#and while i understand the emotion behind the former and acknowledge the truth behind the latter

[thevegetablewhichnoonedaresname]

no one FREAKING understands jo march and friedrich bhaer the way i do

[greekmocha]

those embers started something within.

Ello! Placing this WIP draft here, so I can eventually remind myself to work on it. Feel free to ignore this. (Very messy, not in correct order, just bits and pieces of stuff I want to include.)

Summary: The times Prometheus and Hades have encountered one another. Strangers to Lovers to Angst. Slow burn

He was young, with a delicate beauty that seemed out of place in the chaos of war. His lean form and long black hair framed his face, giving him an air of mystery. He exuded a quietness, a stillness that set him apart from the boisterous gods and titans. There was a certain darkness about him, a melancholic aura that drew his attention and held it.

As Zeus continued his introductions, Prometheus’ gaze lingered on Aidoneus. He watched the play of emotions on his face, the furrow of his brow, the way his lips formed a thoughtful line. He seemed lost in his own world, detached from the proceedings of the council. There was a sense of longing in his eyes, as if he yearned for something beyond the battlefield.

Lost in his observation, he barely registered Zeus's words as he motioned for them to begin discussing their strategy. The room erupted into a cacophony of voices, plans, and arguments. But the titans attention remained fixed on Aidoneus, drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

—

Aidoneus gaze met Prometheus’s again, and this time, he saw a flicker of recognition in his eyes. "I know who you are," he replied, his voice smooth and melodic. "The titan of foresight, the one who sees beyond the present."

A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "That is one of my titles, yes."

Aidoneus inclined his head, acknowledging the truth in my words. "And what brings you to me, Prometheus, Aepymetes?"

—

an ember of longing that slowly began to take hold, intertwining his fate with that of the quiet, beautiful god in the corner— Aidoneus, who was yet to become the ruler of the Underworld, and Prometheus, who had yet to steal the fire from the gods.

—

The air in the forest was thick with tension as the battle raged on. The clash of metal against metal echoed through the trees, mingling with the cries of fallen warriors. Amidst the chaos, two figures stood at the edge of a small clearing, their gazes locked in an intense moment of recognition.

—

The forest seemed to hold its breath as the two locked eyes, a silent understanding passing between them. Finally, Prometheus broke the silence, his voice rich and deep, cutting through the chaos like a blade through the air.

—

Aidoneus made his descent, leaving behind his former name and adopting a new identity that would forever mark his story— Hades, the Lord of the Underworld.

—

As Hades ventured deeper into the abyss, the air grew colder, biting at his flesh and sending chills down his spine. The light that once filtered through the entrance diminished with each step he took.

—

The Underworld stretched out before Hades, a vast labyrinth of winding paths, treacherous rivers, and vast caverns. The realm of shadows seemed to reflect his own inner turmoil, as if the very essence of his being was entwined with this place. He embraced the solitude that permeated the air, finding solace in the company of the spirits that dwelled within.

—

As Hades spent his days immersed in the shadows, he remained an enigma to both gods and mortals alike. Some saw him as a fearsome deity, while others felt a curious fascination for his brooding nature and captivating beauty.

—

Even now his heart weeps for his flame, his warmth— the voice of the one that soothed him all those years ago.

—

The sight that awaited Hades at the peak of the mountain brought a melancholic ache to his chest. There, chained to the rock, rested Prometheus, his muscular form weathered by time and torment. The Titan remained, even after enduring countless years of suffering. His once fiery red hair, now tinged with gray, flickered like a fading ember in the setting sun, and his eyes, filled with a mixture of exhaustion and resignation, met Hades' gaze.

—

Prometheus looked at Hades, a mixture of surprise and longing crossing his weathered features. "Hades," he replied, his voice carrying a hint of fatigue but still resonating with a fiery undertone. "What brings you here after all this time?"

—

Hades reached out, his hand trembling slightly as it brushed against Prometheus' weathered cheek. "I have missed you, my love," he murmured, his voice carrying a whisper of sorrow. "Centuries have come and gone, your temples have been built and burnt, yet I still yearn for the fragments of you."

—

[postmodernmulticoloredcloak]

I decided to watch the Walker pilot so you don’t have to. #1

I don’t know why I’m doing this, but I’m doing this and the more I put it off the less I’ll want to do this. So. Let’s start.

The fist thing we see is Jared Padalecki, em Walker, driving. He’s vaguely smiling and there’s the sun behind him. He seems happy. He’s driving a truck, for some reason my mind goes to Twilight. I’d rather watch that. At least there are vampires (not dressed like clowns) there. Anyway. Walker is meeting someone. He’s meeting his wife! “Look at you!” she says. The camera makes us look at him. He looks like this

I am unsure whether we’re supposed to see this as sexy or cool. It looks frankly ridiculous. I don’t know if I’m just not American enough to appreciate the aesthetic of this. But I didn’t go through 15 seasons of Americana-in-British-Columbia for nothing. If a character appeared like this on Supernatural, it wouldn’t be presented seriously. It would be played for a chuckle or in a light-hearted way at least. Not even Dean Winchester would find this hot.

The Padaleckis tell something to each other. Apparently he needs to go home with the kids and his parents because it’s game night. My mind immediately goes to Game Night the episode and I am sad now. But Walker lifts my mood in its own weird way.  He doesn’t know the rules because every time she tells him the rules, he blacks out. I would make a fun quip about this, but the truth is that I relate to him a lot right now because I blacked out during the entire scene. I’m not sure what they said other than the game thing because I wrote it here. I already forgot the rest.

Anyway. What we’re supposed to get from this scene that they’re Very In Love (see that soft warm light?), and that he’s anxious because he’s not great at being a father because he’s shit at games apparently, but his wife is like ~don’t worry so much~ because she’s a kind, understanding wife. He tells her to be safe, because the Texan countryside is dangerous or something. She needs to stay on a route he approved for some reason. Is she traveling with supersoldier serum in her car? Is Hydra going to murder her? [cue the Marvel snipers shooting me to death because they don’t want Marvel to be associated to this]

Later, everyone is having fun playing fake monopoly, but Walker (whose mannerism is just Jared, he’s not even trying) is apparently too stupid to understand a game for kids. Plot twist, this is anti-cop propaganda because it says cops are dumb.

“Et tu Brute” Jared says when the kids point out he broke a rule so they get an extra turn. I thought I was safe from hearing Jared speak Latin! I thought I was safe! I am never safe!

Emily (Gen) suddenly texts him “SOS. Answer” which is OMINOUS! Oh my god! Aren’t you feeling the tension. The rest of the family keeps playing fake monopoly. Someone throws dice. Are we supposed to go “oh! The dice are ~symbolic because someone’s playing dice with her life” or have I been watching too much good tv.

She is running somewhere in the countryside, wearing a white shirt (is this the cowboy lady equivalent of the Wife Nightgown?). She says something is not right. He’s worried. Then he hears gunshot and her scream. He does the Alarmed Jared face, presses lips together and does a Upset Jared face.

Then he goes out, tries to call her again, and again, does a Jared Upset Sniff--

Oh! We actually see her! She’s alive, but she’s been shot in the stomach. Her white shirt is definitely the cowboy lady equivalent of the Wife Nightgown! Ah the blood coming from the stomach! How terrible! Her phone is ringing but she cannot reach it. She is definitely alive right now, though. She’s breathing heavily because of the wound, which is breathing, which is the opposite of being dead.

He decides that she’s dead, and lets out the already infamous manly scream of anguish.

It would be sad if it wasn’t that literally one second ago we saw her wounded but alive. Her turning out alive in the season finale or so will shock everyone. Nobody will have seen it coming. Who wrote this? They should have just shown the ringing phone and her bloody hand/side, making the audience assume she was dead, instead of showing her breathing. Now the audience is gonna assume she didn’t actually die, and wonder “why didn’t he call someone or went looking for her” but apparently Jared’s characters have forgotten that, like, ambulances are a thing. Jared’s manly screams of anguish are more important than common sense.

I’m not going to say anything about the manly scream of anguish. I’m not going to say anything about the manly scream of anguish. I’m n

We’re just 4 minutes in, guys. Why am I doing this?

Eleven months later, says the screen.

It’s night, outside a house. The son is waiting for him. The daughter doesn’t think he’s coming. On the porch there are two men, one is his brother and one is apparently his former partner, now new boss. He’s dressed like you’d expect a normal person to be dressed in a casual Texan night, hat and tie and all. If you are law enforcement in Texas and don’t wear a cowboy hat at any moment, you will be executed. That’s what the death penalty in Texas is for.

Somebody arrives, but to the kids’ disappointment is some dude whose function is to tell us the men’s names. The brother is Liam, the cop dude I forgot.

Walker is being sad on the back of his truck and drinking alcohol, which is the only way television can express a man having trauma. Holy shit - he reminisces of his wife like this is some emotional Lord of the Rings scene in a place where Elves live except this is not the Lord of the Rings and is just ridiculous, look

She’s seen running towards the gazebo, then she turns

This is exactly shot like the scene where Arwen has a vision of her son. Flowy hair and all. I cannot take this seriously.

He smiles sadly. Then a cop car arrives.

Mexican Lady Cop(TM), whose function in the story is to be a Mexican Lady Cop(TM) asks for his licence since he’s drinking alcohol in a public place.

“You ask so nicely” drunk Walker says. Ew. “Yeah, they train the girls special” Oh! Can you see? She is the Feminist Icon who Takes No Shit from the Dude! I’m so excited. I am slowly losing the will to live.

She drives him home on the police car. His legs don’t fit. At least this is realistic.

He does exposition in the car, including “I needed to visit a ghost instead”. There-there was no need to say it. What’s the demographic they’re aiming for? Five year olds? Do they have to spell everything out loud?

“It’s been a while since I had an actual conversation” he says, which supposedly explains why he’s making awkward exposition, but it’s just bad writing. At least they acknowledge it’s bad writing.

She figures he’s law enforcement coming back from an undercover mission from some drunken ramble he makes. This is worse than the Sherlock phone cable port thing.

She says she just got promoted from state trooper, ehe she will work with him wink wink nudge nudge. Is she going to be a cop-buddy-character slash love interest except when they’re almost about to realize they’re into each other, his wife comes back and draa~ama? I can already see it.

He goes home, makes some Jared grunts, and falls asleep on the couch.

Next morning, he goes out and jogs to where he left the truck. He puts on a cowboy hat which is supposed to be an artistic shot.

I’m slowly dying. He makes some Jared Deep Breaths, at least this made me laugh.

Wait, he’s now wearing a black hat. He’s in mourning, see? What.

He drives to his father’s ranch. His father is Super Not Impressed. It’s awkward. They took about horses. Mitch Pileggi is thinking that at least the other show was more exciting and there was Jensen Ackles in it.

He gets into his parents’ house and the dogs run to him, he does the Jared Dog Chuckle. He hugs his mom. He hugs his son - “August, my boy!” he says, like a normal person his age says.

He hugs his brother and they joke-wrestle and he says “I’m still the big brother” and did I mention I’m dying inside. I just can tell this is SUPPOSED to be reminiscent of Dean and Sam’s first meeting at Stanford in the pilot except Jared is the big brother now. Ew.

We learn that the brother is a DA and gay. All pilots suffer from Forced Exposition Syndrome but it’s like this isn’t even trying.

He goes to work and hugs (very manly hug of course) his friend-now-boss, who is called James. James asks him if he’s good and he’s like yeah I’m good, which our I’m Fine Lie Moment #1. Some things never change.

Enter the case of the week - a cop offered roadside assistance but he was assaulted. We’re already starting with a “Oh No Poor Cop :( Someone Doesn’t Like Cops And Gets Violent” plot. Yay.

Ta-da! Mexican Lady Cop appears, cowboy hat and all. James says she’s Walker’s new partner. My heart cries while Walker says “figured you’d be a guy” and she replies “so did my mom”. The feminism is so strong :’) She’s such a strong female character :’) I’m so happy :’)

Then Walker makes such a quintessential Jared thing with his mouth that I need to stop this here and take a break.

It’s been 13 minutes. So much still to go. I’m bored. Why am I doing this.

[scapegrace74-blog]

New Ways of Turning into Stone, Chapter 4

A/N  Some strong reactions to the last chapter, which I admit caught me by surprise.   Writing is a funny craft, where you spend a lot of time and effort trying to show your reader exactly the picture you have in your mind, but then also have to surrender to each reader’s interpretation of what you wrote.  That said, some interpretations miss the mark entirely, and for that reason this chapter is entitled “False Assumptions”.   Trigger warning for childhood disease.

Jamie’s weekly appointments continued through the grey slumber of late April and into the wakening month of May.  Thursday became Claire’s favourite day of the week, for reasons she didn’t care to scrutinize too closely.

With regularity came a certain brand of predictability.  Their appointments took one of two forms, she realized.  Some days Jamie was full of life, witty and exasperating by turns.  He would spin long yarns about some trivial aspect of his life, fascinating tales that turned out to be nothing more than surface reflections, revealing little of the murky depths beneath.  He was also adept at using his considerable verbal charm to draw her into divulging more about herself than she ought.  Those visits left her equally frustrated and challenged.

The rest of the time her patient arrived with a weary slump, the thousand watt bulb of his personality dimmed to an occasional flicker.  Given his offhand comment about whisky and women, she tried not to ponder if he was hungover or suffering from the effects of an all-night hook-up.  From a diagnostic point of view these days of low ebb were beneficial because Jamie was far more likely to offer some nugget of inner revelation, truth sneaking out through the cracks of his weakened defences.

“I was away on business, in Hong Kong, when my Da passed,” he said on one such afternoon, the skin below his eyes drawn tight and the copper in his hair somehow muted.

“Did it happen suddenly?” 

“No’ really.  Jen had been at me fer months tae come hame, sayin’ that Da was workin’ himself tae death.”   Jamie looked out the window, eyes reflecting the overcast skies beyond.  “I ignored her.  Too wrapped up in my own grand self tae pay any heed.  Twas Ian, my brother-in-law, who called tae say Da had dropped in the pasture.  Massive coronary.  I caught the first flight back, but he was gone before I landed.”

She watched Jamie’s face closely as he spoke, but beyond the understandable emotion of reliving the sudden loss of a parent, he remained inscrutable.  The urge to draw him out overcame the deference she paid to Jamie’s well-defined boundaries.

“Do you think you’re to blame for his death?” she asked, half-expecting to be met with silence or a nimble deflection.

Jamie shook his head ruefully.

“Nah.  I dinna think I’m tae blame.  I ken it.  I was the only surviving son, ye see?  In the Highlands, tradition is everything, an’ a Fraser man had worked those lands fer generations.  I was only meant tae complete my studies abroad, an’ then return tae Lallybroch and take o’er from Da.  Instead, I left my sister an’ Ian tae watch o’er the farm while I played the business tycoon.”

“Is Lallybroch still in your family?” she wondered aloud, the name rolling about in her mouth like marbles.  

“Jenny and Ian couldna keep it.  I wasna well enough tae object, an’ they sold tae a developer.  It’s some kind of corporate wellness retreat now,” he finished with a distasteful grimace.

For every disclosure Jamie made, two more questions arose in its wake, like hacking away at a many-headed Hydra.  She wished she could delve further, but the chime from her computer announced the end of the session.

“Will I see you next week, Jamie?” she asked as he reluctantly rose to leave.

“Aye,” said with a sad smile.  “I’ll be here.”

***

The following Tuesday, Claire took the afternoon off work to perform an errand she’d long been avoiding.

Her departure from the Royal Hospital for Children had been so precipitous, she hadn’t filed the necessary paperwork to close her employment file.  The Human Resources department had been pestering her to complete the process for months.  The threat of holding up the transfer of her accreditation finally forced her hand.

To her great relief, the personnel offices were nowhere near the actual wards.  They lay at the end of a long white hallway broken by large windows looking into a series of meeting and activity rooms.  Her plan was to get in, sign the damn forms, and leave without running into any former colleagues or patients.   

The sun slanting into one of these sparsely furnished rooms glanced off the top of a bent head, causing it to glow like a freshly minted penny.  She stopped and stared, trying to reconcile the image of James Fraser seated in a too-small plastic chair, surrounded by a group of hospital-gowned children.

He must have caught sight of her while she stood gaping.  Running to the door before she could find the motor function to turn around, he called out joyfully from behind a blue hospital mask.

“Doctor Beauchamp!  Fancy meeting ye here.”

She mumbled something incoherent, damning herself for the blush she felt enveloping her cheeks.   Behind Jamie, a row of dewy eyes watched on.   She recognized the paper-thin skin and missing hair of chemotherapy patients, and a salty knot rose in her throat.

“Can ye spare a few minutes? Ye’re jes the pair of steady hands we need.”

She longed to decline, to disappear, to come up with a plausible excuse why she couldn’t enter that room.  Her heart thumped angrily in her chest, warning of its fragile state.

Seeing her conflict, Jamie extended a welcoming hand.

“Come, Sassenach.  The lassies would love tae meet ye.”

The space smelled of sterile laundry and sawdust.  With a habit borne of years of practice, Claire disinfected her hands in the small utility sink and donned a spare mask from the nearby dispenser, all while wondering what the hell she was doing.

The children were seated on colourful chairs arranged around a low table, its surface covered in pieces of pre-cut lumber, colourful pots of paint, a glue gun and all manner of cheap decorations such as you would find at a craft store.  The little girls ranged in age from pre-school to young teen, but they all looked at Jamie as though he’d hung the moon as he addressed them.

“Ladies, I’d like ye tae meet Doctor Beauchamp.  She’s a braw doctor but I bet she kens next tae nothing about woodwork.  Ye’ll have tae show her how it’s done.”

A chorus of nervous giggles was the only response.  Claire knew from experience that being a medical professional wasn’t going to endear her to children who spent much of their lives being essentially tortured in the name of science, hoping for some kind of miracle.

“Hello, everyone,” she waved meekly.  “You can call me Miss Claire, if you like.  Now, whatever are you doing with all this wood?”

It turned out that Jamie was supervising the construction of a half-dozen birdhouses.  He had pre-cut the lumber for easy assembly, but was assisting each girl to create a custom masterpiece that would hang outside her hospital window.  With the patience and steady manner of a primary school teacher, Jamie led the group through each step.  

A waifish girl of perhaps six sat directly to Claire’s left, her bare scalp covered by a brightly coloured bandana, offset by a huge pair of peacock-blue eyes that glimmered above her mask.  Eyes that were the mirror of the ones that visited her office every Thursday.  Something heavy settled inside her ribs.

“What’s your name, sweetie?” she asked in a low voice as she pushed an open pot of sky blue paint away from the table’s edge.  Small hands busied themselves pulling apart a package of cotton balls that looked suspiciously like the ones kept in the hospital’s supply cabinet.

“Margaret Murray, Doctor, errr, Miss Claire,” came the timid reply.  

Not Fraser, then.  But that didn’t necessarily mean anything.  She snuck a glance across the table at Jamie, who was just then teasing the youngest girl by tickling her cheeks with a fake feather.  Despite her heavy thoughts, she couldn’t help but smile.  That smile faltered when she noticed that the inside of Jamie’s elbows bore a matching set of fresh bandages.   A series of puzzle pieces tumbled into place.

Perhaps sensing the weight of her scrutiny, Jamie looked their way, whistling in admiration when he saw Maggie’s near-complete birdhouse.

“Tis a fine hame ye’ve built fer yer wee birds, Maggie.  What is all yon white fluff for?”

“Tis clouds, Uncle Jamie,” Maggie replied with the certainty of childhood.  “I dinna want the birdies tae miss the sky, even when they arenna flyin’.”

Claire watched the words hit him as surely as though they had been bullets.  A frozen gasp, a shudder that travelled the length of his body and the crest of tears that he tried valiantly to blink away.

“Aye, ye’re right, a nighean.  Any bird would be fair honoured tae sleep in yer skyhouse,” he managed to reply, voice bouldery with contained emotion.

When each birdhouse was complete and left along the window ledge to dry, Jamie set his small crew of helpers the task of clearing up the mess.   Claire stood next to him as he loaded his tools back into a small carrying case.

“Thanks for inviting me to join you, Jamie.  It was... well, it was unexpectedly wonderful,” she admitted.

“Ye’re most welcome, Doctor Beauchamp.  We couldna have managed wi’out yer steady hand manning the glue gun,” he teased.

“You’re not my patient here, Jamie.  You don’t need to use my title,” she said, a bit vexed by his formality.

“Aye, but it doesna feel right tae call ye by yer given name either.  An’ Miss Claire is jes weird.”

She had to acknowledge that he had a point.

“What was it you called me earlier?  Sassa-something?”

“Sassenach.  My Da woulda skelped my hide if he heard me call a lady by that name,” he said ruefully.

“Why, does it mean something terribly offensive?”  She was almost afraid to know, having enjoyed the delusion that Jamie felt as fondly towards her as she did towards him.

“Nah, tis jes an old-fashioned word for an English person in Scotland.  Seemed tae suit ye, is all.”  He shrugged, seemingly embarrassed by the explanation.

“Well then, Sassenach it is.  When I’m not on the clock, that is.”

Jamie’s eyes danced above his mask the way they did when he smiled, and she imagined hers replied in much the same way.  A long moment passed when nothing was said, neither of them looking away.

“You’re her platelet donor,” she said at last.  “Maggie’s, I mean.”

“Aye.  Every week while she’s in hospital for chemotherapy.  Tis the least I can do.”

It was an explanation that fit all the facts, but one that she never would have guessed.  Jamie had always worn long sleeves to his appointments, but she was certain the weeks when he was haggard and worn out coincided with the times he was donating the litres of blood necessary to distill into the platelet concentrate that would then be injected into Maggie’s body, helping her combat the poisonous effects of her chemotherapy.

“Whisky, women and song?” she prodded, relieved and yet frustrated that his offhand comment had kept her from seeing the truth.  “Why didn’t you just tell me, Jamie?”

“I didna want yer pity, Sassenach.  Fer once in my life, tis no’ about me, ye ken?  I didna want ye lookin’ at me like I was some kind of hero.”

She held back her reaction that his was a textbook definition of heroism, and instead asked the next obvious question.

“Are you a compatible bone marrow donor as well?”

Jamie shook his head slowly.  Although he was a close match, he explained, it wasn’t close enough.   Maggie’s older brother, Wee Jamie, was a perfect match but the law prohibited him from becoming a donor until he was at least sixteen, in seven long years.

“We’re jes tryin’ tae buy her enough time,” he said sadly before stepping out of the room, explaining he’d be back momentarily.

Claire stood in a daze, running through everything she’d assumed about Jamie in light of these newest facts.  A light tug on her hand drew her back into the moment.  Maggie was looking up at her with wide, trusting eyes.

“Are ye the Sassenach lady Uncle Jamie and my Mam argue about?”

“I suppose I might be,” she replied, curious what had been said between the siblings that Maggie had overheard.

“Are ye a heart doctor?” Maggie continued.

“Well, no.  Not exactly.  I’m the kind of doctor who helps people who are sad, and I try to find a way for them to be happy again.”  It sounded so easy when explaining it to a six year old.

“Sometimes Mam and Da talk about Uncle Jamie when they dinna ken I’m listenin’.  I’m verra good at sneakin’,” Maggie confided, and Claire couldn’t help but smile.  What a precious child.    “I’m sure you are,” she replied warmly, a hand coming to rest gently on the tiny cloth-covered head.

“Mam says Uncle Jamie is more stubborn than a mule and that he canna see past his own big heid,” Maggie continued.  Claire couldn’t say that she disagreed with that assessment.

“But Da says Uncle Jamie’s heart has been broken too many times, and thas’ why he’s given up on living.  Can ye fix his heart, Miss Claire, so that it isna broken any more?”

She couldn’t have stopped her tears if she tried.   She knelt on the floor and gathered Maggie’s thin, fragile body in her arms.

“Oh, Maggie.  I’m certainly going to try.”

[arts-and-drafts]

Legacy (Part 2)

(Continuation of my first FWT fankid AU fic, in which Dream faces his consequences and Fundy goes after his reckless son before it's too late to save him. Enjoy!)

(Tagging @midnightmagi @rose-icosahedron @amazonprimebox @colorfulsiren @strawberrylemonz)

-

Dream shifted, the first real movement Theo had seen from him. "...I don't have a son." He spoke, his tone low with an unreadable emotion. Theo flattened his ears.

"Actually, you fucking do." Theo snarled, his anger overriding his caution. "But you wouldn't know, since Dad was too afraid of you to say anything."

Dream went still, his mask tilting up to seemingly search Theo's face. "'Dad'...do you--Fundy?" Dream asked, a shred of desperation present in his question.

"Yeah." Theo spat. "Fundy is my dad. He ran away because you cheated on him, and you were gonna start another fucking war."

