out of meetings and public places for short periods of time. No one questioned him on it, assuming he had business calls or the like. He was All Might after all, and surely a very busy man.

But now the Symbol of Peace is dead, and still the brief intermissions continue. In fact, they’re increasing in frequency. Shota has high doubts about the possibility of impromptu hero phone calls from the man’s agency, but doesn’t dwell on it.

Everyone, even All Might, has secrets. It isn’t Shota’s job to nose his way into everyone’s personal life.

His sore eyes blink in mild surprise when the door he had been focusing on slides open, and the man in his thoughts shyly stoops his head under the doorway to enter back into the room. Yagi closes the door again and takes his place beside Shota, moving quietly to attempt not to draw attention to himself. But it’s a wasted effort; whenever he’s present, all eyes immediately are drawn to him. Plus, it’s hard to ignore a 7 foot man.

Shota turns away, attempting to refocus on whatever their eccentric principal is speaking about.

For a while, the meeting draws on as usual, Nezu doing most of the talking and the other teachers providing input as they see fit. The way the conversation is leading, it seems like things are starting to wrap up. Finally. The last class of the day starts at 2:20 p.m. and that doesn’t leave much leeway room for any teachers that need prep time.

Shota leans back with a silent sigh through his nose, crossing his arms. The sooner this is over, the sooner he can go check on Eri back at the dorms, and the sooner he can crash. Thinking about anything other is too hard to concentrate on.

Through his sleepy fog, something moves in his peripheral vision. Instinctually looking over to his left, he notices the lanky man next to him has wilted in posture, much like a plant with no water. The haze in Shota’s brain clears only slightly, having something more interesting to observe.

Now actually taking the time to study the other, Shota notices the haphazard blonde mane looks messier than normal. Yagi’s long, sinewy hands are placed comfortably on his lap, though a subtle tremble is running through his frame. A sheen of sweat is starting to form above his brow. Though his eyes remain fixed on the principal, the unfocused haze in the cyan pools gives Shota the impression Yagi isn’t paying attention. The normally bright irises are dull and almost completely hidden in the surrounding black sclera.

He looks pale. Must be sick. Shota lets his attention drift back to Nezu. Toshinori Yagi is a grown adult; he can take care of himself. If he doesn’t feel well, he’ll go home. These thoughts stubbornly go through Shota’s mind just before another pushes itself in.

He remembers the tall man entering the teacher’s lounge only two days after the Kamino incident. Yagi had been completely wrapped in bandages, bruises and stitched up cuts littering his body, and one arm was in a sling. Everyone had expected him to still be in the hospital, and not back to UA for at least a week, maybe two.

Shota recalls the other teachers chastising the ex-hero and trying to convince him to go home, to rest. Yagi had politely smiled, one that made Shota’s teeth grind at the obvious artificial gesture. The smile didn’t reach his eyes, only present to soothe their worries.  But Yagi thanked them for their concern. Even then, their coworkers had tried to assist him in any way possible. He had always insisted he was fine, respectfully refusing their help. It became hard for their colleagues to accept when it was obvious the injured man was struggling with even the simplest tasks.

Recovery Girl had made frequent appearances, much to Yagi’s dismay. It was unfortunate his body couldn’t handle her quirk, and he had to heal naturally, so she made it her job to monitor him. She didn’t even try to deny she was only there to check in on him, to make sure he was behaving himself, at least to the miniscule level she could except from Toshinori. She was always disappointed, and expressed so outright. But she could do little to sway him in his own self-care habits, and he always waved her off with another deceptive smile.

If he had forced his straining, overworked, body to comply during that time, what’s stopping him from teaching his class in 15 minutes?

More movement next to him puts Shota’s thoughts on pause. Dark eyes flick over to the older man, being as inconspicuous about his spying as possible. With the black hair covering his face, most people probably can’t tell where he’s looking anyway, and he’s not moving his head at all.

One of Yagi’s arms slowly lifts to his face, resting his sharp elbow on the table. The large and scarred hand covers his mouth, baring his bony wrist and too-thin arm as his sleeve slides down a few inches. The pose might be meant to look like he’s simply resting his chin, gaze still locked on Nezu like he’s listening intently. But sitting this close to him, Shota can see how the tremors in his body have increased, sweat starting to run down the deep crevices of his face in tiny rivers. The glazed over look in those black eyes has been replaced by one subtly emitting a fight or flight expression.

Shota frowns. He’s gonna barf. The pro briefly wonders if he should use his capture weapon to grab the trash can in the corner of the room to prevent a mess on the carpet, or worse, the table.

Before he can act, Yagi’s chair abruptly slides backwards as the retired hero wrenches his body up, fumbles with the door handle, and rushes out of the room as quickly as his unstable limbs can carry him. He barely manages to slam the sliding door shut behind him before he’s out of everyone’s sight, the hasty squeaks of his shoes on the tile floor growing more and more distant.

Nezu pauses at the sudden outburst, all the room’s occupants staring at where All Might had disappeared. The feel of concern weighs heavily in the atmosphere.

Although Yagi had often left before, he always excused himself quietly or snuck away when the attention wasn’t on him. Something this dramatic has never happened.

-----

And we’ll leave it there for now! This is still a wip remember, so things may be changed here and there, but I hope this makes up for my lack of other stories!

[shreddedparchment]

Pseudo Princess Pt.25

Adventure Awaits

02/22/2020

Pairing: King!Steve x Reader          Word Count: 6,688

Warnings: language, light smut, angst, fluff, so much fluffffffffff, obscured nudity

A/N: Hopefully things will continue to come forth easily. The beginning of this chapter wrote itself, then I hit an emotional block but I finally got through it and here is the chapter! Things are a-moving and I can’t wait to share with you all what I have planned! If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

“What’s this?” Her voice is wary, eyeing the spacious kitchen which has been cleared out of the two long tables used to prepare all your meals.

Every servant has been given the day off with the exception of your head cook who is busy preparing your meals in the smaller manor where Peter has been staying. And one servant to tend to your needs.

However, you don’t want any interruption so the first chance you had you sent her off to relax on her own.

At the center of the kitchen with it’s carefully decorated and cobbled floors in shades of dark grays and browns is a large copper basin, big enough for two.

Floating amongst the pleasantly heated bath waters are the deepest of burgundy rose petals. A few of your own signature peonies thrown in, but the deep roses darken the surface. The clear waters are made milky with oils and imported salts that your research indicated would reduce stress.

“What does it look like?” You tease, moving past Nat still wearing the white nightdress you’d been put in for your examination in the morning.

“It looks like a very large bath.” She says a small curl to her lips.

“Because it is a very large bath.” You chuckle. “Peter?”

Your partner in this endeavor moves forward from the large double doorway, smiling at the look of surprise on Natasha’s face.

“Yes, my Queen?”

“Make sure no one enters? And inform me at once when Steve returns. Or of any news. Or if he sends word for me. Or-”

“Y/N…” Nat chuckles, watching you with amusement as she cuts you off.

“Sorry. I’m just-”

“Worried.” Peter nods. “He’ll be alright. Knowing about what we do isn’t easy. But trust us…we’re very capable.”

“And he has Samuel and Bucky with him this time.” Nat reminds you. “They are a tough trio to overpower.”

You’re not exactly comforted but knowing that Steve isn’t alone this time does make you feel better.

“I guess you’re right.” You sigh.

“Don’t worry, your Majesty. I will make sure that no one disturbs you unless it’s Steve.” Peter promises.

With a quick bow of his head, he leaves the room and shuts the door tight.

“So, what is the bath for?” Nat wonders, moving over to stand by the edge of the large basin.

“For you.” You tell her and move to stand beside her. “Take off your clothes.”

You don’t wait for her to be ready. You reach behind her and start to tug at the ribbons underneath her bodice.

“Wait! Y/N!” She twists in your grasp, trying to see what you’re doing.

“For what?”

“Your Majesty…” She complains.

“Stand still.” You fuss, and finish tugging her bodice free then peel it off and toss it aside before moving onto her skirt.

“What are you doing?” She laughs, true happiness in her voice. “Why a bath?”

“Because…” You begin, getting her skirt off before tossing it onto her discarded bodice. “…I have wanted to repay your love and support for a while now and seeing as this is how you have taken care of me, I wanted to reciprocate.”

You peek up at her beautiful face to find her slightly stunned but also impressed?

“Have you been reading a lot?” She asks, no doubt noticing your improved vocabulary. You really are trying very hard to be the Queen that Broklin and Steve deserve.

You feel your cheeks flood with heat. “I’ve been studying.”

“You’re doing wonderful.” Nat smiles.

“Our first week here Steve was so busy I only saw him when we went to bed and a few hours in the morning, if that. I had a lot of time to read.”

“Are you finding it easier?” She wonders.

“A bit. My writing has improved as well. Looks a bit more polished now.” You declare proudly.

“That’s wonderful, Y/N.” Nat praises and you smile.

“Take off your undergarment and get in, while the water is still hot.” You tell her, then proceed to remove your own.

As you strip, you caress the tiny swell of your belly. Once you’re undressed, you very carefully climb into the basin and with Nat protectively holding onto your arm to help, sit yourself down on one end leaving the opposite open for her.

Settled, you watch as she strips, and feel your mouth fall open as she drops her underdressed and exposes the exquisite perfection beneath.

Natasha’s body is a vision. Beautiful and porcelain smooth. Every curve appears sculpted by a master craftsman. There is no bit of Nat’s body that is not the ideal of what you think every man hopes his lover will look like. You aren’t even ashamed of your gawking because she is stunning.

“No wonder James is so eager to marry you.” You realize.

Natasha scoffs. “He only wishes he’s seen me so exposed.”

Hm…you would have thought that they’d already been together with how affectionate and open they are.

“That’s my point.” You tell her. “He might very well faint when he finally sees how beautiful you are.”

Nat shakes her head but settles into the steaming water and with one heavy sigh, you see the stresses of her day to day life leave her. And though you know that she does not begrudge you her care, you must be an added stress too.

You should have done this a long time ago.

“Are you comfortable?” You check, wondering if maybe different oils might have been better or if the water has gone too cold.

“Perfectly.” Nat assures you. “Is this what you had in mind for our special day together? Getting me naked in a tub?”

You laugh but nod. “Since coming here, to Broklin marrying Steve, there’s a decorum that I-no, that we are expected to adhere to. So much of our lives are spent abiding by everyone else’s rules. I wanted to give you an opportunity to relax.”

“Thank you.” Nat nods. “But after the morning you just had I would think you need this more than I do.”

You feel your smile waver and then fall leaving a sorrowful grin in its place. Pushing yourself to sit a little straighter, you begin to gather your hair up and away from your shoulders. It drips a little at the tips but it’s mostly still dry.

Nat’s own fiery red locks are already piled up on top of her head in beautiful waves. You’re still absolutely dumbstruck by her beauty, milky skin glistening in the steam, her breasts just barely hidden in the clean yet murky waters.

The rose petals help to keep her shielded.

“I’m not bothered by the examination. Doctor Selvig was very gentle. And it’s good to know that the babe and I are progressing healthily. However, I am still worried about him. What if he’s born with all of the problems that Steve had as a child? Will we have to seek help as the Queen Mother did to cure Steve and save his life?” You chew on your lip, finishing up with your hair and sitting back carefully.

Your hands find your belly and you begin to caress the bump gently.

“I’m sure you and Steve have nothing to fret over. From what I understand of his cure, it changed him in every sense but who he was as a person. He’s always been a reckless, self-sacrificing idiot.” She means for it to make you laugh and you do smile, but your worries as a mother will not relent.

“I hope you’re right.” You sigh.

“Shall I distract you?” She offers. “I did promise to tell you my story.”

Suddenly, your worries are shoved to the wayside as your need to understand this woman, your closest friend, completely.

“I suppose I should start from the age of three?” She begins, “I grew up in a small village, poor. Very much like you did. I don’t remember it, but what I do remember is being somewhere new. I was taken from my home—or maybe sold? I’m not certain. I have searched for my parents but have found nothing—and placed in what I thought was an orphanage for girls. For a long time, that’s what I assumed.

“I had no parents. I was given a bed and food, but also other things that I did not know weren’t normal until I was almost fifteen.” She confesses.

“What kinds of things?” You wonder.

“Violent things. Styles of fighting. Techniques to infiltrate, mimic, a form of acting I suppose you could call it. I was taught to be a spy. To charm those around me and then extract from them whatever it is I should need from them.

“Most importantly, I was taught how to kill, proficiently. And I’m…I have done so many times. The number of people…”

“Is this why you think you don’t deserve to be with James?” You’re astounded by her reasoning. Everyone has done things that they are not proud of.

“It is part of the reason, yes.” Nat admits.

“Nat-”

“I should be dead.” Nat tells you, shocking you into silence.

You wrap your arms around your tummy, trying to hold yourself together at this stunning revelation.

“What do you mean?” You whisper, terrified of a world without your best friend within it.

Nat’s lips curl up into a small sad smirk. He shakes her head once and draws her eyes down to her hand as she passes a floating rose petal between her long feminine fingers, which you suddenly notice are calloused and scarred.

“Back before I met anyone on the team, I was on a…I’ll call it a quest as I think that is the best word to describe it…on this quest, what must have been my twenty-third in a fortnight? I don’t even remember where I was.

“I was closing in on my target, some duke or prince—it didn’t matter—when suddenly, an arrow shot straight through my arm. I still have the scar.” She says, reaching up to stroke the faded line on her left bicep. “It was Clint.”

“The Hawkeye?” You wonder, remembering the pseudonym for the effectively retired member of the Avengers.

“Yes. He was given the order to kill me on sight. And it’s no wonder for I had caused so much turmoil among the Southern kingdoms by killing many high-ranking officials and members of countless courts.

“The price on my head was high but an old group known as the Shield had the highest bid. The man in charge, General Fury had instructed Clint to bring him my head. But Clint instead incapacitated me. He tied me up and spent a week trying to get through all of the cobwebs in my head.

“It took another few months before he was willing to turn his back on me. Literally. He was no longer afraid I’d attack him.

“By the end of the year, every bit of mind control that the Orphanage had me under was broken and I could see myself for the first time in my life.” Nat smiles, this time more genuinely, but it shifts back into the sadness you’d seen in the examination room earlier in the morning. “But although he gave me back my truest self, there are things that the Orphanage took from me that I can never get back.”

“What do you mean?” You’ve shifted closer as she’s spoken, drawn in by this astounding life of violence that she’d lived before you met her.

“The reason that I won’t marry Bucky…” She picks some more at the petals as they float around her breasts, the pads of her fingers stroking the crimson velvet. “…is because I could never be a proper wife for him. Not as one should be to a lord of such high standing.”

“Nat-?” You begin, growing frustrated with your lack of understanding.

“I can never give him children, Y/N.” She meets your eyes, emerald jewels glistening with tears as she lets her words sink in.

Your hands wrap just a little more tenderly against your belly.

“Oh, Nat.” You lament. “And you can’t-?”

“There’s no way to fix it. They were very thorough.” She tells you, dropping her head as she lets her sorrow flow through her beautiful alabaster figure.

You scoot closer with a splash as your body cuts through the fragrant water. Your arms are around her shoulders as you meet her forehead with your own, shutting your eyes as you embrace her close and will yourself to take her pain.

“I am so sorry.” You whisper, afraid to speak louder for you might very well cry. “You have known a life that I would not have wished on my worst enemy. It pains me to know that I can’t help you or erase what’s happened.”

Nat sighs, bodily relaxing as your hands stroke the silky moistened blades of her shoulders.

“I’m sorry.” You repeat, opening your eyes to look at her large lower lip as it trembles. “Even if you cannot have your own children, my son shall be your Godson.”

Your promise is true. If something should happen to you, you would hope that Nat and Bucky would take care of your boy. Raise him well. To be a good King and a good man.

“I will need you to care for him as if he is your own. He will be yours, as much as mine. How could I do any of this without you, Nat? I need you. My son needs you.” You lean away to meet her eyes, hoping she can see the sincerity in your own aching expression.

She stares at you for a minute, her eyes shifting between your two, back and forth as her mind races with mysterious thoughts.

Suddenly she smiles. “How are you so…so wonderful? So kind?”

You’re not sure what she means, and you try to think about what it is you just said. Whatever it is that makes her feel that you’re wonderful and kind, you know it’s only because it’s Nat and you would do anything to ensure her happiness.

“Because I love you.” You tell her, a smile playing at the corners of your lips. “Because you’re you and I want you to know that you aren’t alone. You’ve been with me every step of the way on this chaotic journey that has been the first year of my marriage…”

Has it really been less than a year?!

“…and you deserve every happiness.”

Nat reaches back to take hold of one of your hands then brings it up to her lips to kiss it.

“My gracious Queen.” She sighs.

You let her hold your hand to her lips for a moment as you watch her and the true fear that washes off of her.

“Nat?” You probe, “Does Bucky know?”

She nods, another small sigh escaping her lips. “He knows everything. Where I came from, what I’ve done, what I can never do for him…”

“He still loves you.” You realize.

“Yes.” Nat nods. “The idiot.”

You smile but reach up to caress the sides of her face to draw her gaze. “Nat, my love, Bucky adores you more than anyone or anything else in this world. If he has no qualms with your inability to give him children, then why should you protest?”

“Because he deserves more than that.” Nat replies exasperated and you don’t doubt that she’s had this discussion with Bucky countless times, and she must be tired of trying to get her viewpoint heard.

“And I understand that, but he loves you. If he feels in any way how I feel about Steve, there will be no getting rid of him.” You argue.

Nat growls, “I know.”

“Nat…” She looks at you. “…earning someone’s love can be as natural as breathing. It was that way for Steve and Margaret. Or it can be one of the most difficult things we ever have to do.

“Some of us have to fight for our love and the struggle can be grueling and exhausting. It can damn near kill you. Trust me. I know.

“You and Bucky have managed to find each other, and he loves you so much that he doesn’t care that you cannot give him what you think he deserves.

“If you can, if it doesn’t feel like too much of an imposition, I beg you to let him love you.

“Let yourself be happy.” You stroke her cheek with your thumbs, nodding as her eyes are glued to your own. “You deserve to be happy. Just as Steve did. Though his past will always be a part of who he is, it doesn’t weigh him down any longer. You can let go too.

“I worry, Nat, that if you continue to fight it, Bucky might very well run away just as I did. And then you would be without him…”

Nat scoffs. “I don’t think I could handle him going missing again.”

“Again?” Your brow furrows.

“It’s not important. It was years ago.” Nat shakes her head.

You open your mouth to protest, but your stomach gurgles loudly.

The sound breaks the tension and Nat chuckles then rises slowly before stepping out of the water to quickly drape herself in a thick deep green robe.

“I think you’re hungry.” Nat tells you, grabbing your own fur trimmed blue robe.

She holds it open for you beside the large tub.

“Or at the very least, our little Prince is.” She reminds you.

“You cannot just say something like that and not explain.” You argue.

“Later.” Nat brushes your curiosity off. “Come on.”

With a pout, you let her help you out and into your satin slippers, then reach to take your robe. Nat hisses, pulls it out of reach, then points at you with her chin.

Frowning, you turn around so that she can wrap you up in the soft warm fabric.

“Cheer up, your Majesty. Perhaps Steve has returned?”