Dream flinched, only barely, but Theo caught it with a fierce satisfaction. He found the nerve.

"I thought--I thought Fundy was dead--" Dream muttered. "And you...you're mine?"

Dream raised his hand towards Theo, but snatched it back when Theo raised the trident to his throat. "I'm not fucking yours. I'm here to hurt you the way you hurt my dad. Don't get fucking chummy."

Dream paused, again. Theo wished he could rip that mask off to see what he was really thinking.

"What's your name?" Dream asked, slowly and carefully. Theo's lip curled.

"You don't deserve to know."

Dream gently pushed the trident aside, putting his hands up as Theo jerked it right back to his vulnerable chest. "Kid--" Dream started, but Theo cut him off.

"Do you have any fucking idea what you did?! He loved you, and you just threw him into the dirt!! I'm ashamed to share your fucking blood." Theo exploded, spitting all the venom he could muster.

"Listen--" Dream tried to interrupt, his body language tensing the more Theo ripped into him. Theo silenced him by jabbing the trident points against his godly father's chest. "No! YOU fucking listen!!" Theo snapped.

Dream's energy suddenly violently shifted, making the fur on the back of Theo's neck stand on end. Dream grasped the neck of the trident with an iron grip and easily twisted it out of the fox's paws as if he was snatching a toy from a child.

Theo stepped back with wide eyes as Dream advanced, throwing the trident aside carelessly while keeping his undivided attention on his son.

Theo's back hit the strong stalks of bamboo, halting his frantic reversal to escape Dream. He bit down a yell as his other father grabbed his arm and pulled him close, his grip tight and unyeilding.

"Where is Fundy." Dream said. It was not a request, it was an order. Theo bared his fangs. "Fuck you."

"Tell me where he is!!" Dream yelled, yanking Theo closer as he tried to pull away. Theo clenched his free fist and felt it charge with green magic.

"Get off me!!" Theo snarled, his glowing fist being Dream's only warning before it swung dead center into his smiling mask.

Dream flew backwards, Theo crying out in pain as the god pulled the fox's arm hard enough that he heard a small pop in his shoulder before Dream's grip finally broke. Theo's vision blurred with white stars of pain as Dream landed in the pond below, thrown a significant distance from the force of Theo's blow.

Theo gasped and clutched at his arm, a throbbing ache from his shoulder forcefully taking his breath from his lungs. He staggered over to the discarded trident and picked it up with his left paw, holding it close to his chest as his right arm lay useless at his side.

Theo's eyes slowly widened in fear as Dream rose from the pond, crackling bolts of a familiar green energy encasing his entire body. Theo could feel his fury from 50 blocks away.

Theo tightened his grip on the trident, his ears flat to his head as his father started to float menacingly towards him. He was lightheaded with pain and one arm short, but refused to admit defeat. Theo stood his ground and bared his teeth as Dream closed in.

-

Fundy paced the length of Logstedshire's walls, his mind addled with worry. Theo hadn't been seen since he awoke, something that wasn't abnormal. His son liked the early morning. What worried Fundy was the fact that there was no note telling where he ran off to like there usually was, and he was not in his regular places of comfort outside the walls. He just simply disappeared.

"Could've forgot." Tommy wondered aloud to Fundy from his spot next to the Prime Log. His uncle had been looking for guidance from the vessel all morning, but was met with silence from his deity.

"No." Fundy instantly shot him down, turning in place to pace down the south wall again. "I rammed it into that kid's head to always tell me where he was. He wouldn't have forgotten."

A gust of chill from behind halted Fundy's nervous movement. He sighed and flattened his ears.

"What do you want, Wilbur."

"Hello, Fundy!" Ghostbur greeted cheerfully, unperturbed by his son's cold acknowledgement. "Is little Theo back yet?"

Fundy turned to face him. "You saw him leave?"

"Yes!" Ghostbur said. "He said he needed to take care of something and told me not to tell you--...oh." Ghostbur's face flickered. "Frick."

Fundy moved to grab Ghostbur's arm, his paw passing right through his father's transparent form. "Wil, tell me where he went." Fundy demanded, his voice rigid with fear. Ghostbur's face twisted in guilt.

"He said not to say anything," the spirit said hesitantly. Fundy flattened his ears tight to his head.

"Wilbur. My son is in trouble." Fundy said, driving every spot of desperation he felt into his words. "He's gonna fuck himself over and he's gonna get himself killed if you don't tell me where he went. For once in your fucking existance, Wil, be a good dad."

Fundy exhaled and looked at the ground, blinking tears from his eyes. "If not for me, then--at least for Theo."

Ghostbur had gone very transparent, his eyes far away. For a tense second, Fundy feared his dead father would disappear until he forgot again.

"He went to Technoblade." Ghostbur murmured dazedly, blinking. "He said he needed a weapon."

Fundy ran his paw over his head, his core filling with dread. "Shit. Shit." He tried so long to keep Theo hidden, to protect him, to keep him safe, and it was all falling apart.

Fundy cursed himself. He never should have told his son the truth. This was all his fault.

Fundy looked back up to Ghostbur, desperately searching his eyes. "Is he still there?"

Ghostbur shrugged, and Fundy wanted to tear his fur out.

"He...asked about Dream? I don't know why. He seemed very interested in your marriage." Ghostbur commented. Fundy squeezed his eyes shut, old scars flaring up at his father's words.

"He's going to the SMP." Fundy breathed. He snapped his head to Tommy, who mirrored his look of fear. "Tommy, we have to find him--oh shit, shit, he's going to get himself killed--"

Tommy's hands grabbed Fundy's arms, though the fox didn't notice him rise from the Prime log.

"Fundy--I-I can't go there. Dream will kill me." Tommy said, his voice only imperceptibly trembling. Fundy's shoulders began to shake. "He'll die if we don't, I--"

"Fundy, I can't go with you." Tommy reiterated in a pleading voice. "But you're not exiled like I am."

Fundy blinked. "So--I'm--I'm on my own." He realized. Tommy didn't respond, only pressed his mouth in a thin line.

"I'm--I can't. I can't die." He said, and Fundy could see regret and shame and fear behind his uncle's eyes.

Fundy stilled. "I...understand."

"You won't be alone!" Ghostbur piped up from behind them, his voice already back to its raspy happiness. Fundy set his jaw.

"Ghostbur. You need to stay with Tommy. You'll just fuck it up." Fundy stated, disdain dripping from his words. He turned away from his uncle and the ghost of his father, steeling himself for leaving Logstedshire for the first time.

"Fundy." Tommy said, and the fox paused. "Take whatever you need." His uncle said. Fundy turned to see Tommy gesturing to the storage house.

Tommy was a hoarder. After the visits from Dream, the boy had squirreled away everything he could get his hands on, hidden from the explosive fate that all the rest of his belongings had suffered. Tommy was possessive and greedy, but here he was, opening his entire supply of preperations to his nephew.

Fundy swallowed, a task that had suddenly become difficult. "Thank you, Tommy." He struggled, never one to know how to express his gratitude in his words. His father was the poet, after all. Not him.

Tommy nodded regardless, and Fundy got the feeling that he knew what his nephew was trying to convey.

Fundy made quick work of packing. Food, armor, axe. A golden apple just in case. He stopped, and then grabbed a second.

There was no such thing as too careful against Dream.

Before he sealed his pack, Fundy took a deep breath. Time was a medicine, and had helped Fundy heal from his former husband shattering him into pieces.

Going right back to the man who hurt him so badly could only end as such, and Fundy would never attempt it on his own.

But the greatest gift that came from Dream was Theo, and he meant more to Fundy than anything else in the realms. He was not about to abandon him to the fate of his divine father, no matter how bad it would hurt to go back.

Fundy clipped the top of his pack together and slung it over his shoulder.

For Theo, he would do anything. If that meant facing his hell to save his son, then so be it.

Ghostbur was gone when Fundy returned, and he didn't care. Good riddance. In the past, he would have felt a small twinge of guilt, but that was a long time ago.

Tommy saw him off, waving solemnly from the walls of Logstedshire. Fundy knew Tommy had done all he could, but the fox couldn't help but feel a very small twist of abandonment. Fundy was more than willing to risk his life for Theo, and a part of him wished Tommy was too.

Fundy shook his head. That was unfair to think. He focused on the horizon, his breath fogging in the morning air, and sent a silent wish to whatever god would listen that his son would be okay when he found him.

[wickedgamesoyaoya]

Was it appropriate to long for someone who loved another?

The question was one that Iwaizumi refused to acknowledge for the last six years, after Oikawa questioned the trainer’s feelings for their mutual friend. The conversation bloomed the night of your two-year anniversary with the younger Miya twin. It was quite difficult to miss the dozens of photographs uploaded to your social media, broadcasting the romantic evening that was planned. Soon his entire feed became only…you.

The former captain raised an eyebrow curiously at his friend, who was battling several emotions that were threatening to contort his features. It was not fate that brought Oikawa Tooru to his best friend’s side that evening. Rather, the decision to invite Iwaizumi for drinks on that particular date was a calculated choice. There were some questions that were nagging at him, ones that demanded answers before he departed from his home country.

“You didn’t think they would last this long, did you?” The inquiry was hummed out in amusement as he trailed a finger along the rim of the glass planted ahead of him. From the side of his eye, he noticed Iwaizumi shift uncomfortably in his seat.

“It’s good. We wanted her to be happy, and she is. So, it’s a good thing they lasted this long.” His words lacked an earnest vigour, and not even the straightest composure could sell the packaged response as the truth.

“Hmm. Oh, Iwa-chan. When will you be honest with me?” Exhaling a weighed sigh, Oikawa shook his head before taking a swing of the liquor. Or at least, when would he be honest with himself?

“What are you blabbering about now, Shittykawa?” The narrowing of his eyelids into slits was meant to resonate a sense of anger, or at minimum irritation. Yet, it was fear that was burning bright in his irises.

“Is it really appropriate to long for someone who is in love with another?” It was a dangerous question to be spewing, Oikawa knew the insinuations laying at the foundation were sure to provoke some dormant emotions. And so, when sorrow forced the other male to flicker his gaze to the opposite direction, the former captain blew out a low hum in understanding.

“I don’t long for her, you idiot,” After swallowing the lump in his throat, he attempted to brush off the comment, rather unsuccessfully. While Oikawa found his friend’s first protest to be a blatant lie, what followed next was enough to cause him to drop his face onto his palm. “She’s like a little sister to me.”

Despite Iwaizumi’s desire to present the admission as factual, calling you his little sister returned the crawling sensation that was prompted earlier to return to his skin; and he had to ponder whether the bitter taste in his mouth was from the liquor or from the deceit dripping from his lips.

“Iwa-chan, you know what they say. Denial is the first stage.” The humorous comment was accompanied by a gentle laugh. While his questions were completely shut down; the physical reactions that his inquiries elicited was enough to confirm his suspicions.

Unrequited love was tragic; but what made the circumstances substantially worse was that it began with mutual love. The only issue was that neither party dared to cross the boundaries between friendship and relationship, afraid to lose the other in the process.

“Shut up.” Neither boy was convinced or impacted by the half-hearted demand, rather it was silently understood that its sole purpose was to fill the empty space that was left for a confession that would not come.

However, the conversation laid a layer of bricks on Iwaizumi’s shoulders, shackling him to the truth he was desperately avoiding. It comes as no surprise that for the remainder of the evening, he could not muster the courage to scroll through any of his social media. For if he did, the action would be admitting something he promised to always keep buried.  

Tonight, the question returned to the forefront of his thoughts, mocking him for a weakness he despised himself for possessing. But it was not longing that was behind the uneasiness bordering nausea flooding him. No – it was the thought of what could have been.

What if he said something? What if you did? Would you have been happier – not knowing the one who was the cause of your broken heart? Or would he have stolen from you a happiness that you could never receive with him?  

Sinking his face into his palms, he clenched his eyelids shut, aiming to shove aside the haunting thoughts. He remained in the crouched position for twenty minutes, unable to gather the energy to adjust his posture until he heard slight stirring from the bed ahead of him.

“Akari?” From under the duvet, you raised a hand to beckon for your sister who was coincidentally, not in the bedroom at the moment. The impact of the alcohol had worn off considerably by now, leaving only an irksome strain in your temples.

“She’s downstairs.” The trainer debated internally whether to approach you or not, and upon hearing the little groan that was offered in response, he opted to wait before abandoning his post. “How are you feeling?” Resting his arms along his thighs, he laced his fingers together, stretching them anxiously on either side.

A verbal response did not immediately follow his line of questioning. As you raised to a seating position on the bed, your gaze dropped to the stuffed animal that was snug against your side. Your memories of what transpired earlier in the evening was lagging, returning to you at a slow rate that was highly antagonizing. Though, the pieces that you did remember were the ones involving your best friend whose gaze you could not meet. Maybe if you were younger, still justifying your decisions with the motto of no regrets, it would have been an easier task. But you knew what was said tonight was dangerously careless.

“Tired.” Whispering the response, you brought the plushie to your lap, gently brushing your fingers against the fur. While you did remember the accidental damage, your intoxicated state inflicted on your friendship; you did not remember how you came to possess the toy within your grasp.

“Do you remember anything?” Iwaizumi prodded, testing whether it was appropriate to initiate the conversation you were dreading to have.

“Pieces.” This time you responded promptly; emotion devoid in your mumbled response. “Though, I don’t remember asking Bo to get this little baby, so I guess I saw him?” You aimed to spit the final word of the sentence with venom, and yet it spilled from your lips, coated with a hint of fondness, rather than disgust – something that Iwaizumi caught on, twinging the spear planted inside of his chest.

“You did.” Ignoring the discomfort stretching along his torso, he forcefully stabilized his breathing, drawing longer and heavier breaths through his nose. He didn’t know what was expected of him now. His role in your life had always been one of a protector – but now, with the truth exposed as an open wound, what could he do? What should he do?

“I thought so. I was hoping that part was a dream.” Chewing on the inside of your cheek, a humourless melody was blown out. While you were unable to recall what the conversation was, an image of your fiancé had projected inside of your mind. In the memory he wore his vulnerability openly for you, and you despised how it made you want to comfort him. How you wanted to claim his pain as your own, even though your own heart was suffering from the pain he inflicted on it.

“Why didn’t you answer me? I could have been there for you. If it’s about what you said…” With his throat constricting, he was unable to complete the sentence. But you were quick to fill the silence, aiming to end the conversation before it could develop further.

“I wasn’t thinking straight, Hajime. Just ignore what I said, okay.” You couldn’t do this. Not right now. Not when your heart was already breaking from your last love – it would not survive additional pain from your first one.  

“What if I don’t want to ignore it?” He did not intend to push the topic forward without your consent, but the question left his mouth before he could bite his tongue. Despite being regarded as the one who held a considerable amount of control of emotions, his resolve to remain in control weakened with each passing second.

“Why? So, you can tell me that you didn’t feel the same way? That you’re sorry? Because if that’s what you’re doing to say, please don’t. I don’t think I can handle it.” Drawing in a deep breath, you tipped your head up, fixing your attention on the ceiling, hoping the liquid hanging on your lashes would not depart. “And if you’re going to tell me that I was wrong, that you did see me that way…What’s the point now?” Sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, your eyelids fluttered shut, granting the tears full reign over your cheeks. “You didn’t tell me it when it would have made a difference.”

The sight of you falling apart filled him with dread. How could he despise the younger Miya twin for his idiotic behaviour when he too caused you similar hurt? How could he have been so damn oblivious?

The only difference between him and Osamu, was that he didn’t care for his own pain. He didn’t desire your pity or sympathy. He wanted your happiness.

The distance between you two could no longer be tolerated. He quickly rose to his feet, making his way to the mattress, before guiding you into his arms. When you were in his embrace, you slowly placed your arms around his middle limply. 

“I’m sorry, y/n.” What he was apologizing did not have to be stated, you knew what it was and that was enough.

Because you were sorry too… for what could have been, and what had been lost.

Let’s do it again, shall we - what if 

Masterlist - Previous - Next

A/N: no one kill me, LMAO. 

taglist: @idiot-juice-enthusiast @vicassa  @yourstarvic @bringmelily @newfriendjen @hikarichannn @anime-simp @tsukkismamagucci @laughingismorefun @astronomyturtle @shegrewupwithoutafather @hyskoa1998 @deephumandragonperson @pretty-setter-bois @raenebalgaire @sugawarabby @justanotherfangirl2 @keijisworld @90s-belladonna @momoinot @sempiternal-amour @cherryblosom111 @yqshirov @haikyuufairy @volleybloop @bloody-bella @sadkaashistan @seikamuzu @namyari  @toaster-stick @coconut-dreamz @roseestuosity @prcttylittlcthing @uzumakioden @nerdynstoned @kenmasgameboy @kaiju-teeth @ouijaeater15 @aquariarose @fandomtrashpandasposts @helloalex80​ @stfucanunot @envyusshades @cuddlesslut @seijohiseliterambles​  @meiikuki @cuddlejeongin @tchalameme @ditu-m9​ @elianetsantana​ 

Taglist continued in the comments from my personal  ❣️

[mostlycompetentwriter]

You Can STAY - Part 11

F/M Main Pairing: Y/N x Lee Felix (Side Pairing: Y/N x Stray Kids)

Genre: Fantasy AU; Scarlet Heart AU; OT8 SKZ

Warnings: Language; SMUT; very angsty feelings

Summary: King Felix takes the throne and Y/N makes a difficult choice.

Tag List: @angelphantomlove @moonlightracha @jjabbur @pinkchcn @straykidbaby @moonnstars90 @dru-shadow @skzooyeet @poutypoutybin

It’s impossible to escape Felix.

The weight of his actions and words hold me hostage in a Castle where I no longer felt like I belonged.

In the days following his ascension to the throne, I’ve watched his brothers leave their home, standing outside on the balcony behind Felix while Chan, Jisung, and Jeongin retreat into the distance. On the inside, I��m furious, observing the scene of unexpected cruelty; although, the fate of his brothers is certainly incomparable to the nightmarish decision he made regarding the former Queens of the Castle, including his own mother.

This was a Felix who I could barely comprehend, one who had been unraveled from the inside, leaving only the harsher parts of himself to remain.

But the heart beating inside my chest did not seem to understand that Felix had changed in those subtle ways, and despite my protest in delaying our marriage yet again, I couldn’t stay away from him long. In fact, after only a few nights of excusing myself to the Queens’ former chambers, I returned to Felix’s bed one evening after another frightening vision in which I saw a Felix painted with blood, streaking across the mural of his freckles, and standing in stark contrast to the murderous look in his eyes.

This was a Felix who I had abandoned, and I couldn’t stand the thought of causing Felix to unravel any further.

So, I gave in to my heart’s demands, and I listened to the warnings from that vision, and I approached Felix in the middle of the night wearing only a loose gown that swept the floor with every tentative step.

“Felix,” I whispered into the darkness of the room.

“Y/N,” his voice grumbled in return, husky with sleep.

I took his acknowledgment as an invitation, crawling next to him in bed. “I missed you,” I said, and then Felix was on top of me, kissing his way past all the heavy tension that had laid between us for so long. 

“You came back,” was all he said before slim fingers danced their way across the bare skin of my thighs, twisting themselves into the hem of my panties before rolling the fabric down my legs and onto the floor. “Mine,” he soothed, tongue forcing its way into my mouth as he shuffled his sleep pants down to his knees, freeing his cock.

“Please,” I gasped, arching my back in premature celebration when he teased the slit of his erection between my puffy folds.

“You’ll beg me, Y/N,” Felix growled, and I didn’t have the position to deny him, especially now that he had all the power.

“I’ll do anything, Felix,” I cried, grinding myself down the best that I could to feel the friction of his hard cock teasing my sex, even if it was still not enough. “I want you more than anything!”

“Then you’ll marry me,” Felix insisted, and I could hardly fathom his persistence.

“Yes,” I agreed, almost on instinct despite my promise to stay strong until he brought back his brothers from their undeserved exile.

But I gave in to my heart and desire instead.

“Such a good girl,” he said, and he slid his cock inside, groaning low under his breath at the tight squeeze of my cunt, holding him as close as possible. 

“Felix,” I said. “Faster.”

“Of course, my queen,” he said, and my heart did a strange somersault at the idea of being his queen, a softer sentiment that was lost in the next moment when he started pounding his hips against mine, drawing back out to the tip before pressing forward with powerful thrusts that moved me up and down the bed with the rapid pace of our fucking. 

His fingers toyed with my clit, squeezing and rubbing harshly at the engorged bud, throbbing under his persistent touch and the heat building between my legs as the fiery friction of our connection grew to a boiling point, an explosion of his name across my lips as I fell apart under the one man who was meant to keep me together. 

The priest wore a smug smile, looking between the two of us with a nonchalant shrug. “You cannot marry,” he said. “According to our laws, the new queen must be untouched by marks, and there are plenty of scars on Y/N.”

I froze, recalling with stunning clarity what seemed like years ago when I was beaten and punished for my supposed crime of trying to poison Minho. Of course, I was innocent on the matter, but my pleas for help went unanswered, and the guards who were put in charge of extracting a guilty word from me had been particularly brutal. 

“That wasn’t her fault,” Felix growled.

“The scars are still there,” the priest said, and I sat back in my chair, defeated once again.

The next morning, I went on a walk by myself, upset by the previous day’s reckoning, and the knowledge that Felix was still unraveling, further still, now that the possibility of our union was completely rendered obsolete. 

It was a lot to think about, and I was lost in my mind for a long time, wandering the perimeter of the gardens. For a while, I lingered on Felix’s expression of pure rage from our conversation with the priest because, for a split second, I was certain that he would demand the man’s death.

But Felix refrained. For now, at least.

“What can I do?” I wondered aloud, to stop him from sinking even lower?

“You can’t do anything,” a voice whispered from beyond my subconscious, and I paused at the edge of the forest, not realizing that I had traveled so far, to look at Jisung straight in his eyes. 

“Jisung!” I gasped, immediately launching myself into his arms. “Are you well?”

“I’m okay,” he reassured me, and I pulled back with a start.

“If Felix sees you here...”

“Relax,” Jisung smiled. “I don’t intend to stay long. I only wish to talk with you.”

“Me?” I repeated.

“You,” Jisung agreed with a teasing lilt. “Come on.”

I hesitated only a for a moment, glancing back over my shoulder at the Castle, before following Jisung further into the woods. “Where are we going?”

“Not far,” Jisung said, and I knew that I could trust him, listening to the sounds of the leaves crunching beneath our steps when Jisung made an abrupt turn that brought us to the side of the worn path that led between the village and Kingdom beyond our own. It was quiet and well-hidden, and I leaned in closer to Jisung as he observed our surroundings before releasing a sigh. “You need to leave the Castle.”

I blinked in response, at first, looking at Jisung like he might suddenly start laughing at any moment and proclaim his order as a joke. 

But he didn’t.

“I can’t leave him,” I said. “He’s volatile.”

“He relies on his emotions too much,” Jisung agreed. “And you bring out his most powerful ones.”

I frowned, hating the truth behind his words. “I love him.”

“I know,” Jisung said, and he gave me a meaningful look. “You need to leave him because of those feelings.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” I said, and I resented Jisung in that moment, acting like such a decision could be made so easily.

“Felix needs to be King,” Jisung said. “He’s the only one who makes sense.”

“Why?” I huffed. “You’re suddenly fond of him?”

Jisung flinched at the comment. “He has allies in the North, and Chan and I received a visit from Hyunjin this morning. The South favors Felix because of his military background.”

“You saw Hyunjin?” I exhaled.

Jisung nodded. “He had to leave again. Something urgent came up, but he wants to return and see you...” Jisung trailed off, studying me like he was waiting for an opportunity. “He’ll only be able to see you outside of the Castle.”

I rolled my eyes at his insistence. “This is Chan’s idea, isn’t it?”

“Chan knows nothing about this.”

I took a step back, surprised by the admission. “What?”

“Y/N, Felix will leave the throne for you,” Jisung said, and it dawned on me then, the reason why he wanted me to leave. 

“You know that we can’t be married.”

“I had my suspicions,” Jisung admitted. “The Castle is steeped in tradition, and future queens...well...they can’t be-”

“Flawed,” I finished for him. “Like me with my scars.”

Jisung lowered his head. “I’m sorry.”

I shook from the very inside of my soul, realizing the gravity of what I needed to do for the Kingdom. “I can’t ever be married.”

“If you leave here with me, then we can marry each other,” Jisung said. “The tradition only applies to our Kings, and Minho gave me permission when he was still in power, just in case anything were to happen to Felix. He wanted to make sure that you could still be happy.”

I swallowed hard, and my heart ached for a man who was gone. “Why would we marry?”

Jisung gave me a sheepish smile. “We can live together, in a village outside of the kingdom without suspicion.”

“With Chan and Jeongin?”