This is a rude and shameless tactic of her to use, but it works and with a small pouty scoff, you move for the door suddenly eager to see your blonde, bearded, and blue-eyed scrumptious husband.

~~~~~~~~~~

Steve hadn’t returned when dinner came. He hadn’t returned when it was time for you to go to bed.

You'd sat all night in the plush blue chairs by the fire, counting the haunting calls of the Barred owl, no doubt nesting in the aftermath of the blizzard.

You’re on call number three hundred and seventy-two when your eyes close and don’t reopen.

You hear a sigh and they’re coaxed to reopen.

In front of you, on the cushioned footrest that you rarely use as you much prefer to curl up on the large chair, sits a handsome king.

His blonde hair is damp with small flecks of snow still clinging to the strands.

His cheeks are red, flushed from the biting cold, his lips only slightly blue.

You don’t like that. You want to reach out and massage some life back into that frowning pucker.

Instead, your sleep weary body adjusts in the seat to lean your head against the left side as you wrap your arms around yourself more tightly.

You smile, happy to see Steve despite the disapproval he seems to have with you.

Blinking is a chore. You’re so tempted to just close your eyes again and drift into dreams.

Instead, you lick your lips and swallow.

“Hello.” You croak, voice protesting use so soon after regaining partial consciousness.

“Why are you sleeping in the chair?” Steve asks.

This is what has offended him. This is the source of his frown.

“You’re with child, my petal. You can’t be sleeping in chairs.” He states.

Your back agrees and as you make to sit up, you scrunch your face as the pressure in your back nearly overwhelms you and then subsides.

“I’mmkay.” You lie.

“Well, I’m not.” Steve argues.

With a bite to your bottom lip, you lift your head again, realizing his genuine irritation.

“Have I done something?”

“No.” Steve shakes his head. “Not you, my flower. It’s…Pierce isn’t convinced of your pregnancy.”

“But…” You begin, your heart beginning to pound. You can already feel the fear and the stress building within you.

You cup your bump, fearful of what this means for your baby. Steve scoots closer, his arms tucking in beside your hips to cup the small of your back. It makes him get off the stool and he kneels in front of you, getting as close as the chair will let him.

You like this about him. He seems to know that you need the physical reassurance. Not just now, but all the time. He’s always touching you, holding you, making sure that you know he wants you to be near.

After so much of his distance, you appreciate the proximity in which he keeps you, both in private and in the company of others.

“He’ll have to wait to see the child born. He has no choice.” Steve tells you, voice low and soothing. “Doctor Selvig has assured him that you are with child, Lord Ross saw and was convinced by your growing belly. He has a daughter. Before his wife died, he was very devoted to her while she was with child as well. He knows what to look for.

“Pierce has never had a family. He has no wife. No children. He’s an idiot.” Steve sighs.

Although it’s comforting to know that Lord Ross believes your expectant belly, knowing that Lord Pierce will be looking for any signs that it is a farce—perhaps actively trying to prove it even if doing so should put your son at risk—fills you with a dreadful fear unlike any you have known before.

“Steve…” You shudder.

“It’ll be alright, my petal. I won’t let anything happen to our little prince. You and he are both the only thing that matters now.” He promises and you believe him, despite the crown that rests upon his head.

Your head.

You pull him close, resting your forehead against his, your hand a vice around the front of his shirt.

“Why can’t we just be?” You wonder in whisper.

“I’m sorry.” Steve grieves. “This is all because of me. If I was not your husband-"

“Hush.” You frown, pulling back to look at him. “I’ve fought tooth and nail to have you, I won’t have you wishing yourself away from me.”

He smiles softly, eyes brimming with love and pride.

“I would gladly suffer ten times what I suffered when we started if it meant that we could be as we are now.” You gush.

Steve’s smile widens, teeth exposed transforming his handsome face with more beauty.

“Is that why you ran away from me?” He teases, brows scrunched in amusement but genuine curiosity.

“I ran away from you because you were being an ass.” You shake him, hand still fisted around his shirt front.

“You are the best of women.” He states, “The only one that would have put up with what I did and the things I said…I wish I could take them back.”

“I don’t.” You realize, shaking your head, looking down at your hand clutching his shirt. “Save for our wedding night…there is not one moment of agony I would erase. I know you better for it. I know how stubborn you are, and unaware of yourself. I know how strictly you abide by your morals and how reckless you can be when your emotions are running high.

“But most importantly, I know how fiercely you can love. The lengths to which you’ll go to protect it.

“And if you hold ours in importance to a fraction of the love you had for Margaret, then I am content. All I wanted was a chance to love you.” Steve reaches behind your head, caressing the back and tickling the nape of your neck.

His face is torn with intensity, brow furrowed, jaw tight, eyes piercing with their sorrowful passion.

“A fraction-" He begins but stops as he stares into your eyes, hopeful devotion is all you can offer him.

Is that enough?

“Y/N you are my whole world now. I may have duties and responsibilities to my kingdom but having you in my life now, I could never go back to one without you.

“I always thought that my purpose was to defend the less fortunate, the defenseless and it is…but you have given my life true substance. I thought my life would begin and end with the fight I have been struggling with since I could throw my shield.

“Even with Margaret our lives were nothing but this job, this unspoken calling. I didn’t know that there could be something more important than the fight. And there is.

“There’s you. Our family. Our life together is…if you asked me to give up this life, I would do so in a heartbeat.” Steve gushes.

You’re a blubbering mess. You began to tear up at his admittance that he could never go back to a life without you. You laugh once sniffling and probably looking insane with tears pouring across your cheeks.

“Don’t do that.” You argue, tightening that fist around his shirt. “You love doing it.”

You see it in the way his eyes brighten when he talks about it. As much as you hate the idea of him showing up, broken and bleeding the way he had before, you couldn’t take this part of his life from him.

It’s who he is. You see that.

“But I would stop. For you. For our family.” Steve insists.

“I’ll never ask you to.” You assure him.

He smiles and shakes his head. “You won’t have to. If the time comes that the stress of this life becomes too much for you. I will abandon it.”

“No.” You fight. “I’ll deal with my own stress, you can’t stop!”

Steve chuckles, squeezing the back of your neck with affection.

“Have you always been this stubborn?” He asks.

“Have you?”

Of course, you know the answer to that better than anyone.

He laughs again but pulls you down to meet his lips with a kiss. It gets heated quickly and while your head is still spinning from the way his tongue rolls against your own, he’s scooping you up.

He places you in bed, tracing a line from your jaw down along your neck, collarbone, chest—he circles your nipple, pebbled from the attention over your thick blue nightdress—along your side, then around to your growing belly.

He cups the curve of it, nipping at your neck as your breathing heavies and a soft moan slips through your parted lips.

With your eyes closed, while your body burns for him, your mind races through a million thoughts before it settles on the fact that he’s in his Captain uniform, without his mask, sans his shield.

“Was everything alright?” You wonder.

“With what?” Steve asks, voice octaves deeper, rough as his hand begins to slip along the curve of your thighs, pushing the left one up to open you up.

“The attacks?” You clarify, voice breathless.

“Oh.” Steve stops, his hand drifting around to rest along your hip, still tight and possessive but he props himself up on his right elbow to look down at you as your heaving bosom slows.

“I was worried about you, of course, but the people…?” You explain.

“We lost a woman who was protecting her elderly parents.” Steve sighs, sadness in his storm blue eyes.

“Oh.” You reply, a small hitch in your voice as your chest aches.

You blink hard, trying to banish the tears from your eyes.

“Things aren’t going as well as I would like.” Steve explains. “I’m calling in some help. I’m afraid I will have to take Natasha with me next time. Peter as well, if things do not improve.

“But it terrifies me to leave you without some type of significant protection.” Steve brings his hand back to your belly.

If it were only you, you wouldn’t mind being left unprotected. But with your prince…

“I could always go stay with my father?” You offer.

Steve shakes his head. “I’m going to need him on this too. But you’re right. His castle may be safer for you as Pierce is always so present in ours. I’ll write to him today, see if he likes the idea. I doubt he would mind his own daughter staying for a few weeks.”

“I miss mother too.” You admit. “And Morgana.”

“Malibia it is then.” Steve nods.

Then he lays there, smiling at you, content.

But you shift beneath him, left leg still pushed to the side, bent at the knee.

“Steve…” You complain and bite down on your lower lip.

He grins. “My queen is ravenous.”

“Yes...please.” You plead and there’s a shift in his expression as you beg for him.

His jaw tightens and he dives down between your legs, hands renewed along your thighs, pushing them up to spread you as he devours you.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Y/N?” Steve calls, drawing you away from the pile of books by the chair you’ve settled in for the afternoon.

After the exertions of your morning, Steve was eager to get you off your feet and his pleading for you to read to him became unbearable. You caved.

So while he’d settled in at the desk to write the letter to your father, you’d read to him, reciting from an old book of sonnets about spring and summer winds making your skin ache for the comforting rays of the sun.

You pull the small blanket from across your legs and your tempest blue gown spills out around your legs. The fabric is smooth but warm, like silk but thicker and better for the colder climate here at the cottage.

“What’s the matter?” You check, rising with worry at the tone in his voice.

“Nothing.” He assures you, then moves back into view from around one of the bookcases towards the door.

You’d chosen to sit by the large window to look out at the grounds as the snow continue to salt the already frozen earth.

“Agatha is here.” Steve tells you.

“Grandmother?’ You move towards him and he nods.

Steve has taken to the old woman like he would a parental figure. It’s sweet the way he tends to her and though you’re sure it’s because he’s a good man and she a sweet woman, you wonder if maybe it’s also because he knows how important she is to you.

“Where is she?” The aged voice asks.

“Through here, grandmother.” You call, making to walk to her but Steve places his arm around your waist to stop you.

The old woman moves into view and you can’t help the smile that crosses your face as stunning relief takes away any stress you still held in your body.

“Oh, my dear.” She fusses, and moves for you, hands extended.

You take her hands, bringing them up to your cheeks to warm them with your own heat. She’s so cold. You wonder if she didn’t bundle up enough.

“It’s so frigid outside.” You worry. “Where is your cloak?”

“Oh, don’t worry about me, girl. Romanoff said that you were experiencing pains?”

You chance a glance at Steve, terrified of the worry it might bring him to hear this, but you nod when you see him looking intentionally calm. There’s a small shift in his jaw that tells you he’s keeping it in for your sake.

“Yes…” You nod. “I think. Just a bit. A small ache in my lower back and my stomach. But the pain was short lived and I have not felt it since.”

Your assurances don’t do anything to make her feel better. She frowns at you then glares at Steve.

“Your doing, no doubt?” She accuses him.

“Grandmother…” You disapprove.

“It is. Forgive me Grandmother. It was an oversight on my own part. I should have made certain to take care when I went out.” He wraps his arm around you more tightly.

“Yes, well, as long as you know that you were in the wrong.” She nods.

“Your Majesties?” A voice interrupts before you can defend Steve to the old woman.

“Come in, Peter.” Steve says, and all three of you turn to look towards the doorway and the bookcases that shield it from view.

There are two sets of footsteps you hear before two bodies round the shelf of aged and multicolored volumes of text.

One of them is, of course, Peter. Wearing a thick gray tunic with sleeves that button along his wrists. He’s getting bigger and bigger by the day. His muscles hardening even more than they already have.

He’s sprouting up. Filling out. He’ll have the girls at court in a frenzy when the lot of you return to Castle Town.

He’s smiling from ear to ear and for a split second you wonder what might have brought on such a pleasant visage when the second body rounds the shelf and your father saunters in.

“Tony?” Steve say, his eyes narrowing a little before his face breaks into a genuine smile.

He releases your waist to move forward and meet your father in a firm shaking of hands.

“Steve.” Tony nods.

“I was just writing to you.” Steve tells him, finding it all a little fateful probably. “What brings you to the cottage?”

You sweep past grandmother and Peter and sidestep Steve as Tony knowingly opens his arms for you.

Devouring him with your eyes, you appreciate the healthy way he looks. Skin glowing, eyes bright, dark chestnut hair layer with only the thinnest layer of snowflakes. His dark leather tunic is weathered and old but probably a comfort in such terrible weather.

“Father!” You gasp, as you settle within his embrace.

His chuckle brings you comfort, and you smile as he gives you a squeeze.

“I think I owe you a somewhat sincere congratulations?” He checks, leaning back to look at your face.

For a moment you’re utterly confused. “Why?”

“Aren’t you with child?” He asks, leaning back and holding you at arm’s length to look you over.

“Oh!” You laugh, so giddy to see him that your joy is infectious, and everyone laughs with you. “Oh, yes! Thank you. I’m so happy, father.”

Tony’s smile widens, a smug look of triumph on his face. “I knew you could make my daughter happy.”

His words meant for Steve are only slightly tinged with venom.

“Yes.” Steve nods, a strange look of remembrance flitting across both their handsome faces.

“I hope you can continue to make her shine like this.” Tony threatens. “I’m not afraid to punch you again.”

It’s like a lead weight falls into your chest and sticks your heart against the bottom of your stomach.

“What?” You gasp, quiet but sincerely shocked.

Steve laughs nervously, moving to stand closer to you. He wraps his arm around your shoulders to give you some comfort.

“Nothing. He was only joking.” Steve assures you. “Weren’t you Tony?”

His insistence is so firm that you’re now certain your father wasn’t joking.

“You punched Steve?” You ask in shock.

Tony clears his throat, averts his eyes, and moves on.

“Why were you writing to me?” He asks, moving towards the letter on the desk, half written.

“I…things are getting worse here in Broklin and I was going to ask you whether it would be too much of an imposition to take Y/N in for a time? Perhaps until after she has had our son?” Steve doesn’t look at you, but he pulls you closer. He squeezes you in against his side.

“You know very well that Y/N will always be welcome in Malibia. Her mother is always in earnest need to see her and Morgana writes to her often. Does she not?” Father asks, looking at you for response.

You nod. “Yes. Very often.”

“Mm.” Father agrees, looking back at the letter and giving it only a cursory reading before he begins to adjust the cuffs of his tunic shirt, pacing before the large window.

“What is it, father?” You ask him, very aware of what he looks like when he’s deep in thought.

“It’s fortuitous that you should need to come to Malibia for safety when I was actually here to ask you both for a rather large favor. And I think you, at least, son-in-law, owe me.” Father stops, hands gathered behind his back as he stops pacing and turns to look at Steve.

“What is it that you need, Tony?” Steve waits, no sign of dread or apprehension of being in debt to your father it seems.

“The people in my Kingdom have begun to grow restless. When they heard about the hidden Princess, they were outraged at my deceit. We had only just begun to settle things with the public when word of your disappearance began to circulate.

“Some of them thought that you’d killed her.” Father tells Steve and your mouth falls open.

“Yes. I heard that rumor too.” Steve agrees.

“What?!” You turn to look at him. “You never said that the rumors were that specific.”

Steve shakes his head at you. “I didn’t want to worry you.”

“Steve, maybe you should start to let me worry about what’s going to worry me? I don’t need to be coddled.” You snap, frowning up at him.

“I’m sorry.” Steve nods. “I should have told you. But it wasn’t important anymore. I just don’t want to risk anything with our little one on the way.”

He places his hand on your tummy and it’s hard to argue with that reasoning.

“Please don’t exclude me. I’m your wife. Am I not equal to you?” Maybe you aren’t? You don’t know how things work with Broklin. It seemed as if you and Steve were mostly on even footing, but perhaps as Queen your rule is less than his?

“Of course, you are. You’re my Queen. If I’m not around, you will rule in my stead. You are my partner, not my inferior.” He assures you, and it gives you ease of mind to know that he thinks this way.

“I don’t want to feel like you’re hiding things from me.” You sigh.

“You won’t. I’m sorry, petal. Truly.” He caresses the back of your head, hair stroke softly before a clearing of a throat brings your eyes back to your father.

“Is this what you look like when you fight?” He asks, amused for some reason.

“We’re not fighting.” You counter.

“Right…” Father says.

“I’m sorry.” You shake your head. “I interrupted you, please father, continue.”

“There isn’t much more to it.” He shrugs. “The people of Malibia are in desperate need to see their eldest princess, now Queen of Broklin, in the flesh. So, will you come? We’ll make it a grand affair. Parade through the Castle city. Feasts. Dances. Celebrations in the streets. It’ll be extravagant and obnoxious.”

Father’s accompanying smile is almost tempting to refuse. He looks like he’s planning a joke or prank, not a royal procession and day of celebration.

“I have no obligations here at the cottage. I may have to take a few meetings with my councilors, but I am open to it. Y/N?” Steve checks, looking down at you.

Although you’d just told him that you wanted to be his equal, you’re a little surprised to have your input counted.

“I’m always eager to see my family again, and it would be nice to visit my old homeland.” You nod. “I’m willing to if you are my love.”

There’s a look of tempered shock on Steve’s face before his cheeks flush and his ears flare a bright burning red.

“What?” You ask him, amused by the expression on his face but confused by it.

“You’ve never called me that before.” He gushes shyly. “Your love?”

You smile, even more amused by his reasoning. “Well, you are my love. Are you not?”

“Always.” Steve coos.

“Oh, jeez…” Tony groans.

[enigmas-artdeck]

The Cold Felt Familiar

(Skitters in) HEY Y'ALL WANT ANGST?

Related to this, it’s quite the time with his bud, but not for long~. Buckle up buckaroos, angst is coming.

Also on AO3!

He should've seen it coming, he's used the same trick before. Promises of improvement, strength, power-

"Wouldn't it be wonderful to get him back? You were so close back then, before he was granted his empty title-"

He'd wanted nothing more to burst in and pull 2 havocs in Heaven himself for the sheer disrespect from the Heavenly Court. Bi Wa Men, a lowly stable keeper, wasn't a wonder why he stormed out. Oh yeah, giving him the title Great Sage, Equal to Heaven, only as a way to keep him complacent, that won't turn out bad at all.

"-Being trapped under Five-Finger Mountain-"

He swore, he screamed, he declared, he did everything without care for volume and respect once he found out about the imprisonment. Scoured that mountain for decades, never finding a trace of his friend anywhere. Ran himself raw, searching and pleading for anything or anyone to grant him mercy and let him find his lost companion.

They never did like him anyway.

 "-Going on the journey with Golden Cicada and his disciples-"

His blood boiled at that, the journey being the sole reason Wukong was…different. He was still impulsive and hearty, going to Heaven for bi-yearly fights, unafraid to fight anything, chaotic as ever. 

But in the fight at the mountains, after stealing Monkie Kid's powers, he knew Wukong was holding back. He heard all the tales (however scrambled they became over the centuries), and had seen himself the power he held. He could've leveled the area and be done with the dispute in mere minutes. They fought, that's true, but the only reason he was beat was because of the kid.

Wukong didn't even have the dignity to strike him down himself, relying on a trainee who'd needed his powers locked up.

It was downright laughable, nay, pathetic at how Wukong was holding back because of one journey.

"-Before he struck you dead."

Oh. 

Ah, the one experience he had with death. The one where even after blotting out and ripping his name from the book had him checking over his shoulder and hiding in the shadows for a century in f- caution. It was that long before he realized Wukong did the same thing and no one went after him again (the others don't count, that was Heaven trying to remove his immortality).

Every time he saw his scar, he couldn't help but flinch. It still seemed fresh, still felt raw. His red facial marking didn't help either. (Keeping the glamor was second nature to him after all these centuries. He likes causing nightmares, not having them.)

Wukong didn't hold back then.

He took a deep breath, frosty air chilling his lungs as he turned to the young girl holding the spirit whispering promises laced with shards of ice and flakes of snow.

"Deal." He sneered.

(Macaque didn't want to think about the freezing light crawling down his throat. Too familiar. Too frightening.)

θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ 

Having a body mate was weird, but he learned to tune it out for the most part. Acquiring her ice abilities gave him an edge no one saw, and having her on energy sensory lookout helped with telling who's who and keeping tabs on the shady folk. Added a bonus in battle since she could warn him of any ambushers.

Though there were a couple...nitpicks he had.

Macaque had noticed with each new shadow clone, they turned just the teeniest shade bluer, thankfully not visibly noticeable to other folk yet.

Oftentimes when he summoned his staff, the spikes were coated in thin layers of ice. He rather let the blood flow from his enemies, thank you (though he rarely did more than a passing glance).

Even his shadow smoke form was tinged blue, frost trailing up the wrapping adorning it.

No matter, Macaque could handle this, he was flexible in his strategies (certainly helped with stealing Sun Wukong's power from the kid.) He would rather do without the personal physical changes.

Despite how many layers he covered himself with, his fur and skin stayed cool to the touch. Was a great help in traveling to the warmer sections of the area. With the drawback of visiting anything below 15 °C intensifying the chill. 

His face marking, the brilliant red he associated with power, ferocity, hurt, had blue creeping along his eyes. It looked to be icing out in crystalline patterns if he got close enough to reflections.

And his scar, the reminder of why he didn't just remove the spirit he was housing, stayed iced over even in his current setup in the Flaming Mountains.

Ah well, a quick glamor could fix those up. Right now he needed to strategize a way to get Wukong off Flower Fruit Mountain, separating him from the kid and the menagerie. 

(Macaque rose from sleep littered with some cuts and bruising. Didn't notice his camp was a few miles closer to Flower Fruit Mountain. Couldn't notice the blue fading back into gold sclera.)

θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ 

"What the hell was that?"

Macaque snarled at his reflection, the outline of White Bone Spirit staring back at him with nonchalance.

"I helped you win the battle and retreat, is that not what you wanted?"

It was going so well, Wukong managed to be separated with a few shadow clones and simple visual and vocal glamours. The recent attack (more like stolen power-high frenzy. Paint crudely helped hide the Demon Bull family's emblem) from the Gold and Silver Demon Brothers managed to split the group up. It was a simple send off of the right fakes to the right area after they split.

Once Wukong was below and far enough, Macaque made his entrance discreetly, ambushing him just as the other caught wind of something off. 

And it was going great for a while, without his staff Wukong was forced to fight harder. Wasn't close to the levels of Wukong back in the day, but more than the mountain battle. And the sheer thrill of it, seeing his "bud" let loose more, feeling the higher thrum of energy, oh gloriously maddening!

At least until a quick quip about the fake Wukong acting his part of the plan slipped out. Macaque found himself with too warm a liquid dripping out of his nose and mouth, from a punch and kick respectively.

The clarity at which he saw the unfiltered rage made the haze feel less like fog and more like a spotlight.

It was touch and go for a bit after that, but after a harsh, nearly numbing kick had Macaque gasping for breath, he asked for a boost as he wide eyed the threatening advance.

Blinding blues and white crept over his vision's edge, making Wukong's painfully shocked and horrified face the last thing he saw. Macaque regretted calling his power forth.

"I wanted a power boost, not a power surge blackout!"

"You received the power, but you were already on the verge of blacking out. I'm sorry it made you do so-"

"Excuses, excuses, that won't change the fact of what happened." Macaque turned away, only his eyes giving away his surprise, coming face to face with the cyan glow of White Bone Spirit.

"...Since when could you do that?" 

"When I'm not active."

"'When I'm not-' you mean to tell me you can pop out willy nilly? You didn't tell me this before?" Exasperation dropped in his tone, squeezing his eyes shut in annoyance.

"It never came up, this situation is different from humans. With your power, I couldn't-"

"I don't care, you're out." Held up his hands, moving forward, wanting to be done and gone from her.

"I'm sorry-" She made no effort move out of his way, so he walked through. 

"I don't want an apology, I want you out, gone, see ya! Deal's off, get your ice and leave-!"

"-But the body isn't yours now." 

Realization dawned on him once he passed through. Macaque froze.

As in the body stopped responding to any movement he willed.

"Oh, what's wrong? Can't move what was yours?" Cyan and white passed around behind him, swirling in the air as she skimmed her chilled fingers up his neck.

"Well then, I suppose there isn't anything special about you." She cupped his face, drawing in close, her eyes filling his entire vision. In the cold white, he could see his own gold turn deep, icy blue.

"You're just a macaque with nothing left." With that she drew back into the body.

Hundreds of eyes gleamed from the shadows, some stretching out on shapes familiar- himself- but wrong. He willed his body to move forward, to turn, to fall, do anything to get him away from the twisted glowing outlines as they approached.

He didn't even so much as jolt when the screaming skeletal face flooded his internal vision, bringing an icy air with her. Forcing to stare at the eternally screaming maw, dark icy hands grabbed hold and pulled down, with him along. 

No sound left him, not even a gasp.

(The bleakness made him want to flee.)

(The chill made him want to scream.)

(The nothing made him want to cry.)

(Macaque did.)

θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ 

Wukong slammed into the volcano's side, smoke and ash obscuring his vision. Blue cut through the thick black, having him reach back into the lava. Red and black shot to the unwelcome color, but turned to white powder before reaching the target.

"Aw, what's wrong Great Sage?"

Okay, this was bad, this was wa-a-ay bad, but distance was key, if he could get distance he could vanish and regroup with MK-

When did the molten rock turn to ice?

Wukong feverishly tugged at his right side, the ice crawling up his limbs, spreading out over stone and lava alike.

He made the mistake of turning around.

 A blue eye with a pinprick snowflake iris nearly touched his own golden eye. Steam rose out past their fangs, doing nothing to help the chill rolling off.

"You look like you've seen a ghost!"

[wkemeup]

I’m With You (3/3)

series summary: When two strangers meet on a layover in the Charlotte Airport, they find that a lifetime can sit in the span of three days and it doesn’t take very long at all to fall in love. pairing: bucky x reader warnings: super soft!bucky, allusions to PTSD/suicidal thoughts, some familiar faces  🌸series masterlist // series playlist 🌸

T H E   G R A D U A T I O N

You lightly tapped on the edge of Bucky’s hotel room door with the toe of your shoe. Carrying two cups of steaming coffee in your hands and your bag tucked under your arm, your hands were completely full. He had texted you at nearly six-thirty in the morning and the vibration of your phone startled you into a panic in mirror with whatever was running through his mind as he all but begged you to meet at the hotel this morning instead of the venue, nearly two hours earlier than planned.

You could faintly hear him stumbling around from the other side of the door, a muffled thud quickly followed by a pained groan as he approached. A smile pushed at your cheeks as he started mumbling to himself, the knob of the door shaking as he tried to open it before remembering the deadbolt was still locked.

Bucky grunted and you chocked back a laugh, though it was quickly wiped from your face as the door swung open to reveal him standing in the frame; shirtless, hair disheveled and damp, bare chest panting and covered in sweat.

“Hey,” he muttered, stepping aside as you looked him down with wide eyes. “Thank God you’re here. I need your help.”

He didn’t seem bothered by his lack of clothing and you swallowed back the racing thumping in your chest, trying to relax your reaction before he could notice how flustered you were. Though, he wasn’t in the mindset to notice much of anything as he rushed around the room, throwing shirts out of the closet and onto the bed, which was already covered in stray clothes. Towels littered the floor from the shower he must have taken earlier and the bedsheets were thrown off the bed and onto the carpet.

Even despite the chaos, it was impossible not to notice the tight ripple of muscles he hid under his shirts. Perfectly sculped as if by God Himself only emphasized by the low hang of the caramel colored slacks around his waist, deep enough to see the V of his pelvis. You shuddered, looking away but your eyes caught onto his left arm.

You already knew about the scars, but seeing them in full almost made your heart give out. Faintly discolored mutilation in the tissue ran up the entirety of his arm, almost as if he’d dipped it in paint, ending at the bridge of his shoulder. It didn’t appear to be painful anymore, but he still kept it hidden under long sleeves. You wondered if he realized it was on display in front of you now.

“Bucky,” you called gently, setting the coffees down on the counter as he started to rake his hands through his hair, clearly panicking.

“I’m freaking out,” he blurted, pacing rapidly, “I’m freaking the fuck out.”

“Okay,” you said calmly, nodding, “why don’t we--”

“Should I wear red?” Bucky asked, completely ignoring you or unable to even hear your attempt to calm him and as he gripped so tightly at his hair, you wondered if he might just pull it out. He stared down at the clothes on the bed like it was a life or death decision. “Red and Black are her school colors. Is that stupid? Maybe it’s too much.”

“Well, maybe you should--”

“I should wear blue! Blue is relaxing, right? It evokes a sense of calm. I read that in an article this morning. Maybe I should wear blue so Bec doesn’t start throwing shit at me the second she sees me.”

“Bucky, hold on a moment--”

“Or- or maybe I should just go with white? It’s simple. Sharp and--”

“Bucky!”

He froze suddenly, the trail of his thoughts dying on the edge of his lips, though he didn’t look in your direction.

You walked forward, slowly, enough not to startle him, and carefully pulled his hands away from the grip on his hair. He didn’t flinch as you touched him and you took it as a good sign, tenderly rubbing your thumb in circles over his wrist until he took notice of you. He softened then, eyes falling to you and letting out a long, steady breath. The tension faded from his muscles the longer he kept your gaze.

“Shit,” he sighed, dropping his stare to the floor and pulling away from you. “Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t-- I didn’t mean to drag you into my crazy and--”

“You let me drag you into mine, didn’t you?” you challenged, smiling sweetly at him.

He shook his head, unconvinced. “You weren’t completely losing it, Y/n. I can’t even—I can’t even pick out a damn shirt without overanalyzing it! What the hell is wrong with me? I can't face my own family without having a full mental breakdown!”

“I had a panic attack in the middle of my ex’s vows and spent ten minutes crying on your jacket,” you reminded him, gently running your hands up his arms and cupped at his face to draw his attention back to you. “Nothing is wrong with you, Bucky. You just need a little help, okay?”

He nodded slowly, grounding himself through your hands on his cheeks. He let out a deep breath as you pulled away, stepping back just enough to shuffle through the clothes on the bed. After some consideration, you pulled out a forest green button up with subtle white patterns along the fabric. It was light enough that he’d be able to wear it under Georgia heat, even with the long sleeves.

He must have noticed you trailing your hands along the fabric, only touching the ones with sleeves down to his wrist and he smiled softly, wondering how you’d picked up on that so fast.

“Here,” you said, handing him the shirt, “try this.”

Bucky slowly took the shirt from your hands, his fingertips grazing over yours and you shuddered at the feeling. He smiled nervously as he shrugged the shirt on, buttoning it down the middle. He held his arms out to the side, waiting for your opinion.

“It’s almost there but,” you stepped forward, gathering a bit of the fabric at the center by his waist as tucked it into the front of his jeans, tugging a bit on the sides so it flowed nicely, “there you go. Now you’re all set.”

Bucky nodded, checking himself out in the mirror as he stretched his neck to the side. You handed him a pair of brown wing tips and he slid them on his feet without question.

“I’m not sure how I functioned before this weekend,” Bucky chuckled and it was a relief to hear the anxiety drained a little from his voice. He stood up, pressing out a tight smile as he gently gripped your biceps. “Thank you, Y/n.”

You bit on your lip, eyes darting away as he finally took in the sight of you; dressed in a knee length navy dress that held tight to your chest down to the cinch of your waist, and flowed down in loose, breezy fabric with light brown buttons carrying up the center line.

“You look beautiful, by the way,” Bucky added, meeting your eye again with a sincerity that dared you to believe him.

You mumbled your thanks, reaching back to the counter to hand him the cup of coffee you bought for him on your way over, trying to avoid the embarrassment as it flooded your cheeks. Bucky didn’t seem to mind your escape and gladly took the coffee from your hand, sighing contently as he took a sip.

“How’d you know my order?” he asked, raising an eyebrow and he took in another gulp.

“That checkers game we played at the airport,” you shrugged, grabbing your own cup from the counter, “it was like the fourth or fifth question I asked.”

“I forgot about that,” he laughed, shaking his head. “Feels like it was a lifetime ago.”

You nodded in agreement, watching him over the brim of your coffee as you took a sip. It was almost as if months or years sat within the confines of a single weekend. From the moment you met him at your gate in the Charlotte airport to eating ice cream on the park bench until two in the morning, he captivated you and drew you in and took over your world unlike anyone else ever had.

He was remarkable and complex and full of a kindness and compassion you struggled to even give to yourself. The idea of losing him after the weekend was over, after the magic of this trip subsided and you were both thrown back to the real world, was too devastating to even think of. So, you helped Bucky clean up his room and let him take your hand as you both walked down the to lobby.

The valet attendant called for a cab and you waited with Bucky on the sidewalk, sipping on your coffee until it was empty and squeezing his hand when you felt him start to get lost in his thoughts again.

Once the cab rolled up, he held the door open for you and let you slide into the seat. Closing it behind you and jogging around to the other side. He sent you a wink as he slid in next to you. He told the driver the address of the ceremony and buckled his seatbelt. With the middle seat open between you, he felt too far away.

“Have you thought about what you’ll say to her?” you asked carefully, watching for his reaction.

He stiffening slightly, nodding as his hands curled into fists. You reached across the seat and placed your hand over his, closing around his palm and he smiled painfully in appreciation.

“Every time I try, I just freeze up,” he admitted, running his free hand down his thighs. “She’s hated me for so long, I don’t even know what to say. It’s been almost six years.”

You sighed as he looked out the window, his jaw visibly clenching as he avoided your eyes in shame. You couldn’t stand seeing him this way, blaming himself and withdrawing from the man who had so selflessly and with a compassion unlike anyone else, saved you from falling into your ex’s trap. He deserved to belief the same things he told you. That he mattered. That he had worth. He didn’t seem to believe it, not when it came to his sister.

Slowly, you unbuckled your seatbelt and scooted closer to him, settling in on the middle seat and holding onto his arm. He turned to you, surprised, though he started to relax again.

“It’s important you know that no matter what happens, she’ll make her own choices and you can’t control how she reacts,” you said gently. He nodded, though it was painful. You squeezed his hand. “You know what you want to say, Buck. I’m sure you’ve been thinking about it for years. I truly hope she comes around and you two can mend things, but I want you to know it’s not your fault if she doesn’t. You’re doing what you can and you’ll keep doing it until she’s ready. The rest is up to her, okay?”

It was silent for a moment as Bucky took in your words. You gave him the time he needed to think, sitting comfortably with the music playing softly from the front seat as you leaned on his shoulder, staring out the windshield to the busy Atlanta traffic.

“Okay,” Bucky said after a while, letting out a shaky breath. He pushed out a smile for you, though it struggled to meet his eyes, but you could tell he was trying.

Twenty minutes later as the cab pulled up to the auditorium, Bucky’s arm was draped around your shoulders, your hand resting on his thigh and rubbing soft circles to keep him grounded. He mentioned once that the physical contact was helpful for him, something his therapist down at the VA had suggested when he first got back. It was why he was so eager to grab your hand, though he promised it was your hand specifically he liked holding.

“Ready?” you asked as Bucky slipped cash through the window to the driver up front. He slumped back into his seat, but he did eventually nod.

“Not sure I’ll ever be as ready as I am right now,” he said, squeezing your hand. “Thank you, again for, uh, for coming with me.”

You smiled, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek and he smiled back at you. Waiting a moment too long just staring at one another, the driver tapped on the window, pulling your attention away and gestured for you to get out of the car.

Bucky mumbled a quick apology as you started to laugh and followed him out of the car. Hand in hand, he led you up the grand stairs and into the building filled with families and friends and students dressed in bright red gowns and caps.

“My Ma said she’s got seats,” Bucky said, pushing through the crowd and keeping you as close as possible.

“She knows I’m coming, right?” you asked nervously, just now realizing that helping Bucky through this family event meant actually meeting his family.

“Um, not exactly,” Bucky mumbled, squeezing you buy a couple gathered on the walkway as he led you up the stairs. You didn’t even have time to object because he waved at a woman sitting at the edge of a row. With dark brunette hair sweeping at her shoulders and soft blue eyes that lit up the moment she caught sight of him, it was no wonder Bucky was her son.

“There’s my boy,” she cooed, standing up to hug him tightly around the shoulders. She pulled back, squeezing at his cheeks as he tried to swat her away. “Handsome as ever.” She glanced over Bucky’s shoulder to you as you held your hands clasped tightly together and chewing on the edge of your lip. “Who’s this? I didn’t know you were bringing a guest, James.”

James?

“Y-yeah, sorry about that ma. Last minute arrangements,” he stumbled out, scratched at his neck and eyes flickering over to you. “This is, um, this is my, my friend. Y/n.”

Bucky's mom smiled sweetly, eyeing you as you extended a hand to her.

“It’s nice to meet you, ma’am,” you said as she pushed your hand aside and pulled you in for a hug. You glanced at Bucky over her shoulder and he grimaced in apology, but you didn’t mind much. She was kind, something you’d expect from the woman who raised such a man.

“Well I’m glad you came, Y/n,” she said, smiling wide before she sent a knowing look at Bucky. “It’s been quite a while since you’ve brought a ‘friend’ around, James.”

Bucky’s eyes went wide and his cheeks turned as red as the gowns of the students as they gathered down by the stage. You laughed, biting on your tongue when he glared helplessly in your direction, though your smile was still present.

“Jesus, ma,” he grumbled, grabbing your hand and guiding you past his mother to sit on the bench. Luckily there was enough room as his uncle had to skip for a work commitment.

He took a seat next to you, sitting between you and his mother, as he greeted the rest of his family with a short wave. He seemed uncomfortable, like he’d been avoiding his extended family for about as long as he had his sister. The only person he seemed calm around was his mom.

“You alright?” you asked quietly into his ear so only he could hear. He nodded, though he was clenching at his knees, wrinkling his slacks from the constant gripping on the fabric.

You wanted to reach for his hand but you weren’t sure what he wanted, seeing as his mother was right next to him and you imagined he didn’t want to lie to her the way he’d lied to Jack and Marci at the wedding. It was one thing pretending you were together to get through the wedding of your ex, but another thing entirely to lie to family about it.

It didn’t seem to register that you’d also held his hand in intimate moments when no one else was around, when there was no show to put on.

As the students lined into the seats and faculty took their place on the stage, you could feel Bucky tensing beside you. His eyes were downcast, staring at his shoes as his whole upper body rose and fell with every breath. His mother started to talk with the family in the row ahead and you took the opportunity to rub your hand along his back in slow, steady circles.

He flinched at the sudden touch, though he started to melt when he realized it came from you. He nodded, smiling tiredly at you as if it took most of his effort and he sank back in his seat.

“I’m sorry for all of this,” he mumbled under his breath, jaw clenched as he looked at you for a moment, shame heating in his cheeks. “You must think I’m pathetic...”

You shook your head, grabbing his hand and holding it in the space between you, tucked between his thigh and yours so it wasn’t easily noticeable. “I would never think that, Bucky, and you don’t have to apologize. I know this is hard for you. It’s been six years. But you’re not alone. I’m with you, remember?”

He nodded, neither of you realizing the ceremony had even begun as the president took the podium.

“You’re gonna be just fine, James,” you teased, hoping to draw a smile out of him and it came easier than you anticipated. He nudged your shoulder, chuckling slightly as the tension drained from him.

“Middle name’s Buchanon,” he clarified with a shake of his head.

“Well that clears everything up then,” you replied sarcastically, which made him laugh again and you swore you could have spent hours listening to the sound. You kept his hand held firm in your own up until the moment his mom sat back in her seat and you started to let go, but he gripped on tighter, sending you an apologetic look you only returned with a genuine smile.

Nearly an hour passed by before the first graduates began to walk the stage. It wouldn’t take long for his sister to cross the stage, you realized, after he told you his last name was Barnes. He fidgeted in his seat the whole time, glancing down at the row of red gowns as students lined up in rows. They were starting to get to the end of the ‘A’s and Bucky’s mother patted his knee lightly, smiling at him.

“She’s on the stairs,” his mother said, pointing excitedly to the young women with short brown hair at her shoulders in soft waves appearing on the video projection. She was standing behind four people leading to the stage.

“She cut her hair,” Bucky observed, voice low, nervous.

“She’s had it like that since last year,” his mom replied and though she didn’t mean for it to be a dig at her son, Bucky still cringed, blaming himself for how much he’d missed in his sister’s life, even something as simple as a haircut.

Two more to go and Bucky jaw was practically wired shut. You leaned in closer to him.

“She looks really happy,” you said, trying to ease him but he remained stiff as a board.

“She doesn’t know I’m here yet,” he muttered back, defeated. “That’ll change.”

Your heart sank. As his name sat on the edge of your lips, his mother jumped up to her feet, gesturing for the family to get ready. You pressed your lips together, knowing there’d be time to ease him later as you helped pull him up.

“Rebecca Jane Barnes,” the announcer called and the family erupted into applause. She walked across the stage, waving out into the audience with a beaming smile on her face, gown flowing with each step.

You glanced up at Bucky as she took her diploma and posed for the mandatory picture, and he had relaxed somewhat, a soft smile on his face as the rest of the family hollered and waved enthusiastically. His hand was still gripped in yours and he squeezed it as Rebecca left the stage.

As the family took their seats again, Bucky’s mother nudged his side, getting his attention. “Three hours just to see 30 seconds. What a con!”

He laughed at that, more at ease now. His mother must have noticed.

“Why don’t you and Y/n head back to the house,” she suggested, glancing over at you with a sweet kind of smile and her eyes flickered down to your hands clasped together, though she didn’t say anything. “Just make sure everything's in order for the party. We’ll be home in an hour or so.”

Bucky nodded, pressing a kiss to his mother's cheek before squeezing by her. He didn’t bother letting go of your hand as he helped you through the aisle and down the stairs, keeping you steady on your heels.

Once the two of you made it through the tunnel and back into the open lobby of the auditorium and the speaker announcing student names was only a muffled echo, Bucky let out a heavy breath.

“Shit,” he sighed in relief, a slight laugh in his tone. “I promise I’m not always that much of a mess.”

You shrugged, leaning your head on his shoulder as you walked outside. “Maybe I like a little mess.”

Bucky bit down on his lip to suppress the smile aching in his cheeks.

***

The cab pulled up to an off-white paneled home in the suburbs with dark green shutters and flower beds lining the walls; green shrubbery and evidence of a basketball hoop that had once been affixed above the garage once, where a faint discoloration was left behind. A banner hung over the front door reading ‘CONGRATULATIONS’ with tiny cartoon confetti, diplomas, and graduation caps sprinkled in the background.

Bucky scooted out of the cab, ordering you to stay put with a teasing grin as he ran around the back to try and open the door for you, but you were too fast for him. Though, he still helped you to your feet, even if you’d beaten him to the door.

From the open garage, where folding tables were already set up with red and black tablecloths held under stones on the corners, a tall blonde-haired man waved, wide grin spreading on his face.

“Steve!” Bucky shouted, laughing as excitement and surprise started to take over. He took one glance at you, asking permission, and you smiled, letting go of his hand and shoving him towards his friend. They collided in a tight hug and a few pats on the back before he said, “I didn’t know you were gonna be in town!”

“Didn’t you borrow that suit from him yesterday?” you asked with a raised eyebrow as you walked up behind them.

Steve smiled, exchanging a knowing look with Bucky whose cheeks immediately reddened. “He stole it from my mom’s house. She moved down here a few years back, right after Mrs. Barnes and Rebecca, and she seems to have an unfortunate habit of holding onto my old clothes. Must be nostalgia or something.”

“Where’s Peg?” Bucky asked quickly, noticing the way Steve was eyeing you like he knew something you didn’t.

“Inside finishing up the fruit salad,” Steve smiled, glancing back to the window of the kitchen where you could barely make out the figure of a brunette woman pacing back and forth as she peeled an apple with the sharp end of a knife. Steve tucked his hands into his pockets, grinning, though he turned his attention back to you. “You must be the poor woman Bucky here dragged into his ridiculous layover shenanigans.”

You laughed, extending you hand to him with a nod as Bucky wacked his friend on the shoulder, face heating red. “Yeah, guess that’s me. I’m Y/n.”

“Oh, I know,” Steve grinned, earning another hit from Bucky though he was able to dodge it in time, “Bucky won’t shut up about you.”

“Really?” you teased and Bucky bit tirelessly on his lip, shaking his head.

“Steve’s being dramatic,” he tried to tell you, though you could hear the embarrassment in his voice.

“If that helps you sleep at night, pal.” Steve fought off another attack from Bucky only for the brunette woman you’d seen in the kitchen to lean out the window, waving a towel with a disapproving look on her face.

“If you boys are finished, I could use some help!” she called, thick English accent surprising you, though she softened immediately upon seeing you. Steve must have spread the news to her as well.

You stood with Bucky in the driveway for a moment longer as Steve jogged his way back up the driveway to the front door. Bucky sighed heavily next to you, swaying on his feet and tucking his hands deep into his pockets.

“Steve’s a dirty liar,” he mumbled, a teasing smile brimming on his lips as he glanced over at you. “Sorry about all that.”

“Don’t apologize,” you shrugged, smiling back at him, “he seems like a good friend.”

“The best,” Bucky confirmed with a nod, “even if he’s a pain in my ass.”

You followed Bucky up to the front porch and waited as he opened the door for you. Stepping inside, the entrance way smelled of freshly baked cookies and a vanilla candle burning in the living room. Peggy was pacing with purpose around the kitchen, an apron pressed over the soft flow of her dress, hair curled and pulled back from her face, when she spotted you. Jumping away from Steve’s arms, she quickly crossed the room and pulled you in for a hug.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Y/n,” she said, as if she’d been hearing about you for months rather than a day or so. You returned the embrace, thinking fondly that she was warm and comforting, and when she pulled back, you were met with a huge smile. She leaned in close, enough so that no one but you could hear her and said, “Bucky hasn’t smiled a lot in the last few years. It’s nice to see him happy. I hope we don’t lose that in him anytime soon.”

It wasn’t a threat, but an ounce of hope.

“Me, too,” you replied quietly and the bright red of her lips pushed even higher up her cheeks.

“Come on, now,” she said, wiping her hands on the thigh of her apron, “we’ve got some work to do before everyone arrives.”

***

It didn’t take long for the home to be flooded guests once the first ones rang the bell. The Barnes, it seemed, were a well-known family within the community and nearly half the town showed up to congratulate Rebecca on her graduation.

It took Bucky a moment to warm up, but soon enough he was smiling and joking with old friends out in the back yard alongside Steve, a can of half empty beer in his hand, while you talked with Peggy in the garage by the massive line up of snack foods.

You plopped another barbeque meatball onto your plate, cutting it in half and letting the steam seep out as Peggy watched you curiously. She was certainly intimidating for a woman with soft curved hair and bright red lipstick, and she had about a thousand questions for you, but you never once felt like you were under interrogation. She clearly cared about Bucky and was interested to know the woman that supposedly brought his smile back.

She’d told you that Bucky had been lost for a few years, retreating within himself after he came back from his second tour overseas. Something happened over there, though he wouldn’t say what, and with Rebecca shutting him out, he closed himself off completely. Though he never turned to a bottle or something darker to ease his suffering, he also never asked for the help he so clearly needed.

It surprised you to imagine the charming, carefree man who so easily came to your defense in the Charlotte airport, who bought you fresh coffee and snacks, and insisted on doing cartwheels at midnight had been in such a dark place. Peggy told you she hadn’t seen him truly smile with wrinkles up by his eyes and a laugh in his breath since before the war. You weren’t quite sure what to make of that, but the soft smile she gave you as she squeezed your hand, almost in thanks, was comforting.

“Did Peggy tell you about the time Bucky skinny-dipped in the lake behind our high school principal’s house?” Steve teased, jumping up from behind Peggy with a refill of her drink in his hand as he pressed a kiss to her cheek.

“Will you ever shut up about that, punk?” Bucky grumbled, pressing his lips into a thin line as he came up to stand next to you.

“I don’t know, Buck, it’s a story I think I’d like to hear,” you grinned, nudging at his side and he chuckled under his breath.

“Maybe another time, doll.”

Another time. You liked the sound of that.

Bucky’s arm draped over your shoulder and you wondered if he realized he was doing that in front of his friends; the weight of his arm against you, tugging you close to his side and breathing in the comforting smell of him laced with freshly mowed lawn and the tang of beer on his breath.

You parted your lips to tease him, especially after seeing the knowing glance between Steve and Peggy as they noticed Bucky’s ease with which he carried himself around you, but then, a hush fell over the crowd.

“She’s here!” someone shouted, and you felt Bucky jolt beside you.

The crowd rushed to the driveway to greet the car as it pulled in, but you kept yourself planted firmly at Bucky’s side. He didn’t attempt to pull away from you but you could feel the tension aching his in his muscles, his stare frozen on the ground by Steve’s feet, and his heart picking up in pace.

You nodded to Steve and Peggy, letting them know that you’d take care of Bucky while they went to greet Rebecca and her mother as they walked in. The apprehensive look on Steve’s face didn’t slip your notice as Peggy smiled sweetly at you, tugging him away despite his reluctance.

Once the garage had cleared out and the crowd made its way into the open area of the first floor where Rebecca was about to walk through the front door, you turned to Bucky, letting his arm fall away from your shoulders. You reached up, grabbing a firm hold of the sides of his face.

“Bucky, look at me,” you ordered, stern and gentle at the same time. He did. Blue eyes flickering back and forth, panicked. You brushed your thumb along his cheekbone. “You can do this, alright? I know it’s scary, but she’s your sister. Under it all, she loves you. You know that. Tell her what you have to. It’s up to her if she’s ready to hear it.”

Bucky nodded, swallowing thickly and he pushed out a semblance of a smile. “Yeah, yeah, okay. Thank you.”

“Of course,” you replied, removing your hands from his face and letting them fall to your sides, bunching into the fabric of your dress. “I told you I’d be here to support you, didn’t I?”

Bucky’s smile brightened at that. He extended his hand to you, a request, and you took it without hesitation. The two of you made your way into the kitchen from the garage to find the area packed wall to wall with guests. Bucky paused at the edge of the crowd, losing his nerve for a moment, but as you squeezed his hand, he gained some back, enough to push his way through.

Rebecca was standing at the center of the living room dressed in her bright red robes unbuttoned down the middle, worn like a coat, and a fitted white dress underneath. She was smiling, laughing as guests came forth to hug her and congratulate her, handing over gifts and envelopes and asking what she had planned next.

You spotted Steve and Peggy at the front of the crowd, standing on the edge of the circle. Then, you saw Bucky’s mother, who sucked in a deep breath at the sight of Bucky making his way closer, though she relaxed somewhat as she spotted your hand wrapped tightly in his.

Rebecca stood at the center of the open circle, her back to Bucky as he broke through the crowd of people and stepped into the open space with her. She didn’t realize he was there just yet but a lull came over the crowd. They all knew the strained history between the siblings, it seemed.

Bucky released your hand, knowing this was something he had to do on his own and you stepped back into the circle, though you moved to stand by Peggy and Steve, determined to stay within his line of sight, just in case.

Slowly, Rebecca narrowed her eyes, glancing around the room to find everyone staring at something beyond her shoulder. She turned around, confused, until her eyes landed on her brother and the smile fell from her face, features hardening over and jaw clenching so tight the muscle spasmed in her cheek.

“Hey Bec,” Bucky said, his voice low, pained, and you could practically feel his heart pounded from across the room. His eyes flickered over to you for half of a second and you nodded at him, smiling softly, encouragingly, before he turned back to his sister.

She handed the envelopes in her hand off to her mother before she took a step forward.

“What are you doing here?”

Shock. Anger. Betrayal as she shot daggers at her mother. You couldn’t tell which stung the most.

Bucky swallowed anxiously, his hands pushing into his pockets as you noticed the slight tremor while he tried to hold them at his sides. It was obvious how much he cared for his sister, how much guilt he allowed to weigh upon his shoulders, how much he just wanted to make things right again. Perhaps it was only obvious to everyone but his sister.

“Bec,” Bucky said softly, taking a step forward and wincing as she retreated back, keeping the distance between them. “I know it’s been a while, but I wanted to be here for you, to support you. This is, uh, this is a big day for you and I thought maybe we could make things--”

“What?” Rebecca snapped, unaffected by the whispers of the crowd. Bucky flinched. “What did you think was gonna happen?”

“Bec, I--”

“Did you think you were just going to waltz right in here like everything was just fine? Like you didn’t abandon this family to fight in a goddamn war no one asked you to take part in!” she shouted, and you could hear the pain in her voice, angry and grieving.

Bucky’s jaw was clenched so tightly you wondered if it would stay locked that way forever.

“You left us, James!” Rebecca accused, pointing her finger at him, “You made that choice! After all the Army put you through and after watching your friends die and getting your arm ripped to shreds, you went back!”

Bucky’s face was flushed red, eyes darting at the carpet; like a lost puppy with its tail between its legs. You hated seeing him like this, so easily giving into the guilt of allowing his sister to push him away for so long. He shook his head, like a counter argument was racing through his mind but he didn’t voice it aloud. He let her yell, let her get out what she needed to say.

This was his plan, you realized, to let her say all the things she never had the chance to scream and fight with him about when he came home again because she had cut him out completely. They never had this confrontation. It only seemed fitting to have it with a full audience.

Guests started to back away into the kitchen, some escaping out to the yard, though others stayed to watch, too caught up in the tension hanging in the air and the thrill of the drama between siblings.

“You have no right to be here!” Rebecca shouted, picking up a pillow from the couch and chucking it harshly at Bucky’s chest, though he blocked it with his forearm, letting it fall with a soft bounce to the floor. She threw another, and another, and whatever she could get her hands on. “I told you I didn’t want to see you again! I meant what I said! You knew this would happen if you left and you did it anyway!”

Bucky took a deep breath, starting to grow frustrated with the amount of pillows he was dodging. His eyes flickered over to you in a brief moment and you nodded, knowing he was seeking the courage to say what he had been thinking for the last few years. Consequences be damned.

“And you!” Rebecca turned to her mother, who watched with wide, pained eyes, “why the hell would you let him--”

“Enough!” Bucky roared, silencing the room instantly. “This isn’t mom’s fault, so leave her out of this. This fight is between us.”

Rebecca crossed her arms over her chest, raising an eyebrow and waiting for him to continue.

“What happened to us, Bec?” Bucky started, his voice softening. “We used to be so close. I hate that I can’t talk to you about what’s going on in my life anymore. I’ve had your number dialed up on my phone dozens of times in the last few years, but I’ve never had the damn courage to call. We used to talk about everything. You always knew when I was fighting with Steve. You knew when some girl was breaking my heart. You knew about every dead-end job I had up in Brooklyn and how much I hated that you and Ma moved down to Atlanta without me.”

You watched Rebecca as she kept her face blank, emotionless, not giving into an ounce of the pain Bucky was putting on full display.

“I don’t know what your first year at school was like,” Bucky continued, shaking his head, disappointment in his voice. “I don’t know how quickly you made friends or what your favorite classes were. I only know your major because Ma told me. I feel like we’re strangers, Bec. I want things to be better, how they used to be. I miss my sister. I miss having my family.”

“Yeah, well you made that choice, didn’t you?” Rebecca snapped back and your heart broke as Bucky closed his eyes, the devastation so evident on his face, you wanted nothing more than to whisk him away from this.

“Bec, please, just listen to me--”

“I want you to leave.”

Bucky’s shoulders slumped, his eyes glancing over at his mother desperately before they returned to his sister. “Bec, come on. Don’t do this.”

Rebecca just rolled her eyes and suddenly, Bucky was gritting his teeth. You felt Peggy’s hand on your wrist, keeping you grounded as you must have looked about as distressed as you felt just watching the full of Bucky’s pain and insecurity rushing to the surface.

But there was something else, too.

Something like anger.

“I get that you’ll never understand why I went back after everything that happened,” Bucky said, his voice low but defiant. Determined. A new kind of strength in his words. “I could have died. I know that, but it was part of the risk. I’m sure you probably think that by going back, I was just throwing my life away and you know what? Maybe I was.”

Rebecca shifted in her stance. She hadn’t expected that, but her features remained stern.

“Maybe being state-side was hell for me because I watched friends die over there. I lost my purpose when I came home and I didn’t know how to just be some normal civilian and go to a day job when I’d spent years sleeping on rubble and dodging bullets. So, yes, I went back the second I was cleared to. I needed to prove to myself that what happened over there didn’t break me. I had to go back for my friends who died in a blast that should have killed me, too.”

The room was painfully silent. You swore you could hear your own heart pounding in your chest.

“But honestly, Bec, with you cutting me off like this,” Bucky shook his head, “what fucking difference would it have made if I had just died over there? Wouldn’t have mattered to you, would it? Maybe I should have. It would have been easier for all of us.”

Rebecca stiffened instantly, blank faced and shocked, while his mother gasped in a shaken breath, hands darting up to cup at her lips as someone behind her held her steady.

Rebecca’s arms fell to her sides, a wave of something like remorse and pain rushing to replace the anger etched into her expression and she tried to take a step forward but Bucky held a hand up defensively. It was then he started to notice the crowd of onlookers that had witnessed his confrontation with his sister, who had heard him admit to the worst of his thoughts in the back of his mind.