“No, they’ll remain here and watch over Felix.”

I stiffened. “Are they okay with that?”

Jisung sighed. “Everything is already planned, Y/N. All we need now...”

“Is me,” I concluded, rubbing my hands together even though it wasn’t cold. “I need to leave the Castle.”

Jisung nodded again, and I was grateful when he remained quiet once the tears started to fall freely of their own accord.

It was dark when I returned to the Castle, discovering Felix pacing in our shared room when I arrived.

“There you are!” he exclaimed, eliminating the space between us to accept me into his arms with a gentle kiss. “I almost sent the guards out!”

“I just needed a walk to clear my head,” I said, carefully extracted myself from his arms to wander over to the balcony.

Felix followed me outside. “What’s going on? Is something wrong?”

“Just some thoughts,” I said, gazing out over the Castle grounds.

“Thoughts?” Felix questioned, and I was relieved by his warm presence from behind.

“You need to lead the Kingdom,” I said. “I think you’ll be a great King.”

Felix chuckled, brushing a soft kiss across my cheek. “With you by my side.”

My heart clenched at the sentiment. “Felix, if we can’t marry, would you stay on the throne?”

There was silence for a moment following my question before Felix turned me around to face him. “I’ll figure out a way, Y/N.”

“But not at the risk of vacating the throne?”

Felix looked away, but there was a brief flicker in his eyes that told me everything I needed to know. Enough to validate Jisung’s arguments and my worst doubts. “There’s no need to worry.”

“Felix,” I finally said. “I need to leave.”

“Leave?” Felix laughed as if I had just told him the funniest joke. “Where do you get these ideas from?”

“When I leave,” I said, continuing on as if he had never interrupted. “You must promise me that you’ll stay and be a good king.”

Felix’s laughter died in an instant. “Y/N, are you serious?”

“Does it look like I’m not?” I returned, and Felix’s entire expression shifted into something frenzied and uncontrolled, using both hands to squeeze at my arms.

“I’ll abandon the throne!” Felix roared, but I only met his gaze calmly.

“No you won’t,” I replied. “You know that you can’t.”

Felix growled, releasing me and resuming his incessant pacing. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“To ensure that you’ll do the right thing.”

“The right thing,” Felix enunciated. “Is being with you.”

I sighed, watching as he fell apart. “I see.”

Because it was obvious to me that I would have to leave without saying goodbye, and that hurt worse than anything else ever could. 

“You’re talking nonsense,” Felix said, and he reached out for my hand to pull me back inside our room. “We’ll finish this in the morning after we’ve both had time to clear our heads.”

I simply nodded, allowing my silence to put him back together again as best as I could. Meanwhile, Felix brought me next to him in our shared bed, pressing kisses into my hair and whispering nonsensical words, and I allowed him to do that too because this was our final night together, and I wanted him to remember me as the one person who had always been on his side.

It was approaching midnight and Felix’s breathing had leveled off into soft snores. It was the perfect opportunity to leave the comfortable embrace of his arms, packing only what I thought was essential before wandering out onto the balcony once again.

Below me, waiting in the coverage of the bushes, was Jisung. I waved my hand at him and waited for his acknowledgement before tossing down my belongings. He caught them easily, and I used my magic to help levitate me down to where Jisung was waiting.

From there, he brought me to the woods where two stallions had been tied to the large trunks of the trees. “You planned well,” I remarked, and then we both ensured that my things were secure. 

“Did you tell him anything?” Jisung asked at one point, but I shook my head because it was easier than the truth.

“He’ll do the right thing,” I promised, and Jisung seemed satisfied, helping me onto my horse with a grunt.

“Let’s go,” Jisung said, and I waited until he was also properly situated before following him once again into the deeper coverage of the foliage, rushing further and further away from the Castle.

There were still some doubts lingering at the back of my head because I had always thought the answer was to stay with Felix, but I had been wrong. I was the problem, and when I left the Castle with Jisung that night, I looked back only once and wished all the best for the man I loved. 

Dear Felix,

By the time you read this, I will have already gone.

It pains me to part from you at such a crucial hour, but I have no other choice. 

We have no other choice.

Do not look for me. Worry about being a good king. Rule the kingdom as I would wish for you to rule. Fair and true.

Leave the rest to fate, and keep your distance from your brothers. No more of your bloodline should be sacrificed. 

Yours always,

Y/N

[thewitchandtheassassin]

That World (Natasha Romanoff x Reader)

Summary: Part two of “Alone With You” happy ending style.

Words: 3171

Warnings: Uh, alcohol, language and some angst? Lemme know if I missed something.

A/N: Holy shit. One hundred percent wasn’t expecting a longer fic to be my coming back fic but this thing had a mind of its own. And, I just really want to thank y’all for sticking around. It means so much and I’m happy to say I think I’ll be staying for a while this time. But either way, WE GOT A NEW STORY HOLY FUCK!

-X-

She knew she shouldn’t have walked out. She knew it wasn’t what she’d wanted, but the words had gotten stuck in her throat and she couldn’t bring herself to let them slide off her tongue. So, instead, she’d taken the coward’s way out and left.

Left you broken just beyond the door closing behind her.

You’d never just been a way to pass time. Well, maybe in the beginning it had started out like that, but after the third time you’d let her in, something warm started creeping into her chest. You’d always assumed multiple people kept her company but the truth was…

There was only you.

She hadn’t meant to keep you in the dark – to make you feel the way you did – but she’d wanted to protect you (or maybe she was protecting herself. Those lines were a little blurred, if she was being honest with herself). She thought letting the distance hold you apart would keep you both safe but all it seemed to do was break hearts.

-X-

Hours became days and before Natasha realized it, it’d been a month since she’d heard you, seen you. She’d ignored it at first – the longing gripping her chest – but it was becoming overwhelming. She was reckless and withdrawn (more than normal). She was snappy and irritable and the team was worried.

“Nat, seriously, what’s going on?” Clint asked, flopping down beside Natasha on the couch in the common room.

Rolling her eyes, Natasha jerked to another page in her book, eyes scanning but not seeing the words printed. “Nothing.”

He reached out, grabbing her wrist calmly. “That’s a lie and we both know it. Talk to me.”

Natasha swallowed drily, fingers flexing around the book in her hands. Her tongue felt like it weighed a million pounds inside her mouth, threatening to suffocate her if she dare speak. A familiar pain traveled through her, the icy memory of the Red Room’s punishments creeping up her veins and pooling in her stomach.

Clint was startled to see tears filling Natasha’s eyes and he ripped the book from her, tossing it aside and gathering her in his arms. One hand stroked her hair while the other kept her close, murmuring soft reassurances to her.

“I fucked up,” Natasha hiccupped. “I-I should’ve stayed. I should’ve told her…”

His brows furrowed but Clint remained silent, waiting for his oldest friend to continue.

“All she wanted was for me to stay and I didn’t,” she whispered. “I never wanted to hurt her.”

Something dawned on Clint. “Is she who you used to go see after missions?” he inquired carefully, ignoring the tension that seemed to stiffen her muscles.

“…yes.”

Nodding, Clint leaned back and brushed a lock of hair from Natasha’s face. “If you’re this upset, you need to go to her. Tell her you regret leaving that night – that you regret leaving her. Wallowing isn’t doing anyone any good,” he advised, smiling sympathetically.

“I’m afraid she won’t forgive me,” she admitted brokenly. “I never told her anything. Not about missions or my life or anything. I kept her so far in the dark that I don’t know how to bring her into the light now.”

“You’ll never know until you talk to her,” Clint said. “If you care about her this much, you need to talk to her. Otherwise it’ll be entirely your own fault that you lost her.” He knew his words were harsh, but she needed to hear them. If he tried sugarcoating it, she’d never leave the couch.

Natasha’s face scrunched as she forced back tears. He was right. As much as she wished he wasn’t, he absolutely was.

“Okay,” she breathed, determination befalling her features. “Okay.”

Clint smiled, patting her shoulder as he stood. “C’mon. I’ll drive.”

-X-

The drive to your apartment was silent aside from the incessant tapping of Natasha’s fingers on her thigh. She was trying to prepare her speech, like she was readying for battle, but she knew the moment she looked into your eyes it’d be useless. This wasn’t something she could sweep under the rug with a seductive look or a sensual kiss. She had to actually talk.

She was going to throw up.

Sudden terror gripped her as they stopped in front of the building. “I can’t do this.”

Clint chuckled and shook his head. “Yes, you can. Go talk to her. I’ll wait here until you say otherwise.”

Bottom lip snagged between her teeth, Natasha inhaled sharply and tossed open the car door before storming inside and up to your floor. With every step her heart thudded a little harder, but she ventured on, blinking sporadically to keep the tears at bay. Fist balled tight, she knocked twice behind rocking on her heels.

Silence.

One…

Two…

Three…

Four…

Natasha’s head tilted. Only stillness greeted her as she stared at the door mocking her. She couldn’t hear anything on the other side, which was bizarre considering your floor creaked just at the entrance.

Her eyebrows nearly touched as she tentatively reached forward and knocked again. It was well past nine at night, so where the hell were you? A nasty thought crossed her thoughts and she faltered. What if you’d already moved on? What if you were on a date? What if they were in there?

The old woman who lived next door peered out of her apartment and stared at her. She could see the emotions warring on the beautiful woman’s face.

“Excuse me, miss,” the woman called, garnering Natasha’s attention. “She’s not there.”

Natasha’s head snapped around. “O-oh. Do you know when she’ll be back?”

The woman’s pursed lips concerned Natasha. “I don’t think you understand, sweetie. She doesn’t live here anymore. Moved out about two weeks ago.”

All the blood drained from Natasha’s face and her lips parted slightly, a deeper concern blossoming in her stomach.

“None of us know where she went either,” she admitted. “We just saw her leave one day and the next, the landlord was trying to find new renters. It’s a shame too. She was lovely. Always helped me with my groceries.”

“She’s…gone?” Natasha repeated slowly, glancing at your door like she expected you to throw it open and laugh at your elaborate joke. This was just a joke…right?

Smiling sadly at Natasha, the old woman studied her. As a former nurse, she’d seen many people walk into her hospital with a similar expression; regret and devastation marring their features, waiting for someone to yell “surprise” or hoping to wake up from a bad dream.

She silently prayed this woman would someday find you and right whatever wrong caused that look; she’d always hated that look.

“I’m sorry, honey,” she mumbled before closing her door, the quiet click sounding like a thunderous boom in Natasha’s ears.

The urge to slump to her knees was crippling but Natasha forced herself upright and staggered out of your (former) building, dragging herself towards Clint’s car. Her fingers felt numb as she gripped the handle, dropping into the passenger seat. She said nothing and he didn’t push.

You were gone.

-X-

Traveling the country had never been something you’d really considered before. You liked having a steady home, steady relationships – a steady life. But two weeks after Natasha walked out of your door, you decided to throw caution to the wind and try it. You had more than enough money to survive for a while so you tossed your bigger items into the storage and began a trek across the country, headed west.

Was it irresponsible to quit your job and break your lease all because a woman didn’t love you? Probably, but you didn’t care. You needed something new; something wild that could help mend the shattered shards of your heart.

So you found yourself in a little town in Ohio two weeks into your trip, a cheap beer in hand as you looked around the bar. You weren’t trying to catch anyone’s eye, merely curious of your surroundings. Plenty of people were scattered about, filling the air with small-town liveliness.

A feminine hand caught your attention out of your peripheral and you discretely glanced over. Long digits traced across the edge of the wood.

“I might be mistaken but I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen you around here before.” Her voice was like a warm breeze in the middle of September and you couldn’t stop yourself from gazing at her.

She was pretty, relatively speaking, though she didn’t hold a candle to the woman who’d prompted this trip. But she might be pretty enough to help you forget.

“You’re not wrong,” you smirked, sipping your beer as you watched her eyes flicker to your lips.

She offered her hand, skin smooth and gentle against yours. “I’m Lucy.”

“(Y/N),” you replied, letting your fingers brush the palm of her hand as you let go.

Hopping onto the stool beside you, she raised a finger and the bartender handed her a drink. You weren’t sure if he’d been simply waiting for the gesture or if it was just a lucky coincidence but you weren’t going to question it. You were a stranger, what did you know?

“So, what brings you here?” Lucy asked, raising her glass to glossed lips.

You shrugged. It’d sound pathetic to admit all of this started because of a woman, right? An Avenger but still…

“Road trip,” you hummed, eyes drifting through the crowd again.

Lucy chuckled, smirking at you over the rim of her drink. “I’ve heard a lot of people say that but that’s never the full story, is it?”

Your gaze jerked back to her and her smirk deepened.

“Boyfriend troubles – or girlfriend?” she wondered, her glass thumping on the bar as she set it down.

Sighing, you acknowledged her probing with a humorless laugh. “Technically? Neither. She was never my girlfriend.”

Lucy’s brow arched, curiosity brimming in green eyes. “Oh?”

You downed your beer. “Yeah…” you didn’t exactly want to offer information but the need to vent was pulsating into your bones. No one knew the story; hell, no one had even known you had an occasional bed partner. “I had feelings for her but she walked out and never came back, so I decided a trip across the country wasn’t such a bad idea.”

Lucy gave an apologetic hiss and patted your arm. “Ouch.”

“But,” the corner of your mouth tugged up, “I’m sure some good company would help take the sting out a little.”

-X-

Finding out you had left was a blow Natasha hadn’t anticipated. She’d considered calling you from Clint’s car but the idea you had blocked her number gave her pause. You’d left for a reason, so she should honor that…

And she did try.

But, as another week drifted into two, she was crumbling inside. She’d spent many years trying to correct all the mistakes she’d made over in her youth but now she had no idea how to fix this one. You’d never been hers – though through no fault of your own – but it felt like you’d taken a chunk of her heart wherever you had gone.

In the end, it wasn’t even her who found you.

Tony Stark was many things: arrogant, a billionaire playboy, but not stupid. He’d seen Natasha losing herself and, while he might butt heads with her often, he hated the misery that lingered on the outskirts of green. So, as any friend would do, he stole her phone.

Your number was easy to find since it was the only “civilian” number on there, aside from Laura Barton. Natasha was nothing if not minimalistic.

Minutes later, he pinged your phone and had FRIDAY tracking it.

“Boss, what should I do with this information?” the AI wondered, curious – well, as curious as an AI could be.

“Send it to Agent Romanoff and tell her I better be her best man at the wedding,” Tony replied coolly, wandering off to go bug Pepper before Natasha could come skin him alive.

When FRIDAY alerted her of Tony’s meddling, she did consider hurting him for less than a second before she was racing out of the Compound and towards a jet. Yes, flying a million dollar get to win back her not-ex’s heart was dramatic but she was an Avenger.

And Avengers were good at dramatics.

-X-

You hadn’t left that little Ohio town yet, which honestly surprised you. After spending a night drinking with Lucy, you’d followed her home…

And slept on her couch.

She’d been wonderful to talk to – and you’d been right about the company – but sleeping with her had never been an option. You weren’t going to use someone like that, even if she was a stranger. But, she’d offered her couch and nearly two weeks later, you were still there. She’d argued with you about finding a motel, telling you she liked having someone to fill the silence of her little apartment.

So you stayed.

Right now, you were tucked in a little coffee shop, a mug in front of you as you waited for Lucy. She was off getting things ready for her upcoming art gallery in town so you’d been left to your own devices (which was fine). You were absently flicking through your social medias, listening to the locals discuss a plane that had touched down outside of town. You weren’t really paying any attention to it but the silence that enveloped the shop as the door opened certainly caught your notice.

You peeked over your shoulder, eyes widening as a disheveled – but still unnaturally beautiful – Natasha strolled over. She looked dress for war, but the uncertainty in her eyes left you frozen. In all the months you’d known her, she’d never looked so scared before. Like you were a wild cat that would either spring at her or dash away if she got too close.

“Hi,” she greeted, voice raspy and alluring.

You gaped, your throat suddenly so dry that it burned. You could tell your silence hurt Natasha but your lack of running away helped lessen the fear swirling inside her stomach. She cautiously grabbed the chair across from yours and dragged it closer, though she kept a respectable distance between you.

“W-why…how…um, huh?” you sputtered, trying to gather your thoughts. You had so many questions that wanted out and no idea how to ask them.

“You left New York,” she stated plainly, as if that explained everything – which, it did not.

“Yes?” you replied, though it definitely sounded like a question at that point.

Natasha cleared her throat, green dancing between your mug and the floor. “I was a coward,” she muttered, “The night you said you couldn’t do what we were doing anymore. I wanted to stay, but I was scared. Scared of what happens if I let you get too close; scared you wouldn’t like the real me. So, I left. But when I came to talk, you were gone.”

Her gaze almost felt accusing but you both knew she wasn’t angry with you.

“I –” you stopped yourself from apologizing. You hadn’t done anything wrong. You were the wounded party.

But looking at her, you wondered if maybe you weren’t the only one hurting.

“I shouldn’t have left,” she continued, lip trapped between perfect teeth. “I should’ve stayed when you asked and I’m sorry I didn’t. I should’ve told you I wanted more too. I should’ve given you everything instead of taking it. You were never just fun for me – and I wish I’d told you that sooner.”

“Nat,” you exhaled, watching her shoulders slump. “I wish you had too.”

She nodded, her hair obscuring your view, hiding that face you loved so much. “I know I don’t have a right to ask, but can we try again? Try to have something real this time? I can’t promise I’ll be perfect but I really want to give us a shot. Because losing you? It was one of the worst things I’ve ever felt.”

Your tongue was lead in your mouth, pressing it to your teeth. Thoughts swam through your mind at millions of miles per second and you wondered for a moment if you were dreaming. The air felt ten degrees hotter and you were fairly certain everyone was looking at you but you didn’t dare look away for even a millisecond.

“Hey, everything okay?” Lucy.

You didn’t even know she had arrived and suddenly the world felt like it was tipping on its axis. Natasha’s hair fluttered as her head snapped to the new arrival and you could see her heart turning to dust as she assumed the worst. Lucy’s eyes were on you but yours never left Natasha.

She didn’t say a word, merely kicking out of the chair and rushing from the shop, leaving you stunned. Another flurry of emotions and thoughts erupted in your brain but you knew one thing: you had find her.

You couldn’t lose her again.

Bolting off your chair, you lurched out of the shop and glanced about frantically. A glimpse of her black outfit was the only sign she’d ever existed in this little town and you surged after her, pushing your muscles in a way you hadn’t since you were forced to run a mile in gym.

You weren’t going to let her leave you again. If she left, there wasn’t going to be a third chance – and you knew it.

Catching her arm just outside of the trees that you assumed lead to her jet, you dragged her to a halt, breath escaping you in pants as you stared at the back of her head. This felt like something out of a stupid romantic comedy but that wasn’t your biggest concern.

“Natasha,” you started, though she hurriedly cut you off.

“It’s okay,” she sniffed, clearly fighting off her sorrow. “I get it. You don’t have to explain.” She was silently begging you not to. She couldn’t handle it if you did.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” you assured her, tugging on the skin-tight material clinging to her body. “Lucy’s just a friend I made when I stopped here. She’s not…we’re not…”

Instead of struggling to find the words, you simply jerked on Natasha’s arm, bringing her crashing into you. Her hands found your shoulders and yours cupped her face, thumbs brushing the stray tears away. You had so much you wanted to say but you’d been taught actions speak louder than words so with a rush of courage, your lips brushed hers.

She gasped, her lips still against your own and you wondered if you’d made a mistake. But, as she sagged into you, she fervently brought her mouth to yours, kissing you desperately. She clung to you like you’d disappear, arms coming around your neck to keep you close.

When air became a necessity, you pressed your forehead against hers and smiled. “Want to take a road trip with me?” you asked breathlessly, giggling as she nodded without hesitation.

“Yes.”

Maybe this was that world after all.

[dialovers-translations]

DIABOLIK LOVERS Born To Die Vol.1 Tsukinami Carla [Track 4]

Original title: 月���見ながら

Source: Diabolik Lovers Born To Die Vol.1 Tsukinami Carla [CD not owned by me]

Audio: Here

Seiyuu: Toshiyuki Morikawa

Translator’s note: Since I have yet to play Dark Fate, a lot of the bits on Carla’s background and his family situation were new to me, so his long monologue about his duty and the responsiblity he feels towards his family/clan was quite tricky to translate. However, I’m fairly happy with the end result. It also helped me understand him better as a character and makes for some great character growth!

Track 1 ll Track 2 ll Track 3 ll Track 4 ll Track 5

→  LIKE MY TRANSLATIONS? SUPPORT ME ON KO-FI!

Track 4: While Gazing at the Moon

Carla slowly wakes up.

“Nn...Hm.”

*Rustle*

“...I must have nodded off at some point. ...Heh. She seems to be sleeping comfortably.”

You call out his name.

“Did I wake you up?”

You continue snoozing.

“Hm. She was talking in her sleep, huh? I wonder what dream she is having, calling my name like that?”

He strokes your cheek.

“I showered you with my affection after all. You must have me love on you inside your dreams as well. I feel a little awake now.”

*Rustle rustle*

Carla walks towards the window.

“The moon is beautiful tonight. Nights like these make me reminiscence about the past.”

*Rustle rustle*

“...Oh. You’ve awakened. Why are you so frantic?”

You explain.

“Heh. To make such a fuss simply because you do not see me around. Did you perhaps think I had disappeared, leaving you behind?”

You frown, frightened by his words.

“There is nothing to worry about. I was just gazing at the moon.”

You get out of bed and join Carla by the window.

“You are warm. I can tell clearly when you lean against me like this. I end up wanting to bathe in this warmth forever.”

You smile, telling him he can.

“Heh. You feel the same, don’t you? In that case, scoot a little closer...”

*Rustle rustle*

“Mmh...”

You look up at him.

“Is it uncommon to see me lost in thought while gazing up at the moon? The moon is just so beautiful tonight...I can’t help but let my mind wander.”

You ask what he was thinking about.

“Yes. I suppose I could tell you. To tell the truth...Coming to this manor for the first time in a while, made me remember the Golden Age of us Founders. I was born into this world as the eldest son of the former King, Giesbach. Then grew up watching the back of my mighty Father. Back then, I did not doubt the fact that I too, would one day lead the people as their King. I had all sorts of knowledge hammered inside my head, enduring even the most severe of training. Believing that no matter how harsh my Father would be, one day I would get him to acknowledge me. ーー And at one point, I began to worry more about my clan, than about myself. I could no longer view myself as anyone or anything but the future King who had to ensure a succesful future for the Founders. That was my duty. I had to fulfill it no matter what, I felt.”

You frown.

“When I fell ill...When I caught Endzeit, said view did not change. The thing I feared the most, was for our bloodline to come to an end. I did not fear my own death, and instead prioritized fulfilling my role in regards to our race. Right now, Shin and I are the only Founders left. As the current King, I must provide a next generation at all costs. I was born for that sake only ー born to die.”

You shake your head.

“It is not something to mourn. It is simply the truth.”

You insist that he has other purposes in life and deserves to live. 

“Are you...crying?”

You turn away, trying to wipe them away.

“...Wait. Do not try and wipe your tears so roughly. It will leave marks. Above all, tears do not suit the Founder King’s wife. I shall wipe them for you, so move your hands.”

*Rustle rustle*

“See? They’re all gone. Show me a smile for my sake.”

You smile.

“Perfect. Just as I thought, a smile suits you well. It is the expression I like best, and you should always look like that by my side. Furthermore, despite what I said earlier, I was simply talking about the past.”

You tilt your head to the side.

“You do not understand what I am saying? You are the one who brought this change.”

You seem confused.

“Fufu. Ignorant, it seems? ...I suppose that is very typical of you as well. I had accepted my own fate. That as long as I fulfilled that one thing, the rest did not matter. Shin would inherit my will and lead my child in the right direction. As the current King, it was my duty to die a noble death. I was convinced that was the correct path to take. However, I met you and the more time we spent together, I began to wish for my own future. I wanted to live with you. Live alongside you, sharing both happiness and sadness, experiencing all sorts of emotions...That is how I began to feel. However...”

*Rustle*

“It was not easy to fight against the duty I had once accepted. The feelings I bear towards my Mother, the fact I killed my Father with my very own hands, my responsiblity has the current King...All of those things I cannot get out of my mind, weighed very heavily on me. ...But even so, there was one thing I yearned for even stronger. No matter what future waits ahead, and regardless of what hardships I may face, I wanted to walk by your side.”

You smile.

“Today, when you decided you wanted to celebrate the day of my birth, I was once again strongly reminded of said fact. You are the one who changed my stubborn (1) mind. Let me express my gratitude once more. ーー Thank you.”

Your expression softens.

“I thought human feelings and sentiments were beyond my comprehension, but I believe the current me may be able to understand. This is most definitely your influence as well. I wonder if I will continue to change as I spend more time with you? However, that would not be bad either. Change can be the key to the future after all. ...Well then.”