Without another word, he turned his back and pushed his way through the crowd, shoving aside strangers gathered to watch the moment he’d been dreading for years fall apart in front of him.

You didn’t waste any time before you rushed after him, keeping a close eye on his shoulder blades as he weaved through the guests. They parted like the sea for him, knowing better than to confront him or stand in his way as he made his escape. You waited until he stepped outside, into the empty garage before you called his name.

He turned around, surprised, like he hadn’t expected you to follow him and the moment he caught sight of you, saw the concern in your eyes and the way your hand reached up to touch his arm, he broke down. Tears welling in his eyes and lips trembling, you grabbed a tight hold of his hand, leading him silently to the front lawn, away from prying eyes and eased him down to sit on the porch steps. He came willingly, head leaning against your shoulder as you draped your arm across his legs, rubbing soothing patterns against his thighs.

You could feel the wet of his tears on your skin and the slight tremble in his body, but you didn’t say anything. He needed this moment of release, to let out years of frustration and anger and loss he had been suffocating for so long. Only when he swallowed back the last of his tears, sniffling and pulling away from your shoulder to sit up straight, did you tell him exactly what you thought.

“I’m proud of you, Bucky.”

He shook his head, chewing on his lip. “I fucked it all up. Again.”

“You got out what you needed to say,” you reminded him as you gathered his hand in your own. He sighed at the touch, relieved. “Maybe it didn’t go how you wanted but it was never going to be fixed in one conversation. You knew that. It’ll take time.”

He nodded, watching the way you traced against the lines in his palm. “Maybe things’ll just never be okay with us. Maybe I just fucked everything up for good.”

“Oh, Bucky,” you sighed, cupping the side of his face and urging him to look at you. You were met with pools of deep blue with red strain filling the whites of his eyes, and a hard clench in his jaw. “I don’t think--”

“Did you mean what you said?” a voice suddenly asked from behind you; soft, nervous, and Bucky’s breath hitched.

You turned slowly to find Rebecca standing in the frame of the door, looking down at Bucky with her lower lip trembling. She gripped the knob so tightly her knuckles were sheet white. Bucky didn’t say anything. You suspected he didn’t know how.

“You really think I would have rather you died?” she asked, her voice cracking as tears burned in her eyes.

You watched as Bucky stumbled over his words before they could even pass by his tongue. Glancing up at Rebecca, you offered her a soft smile, encouraging her to continue, before you turned to Bucky, placing a kiss to the back of his hand, just along the knuckles, before you stood.

“Wait. Don’t go,” he whispered, voice so small it nearly broke your heart. He held a tight grip on your hand.

“You’ve got this. Just talk to her. I won’t be far,” you said softly into his ear, just loud enough only he could hear you. You let your hand graze along his cheek, sweet soothing motions, until he nodded and you pulled away. You nodded at Rebecca and she pushed out a semblance of a smile in appreciation as she stepped down to take a seat next to her brother.

Giving them the space to talk, you made your way over to the garage where some of the guests had begun to gather around the tables of food. No one seemed to pay attention as Bucky and Rebecca talked quietly away from the crowd. You could see his lips moving, her head nodding subtly as he spoke and he wiped at his eyes. She did, too.

You let out a heavy breath, leaning against the edge of the garage, content to just watch. They sat there together for nearly twenty minutes before you decided to seek out Peggy and Steve out in the back yard huddled around a bonfire, holding onto each other smiling with a kind of joy you always imagined for yourself. You decided to leave them be.

When you found your way back to the driveway, Bucky and Rebecca had disappeared from their place on the steps. You narrowed your eyes, walking around the house a bit until you spotted the soft wave of Bucky’s hair through the window. He was standing in the kitchen, talking with his mother and Rebecca stood only a few feet away, a careful smile on her face as she nodded along to whatever he was saying. After a moment, he gestured towards her and she came willingly, through apprehensively, as he hugged her from the side. It was one-armed and timid, and incredibly awkward, but they pulled away with hope in their eyes. His mother was crying.

Smiling to yourself and thankful you could give him the support he needed to face this day after all he’d done for you at Jack’s wedding, you started to find yourself stepping back until you reached the edge of the driveway.

He didn’t need you anymore. The magic of the weekend was over and you’d both go back to your separate lives. It was all this weekend was meant to be. Some kind of whirlwind fantasy. It wasn’t ever meant to last.

You wondered if maybe you’d ever run into him in New York. He had mentioned he grew up in Brooklyn. It was a big city, after all. Maybe it would be best if you never ran into piercing blue eyes and kind smiles again. You weren’t sure you’d be able to let him go a second time.

You reached into your bag, searching for your phone to call for a Lyft. You stared at the app for a few minutes before you accepted. The sun was on its way down and most of the guests had retreated inside to escape the dark and the bugs at dusk. A chill swept over you and you crossed your arms, glancing down the end of the road in search of your ride.

“Y/n!”

You turned around, heart skipping a beat, to find Bucky stepping out into the garage, heading turning out to the back lawn in search of you, though he came up empty. He jogged away from the back door, thinking you must be inside, when he caught sight of you standing at the end of the driveway.

“Y/n?” His voice was quieter now, confused, and he jogged down to meet you as you waved awkwardly. “What are you doing? I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

He glanced down to the phone gripped in your hand. The notification that your driver would be here in only a few minutes plastered across the screen. His shoulders fell.

“You’re leaving?” he asked, a sad ache in his voice you weren’t expecting.

You shrugged, nodding. “Yeah, well I saw you seemed to work things out with your sister, or, you’re at least on the right path– and I’m really happy for you, Bucky, honest, I am – but you don’t exactly need me here anymore, so I thought I should just--”

“What makes you think I don’t need you?”

You froze. “What?”

“Well, the guests are about to start clearing out in a few and Steve’s convinced us to bring out Pictionary again like we used to play in the old days and I’m going to need a partner,” he said casually, pursing his lips like it was a last minute thought and not something he had been thinking about all day. “Besides, I wanted to thank you for this weekend. Just think about the shitstorm we both would have gone through alone if you hadn’t spilled your coffee all over that pretentious asshole.”

You chuckled despite yourself, nodding. “He technically spilled my coffee on himself.”

“Right, of course,” Bucky grinned.

He glanced back at the kitchen to find Rebecca was washing dishes at the sink. She must have noticed him watching her and she raised a hand hesitantly to wave and Bucky couldn’t contain the smile pushing on his cheeks as he waved back. It was progress.

“I don’t want to intrude, Bucky. This seems like a family thing,” you said, awkwardly scratching at the nape of your neck. “Besides, I don’t want to give them the wrong idea, you know? It’s one thing to lie to my ex-boyfriend and his horrible friends I will hopefully never see again, but this is your family, Bucky. I don’t want to make them think that--”

“What? That I like you?” Bucky interrupted, a soft smile on his face as your eyes widened. He chuckled under his breath, taking a step forward and letting his hands run up the sides of your arms, warming you. “I meant what I said that night in the airport and out on the patio at the wedding. I want to see you again, Y/n, if you’ll let me. I want to go out on a date that doesn’t include one of us facing serious emotional turmoil and crying all night.”

You laughed at that and Bucky’s smile only got wider.

“Please, stay,” he asked again. “I promise we’ll destroy Steve and Peggy, though we might have to go easy on Ma and Bec given the circumstances.”

“She won’t go easy on you,” you countered, grinning.

“We’ll give her round one and then we’ll come at everyone full force. How’s that sound?” he conceded, his right hand moving from your shoulder to cup at the side of your face.

You leaned into him, nodding as you smiled, aching to feel more of his hands; warm and calloused, strong and tender. Reaching up to hold his wrist, your thumb tracing along the bone of his joint, content to sit with the silence of the crickets chirping around you and the soft light of the kitchen extending down the driveway.

Bucky brushed away a hair fallen out of place, using his hand on your cheek to carefully urge you closer to him. There was too much space between you, always too much space, and as your eyes flickered down to pink lips you had kissed the night before, you couldn’t stand the anticipation.

You pushed yourself up against him, arms wrapping around his neck as your lips brushed his; slow at first, timid and testing the waters, until it deepened to something more and Bucky’s hands traveled down your back and clung to your waist.

His lips were unlike anything else. Though, you supposed so was he.

This man with the kind smile and blue eyes that could knock you off your feet, who hummed off key with a voice like honey, and offered to buy you coffee after some middle-aged man in a suit screamed at you in the airport. This man, who did cartwheels at midnight and tracked you down at Jack’s wedding after he realized how alone you felt. This man, who cared so deeply for those he loved that he agonized and berated himself for years over his strained relationship with his sister.

You pulled back for air when you realized your ride was still on its way. Bucky only let you go reluctantly, his lips connecting with your cheek, your forehead as you fumbled to open the app and cancel the ride. He snatched the phone from your hands with a teasing smirk when you were taking too long and did it himself, tossing the phone into your bag. His hands found their way back to your cheeks and he pulled you in for another kiss.

“Let’s go, kids!” Steve called from the front door and you broke away from Bucky laughing, face pressed against his chest. “You can make-out some other time when I’m not about to decimate you in Pictionary!”

“Shut the hell up, Rogers!” Bucky called back, though he was laughing, arms circled around your shoulders as you hid your blushed face against him. He shook his head, looking down at you and pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “What do you say, doll?”

“Guess we better show Steve who's boss,” you replied, face stern, serious, until you broke out into a smile.

“I knew I liked you for a reason,” Bucky grinned, leading you back up the driveway. As the light from the kitchen illuminated his face, you started to laugh, quickly pulling him to a stop and rubbing at the lipstick mark on the corner of his lips. He jolted away. “Hey! Maybe I like that there...”

“You want to give Steve more ammunition against you right now?” you laughed, only letting your hand fall when you were certain you got the last of it, but Bucky swept in and kissed you again. “Bucky!”

“Okay, okay!” he surrendered, thought he stole a final kiss against your forehead before he held the door open for you, gesturing for you to take the first step inside.

You followed in behind him, his hand wrapped around yours and a beaming smile on your face you couldn’t seem to shake.

This weekend was meant to be filled with tears and the bottom of a bottle, with heartbreak and shame at the hands of your ex. But instead, it was made of adventures in Charlotte Douglas at midnight and dancing your way through the worst wedding invite you’d ever accept and attending a college graduation of a stranger’s estranged sister.

It was chaos and escapism. It was a leap of faith and unbridled joy. It was learning that you were more than what someone else thought of you and it was finding yourself again. It was crying on one another and facing the worst of your fears. It was unquestioned support. It was mint-chocolate chip ice cream at two in the morning and overly competitive Pictionary. It was holding hands with the man with startling blue eyes and kissing him in the dark.

It was Bucky Barnes.

The handsome stranger in the airport.

--

Leaning on somebody isn't easy I'll do what I can to make you see that This is not a temporary love This is not a temporary love Now your heart is in my hands, I won't give it up This is not a temporary love

[Temporary Love – Ben Platt]

--

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

[kelyon]

Golden Rings 16: A Confession

The Storybrooke sequel to Golden Cuffs

In which Rumple leaves the jail, but is not free

Read on AO3

He waits in the darkness. In this prison, his magic is useless and there is nothing to do but wait. Has he been here for weeks or for months? When his wife fretted over his future, did she worry about him being so bored?

His cell is at the end of a long tunnel. The only torches are at the mouth of the corridor, where the guards are stationed. His captors are quiet tonight, but sometimes he hears them talking to each other. They tell tales of him, warning each other against his power, his evil, his devious tricks. They speak as though they are in danger just by being in his presence. 

They are not wrong. 

If he wanted to, he could kill them with his bare hands. He wouldn’t need magic or a weapon. His own strength and viciousness would be enough to rip through their armor and tear out their throats with his teeth. 

It is fortunate for the guards that he has no intention of harming them, or of escaping. He is exactly where he wants to be. This cell is insulated from magic, it is both a prison and a fortress. If there is any place in this world where the effects of the Queen’s curse might be mitigated, even a little, it is here. In this black hell, that faint spark of hope shines like the sun.

Movement. 

At the end of the tunnel, lights grow brighter. Another torch has been added to their number. Footsteps echo in the stone cave. Alerted, he sits up. He pounces away from the wall. He crouches on the dank ground like an animal, claws raised, teeth bared. 

“Come closer, dearie.” His words are sweet as treacle, but he laces them with poison. “How kind of you to visit me in my loneliness!” 

There is a gasp at the end of the hallway, half-stifled. The visitor is afraid, but is trying not to show it. The footsteps hurry forward, soft and quick. The torchlight grows brighter as it comes closer. 

It is a hooded figure, he cannot see its face. The body is small, and the cloak is patterned with green and yellow leaves.

He knows that cloak. He made it himself.

He cannot get his hopes up. He is imprisoned in the stronghold of his enemies. No illusion is beyond the grasp of the Evil Queen or the Blue Fairy. Either one of them could be trying to deceive him. Trying to exploit his weakness for their own gain.

 Or madness could be taking over his mind. His own hope could be twisting around on itself, creating a vision of what he wants. The one thing he wants to see more than anything else in the world.      

“Come closer, I said!” His voice is rough with disuse, with emotion. In this pit of despair, he does not dare hope. He doesn’t want to believe that it could be…

“You cannot order me about, Rumpelstiltskin. Not anymore.” The voice is clear and beautiful, like clean water in the middle of a drought. The light stops moving when it fills his vision. The figure sets a torch in a sconce. Finally, he can see her. Her face. Her furrowed brow, her shaky smile.  “You must at least say please.”

“Please,” he breathes. 

It is a short fall, to go from crouching to kneeling, but being near Belle again requires nothing less. He must get on his knees to her--his wife, his love, his dearest wish. 

Trembling, he reaches through the pointed bars of his cell. Without hesitation, her hand clutches around his. She is on her knees as well. Her flesh is warm and soft.

“You’re real.” This is no trick. He knows it as surely as he knows anything. “You’re alive.”

She bites her lip as she looks at him. He must be filthy, haggard, even more hideous than usual. But she is not repulsed. Only full of pity. 

“What have they done to you?” she whispers. 

“Nothing I didn’t deserve.” He cannot think of his own troubles, not while she is in front of him. “How did you come to be here, my darling?”

“The guard tonight is a dwarf called Sleepy.” She puts on a brave face, tries to make a joke. “He lives up to his name.”

He cannot tear his eyes from her. “And you have made yourself at home in this castle?”

She nods. “Our plan worked. The Prince ‘rescued’ me. And the side of goodness proclaimed me as one of their own.”

“You are,” he sighs. He has never seen a sight more beautiful than the woman who loves him. “You are goodness, my love. The royals should count themselves lucky that they get to be on your side, let alone that you want to be on theirs.”

Her hand clenches around his. “I’m on your side,” she promises. “We are working together, even when we are apart.”

“Yes.” He holds her hand in both of his and brings it to his lips. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“And I miss you.” 

She reaches into his cage. She grasps at his clothes, pulling him closer. Their mouths meet between the iron bars. Her kiss is honey and sunshine and the breath of life. It is meat and blood and peace. He cannot get enough of her. He will never have enough of her. Not until they are truly together, when all the curses are broken and they can live the rest of their lives without fear. 

They break apart at the same time, both of them gasping for breath.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he whispers. “If they find you with me, they will lock you up as well. They will think you are evil. They will try to purify you with scourges and flaying.”

“I know,” she agrees. “But I couldn’t stay away. If only I could be with you always. I would stay with you, even in this terrible place.”

“I know.” He rests his forehead against hers. They breathe together, an act of unity just as important as a kiss.

After a moment, he steps back. There is space between their bodies now, though their hands still touch against the bars. He rubs his thumb over the smooth gold of her wedding ring. 

“How are they, up in the outside world?”

“Everyone is panicking over Regina’s curse. They’re trying to stop it, but they don’t know how.”

“If only they had the most powerful user of dark magic in the world trapped somewhere nearby with nothing to do but offer advice to anyone who asks.”

Belle’s pink lips quirk into a half-grin. “Perhaps they need a reminder of that fact.”

“And how is Snow White bearing her firstborn?”

“I haven’t spoken to her much. But I’ve heard that she is often brought low with melancholy. The Prince insists that there is a way to fight the curse, but she is losing hope.”

“Is she desperate?”

“She will be.”        

“Good.”

The Dark One trades in desperation. Much of his power comes from fear--not only the fear that people have of him, but of the things they fear so much that they are willing to pay him whatever he asks for. 

“The child,” he whispers. “Have they given it a name yet?”

Belle shakes her head. “In this land a prince or princess is not named until after it is born. There is a grand ceremony when the name is spoken for the first time and proclaimed to the whole kingdom.”

“We won’t have time for that,” he snarls. “The curse is coming! The name of the Savior has power. I must know what it is!”

“You will.” She soothes him. She presses her palm against his own. Their scars match up, at the place where they mingled their blood on their wedding day. “I believe in you. We will find a way.”

His breathing slows as her nearness cools his rage. “Together,” he agrees.

His wife looks over her shoulder. “They will change the guard soon.” She bites her lip. “I don’t know when I’ll be able to come back.”

“You shouldn’t come back.” He forces the words out. “You shouldn’t be here now.”

“Well you can take me over your knee when we see each other again.”

He snorts his surprise and amusement. She is too good, too perfect.

She looks over her shoulder again. “Before I go,” she says, “I have something to ask of you.”

“Anything, my love. Though I have little to give as I am now.”  

“It is something from your mind. Something to occupy your thoughts until we meet again.”

“What is it?”

“I want you to think of a name for our baby.”

His eyes widen. He blinks, several times. 

“Something you want to tell me, sweetheart?”

She smiles. “No, my love. Only that there is a future for us. Snow White is not the only person who can have an important child. We will be together again. And when we are, we will be a family. All of us.”

He nods. Already his mind is racing with every name he can think of. Names have power. The name of Belle’s child must be perfect. Meaningful. The enormity of the task is enough to fell him. What a brilliant woman his wife is! What a wonderful gift she has given him!

“Thank you,” he whispers. “Thank you for reminding me that all of this is temporary.”

Her face breaks, but she keeps herself from weeping. “I love you so much, Rumple.”

She presses in to kiss him again. It lasts for an eternity. It is over too soon. 

Before she leaves, she offers him one last assurance: “I will see you again.”

****

Rumpelstiltskin spent the better part of a day in the jail cell of the Storybrooke sheriff station. Apparently Sheriff Swan was the only officer with the authority to release detainees, and her presence was required outside the station until later in the afternoon. 

She sent her heartfelt regrets.

He didn’t mind much. The Dark One had learned long ago that there was power in appearing to be at the mercy of his enemies. Captivity in particular had its advantages. No distractions, for one thing. There was nothing he could do now except think, and plan.   

Another advantage was that people would have to come to him. Someone had taken the cup that had belonged to Belle. Someone knew what that cup was, and what it meant to him. Someone had tried to draw him out. And someone would be thinking that their scheme had worked.

So someone would be stopping by to gloat.  

There was no doubt that the culprit knew what had happened by now.  Even if Mrs. Gold’s drunken outburst hadn’t drawn a crowd, news spread fast in a small town. Enough people had heard her shout at him in Granny’s. And enough people had seen Emma helping Mrs. Gold walk to the station. And by mid-morning enough people had noticed him in the holding cell. 

For a few hours, Rumpelstiltskin entertained himself by imagining how wild and salacious the rumors could get. Any fool would know that Gold and his wife had participated in a public shouting match, but what else could they think of? That he had used violence? That Mrs. Gold had fought back using her high heeled shoes as a weapon? That her father had rushed in to defend her and Gold had beaten him bloody with his cane? Gold’s reputation was as the most feared man in Storybrooke. Nothing was too outrageous to believe.  

That reputation had saved Rumpelstiltskin a lot of trouble in his dealings with the people of Storybrooke. Even now, at the piddling mercy of uniformed police officers, a glare and a sneer were enough to keep them away from him. Every one of them paid rent to him, or owed him something, and they were all keenly aware of it. He was in a cage, but they were the ones who were terrified.   

So they made themselves scarce. The station was practically empty by the time Emma waltzed in with a bag from Granny’s. Walking along the central office area, she pulled wrapped sandwiches out of the paper bag and set them on all the desks. Presumably, she knew her workers well enough to know what each would want for lunch. And she cared enough to get it for them, an act that would certainly endear herself to her subordinates. 

Emma pulled out the last sandwich from the bag and held it out as she walked over to the cell. “I figured you for a pastrami guy.”

Rumpelstiltskin let himself reach out and take the food. He held the oil-soaked paper bundle in both hands and didn’t open it. “Corned beef, actually.”

“I’ll remember that for next time you’re in here.” It was a joke, but it was also a threat. Emma leaned against one of the desks in front of the cell, facing him with her arms crossed over her chest. 

“I believe you mean the first time I actually commit a crime,” he countered. Getting her to put him in jail had been nothing but a bit of theater, a convenient way to keep Mrs. Gold from the same fate. They both knew he wasn’t being charged. 

“The next time I catch you trying to get a drunk woman to go home with you against her will.”

“Ah, well.” He shrugged, playing his part. “Given Mrs. Gold’s impulse control, I can’t make many promises on that topic.”

“If you’re trying to convince me that any part of this is her fault, that is not going to happen.”

He let her have that one without further argument. Emma Swan was smarter than most people in this town. She had the rare gift of First Sight--the ability to see things as they really were, and not how everyone knew they were supposed to be. Outside Storybrooke, it had probably been an advantageous skill. But here, in a place where reality itself was subject to the most powerful curse ever made, she was wrong even when she was right. 

Nothing Mrs. Gold’s life was her fault, that was true. But it wasn’t Rumpelstiltskin’s fault either. Gold had preyed upon a young woman. Regina had cursed them all. Emma was the only one who could fix everything, but not in the way she thought. Not in any way even someone as smart as her could imagine. 

He held up the sandwich. “Thanks for picking up lunch,” he said. “Do my tax dollars include dessert?”

Emma stood up straight, arms swinging with deliberate casualness. “You sit tight, Gold. I’ve gotta go find some paperwork before I can release you.”

She went out into the hallway, and Rumpelstiltskin knew he was in for at least another two hours of incarceration.

It didn’t matter. Emma thought she was punishing Gold, but really she was keeping Rumpelstiltskin free for a little while longer. 

He didn’t want to face Mrs. Gold. Interacting with her was torturous under regular circumstances. After last night--and the night before that, and the day in between--living with her would be nearly impossible. 

It had finally broken apart. The facade of a marriage that he had spent five months hiding behind had cracked and shattered. She had heard him call out to Belle. She accused him of infidelity. Even Mrs. Gold’s unwavering obedience to her husband had finally bent under the strain of Rumpelstiltskin’s neglect.  

Part of him was relieved. It was one thing to wear a mask in front of his enemies, but it was something altogether different to constantly deflect the attentions of a woman who only ever wanted to please him. She lived in his house, she was with him all the time. Until last night, they had slept in the same bed. It had worn on him, to have Belle’s body so near, so willing--and have to reject her again and again. Perhaps now Mrs. Gold would get it into her head to reject him.

Would she leave him? 

Long ago in their cursed life, Mrs. Gold had burned bridges with everyone she had known before her marriage. She had no support structure, no money of her own. Her job skills would be enough to get her part-time work at minimum wage--if anyone wanted to hire her. The woman’s reputation around town would scare away most respectable employers. Without Gold, she would have to go begging back to her already impoverished family. Or she could try to ingratiate herself with some other wealthy man in Storybrooke. Gold had often insulted his wife by calling her a whore, but what other option had he given her?

If nothing else, Rumpelstiltskin couldn’t allow that to happen. He wouldn’t let Mrs. Gold make any more reckless decisions with Belle’s body. Though the illusion of the marriage had dissolved, he would have to maintain control over Mrs. Gold somehow.

Probably through money, or comfort. At her core, Mrs. Gold was a practical woman. She knew that her relationship with Gold was a simple deal. If Rumpelstiltskin altered the deal, perhaps she wouldn’t make a fuss. 

An image from the night before floated through Rumpelstiltskin’s memory: Mrs. Gold, drunk and heartbroken, fighting against Emma in her need to lash out at him. “You’re supposed to love me, you bastard!”

Where had she gotten that idea? Gold had never allowed his wife to entertain notions of love between them. How could the way Rumpelstiltskin had been treating her possibly lead her to that conclusion? Mrs. Gold had said she loved him, when he had been dreaming of Belle. Had she been dreaming as well? 

Had Mrs. Gold been dreaming of her husband? Or had Belle been dreaming of Rumpelstiltskin? What was happening to the curse?

Emma came back with a manila file folder in her hand. She strode purposefully through the station, perfectly comfortable wielding her authority. She was truly the combination of her parents--a born princess and a seasoned war leader. She was the Savior, the curse-breaker. All he had to do was hold on until she started saving everyone.

There was a clear line of sight between the Sheriff’s office and the holding cell. Rumpelstiltskin watched as Emma put the folder she had just brought in at the bottom of a stack of similar files. He took that to be all the paperwork she would have to get through before she would deign to release him. 

****

After twenty minutes of industrious silence, the sound of running feet broke through the hallway outside. To Rumpelstiltskin’s ear, the running sounded happy, excited, young. A child with boundless energy, finally free to burst toward something they want.

Following the running was the methodical click of high heeled shoes. For a moment, Rumpelstiltskin thought that Mrs. Gold had come to the station. But no, these footsteps were more authoritative, businesslike.

He wasn’t surprised at all to see Henry Mills come bounding in to the station and make a beeline for Emma’s office. And of course Regina would be slinking right behind him.

“Sheriff Swan, I’m going to permit you half an hour with my son.” Regina announced this piddling allowance of time like it was a gift. “Take him out for ice cream.”

Rumpelstiltskin watched Emma’s eyes flit from Regina, to Henry, to the empty station, to himself, and then back to Regina. “You’re expecting me to leave you alone with a prisoner?”

Regina lifted her chin and looked straight ahead at the cell. “Twenty-nine minutes.”

This time, Emma’s look went only from Henry to Rumpelstiltskin. “Are you okay with this?”

He shrugged. “Bring me back a cone?”

Emma nodded to him, then spoke to Regina. “We will be right back.”

“Yes, you’ll have to be,” the Queen said smoothly. She stood still as Emma and Henry bustled around her, jabbering excitedly as they left. It really was remarkable how much both mother and son lit up when they were together. 

Rumpelstiltskin didn’t move. He stayed seated on the cell bench and let Regina come to him. She perched on the arm of the sofa in front of the holding cell. She had a large, black leather purse slung over one shoulder.

“Madame Mayor,” he said in tones low with menace. “To what do I owe this visit?”

“Mr. Gold, I think we might be able to help each other.”

The audacity of this woman. Under any other circumstance, she would have nothing to offer him. And yet…

“When two people each have something the other wants, a deal can always be struck.”

She gave him a tight smile. “I hoped you’d see it that way.”

“But do you have something I want?”

Instead of answering, Regina crossed her legs and pushed back the blazer of her smart business suit. “You know, all day I’ve been hearing the most terrible rumors about you and Mrs. Gold. I do hope everything is alright between you two.”

“My wife,” he said slowly, “has not been herself lately.”

“Or is it you who haven’t been yourself, Mr. Gold?”

He looked at her, impassive. “I’m sure I have no idea what you mean.”

“I’m sure you do.” The Queen took her purse off her shoulder and set it on her knees.

Rumpelstiltskin tried not to stare at the bag. He looked instead at Regina’s face. “Why are you here?”

“Like I said, to help you. And to receive some help in return.”

“What do you have to offer me, dearie?”

“Not much,” she smirked. Without looking down, Regina reached into her purse and pulled it out. The chipped cup. “Just a… sentimental little keepsake.”

It took all of Rumpelstiltskin’s resolve not to leap to his feet and demand the cup. He wanted to break these steel bars and rip the cup from Regina’s hands--and rip her hands from her arms if she wouldn’t surrender it. That was Belle’s cup. This witch had no right to touch it!

Instead, he stayed still. All his energy, all his rage, focused on the cup. He focused on Regina, who dangled it by the handle.

“How?” he rasped. How had she known about the cup? How had he let his cover slip? How had she broken into Gold’s house?

“Flimsy locks,” she quipped. Then the Queen turned more serious. “I have power in this world, more power than you know.”

“But not enough,” he hissed. “You will never have enough power to beat me.” 

She shook her head. A faint chuckle entered her voice. “I already have. I know what your weakness is.”

Rumpelstiltskin swallowed and made himself shrug. “It’s just a cup.”

“But you want it,” Regina purred. “And you’ll give me what I want in order to get it back.”

“What is it that you want, dearie?”

“I want you to answer one question. And answer it simply.” She squared her shoulders before she asked: “What is your name?”

Rumpelstiltskin didn’t hesitate. “It’s Mr. Gold.”

The Queen glowered at him. “Your real name.”

“Every moment I’ve spent in this world, that has been my name.”

Regina leaned forward, closer to the bars. “What about moments spent elsewhere?”

He locked his eyes on hers. “What are you asking me?”

“I think you know.” Clearly her patience was running thin. “Tell me your name.”

And with a sly grin, he confessed: “Rumpelstiltskin.”

The deal done, he took the cup from Regina’s unresisting hands and cradled it in his own. He looked it over, making sure there was only one chip. Belle’s cup. Their cup. It was safe.

When he looked at Regina, she was fairly glowing with triumph. 

“What gave me away?”

“Belle did,” Regina said smugly. “I’ve been watching Mr. and Mrs. Gold for, well, a very long time now. I could see that something was wrong with her. But you seemed perfectly normal. Suspiciously normal.”

His own caution--his own commitment to playing the role of Gold--that was what had exposed him. Still holding the cup in both hands, Rumpelstiltskin sat back against the wall. “So,” he said, “as long as we’re being honest with each other, let’s remember how things used to be.”

“We used to work together,” Regina said, incorrectly. “You used to help me without so much… hostility.”

“That was before you ever came after what was mine, Your Majesty.” He shook his head and tutted. “You really should be more careful about who you make your enemy.”

“You mean my victim,” she sneered.

“And how much longer do you think that will last? Haven’t you noticed the curse getting weaker?”

“But I am just as strong as ever!” The Queen rose to her feet. She looked down on him with regal disdain. “You’re the one who’s letting your biggest weakness galavant all over town!”

Clutching the bars of the cell, Rumpelstiltskin pulled himself up to stand “For your sake, I hope that isn’t a threat.”

“Of course not.” Regina closed her purse and began to leave. “I’ve barely spoken to Mrs. Gold. I’m certainly not the one who brought her so much pain she got drunk in public and started crying in the street.”

With a satisfied smirk, Regina turned on her heel and left.  

****

Darkness had fallen by the time Emma officially let him out. Winter nights came early in Maine. If the sheriff noticed the teacup in his hands, she didn’t mention it. 

His first thought was to walk back to Granny’s where he had parked Gold’s car the night before. But then he remembered that he had given the keys to Mrs. Gold so she could take herself home. So he would have to walk to the house.

He only hoped that she would still be there when he arrived.  

The house was dark and the door was unlocked. Gold’s heavy ring of keys hung in plain sight on the first hook by the door. Rumpelstiltskin took the keys and put them in his pocket. Flimsy locks, Regina had said. She had broken into his house and stolen one of the things he valued most in the world--and he hadn’t noticed until it was too late. The cup could have been missing for days before he went into Gold’s study and saw that it wasn’t where he’d left it.

Would she attack his home again? Should he arrange to put double bolts on all the doors? Or was she just trying to toy with him? This was a world the Queen had made. It shouldn’t surprise him that she had her own ways to take anything she wanted from anyone. 

Noise came from one of the inner rooms. It took Rumpelstiltskin a moment to recognize the sound of the television in the living room. Gold had never cared much for the “idiot box,” so it had been an easy device for Rumpelstiltskin to ignore. 

He went toward the noise, turning on lights as he went through the house. In the living room off the kitchen, the only light came from the flashing bluish glare of the television. Mrs. Gold was sitting on the couch, curled in on herself under a blanket. She was staring vacantly at the screen, letting the sounds and images wash over her. 

Was it just the blue light, or was she paler than normal? The shadows of this dark room brought out the hollows in her cheeks and under her eyes. He could see the sheen of tear tracks on her skin. Unwashed hair hung limply around her face. Her lower lip was dark and swollen from where she had been biting it.

For a moment, Rumpelstiltskin didn’t move or speak. Mrs. Gold hadn’t noticed his arrival. Briefly, he wondered if she was drunk again. If she was trying to deaden the pain of her existence by deadening every other sense. But no, there were no bottles anywhere nearby. Mrs. Gold’s pain by itself was enough to deaden her senses.  

He turned on a lamp and let a soft golden glow invade the harsh blue. Mrs. Gold jumped out of her daze. Unlike other times when Rumpelstiltskin had surprised Mrs. Gold, she didn’t hop to attention like a trained animal. She didn’t stand up and present her body for his approval, she didn’t kneel before him like a slave. Instead, Mrs. Gold sank back into the corner of the couch. She wrapped the blanket tightly around herself. Her eyes were wide as she looked at him in silence.  

She was afraid. 

When she had looked at him like this before, Mrs. Gold had been afraid of what she knew was coming. She knew how cruel her husband was, what the consequences were of displeasing him. But now it seemed she was afraid of the unknown. She had said it herself: All that matters is that I don’t know who you are. Whether she knew it or not, Mrs. Gold was afraid of Rumpelstiltskin.  

“Hi,” he said softly. He tried not to alarm her any further.

“Hi,” she answered, still staring at him. She didn’t let her guard down. She muted the television and turned to face him.

“I… I didn’t know if you would still be here.”

Mrs. Gold shrugged. “I don’t have anywhere else to go.” She broke their eye contact and  looked down. “I didn’t know if yo u would let me come back if I left.”

Rumpelstiltskin clenched his fist around his cane. Was her uncertainty a reflection of Gold, or of himself? Gold had done so much to hurt his wife, but Rumpelstiltskin was the one who had hurt her most recently. He was the one who had made her like this.

“Mrs. Gold,” he said. “Please, I know things are… confusing right now. But please know that this is always your home, and I will always provide for you.”

“Why?” The word was a whisper in a silent house, but it carried all the weight of the world. “You’re not fucking me. You don’t even like me. Why do you bother with me?”

The chipped cup was still in his hand. He set it down on an end table and moved to sit in one of the high-backed chairs across from the couch. Rumpelstiltskin leaned forward, his arms on his knees as he spoke to Mrs. Gold. 

“Because I have a duty to you,” he answered. “I have a responsibility to care for you.”

She snorted and shook her head. 

“To take care of you,” Rumpelstiltskin amended. “I owe you that much, Mrs. Gold. It is the absolute least I can do.”

 “How nice of you.” Her voice shook with bitterness. “How super fucking charitable! How long will that last, do you think? How long until you get tired of doing the least you can do?”

Mrs. Gold’s hands twisted in the blanket. Her face screwed up into the picture of unspoken agony. She let her hair hang over her face and took a few ragged, sobbing breaths.   

He wanted to go to her. He wanted to comfort her. Belle or not, she was a woman in pain and he knew that he could soothe her. That was the least he could do.

But he didn’t.

He couldn’t.

He stayed in the chair, shoulders slumped, and waited for her to calm herself. 

“Mrs. Gold,” he tried, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I can’t be the man you married.”

A sharp intake of breath. “Is that it?” On the couch, Mrs. Gold was shaking. “Are we… Is it over? Us? Our marriage?”

“No,” Rumpelstiltskin spoke before he could think. “No, I want you with me, dear. I don’t… I don’t want us to be separated.” 

“But you don’t want us to be together.” She wiped her cheek with the palm of her hand. “Not like we were before.”

“I know it’s complicated,” he said. “I wish I could tell you more. Truly I do. But right now let’s just say that I have enemies and you are better off under my protection. All I’m asking is for you to trust me.”

She let out a shaking breath that could have been a laugh or a sob. “Does Belle trust you?”

It was a strange thing to hear Mrs. Gold say. Belle’s voice, saying her own name with so much suspicion and loathing.

“Yes,” he answered. “Belle trusts me with her life, though I’m not always worthy of it.”

For a long time, Mrs. Gold didn’t say anything. She shook her head, rocking slightly on the couch as tears streamed silently down her face. 

And Rumpelstiltskin sat there. Doing nothing. 

When Mrs. Gold was able to speak, she asked him: “Why aren’t you with her now?”

“With Belle?”

“Yes,” she breathed. “I mean, you’re still a man who can get whatever he wants. If she’s so important to you, why aren’t the two of you together?”

Rumpelstiltskin sighed, trying to think of something plausible to say. “We want to be,” he started. “But, well, Belle is very far away from me right now.”

“What, does she live in fucking Australia or something? Or is she married too?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said in a tone he knew would make Mrs. Gold drop the topic. “What matters is that I have a responsibility to you, and I’m not going to shirk that just because I’m in love with someone else.”

Mrs. Gold winced, but then it turned into a grim smile. “Never thought I’d hear you say that you loved anyone, Mr. Gold. That’s why I never took it personally that you didn’t love me.” Abruptly, she stood up. “I’ll move my clothes over to the guest bedroom.”

“You can have the master--”

“No,” she cut him off. She seemed to have run out of emotions, and was now running on brutal practicality. “You need the bathroom in the master suite because of your leg. I won’t have as hard a time with the tub in the hall bathroom.”

“That’s… very thoughtful of you.”

“I’ve had a lot of time to think.” She sighed and turned off the muted television. Now her half of the room was in darkness. “Believe it or not, this isn’t the worst deal you could have offered me.”

“What deal?” Rumpelstiltskin asked. He had been trying to be honest with her. He wasn’t aware that they had been negotiating. 

“A loveless marriage for a life of comfort.” She kept herself busy by folding her blanket and putting it away in a cedar chest. She didn’t look at him. “It is mostly the same as what we had before.”

Rumpelstiltskin stared at her as she walked out of the living room.

“Good night, Mr. Gold,” she said formally. “I’m glad you found your teacup.”

By the time he gathered himself enough to speak, she was already upstairs. A door slammed, and Rumpelstiltskin hung his head. 

So this was the future he was going to have with his wife.

[pagingevilspawn]

Loving You Is A Losing Game- chapter seven

i actually hate this, so ew. but i’ve forgotten that i write, so i’ll try to type some stuff up tomorrow! regardless, i hope everyone enjoys! click here to read on ao3. 

TW// domestic abuse

~*~

"small town boy in a big arcade. i got addicted to a losing game."

~*~

alexandra: you do realize how crazy that sounds right?

joseph: it's not crazy at all if you ask me.

alexandra: jo, asking for lollipops for your christmas present sounds very crazy to me.

and christmas isn't for like, a while.

joseph: dude, christmas is in two weeks and one day

and plus, i'm settling on lollipops. what i really want is a pony, a shiny, pretty one with rainbow hair, you know those? that's my dream right there

alexandra: oh crap really?

yeah yeah, ha ha. laughing so much right now.

joseph: hate to break it to you, but it's the 10th alex.

and i know, what a shame i wont be able to have my pony. it was at the top of my list this year

next to an ice cream sundae the size of manhattan, obviously.

alexandra: very funny. can't you tell how much i'm laughing.

crap, got to go, robbins is letting me in on an esophageal atresia on a newborn. i'm her favorite you know.

joseph: ugh, lucky.

make sure to kick ass and not kill anyone. that would suck. 

actually... your big head could use some ego deflating. make sure robbins has to save you halfway through. maybe then you'll earn some humility.  

alexandra: wow, you're such great help. so nice too.

joseph: you know it ;)

she turns off her phone, a small smile on her face as she looks out the window, passing by houses that all looked exactly alike; white exteriors with a bright green lawn. the only thing that could help someone tell them apart was the door colors. her and paul had just come back from a dinner with some of his coworkers, but he wasn't talking to her so she decided to text alex. the silence in the car was tense, though she was unable to grasp the reason why.

they'd been texting non-stop since the conference three weeks ago, talking about each other's days, complaining about annoying coworkers and classmates. they really enjoyed having a friend they could just talk to because they felt like it. it was refreshing. they'd never had anyone like that before. in the past they had friends that they felt comfortable around, but it was different when you had someone who understood you so well. not to mention, being able to make self deprecating jokes about their crappy childhoods and receive a laugh in response was so much nicer than the pity stares they were both so used to getting,

she snaps back to reality at the sound of the engine turning off, cutting the music as the expensive car door opens. she sees paul angrily walk out of the car, slamming the door behind him, not stopping by her side of the car to open the door for her like he normally did. (she was actually thankful for that. she was a grown women, she could open a damn door herself)

weird, she thinks, but decides not to question it. her husband had been a bit more moody and temperamental lately, so she supposed it was just that. but the dinner seemed to go really good in her opinion. she got along with his colleagues and paul certainly enjoyed himself, getting to be around all his coworkers and interact freely. she liked to think that his colleagues liked her as well. they complimented her all evening and included her in all of their conversations. though, she did wish that they would've referred to her by her name more, rather than 'mrs. stalder' or 'paul's wife.'

she gets out of the passenger side and shuts the door behind her, walking up to the steps after she hears that paul had locked the car. she places the small clutch she had on the entry table and walks to the kitchen, seeing paul sitting at the kitchen island, nothing in front of him except tea that he had heated up in the minute or so he'e been in there. she kisses his cheek and starts talking, knowing that it would probably help calm whatever he was feeling.

she gives him a smile, rubbing his shoulder affectionately. "it seemed like the dinner went really well, all of your coworkers are super nice and-"

"you talked to steven too much." he cuts her off, sending an icy glare her way, and look she had never seen on him before shining darkly in his eyes.

she cocks her head to the side, "huh?"

he stands up from his place abruptly, making her jump back slightly. "i said," he spits out, eyes narrowing as he stares her down "you talked to steven too much."

she lets out a loud laugh, thinking that he was just joking around and messing with her. at any second he was going to join her giggling, ignoring the way his eyes had only seemed to darken the second the sounds had escaped her mouth."oh, that's funny." she says in between laughs, eyes shining with childish glee. "jesus you really scared m-"

pain.

her words get cut off by a fist coming directly into contact with her face. she feels the stinging sensation burn from her eye to her cheek, her brown eyes watering with tears as she realizes what had just happened. she lifts a palm up to touch it protectively, almost making it seem like it was more real if she touched it.

oh god, it hurt. it hurt like hell. his gold wedding band adding to the impact was sure to leave a scar by the corner of her eye. she'd been punched before, multiple times actually by foster parents and girls while she was in high school, but this hurt so much more. it was so much harder than she'd ever been hit before.

her husband just hit her.

"oh brooke, baby." paul says, taking her into his arms and brushing her hair back immediately, trying to get her to relax into his embrace. "i just got so mad. you just made me so mad brooke. you can't make me mad like that" he tells her, eyes dripping with some kind of emotion she can't place as he places light kisses on top of her sea of brown curls, ignoring the way the way she stood stiffly in his arms, a few lone tears making it's way down her cheeks.  

"i love you. you know that brooke" he whispers, wiping the tears from her face, his hands feeling usually rough against her skin, his touch not easing over the bruise that hard already begun to form.

she nods. it was okay. he loved her. he didn't mean it. he just got angry. it was okay. it was fine. he loved her, it was okay.

she thought she probably deserved it. after all she'd cheated on her husband just three weeks before, and had continued to keep in contact with the man she had cheated with. it was only karma.  

"i'm sorry paul." she apologizes sincerely as he cups her face in his hands, giving her a sweet smile. it wasn't his fault. it was hers.  

"it just better not happen again." he states, eyes burning into hers intently, his grip on her face tightening without her even realizing it. all she really felt was numb, as if all of her senses had seemingly shut down to avoid dealing with the pain that was spreading throughout the side of her face.

she nods her head up and down as she pulls her back into him. "i'm sorry" she whispers into his chest.

he smiled.

and that's when he knew he had her.

____

alex finished scrubbing out of a surgery, shaking off the excess water on his hands, grinning internally. it was always so much better when he was able to help save a kid. the success was just that much more fulfilling. he's about to push the door open when it swings in itself, making him come face to face with cristina, the expression she was wearing was more worried looking than he'd seen in a long time. he'd known yang for a while know, and he knew whatever was about to come out of her mouth would be bad. cristina yang was never worried.

"what do you want yang?" he asks, noting how she had her hands crossed over her chest and was avoiding his gaze.

"there's a merger happening." she says, looking up to meet his eyes to let him know that she was serious.

his narrows his eyes, scrunching up his nose. "what?" he questions. a merger? as in, combing two hospitals into one?  

"you just missed the announcement. apparently we're merging with mercy west." the raven head repeats, a slight trace of fear in her voice, a very unusual thing for cristina yang.

he lets out a deep breath, tugging his scrub cap off and running a hand through his hair as he leans over the scrub sink, gripping it so tightly his knuckles begin to turn white. "i can't loose this job yang." he says to her softly, making her nod in agreement.

"you and me both." with that she walks out of the room, alex not far behind her, both of the surgeons heading up to the resident's lounge to change, which was filled to the brim with chatter, all of the doctors talking about the newest topic, the merger.

meredith sits down next to him, slipping a long sleeved purple shirt over her head when she casts a glance to alex, who was sitting still looking down at his phone's empty screen, seemingly deep in thought, almost as if he was waiting for something to magically appear on it.

the blonde nudges him, snapping him out of his trance. alex sighs, resting his elbows on his knees as he buries his head in his hands. "what am i gonna do about iz?" he asks her, judging by her face that she was drawing a blank, much like him.

jesus, this was great. these past few weeks he had hardy been able to look his wife in the eye, because every time he saw her he was reminded that he slept with someone else. not to mention, he was just texting that certain someone just a few hours ago. he was really screwed. izzie had currently been home on bedrest, not being allowed to return to work until two weeks from now, which apparently would also be when the mercy westers would turn up. fucking great. he felt as if the universe was rallying against him at this point, no matter how much he knew that wasn't possible. he dug his own grave, it was just a matter of time before he would need to lay in it.

"she'll be okay." meredith reassures him, but he can tell by the look on her face that she was unsure as well. who knew would end up getting cut? they would need to pull their heads out of their asses and prove that they deserved to stay. none of them could lose their spot. not only because of their job, but also because of the people there. they were a family. they couldn't lose any more of their family. they'd just lost george, and they couldn't lose another.

"evil spawn, put on a shirt!" cristina yells, balling up a shirt from his locker and throwing it at him, hitting him square in the chest as he glares at her. he pulls on the shirt silently and heads out, not bothering to say goodbye to anybody as he leaves the lounge and heads straight to joe's across the street.

he slides onto a barstool, ordering a beer and thanking the bartender with a slight nod of his head. how was he supposed to tell izzie about the merger? he knew that if his wife knew, she would want to return to work immediately, but he knew she couldn't do that. she was still getting her strength back, and standing around on her feet all day surely would delay the healing process. he couldn't risk her getting hurt because he wasn't able to stop her.

he'd done enough recently, even if izzie didn't know about most of it. the last thing he needed was to cause his wife more harm than he already had.

he was going to tell her, he knew that, just not right now. right now he was going to sit on this uncomfortable wooden bar stool and drink his beer and forget he had any problems. he was going to forget about the merger, he was going to forget about him and izzie going at it twenty-four seven, and he was definitely going to forget about the brunette with a fake name who seemed to be on his mind all the time.

he was just going to forget everything, his only focus being his beer and the football game on the small television above the bar. yeah, that sounded like a good idea. a really good idea.

____

okay, so he forgot about two out of those three things.

he was actually doing pretty good for a while, almost a full hour with nearly a beer and a half finished. all he had been focused on was the seahawks playing against the steelers, with the steelers crushing the seattle team thirty-four to seven. not much of a surprise though, he couldn't remember the last time he'd witnessed the seahawks win. it wasn't that they were a completely crap team, it was simply the fact that one; the steelers were much better this year, and two; he hardly ever got enough time to sit down and watch a game. being a resident drained the life out of him, especially since he had finally knew that he wanted to specialize in peds. when he wasn't at the hospital he was reading up new medical procedures in magazines, or occasionally sneaking over to meredith's to watch old ellis grey tapes.  

he was doing really... until he got a text message from jo.

joseph: how was your surgery?

alexandra: wow, you must be bored.

joseph: ...

what makes you say that?

alexandra: really?

joseph: i'm in med school, thank you very much. i have a severe interest in your surgeries. 

alexandra: mhm, sure.

joseph: fine, i'm bored. entertain me. please.

alexandra: that sounds vaguely dirty.

joseph: oh great. how drunk are you?

alexandra: what makes you say that?

haha, two can play that game.

joseph: i'm guessing two beers in?

alexandra: shut up, only one and a half.

joseph: mhm, wasn't too far off

but seriously. i'm bored and am in need of anything remotely interesting. you just scrubbed in on a super cool surgery, i want details

alexandra: fine, baby maria duboir, two weeks old, robbins let me lead the procedure about half way through, coded once, we then shocked her at 150, and now she is stable and in the NICU.

happy?

joseph: yes. very much so

although i do think your OR stories need work

you sound like you have absolutely no idea what you're talking about

alexandra

wow. you're a real delight you know that?

joseph: oh, believe me, i know. don't even get me started on how many times people have complimented how freaking amazing i am

it's quite a common occurrence.  

if i had a dollar for every time someone said that to me, i'd be living on my own private island

alexandra: i bet you would.

seriously though, tell me something. i've got nothing better to do than watch the seahawks get crushed.

joseph: i'm guessing that's sports talk, so i'm just gonna ignore that, since it hate any sport where men look like giant block of cheese, run around a court, or just run in general.

but today's been boring. went to a dinner tonight. fancy stuck-up rich people who laugh with posh accents and sip their champagne way too slowly

fucking turtles.

alexandra: sounds fun.

joseph: you suck. i can literally hear the sarcasm through the phone asshole

alexandra: that's the point. i'll take a sick kid over fancy dinner any day.

crap, that sounded really horrible didn't it?

joseph: it really did

"i'll take a sick kid over a fancy dinner any day" real charming if you ask me. night in shining amour.

alexandra

yeah yeah you know what i mean.

____

they're not sure how long they end up talking for, alex siting at joe's bar and jo lounging on the couch in her living room while her husband was in his study going over and grading tests for one of his classes. before either one of them even know it, it gets to be twelve thirty boston time and nine thirty in seattle. alex's texts had gotten much harder to read, which made sense, considering he was now on his third beer.

jo teased him about it though, finding it more enjoyable than she would've guessed to text a drunk alex than a sober one. he seemed to get increasingly flirtier the tipsier he got. not to mention, all the spelling mistakes he made was definitely one for the books. she had a feeling that it was getting a but harder for him to see which letters where which, considering a few b's were located where there should be d's, and 'm' where they should be an 'n'

alex knows for a fact he's earning many stares from fellow people at the bar because of how much he's laughing (loudly too), but he doesn't really care. if he's gonna laugh, he's gonna laugh. all he could really focus on was the fluorescent lights hanging from the bar's wood ceiling and the frankly hilarious texts coming through his phone. (okay, so they weren't that funny, but everything is always a lot more funny when you're drunk)

jo was thoroughly enjoying herself, laughing more and more as she sank into the couch, completely forgetting about the bruise on her left cheek as she typed away, grinning from ear to ear when the man on the other side responded, words misspelt and random numbers and semicolons popping up from time to time.

they knew that what they had done was wrong. they knew that what they were doing was wrong. but they couldn't stop.

if only they had stopped sooner.

[hansoulo]

ain’t it a gentle sound (the rolling in the graves) - pt. 4

Pairing: Horacio Carrillo/f!Reader

Warnings: cursing, canon-typical violence and blood, grief, angst, death, y’all know the drill (there’s some descriptions of gore this time! if you watch narcos i don’t think you’ll be fazed by it but just a heads up. also talks about kidnapping and implied trauma. take care babes)

Word Count: 1.2k bc i needed the suspense soz

A/N: *throws this at you and runs away*

masterlist playlist

You were cold. That was all you could remember. Things returned slowly, falling in and out of your memory like specters. A hand over your mouth. Concrete. A flickering light bulb and a sicario - who couldn’t have been very smart because if he was he’d have realized that you didn’t know anything. Okay, maybe that was a stretch. You knew a little, courtesy of Horacio. Too much, probably. Enough to make yourself a target, anyways. Damn this. Damn you.

The sound of gunshots was enough to wake you from your daze and you vaguely register the taste of blood in your mouth. You force your eyes open, tensing your hands that lay tied behind you to get the feeling to return. The room was bare, faintly lit by the weak light of the early morning, and you felt your shoulders pressed up against plaster. Oh. You were on the floor.

This was much less professional than the last time you were kidnapped. Of course, then you were only bait. A pretty face with a ring on your left hand and the last name of a man they knew they wanted dead. Well, they got that soon enough.

You could be bait this time, too, for a different man. Apparently, you had a type.

---------

Shouting. Running. Slamming doors. Horacio’s yelling something in Spanish. Something about sicarios and traps and hostages and- You. His…. friend? Neighbor? Unpaid babysitter, who also knew how he took his coffee? (Scalding hot with tons of sugar, in the white mug with the chipped lip that was always in the top left cabinet.)

They used zip-ties on your wrists. You kinda want to laugh. Shoulders tight from being pulled behind you for so long, you shift your weight until pinpricks erupt across your numb legs. You should probably call out to him or something, to speed the process along, but your throat is burning something awful so you just let your head fall back and listen to the sound of tactical boots.

Three.

A round of gunfire, shot quick from the hip of a stranger you can’t imagine makes for very good company. You can hear bodies fall, but you know it’s not him. He wouldn’t go down that easy.

Two.

“Dónde está ella?”

“Mi coronel, aquí.” A muffled curse. The cock of a gun. Then, the door is pushed open with a loud creak of its rusted hinges.

One.

He’s on you like a man starved, all dark green fabric and hulking shoulders as he seems to just… appear, crouching down with a hand brushing your cheek. You don’t actually remember seeing him walk over, so maybe you really did hit your head on something. That would explain the ringing in your ears. And your busted lip. And the way that every time Horacio moved, there seemed to be two of him dragging out a few seconds behind.

Hands, strong and callused and more familiar than they should be, grip at your shoulders to coax your head up. The world comes into focus then- less blurry but way more frightening. The walls are streaked with red and your eyes catch a crimson path on the floor, snaking around to the doorway. All you see is a man’s shoe.

“Hey, hey look at me.”

You feel yourself- as though disembodied- shaking your head frantically as you duck your face to the floor. He reaches to cut away the ties around your hands, one knee braced against the floor and his mouth pursed in a line. The scent of gunpowder chokes you, presses down on your lungs like the deadweight of a corpse. Your face feels hot, burning like you’re running a high fever and you can’t string two words together without thinking about blood and bodies you can’t fix and how you can’t remember anything - which means you can’t remember what they’ve done to you. It’s too much. It’s all too much. It's too much. It’s too-

“Look at me.”

Fuck.

Horacio’s hand moves to cup your chin, the pad of his thumb tracing over the split skin of your bottom lip. His eyes seem to hold everything inside them, the embers of a flame you’re used to seeing sedated now flickering something dark. Something you should want to run from.

What’s another arrow in the quiver of your self-loathing? Not much, you suppose. Not much at all.

You look.

--------

He walks you back to the complex with his fingers still curled around your arm.

“Are you alright?”

Horacio’s voice is quiet, softer than you’ve ever heard it but god, what you would give to hear it again.

“Yeah, yeah I’m- I’m fine. Just… tired.”

He nods - unconvinced but letting you lie anyway - and steps back to open the door for you. Right. He has your spare key.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, and at that Horacio shakes his head. He’s good at hiding things, at hiding how he feels, but you know he’s holding his breath- trying to keep from frowning. For your sake. “I- I don’t know if I can do this, Horacio,” and you try to focus on the way his chest rises and falls to steady yourself but it’s not a good idea because it just makes you want to collapse, dead on your feet, into him. “Whatever this is.”

“Chiquita-”

“No- no. Don’t. You-,” you choke out the words, fighting tears as the exhaustion of the day finally seems to make itself known. “You can’t call me that. I- I'm not your chiquita,”  and the last word comes out a bit sharper than you wanted it to, a bit too biting towards the man standing outside your apartment door with your keys still in his hands. Your eyes soften when you see the jagged metal gripped in his palm, hands tensing with scarred, white-stretched knuckles. Horacio’s jaw is tight again and you're reminded of how you teased him once. You’ll grind your teeth down clenching your face like that. Loosen up a bit.