*Rustle*

“Let us leave it at that. There still is some time until we have to get up. You should rest some more.”

You ask him to join you.

“Exactly. I shall rest alongside you as well.”

The two of you get back in bed.

*Rustle rustle*

“What is the matter? It is uncommon for you to snuggle up to me like this. It appears to me that you wish to be doted on.”

You seem a little worried he does not like this side of you.

“It is not bad. How could I ever refuse you? If anything...”

*Rustle*

“When I see you move in my arms without a single moment of hesitation, my heart feels strangely at peace.”

Your cheeks flush bright red.

“Your body has gotten even warmer. Just close your eyes now. I will stay like this until you fall asleep.”

You nod. 

“Yes. ...Goodnight.”

*Rustle*

ーー TO BE CONTINUED ーー

Translation notes

(1) こりかたまる or ‘korikatamaru’ means that something has been long established and remained unchanged for a long time. Referring to the fact that he only ever had one future for him in mind, but the MC made him reconsider and think of a different possible future. 

[iraot]

Faded

Pairing: bucky x oc ( julia ) - former steve x oc ( julia ) Warnings: Angst, lots of it. Basic smut, not very special. post end game. mutual pining.  Word Count: 13,315

When he'd stepped onto the platform his eyes met hers and she swore there was a flicker of something. Sadness, maybe? He was taking her in, his eyes soaking in every inch of her and then he was gone. There were only a few things in Julia's life she'd ever been scared of - being alone namely. Though there were others, not being enough, being forgotten, being replaced.

Five. he'd come back. 

Four. he'd said he'd loved her just last night.

Three. when he made love to her, he seemed extra intense.

Two. the look he'd given her was unusual, like he felt ashamed.

One. where was he? 

Her anxious eyes looked to Bruce and Sam who were beginning to bicker nervously, her heart was hammering in her chest now. Her mouth felt dry, and her fingers were going numb. A hand on her back was the sole thing that caused her to take a deep breath, "Breathe, Doll... it's gonna be alright," Bucky whispered tensely as he maintained his eyes on the last spot either of them had ever seen Steve. A sense of anguish ran through her, how could he leave her? Hadn't she been enough? Her eyes looked around to see if this was something only she was experiencing the seemingly never ending moment. However, everyone was still watching with rapt attention to the platform desperately hoping he'd come back, but she knew better. 

As she surveyed the area, she saw someone sitting on a bench, not a hundred yards away and she moved towards them. Her chest ached because it was so tight, her throat felt as if she had swallowed a soft ball instead of breathing air. After the fight with Thanos she'd been so sure she and Steve would live out that life. White picket fence, a few kids, he'd retire - but it was a fools dream, apparently. Hesitantly, she reached out to graze his shoulder - she knew it was him, because when the wind blew just right he smelled the same as he did when he laid against her just the night before.

 "Steve?" her words cracked and shuddering breath escaped her, "You… you got old without me…" it was like a dam broke loose as a sob tore from her throat. When he looked at her with those eyes, they were filled with the same sadness they had been when he'd left. How could he even pretend to care after all this time he'd been gone from her? The anger in her was rising gradually, but when his hand was placed on hers he motioned for her to sit next to him.

He sighed, "It was for the best," he nodded a little as he looked out at the pond in front of him. Seemingly so sure that he hadn't just ruined her from the bottom to top, she was questioning everything. Had there ever been a moment when he hadn't lied to her? If he'd genuinely loved her he'd have stayed, right?

"You left...you.. you went back to her." her tone was accusatory, and she narrowed her eyes at him as tears flooded her vision. Seeing him this way… this wasn't supposed to happen for another sixty years, with her at his side. "I don't understand, why?"

"I love her, she… she was the one, Julia." Steve tried to reason but there would never be one good enough to make her understand, not after everything she had shared with him. She'd lost Nat; she'd lost Tony and now she'd lost the love of her life to a woman who had known him for less time than he'd known her. 

Scoffing she jerked her head, "Bullshit, Steve. You said you loved me, that I was enough. Though, I suppose that was before there was an option to go back to her, right? You told me she was happy when you last saw her, that she told you to move on. You told me you wanted to move on with me, to have that life that Tony talked about with me." she ranted as her heart felt like it'd burst out of her chest. No, there was no winning for Julia because everyone inevitably abandoned her. Be it her neglectful parents, her twin brother or friends who possessed no right to die right before her eyes. Being alone seemed to be the only thing she was good at, perhaps it was for the best.

"I did want that, but seeing her… when Tony and I went back. it put things in perspective." he revealed to her as he grasped her hand in his aged one, and she felt ill. That hand that had touched someone else, had held the children he had once wanted with her with someone else. Ripping her hand from his, she stood up tossing back her head before raking her fingers through her hair. 

"I wonder how the world would fall apart knowing how notorious Captain America is the worlds best fucking liar," She spat contemptuously at him, and he reached for her again with a desperate look on his grave face.

"Fuck you, Steve!" she whimpered before stumbling awkwardly away from him, not able to hide the broken look in her burning eyes. 

Julia desperately wanted to be happy for him, even at the expense that his happiness hadn't extended from her like she'd always thought it would. It felt as if the truth had choked her, she felt raw and exposed. There hadn't even been a chance for a private moment before everyone was watching it unfold before them; the end of a relationship no one saw coming from miles away. The heartache she wore on her face shouldn't have been privy to every single one of their friends, it was unfair. 

She shoved between Sam and Bucky who vainly tried to comfort her, a part of her feeling bad that she so easily ignored their calls to her. Her friends, the ones she'd fought this war for, the ones she'd lived five years without, were willing to take on the job as her protectors. At least now that Steve was no longer among them, but she remembered a time when he'd have fiercely protected her from anyone who would have dreamed of hurting her. But, who was there to protect her from him? There was nothing left for her here. Not when the peaceful world she'd spun so carefully in her mind unraveled in the span of five seconds. The innocent faces of the children she'd carefully named were fading in her mind. This life no longer held the future she had laid out while in the arms of a man who only dreamed of another woman; how could she have been so blind?

Julia had flashes of memories; him chasing her through the halls - something, anything to forget the people who were missing, even for a little while. How he'd pinned her against their door and his lips pressing to hers full of promise and sunlight that hadn't shined on them in so long, but in that moment she'd felt warm.Her heart felt numb, and her mind was racing with images she couldn't tell if they were even real anymore. Artificial emotion, had he projected all of those moments with her while imagining someone else, for eight years? 

All she'd wanted was for him to be happy and for the last six years he'd spent most of his time convincing her that she was all he needed; his happiness tied to the existence of a future they both so desperately wanted. Though it seemed Peggy Carter had still managed to wrap her fingers around his heart more tightly than she had ever been capable of - it felt like drowning, and her lungs burned.

"Julia…" it was Wanda. She could hear the distress in her voice as she approached her, she hoped that she wasn't feeling what she felt - that she wasn't seeing the images flying through her mind so quickly. No one deserved to feel this pain, she wouldn't wish it on her worst enemy - it felt a lot like the day everyone turned to ash right before them. There was nothing she could do to stop it either, there would be no going back because they already had; and he'd made his choice. Not bothering with a response, she felt her legs give way under her but before she could feel the ground under her legs two strong arms wrapped around her waist. Familiar, but she couldn't bring herself to acknowledge it - not fully. Her hands rested on his to brace herself. 

"Got you, doll - don't worry, ain't gonna let nothin' happen to you." Bucky's voice was in her ear, a comfort. His voice was tight, and pained but she couldn't imagine the pain he was feeling too. Steve hadn't just left her behind, he'd left everyone. Even though he was still in this world, he'd had experiences without them that could never be shared in a way that was special. Before the snap she and Bucky  had grown close as friends, he'd been happy his friend found a woman who would treat him right and that he could have someone else to have playful banter with. Despite their initial meeting being a bit tense, she'd done everything she could to help him fit into a normal routine, to fit into the modern world. Random tech lessons and helping him catch up on television shows or movies he had missed. 

Furrowing her brow, she laughed apathetically "Too late, he already happened," she whispered hoarsely as she looked at the trees in the distance. Part of her wondered why he was here next to her, didn't he have catching up to do? There was so much that had happened, surely Steve had things to tell him, memories that didn't include her to make people laugh - the thought made her sick. "I don't know if I can do this anymore, Bucky."

"You'll be alright, you still have us. Wanda, Vision, Sam, Me, Clint, and that Parker kid. There are people who care about you, Jules… it'll be alright." his voice was worried, but she didn't have the thought process to let him know that she wasn't going anywhere - even if her worst fear had come true. "We'll make it work, got no other choice." 

Julia understood what he meant, the thought of leaving had crossed her mind more than once already but she had so much more to lose if she let him ruin her completely. Her eyes found Steve talking to Scott and Bruce, both men looked equally disturbed by the sight of him. Bruce's eyes flitted to her's and he gave her an understanding nod - he knew. He'd lost Nat, and however unspoken their affection for one another was; he wasn't completely ignorant to what she was feeling right now. It took her almost twenty minutes to regain her bearings, her mind came back to her - her head had been nestled into Bucky's chest as he stroked her hair. Her arms wrapped around him to try and comfort him from his loss too but she didn't know how much help she was - or if maybe, she was making it worse.

She'd opted to sit with Morgan Stark, coloring in one of her many coloring books, it kept her attention diverted from whatever was happening outside - it also gave Pepper some much needed time to worry about herself. The little girl was quiet, and she often wondered what she was thinking. There was a lot that had happened in the last few days. Something about it made her worry, losing a parent isn't easy. Even Julia had mourned her parents' passing; however neglectful and abusive they had been - it hurt to know they were gone without knowing where they'd gone.

"Are you gonna stay here with me and Mommy?" Morgan queried without looking up from her coloring book, and Julia didn't know how to answer. Could she? Was that an option for her? Not wanting to shoot the thought down or to hurt her feelings she decided on the best way to answer.

Sighing, she set the crayon down, "I don't know, sweetie." she whispered gently, lifting her eyes to gaze at her , "I have something to take care of first. I'll come visit often though, you know that's not an issue." The dark haired girl nodded, "Cause you can blink and you're here." she recited the words she'd said to her a hundred times before. Her eyes took in the expression of the four year old in front of her, she was so smart, and so perceptive there was no doubt in her mind that she'd be just as bright as her father was. If not more so. "Can I still call you?" "Of course you can, any time. Day or night." Julia felt the ache in her chest ease for a moment, if anything she had this little girl to live for. No one deserved to lose as much as she had in such a short span of time, she was far too young to be without a father. In a world where good father's seemed to be unwittingly rare, Tony Stark deserved to be able to raise her and teach her everything he knew but the world hated happy endings it seemed. This seemed to please her because she gave her a small smile, then handed her the yellow crayon, "You should make the sun yellow, maybe it won't look so sad then," she motioned to the coloring book in front of her. Julia's eyes took in the picture she'd been filling in, and she was right. The character looked down right depressed, dressed in dark colors in a dark room but the sun peeked in through the window - maybe there was room for making things better. 

"Maybe," Julia agreed with her a small smile curving her lips and Morgan giggled as she watched her fill the sun in with yellow then outline it with a deep orange. "Better?" Putting a finger to her lips she made a noise of deep concentration, "Yeah, that's better." nodding in acceptance of the picture. Julia realized that this little girl had changed her mood considerably, after several hours of avoiding those around her. The comfort of a child's humor and playfulness lightened her heavy heart. The losses were great, and she didn't know when she'd get back to herself but she hoped that the time spent with her would begin that process of healing. It didn't seem as if the fates wanted her to be so content just yet because the second she saw Steve walk into the house it was like she was dipped in ice cold water. Every hair on her body stood on end and she refused to meet his eyes, it was like he was boring into her. It had always been like this, any time he entered a room his eyes would find her - and she'd know. His presence was loud, and commanding it was part of what had drawn her to him. Despite his soft and kind nature, he was just someone who had the attention of a room whenever he entered it.

 Would this happen every time she saw him? "Morgan, can I borrow Julia for a moment?" Steve asked her kindly and the little girl eyed him for a moment before nodding but she didn't miss the way the girl considered him, as if she recognized him but couldn't figure out where she'd seen him. It wasn't like her to give up, but when she looked at Julia - it was like she knew. Morgan was perceptive, and she knew he'd hurt her - her stiff posture and reluctance to meet his eyes, this - she decided - she got from her mother. Kissing the top of her head she sighed, "I'll be back in a little bit, okay?" Her voice cracked softly, but Morgan nodded as if she hadn't heard a thing. He was waiting a few feet away, and the expression on his face nearly made her want to vanish in thin air - she was capable of it. It was a tempting thought, but when he extended his hand out to her she felt her heart give a squeeze, the gesture was all too familiar. He'd done it just that morning when he'd pulled her out of bed, nestling his face in her neck - she'd breathed him in… and now he was this. Her heart pounding in her chest so rapidly she'd probably compare it to a wild bird trapped in a too small cage, placing her hand in his she let him lead her; like she always had. They walked into an empty room, no prying eyes, no one to watch as she fell apart again. Why was he so insistent on destroying her? Couldn't he just leave well enough alone? "I didn't..I knew this wasn't going to be easy," he murmured as he rubbed the back of his neck, his one hand still holding hers his thumb rubbing over hers as if it was habit though she couldn't be sure if it was muscle memory from when she was his or if he'd done the same for Peggy.  When would she be able to look at the world and not cry? At this point it was feeling like never. "I do love you, I loved you fiercely, Julia." Hearing those words made her heart drop to the floor, and her eyes squeezed shut so tightly it hurt. " It just wasn't meant to be for us." A shuddering laugh escaped her as her eyes sought out his, "It could have been." She whispered gently, "You could have been happy with me, right? Or was I just some place holder till you found a way back to her?" "You know that's not true, I could have been happy but it wouldn't have been the same. We're meant for different people, we were both just...moments in each others life." He began to explain to her pleadingly but it only sounded like an excuse - to rationalize what he'd done, or justify it, one or the other she wasn't sure. Steve grabbed her arm pulling her to stand close to her, another familiar gesture - one that happened often when he wanted to press his lips to hers and what she wouldn't give to feel that one last time. Julia closed her eyes taking a breath to calm the raging emotions; the anger and despair she'd never know she could feel when she had so much to celebrate, "How can you be so sure you weren't meant for me?" her voice trembled as she opened her eyes to look at him. "You say this but… what proof do you have that we couldn't have been happy together? You act as if we were a mistake, that you'd have been miserable with me? You planned a future with me!" 

"I- I know I did, I had every intention of following through.. I just…" his words trailed off and she wished he would spit it out. Something that would make this easier, that he never loved her like he thought he did - that he had settled, but he didn't. In truth Julia knew he would never say such words to someone even if they were true, least of all to her. Steve sighed pulling her into his arms and she choked on a sob, because he felt the same. Just as he had when he left he was firm and warm, he smelled nice. Like old leather and fresh air - suddenly it was like she could breathe again. The desire to bury her face into his chest was no longer that, it was reality. Her arms wrapped around him as she soaked in the moment that would likely be the last of its kind. It was unfair how strongly she felt for him, she'd been a fool to think that it would work out in her favor. Not much ever did. "I'm… so sorry, Julia." he whispered, his voice cracked just like hers had. A part of her wondered if he regretted going back, if maybe it hadn't panned out how he'd imagined it to but it was too late. "You'll be happy, I have faith in that. "

The first week without him had been the hardest, she'd end up teleporting in her sleep. Something she hadn't done since she was a teenager. Waking up in a spot he'd taken her when they wanted to get away, or even once at his house somehow in the bed next to him. He'd helped her calm down enough to get home, even though she'd begged him to let her stay. 

"Just for tonight please, I can't sleep anymore…" she whispered looking at him as tears tracked down her cheeks. He wiped them away but shook his head, kissing her forehead. He'd send her home, more awake, more aware that he'd never want her. Every time she'd appear in her bed Bucky was sitting on the edge furthest from her side. Nights like those it was obvious he'd had nightmares, and when he looked at her he sighed. "Another nightmare?" she whispered as she watched him carefully then moved towards him, grabbing his hand in her own. He nodded,"Teleport again?" "Yeah," a small laugh, "to his bed, talk about embarrassing." though there was no humor to be found in her voice, only a sadness that matched his own. He moved and laid back on her bed then pulled her down with him, and when she was tucked into his side - with his warmth spilling over; she felt safe. This is how sleep found them most nights, curled up next to each other when they both missed someone who wasn't around like they had ought to be. By the third week you have a routine, they switch on and off between his room and hers. Though, most nights she finds herself outside his door with her pillow tucked in her arms. He doesn't question it, he never did - neither did she. Climbing into his bed and laying closest to the wall waiting for him to settle in before laying close to him. His arms around her never once felt like the ones she was familiar with, for that she was thankful. "You think… we'll ever get back to normal?" Julia whispered softly, his fingers stroked her hair gently as he laid with his eyes closed. "What is normal?" The question had it's merit, she didn't know. Still acclimating to the world with seven billion people after five years of seeing New York streets empty was not really what she'd call normal. Letting out a deep breath she spoke, "I don't know." His eyes opened and he looked at her then tilted her head up so she looked him in the eyes, "We'll figure it out, no matter how long it takes. I'm not goin' anywhere.'' The reassurance may not have been necessary but it comforted her all the same. He wasn't the only one to reassure her of this, Wanda had - as had Sam. The fear that more people would leave her was something she barely had a grasp on. When they'd begun doing missions again she was nothing but worried; all the time. It never seemed to get easier, because she remembered how they looked when they turned to ash in front of her - they blew away with the wind.

Six weeks later their routine persisted. Whenever he wasn't off training or helping Sam with a mission - they would sleep in the same bed. Oftentimes she preferred to never be alone. Things were easier though, and while the pain wasn't so intense the reminders of him were still littered across the room they'd once shared. Julia hadn't had much time or inclination to make changes - she'd been coping by leaving things the same but the day she burst into tears when she saw the picture they'd taken in a photobooth Bucky had asked her if she thought maybe it was time to pack away his things. He'd been right, she knew but seeing the photo of his lips pressed to hers and the smile he'd given her after; she became angry.

After a while she'd apologized, and he had told her not to worry about it. Sam told her these feelings were normal, he'd seen them in war vets and after the things they had been through he'd have been shocked if she wasn't suffering from some form of PTSD. Though, she felt it necessary to bring up that she didn't have nightmares of the war; but just being alone. "Isn't that one and the same? A lot of people died, and then when you got us back the one constant in your life was gone. PTSD isn't just for war, trauma of any kind can trigger these responses, it doesn't invalidate what you're feeling because of the circumstances." and the way he'd said made so much sense, the ache and the fear, the nightmares, the random bouts of panic. There'd been a few instances where she'd swore she saw Steve walk into the living room but when she turned around he wasn't there - he wouldn't have been.

Julia would have to remind herself of that, consistently. Bucky confided in her, told her he'd experienced similar moments, or times when he'd outright lose control she couldn't count how many times they'd had to replace the punching bags in the gym. 

 She lifted up Steve's favorite mug and remembered how he'd hold it in his hand while reading the newspaper - outraged at something or other. His personalized coffee brew that they'd gotten together when they'd gone to brazil for a few days; it had been one of their more romantic trips. Then finally were his clothes, the most difficult item to pack away. She'd put a lot of them in a plastic bag for her own selfish purposes, holding his scent long enough for her to wear each article to drown herself in him; the memories even if it was unhealthy to do so.

Bucky had caught her a few times sitting on the bed snuggled in one of his sweaters while she would read a book - he never said anything about it. Everyone healed in their own way, he knew, but he worried. Julia could tell by how he eyed her carefully or how he'd try to encourage her to pack up some of the stuff and send it his way. The pictures were the first to come down. Not all of them though. The Christmas that he'd given her the promise ring was still up, and the group photos with everyone. The pictures of her, him and Bucky still decorated the walls because she couldn't let him erase every happy memory she'd ever had. He was a part of them all, and she'd have to get through that one day at a time. "You ready?" Bucky's rough voice spoke from the doorway and she sighed, shaking her head a little. No. Not in the slightest. All his clothes, his things were packed away neatly, she couldn't imagine ever treating his things harshly, though, bitterly she thought of how harsh he'd treated her when he'd abandoned her but she couldn't bring herself to hold the thought. The joint items they'd bought together were still sat decorating the room. She'd sent him pictures asking what he'd wanted but he'd told her to keep whatever she wanted. Steve wasn't very helpful with the transition, but she never messaged him about anything else. Too scared to fall into a routine where she'd still fall back into his arms; age be damned. A hand touched her arm, "Come on, did you pack up the other pictures?" snapping her back to reality, pulling her from those oh so dangerous thoughts, her eyes flitted to his nervously. "I made copies." "You're gonna keep them?" He sounded surprised but she shrugged a little, wasn't she entitled to keep those happy memories too? They were some of the best moments of her life, the time when she thought she'd found her future in someone who understood her. Julia nodded, "In a box, with.. the letters he would write me before.. is.. is that bad?" her voice was unsure, insecure in her decision as she held the box that contained the memories that could remain only just that. "I mean… there is so much time in this box, Bucky.. I -" "It's fine, Jules." he interrupted her, then smiled a little. There was no judgement on his face but the insecure feeling was still there lingering just under the surface. To keep those memories, she wondered if it was doing more harm than good.. " No one would fault you for holding onto them," there he is again being the rock she needs the most. 

"These his clothes?" "Yeah, the three duffel bags full are his. His shoes are in that box," it seemed wrong. It felt like the cleansing period she'd done when her brother and parents had ashed away. Packing up their clothes, packing up their items and tending to the house to ensure it stayed safe till she figured out what to do with everything there. The room slowly became less and less theirs, and more hers. It was strange to see just how much stuff he'd actually had, she'd never really given it much thought. Why would she? What was his was hers and vice versa. She'd never had to wonder where she'd put all his things when he was gone because she'd long since known he'd outlive her. Now, that wasn't so certain. A knock on the door frame caught her attention and she saw Sam standing there with a small smile. "You're making progress." he noted as he looked around the room, seemingly proud. She knew he'd been one of the many people who had given him a piece of their mind. Even if they still talked now, people had been less than pleased with his decision to cause her such pain. "Yeah, seems like." but it didn't feel like it, even with the stuff gone it felt wrong.

She heard Bucky shuffling around, "What about this box?" he asked as he looked under the bed. Julia felt her face heat up like she'd set it on the burner of an electric stove as she shuffled over to him grabbing the box from his hands, a panicked expression appearing on her face "It's nothing!" although her tone very much said that it was something; she'd rather not elaborate on the things they'd done in private. The eight years of their relationship had been anything but celibate, though it'd taen a while to get the ball rolling in that direction. Throughout their relationship they had dabbled in a few different kinks here and there, she'd almost forgotten entirely about the box till he brought it up. A bemused expression crossed Bucky's face, and she'd never seen it on him before. Almost mischievous, but he knew better than to tease her about this, especially when this box was shared with someone she was struggling so desperately to get over. Julia walked over to the closet, tucking it away on the top shelf away from prying eyes, hoping to whatever God existed that no one would be curious enough to see what was in that box. Julia had half a mind to throw the whole box away, what would she need for those items when they were so closely tied to a part of her life that no longer existed. "That's everything then?" Sam interrupted the awkward moment, and she nodded - at least she thought it was. If it wasn't she'd just give it to Sam or Bucky to return to him, not that it mattered. He had his whole life with someone else, the memories he'd shared with her on the back burner and lacking importance. "Yeah, that's it." With that Sam, Bruce and Bucky all made quick work of the bags and boxes she'd packed up. The room felt hollow, lacking the personality it'd once had shared between the two of them. It was really over, and the finality of it is what finally drove her to tears. Even the two arms that wrapped around her and the feminine comfort of Wanda couldn't pull her out of the sobs that shook her to her core. Julia never doubted in her mind that she had good friends, the kind that would die for you if necessary. She'd die for them too, there'd be nothing in this world that could stop her - it made Natasha's sacrifice more understanding. Clint's family had their father and husband; she must have felt that was more important. Those eight letters and three words still haunted her. She said them often, to Wanda,  Sam, Bruce, Morgan and even to Bucky. Julia meant them, and it kept her whole to know that they loved her too, kept her from falling apart at the seams when she felt like it was just too much. 

It was just a week later that she sat on the edge of her bed with her head in her hands, her shoulders shaking as she cried waiting for the results to come back. She hadn't even been keeping track, figuring in stress and her change in lifestyle had made her late or light. No, her cycle hadn't come in almost two and a half months. The door to her room opened, when Bucky saw her state of distress he went to her side. He never asked what was wrong, and she wasn't sure how to tell him but as the time went off on her phone she let out a particularly loud sob. "Doll...it's alright… let it out," he murmured, never once telling her it'd be okay because she obviously didn't feel that way - not right now. Not when it felt like the world was crumbling around her in the form of a little stick test that she'd only ever taken once before. That time though, he'd been anxiously standing outside the bathroom door and when it had been negative… well they'd both been a little disappointed even if they never said so directly. The look on his face was enough to tell her as much.