The words leave your mouth, breathy and slightly shaking, before you realize what you say. “I’m not your anything.”

You want to slam the door in his face. You want him to slam the door in your face. You want so bad to be angry, to have someone to blame besides yourself and your own fucked up head, but you can’t. So you don’t. You just walk into your apartment and let the lock click quietly behind you, listening to footsteps as they retreat across the hall.

The rational part of your brain tells you to go to bed, to fall asleep after a good cry in the comfort of your bedroom surrounded by soft things and another wall separating you from him, but you hadn’t really made a habit of listening to reason lately. Why start now? The floor was as good a place as any.

Your back slid down against the door as you sat, drawing your knees to your chest with a shallow breath. There was a quote from somewhere. Shakespeare, maybe. Oh brawling love, oh loving hate, oh anything of nothing first created. This love feel I, that feel no love in this.

This love feel I, that feel no love in this. This love… this…

Romeo and Juliet. That’s what it was. The irony of it makes you laugh, the sound lacking humor as you shake your head.

They were doomed from the start, really. Still, there was something beautiful about it. Dying for someone else. Knowing they’d do the same.

You would die for him. That wasn’t what scared you.

What scared you… what scared you was knowing he would die for you, too. Just like before.

The thought makes your chest seize up, the lump in your throat growing heavier with every passing second. You couldn’t do that to him. You couldn’t live with yourself if you did. You barely lived with it now.

You fall asleep to the sound of crying. It wasn't yours.

Taglist: @chelsfic​ @itzagoodthing @lesqui @glowingpena @agirllovespasta @squidlywiddly87 @1zashreena1 @amarvelousmandalorian @paniclana @huliabitch @symbiont13 @jayoknrjk28 @ah-callie @watsonwise @raabiac @angelicpascal @sparrows-books @popculturepriestess @spookypym​

lmk if you wanna be added/taken off. eventually i’ll get around to organizing like separate permanent/series/character ones but i’m lazy so. later.

[one-boring-person]

Who's Side Are You On? (Part Eight)

The Terminator (1984) reader insert.

Warnings: injury, mention of death, mention of torture

Context: (Y/n) reveals her secret to Sarah.

A/N: sorry this is late, I was too tired to write last night 😅

Masterlist

My features are sallow and drawn as I climb off of the motorcycle, my breathing shallow and uncomfortable as I try not to wince, my head spinning in the heat of the day. Perspiration coats my brow, each of my steps slow and uncoordinated as I hobble over to Sarah and Kyle, who have just exited the truck they hitchhiked in, my brother shooting me a worried glance as he notices my clear discomfort, eyes swiftly taking in the haphazardly concealed pain behind each movement I make, only looking away again when I make eye contact. Averting my gaze, I scan the area, taking note of the sign, glad that we stopped at a motel off the beaten track, somewhere where it'll be harder to find us, though knowing the Terminator on our trail, this won't necessarily work for too long.

Sarah leads the way over to the front desk, where a dog is chained to the outside of it, which Kyle and I instinctually hold our hands out to, letting it take our scents without really needing to. I stand back behind the two of them, trying to keep my unwell appearance out of sight, aware that I look terrible, and totally out of place. After some quick negotiation, Sarah has booked us a room with a kitchen and shower, something Kyle and I specifically requested, my wound urgently needing cleaning and re-bandaging, a damp sensation having surrounded the area from my constant movement and strain when riding the motorcycle, though I'm glad I took it, as it is much faster than I thought it would be.

Leading the way inside, Sarah takes us to the correct room and opens the door, at which point I instantly go to the table and sit at one of the chairs, leaning back in it as I take the weight off of my wound, gritting my teeth in pain as the hole stretches and tears again, the rudimentary stitches Kyle put in the night before pulling apart. I roll up my shirt, grimacing as I catch sight of the bloody bandage there, very little white still remaining visible through the crimson stains. Breathing hard, I go to remove the bandage, only for Kyle to stop me, signalling that I should shower first, just to clean off the skin around it, so that dirt doesn't get into the wound itself.

"And what about you? Doesn't yours need reapplying?" I point out, gesturing to his arm.

"I guess, but I need to get some things..."

"No, you stay here and get that cleaned, then help me with mine, then go out. We can't afford for you to get an infection." I instruct him, mentioning towards the sink, non-verbally advising him to follow what I'm telling him.

"Fine, fine. Sarah, would you mind helping me with this?" The soldier asks, looking over at our ward with a hopeful expression.

"Sure." She agrees, going over to help him remove his bandage as I get up and walk to what I'm assuming is the bathroom, the layout near enough foreign to me. Wincing with every step, I climb into the box-like structure in the corner, sliding the glass door shut behind me, only to realise I need to take off my clothes before I do this, at which point I quickly exit, strip, and return, puzzling over the device before me.

Thankfully quick on the uptake, I manage to figure it out, surprised by the stream of warm water flowing from the odd protruding thing, flinching away initially, though I soon relax into the soothing sensation of the heated liquid flowing down my body. I inhale sharply as I brush my fingers over the wound, gritting my teeth against the spikes of pain as I wash the surrounding area clean of blood and dirt, being as thorough as I can, going over previous scars with some hesitation, some of them more recent than others.

Habitually, I don't take long to wash, making sure I've done the bare minimum before stepping out and drying off with what I assume is a towel, pulling on my clothes and boots again as I do so, going back into the main room again to find the other two sat at the table, Kyle's arm now bandaged again. Feeling refreshed but still in pain, I go to join them, seating myself with a grimace as I roll up my shirt, intending to remove the bandage and clean the injury properly. Instantly, Kyle has come to my side, batting my hands away as he takes over from what I'm doing, making me bite down hard on my lip as blood rushes from the re-opened wound, staining my skin a deep shade of red. Kyle's hands are soon coated in it, leaving even more marks as he works at cleaning and stitching it up, covering it with another bandage as he finishes, the white square a harsh contrast to the crimson colour of the skin around it.

Once finished, Kyle washes his hands using the sink in the corner, before going to the window to check that the coast is clear.

"I'm gonna go get supplies. You two stay here." He says without waiting for a reply, walking abruptly out of the door.

Sarah and I sit in silence for a few moments, neither of us saying a word, or making a move, our eyes focusing on anything but each other, awkwardness soon filling the air like a bitter cloud. Eventually, she mutters something about showering and gets up, heading into the bathroom, leaving me alone again.

Sighing, I reach for the handgun in my belt, deciding to clean it whilst I have time, my shaking hands dissembling the weapon as if it is second nature, which, in some ways, it is. As I work, I lay out each piece on the table in a neat order, making sure I know where each part is, finishing by checking the clip, which is only half full. Frowning, I check my pockets for any more ammo, only to find that the dangerous version of me has used to nearly everything I had. Frustrated, I start cleaning each part of the weapon, being as thorough as possible, slotting them back together as I go, the gun soon taking shape again as I work through them. The action takes me close to half an hour, my efficiency severely limited by the tremors wracking my hands, the blood loss having finally caught up to me as my head starts to spin slightly, nausea setting in with each passing second. Ignoring it, I reload the gun and chamber a round, just to be ready for anything.

"Who taught you how to do that?" Sarah's voice behind me surprises me, making me start slightly in response to heading it. Turning, I look up at her and reply.

"My parents did. In the future, it's the kind of thing you have to be adept at. They just made sure I learnt as soon as I could." I inform her, thinking back to the hours my father spent drilling the names of each individual part into my head, along with every tactical piece of knowledge he could think of.

"Oh, well I guess that makes sense." She muses, going to the other side of the room, where she picks up the phone.

"What're you doing with that?" I ask her, wary of it.

"I'm gonna call my mother and let her know I'm alright."

"I don't think that's such a good idea."

"Why not?" Her voice turns cold, eyes hardening as she looks me over.

"Because there's every possibility that the Terminator got to her first."

"How could it possibly know anything about her?!" Sarah shakes her head and starts dialling, ignoring my exasperated shake of the head, before proceeding to talk with her mother.

Ten minutes pass, during which I zone out of her conversation, only tuning back in again as I realise what exactly she's telling her relative. My head snaps in her direction and I gesture for her to stop, drawing my hand over my throat in a "shut up!" motion. Lifting an eyebrow, she finishes what she's saying and lowers the phone, her mother having hung up on her.

"You'd better hope that was actually your mother." I sigh, leaning my head back.

"Why wouldn't it be? It sounded exactly like her."

"The new Terminator models can impersonate voices that they have heard. It's entirely likely that you were speaking to it over the phone, because there's no way anyone could tell the difference between the voices." I explain to her, rubbing my head.

"It was definetly her." Sarah insists, though she doesn't seem entirely sure of herself anymore, "How do you know that, anyway? Kyle never said anything about it before."

I close my eyes and sigh again, opening them to look her in the eye.

"He doesn't know about it yet. I do because I can do it."

Confusion floods her face, her head cocking to the side as she processes what she's heard.

"You can do it? What do you mean? Has it got something to do with you going completely crazy every time the Terminator shows up?" She questions, curiosity winning her over.

I look at her carefully, deciding to tell her exactly what she needs to know, aware of the fact that it could prove dangerous to her if she doesn't.

"In theory, you're right. It does have something to do with that, but it is not the Terminator that is the problem. Back home, I was captured by some of them and taken back to one of their manufacturing compounds. At first I was convinced that they were going to torture me and try and get information out of me, but they didn't, they just locked me in a red room. It was tiny, there was nothing inside it and I was never fed anything except some water to keep me alive.

"In the beginning, they just left me alone, leaving me to wonder what the hell they actually wanted with me, and what they were eventually gonna do to me. I never found out from them. It all started with the gas, which they pumped into the room using the air vents in the ceiling, using this to put me under for a few hours at a time, keeping me unaware of what was going on. For days on end, I had holes in my memory, nothing quite adding up, everything else disjointed, until I found myself lying face down on the battlefield one day.

"I had no idea why I was there, or how I even got there, but all I knew was that I was surrounded by members of the Resistance, who had guns pointed at my head. They knocked me out cold again and took me back to one of the bases, where I woke up again chained to a table. They had figured out what was wrong with me."

I pause, lifting a hand to trace the scar on my face.

"They told me that I had a metal plate implanted behind my right eye, which had been replaced by an artificial one, which worked as a mind control device of sorts. The plate had hooks wired into my brain, allowing it to send it's own electrical impulses into my nervous system, controlling my movements and actions as if it were me doing them. It had a stimulus attached to it, which was triggered by a frequency emitted only from HKs, which would then turn me into a lethal killing machine for a certain amount of time.

"I was horrified when I found out: I could kill anyone I loved, and not think twice about it, all beacuse of the plate on my skull. I begged them to try and reprogram it, to make me a more effective weapon for the Resistance to use, rather than Skynet. They tried, they really did, but something went wrong. The stimulus changed to the sound of gunshots, but the control over my actions is now up to a mixture of programming from Skynet and the Resistance; I don't respond to either, and I will kill anyone who has been previously listed on my target list. I don't register pain and don't recognise anyone. I only come round again after an hour or two of no gunshots being heard in the surroundings, otherwise the time is reset and I stay the killing machine that I am."

Silence encompasses the two of us as I finish, Sarah looking as if she wants to say something, or come to me, though I look away, feeling awkward at the grim reality.

"So...so you're not in control when it happens?" She eventually asks, trying to break the silence.

"No, I'm not. The chip in my head controls me based on previous commands it received when being programmed." I laugh dryly, "I'm half human, half cyborg at this point. I'm an abomination."

At that point, Kyle walks back in, carrying brown paper bags filled with supplies.

"I'm gonna go keep watch." I say as he enters, feeling the need to be alone for the minute, internally cursing myself and what I am, knowing that the success of the mission very much relies on me.

Without waiting for a response, I push past Kyle and go outside, taking my handgun with me as I go to find somewhere to sit.

Part Nine

[tsarisfanfiction]

His Collection

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Humour Characters: The Hood, Scott, Virgil

The Hood knows what he wants, and will stop at nothing to get it.  International Rescue have other ideas.

No idea where this came from; it’s not meant to be taken particularly seriously, just a stupid idea that wouldn’t leave me alone so I wrote it (with some musing help from @gumnut-logic - I have no idea how you put up with some of the ideas in my head, Nutty!).  We’re playing a little with the flirty side of Scott that seems to show up from time to time when he’s rescuing women here, which is not a side of Scott I usually play with, so be warned.  There might be more to this later, who knows.

Technology alone wasn’t enough to assure access to some of the world’s most secure facilities.  No matter how much it had advanced, there was still no true substitute for retina checks, fingerprints or DNA scans.  He knew this, of course, and constantly looked for ways to add to his collections.

There was a locked vault – ironically linked to his own DNA scans, retina and fingerprints – in the heart of his home.  Inside it were vials of saliva, and a strictly unconnected computer terminus whose memory core contained retina scans and fingerprint data, ready to be used when required.  Obtaining such things could be difficult, but with them, he could do anything.

That desire to continue expanding his collection, as well as the gaping hole in his samples, was what led the man who had shed all names except the moniker Hood – gifted to him by a once-friend whose own samples were decidedly useless now the man was several years dead – to his current situation.

He smoothed his skirt down, the fabric torn and ragged after his dramatic rescue from a collapsing building, every inch a woman determined to gain some fragile control over her hysteria, and set his eyes on his target.

His current disguise was, if he might say so, one of his best.  Auburn once-perfect curls, now more of a frazzled mess, and tanned skin framed eyes that sat somewhere between blue and green on the colour wheel.  Sculpted lips, but a small white scar on the cheek, marring what could otherwise have been a breath-takingly beautiful face. Breasts of a modest size and mostly covered up, no provocative cleavage on show, and a waist pinched but not enough to look unhealthy completed the figure.  Just verging on the edge of a classic beauty without being obnoxious about it, he had already had the… pleasure… of dimpled cheeks smiling at him as he’d been carried out of the collapsed building.

Scott Tracy, Commander of International Rescue and CEO of Tracy Industries, was one of the most powerful individuals on the planet.  Once upon a time, the Hood had had his father’s data – still had it, locked away in the safe – but with the great Jeff Tracy’s unfortunate demise, using it would draw unnecessary attention and indeed was no longer guaranteed to work.  Competent places would have removed him from authorisation upon his demise, replacing him instead with his successor.

The Hood finished adjusting his skirt, and resisted the impulse to check that the moulds being used to change his body shape were still attached to the relevant places. Technology was wonderful for disguises, but fell apart at physical contact.  Physical contact that was, unfortunately, required in this situation. He had even gone as far as to don a wig to ensure his disguise’s hair had a physical presence.

Scott Tracy had been most helpful so far.  Hidden behind the cloaking visage, he’d obtained a perfect scan of his eyes with his own technological eye as he’d been carried to safety.  One item down, two to go.  Unfortunately, the young man had opted for full cover gloves on this particular rescue, meaning that he would need to get persuasive.  And, of course, there was always the matter of obtaining a DNA sample.

The Hood had been playing this game for too long to be distracted by things such as posing as a wrong gender, or indeed to be phased about the idea of seducing anyone, regardless of their appearance or his personal feelings.  Sources indicated that Scott Tracy was not immune to feminine wiles if that was what it came down to.

Inside his mouth, a capsule waited.  The Hood supressed all his inner feelings of disdain and hatred for the young man and International Rescue at large, and pulled on the guise of thankful rescuee.  Jeff’s sons were naïve to the point of foolishness.

“Oh, Mr Tracy!” he simpered as Scott Tracy passed him on the way back to his Thunderbird.  The rescue was over, a resounding success with no casualties, and while the Hood sneered in the depths of his mind, on the surface he was just another pretty young woman who now owed International Rescue her life.  Scott Tracy paused, as he’d known he would, smile on his face.  The Hood had spent enough time around Jeff as he bumbled his way through wooing Lucille to recognise the flash of interest.

Perfect.

“Mr Tracy!” he simpered again, throwing himself at the blue uniform.  Strong, blue-clad arms caught him, muscles flexing at the movement and rippling the fabric, but that was of no concern.  “Thank you!”  He gave the young man no time to react, pushing forwards for a firm kiss.

It was a move he’d utilised many times before.  Generally the most efficient way to get enough saliva for a solid DNA sample, the advantage of a surprise kiss was that no-one ever expected it, and even if they did, they didn’t react fast enough to stop him.  With Scott Tracy’s obvious attraction to his current disguise, there should be no issues.

His lips connected with smooth skin instead of the slightly cracked lips he’d been aiming for, but before he could properly register that Scott Tracy had turned his head to the side fast enough to evade the kiss – or that he’d even wanted to evade it, despite his attraction – hands were on his shoulders, gently pushing him back a little.

“You’re welcome,” the infuriating young man smiled, “and call me Scott.”  The smile flashed briefly into a grin the Hood couldn’t describe as anything other than flirtatious.

How dare he flirt whilst denying a kiss?  Where was the sense in that?

“Jennifer,” he replied with a matching flirtatious look, pulling the name of this disguise to the fore. His hands were still looped around Scott Tracy’s neck coyly, and he tightened his grip as the young man made to dislodge him.  “I didn’t get a proper look at you in the building, but…” he trailed off and licked his lips, an action that definitely didn’t go unnoticed.  “You’re quite the Adonis, aren’t you, Scott?”  He purred the young man’s name, and was rewarded with the slightest widening of those bright blue eyes.  Mesmerising, Jennifer would consider them, if she were real. Scott Tracy’s eyes had darkened, ever so slightly.

“So I’ve been told,” the young man replied, not looking away from him.

He could certainly work with that.  Those gloves still covered his fingers, after all, so the young man was decidedly overdressed for his tastes, if not in the same way Jennifer considered him overdressed.  It was Jennifer’s opinion that he channelled openly as he plastered himself against the skin-hugging blue uniform.

“I’d be interested in getting to know you,” he purred, leaning in.  For just a moment it seemed like his target would surrender, but then his lips made contact with a cheek, again.

It took far too much effort to turn his groan of frustration to a rejected whine.  Why was Scott Tracy being so stubborn?  It was obvious the young man was interested.

“Maybe later,” his target murmured, hands gripping his arms to try and dislodge his grip.  Determined not to lose this opportunity, the Hood clung on tighter.  Despite being smaller than Jeff’s successor, he was still strong and the leverage was on his side.  “Hey-”

“What’s wrong with now?” he demanded, adding a flare of petulant fire to Jennifer and watching as Scott Tracy’s eyes darkened again.  The young man was definitely warm blooded, and interested, so what was stopping him from giving in to his desires and giving the Hood what he wanted?

“We’re still in the danger zone,” Scott Tracy reminded him, giving another gentle tug to try and dislodge his grip.  “And I just saved your life.”

“So l need to thank you properly,” he insisted, going in for a third kiss but once again being met with a cheek as Scott Tracy turned his head away.  Why?  Why was he being so frustrating?

“I don’t save people for thanks,” the young man told him.  “You’ve given me more than enough.”

“But-”

Gentle hands caught his and lifted them over Scott Tracy’s head, forcing him to release the young man.

“Sorry, miss,” the deep voice of the third Tracy son rumbled.  “I’m afraid my brother is needed elsewhere.”  Concerned brown eyes looked his disguise up and down, before Virgil Tracy put a hand on his older brother’s shoulder and pulled him away.

No!

“No- wait-”

Scott Tracy paused, and the Hood saw his chance, lunging forwards again.

He was caught by Virgil Tracy, who pushed his brother on with a muttered “I’ll handle this.”  No, no, no, no, no!  He needed that DNA, those fingerprints…  The retina scan alone wasn’t enough!

“Scott!” he wailed, but Virgil Tracy turned him around and began to walk him towards where the rest of the uninjured civilians had been herded.

“I’m sorry, miss,” the large man said, “but International Rescue has a rule about not taking advantage of the people we rescue.”

A thousand curses on International Rescue and their morals.

“I just want to thank him for saving me!” he protested, Jennifer pouting.  “That’s not Scott taking advantage of me!”

“Sorry, miss.”  Virgil Tracy was kind but firm.  “None of us accept that form of gratitude.”  He handed him over to a uniformed official.  “These people will make sure that you get home safely.”

The Hood couldn’t believe it as he was absorbed into the group of useless, whiny civilians.  All his planning… the disguise, designed to appeal to what his sources said Scott Tracy liked – and succeeding, from how the young man had been looking at him.  Thwarted by morals.

One out of three was pathetic.  The other two were much harder to obtain, but the Hood wouldn’t give up.  Clearly, a different approach was desired; a shame, as rescues were the most fool proof way of meeting the young man.

If he couldn’t catch Scott Tracy, Commander of International Rescue, then he’d need to catch Scott Tracy, CEO of Tracy Industries, instead.  This was not over.

[wardennews]

IronStrange Bingo 2019 - Whump

Alternative Title: Battle Scars

Rated - T

The doors to the Medical Wing slammed open with a resounding ‘thud’ as James and Minowa burst through them carrying Stephen and Tony respectively. The unconscious duo was gently set down on a bed together, and the assassin pulled his lover into his arms as Bridget surged into movement, slinging Restoration spells left and right. “What happened?” The mage barked in an authoritative tone as the rest of the team came through the doors as well.

Aria hissed as her husbands helped her sit in a nearby chair, propping her ankle up on another. “The guy we were fighting-- The Controller-- he hit them with some kind of magical mumbo jumbo, dunno what it was supposed to do-- don’t even think about it, Bridget Ivorsen!” She snapped in a loud, sharp voice as the woman moved to approach her at the sight of her swollen ankle and foot. “My foot will keep, but if you don’t concentrate your full effort on figuring out how to wake them up, I will pop a cap in your knee!” Her husbands quickly hushed and comforted her as the blond got back to work, Ulysses moving to rub and massage her shoulders as Craig retrieved an ice pack.

A soft whistle escaped Dorian as he passed his husband a low-grade pain reliever potion for the abrasion down his arm. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard Aria threaten to shoot any of us before! Must be the pain talking.”

“Or the worry,” Zevrael added as he knocked the potion back, a sigh of relief escaping him as the scrape healed completely within the course of several seconds.

Logan approached them all at that moment, slipping his phone back into his pocket. “Just got off the phone with Lokes. He needs to let Laura know what’s going on, but he’ll be over as soon as possible. Also told Wade what’s happening, he’ll pull Rem, Pete, Slei, and Jör aside to talk to them and reassure them. Holly thinks it would be best to not let the younger kids know quite yet.”

A sudden cry of “Antonio!!” drew everyone’s attention, Emma flying into the room with a distraught look on her face. “Is he alright??”

Bruce approached the beds with two IV bags, a grim look on his face and a flicker of green in his eyes. “Tony and Stephen got hit by some kind of spell-- we don’t know what kind, and we’re not sure what the effect was. They’ve both been knocked unconscious, though, we can’t seem to get through to them.”

“Let me try! My telepathy-- I might be able to reach him!”

“Don’t.” The sudden thundering voice stopped everyone in their tracks as they turned to stare at James. The assassin slowly released Alduin, who turned to face the brunette woman with a stern look in his black and crimson eyes. “We have no idea as to the nature of the spell he used-- if it is affecting them both in the same way simultaneously, there is a chance you could be sucked into the influence as well. Zeymahu would send us to the Soul Cairn if we allowed any harm to come to you.” Icy-blue eyes filled with tears, even as the woman nodded her agreement.

After a moment, several voices called in unison, “Uncle Al?” The Stepford Cuckoos crept forward from where they’d slunk in through the door, standing behind their mother and looking up at the male. “Uncle Tony and Uncle Stephen are going to be okay, right?”

The dovah blinked for a moment at the title the girls had given him before a deep, rumbling sigh escaped him, and he gestured the blonds forward. Once they were close enough, he hugged each one individually, kissing their foreheads in a comforting gesture. “Rest assured, Diibriinahkine, we will do everything in our power to make sure they come back to us. I would ask that you follow the same instructions I just gave your mother, however. I will not risk your health and safety in an effort to bring them back.” The Cuckoos sniffed and nodded, gathering around the male to huddle against him. Slit-pupiled eyes raised to Emma, who was still tearful but now smiling with gratitude towards him. Alduin gestured her towards them as well, and the brunette joined in on the group hug without hesitation.

Bridget shot them a smile before the sound of Loki’s voice drew her eyes to the side. “Alright, what’s going on?” The ebony-haired god rolled up the sleeves of his emerald green turtleneck in preparation. After receiving a quick overview of the situation, Loki began casting spells of his own, and after a few minutes, he hissed with a small flinch. “I’ve identified the spell, but the implications…” He pulled his magic away, running his fingers through his own hair. “It’s mental magic, meant to take two people closely connected to each other in some way and force them to relive the other’s worst memory, or memories if it revolves around multiple.”

A choked noise escaped James, who closed his eyes at the news. “Bozhe moy, after what they both have been through? How do you even pick?? I would imagine Stephen’s would involve his car accident... ”

Emma had a hand covering her mouth, a look of utter horror and fear on her face. “I was there for Antonio after certain things-- Afghanistan, Stane, Whiplash, AIM… New York… Ultron…” She closed her eyes, tears beginning to roll down her cheeks as Alduin took the chance to pull her close to comfort her. “And they have to relive it…? God help them and keep them both strong.”

The group all looked at each other, grim expressions on their faces. They all knew there would be a fallout of absolutely massive proportions from this event… but none of them were looking forward to finding out exactly how deep the hurt ran in the soulmates.

---

The entire group was quiet as cups of tea and coffee were passed around in the early hours of the next morning. Most of them had gotten no sleep, Aria only getting a few hours for the sake of letting the skele-gro do its’ work on her fractured ankle without causing her more discomfort. The mood in the room was somber, everyone glancing over towards the bed with Stephen and Tony intermittently.

Finally, a sharp gasp from Stephen caught everyone’s attention at once. The sorcerer sat up straight in the bed with a look on his face that was anguished and heartbroken in a way they’d never seen. Bridget and Loki shot each other a quick look before slowly approaching him, drawing his tear-filled blue-green eyes to them. “What the fuck was that?” He finally croaked, throat tight and voice cracking.

Bridget swallowed before slowly replying, “You and Tony… you were hit with some kind of magic that forced you to relive Tony’s worst experience… or experiences, depending on what they were.”

To their surprise, Stephen went deathly pale as his eyes snapped to where the genius was still lying prone next to him. “Tell me he isn’t reliving mine!” Getting stunned nods from the duo, he made a horrified, desperate noise before he was repositioning them both in a flurry of movement so they were face-to-face. Before they could ask what he was doing, he pressed his forehead to Tony’s, the Eye of Agamotto around his neck opening and beginning to glow and pulse a bit. The genius’ body suddenly lit up with a brilliant orange glow for a second before it shattered outwards, Tony coming to in the same moment with a cry that chilled the blood of everyone in the room.

Stephen sighed with relief as he pulled Tony into his arms, the brunette man collapsing into him and curling up in a ball as he began to sob uncontrollably. “I know, I know babe, I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry,” The sorcerer choked out with tears of his own rolling down his face as he tried to comfort the distraught man.

“H-He killed you!” Tony wailed in a broken voice, prompting sharp inhales from everyone in the room. His was clinging so tightly to Stephen’s robes that the knuckles of his fingers were white. “He killed you again and again, and you just kept going back, and I couldn’t make it stop, couldn’t save you--!”

“It’s over, love, I’m still here, I’m still alive,” Stephen reassured him, maneuvering them both so Tony’s ear was pressed to his chest right over his heart, hoping the beat would help ground the man he loved so dearly. He ran his fingers through the brown locks under his chin as the genius continued to sob and babble a little, though it was beginning to slow now that he had something else to focus on.

The others in the room looked at each other in complete and utter silence, tears in more than a few eyes. Though none of them were willing to ask, the same question was running around in every single one of their minds:

What had Stephen gone through to warrant a reaction like this?

---

“What memory did you see?”

Stephen looked away from his mug of tea to glance down at Tony, who was curled up in his lap with a mug of his own, whiskey-brown eyes slightly distant as he asked the question. Levi was draped over both of them like a blanket, wrapping around them in a makeshift hug. The sorcerer had sling-ringed them both to their bedroom as soon as the genius was able to express the desire to be alone, and they’d been sitting in quiet for several hours at least. The question was the first he’d spoken in all that time, having been content to simply remain curled up and grounded by the solidity of Stephen’s physical presence. After a moment of quiet, Stephen sighed and put his cup to one side. “Tony, do you know the idea of ‘big T’ traumas versus ‘little t’ traumas?” Getting a negative shake of the genius’ head, he continued. “So, ‘big T’ traumas are distinguished as an extraordinary, unexpected event that leaves the victim feeling helpless, or like they have no control over their life or current situation. That includes things like natural disasters, car accidents, sexual assault, or being in an active combat zone.” He began to run his fingers through Tony’s hair as he continued. “What you went through in Afghanistan, Siberia, Bucharest, the events with Stane, AIM, and whiplash, they would all count. But I didn’t see those.” He pressed a kiss to Tony’s hair. “Instead… I got countless memories of ‘little T’ traumas. I…” He took a deep breath to center himself. “I had to watch Rogers, Maximoff-- your whole team-- berate, belittle, and demean you over and over and over again, and I felt how every time it was like a knife to your gut and another sliver shaved off of your self-esteem.” The sorcerer wrapped his arms around his genius, burying his nose in his hair as he trembled a bit. “Vishanti, what they said and did to you-- don’t you dare believe a word of it, Anthony Edward Stark, you are a brilliant, kind, compassionate man, and you deserve the world! I wish I’d been here back then, I would never have let them say that shit--!”

Tony floated his own mug to the bedside table before turning to bury his face in his soulmate’s shoulder, feeling wetness on the top of his head as tears of frustration and shared pain began falling from Stephen’s eyes. Of all the things for Stephen to have experienced… he hadn’t realized that what the Rogues had said and done had inflicted so much emotional damage to him. Thinking back, though, it made sense. Between his father being an outright abusive asshole, Obadiah building him up for the purpose of using him, being used over and over again… Yep, definitely made sense now. He let Stephen hold him for a while before he pulled away a bit to gently press a kiss to the man’s lips. “I’m not okay… but I will be.” He admitted to his soulmate, whiskey brown eyes filled with tears even as a spark of hope flickered in them.

“I know you will be. You’re so strong, Tony, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” Stephen pulled him forward to rest their foreheads together, remaining quiet for a few seconds before speaking again. “I don’t need to ask what you saw.”

The hitch in Tony’s breath was audible, especially loud in the relative quiet of the room. “You pulled me out in the middle of it…” His voice cracked towards the end, beginning to tremble as the memory surfaced again. “How many times, Stephen?”

“Tony--”

“How many times did Dormammu kill you, Stephen?”

Absolute silence filled the room for several seconds as whiskey brown bore into blue-green. Finally, the sorcerer swallowed and closed his eyes. “I don’t know the exact number… I stopped counting after 1000,” He whispered.

The genius’ breath caught, agony lancing through his being. “I just saw a few hundred-- He killed you--?!”

Stephen’s eyes snapped to Tony, horror filling his eyes. “You felt that many?! No, baby, you should never have-- Vishanti,” He pulled Tony against his chest again, tears beginning anew in both men, “I was going to tell you eventually, but I never wanted you to experience any of it!”

“--I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I couldn’t save you--”

Neither man got any sleep that night, the tears not stopping long enough to allow for such.

Neither man was okay in that moment… but deep down, they knew they would be.

[noah-blues]

Hearts Awaken. Chapter I: Surprise

Warnings: Violent language. 

You didn't bother to go back to Browns' ranch until tonight. The lights inside the big house illuminated through the windows, indicating that the old man was drinking whiskey, with the whip in his hands, his stinking boots on top of the bear skin he had hunted last winter in the mountains and a macabre smile as he imagined the leather of the torture instrument hitting your exposed skin, adding one more scar to the collection you had on your back.

You took slow steps, like you carried coal instead of feet. You were exhausted, not only by what happened in the orchard and with the dogs, but by the widespread thought you dedicated to what the old man would do to you as soon as you arrived without apples or in time. Surely Eva had to do everything in the kitchen in your absence, cursing you between the teeth and making noise with her cane, as well as complaining about her back, of course. Needless to say, what Noa and Yumav had to endure, Brown certainly took it out on them when he didn't find you —you, his favorite toy.

You didn't want to get there, but you couldn't escape either. You'd die just trying or you'd be raped or abducted by another pale face the same as or worse than the old man. Your options were limited. You closed the fence, Brown's cattle moved at the noise, and the horses whinnied, it seemed that all the animals had agreed to give you a noisy welcome; one that the old man would not ignore.

You tried to sneak into the barn, knowing that Eva and the others would have locked the door to the small room where they were staying —it was something they always did so that the old man, being drunk, wouldn't come in— and even if you begged they wouldn't open. It was your fault for coming in so late. You closed the barn doors, it was dark and smelled like manure, the usual.

You gathered straw to remake your bed when in a quick and unknown movement your back was found against the wood of the barn. The dry noise confirmed the force with which you were pushed, drawing out a sore whimper as it was caught by the hand that covered your mouth. You immediately deduced that it was Brown, you foolishly thought he would be on his couch, drinking, but he was waiting for you. Now it would rain the blows, you would have to bite the inside of your cheeks not to shout so loud —if you shouted loudly, he hit you harder— and bear it.

But the whip didn't come, no one would open the fabric on your back or put you on the floor to hit you and insult you. That wait made you feel anxious, anguished, would it be another kind of torture?

“Shh” the sound, similar to that of a rattlesnake indicating its presence and danger, made you feel confused.

Little by little you opened your eyes, but it was dark and the tall figure in front of you mixed perfectly with the dark tone. You dared to swallow. You could taste the leather of his gloves over your lips and the renegade scent on it. All of him was a shadow that embraced you.

“Are you the dakota girl?”.

You nodded out of pure instinct, thinking of nothing but cooperation rather than inquiry because a stranger would ask for you or be curious.

“Don't shout” he said after you answered.

He separated his hand from your mouth and you were silent, as he ordered, looking at him, or trying to do so because you could not locate his face, you were only guided by his deep voice.

“Come with me” he command you again, opening the barn doors effortlessly, he was strong, that it would probably break your neck if you tried to escape.

He waited for you to come out, to keep an eye on you. You did it, walking slow. He pointed to the big house and they both went there. You climbed the porch, watched at your own pace, more confused than at first. Where were they all?

“Open, I found her”.

The man spoke and the door opened, making the usual squeal for lack of oil. A second figure was shown, dressed in black and hat. You didn't have time to get a good look at his face because the guy in the back pushed you and the other guy just stepped to one side. He told you to walk again, and you did it like this. On your way you saw the rest kneeling and with their hands behind their necks, heads down. There were more men, dressed in black, guarding them with guns in their hands. When they heard you, they watched you, their masks covering part of their faces, only showing you the depth of their eyes. That was enough for you, you knew they were sinners who were constantly accumulating misfortunes with every stray bullet.

You thought they would make you kneel and join the others, to be slaughtered, but the man who attacked you in the barn told you to go up to the second floor. They came to Brown's room, he was on the floor, breathing heavily and with blows to the head; for a brief moment you experienced rejoicing, but when you felt that great hand on one of your shoulders you stopped, you returned to your reality.

“Hyung, it's her”.

Two figures moved to see you. Faces uncovered and in black clothes. The pairs of eyes stuck in your figure and you felt dense, what would they want with you? If they had beaten Brown, taken the house, why didn't they just take the valuables?

“You” the other man, who compared to the one who was ordering you looked smaller (but still tall to you, only a little) called you “, come here”.

You didn't know how to react, you just stood there until the guy behind you pushed you; you walked to where you were called, to the edge of the old man's bed. There you discovered a third man, lying down, sweating and stirring. His face reflected pain and agony, his tightly closed eyelids indicated suffering.

You looked at who he called you, not understanding.

“Heal him” he ordered, and when you were near you appreciated his face; young, brown, with a strange cut that reminded you of those times when Brown sheared the boys, just for fun, making them cry because of the razor that savagely wounded their scalp.

You looked at the dying man again, cured him of what? You weren't a healer or a shaman, you didn't have that gift.

“I…” You denied “. I can't. I am not…”.

“The old man over there says yes”.

Someone hit Brown's ribs, making him cry.

“He said you are good with poisons” the strangely cut man glanced at the sick man, the blond man still with his eyes tightly clenched. “He was stung by a snake half a day ago”.

“The poison was already…” Surely the poison was already all over his body, veins, organs, you couldn't do anything, but the man interrupted your excuse and put the tip of the revolver on your temple. Cold contact with the gun made you tighten your lips.

“Do it” his voice did not seem intimidating to you at first, it was soft compared to his hostile and strange appearance, but the tone had changed, he sounded furious.

You looked at old Brown still on the floor, and the bandit close to him kicked him again.

“Just get the poison out of him, you fucking bitch” he shouted in pain.

You looked at the dying man and then at the one who was still pointing the gun at you.

“Where was he bitten?

“In the leg”.

You got closer, your hands straight to the indicated area. You removed the fabric from the pants and saw the bite. That pair of deep holes. You stroked them lightly with your fingertips, making the dying man wince. A metallic click near your temple, the other subject had not removed his revolver from you.

“Herbs”.

“What?”.

“I need herbs. To cure him” you started to recognize the affected stretches, this thanks to the swelling.

The men looked at each other, the one next to you spoke:

“What herbs?”.

“The old lady downstairs knows which ones”.

He gestured to the big guy who had taken you there, out of the room.

“What else do you need?”.

You moved his leg without the slightest care, causing the light-haired one to scream.

You didn't look at him or who he was pointing the gun at.

“Much, much faith” you replied.

“If the word is spoken, things exist. The word in men's mouths has powers. But when the wise man finds the right words and knows how to pronounce them with the right feeling, they heal. That is when the word ceases to be a word to be a prayer, and prayer ceases to be a prayer to be a cure…”.

The chief's words were hardly a murmur to you, a distant one, for you were lost in the warmth of the arms of your mother who sat near the fire, beside your grandmother and father. All were attentive to the chief's counsel, not because he was the chief, but because he was the wise man of the tribe. Not only did he heal the sick with prayers that the spirits whispered into their ears and he pronounced properly, he also revealed the hidden messages on earth, in heaven and in water, or when someone had dreams that he could not comprehend, he made them clear.

Your mother stirred you gently, she didn't want you to sleep in the middle of something so important. You even felt your father's look.

“If you don't pay attention, how can you go with me tomorrow to recognize the poisonous of the non-poisonous?”.

With regret you settled into your mother's lap, struggling against sleep to listen to the chief’s advice.

It wasn't the language of the pale face that your lips loosened, it was the language of your people. Your roots. You applied that odorous paste of herbs that Eva always stored in the affected area and you did not stop praying. They were a few words that you had learned from your people, you didn't know the rest due to the massacre of your tribe, with no one left to teach you the rest.

Many like you were uprooted from their tribes at a very early age, being sold to whites. The majority had to forget, obligatorily, the rituals, the lullabies, the symbols, the memories and everything that represented the tribe of each one to avoid being beaten, humiliated and even killed. You had not even been saved from it, for you did not even remember the name your mother had given you. Not hearing it had made you forget it, and you only reacted to the insults that the pale faces had made your name seem.

But you remembered the prayers, not complete, not all of them, but part of them. And you remembered how to get poison out.

You began to be hot, because you had not stopped putting herbs in the calf of the man nor in repeating the prayers, from beginning to end, ignoring the dryness of your mouth and trying to ignore, equally, the still cold contact of the weapon put in your head. The other man hadn't left your side all that time.

More men went in and out, to bring herbs, water for the dying, to pull out Brown's unconscious and throw him into the hallway; you heard noise below, fortunately not of weapons. You chewed the herbs to make pasta, squeezing the juice, and then repeated the prayers again, without grimacing at the bitter taste. When you saw the herbs turn dark, you changed them.

You didn't have visual access to the men, but after going through the shock of the moment, finding yourself surrounded by them and with that gun in your head, you remembered what happened in the morning. You didn't know the man who shot the dog was one of them, or if it was the one pointing at your head, or maybe it was another and your hunches were confused, but it was too coincidental. There were almost no bandits in these parts, Brown's ranch was little compared to the northernmost gold mines or the counties with banks, but that did not prevent the old man from having a shotgun at hand. And although the area was not safe either, those suspects on horseback only passed by, keeping their distance when the old man showed up on the porch with the shotgun loaded; Brown was not one of those who invited in those who could kill him.

But there are always first times.

“Man can store up riches, sins and tragedies, but never favors. Favors go beyond the physical, sometimes they are the difference between life and death. It's important to receive and give favors. It's a fundamental barter in the soul of our tribe. Never owe a favor”.

And even if you didn't want to save him, because he was a pale face, because they would surely kill you later, you wouldn't leave the world without a favor. You didn't want your soul to get stained.

“Knife” you asked.

The three men —for the moment— inside the room looked at you, suspiciously. Did you sense the thought that crossed their minds, an native with a knife near his dying and vulnerable companion? Of course those looks.

“I won't rip his scalp out” that wasn't tradition in your tribe. “I'll use it to draw the excess blood” you explained.

The one on the other side of the room looked at who you guessed was the boss —the one with the gun— waiting for his answer.

This one addressed you.

“If you make a move, I'll blow your head off”.

“If I wanted him to die, I would have let him die, even with your gun to my temple. The death of a pale face wouldn't keep me awake. I'm just returning one favor for another favor”.

You replied.

The eyes of both were connected and you did not know which reflex was found on the other side of those pupils, they were cloudy.

“Give her the knife” ordered the leader.

They gave you the knife and you watched the dying man.

“It'll hurt” and you cut it.

Brown's room was filled with screams.

Fortunately, they weren't yours.

You wiped your mouth and erased the traces of saliva mixed with blood and poison from your chin. You saw the blackish liquid in the bucket, that was the poison. You'd been sucking on it for over an hour, your jaw hurt as well as your neck.

The rooster crowed and the sun hit your face. You sighed as you threw the poison into the well you had made, burying it.

You weren't alone, they kept an eye on you. Just like the rest that were still inside the house, while old Brown was in the rocking chair, sore, beaten and tied up. When you finished burying the toxins, you went to the well to carry water. Since none of the bandits were willing to have everyone free around the house, now you were the one obeying their orders. You took out the bucket and walked into the house. It had been an exhausting night, for him, but especially for you.

You came to the bed where the blonde-haired man was, and to your surprise, he was awake. His eyes rested on your figure, then on your face, on your messy hair, on your hands coloured with greenish material and your dry lips. He formed a smile.

“Hello” he saluted.

You didn't answer, you just focused on pouring the water into the jug, waiting for more directions from the leader who was stretching and looking through the window.

“If you're already courting, Seonghwa, it means you can ride”.

“Come on, Hongjoong, don't be grumpy. I'm alive. Or so I think” he stopped talking to who you thought Hongjoong was to see you “is it true, isn't it? Am I alive?

You just nodded, cut your answers. You had to be more careful now that they didn't need you anymore.

This Seonghwa guy chuckled.

“It's lucky I took a shower yesterday, I didn't expect a nice woman to kiss my leg”.

You looked the other way, not knowing what to say. Did that man call you ‘nice’?

“Fever is not yet low” you concluded, and the blond man laughed again at your comment.

“Lucky Seonghwa has nice legs”.

Someone else came in, her hair similar to that ash mustang you saw. His fleshy lips formed a smile when he saw you.

“I'm sure if it had been San, or Mingi, she wouldn't have dared to bring her lips closer with the hyung gun in her head” he said.

You didn't react. How was you supposed to do that in the middle of a situation like that?

“Wooyoung, call San, pick up Seonghwa and help him get on the horse, we've already lost a lot of time”.

“Next time I'll try not to take so long to die” was Seonghwa's sarcastic comment.

“It would be a great favor on your part” Hongjoong replied.

The bandits, led by Hongjoong, had locked everyone in the barn, except you and Brown —who was still in the rocking chair with a huge pounding and bruises— who were on the porch, watching the bandits assemble their chair, or helping the newly revived Seonghwa get on his steed.

“San, get your fucking hand off my ass!”.

“You mean the opposite! You get your ass out of my hand!”.

“For Esther's breasts, stop fighting!”.

You bit your inner cheek, it was funny the behavior of those three —if you remember well they were Seonghwa, San and Wooyoung. After several attempts, complaints related to Seonghwa's ass, they finally managed to get him up.

San sighed as if he had done a tiresome job and looked at his leader.

“I will never touch his ass again”.

The others didn't immute at his words.

San wiped his hands over his pants and gave you a look. You diverted the eyes without knowing why, that man's gaze was… deep. When you returned your sight again, believing that this one surely entered in arranging his chair, you found the surprise that he looked at you playfully, to nod for himself and to snap the fingers, attracting the attention of all. Including your curiosity.

“Can we keep her? She already proved that she knows about poisons, having her would prevent me from hearing Mingi cry and inherit the crap he calls treasures to imaginary girlfriends”.

The petition sounded so out of place that even you opened your eyes in surprise. Although his tone seemed humorous, as if what he said most of the time was a joke, there was a seriousness anchored to his words. And because of the tired sigh of another of the boys, the one on the brown horse and you had seen an apple split in half without any problem, he scolded him

“Oh no, San. The last time it was a possum, which by the way you suffocated when you fell asleep, now do you want to adopt a girl? The answer is no”.

 “But she knows about poisons!”.

“And to kill” said Hongjoong.

“Of course, and we don't do that too” said San, putting his hands in his pockets, taking funny steps towards you.

You instantly regressed. Seeing your action, he stopped and only smiled at you from a distance. That confused you more.

“I like her eyes”.

“Hm?”.

“They are a mixture of hatred, resignation, courage and scarce peace; when mixed it results in a beautiful color”.

You heard one say, you watched the tallest two in the group.

That comment made you frown. What did he know about the color of your eyes?

You watched him unconsciously. And he only smiled at you, smiled at you in such a gentle manner that it gave you chills. How could a man smile like that after reading your eyes perfectly?

Of all of them, he probably made you more nervous.

A sharp blow got you out of your trance. You heard old Brown complain and watched him, again, on the floor. Hongjoong had cut his strings and looked at you.

Then he looked at San, who smiled in response.

“He won't get up from the ground for several days, San took it out on him”.

“I hate men who mistreat women” he commented.

Wooyoung snorted.

“Says the man who murdered his fiancée”.

“That was a very different case. She deserved it”.

“Aha”.

Hongjoong tried not to roll his eyes.

“But as soon as he does, he'll be the same old bastard again. And again all of you will begin your sad lives”.

Hoongjoong drew a knife, which he drew and extended toward you. Of course, you didn't take it.

“Or you can do your good deed and cut his throat, free all those people”.

“Aren't you going to kill us?”.

He raised an eyebrow.

“I'd have nothing to gain by killing all you, except to soil my new pants”.

You watched the knife, not knowing whether to take it or not. Would you be able to kill Brown? For many nights you dreamed of it, but when you saw it in the face, when he yelled at you, or just hit you, you hesitated to even do so. Killing a person wasn't like cutting a chicken's throat, and even if you did it every day, you still felt sorry for the animal; feeling sorry for the animals, that their death hurt you, still meant that a person's death would hurt more, even if it was old Brown.

Hongjoong put the knife away when he saw you weren't taking it. San released a sound of disappointment and the rest of the bandits decided to ride a horse, bringing the scene to a close.

Hongjoong walked down the stairs of the porch, his spurs tinkling, you watched his feet, the way he walked away. You heard the horses stirring restlessly, the metal of the reins… the sound of what might have been your only chance to avenge yourself.

“What are you doing there, stupid?! Come and help me!”.

You heard the old man screaming and insulting, you looked at him with disgust. You always avoided contact with him, he disgusted you. That's why you kept yourself as unattractive as possible, although in the eyes of a lustful man that didn't matter, but it had worked with Brown, that and the paprika —he is allergic to paprika — you sprinkled on your clothes.

You took a look at the outside of the corral, they were already leaving, and you stayed there, with everyone and with Brown, living that life. You squeezed your lips, wishing you could have taken that knife, but your fingers were so hard that you doubted you could even take the weapon.

Downstairs, Brown was still yelling at you and you were staring out at the sky. It was so blue, so beautiful.

In the midst of your self-absorption, where Brown's voice disappeared as well as the pull on your skirt, a distant echo of horse footsteps infiltrated your mind.

But it was his voice that brought you to reality.

“Hey, girl” he called you and you looked at his face. Hidden under that hat and the mask, you could hardly guess the movement of his lips, you recognized the horse: the ash mustang, and you could identify it, the one who saved you. He looked around the place and then at you “, you can choose to stay on this piece of land forgotten by the devil himself and stay frustrated every day your owner keeps breathing and didn't die with his saliva” he pointed to old Brown, who could barely see who was telling you all that. You saw him raise an eyebrow and continued “, or you can join us, be useful and join us until we consider you disposable or run away from us, without a bullet hitting you; whichever comes first. What do you say?";

For a moment you thought he was joking, but of all of them he was the one with the most serious face. You felt a little strange being called a girl as if he was much older, because of his appearance you deduced that he was younger than you. But his broad shoulders and that aura made up for the lack of years and made him a dangerous subject.

You looked at him, hesitating. He was still staring at you.

You looked down at old Brown, he had you by the ankle, looking at you with rage, as if he guessed your dark thoughts.

“Don't even think about it, bitch” he hissed furiously.

You looked back at the bandit.

“I'm coming” you replied.

Brown screamed in pain when you stomped on his hand. Unable to stand up or catch you, he could only see you riding the chair of that shameless man who, brazenly, took off his hat to say goodbye.

And you spit and looked at him with contempt.

The mustang whinnied. You looked at the sky, felt the wind in your face and inhaled the smell of leather.

The sky seemed more blue and the sunlight more welcoming.

Notes: So... its all, for today. Thanks for your comments and likes, you make me happy. Anyway, enjoy and welcome to the tragedy and angst!

See you soon!

[soft-sunflower]

Terrors Upon Nightfall 

The candlelight had somewhat illuminated his face showing just how vulnerable and desperate Prince Wang So looked in his sleep, tangled in his blankets and an expression on his face as though he were about to cry. It was even more vulnerable than the night she'd accidentally encountered him in the royal bath. Something in her made her want to go to him and rub a hand over his forehead, smooth the anguished furrow in his brow and calm him, but she knew better. After all, this was a man who held a sword to her neck. She slowly began moving toward his bed till she was in front of him, unsure if she should try and wake him or not. He seemed very deep in his nightmare.

"MOTHER!" The 4th Prince cried out, without any impending warning of waking up, as he flew up in bed, his eyes wide open, sweat soaking him, chest heaving with every gasp of air he took, and Soo did not miss the glimpse of tears in his eyes as her own eyes widened in complete shock, surprise and fear. Her hand flew to her mouth. His abrupt awakening was the last thing she had expected. Soo backed up quickly as So seemed to come to now, and he locked his sharp eyes with her fear-filled ones.

That Hae Soo girl. She could be so... so exasperating with her almost seemingly incessant nagging and lecturing. He wasn't destroying the towers again, for goodness sake. He was building one, stones of his own wishes. Did she always think so badly of him? But then again, had he really given her a reason to think of decently of him? Well, he supposed he had saved her from a beating. He couldn't just stand idly by while someone innocent was beaten for something as trivial as a hairpin, and he had called her his person.  Now she's asking what he wished for? She didn't want to know, and he didn't want to tell her.

The 4th Prince, Wang So, found himself almost wanting to roll his eyes as she found one thing after another to scold him over. He had just informed her that he would be moving soon to the palace, and he wouldn't be running into her as often anymore. She had sounded almost disappointed at this news before she sarcastically added on that she wouldn't have to deliver food to him anymore. What was her deal with him anyway? She was difficult to figure out, but then again, so were most people. People skills weren't exactly his strongest suit.

"Oh, well I guess I won't have to deliver rice to you anymore," Hae Soo said with an air of snark in her tone. "That's great." She folded her arms and turned her head away from him.

Was this girl serious? "You didn't do it that often," Prince So scoffed back at her. "Stop trying to take credit."

Soo still didn't turn to meet his eyes before that mouth of hers started talking back to him again. She certainly could speak recklessly when the time called for it, and it didn't matter if he or anyone was else was of royal status or not. She'd already bruised his younger brother's face and got away with it, so far anyway. It intrigued him and at the same time surprised him. Most people would be beaten for speaking to royalty the way she did or hanged for so much as even touching the face of a prince, and he didn't even want to get started on how she ended up in the royal bath, but this girl didn't seem to have a care in the world about that. She let him have it. This Hae Soo girl had no fear.

"Please lead a quiet life in the palace," she began, still looking away.

Prince So found himself looking back at her again curiously. Quiet life? And what exactly did she mean by that?

"Don't threaten to kill or not kill people all the time," the girl continued without missing a beat. She turned her face back toward him, still not quite meeting his eyes. "Don't glare at people like you do when they don't listen to you."

So placed his hand on his thigh, tilting his head slightly and looked directly at her. Really? The audacity she had speaking the way she was to him, but he let her continue, wondering what else she'd have to say. Soo stared straight back at him confidently and their eyes met. She wasn't even phased by the fact that he was a prince, or even over the things he'd done. What did she think he was? A child? She was certainly reprimanding him like one.

"Be especially careful not to draw your sword over nothing." Hae Soo paused. "Oh yeah. Don't destroy something someone worked really hard to make! Hmmm, what else is there," she wondered out loud.

"That's enough," the Prince admonished, raising his brows, widening his eyes and clenching his teeth. He had definitely heard just about enough. She really had a habit of back-talking and lecturing.

"Eat your meals properly," the girl's voice spoke up again, only this time much softer and not so lecturing. Her eyes averted, and her tone took on an almost concerned but shy expression. "Sleep well, too. Try not to have bad dreams if you can."

The Prince's eyes softened considerably over this girl's concern for him. It wasn't the first time she'd shown him that was worried for him and that she cared, and even understood him. When she'd found him just yesterday wrecking the prayer stones as his remorse and grief had taken over to be replaced by rage, and just a couple of nights prior... It was the night she'd found him in a nightmare.

***Four Nights Ago***

The 4th Prince collapsed in his room at the home of his 8th brother, Prince Wang Wook, completely exhausted from everything that had transpired that night. The Exorcism Rite,  him taking the place of the Crown Prince, the performance, the assassins who were let into the palace the harsh wound he'd received from a sword slicing through his arm, the battle in the palace, the chase through the woods, the battle with the assassin and losing the only lead they had thanks to that damned girl and Wook. It wasn't just that though. So couldn't shake the image of his father fearing for Moo's life over his own. The concerned cries of the Crown Prince's name coming from the King's mouth as he raced over to the princes played over again in his head.

He had pulled off So's mask in a panic only to find him there and not Crown Prince Moo, not even bothering to stop and check on his injury or see if he was even alright. It was there that So realized just where his father's priorities lay, and he was not among the top of them. The 4th Prince had felt the stinging of tears his eyes and that hurt of yet again a parent that could care less for him, which had come without warning, and now he was having to control himself. He couldn’t fall apart in front of his father.