Standing up she made her way to her dresser and looked at the test; negative. A sob of anguish and relief escaped her, no little blonde babies would be running around the compound. Not now, not ever, and it killed her to know that she'd actually been wishing for it. For some piece of him to hang onto, to call her own. Bucky was behind her, and she saw him suck in a breath when he read the box on the dresser. "Doll… why didn't you tell me?" he whispered gently as he gathered her into his arms, holding her tighter than he ever had before. With her face buried into his warmth it was easy to pretend that everything was okay, the pressure of him all around her; it calmed her. "I was scared," she croaked and choked on her tears, "I just wanted.." He stroked her hair kissing the top of her head, "I know… I know," and she hoped he did because she didn't want to sound desperate, or clingy. Two months wasn't a long time in the grand scheme of things but while she had dreaded a positive result she had hoped that maybe the world would give her a boon. It was night time when she'd been going to get a glass of water, she could hear Sam and Bucky talking. She was surprised he hadn't heard her padding down the hallways. "I don't know what to do, she… she said she was happy it was negative but - " "Man, she is hurting. She might have wanted something… anything to let her know that what they had was real, when we dusted they were still new - fleshing things out but in five years… I.. I don't know how he did it. How he could leave?But her wanting a piece of him? A reminder? That wouldn't have been so bad would it?" He rationalized her distress and she suddenly felt as if she were intruding. Was she wrong for wanting to carry a piece of him with her? "Is it healthy though? What can we do?" Bucky sounded distressed, and it put her on edge. The last thing she wanted was for him to work himself up over her, she'd be fine eventually - at least she hoped she would. 

"Give her time, support like you have. There isn't much else… it's messed up. They seemed so happy," he murmured and Julia felt her heart drop because he was right. They had been happy, after the battle she'd taken her time in loving every inch of him, and he'd done the same to her. Their family was whole again, padding just as quietly to her room she laid in bed. Not bothering to turn off the lights, pulling the blankets around her till she couldn't see anything. Sometimes, she wished she'd taken Nat's place - losing him was much harder than it'd be if he lost her; of that much she was certain.

Six months since she'd been left alone and four since she'd cleaned their room of everything that belonged to him. Julia hadn't brought up the pregnancy test, and neither had Bucky. Though she could tell something had changed in their relationship, but today was a good day. For once she'd woken up rested, her head laid on his chest with his hand in the middle of her back. It was comfortable in a way she'd never thought she'd feel again. When she'd slipped out of his room she started the coffee pot, it felt eerily normal. A routine. Sipping her coffee she sighed, no longer did she indulge in caramel creamer - no, now it was Italian cream. Something different and not one she'd ever tasted on his lips. 

Sometimes Julia wondered if she was going too far to heal herself, changing small things about her day that were commonplace when he was still hers. Conversations with Pepper had told her; no, it wasn't too far. The redhead had gone through the same motions, and her loss was more severe in the way that she had a never ending reminder calling her mommy. 

"Morning," she heard a grumble from the doorway to the kitchen as Bucky shuffled in rubbing his eyes. She watched as he poured himself a cup of black coffee, the bitter taste would have sent her running but he seemed to thrive on it. Probably from his time in the military, she doubted they had time for creamer and sugar to start their day. 

Giving a small nod, "Good morning," she greeted him and he looked at her over his cup of coffee. She knew it'd been a long time since she'd added to the front of her greetings, and she offered him a small smile. It'd been better lately, less tears and more functioning. Running wasn't so hard now - she didn't think of him every time she did it. Sam had a partner he could keep up with, and she trained just as hard as she did before. "Is it?" his voice lilted with curiosity as he walked over to the island where she was perched on a bar stool. "Yeah, it is." He bobbed his head a small smile curving the corner of his mouth, and she couldn't help but think he looked quite handsome that way. It was a turn of thoughts she had experienced when it came to him, she wasn't blind. She knew Bucky was an attractive man, but the way her heart fluttered when she saw him smile sent fear straight into her veins. Julia couldn't think about him that way, not now, not ever. 

Focusing her gaze on her coffee she took another heavy drink then sighed contently, it felt good today. Most days had started with this kind of ease, only to leave her feeling a little drained but she attributed it to her being out more and talking to people. That was never something she was very good at, she'd much prefer to find a corner and watch people. 

"Why don't we go do something today?" he offered, leaning against the counter - her thoughts betraying her once again. "Was thinking of cutting my hair." A shocked noise left her mouth, "Really? I don't think I've ever seen you with short hair before." Julia spoke thoughtfully for a moment trying to imagine it, but all she could picture was the old pictures from when he was in the second world war. 

"Alright, lets me get dressed and we can head out. I should probably do something with the mop on my head too." He shook his head, "Don't cut it short… it.." he rubbed the back of his neck suddenly awkwardly, "It looks nice long." Before Julia could even reply to the comment he was gone, coffee in hand back towards his bedroom. She swore she heard him say something but didn't want to push it; he obviously had something on his mind that he wasn't quite ready to share with her.

Once she'd changed her clothes she met him in the living room, she felt excited for what the day could bring her. It'd been weeks since she'd been out in the city, the thought alone was enough to make her smile. Though, the few times she'd been out it had been crowded - overwhelming almost to a crippling point.

"You ready?" his voice called out from behind her as he straightened his leather long sleeve jacket, pulling the glove on over his metal hand. She'd had one made for him since she knew how much he hated it, it let people look at him less and thus eased his anxiety about being out in public. Though, for Julia it was a little different. Like Tony and Steve she'd been something of a public favorite for a while. Mostly among kids, but she'd spent a good portion of her time in children's hospitals doing little tricks for them, and bringing them sand straight from the beach. It was something she could do, and seeing their smiles would make her entire week. 

"Yep, been ready, Barnes. What took you so long?" He snorted then shook his head a little, "C'mon then, after we do this… maybe we could get lunch." he looked nervous asking her this, but she couldn't place why. He'd never been nervous around her before, in fact, he'd always been quite sure of himself. It just added onto the worry that something was wrong, perhaps he was thinking he should have gone with Steve. Though, she really wouldn't have known what to do then if he had.

"Sounds good to me," Julia agreed then linked her arm with his like she used to, all but dragging him to the elevator. When they got to the city she only felt mildly overwhelmed, with his arm linked through her own it made it easier to withstand all the noise she'd been avoiding for the last few months. No missions, no people not involved in the Avenger's Compound. It was just her and the team - though the silence had become deafening, the he extreme level of sound coming off the streets of New York made her wince almost painfully

Bucky led the way to the shop he'd looked up, she didn't have a clue where they were going but he seemed to. The last time she'd been in the city had been before everyone had been returned to them, she'd walked with Steve his hand laced through hers as they talked about maybe getting a dog, it'd been far less crowded then. Now she was lucky to get by without bumping shoulders with someone, a part of her felt bad for wishing for the streets to be less clogged up with people who were seemingly unaware of what had changed. 

When he pushed the door open there was a chime then a woman's voice greeting them pleasantly as the door closed behind them. She felt herself come back to awareness, as if suddenly realizing they were where they needed to be. Looking around there were generic pictures of happy people on the walls, and chairs lining one side. She signed in after he did then took a seat next to him, her hand still holding onto his flesh arm. Julia didn't feel as if she could think straight even with the muffled noise of the busy New York streets. They were silent, as they often were - the two of them didn't really need words to communicate; these days his metal hand grasped hers bringing her fingers to lace with his own flesh ones. A smile curved her lips at the gesture, it felt nice, foreign almost. Julia didn't think about the last hand she'd held in this way, the only thing that clouded her mind was how much bigger his hand was than hers but how safely hers fit inside his. Safe. That's what she felt with him, there was no anxiety or unease that came with this emotion. No more worry that something would go wrong, the world was safe for now - she shouldn't dwell on what ifs - not anymore. His thumb stroked over her's and she lifted her eyes to his face but he was watching their hands just like she had been. What was he thinking about? He was just as hard to read as Steve had been but the realization didn't make her freeze like she thought it would. The comparison actually made sense considering how long they'd known one another, she didn't feel sad thinking about him for the first time in several months Though, she couldn't think of much else when his hand was so warm in her own and fit there like it'd belonged the entire time. 

"Mr. Barnes," the woman called from the clipboard, a whine almost escaped her lips when his hand slid from hers. He must have sensed her dismay because he gave her a look then smiled as he followed the woman to the back where the chairs were. Julia reasoned with herself that she had to get used to it, being surrounded by people all the time just wasn't feasible. Though the last five years hadn't really prepared her for that, she'd not been alone in so long that it felt wrong. Three of the six people she'd been around constantly were gone from her life. It'd done little to comfort her, and she imagined with time she'd grow accustomed to it. "Miss Evans," Standing up and following the older woman to the back she was seated in a chair, anxiously fiddling with the hem of her shirt. "I just need a trim… I haven't had one in a while," The woman gave her a comforting smile before nodding, "Easy enough, we'll make you look brand new." she told her, but the thought of being brand new was daunting, almost like getting out of bed had been several months ago. The thought had taken over her mind, but as she carefully watched the woman as she combed and trimmed her hair - she felt lighter than she had in years.. Being a new person wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing, the last eight years of her life hadn't suddenly been wiped from memory; they existed, but now things were different it would only make sense if she was too. Her whole world had been flipped upside down for the second time in five years the day Steve left, the same way it had when the Snap happened. 

The woman's fingers combed through her hair, and her eyes snapped up meeting her eyes in the mirror before even taking in her own appearance. Shocked would be an understatement. Julia looked more like the younger version of herself who had showed up almost ten years ago to help fight the good fight. Her hair framed her face more, the dead ends were gone and the uneven pieces were finally matching up. It wasn't like it was a priority to keep her hair in tip top shape once everyone had vanished; almost six years without a haircut and she truly did feel like a new person. 

Taking a shaky breath Julia fought off the tears that stung her eyes, these were for her though. Not for anyone else, how long had it been since she mourned for the girl she used to be? The cape was removed from her shoulders and she stood, her hair still well past her shoulders, cascading down her back was more neat and she looked put together. 

When she walked out to the front to pay she was stunned and Bucky had a similar look on his face when he saw her. A small smile curved her features, he looked so different. The only time she'd seen him with his hair trim and neat had been in old film reels Steve had shown her, and he looked damn near the same now as he did then. Just how long often was he kept frozen?  "Shit, Barnes… you look like a new person," she teased, a hint of pink coloring his face as she tiptoed to run her fingers through his hair. She swore she saw his eyes flutter closed for a second before she removed her hand. "It looks good, it suits you." He looked more than good, but she wouldn't dare mention that out loud, not that thought was for her and her alone. He ducked his head then shrugged making her laugh a little at his bashful behavior, she wondered if this was how he'd been before but from the stories she'd been told he'd been nothing but a ladies man. So, she highly doubts they were given the sight of a blushing Bucky Barnes in front of them; it was sweet and she was happy she was the one to cause it.

She paid for the hair cut, tipped the stylist appropriately before turning to look at him. "Come on, you promised me lunch and I'm starved." His hand grabbed her's without hesitation, even if she'd never say it out loud she hoped that this would always be their thing when they'd come out together. It was as if a burst of energy had come over her and her own cheeks flushed as she regarded their hands thoughtfully, and as they exited the hair shop she swore she heard one of the women say; "they're so cute… "

Several more months seemed to pass, she didn't really know how it happened. Time had snuck up on her far quieter than she'd expected it to. For the first time in months she found herself enjoying her free time. She'd taken up going back to the children's hospitals and helping out families in need where she could. Pepper had helped her organize a fundraiser for those in need, just because the snap had been reversed didn't mean things were back to the way they should be. 

There was a huge lack of food, a fundraiser and public incentive for people to learn how to grow their own food while still supporting local farmers had been her first initiative. Next she'd come up with a subsect within the fundraiser to implement neighborhood gardens. Any buildings that were scheduled to be demolished within the next few weeks would be purchased up - the area cleaned and then planted with fruit trees, and vegetables to feel the people living in the area. She didn't feel up to par with going on missions just yet, so she took on working with the public; her image ( next to Sam's ) seemed to be the most squeaky clean. 

"How's the fundraiser gong?" Bucky's voice surprised her, dropping the pen on the counter as her eyes darted upwards. She hadn't even heard him come in, or the elevator make a sound. She gasped,"You're back!" moving towards him she wrapped her arms around him, her face nuzzled into his chest causing her to sigh in relief. The feel of his arms around her nearly made her shiver, he was so warm and despite having been gone for a week she didn't think he smelled at all. The butterflies were at it again, flittering to and fro within her stomach, the sparrow in the cage that was her chest fluttering about - encouraging those feelings she'd only ever felt with one person.

  "I wasn't expecting you till at least tomorrow." "We finished early, decided to come back here instead of heading out on another mission." his breath against her neck was oddly arousing, but those feelings were ones she'd been shoving back for months now, the last thing she wanted was to ruin the friendship she had with him. The thought alone of him not being in her life made her queasy to an unreasonable extent, she squeezed him in her arms sighing. 

The feel of him squeezing her in return had her gasping and repressing a whimper from the back of her throat - what was wrong with her? Julia felt panic grip her chest as she realized, far too late, that avoiding the topic of her own feelings was long past. She already had them, but she'd be willing to live with them in silence if it meant she could keep him in this way, "I'm happy you're both back safe, I get anxious with the two of you two out there."

"Ain't nothin' to worry about. We're fine, besides this will be the last mission for a while. I have some unfinished business here to take care of," he murmured, his eyes searched hers and he seemed to be pleased with whatever he found because a small smile curved his lips. Julia swallowed hard at the expression that formed on his face, unsure what it was because she couldn't exactly place it. Though, they stood there, arms wrapped around one another just staring into each other's eyes - that certainly wasn't friendly behavior. 

"You know I'd say I'm shocked you left me to pick up the quinjet alone but I'm not, you come straight here didn't even take all your bags up." Sam teased as he walked out of the elevator smiling at the two of them like he knew something she didn't. He always seemed to have a way of knowing things she didn't, and it made her uneasy - when had she become so uncertain about everything?

When his arms left her waist he picked up his duffel bag then rolled his eyes at him, "yeah, yeah you know I more than make up for it later - I'm going to take a shower then we're going to dinner, be ready!" He spoke to Sam then looked at Jula as he spoke the last bit, a small smile curving his features, he looked confident more so than she'd ever seen him; and she decided that this is how he looked before Hydra got their hands on him. "Alright, just let me know when you're ready." she replied, then watched as he walked away. Taking a deep breath she shook her head, she was imagining things. There wasn't anything there, not on his part, right? Her mind had to be playing tricks on her, after being so attached to someone for so long - looking for that connection in someone else wasn't unreasonable was it? "You don't have to do that, you know that, right?" Sam spoke as he leaned against the wall watching her. "You get all tense and then when he leaves you smother whatever it is you're feeling telling yourself it's not that, but I assure you… it is.." Sam gave her a reassuring smile as he walked over to her, a soft look curving his features. "It's been over a year, it's okay to move on and - " he paused a moment before nodding, " if you were gonna move on then I guess Barnes ain't such a bad idea." "It's not.. We're - " "Nuh uh, you can't fool me." he shook his head, a grin appearing on his face - teasing and playful. "He doesn't hug Wanda like that when he gets back from a mission, only you." pointing this out does make her heart skip a beat. Why'd he have to mention that? 

"You don't hug me like that when we get back from a mission… only him, you two are already there - you just gotta say it." Julia wondered just how many people had seen this before she did, Bucky had been something of her shield for a while now, but those feelings didn't just crop up over night. "

 You have been for a while," Sam's word made her furrow her brow in confusion. Were they? Had she missed all the signs leaving it all up to unspoken words? They went out a lot, almost always held hands. When they watched T.V he would put his arm around her and she'd lean on him and suddenly she looked to the couch seeing Wanda was sitting against Vision much the same way. Swallowing hard she took a deep breath, "Don't overthink it, he does that too -  you both deserve to be happy, after everything the two of you have been through. Don't tell him I said that though." Sam told her warningly then smiled a bit before squeezing her shoulder and carrying his bag off towards his room. 

He'd left her with a lot to think about, but not a whole lot of time to do just that. She had just until Bucky was done showering to wrap her head around the fact that they weren't just friends, they were more. An unspoken truth that only they weren't privy to, and it made her feel as if she were oblivious. The kind of oblivious she'd accused Steve of being when she'd been flirting with him for two months and he didn't notice. The kind of oblivious that led to relationships never happening, but it was. Under the radar her mind had known, or perhaps wished that the time they spent together was more than whatever she'd chalked it up to be. Julia pushed a hand through her hair, panic settling into her veins. This was what she'd been trying to avoid; but why? It seemed like no one else really cared, that her moving on wasn't causing the world to burst into flames around her; they seemed to want her to be happy. 

Never did she imagine that she'd find someone to care about that way besides Steve, but at the age of thirty she was coming to realize that nothing was impossible. Time travel, talking raccoons and trees - stones that could alter time and reality with the snap of one's fingers. Though, given her ability it didn't seem too far fetched did it? 

"You ready, doll?" she heard him speak from behind her, and she swore her heart stopped when her eyes landed on him. Black was his color there was no question about that, and it seemed to be just about the only one he ever wore. Black jeans, black shirt with a black jacket big enough to cover his brick built frame. When their eyes finally met, he had an amused expression dancing in his. It was at this moment she realized she'd been the oblivious one. Bucky had been waiting, all those nights she crawled into his bed, they might not have started with this feeling that was dancing out in the open between them but it led there - so seamlessly that she hadn't even noticed the transition from friends…to something else. The look he was giving her was so full of affection she was surprised Sam didn't mime gagging every time they were in the same room together, because even then she could admit their eyes always found each other. 

"Yeah, I'm ready." The double edged meaning behind those words made her heart skip a beat - she wasn't sure if she was ready but the hopeful look in his eyes made her more than willing to try. Julia had long since stopped pining over Steve Rogers, her life was different, painted in different hues than when they walked these halls together. They were now painted with something maybe more vibrant now that she walked them with Bucky.

One Yeah, Four Months, Twelve Days, that's how long it'd been since Julia thought the world had dumped her on her ass with no intention of picking her back up again. As they walked into the elevator he removed his hand from hers then put it around her waist. "You catchin' up with me yet?" he whispered softly as he turned her to face him, stroking her cheek with the metal fingertips. The heat rushed to her cheeks and she nodded. "Yeah, I'm catching up, Bucky."  and that seemed to be good enough for him as he pressed his lips to her forehead before leading her out of the elevator and into the garage where his bike was kept. 

He handed her the spare helmet and sat next to his. She adjusted the strap before placing it over her head, climbing on the bike behind him she wrapped her arms around his middle. Julia made sure she held on tight, because he really did like to go fast - sometimes she wondered if he had any regard for the speed limit; but he hadn't ever been pulled over and with his keen awareness of his surroundings he managed to avoid collisions entirely.

Arriving at the restaurant she dismounted the bike before removing the helmet, her cheeks flushing when she realized he was watching her with keen eyes. Bucky smoothed out her hair when she stood up, her eyes peering up to look at him. "Is my hair a mess?" He shook his head, "Not too bad," he teased her gently, then led her into the small diner, a part of her was happy it wasn't anything out of her comfort zone. She hadn't eaten at any mildly upscale places in so long it was definitely not something she sought after. They'd come here a lot as a team, the food was good and the service was unbeatable. Taking a booth in the back they sat across from one another, Julia remembered this place vividly because it was actually where she'd had her first date with Steve. The memory was ingrained so deeply because it'd actually gone pretty awful - but the thought didn't pain her anymore, instead it was just another memory that she could look back and laugh about. Her hands reached across the table for his, when he only placed one hand in hers ( the flesh one ) she gave him a pointed look before the metal one joined it. "You know it doesn't bother me," she murmured as she looked at his hand. "It's another part of you, that's all." "It's...not all me though," he murmured as he looked at it. "Doesn't feel like it anyway." Julia looked at him with a soft expression, they'd spoken about this before. He didn't feel like his mind or body was his anymore. He was more keen to share these things when he'd have night terrors, the ones where he remembered turning to dust. "It's all you, and if you ever need me to remind you of that just say so," she shrugged a bit with a small smile. "You've helped me in ways I can never thank you for, I.." choking on her words she took a deep breath, "I care about you.. very much, and without you I doubt I'd even be here right now. So - this is the least I can do." His eyes darted to hers when he heard the emotional intake of air then furrowed his brow, "Doll, you ain't gotta do nothin' for me. I'd do it again in a heartbeat." Julia pulled his metal hand across the table pressing her lips to the back of his hand then repeating the motion to the other. What she hadn't expected was for him to drag both her hands over and lay affectionate kisses to each palm before pressing them to his face. "Catch up with me quick, Doll… feelin' kinda lonely over here," he joked. A flush colored her cheeks and she nodded, "I'm on my way, promise." this time his cheeks tinged pink - she swore it was a sight to behold. Julia had never taken him for the shy type, though she'd never really seen him interested in anyone before. Realizing that he wanted her to all but set her heart aflight, and all she could think about was pressing her mouth against his. His eyes dropped to her lips too and they both laughed as they avoided the intense feeling whenever they looked into each other's eyes. 

Why didn't this feel familiar? This tension that made her want to giggle like a twelve year old girl with a crush? There wasn't a memory of the last time she had felt this way, and that thought alone floored her.

It was three weeks later, she was sat on the couch, her legs over his lap, her head resting on his shoulder as they watched Tv. His hand absentmindedly stroking the skin of her calf as they enjoyed the silence. there hadn't been enough of it. Because it seemed the moment they were both on the same page ( at least a similar chapter ) the world began to pick up in the same fashion it had before. Now though, she felt content, her eyes lifted from the screen and she looked up a small laugh escaping her when she saw his eyes were already watching her. Within seconds his lips covered her own and a small sigh finally escaped her when he cupped her face with the metal hand he seemed to hate so much. It was like fireworks and the feeling when you stretch in the morning combined with the absolute happiness of eating your favorite food all at once. Julia's hand reached up cupping his neck to bring his lips more firmly on hers - no they belonged there, and she'd never let them go. When he pulled away, he had a small smile on his face. "You could have ended our misery much sooner," his voice was soft but it still rumbled in his chest in a way that sent those butterflies flittering. 

"Could have, but I wanted to be sure you were ready too." He pressed his lips back to hers then sighed, "Doll I've been ready and waiting for this for months." with that he spent the rest of the evening kissing the breath from her, only stopping when things seemed to be going in a more heated direction. 

 The first mission Julia went on was one year and six months after things had returned to normal. It'd felt nice, more so than she had originally anticipated to use her abilities again. Protein bar in hand she huffed, the elevator taking way too long to reach her floor - all she really wanted was a hot shower and a bed to lay in. Perhaps even a specific super soldier to cuddle up to while she listened to him talk till she fell asleep - that seemed perfect.  

When the elevator to her floor opened she was immediately engulfed in strong arms and a scent all too familiar. "Hey, buck." she giggled a little as she wrapped her arms around him, her face buried in his neck. He lifted her up off the ground as he hugged her, walking her away from the elevator. "I missed you too," He grunted,"Not more than me, you were gone for two weeks. It was supposed to take five days… what happened?" Groaning as he set her down she stroked his cheek lightly "It was a bigger deal than we thought, but it's fine now. We handled it; we're all in one piece." his metal hand covered hers where it rested on his cheek and he moved her hand bringing the palm to his lips. Ever since that night in the diner this had been their greeting, and she grabbed his flesh hand and then his metal one repeating the motion before his lips descended on hers. Julia had missed him, two weeks without him sleeping next to her had felt like an eternity, and as much as Wanda liked to cuddle - it wasn't the same. A sigh escaped her lips and he took it upon himself to deepen the passionate embrace, her fingers threaded through his hair as he lifted her, placing her on the counter top with ease. His hands resting on her waist still he slanted his mouth back over hers when they parted, their eyes had stared into one another; the playful look of lovers developing on their face as he devoured her mouth with his own once again. The sense of time was lost on them when they were like this, and there was no dyeing how much she wanted him; not now. Just as his hands began to wander under the hem of her tank top someone cleared their throat once; his hands made contact with her skin, twice; she whined then pulled back. Bucky grunted then pulled his mouth from hers glaring at whoever decided it was a good idea to disturb them. "What?" he practically growled looking at Sam. "This is a public area, and if you two are going to make out you should do that somewhere else. Some of us like to keep our dinners down," the joke hung in the air but she could see the elation in his eyes. He'd been rooting for them from the beginning, he was a good friend and she knew they'd not find someone as supportive as him in anyone else; except maybe Wanda. 

Rolling his eyes at the other man he shakes his head a little, "C'mon, doll."" he murmurs lifting her off the counter placing her on her feet, "wouldn't want to hurt Sam's delicate sensibilities," he teased as he laced his fingers with hers and all but dragging her to his room. This was it. That step in everyone's relationship would be the deciding factor of the times to come. Julia hadn't slept with anyone since Steve, but the moment she let Bucky steal her breath away with his intensive kisses and wandering hands, she knew. There was no other man on this planet who could love her the way he did, and she couldn't wait to show him the same. When the door closed behind them, it was silent. Both waiting for the other to move, to let the other know - this is what they wanted. Julia moves first, kicking off her shoes and removing her mission suit one piece at a time. When his hands moved her's away, he began to unclasp the armored pieces and let them fall to the floor at their feet. Her eyes never leaving his determined ones, his hands smoothing over whatever skin is exposed to him. When she lets her thick fabric pants fall to the floor she is left only in a plain white tank top and her underwear. Her hands move to him, pulling at the hem of his shirt and he pulls it over his head before bringing his mouth to hers. Her eager hands greedily taking in the feel of his skin under her palms as if she'd never get another chance. Everything about this moment has her mind winding a thousand miles an hour, his fingertips on her skin pulling the tank top over her head as he backs her onto his firm mattress. When she falls back she whines as his lips are moved from hers, he stands there at the edge of the bed. His eyes never leave hers until they roam down her body and he gasps softly. "How long...have you had those?" he asked as his eyes took in the shiny flecks of metal pierced through her nipples. Julia had only told a few people about the piercings, but she'd had them for years now; it wasn't even something she'd really thought out anymore even if they did make her far more sensitive. Shrugging, "Seven years?" she offered with a scrunch of her nose, and he was on her making her laugh. His mouth leaving open kisses along her throat as his hands lifted her to the center of his bed. Julia attempted to run her fingers over his body but he'd push her wrists into the bed, giving her a hard stare. "Keep them there," he mumbled, his tongue flicking over the sensitive peaks of her breasts. They'd been so desperate for one another that the thought of rushing through this seemed to not even cross their mind. Cool and warm hands both moving over the plains of her body taking in every inch of skin she had to offer him. This had been a long time coming; neither of them were willing to let it pass. His lips slanted over hers again, his tongue pressing against hers in a languid exploration as her hands unbuckled his belt tossing it across the room haphazardly. There are hands everywhere, touching every piece of skin available till he grunts in the back of his throat shoving her hands back down on the bed. "I can't think when you're touching me like that…" his voice isn't harsh or demanding; it's vulnerable in a way she feels familiar with because it's exactly how she feels. "Welcome to the club, please… let me touch you," she whined softly and he smiled against her lips as he unbuttoned his jeans and slid them off leaving them both similarly bare. Nothing but underwear separating them now as he brings her legs around his hips. His mouth trails down her neck, over her breasts - open mouth kisses pressed against her stomach, hips - thighs. And she moans as she reveled in the feeling of his tongue licking over her clothed sex. Her fingers threading through his hair as he drags her panties down her thighs tossing them to the side before spreading her open for him. "I won't stop till you're shakin', doll." the heavy brooklyn accent dripping from his lips, and she takes a shuddering breath at the sound with the promise of his words she is but a puddle under him. A slow, deliberate lick to her folds has her gripping the sheets, desperately needing something to hold onto before her soul ultimately decides to fly out of her body. Bucky grunts before using his fingers to spread her even more open to the air of the room, and he is pleased with the sight of just how aroused she is for him. Julia is passing between mortified and blissed out. Her eyes roll back into her head when his tongue teases around the bundle of nerves that would send her over the edge. His eyes meet hers and she whimpers, and he goes all in. Sucking, kissing, licking every part of her - tasting every inch until she feels her body trembling under his mouth. He sucks gently on the bundle of nerves before his tongue is once again making a mess of her. Julia swears she sees stars when she comes for the second time in a row - back to back, no break - he is relentless. It takes her a moment to come down from the second one, and it's only then that she realizes that he is just adding a single finger into her. "That feel good, doll? C'mon give me one more…" his voice low and gravelly as he looked up at her and she whined at his words. "But I want you now… please?" she grabbed his arms but she shook his head, crooking his finger before returning his mouth to the space between her thighs. Lewd noises filled the room, smacking and licking - her's and his moans filling the empty space. It doesn't take him long till she is on the brink again. Back arching off the bed her fingers gripping his hair as she whimpers unintelligible words that he would never understand. She feels him crawling up her body, and her eyes stay closed. Lips pressing to her neck, biting, sucking a mark into her flesh as he grinds his clothed cock against her. "Fuck, I need you so bad," he whispered, his voice uncharacteristically tightly wound. "You're the only thing stopping us," she teased as her eyes opened as she brought her mouth to his as he fumbled with his boxers kicking them off hurriedly almost falling on her in the process. A snicker escaped her but died on her lips in the form of a breathless gasp when he rubbed the tip of his length up and down her folds - gathering her wetness on him. When her eyes took in the size of him she gave him a mildly worried look. It'd been a while for her and while her previous partner hadn't been small he wasn't near as thick. The thought alone had her walls clamping down on nothing, eager to be filled. He pressed forward his eyes never once leaving her, he retreated then pressed forward again. Repeating this process several times before they both were moaning messes clinging to each other. His thrusts grew deeper every time till he was completely inside her. Julia felt his hands grip her thighs lifting them so they were nearly pressed into her chest - the first harsh thrust made her moan silently. Her eyes rolling back and her skin pricking with excitement. He rolled his hips once, twice and his pace became unforgiving. The bed rattled against the wall as he grunted, angling his hips to hit the mark inside of her over and over and over again till she was crying out his name. "Fuck thats it, you feel so good.. you're so good for me aren't you, doll?" he panted and she swore she'd died and gone to heaven. All it took was a few words from his mouth, more dirty than she was used to and she was falling apart around him. A loud moan escaped him as he slowed his thrusts, "Fuck…. thats it, shit , oh fuck," he gasped as he came thrust after thrust emptying himself inside her. His forehead rested against hers before she brought his mouth to her's. Slowly rolling off her he brought her to him, his mouth not once leaving hers. "I love you," she whispered against his lips and she swore she felt him shiver at the declaration. "I know…  I took a while but.. I'm there I caught up." Bucky smiled as he stroked her cheek gently, "I love you too," he whispered as he kissed her again the moment feeding into the strong emotions that flooded the room. Stroking her cheek he rested his forehead against her's and Julia couldn't help but feel like this is what Steve had meant. How could he have known, though? That her future would be so vastly different yet so perfect than the one they'd dreamt up together. Now, her mind played different images. A new future replaced the one that had faded away, one that she'd thought she could never live without. Again, the silence was deafening but they didn't need to say anything or fill it with unnecessary noise. For a while they would let the whole world fall away so they could enjoy only knowing each other. tagging @angrythingstarlight​

[likeshootingstarsinthenightsky]

Alive (Echo x Reader)

A/N: Me, back again with another Star Wars story? You bet! There is both angst and a lil fluff!

Tagging: @kaminobiwan @simping-for-fives

 “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

You hated those words. You hated the way people looked at you with pity. You hated that everyone now looked at you with a hint of sorrow in their eyes when they talked with you.

You hated how Fives couldn’t look you in the eyes. Or how any of the 501st couldn’t talk to you without feeling like they were interacting with a ticking time bomb.

Were you sad? Yes. Were you angry? Yes. But it was your duty to keep going, to keep living.

The doors to your quarters hiss shut. Immediately, you’re surrounded by darkness. Without turning on the lights, you make your way to your bed. Every part of you is willing that sleep comes quickly. But before sleep can overtake you, sadness overwhelms you. Sadness creeps into your chest, making it feel like a weight is crushing you, making it harder to breathe. Sadness makes its way to your throat, closing it off. Letting out a choked sob, the tears final flow. Your body starts shaking from the force of the sobs. Once the sadness overwhelms you, you lose all sense of time.

A blaring noise wakes you up. Turning off the alarm, you make your way into the refresher. Staring at your reflection, you can see the puffiness in your eyes, and just how tired you are.

Making yourself presentable for the day, you leave your quarters. Making your way towards the mess, you hear the distinct voices of some of your favorite people. From the familiar blue lines on their armor, you knew it was Rex, Kix, and Fives. Walking slightly faster so you could walk a few paces behind them, you catch wind of their conversation.

Kix was filling the two in about some of the things that had happened when they had went out to 79’s. From the story he was telling them, you gathered it was a fun night.

“Speaking of fun,” Kix says, “where were you last night Fives?” Rex shakes his head at Kix. Fives stiffens for a second before responding.

“I fell asleep.” He says, and Rex gives Kix a look to drop the subject. Rex is also the first one to spot you behind them. He calls you over, and the four of you make your way towards the mess hall. The conversation then moves into what everyone thinks will be served in the mess today.

While the three of them continue talking, you see Hardcase and Jesse making their way towards your table. And soon, the sounds of their voices fill the mess hall. You didn’t realize that you had drown out the sound of the men until Jesse started to say something.

“Hey,” Jesse draws the attention of his vode, “remember that time Ech-“ At the start of the name, he stops, his eyes are wide, and he looks afraid for a moment. All eyes are focus on you. Feeling their stares on you, you compose yourself before you address the men.

“Go on,” you say, keeping your voice as neutral as possible, “don’t let me stop you from telling your story.” You see Jesse nod his head, but he clears his throat and decides to just change the subject completely.

--

“I don’t believe you.” Your voice wavers, and Rex can see the way your fists clench, to keep yourself from breaking. From working with you since the start of the war, he’s been able to tell when you’re not fine- even if you say that you are.

“(Y/N),” it’s Anakin that speaks, “if Rex says it’s possible, isn’t that enough of a reason to think he’s alive?”

“Alive?” You spat out, “how can you tell me that there’s a possibility that he’s alive?” Eyes full of fury look at the men in front of you.

“I tried,” huffing, “I tried to see if there could have been a possibility that he was alive for so long! But I never found anything. So why now? Why do you have to try and tell me he could be alive when I’ve just started believing that he’s gone?”

Both men remain silent at your confession. Rex moves closer to you and places a hand on your arm.

“Vod’ika,” he waits until you acknowledge him, “if he’s out there, we have to find him.” Nodding at his words, you wish them luck. Anakin asks you if you wanted to come, and you tell him that as much as you would like to, you have your own duties to attend to.

The truth is you don’t want to go. If he really was gone, then your life would continue the way it has been. You didn’t want to think of the possibility of Echo being alive, because you wouldn’t know how to handle the emotions that it would awaken.

As you were looking over your holopad, a knock on your door broke your concentration. Muttering for the person to come in, you see that it’s Rex. The expression on his face doesn’t answer your silent question- is Echo alive?

Rex moves to sit next to you and places his helmet next to your forgotten holopad.

“He’s alive,” those words cause your heart to beat twice as fast, and you look at Rex stunned, “but he’s not coming back.”

At those words, your heart feels like someone had plunged it into ice water. “What?” Questioning the words that Rex has said, “you just said he’s alive? What do you mean he’s not coming back?”

Rex understands your confusion, and he tells you about the mission. He hesitates before he tells you that he’s not coming back to the 501st, and that he was joining Clone Force 99.

‘Clone Force 99,’ you say, thinking to yourself.  Something in your brain clicks, you’ve seen their statistics, and they’re a very impressive group of clones.

Nodding your head, you let his words sink in, barely registering Rex’s comforting shoulder squeeze before he picks up his helmet and leaves your quarters.

Sinking further into your chair, you’re floored by the emotions that pass through you- relief, shock, happiness. “He’s alive,” your words fill the space around you. It’s the only thing that is running through your brain.

Echo is alive.

Sighing, you feel like someone has pulled you away from the fog that has been surrounding you for so long. He’s alive.

But he didn’t want to come back. To his vode. Sure, he’s still with other vode, but it’s different, they aren’t the 501st. But what strikes you the most is that he didn’t come back to you.

He didn’t come back for you.

The thought makes its way through your bones and flows through your blood. Did he not love you? Did he forget about you?

No.

You were not going to let the negative thoughts take up residence in your mind or in your heart. You are not going to let the emptiness consume you again. You have spent too long living in the fog of sadness, in the depths of depression because the man you love was dead.

He’s alive, and although he might not be with you, the knowledge of him living is enough to make sure you survive this war. It has to be enough.

--

Over. The war was finally over. You could finally rest. Life would go back to normal again? But you don’t remember what normal is anymore, for normal had been fighting in a war. From all around you, you could hear the cheers from the men around you. A hand touches your shoulder and you look to see Anakin next to you. Smiling softly, you could see just how much the war has changed him. That, and being a father to twins would change a person as well.

Around you, you could see troopers hugging their vode. You saw Rex talking with Cody, and Obi Wan talking with Ashoka. Moving your head in the direction of his former master and former padawan, you silently give him the permission he needs to join them.

“Aren’t you coming?”

“I’ll join you in a minute Anakin.” He smiles, and you smile back, although the smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes, it’s still a genuine smile. A movement from the corner of your eye wipes the smile away.

Echo.

For the first time in years your eyes are seeing the man you love once more. As if he could feel your gaze on him, he turns to see you. His face mirrors you. Lips parted in shock and wide eyed. He looks different, but still the same. Once his brown eyes lock on yours, you have no idea whether to run away from him or run towards him.

Like magnets drawn to each other, the two of you are walking closer and closer to each other. Time has stopped, and there is no one in the world but the two of you. The moment he is in arms reach of you he stops.

“You’re here.” The words flow out breathlessly, and you can feel your heartbeat racing. Your hands move on their own to grasp the sides of Echo’s face. His hand instinctively moves to you pull you closer to him by the waist.

“I’m here,” he whispers into your lips before his lips finally collide with yours. Your lips move in sync, both of you trying to convey how much you love each other, how you longed for each other, and just how much you have missed each other.

Pulling away, Echo whimpers, and although your feel like you need to bring air back into your lungs, you give him one more soft kiss on his lips, before you finally catch your breath. He does the same, and you can feel his hot breath on your face.

The world slowly comes back into focus and you can hear his brothers cheering. You can hear Fives and Jesse yelling something, something that sounds slightly inappropriate, but it causes Echo to laugh. His laugh is something that you sometimes hear in your thoughts, when you focus on the happy memories, but they don’t do his actual laugh justice.

Smiling, he presses his forehead to yours, reveling in the feeling of being with you again. It’s not long before his brothers come over and hug their vod.

Stepping through the threshold of your apartment, you feel a pull on your arm, looking back at Echo, you see the hesitation in his eyes mixed with panic and fear. Squeezing his hand, his eyes focus back to yours which look back at him with so much warmth and patience, that he allows you to pull him softly through the door of your apartment.

Gently you guide him past your living room and through the hallway leading to the bedroom. Releasing his hand, you move to close the door. Turning around to face Echo, you see him looking around your room, taking in the sight of a place he spent many nights here when the two of you would have a break from fighting in a war.

“It looks the same.” Muttering more to himself than to you. Chuckling softly, you place a hand on his chest, your eyes focusing on the red skull on his armor.

“Let’s get ready for bed.” Echo stiffens at your words. Looking up at his face, slightly paler than it was a moment ago, his human hand clenched in a fist at his side.

“Echo?” Moving a step back, you give him a little bit of space, “Take to me, please.”

“I, I-“ a staggered breath, “I-“ Gently, you help Echo move to sit on the bed as he tries to process his words.

“It’s okay,” Echo’s eyes look straight into yours, “if you want, we can decide who sleeps on the couch?”

“No.” His words are strong, and determination makes its way across his face. But softens at his next words, “I want to be closer to you.”

After a beat, you leave your spot on the bed, Echo whines softly, and you reassure him that you are going to change in the refresher, giving Echo a moment to himself. Placing a soft kiss to your forehead, you can tell he’s grateful for the small moment of privacy.

Exiting the refresher, you notice that Echo hasn’t moved from where he was sitting on the bed. Moving to kneel in front of him, you realize that he’s so lost in thought that he hadn’t noticed you- at all. His eyes were glazed over staring straight, but not actually looking at anything.

Slowly, you placed a hand on his knee. The contact drew him out of whatever Echo was thinking about. In his eyes was a quick flash of fear before they softened at the sight of you in front of him. Rising from your spot on the floor, your hands move to glide over his shoulders. Your hands remembering where the hooks on his armor are. Instantly his hand comes to rest on top of yours.

Looking into his eyes, you softly ask, “can I remove your armor?” His eyes search your face to find any traces of bad intent against him- there isn’t any. All he can see in your face is how much you love him, how much you care for him. Trusting on the emotions displayed on your face, he lets go of the pain, the fear, and nods his head.

“Walk me through it, please?” You ask him, and he does. You follow his instructions with slow and steady hands. Your eyes taking in the sight of him- the familiar scars and new ones. Your heart clenches at the thought of what he had to go through.

You feel his hand brush against your cheek wiping away the tears that had fallen. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, “I’m sorry.”

Echo pulls you closer to him, his lips never leaving the top of your head. You try to pull yourself from his embrace because he should be the one being comforted, not you. But he does not let you go, instead he just holds you as close to him as he can.

“When Rex found me,” Echo stopping to take a deep breath, “he told me y’know, about you.” Feeling your back stiffen, he runs soothing circles into your back. “I never meant to hurt you like that. Believe me.”

“I just,” he sighs, “a part of me was scared.” His hand weaves into your hair. “I thought you wouldn’t want me anymore now that I’m,” his voice trails off, but you both know the word he fails to say.

Not the same.

With your head against Echo’s chest, you could hear the steady beating of his heart, you could feel the rise and fall of his chest, and the warmth from his body. Your words are mumbled against his chest.

“What did you say?”

“I said,” moving so your face was visible, “I don’t care.”

“I don’t care?” He repeats, brows furrowed in confusion.

“I don’t care about how you look. What I care about is you. Your heart, your kindness, the love you have for your brothers. I love how smart you are, and how loyal you are to those that you care about.”

Echo takes in a sharp breath. You pause, looking into the eyes of a man that has been broken, a man who has been slowly repairing what was broken.

“I love you.” You say, licking your lips, “and I will always love you.”

His lips crash onto yours, and your teeth clash from the force behind his kiss. Your arms hold his face towards yours. Once the need for air outweighs the need to keep kissing Echo, you move closer to the pillows at the head of the bed.

“Let’s go to bed.” Echo moves to join you, and soon he’s nestled into your arms.

“I love you,” is all that he says before he falls asleep.

[north-peach]

WHO WANTS A SNIPPET OF A MEGS/OP FIC I ALMOST WROTE ALMOST TWO YEARS AGO?

plus some notes because, like I said, almost wrote it

also, trigger warning for brief mention of rape, nothing explicit 

murder too? kinda mild violence? 

Also it’s more Megatronus/Optimus Prime....plus, slight time travel.

When Truth is Shattered (hope is built once more)

There's an Uprising, as there always is in a universe such as this. The rebellion is orchestrated by Megatronus being the kickass he is, poet, philosopher, warrior, slave and leader. 

Prime is a title passed down via a fancy relic thing referred to as the Matrix of Leadership, but it's not merged with a spark, it's strung on a chain and worn, or usually displayed somewhere. It signifies the authority invested in someone, either individually or a group of individuals.

The Matrix also acts as an activation key for a great many forms of highly power technology that is rumored to have been created by Primus himself for the Original Thirteen Primes to use.

There's a really old bot called Alpha Trion who bestows it, takes it back and is generally the one who handles it, in between the periods of a new Prime or Council of Prime ascending. He's always been there, he's like super old so no one really questions him, his decisions, his impact on their society or anything at all. 

Primus is thought to be something like a myth, Unicron as well. Most of their history of the early days of their civilization is a bit spotty, but their current level of technology cannot compete with what they possessed in the beginning and now lack the ability to craft or use.

That’s why the Matrix is a symbol of leadership as it can activate the technology, including the planetary shield, almost all offensive capabilities, several buildings that manufacture everything from basic building components to extremely energy intensive upgrades.

It is acknowledged history that there were thirteen Original Primes, even though only about half of their names are remembered. However all of their greatest deeds were recorded. So you had the Prime of This and That, when their names were lost to time. 

So, save for the ruling few, the nobles, the first class and a majority of the second class citizens, things are bad. 

Caste system, energon shortage, bad working conditions, (all of these unnecessary, used only as a means to control the populace because tired, hungry and illiterate people don't raise armies to overthrow the government) abuse of rights, those in power staying in power, inheriting power from family members and corruption running rampant through the levels of government. 

Megatronus, former slave/miner turned gladiator, poet, philosopher and revolutionary raises his army and storms into Iacon in order to demand change, or put himself in charge. That is his end goal, but he's absolutely going to throw everyone in power into a deep dark hole somewhere if it's the only thing he manages to do. 

The Prime in power, arrogant as all get out, challenges Megatronus and loses his head over it entirely. So Megatronus- who is absolutely an “if I can make god bleed” kinda guy, yanks the Matrix from the corpse, throws it down and swings his sword down on it as hard as he can. 

Miner, yes? Gladiator, yes? Yes? Very strong, we appreciate his strong, Matrix is strong enough to survive a very long time, but Megatronus is fueled by righteous fury and the rage of a thousand murdered slaves.

Alpha Trion screams in anguished horror as it shatters into fifty thousand itty bitty pieces. No more Matrix of Leadership, no more cheating to get around the systems lock on technology only meant to be worked by a Prime.

Sad day.

That's when everything lights up like the American’s fourth of July and from that light, a large mech in blue and red appears. Nice sleek lines, brilliant paint, very pretty, we also appreciate this. He's very confused, understandably, looking around in shock, bewilderment and some dawning sense of terror. But then he sees Alpha Trion. 

Instantly he leaps to his pedes and reaches towards the old bot.

"Alpha Trion? Where- where am I? What- what is going on?" 

Alpha Trion gets emotions, surprising for a bot responsible for so much suffering, the way he screamed shocked a great many people.

Megatronus and his high command all decide to observe because a new player has entered the equation and while everyone’s attention is on him, it gives Megatronus a chance to move more people into a better positions. 

Optimus is understandably very upset. He yanks his servos out of Alpha Trion’s grasp, ignoring as the bot’s voice turns cajoling and pleading for him to calm down. 

Alpha Trion stands before the new mech, servos grasping onto his and gently starts explaining some of the positives of the new Golden Age but that it's been a while since Optimus walked the planet and this is another Golden Age set a lot of Ages after the very first Golden Age.

And Alpha Trion carefully and quickly explains that Optimus was opposed to a thing that the rest of the thirteen primes were going to do and Megatronus decided to remove him because he was standing in the way of their glory, in the way of the greater good of Cybertron. He did not tell the others and ambushed Optimus-

"Megatronus! He- he," his voice dissolves into a static-y keening, digits digging harshly into the undamaged plating of the cover of his spark chamber. "He stabbed me? My spark? My- He?"

(Megatronus and company trade looks and swift messages) 

-to which, Alpha Trion stresses, they were all very upset and Megatronus was duly punished-

-and buried his sword into his spark chamber. The others were alerted when Primus intervened to ensure Optimus’s spark didn’t return to Him. But his frame was badly damaged and extreme measures were taken to ensure his survival.

Optimus doesn't take this well and decides to use his optics and turns and starts looking. He's standing in a place that is lavish and incredibly luxurious. There are dead people around him, in shiny and glimmering frames, and then there's a crowd of dirty, misshapen, mismash, ragtag, thrown together bots and he quickly jumps to the correct conclusion: the people are revolting against a corrupt leadership and- 

It’s Alpha Trion, shining and dazzling in the soft lights. Alpha Trion who was not a Prime but was granted a similar though lower security level and was treated like family. True, he was fashioned to be an assistant, a helper but this? Sitting in a throne at the right hand of the front of the room?

Optimus jerks his helm around and make optic contact with the largest mech, the one who stands in front of all the others at the head of the revolution. 

There’s power in there that- that- reminds him...

Alpha Trion continues talking though and he's explaining that the rest of the Primes came together and fashioned a stasis orb to keep him alive while his frame repaired and his spark recovered. It was expanded and everything that was his was placed inside and then shrunk.

“Why? Why am I alive?”

It hurts that Alpha Trion looks wrecked at the very idea that Optimus shouldn’t be alive, right before rage crawls over his face plates and vibrates the air with the force of it.

He then starts to explain the people that stand behind him- but-

They’re terrorists and murderers, thieves- Megatronus the Name-Thief, who stole the name of the Betrayer who slaughtered the greatest of them!- liars and rabble raisers who started a war for fun, for profit and glory, to tear down the peace Alpha Trion so carefully crafted all these eons. 