Noticing this, the Astronomer, Ji Mong, had taken it upon himself to ask if the 4th Prince was alright. So stood up and glanced at the King, who had said "So-yah" so softly, that it made his heart twist painfully. Instead of staying, he promised to find the assassins and ran out from the palace, no longer able to face his father. Instead, he buried his feelings as far down as he could and took off after the escapees.

Here now, So was drained. He placed a hand over the dressed wound on his sore arm that his half-sister, Princess Yeonhwa, had taken upon herself to treat for him and sighed. This night had not turned out at all like he'd expected, and the Prince had had enough of being awake. Being awake meant more time to think about things, and the more he thought about them, the more the wound ever present in his heart seemed to grow and ache. But it was nothing he could ever show openly to anyone.

His heart stayed hidden behind a mask, just like his scar. After all, he was the wolf-dog prince of Shinju. Famous for being scary and cruel. He had an image to uphold, didn't he? His body drained of energy, and his heart weighing heavily in his chest, So lay down on the bed and closed his eyes, hoping to sleep off some of his anger, frustration, and misery. Sleep overtook him quicker than expected, darkness and peace for a while, and then came flashes of screaming, crying, flames and howls filling his dreams, and the Prince could not wake. His nightmares weren't just his imagination conjuring fearful dreams. His nightmares were his life, his reality and there was never any escaping that. ~~~~~

Hae Soo sat in her room dressed in her white sleeping robes, the candles all still lit from when the 8th Prince, Wook, had been in her room earlier. He had told her it would help her to not have bad dreams since she had encountered something so scary. Yes, the 4th Prince was actually terrifying uttering death threats and holding a sword to the side of her neck, but she could see something in the depths of his eyes stirring there, like a storm just barely brimming the surface, as if there were more to him than just cruelty, and she didn't know why but a strange curiosity kept drawing her to him. She sat cross-legged on her bed, clutching the butterfly hairpin she had found left behind at the palace bath the night the 4th Prince had disappeared angrily after the girl had seen his face by complete accident.

She wondered to herself that if maybe she returned it to him, she might be able to make amends. After all, the forest and assassins ordeal had truly gotten him upset, but why he had gotten as upset as he did, she did not know nor understand. After his threats, all she could do was mutter tearfully that it wasn't a crime to want to live. He had seemed slightly shaken by her words.

Maybe if she showed him she found the hairpin for him, things might become a bit better? Maybe? Hopefully. Soo wasn't sure, but she sat and listened to the quiet stillness of Prince Wook's residence and was certain that everyone was asleep. Soo climbed out of bed as quietly as possible, still holding the hairpin tightly in her hand, the white sleeve of her robes slipping over her hand and hiding the fact that she was holding it.

"Should I just take it to him? He's probably still awake. He usually always is. I'll... just go and see, and if he is, I'll tell him he dropped it, and I just wanted to bring it back. Yes. That's what I'll do. Maybe he'll actually stop with the death threats," she scoffed to herself.

Soo opened the door and began to tiptoe quietly down the hall making her way toward the 4th Prince's room. She could hear a noise, some sort of muffled sound, coming from within, and she drew her eyebrows inward, the sounds nagging at her curiosity only pulled her closer. The noises were coming from the 4th Prince's room, and Soo put her ear to the door and listened. It sounded like he was gasping for air, like he was terrified of something. There was a whimper, followed by an almost keening cry. Was he having a nightmare? Hae Soo felt her heart lurch hard in her chest as the Prince let out another cry. He sounded terrified and so very sad.

Soo's heart pounded heavily in her chest as she grabbed at the doorknob and opened the door very carefully. There was a candle lit on a table next to his bed. She could see that 4th Prince was deep in the throes of sleep, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. There were beads of sweat lining his forehead, sliding down his face, and he was trembling. His breath gasping and muttering unintelligible words. It took Soo everything she had to not go to him and wake him because it was clear that he was definitely having a bad dream, and she wasn't sure why, but she felt a strange urge to take it away from him. To comfort him.

The candlelight had somewhat illuminated his face showing just how vulnerable and desperate Prince Wang So looked in his sleep, tangled in his blankets and an expression on his face as though he were about to cry. It was even more vulnerable than the night she'd accidentally encountered him in the royal bath. Something in her made her want to go to him and rub a hand over his forehead, smooth the anguished furrow in his brow and calm him, but she knew better. After all, this was a man who held a sword to her neck. She slowly began moving toward his bed till she was in front of him, unsure if she should try and wake him or not. He seemed very deep in his nightmare.

"MOTHER!" The 4th Prince cried out, without any impending warning of waking up, as he flew up in bed, his eyes wide open, sweat soaking him, chest heaving with every gasp of air he took, and Soo did not miss the glimpse of tears in his eyes as her own eyes widened in complete shock, surprise and fear. Her hand flew to her mouth. His abrupt awakening was the last thing she had expected. Soo backed up quickly as So seemed to come to now, and he locked his sharp eyes with her fear-filled ones.

Prince So blinked rapidly, the blurry but obvious image of that girl standing in front of him, her large eyes even rounder and more wide than usual, before she turned tail and ran out as quickly as possible, her long dark hair flowing behind her. The Prince ran a hand down his face, trying to register what had just happened, as he wiped away sweat mingled with tears and cursed himself. He realized he'd been stuck in another nightmare, and she saw him. The nightmare that had been his childhood and his life. Something he could seemingly never wake from. So rose to his feet, his body still trembling from the aftermath and looked around the dimly lit room.

"What just...? That girl... What was she even doing here?" he wondered aloud his head still a bit clouded from sleep, and he listened as he could vaguely hear her footsteps running away from him fast. "I must have really scared her," he half-scoffed, half-laughed to himself.

So walked towards his door, opened it up and left the room, curious as to where she might have gone. He walked quietly down the hall, searching for any sign of her, and an open door drew him. He peeked inside to see candles lit, but no sign of her.

That must be her room. I wonder where she went? Wonder if I can catch her? She's got some explaining to do, and maybe if I can just bring myself to talk to her properly... she won't be so scared.

The Prince surprised himself. He'd never really wondered or worried about these sorts of things before, so why would he be now? What was it about this girl that drew his curiosity so much? What was it about her that made him save her before she fell in the riverbed? What was the strange sensation he was having in his chest as he clutched her close while on his horse, and what was it that made him nearly twinge with anger as he watched a sword slice ever so slightly into the side of her neck? It confused him, and he didn't even want to try and work all of this out in his head. Right now, his priority was finding her.

So left the house, finding himself outside. The chill night air and the visible puffs of his breath suggested the impending winter coming. He rubbed his black, robed arms and continued his walk, still searching for her. The cold was almost refreshing as he walked, allowing himself to clear his mind from that horrible nightmare.

He was unsure of how long he walked before he came across what appeared to be small towers made of stones, flickering flames of lit candles adorning the top. It was obvious that someone had taken a long time to build them. It didn't look like something one could put together in a matter of a day. The vision of them intrigued him and he wondered what exactly they were for.

Something white caught the corner of his eye and he turned toward it, catching the figure of a girl standing in front of the stone towers, her hand on her chest and catching her breath. She had not noticed him there yet, and so he stood quietly, cloaked in the blackness of the night while she huffed and puffed, trying to gather her composure. Yep. That was her. He felt one corner of his mouth turn up at the sight of her. She could certainly be amusing, even at the worst of times.

"Whew! I thought I was dead there for a moment!" Hae Soo wheezed out, and So could feel the other corner of his lip turning up in a small smile now. What a strange girl to have such an effect on him.

The Prince wasn't sure how long he stood there observing her before he noticed she'd calmed down and much to his surprise, she raised her hands in prayer, standing in front of the stone piles serenely. The candlelight flickered off her face, making her appearance look like something soft, warm and inviting. He took it upon himself to approach her now.

The 4th Prince cleared his throat loudly, walking up to the girl with his hands behind his back, his head tilted and a smirk on his face. "Just what did you think you were doing coming into my room like that?" So inquired, causing the girl to jump and squeal, whirling around to face him.

"Oh, oh-oh, I-I, well, uh, you see," Hae Soo stammered, a panicked expression on her face, and then her tone dropped, becoming very shy and quiet. "I heard noises coming from your room, and it sounded bad, so I just wanted to check on you and make sure you were alright. I'm sorry if that was wrong of me. I didn't mean any harm."

So blinked, unable to respond. He was taken aback by this. Nobody had ever checked on him before over anything really. When he was left to starve, left to fight wolves in the Kangs' hopes he'd die, covered in injuries that never properly healed, held as a hostage and kept under the thumb of the Kangs, and as for nightmares, well... He'd always had those. Nobody had ever been concerned for his well-being while suffering through anything, let alone nightmares and night terrors. He had always endured those and everything else on his own, but this girl? The Prince felt something strange stir in his heart as he stared into the flickering flame of the candlelight.

Hae Soo had turned away from him now falling silent and gazing back at the prayer stones before once more bringing her hands up in prayer, her eyes closing. So observed her silently for a few moments.

"What exactly are you doing?" the Prince found himself asking, only this time it was about the strange stone towers.  

Soo let out a short laugh before inclining her head back at him. "I'm praying that you won't threaten to kill me this time, Your Highness. You know, for coming to your room without permission," she half-joked.

So just rolled his eyes and scoffed at her, not bothering to grace her with a response to that retort. He guessed he'd had it coming. Instead, he took a few steps forward so he was standing closer to her and the strange stone piles.

"So, what exactly are these?" the Prince asked, his curiosity still getting the better of him.

"These are called prayer towers. They are things that mothers build for their children," Hae Soo began explaining as she lowered her hands and turned toward him to catch his eye.

For once, his face didn't hold that furious and harsh expression. He didn't look sad or frustrated. His gaze was soft and inquisitive, the usual lines marring his brow were smoothed, and Soo continued her explanation.

"Each stone represents a wish. Mothers come here with a stone to build onto the tower and then say prayers and offer wishes for their children."

"Mothers do this?" So asked, a strange catch in his voice.

His mother had always treated him so cruelly and coldly, and his adoptive mother had whipped, beaten and starved him. He never understood why, or even what a mother's love could feel like. So's heart clenched in his chest as the desire for wanting to know how that felt just for once in his life tapped at him.

"Yes," Hae Soo responded, nodding her dark head. "They are a beautiful representation of a mother's love for her child," she smiled softly as her small fingers lightly touched the stones. "Myung Hee made this one just for me. Though my mother is, well, no longer here, Myung Hee is very much like a mother-figure to me. She takes good care of me. She makes sure I'm fed and dressed well, worries and fusses over me, encourages and helps me, especially ever since I hurt my head." Soo closed her eyes and smiled bigger. She sighed softly. "I am truly grateful to have Myung Hee's love."

The 4th Prince felt his heart squeeze even harder, and it took all he could not to reach up and grasp at his chest at the almost physical pain it caused him in that moment. He could feel his legs trembling under him. How wonderful it must feel to have that kind of love from someone. He would never know that kind of love or that kind of feeling. His mother would never give him that sort of affection much less build him a stone tower of prayers and wishes for him. Queen Yoo had thrown him away a long time ago when she adopted him out to the Kang family.

So could feel that horrible tingling sensation on the backs of his eyelids and his nose burned. He hurriedly turned away from the girl who was still smiling serenely and stubbornly blinked back the tears threatening him yet again. Ever since he'd arrived back in Songak, this was happening to him more and more, and yet he still wanted to stay here, no matter how painful it may be. The cold treatment received from his mother hurt more than he cared to admit, and the memories seemed to come back stronger than ever of the day his mother scarred him forever, but it was better than being trapped in Shinju as a political hostage.

Regathering his composure, the Prince cleared his throat. "Hmph. Wishes and prayers built of stones? Never heard of anything so ridiculous," he growled lightly, burying his feelings once more, before stalking off, leaving a very startled and confused Hae Soo behind. He didn't miss her words slip out though before he disappeared.

"What... could have happened to this man to make him so cold and angry all of the time?" she voiced her thoughts aloud.

So picked up his pace and walked quicker, trying to get away from her before his emotions completely overwhelmed him on the spot. A mother's love? How would he ever be able to gain his mother's love an acceptance? Not after all he'd endured did she ever show him affection. His nightmare flashed through his head again, only it wasn't just a nightmare. It was a past he had no choice but to endure..

The 4th Prince had been just a child of only 5 years old, tied to the palace walls, unable to move, a makeshift mask almost too big covering half of his wounded face. The Queen hadn't even allowed the wounds she'd inflicted on him, after trying to kill him, to be treated properly. It would definitely leave a scar. He was lucky it hadn't damaged his eye or impaired his vision. His tiny face had throbbed from pain as the salty tears burned the wounds, his small limbs were bound together. The little Prince couldn't even move. All he could do was scream, cry and beg his mother for help.

Prince So had been too young to understand it then, understand the feud between the Shinju Kang and the Chungju Yoo clans. He didn't realize how he was used as a hostage while the Yoo army attacked the Kang clan. His young voice with cries to his mother filled his head, and he remembered so clearly the Queen raising her hand to signal the attack, turning away from him in disgust while flaming arrows were all shot his way. He could remember feeling the heat from the flames as they whizzed past and the fear that he might be burned on top of already having his face cut open. He begged and pleaded to be let down, to be saved. Back then, it had made no sense to him. Now that he was grown, he was certainly old enough to understand it now, and still suffer from the nightmares. What he didn't understand was why him?

The Prince climbed up on his favorite rock just outside of his brother’s residence and sat down, resting his arms on his knees. He lowered his head, closing his eyes in an attempt to shake the miserable images from his mind and his jaw clenched. If his mother and brother were truly the ones responsible for the attacks on the palace that night, as he suspected they might be, something could happen like that all over again, couldn't it? Something horrible could end up befalling them and especially to the Queen.

Perhaps there was something he could do to stop it before it got that far? If only he could discover where the assassin's hideout was, then perhaps he'd get answers, and then after he got answers, he could get rid of the problem. He could dispose of them all and cover up the heinous plot she and his older brother, 3rd Prince Wang Yo, had planned.

After Hae Soo had informed him the leader was wearing fur, he was nearly convinced that Queen Yoo and Yo had plotted the assassination against the King and the Crown Prince as part of Yo's costume that night was fur. Nobody else had been wearing fur. What if, though, he could cover it all up and hide it to protect them? Not just protect the Queen but his brother as well? Would that make Queen Yoo pleased?

Maybe then he might get some appreciation from his mother for the very first time. Maybe he would feel just a touch of his mother's affection. Even if it was only just a bit, it'd be worth it. Maybe if he covered for her, they could make a prayer stone tower together. Maybe things might change. Things could change, right? So had made up his mind. Yes. He would be the one to protect her. He would find out the truth, find out who was behind it and take care of it on his own. If he did this, then his mother would finally show him the love and affection he had always longed for, wouldn’t she? Would she be proud and concerned if he’d been hurt? Would she finally accept him and appreciate him? He had been waiting so long. If he protected both her and his older brother, then yes. Maybe she would finally let him into her heart.

***The Very Next Evening***

It was all damned pointless. It had all been for absolutely nothing. The killing of the monk assassins, the burning down of the temple. She hadn't accepted any of it. Instead, she had called him a beast, told him he stunk of blood, informed him that he was not her son and that he was her shame, disgrace, and flaw. That was why she sent him away. No matter what he did, no matter how hard he tried, or how far he went for her, he would never ever receive his mother's love and affection or acceptance, even though he tried to cover for her to keep anything from being lead back to her. He had tried so hard to protect her in hopes it would make her proud, and it didn’t.

Even when he tried to tell her of his suffering over his years spent in Shinju living with abuse, starvation, and misery, even telling her of the Shinju clan throwing him into the biggest wolves den in Shinju, the Queen had not cared. She regarded him coldly. She was harsh and cruel. Her words repeated themselves over and over again in his head, pounding miserably and echoing loudly.

"Did you think I'd tell you that you did a good job? Did you want me to ask you if you had injured yourself? You're like an animal. Leave! You stink of blood, and I cannot sleep!"

"It was for you, Mother."

"Mother mother mother! Hearing you call me "Mother" makes my skin crawl! I do not wish to see you, so go! Go now!"

"I have always been curious. Why doesn't Mother feel pity for me? If you were my mother, you would care if I were injured. So, why doesn't my mother look back at me? I waited so desperately for it. Not once..."

"You are not my son. You are the son of the Kangs in Shinju. A mother only recognizes a son who will make her shine. You are my shame, disgrace, and flaw. That's why I sent you away. Thanks to you, I felt a sense of love and justice. I will thank you for that."

She had officially thrown him away, and despite that, he most definitely declared that he would not leave and that she would have to look at only him. He would see to it.

Prince So found himself wandering back to his 8th brother's home, still covered in the drying blood of the monk assassins. The tears on his face freezing from the night chill. He found himself in front of those cursed prayer towers. He smiled at the very nerve of those towers that had been built, his body beginning to tremble before he could feel a horrible fury fill him from the inside out. He wanted them gone. All of them. All of those stones, all of those wishes and prayers he'd never get from his own mother. He wanted all of it to disappear. Maybe if he made them all disappear, the ache in his own heart might lessen.

The Prince's body coursed with white-hot rage, and before he knew it, he was throwing himself into the towers of stone, tearing them down, destroying them with everything he had left in him. He ripped them down with bloody hands, kicked them down clumsily with unsteady feet.

"All of it! Be gone!" So cried out, digging his fingertips into the stone and pulling down the piles until they all lay in pieces at his feet. It was almost strangely satisfying as they all tumbled.

Prince So's cries caught the attention of Hae Soo who had been nearby and was now desperately running toward him, grabbing his waist and begging him to stop. She threw her arms around him from behind, and he shoved her off of him, laughing as she stared at her hands in shock, the blood streaking them.

"B-blood!" she barely whispered out, and So laughed maniacally.

"Yes! It's blood! It's the blood of those I killed today!" He didn't care anymore. What did he have to hide anyway? None of it mattered. Not a single bit of it mattered anymore. So gestured his hand toward the stone tower that was now torn halfway down thanks to him.

"Mothers build this for their children? She shouldn't come to this thing! She should come beg to me!" and he meant every word as he threw himself once more into the tower, determined to bring all of it down.

Soo grabbed him once again from behind, pleading for him to stop, holding hard onto his arms and pulling him backward, the fact that he was covered in sticky blood not even seeming to phase her. This tiny, little girl holding him back? No. He could easily turn around and break her in half if he wanted to. It wouldn't be difficult. He could kill her just as easily as he had all of those assassin monks.

"Stop it now," she told him more gently, and he glared at her over his shoulder.

"Do you want to die too? Let me go!" the Prince snarled, hoping to put enough fear into her that she would let go.

"You're injured!" Soo cried out, finally grasping his attention.

He was? Honestly, he hadn't realized it until the girl held up his hand, showing the fresh blood seeping from underneath his sleeve. She grasped his upper arm, inspecting him carefully. "Do you have any other injuries?"

Nobody had ever, once in their lives, ever been concerned over his injuries. Not that he could even begin to recall. He made another attempt to scare Hae Soo, but his composure had already failed him, and now he was barely keeping it together. Remorse was flooding him, and heartbreak was taking him. His voice shook as he grabbed the girl by the front of her hanbok, glaring down into her face.

"I told you that I killed people," his voice very unsteady now.

Hae Soo did not look at him with fear in her eyes. Her voice did not tremble from being afraid. Instead, her expression softened as she stared up at him in a way he didn't understand. "Then, tell me why you killed them," her voice spoke softly, compassionately.

Prince So gasped, his menacing expression fading as he searched her face, looking for a sign of fear, disgust, shame, something that people usually always threw his way, and he found nothing but almost gentle understanding, those large, dark eyes penetrating him.

"Did you... do it for fun?" Soo asked gently.

The Prince's lips began trembling, his vision was becoming blurred and disturbed.

"Go," was all he could manage to get out before he pushed her back, letting go of her robes. "Go!" he repeated himself, turning away from her now, his head hung low.

So couldn't bring himself to continue looking at her face anymore. Nobody had ever looked at him like that before. Nobody had ever shown him compassion. Nobody had ever made him feel this strange way he was feeling. Nobody had ever just simply asked him or concerned themselves over him. Is this what it was like to have someone care for him? Care for his well-being and wonder why he did the things he did? Was this what it felt like to not reprimand him over his actions by calling him a beast or an animal, and telling him how shameful and disgraceful he was?

"This is that kind of place, isn't it?" Hae Soo's voice called out to him, stopping the Prince in his tracks. That same tone of empathy still there for him. "You have to wield a sword at a very young age. You have to kill others if you want to live." How perceptive this girl was because she was not far off.

So's jaw clenched, his teeth clamped down as he tried to control this new flood of emotions.

"What can you do?" the girl continued, her voice sounding almost desperate. "It's not a crime to want to live."

The Prince couldn't hold back anymore. His back still turned to her, head still low, and listening, the tears he'd been holding in, finally slipped out silently and uncontrollably, sliding out from under his mask and rolling down into his lips, dripping off the tip of his nose. 

"You probably won't be forgiven," Soo told him truthfully. "Still, I understand you."

This girl understood him? Her? Of all people? Nobody had ever told him they understood him before, and he almost wanted to turn back to face her and tell her that no, she didn't. She didn't understand him at all. She didn't understand the pain of being unwanted. She didn't understand the torment of abuse and suffering, she didn't understand that longing for his mother's love so badly that he'd go as far as to killing an entire temple of assassins in hopes he'd gain her acceptance, and she had no idea of the remorse he felt for taking lives like that, only for everything he'd hoped for to completely decay at his feet.  

The 4th Prince didn't want her to see him this way. He didn't want anyone to ever see him this way, in tears and defeated. He'd held it in for so long, created this facade of being cold, cruel and fearsome while building walls around his heart, that he never expected her of all people to begin tearing them down in nearly the same manner as he began tearing down the prayer towers.

"How you're feeling right now... it must be so miserable." Hae Soo's compassion was nearly overwhelming him, he could hear the emotion for him in her trembling voice. "I think I can relate," she all but whispered.

Prince So felt his heart twist painfully in his chest, as he barely glanced over his shoulder toward this girl. Who was she? How could she know just how much he was suffering? How did she relate to everything he was feeling? But there was something warm and welcoming about it, that it nearly made the Prince want to let her in, and yet he still couldn't bring himself to look toward her or speak. He tried to sniff back more tears, turning away from her again and letting out a shaky breath in an attempt to compose himself, but it was not working. The dam he had spent years so carefully constructing was on the verge bursting, and he could feel Soo's eyes on him. There was no more holding anything back.

The pain overwhelmed him, his legs trembled underneath him as the Prince leaned forward, placing his hand against the halfway demolished stone tower, trying to hold himself up, but all strength in his legs were gone. So collapsed to his knees, hung his head and sobbed so hard that not even a sound could be heard. He no longer cared if she was there or not. All of the grief that brimmed the surface of his soul found it's way out, and So had crumbled beneath the weight of it all. All he could do now was just cry.

He cried for the love of a mother he'd never have, he cried for everything he'd become and done, he cried for all of the suffering he'd endured for years with nobody there to show him concern or compassion, and he cried for the soft understanding and the empathy from this strange girl known as Hae Soo, because it was all he could do now.

Someone understood him, someone could relate to his pain for the first time in his life. He'd never known what that felt like until now, and it was something he'd easily welcome again if he ever had another chance to have that. Maybe this was why he'd felt so oddly drawn to her.

As he wept by the prayer stones, he thought of his own wish. A wish that this girl, so understanding, so kind, and who could actually see him for who he was and not a beast, animal or a monster, could maybe show him more someday.

***The Present Evening***

"What is it?" Hae Soo questioned the Prince, glancing back in his direction, breaking him from this thoughts. "Why are you looking at me like that?" she demanded with somewhat of a pout on her lips.

So blinked a few times, before averting his eyes. "Oh...," he mumbled, followed by a short, amused huff. "I just remembered you said you weren't scared of me," he added, a smirk lifting the corner of his mouth and he glanced back down at the girl. The Prince let out another short laugh and smiled, looking away. "How can you not be scared of me?"

And in truth, he really did wonder. After all, he had threatened to kill her a few times now, she had found him covered in the blood of the monk assassins after he'd slaughtered every single one, had actually done his best to scare her away that night and when it didn't happen, it shifted something inside of him. He rubbed at his hand almost shyly with the tip of his thumb and fingertip. Did she really no longer look at him as the fearsome wolf-dog Prince?

"I'm most scared of myself. Not you, Your Highness," Soo told him causing him to glance her way once more. What about herself did she have to be scared of? He wanted to ask but chose not to. He opted to just listen to her instead.

"Even though they're my feelings, I can't figure out where they're headed." She tilted her head slightly. "No matter how much I try to change direction... it's not working."

That was something he could definitely relate to, especially now every since he had met her. His own feelings were something very foreign to him as of late. What direction were they headed? What was it about her that seemed to ease the ache in his heart every time he was near her? How did his own issues seem to become lighter when she was around? Is this what it was like to have a friend? Someone who cared for him? Was she something different than a friend? Friend seemed like too simple of a word to refer to her as. Just who was she? His person, right?

Hae Soo sighed, her face turning upward toward the sky. "They wouldn't worry about things like this," she stated, referring to the stars that filled the black empyrean above them. So found himself being pulled from his thoughts to look up as well. She let out a sound of amazed awe. "Now that I'm in Goryeo, there are a lot of stars here!" she exclaimed, a smile broadening her features.

So smiled as well, though more in surprise at her sentiment. "What do you mean there are a lot in Goryeo? You don't believe you can only see stars in Goryeo, do you?" He snickered as Soo continued to stare upward, her eyes sparkling just like the stars. "Ji Mong would pass out if he knew."

Without warning, soft snow began to make its first descent from the heavens, flakes landing gently on the Prince and his small companion.

"It's snowing," Soo said with the same tone of awe in her voice, and So found himself smiling again at the white flakes. "It's pretty," the girl breathed out, and the Prince looked her way yet again. Soo lifted her head and closed his eyes as the small, white flakes landed almost carefully on her face, clinging to her forehead and eyelashes.

So found himself thinking that she was just as a fragile, but just as pretty as the snow as he watched the girl enjoying Goryeo's first snowfall of the season and shocked himself. He'd never really looked at anything as pretty before, much less a girl. She was making him see the stars and the snow in a different way than he had before. How was she doing that?

The two sat there, enjoying watching the snow falling, catching one another looking each other’s way before quickly glancing in the other direction. There was just something different and almost otherworldly about this girl, about Hae Soo, as he studied her, the simple way of catching snowflakes with her hand. Never in his life had he encountered someone with so much purity, kindness,  understanding, and compassion the way this girl seemed to wear like a cloak.

Nevertheless, the Prince enjoyed that first taste of it, and he found himself wanting more from her. It was strange, and So believed he might just be starting to understand this new shift and feeling inside of his heart that he hoped would never go away.