Megatronus feels denied his right place, demands more resources, more people, more space, more energon that simply isn’t available! He would take what he wanted from the more deserving to fuel his army! 

Optimus can’t help the desperate look he makes as he turns back to take in the whole of these ‘terrorists’. They’re all starving and wounded, clearly the forgotten and abandoned and his optics harden as he turns back to Alpha Trion. 

“They do not know their place! They should have remained in their caste, they are not worthy to be acknowledged even as third class citizens! They will ruin all I have built!”

That the matrix- which was composed of tech that kept Optimus’s Prime spark and frame alive and well and provided the required security clearance of a Prime to non-Primes so they could operate the tech meant solely for Primes. To some degree anyway. But after such an amount of time, every bit off eeway was explored to its fullest.

To Optimus Prime, this was a horrific abuse of the power that was entrusted in the Thirteen Primes, to govern and observe but never to oppress and destroy their society to this extent!

He opens his intake, but he cannot speak, even as he stares at this mech he once knew, once called friend.

His spark throbs.

Optimus turns once more to- to M- the one who calls himself Megatronus- a mech who bears the name of his murderer, his betrayer, his brother and says nothing. Surely everyone can see the devastation written all over his faceplates.

Alpha Trion makes a noise, clearly intending to speak, but Optimus silences him, overriding his vocal modulator with brutal efficiency. He’s never had to do that before and something hurts. 

Megatronus gives a quick rundown of everything that Alpha Trion left out. The hard, cold truth of the matter. Starvation, oppression, murder, the rich get richer and the poor die alone in the dark. The third class citizens are taken and put to work, denied to ability to speak, rights stripped and designations deleted, forgotten until all that was left was a mindless drone, whose sentient mind retreated deep inside.

Sparklings are taken from carriers who were forced from a higher rank of citizen and neither was ever seen again. Sparklings who were considered the property of their higher ranking parent until they reached an age old enough to take an aptitude test to determine what caste they were joining.

Second class and above never moved unless they offended someone on a higher level. The Primes remained Prime until they died or another was chosen.

Cybertron was built on the bodies of the abandoned, those who had no designation and barely counted as citizens, from third class servants, and janitors, to second class traders, scribes, artists, ect, to first class, the rich, privileged and blessed.

Then the Nobles, the elite, the shining jewels of Cybertron, right below the Primes, the rulers.

Optimus feels numb with horror.

He stares and stares and his optics burn even as Megatronus’s blaze. He turns, only last time, one more time to face Alpha Trion. 

He allows him to speak in his defense- but- but. 

“This was for the greater good, Optimus, my friend, my lord, in order to keep the best and brightest alive, to ensure we would survive as the years passed and we faced a great many challenges. The survival, the endurance of our race, our species was entirely dependent on our ability to unsure what we had went to the most deserving!”

Alpha Trion looks so very sincere, he is entirely genuine in his ever present affection for his long lost friend, but Optimus can barely speak but for the pain in his spark.

“Surely you must see,” Alpha Trion beseeches, “We did it for you, Optimus.”

Clearly expecting his confession to ensure Optimus is firmly on his side, Alpha Trion takes a single step forward, reaching out from the only true Prime left.

Something shatters in his spark chamber and Optimus rises up, slides back and pulls. The Star Saber materializes in his servos in a boom of light and noise, the voice that leaves his intake is terrifying as it thunders through the great hall and echoes throughout the entire city-

“Freedom is the right of all sentient beings!”

It’s wretched out of him, this undeniable truth that seems to have been forgotten so long ago. There is betrayal on Alpha Trion’s face, heartbreak and disbelief.

He doesn’t understand, he did this for you.

Optimus weeps even as he raises his sword.

Of course, this is being recorded and watched across the entire planet because the Iacon nobles and government were absolutely going to use Megatronus's failure and subsequent death as more incentive to keep your helms down, but that really backfired because okay, wow, real Prime- Original Thirteenth Prime who is supporting a Mech named for another one of the Original Thirteen. The Betrayer at that! 

Clearly unexpected, but that’s what you get when the nutjob shadow ruling your planet since almost the beginning of time lies.

I also imagine Optimus with glowing optics and sigils on his frame. Maybe communing with Primus and easily manipulating the AllSpark or something, ect, ect.....

Megatronus will not be understanding Optimus at all. It’s like if the Devil came out of Hell and realized all his demons were running amok and starting crying and killing all of them while asking to borrow your couch because he lives in Hell, not Earth.

(and someone forgot to tell you he was pretty)

[the-uninformed-zennial]

Dick’s Apartment Chapter 2: Bruce

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28088298/chapters/68953245#workskin

Introduction:

The day following Jason’s death had gone by so quickly, Bruce didn’t know what had happened, not really anyway. All he could see was Robin, Jason, his son, so bloody and bruised and broken. He was almost unrecognizable. Almost. But Bruce knew, he had seen that smiling face far too many times to not know. Jason was gone. He was gone and it was Bruce’s fault. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think. He didn’t know where he was. Somewhere in the city, definitely not Gotham. The next thing he knew, he was looking down at Dick, sleeping peacefully in his bed, just like he used to on long nights after patrol. Dick who had been in countless situations just like the one that got his broth… that got Jason, killed. Was he even real? Was any of this real?

Dick

“Dick.”

His name, someone was calling his name. Breath flooded Dick’s lungs and he opened his eyes, jumping back at the sight in front of him. Batman...er, Bruce in the lightest layer of the batman suit, leaning only a few inches away from his face.

“Bruce?” His brain could not process… why was Bruce in his apartment? What time was it?

“Jason...” Bruce’s lower lip started to quiver. It never quivered. Something was very, very wrong.

“Bruce, I’m Dick, not Jason.” Definitely something wrong with his brain. Maybe a new strain of fear toxin? But then why would he be here and not the cave? And where was Jason anyway? Weren’t the two of them supposed to be in Africa or something?

“No, Jason, he’s…” Tears actually started flowing down Bruce’s face. Dick had never seen Bruce cry, not even once. This wasn’t fear toxin, this was real. That could only mean one thing… no. No, Jason couldn’t be.

“Bruce, where’s Jason?” Despite how much he tried to keep it steady, his voice still shook at the name, his brother’s name.

“Gone.”

Gone. The unspoken word followed without pause. Dead. Taken from the world, never to be seen again. Jason. His brother. He couldn’t… he couldn’t do this. First his parents, now his brother? The brother he had just started to get to know. The brother who relentlessly teased him about every little thing. The brother who always wore that baggy red hoodie no matter what the temperature was like outside. The brother he would never see smile again.

Unbidden tears started to flow down his face. He stared at a blank space on the wall in front of him and tried to slow his breathing. It helped, a little. As soon as the world slowed down it’s spinning he turned to look at Bruce, who was now kneeling on the floor next to Dick’s bed, with his head in his arms. He’d gone catatonic. Dick had only ever seen him this way once before,  when affected by one of scarecrow’s fear toxins he had yet to build an immunity to. He and Alfred had been able to calm him down, but only after they had shot him with an extra dose of antitoxin and Dick accidentally caught a punch with his face. But this time was different, there wasn’t a cure for this because it wasn’t drug induced. Jason was really gone, and Bruce was going to snap, if he hadn’t already.

Dick cautiously reached out to touch Bruce’s arm. His head snapped up instantly, and it took everything in Dick’s power to not reach for the knife concealed right behind his nightstand. That is, until he looked in Bruce’s eyes. The man couldn’t stop crying. He was broken. Bruce reached up to touch Dick’s face, and after initially pulling back, Dick eventually leaned forward and let his former guardian touch him.

“It’s okay Bruce.” he cooed, trying to keep his tone steady, “I’m still here.”

That must’ve sunk in, because Bruce started to take some deep breaths, calming himself down, just like he taught Dick to do in emergency situations. Pretty soon, he was able to stand up on his own. At which point he kind of awkwardly leaned against the wall in the bedroom. Dick took the chance to glance down at his clock, 3:00 AM. Well, there went any hope he had for sleep before work in the morning. He grudgingly climbed off the end of his bed, so as to not disturb Bruce, and shuffled his way into the kitchen. Coffee. He needed coffee, and maybe a drink. Bruce probably did too.

“I-I should go.” Bruce mumbled, from his position in the bedroom.

“No way.” Dick said, a lot more coherently than he felt, “You don’t get to break into my apartment and wake me up in the middle of the night to tell me terrible news with no explanation and then ditch me after having a come-apart on my bedroom floor. Not gonna happen. So, do you want coffee or bourbon or both?”

Bruce just grunted and made his way over to the small, cluttered table that was the closest thing to a dining room Dick had in his tiny apartment. The two of them just stood there in silence for a few minutes while the water got heated. Jason, dead. That couldn’t be possible. He’d just seen him like, what, a week ago? He had just helped dismantle a drug ring that was terrorizing the city, most of the guys hadn’t even been prosecuted yet. How could he be gone? Dick didn’t notice the stray tear falling down his face until the coffee pot started making that screeching noise that indicated it was almost done. He wiped it off his face before getting down two mugs and pulling the milk and sugar from his fridge.

Bruce always said he liked his coffee black, but Dick knew that he secretly preferred a small splash of milk to dull some of the coffee’s sharper tastes. He poured the black liquid into the two cups then took down the bourbon and splashed a bit in as well. This was going to be a long night (morning?), whatever.

“Here.” The force with which Dick set the mug on the table made a little of the hot liquid splash onto some stray papers.

Bruce stayed leaning up against the wall, looking at the open window like a bird, or a bat, ready to take flight.

“Sit down and tell me what happened.”

Bruce simply glared at him.

“Bruce,” Dick chided, “how did he… what went wrong?”

Bruce still stood aloof next to the window, but decided to reach for the coffee and took a sip.

“If you aren’t here to talk, why did you come?”

He put the mug down, “I need you to stop.”

Dick raised his eyebrows in confusion, “Stop what?”

“Nightwing.”

Dick’s jaw clenched automatically. His head shook a little with the effort it took to contain his ever amounting rage. Hadn’t they already had this conversation before? Didn’t Bruce remember where this conversation got them last time?

“Will you ever stop...” he began, but couldn’t finish. Treating me like a child ...or... being batman … Dick couldn’t decide which would be the more fitting end to the question. Somehow, Bruce knew exactly what he meant. The answer to both questions forming in his mind was answered in a simple,

“No.”

The rest of the morning was spent in relative silence. Bruce had made it fairly clear that he would not tell Dick about what had happened with Jason, and Dick was honestly too tired to press. He figured he’d just hack into the batcomputer next chance he got and find out what happened for himself. Bruce would eventually need to answer his questions, but Dick figured they could remain unanswered until Bruce got his head back on straight. Besides, his mind was too full of all the memories and emotion that he didn’t think he would really hear Bruce even if he did explain himself.

Fifteen minutes until five and Dick finally broke the silence, “Look, I have a meeting with the Titans in a couple minutes and you need some sleep. There are some sheets in the nightstand by my bed and the couch is pretty comfortable, so crash there if you need to.”

Bruce lifted his head up in slight acknowledgement of what Dick had said, but quickly regained his brooding stature. Standing there in the dim morning light he looked more like a gargoyle than a real person. For once, Dick thought he could understand why Bruce chose to name himself after a bat, the two creatures shared an eerie similarity; the natural ability to strike terror into the heart of a bystander.

Dick eventually left to go get ready for his meeting. By the time he came out of the bathroom, he found that Bruce had pulled the sheets out of the drawer and laid them on the sofa. He also noticed half of his bottle of bourbon was gone. Dick couldn’t remember the last time he had seen Bruce drink. What could have gone so wrong? But there was no time to pry answers out of the stubborn bat, they would just have to wait.

So as Dick turned to leave for the day he looked at Bruce for just a moment and said, “I expect you’ll be ready to actually talk to me when I return.”

With that, he left.

---

Dick came back to an empty apartment. It looked exactly as he had left it, not a trace of Bruce anywhere, save the unlocked window and the empty bottle of bourbon in the trash. Dick could almost pretend it was a dream, just another bad nightmare. But deep down he knew Bruce had told the truth. Jason was dead.

The weight of it all slammed into him at once, and he found himself crouched on the ground gasping for air through tear soaked sobs. Jason was dead. He couldn’t move, so he didn’t. Dick stayed there, frozen on the ground, paralyzed in sadness until dawn rose to greet him once more.

Notes:

This takes place in a slightly altered version of canon where Dick wasn’t off-world at the time of Jason’s death. However, I tried my best to make it so that the events of New Titans #55 could still make sense (with a few minor adjustments), because I think the way they wrote it was actually pretty well done.

[kidcataldo]

Summary: Severus has a secret created by a lie. Now that lie is dead and the secret is on its way to Hogwarts.

I haven’t read the books since high school, but I just went on a harry potter movie binge and wrote this in my drafts for the fun of it. You can also find it here, or you can click “keep reading” and read it on tumblr.

Dead. He received the letter by owl over breakfast: "I regret"—I regret—"to inform you her state of mind has only gotten worse these past few months and it is expected she will die before nightfall." Malfoy thought he might like to know—how he found out, Severus hadn't a clue—but he had little interest in the matter; he preferred to forget her existence altogether. Beryl Bulstrode, ghastly woman: she joined the Death Eaters right after him—for him, in fact, he was told later. Her intentions were as clear as day to any seeing man, so Severus must have been blind his entire life and not realized it. She was a mad woman in her prime; he could only imagine what the Dementors created while she rotted in Azkaban all those years. Nothing pretty, and she entered looking horrid. Would he tell Dumbledore? Yes, of course he would—but nothing more.

Malfoy must have also told his son, for the entire school looked at him differently that day. He caught a group of third year Ravenclaw girls talking quietly amongst themselves on their way to the dining hall—they fell silent when he caught sight of their gossiping, and then they hurried away when he approached them. Minerva could barely look at him while Pomona kept sneaking glances at him. And his students were unusually quiet too. The misfits and troublemakers kept to themselves, hardly causing any ruckus at all. The Wesley twins in particular behaved uncharacteristically that day—obeying his every instruction, not attempting to blow up their potions for the joke of it, even referring to him as sir instead of professor, or not acknowledging him at all. It was quite nice, actually.

By dinner, everyone must have known. Sybill Trelawney was the only one brave enough to speak to him about it; he sat through a long ramble of hers throughout dinner, pretending not to hear her, as other professors and some students watched on in horror. Minerva tried to shut her up a few times, but the daft woman never caught on; "Oh, Severus, to lose a loved one so dear to one's heart," the loony woman said to him. "I can only imagine what that boy of yours is going through." The boy. It was always about the bloody boy. Albus's eyes briefly searched his own, and then Sybill was back to her babbling.

---

"You must tell the boy, Severus," said Albus. He was sitting in his chair. Phineas Nigellus's portrait hung above him, looking on as he reached for his bowl of sherbet lemons and offered one to Severus.

Severus shook his head and quickly turned away. "No," he said. "No—you've asked plenty from me already..."

"They may suspect something if you don't."

"And if they do?" said Severus. He turned back to the headmaster; his calm demeanor hadn't shifted, but the portrait above him was now empty. "Your plan was ridiculous from the start—it's a wonder how we've gotten this far without anyone realizing..."

Albus sighed. "If Lucius Malfoy, or anyone else, were to discover—" He stopped quickly at the sound of footsteps, and then they heard a quick knock on his door. "Come in," he said, turning his attention to the door.

Minerva entered the room with the confidence of a group of centaurs riding off to battle—or a strict transfiguration professor in need of a word with her superior—but she stopped and hesitated upon seeing Severus standing there. Again, as she had done throughout the day, she avoided looking at him. His past had odd ways of creeping up on the both of them.

"Yes, Minerva?" asked Albus calmly, bringing the attention back onto himself. Severus excused himself quietly just as Minerva announced the restoration of the girls' bathroom to its former glory, and then continued by questioning the whereabouts of that nasty troll. Severus was nearly out the door when Albus politely silenced Minerva and halted his departure. "Tell the boy, Severus," he said, and Severus slammed the door shut. That bloody boy.

---

How long had it been, he wondered, since they had seen each other last? Summer, perhaps. But he never kept track, nor did he care to do so. "Must you always mess with that thing?" The boy sat on his knees at the head of the table with Severus's enchanted red quill in his hands, attempting to tame the magical object; the more he tried to control it, the more it resisted his touch. With the wave of Severus's wand, it was out of the boy's grimy little hands and back in its holder. "It doesn't like you. Leave it alone."

He turned, his brown eyes showing no new change in emotion. "You're here."

"I am." Mrs. Cott let out a gentle snore in the rocking chair near the fire. He thought, or rather hoped, she had died and had been rotting there upon first entering the room—and to be perfectly honest, what a pity it was to learn that was not the case. Large wooden knitting needles moved mechanically in front of her, working tirelessly on a grey and green sweater.

He waved his wand again and the needles fell onto the old woman's lap. The old woman jolted awake with a loud snort. She remained still for a long moment, blinking her eyes and tasting her lips to adjust to her new wakeful state, until she caught sight of Severus and sprung out of her chair, letting the needles and unfinished sweater fall to her feet. "Severus, you're—well, I wasn't expecting you so soon."

"You're paid to watch him while I'm away, Mrs. Cott," he reminded her stiffly, "not lounge around like you're on holiday."

Her eyes searched the room, and then outside where it was dark. "Is it the holiday season already? So soon?"

"Leave us now," he commanded, again facing the boy. "I need a word with the boy alone." Her quiet footsteps hurried off through the kitchen door.

"What's happened?" the boy said. His hair was dark auburn, nearly brown—not like it was a few years ago. "Did Dumbledore die?" And those eyes, ordinary and brown, were far from exceptional. He had a mole below his left eye, just above his cheek. He looked and acted simply ordinary, like no one he had ever seen before.

"What makes you think that?"

He shrugged. "I dunno." His words were also never snarky, never trying to resist Severus's authority. But he was annoying with his questions, and he was hardly ever satisfied with the answers given to him. "You don't usually come back so soon, unless there's an emergency."

"Dumbledore did not die," he said. It seemed he always spoke in riddles with him—never quite finding the nerve to lie, just alter the truth.

"But someone did?" And he always seemed to catch on. "Who was it, then?"

Severus huffed. "The woman you call mother," he said, hoping he would understand.

"Oh," said the boy. He adjusted himself on the chair, sitting properly with his feet under the table. There was parchment in front of him and on it was scribbled a drawing—Severus couldn't make out what it was; it looked something like a figure. In the kitchen, Mrs. Cott could be heard moving pots and pans around, or something of that sort.

"Accio, pen," muttered Severus, summoning a normal, non-magical pen. "Here," he said, tossing it onto the table. "Finish your silly drawing. And don't even think about using my quill again." He turned to leave, apparate the hell out of there—back to Hogsmeade, back to Hogwarts.

"Was she also a Slytherin," he asked suddenly, and he turned back to him. "Beryl Bulstrode?" The woman he called mother.

"Yes."

"Do you think I'll be a Slytherin?"

"I doubt it," Severus said to him, and he apparated away.

A week later, he received a letter from the Ministry, asking about funeral arrangements—as if he owned the damn corpse. "The boy ought to see her be buried," Albus's voice rang in his ears. "It might give him closure." Severus hoped to burn the body; in front of the current Minister and all his minions, even. They all believed the boy was born in Azkaban—that was why he was so small and weak and fragile, they said; the Dementors drained both mother and son's soul for several months before it was discovered she was with child. Dumbledore and Bagnold knew the truth, of course—but they would take that truth to their graves.

Again, upon Albus's request, he visited the boy and prepared him for the woman he called mother's funeral. Severus, the boy, Mrs. Cott, and Dolores Umbridge, who worked close to the Minister were the only people in attendance at her funeral. She had other family—distant cousins, aunts and uncles—but none Severus was close to, and they never wrote asking to attend. When they arrived at the gravesite, the boy ran off to search the graveyard, leaving Severus alone with Mrs. Cott and Umbridge—the two most unpleasant women in the wizarding world. The boy returned before the closed—thankfully—casket made its descent with a handful of wild flowers, all uniquely styled, and placed them on top of the casket. Umbridge did not stay long; she offered her deepest condolences with a phony, sympathetic smile, briefly touched the boy's shoulder, which he shrugged away, and then left. Severus apparated soon after.

---

Winter came and it went. And by the end of the year, everyone seemed to put the Beryl Bulstrode business behind them, for other events surrounding the school distracted them. Students started behaving like themselves around him again, Minerva was no longer hesitant to speak with him, Sybill no longer tried talking to him during dinner; all seemed well, given the circumstance. And then it was summer, and the boy could not keep his mouth shut about Hogwarts, no matter how many times Severus told him to shut up. He wore the green and grey sweater vest Mrs. Cott knitted for him nearly every day; perhaps expecting to be sorted into Slytherin. Severus, of course, knew better. When his letter arrived one expected morning over breakfast, he made Mrs. Cott take him to get his supplies the next afternoon. Severus stayed behind to read a book. He arrived back with new robes, a wand, and a grey furry fat cat he named Gravy—a parting gift from Mrs. Cott, much to Severus's dismay. His books had yet to come in, however, so with great reluctance, before the start of the new school year, Severus took the boy back to Diagon Alley.

It was there he saw him, standing with the Weasleys, looking as filthy as a Weasley, and the Granger girl, along with her muggle parents. Gilderoy Lockhart was there as well, looking more doll than man—Severus felt his blood boil; why Albus chose him of all people, he would never understand. He could feel them all staring, but he refused to acknowledge any of them. "I thought he only came out of his coffin during the school year," he overheard one of the Weasley twins whisper to the other; Severus chose to ignore their snickering, but made a mental note to assign them both detention their first day back.

While he waited for the boy to retrieve his books, Severus found himself tangled in a brief conversation with Mr. and Mrs. Granger as Hermione Granger looked on with a mixture of embarrassment and concern on her face. Potter and Weasley observed the conversation as well, but their eyes were daggers; he decided to assign two more detentions at the start of the school year. Finally, Mr. Weasley guided the muggles elsewhere. Lucius Malfoy and his son arrived shortly after, looking on at the group with as much hate as Severus, but the boy had returned with his books before anything could develop beyond a courteous hello. But Severus noticed Draco give the boy a nod and a gentle smile as they passed him to leave the shop.

He wish he could say the start of the new school year was as smooth as the last, or the one before that, but the famous Harry Potter could not allow that to happen. He was proving to be more and more like his father each year, unfortunately. He was told he and Weasley didn't even board the train at platform nine-and-three-quarters—choosing to arrive by car instead—and at the start of the feast, before the first years were even sorted, he received word from Filch about Potter and Weasley's fashionable entrance, diving into the whomping willow head first in a blue Ford Anglia, a car belonging to Weasley's own father. The Evening Profit arrived soon after, and it was worse than Severus could have imagined. They both should have been expelled for their foolish behavior, and any normal boy would, but the Boy Who Lived always did have special privileges at Hogwarts, and everywhere else too—if Lockhart's story over staff breakfast had any merit. And if Albus was indeed correct about... his return, perhaps it was better Potter remained at Hogwarts, under his watchful eye.

A migraine blossomed while shouting at the pair and, by the time Minerva and Albus arrived, he was fuming. He stormed out with Albus following close behind, leaving Minerva to tend to their needs—they had missed the feast; if it were him, he might just let them starve, but Minerva conjured up some sandwiches the house elves made earlier that evening.

---

"The boy's sorting has surprised us all," said Albus, sounding slightly amused. They were walking the halls now; Severus had calmed some, but his blood still boiled. On their journey, they encountered a group of Slytherin first years being guided to their house's common room—coming at no surprise, the boy was not among them.

"Why? We knew he would be sorted into Gryffindor," said Severus casually as he nodded to the first year students. Albus gave them a gentle wave.

"He wasn't sorted into Gryffindor, Severus," said Albus—and Severus stopped, letting the first years pass.

He waited until they turned the corner before he asked, "Where exactly did the sorting hat put him?"

Severus had just always assumed he would be sorted into Gryffindor—with Potter and... the rest of them. He never really saw the boy as anything else; he never really cared to think of him as anything but a Gryffindor. "Florus Snape, son"—Severus flinched at the word while Albus remained unfazed—"of Severus Snape, Head of Slytherin House, was sorted into Hufflepuff this evening," said Albus. And he chuckled softly to himself. "I wish you were there to witness Pomona's reaction. She nearly flew out of her chair."

Somehow the man's words made him feel better, slightly less angry. Severus said his farewells to Dumbledore, and then quickly turned his heel and headed in the same direction as the Slytherin first years. He wasn't relieved, no. He never lingered on what house the boy might get into; he didn't know him well enough to do so, but he assumed it would be Gryffindor. Why should he care what house the boy was sorted in? Gryffindor, Hufflepuff... he was still—he still wasn't... It made no difference at all.

"You can't stay out here," said Draco Malfoy's voice clearly as he drew close to the Slytherin common room. "You have to go back to your own common room."

Severus turned another corner just as he heard Vincent Crabbe say, "Maybe the sorting hat was wrong."

"Not likely," said Pansy Parkinson.

"Look. It's not like Hufflepuff is a bad house—well, it's not good, but at least you're not in Gryffindor," continued Malfoy, "with Potter... and the Weasleys."

Malfoy and his gang stood outside the portrait of the serpent. "What's going on here? Why are you in the halls passed hour?" he said, and then he saw him, dressed in his Hufflepuff robes, eyes red and puffy from crying—he rarely witnessed the boy cry; he sniffed as Severus approached him. "Ten points from Hufflepuff—get back to your common room. Now."

"He's upset he's not in Slytherin," explained Draco. Severus glared at him, which made his eyes go wide in shock and he quickly added, "Sir."

"I'm sorry, sir," the boy cried out as he rubbed his watery eyes.

Severus felt a slight pain in his gut as he grabbed the boy by his wrist and pulled him away from the group. "That doesn't excuse your behavior." The pain in his gut only grew stronger as he stared into those unfamiliar glossy brown eyes, and he found himself loosening his grip on him. "Would you quit your incessant whining. Your mother wouldn't care which house you were sorted in. Slytherin, Hufflepuff, you could be in Ravenclaw and it still wouldn't matter to her."

The boy stopped crying. Looking up at Severus, he sniffed. "Really?"

And Severus realized his mistake immediately; he let go of the boy's wrist. "Yes, really," he said, reverting back to his sternness. "Now go. Before I take another ten points from Hufflepuff."

[sweetsmellosuccess]

Sundance 2021: Days 6 & 7

Films: 5 Best Film of the Day(s): Users

All Light, Everywhere: In 2015, during the riots and rebellion in the immediate aftermath of the Freddy Gray killing by local police, the Baltimore Police department agreed with a private entrepreneur to send up a secret surveillance plane over the city, in order to monitor, in clear HD images, those neighborhoods most primed for a violent reaction. They did this without informing the mayor’s office, or other local government agencies. This is only a facet of Theo Anthony’s far-reaching doc on the subject, not just of surveillance, but also the Act of Looking as any type of objective measure of reality. Anthony stays fixated on Baltimore, his hometown, when he tours the AXON corporate headquarters in Arizona, the makers of the most used police body cams and taser weapons, where the company CEO enthusiastically walks through the offices and production warehouse, as these items are being manufactured. Not surprisingly, despite their near-ubiquity amongst American police stations, AXON’s most lucrative asset is its intense data collection, via its evidence.com portal, where law enforcement uploads thousands of hours of video each day. Anthony also spends time with marketing focus groups, camera-toting carrier pigeons, and scientists exploring the framework of our visual understanding. It’s at times an abstract experience  —  the film communicates its intentions largely through bracketed text blocks, and a voice-actor, who acknowledges their role in your understanding the film’s premise. He also makes frequent use of past scientific thought on the subject, including the creation of the earliest forms of motion picture recording, to best exemplify the more we attempt to create visual “truth,” the more the standard slips through our fingers. Notably, the AXON recording equipment is designed to give the idea of full-disclosure with respect to the police’ behavior, as a means of protecting the community, but it’s clear that the appeal to law-enforcement is actually quite the opposite: Providing enough legally permissible evidence to either exonerate their officers, or to put the plaintiff behind bars. As Anthony’s pithy film points out, the act of seeing is still an act.

The World to Come: It is, of course, deeply unfair to compare each film to the highwater mark in a given genre  —  to say, for example, ‘Well, I quite liked that hard-boiled egg, but it’s no souffle au fromage’  —  but the current spate of turn-of-the-century hardship lesbian romance films makes it near impossible not to put them in canonical order. Leading the way, it must be said, is the first of this current iterations of romances, Céline Sicamma’s excellent Portrait of a Lady on Fire, which took my breath away. If the low-water mark of this triad is last year’s Ammonite, which relied far too much on its esteemed leads to do all the heavy lifting; Mona Fastvold’s film nestles somewhere close to the latter, but nowhere near the rarefied air of the former. What Fastvold does make use of is the natural environment in which the film was shot (Bucharest, as a believable stand-in for Upstate New York), filled with snow, and mud, and the damp gray features of that clump of woods in the valley of the mountains nearby. The story gives us two farming couples, both miserable, albeit in slightly different ways. Abigail (Katherine Waterston) and Dyer (Casey Affleck) genuinely care about one another, but the loss of their young daughter to diphtheria has turned their marriage into a sort of continual wake; and Tallie (Vanessa Kirby) and her dour husband, Finney (Christopher Abbott), who don’t have any children, and with Finney’s grimly cruel nature, aren’t likely to have any. In their shared loneliness and misery, Abigail and Tallie become friends, then eventually lovers, finding in each other’s arms, the wonder of worlds and joys otherwise lost to them. The film certainly means well, but as told mainly in journal entry and letter VO  —  Waterston’s voice so muted and unwavering, she sounds like an NPR journalist reporting a story  —  it's so modulated and chaste, the emotional arc never rises beyond the slightly bowed. We aren’t given enough privvy into Tallie’s own state of mind, so thoroughly are we inside the consciousness of Abigail, to feel the full weight of her decisions. It’s earnest, but not particularly moving.

Flee: You don’t see a ton of animated documentaries, but in the case of Jonas Poher Rasmussen’s harrowing immigrant’s survivor tale, there was no way to catalogue the early life of Amin, the film’s subject, without extensive recreations in the first place. As a result, there is a strikingly evocative visual element to the manner Rasmussen and his animation team document Amin’s journey from war-torn Afghanistan, to Moscow, to Estonia, back to Moscow, and finally to Copenhagen. After his father is taken into custody by the Mujahideen in the late ‘80s, Amin and his mother, brother, and sisters fly out to Russia, in the months just after the fall of communism. From one chaotic country to another, the family desperately try to leave Russia for western Europe, but with unreliable traffickers, and a lone older sibling in Sweden, having to scrounge every penny he makes in order to make arrangements, things move in an agonizingly halting way. Eventually, Amin gets safely to Copenhagen, but is allowed to stay only by having to lie to Swedish authorities that the rest of his family is dead. If that weren’t enough, adding to Amin’s fears, he feels the need to tell his family  —  now scattered about Europe  —  about his being gay. Through extended interviews with Amin, Rasmussen teases out his friend’s full story, spread out over multiple flashbacks, while interlocking with Amin’s current serious relationship in Copenhagen, with a man he plans to marry, if only he can finally accept and trust in the idea of having a permanent home. Rasmussen’s genuine friendship with Amin adds a warm sheen of empathy to the proceedings, even in the ways not everything makes perfect sense. You get the understanding that Amin, having long buried his extremely difficult past journeys, is hesitating, even now, to fully unburden himself all at once, as if he has to take the time to reconcile all the different versions of his own story he’s had to live with, in order to make sense of it all.

Hive: In the era of #metoo, and Sundance’s continued efforts to represent female-helmed films at the festival, it’s becoming ever more clear in film after film, the biggest impediment to systemic change in culture and government is the ever-so-delicate male ego, which protects itself from damage more often than not by absolutely brutalizing anything that would dare threaten it. In Blerta Basholli’s excellent debut feature, based on a true story, the year is 1999, and in the aftermath of the grisly Serbian War, many communities are still awaiting word on the many missing, presumed dead family members who were taken away and will very likely not be coming back. One such half-widow is a fierce woman named Fahirje (Yllka Gashi), who still takes care of her missing husband’s father (Cun Lajci), as well as her two children. With funds dwindling, and her honey business not faring as well without her husband, a seasoned beekeeper, Fahirje gets a drivers’ license and begins a new business, hand-crafting jars of ajvar, the Serbian roasted red pepper sauce, and selling them at the local grocery. Despite violent, brutish opposition from many of the men in her small village of Krusha, whose favorite put-down is to call her a “whore,” Fahirje soldiers on, eventually enlisting many of the other village widows to join her business. Through it all, she has to contend with her own emotional pain  —  her husband vanished years ago, but has yet to be identified amongst the remains of the mass graves that become the final resting place for many Serbians. Basholli shoots the film primarily as handheld verite, documenting the day-to-day building of the business as well as the emotional upheaval of her protagonist. In this, Gashi, with her smoldering eyes, the lines of determination etched into her face, is a revelation. Fahrije suffers the multitude of slings and arrows  —  most miserably coming from her own teen daughter, who is embarrassed at first at the attention and gossip her mother is getting   —  with dignified solemnity. By the end, she has empowered a generation of women, while paving the way for countless others. Not all revolutions are won on the battlefield.

Users: It’s indeed jarring to see a film so dedicated to visual sumptuousness, so satisfyingly transfixing in its use of pattern, motion, and juxtaposition, but all in service towards an epitaph to our inevitable extinction. Natalia Almada’s cinematic essay uses its visual poetics to lure us in, to bewitch us with its beauty as it gently eases the blade of the knife deep in our midsection. A mother of two young children, Almada begins the film contemplating her babies, and the world in which they have been brought into, voracious in its use of natural materials, polluting the oceans with miles of fiber-optic cable, burning our forests to the ground, exploiting the Earth for every gram of mineable material, every ounce of oil, all to fill the growing chasm between ourselves and the formerly natural world in which we used to inhabit. The film moves at a placid, even-keeled pace. There are many beautifully composed slow-fixed shots of fields, trees, cityscapes from high above; juxtaposed against contrasting conceptions: an overhead drone shot of the Pacific’s cresting coastline cutting to an AT&T manhole cover; her own child’s face lit by the glow of a computer as he fixates on the screen in front of him, to a distant plane’s long vapor trail through a swath of sky; an infant breast-feeding to the endless rows of sprouts in a hydroponic lab. There is so much stuff, so many things, from shipping crates to solar panels, all slipping past the lens of DP Bennett Cerf’s cameras, so as to become something akin to a sort of visual intervention: You can see it, the film is telling us, you know very well how this is going to end. Almada doesn’t provide answers, or even firm conclusions, exactly. These are the things she is wrestling with in her own conscience, the horrific implications of otherwise deeply pleasing symmetric images. The film is a stunning ode to our demise.

Sundance goes mostly virtual for this year’s edition, sparing filmgoers the altitude, long waits, standing lines, and panicked eating binges  —  but also, these things and more that make the festival so damn endearing. In any event, Sundance via living room is still a hell of a lot better than no Sundance. A daily report.

[avehi-the-adamant]

Justified

((Co-written with @kidcatgemini / @miernethepersevering, and @prancingmad / @nedemus. Ravanhi belongs to cursedkat! Follow her on twitter!))

~*~

The High Vindicator felt largely out of place. His glistening armor, imbued with the Light’s radiant power, stood out all the more so in the conservative and reverent Stormwind Cemetery. He recalled visiting this place once before, laying to rest an old friend from the Northrend campaign. He felt a sense of shame wash over him, realizing he hadn’t visited since; had he really been so busy? Too busy? Even when he was in Stormwind for business… he realized now he’d never come by. His golden glance turned towards the humble grave plot of Marshal Damien Townsend, who gave his life to put an end to the Lich King’s reign. His brow furrowed, resolutely - he would visit him today, after all this.

All this, of course, being hearing out Avehi the Adamant, who had been raising the dead around Azeroth for - based on second-hand accounts - she felt was a just and noble reason. The Draenei’s skin crawled at the very notion. A good reason to raise the dead? He couldn’t fathom one! A part of him had already decided her fate, and wanted to see Avehi locked away for what she’d done. Raising people who deserved rest, like Zaalesh and others. Khanaros’ blood boiled at the thought of such defilement. But the other part knew that justice couldn’t be served without hearing the whole story. Bits and pieces heard from others weren’t sufficient in such a case as this. He wanted to hear Avehi explain herself in person, before making his mind up fully.

“I… appreciate you coming with me, Mierne.” he turned, addressing his partner. “I know you’re here mostly to see that Avehi’s heard out fully and fairly… but I like to think you’re here for me, too.”

He smirked, reaching over to give the shaman’s hand a playful squeeze.

“I am here for you both, of course!”

Mierne leaned into Khanaros’ side with a light chuckle. She’d remained oddly silent, caught up in her own thoughts. She looked up at her partner, her gaze showing the sincerity of her words. It was true, her presence here was to assure Avehi would be fairly heard. While she didn’t know the full story behind the Ebon Knight’s actions, she was most certain they’d been done for good reason. Avehi was youthful and brash, but her heart was always in the right place. 

Khanaros, on the other hand, didn’t have the opportunity to remain neutral on the subject. She understood his difficult position in the matter, and the great responsibility of doing what was best for his people weighing on his shoulders.

“No matter what happens, I appreciate you doing this for her… for me. I realize this isn’t normal procedure, and that you are going out of your way…”

Her arm moved around his torso in a comforting embrace.

“Avehi is many things. She has been through so much. But through it all, she has always been an upfront and honest Draenei.”

"Mm. I appreciate honesty, and being up-front, of course," Khanaros grunted, "but there will be more to it than simply whether or not she tells the truth. If what she hopes to achieve is not commensurate with the Light…"

He cut the thought short, golden gaze cast upward as he beheld a trio of inbound winged creatures. Two were boney, skeletal creatures brimming with necrotic energies. It wasn't hard to guess who commanded those unholy beasts… The third was far more recognizable even at a distance; Argonas and his nether drake, glistening in the night sky. The three of them descended without delay, each landing in succession a short distance from Mierne and Khanaros. The High Vindicator nodded once.

"... I suppose we will learn, one way or the other." he grunted again, before stepping forward to meet the three.

Avehi dismounted Shinigosa promptly, before sending the frostwyrm back up to the sky. The ground was no place for such a creature; already enduring a burial beneath it, Shinigosa was quite keen on flying, and enjoying the freedom she felt in doing so. And Avehi was not one to deny her draconian partner such enjoyment. Her eyes settled on Khanaros, a beacon of Light in the quiet and dimly lit cemetery. One of two, now, as Argonas set hoof on the cobbles with little regard for the clamor each step caused. He had taxed Avehi's patience throughout their journey. Quite a bit beforehand, too. So much so, she couldn't be bothered to spare him a glance.

Instead, her eyes turned to Mierne. A smile graced her lips for what felt like the first time in a long time. Nedemus wasn't lying; he really had reached out to her in this matter. She turned to offer the Worgen an appreciative nod, before she approached her dear old friend. 

"Mierne… I'm sorry you're somehow caught up in this." she dipped her head. "But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't glad to see you here."

Mierne’s reply came in the form of a warm embrace. She wrapped her arms around the Death Knight, giving her that motherly comfort she no doubt needed.

“Don’t you worry about me. I’m just happy to see that you’re safe.”

She leaned in to whisper in her ear so that the two Light suffused beings wouldn’t hear.

“I know Vindicators can be exhausting to work with, but give them a bit of patience today, hm? I am here to assure you are heard.”

Placing a soft kiss on her friend’s cheek, she offered an encouraging smile, before stepping back and finally nodding a greeting to Argonas and Nedemus.

“Thank you both for assuring her safety here.”

Nedemus stepped off of Obelisk, as the skeletal gryphon dispersed, burying itself down into the ground away from the cemetery. The worgen made sure to keep ahead of Argonas, already tired of the ridiculous views that spewed from his mouth, as he took his place beside Avehi, nodding to Mierne. “Of course. Though, I think all parties involved-” He glanced towards the brash young Draenei once more. “- myself and Avehi included, should agree no weapons drawn in this place.”

He said, letting out a small snort as he crossed his arms, nostrils flaring a bit in frustration, but masking his actual intent…

“Out of the question!” Argonas interjected. “Should the need arise, I will not hesitate to draw my sword against the likes of you. I think it better that you agree not to give a reason for me to do so!”

“Calm yourself, Vindicator.” Khanaros stepped forward, eyes on the younger male. “Remember to temper your frustrations, yes? Control your emotions, do not allow them to control you.”

He offered a warm, settling smile to his former trainee, placing a hand on his plated shoulder in a welcoming manner. He nodded once, then looked to Nedemus - sparing the worgen such familiar gestures as putting hands on him, but acknowledging him positively nonetheless.

“Argonas, Nedemus, I echo Mierne’s sentiment; thank you both for seeing Avehi here safely.” he dipped his head in appreciation. “That you are able to set aside your differences for a common goal speak well of both of you, and your reverence for seeing justice done.”

Argonas exhaled a sigh, following his mentor’s counsel in calming himself. He could feel the tension manifest in knots along his neck and shoulders - a burden he’d carried far longer than just this mission. The High Vindicator always could read him well. Humbled, he nodded in response, casting a more amicable glance towards Nedemus… then to Avehi. His brow still furrowed, but the expression was much softer than usual. He was trying.

Nedemus glanced towards Avehi, upon realizing that indeed, this ragtag group of Draenei and Dog were alone in the cemetery. His gaze switched back to Argonas, watching him as they spoke.

“And you, Avehi,” Khanaros turned from Argonas and Nedemus back to Avehi and Mierne, “I appreciate you agreeing to meet here - from what I’m told, a more comfortable, neutral setting given the circumstance?”

Avehi, too, had calmed significantly in the presence of an old friend. Mierne was a comfort to her on even the worst of days. It was fortunate, too - without her trusted friend there to quell her bristly, defensive demeanor, Avehi couldn’t imagine this exchange going well at all. She dipped her head politely, amicably, to the High Vindicator as he acknowledged her.

“Mm, it was an appealing enough invitation. In that… the alternatives were unacceptable.” she put as politely as her irritation would allow. “But nonetheless, I’m here. Let’s get this over with, shall we? What do you wish to know?”

“Everything.” came Khanaros’ vague, but direct response. “What has driven you to do what you’re doing? Why would you raise so many people like Vindicator Zaalesh from death?”

Avehi sighed, tail flickering again. For a second time, she found herself justifying her actions to entities she very nearly reviled. People whose judgment was skewed, albeit in different ways. She leveled her gaze at Khanaros, as if appraising him. The Ebon Blade, at least, had some familiarity with the afterlife. But how could he possibly understand? Would he see this all the same as Argonas did; that Draenei, and other adherents of the Light, should be immune to the machinations of the afterlife? Her eyes narrowed for a brief second, in frustration and disgust. Her words would fall on deaf ears here. Just as the Light blinds, it also deafens. All of this would be a waste of time! She opened her mouth to speak… but hesitated, glancing once more to Mierne. 

Mierne was different from these Light-revering Draenei that summoned and brought her here. Different from most other Draenei. She was patient, open minded, and most importantly willing to give the benefit of the doubt in matters she didn’t understand. Above all that… she was here. She made an effort to see that Avehi would be heard out thoroughly and fairly. An effort Avehi couldn’t waste… if Mierne was trying, Avehi could try too. The Death Knight cleared her throat, and began to explain.

“There is a veil between this existence and the existence beyond death. We Death Knights walk both worlds, and therefore can pass through the veil in ways the living cannot. It is… not unlike how the Auchenai would commune with the departed.” she kept her composure calm, and spoke slowly and succinctly. “When a living soul dies, it journeys to an afterlife commensurate with their worth. Noble souls ascend to planes of righteousness and honor. For Draenei, this is joining with the Light. For elves, returning to nature. It differs for different peoples.”

Khanaros nodded slowly, taking in the information. On some level he knew all this; he thought back to his youth, all those millenia ago on Argus. Back then, the Eredar’s concept of the afterlife didn’t include joining with the Light. It was much more… ambiguous. Nonetheless, all this seemed proper and plausible. He motioned for Avehi to continue.

“Less-than noble souls… those of malicious and terrible beings, regardless of the peoples… those souls are dragged down into a place we call the Maw. Their eternal existences there is one of torment and suffering.” Avehi elaborated. “It is a realm of pain the likes of which no mortal can fathom. As a creature whose existence is wrought with pain and torment… trust me when I say the Maw is as terrible as it could ever get. The Legion, the Old Gods… none of it compare to the Maw.”

“I see… Justice permeates beyond this veil, and those deserving of it are punished for transgressions, yes?” Khanaros affirmed - so far, this all made sense to him. “But what does this have to do with your actions here on Azeroth?”

Avehi shook her head, brow furrowing.

“A few months ago, when I was traversing through this veil… I sensed something. A disturbance of some kind. I didn’t know exactly what. A surge of power… and yet an absence of it? It didn’t make sense.” she grunted in latent frustration at the memory. “I took it upon myself to investigate, worried it was some plot of the Ebon Blade’s, happening beyond the notice of the war-torn factions of the Horde and Alliance. But I came to learn even they didn’t know, and shared in my desire to discover what was happening.”

“And… what is happening?” Khanaros pressed.

“Justice… is not being served.” Avehi stated. “For reasons we still don’t know, all souls - even noble souls - are being pulled into the Maw to suffer eternally.”

“What? How is that possible?” came the High Vindicator’s skeptical questioning.

“I said we still don’t know!” Avehi snapped, reflexively. 

She cleared her throat, recollecting herself before continuing. Nedemus stepped to her side, bringing up his hand and placing it on her shoulder, attempting to comfort her as best he could in this situation. The Draenei nodded in appreciation to Nedemus, before straightening. She leveled her gaze to the High Vindicator once more, and continued. 

“That is… it’s hard to be certain. Even to the undead, the majority of processes and machinations of the afterlife are largely shrouded in mystery. We don’t know much at all… but we certainly know more than most living.” she corrected, as politely as she could muster. “This even came as something of a surprise to Exarch Ravanhi of the Auchenai. She and her ilk have sensed this disturbance as well, but lack the capacity to scry beyond the veil that they once had. The capacity the Ebon Blade yet holds, at least somewhat.”

“Ravanhi.” Khanaros repeated the name under his breath.

He was familiar with the Exarch; a fellow Argus-born Draenei, one of few still around. Khanaros recalled Ravanhi as a gentle soul and a curious mind. Her days on Argus were spent as a humble priestess contemplating the nature of existence itself. That passion and wisdom served her well as a High Priestess of the Auchenai on Draenor, and again in more recent days serving as a diplomat to the Kaldorei people. He’d always found her to be polite and thoughtful… yet tormented in a way. Lonely and reclusive, Khanaros got the sense the suffering of their people resonated much deeper with her over the nigh-countless years. But knowing her, she’d never let such despair claim her. Not while there remained others in need. 

He grunted, nodding slowly as he refocused his attention to the Death Knight before him. It was both curious and comforting that Avehi had sought out the Auchenai concerning such a severe-sounding matter. If nothing else, it spoke positively of her intentions; were she raising the dead for some nefarious purpose, interactions with the Auchenai would be the last thing she’d want. And if someone as spiritually-attuned as Ravanhi also felt the strange disturbance Avehi spoke of… that surely lent credence to her story.

“You know this Exarch, sir?” 

Argonas piped up, if only to break up the silence that permeated the cemetery during the contemplative moment. He furrowed his brow, luminous eyes glancing between his honored mentor and traitorous sister. They settled on the latter, scrutinously; this was the first he was hearing of any Auchenai contact! Was she making it up…?

“I know of her, yes.” Khanaros nodded to Argonas, before exhaling a sigh. “So… if I am assuming correctly, Avehi, you’re raising these people as a means to prevent them from being trapped in the Maw?”

“Yes, that’s correct.” Avehi affirmed with a single nod. “Until such time as I can discern a better way, raising them is the only means to keep them from being lost forever.”

“And… you are certain that existence in the Maw is a worse fate than an existence of undeath?” he asked, brow furrowed. “How can you be sure of this?”

“I’ve seen it.” she scowled. “Through great concentration and effort, I was able to… project myself, for lack of a better term, to the Maw. I was looking for someone specific… and found someone else instead.”

“Looking for who?”

Avehi glanced to Argonas, and stifled a grunt.

“Sinafay. A Vindicator from alternate Draenor, and a friend of mine.” she explained. “I thought I sensed her, which would’ve meant she had died. I went to the Maw to find her, and maybe ask where she died so I could…”

Avehi shook her head, letting the thought finish itself. No one present had any illusions as to what she was doing now, anyway. She’d been honest enough about it. Argonas’ brow furrowed deeper still as he peered at Avehi. That she would even consider raising Sinafay - Orc-lover or not - was atrocious!

“And… you found someone else instead?” Khanaros asked, keeping the exchange on track.

“I did, yes.” Avehi stated, eyes still affixed, unblinking, at the younger Vindicator. “Sinafay. But from this timeline. Argonas’ wife.”

“LIES!”

Argonas had heard enough! Too much to remain passive anymore! He stepped forward towards Avehi, fists clenched!

“How dare you implicate my wife in your deceit? How dare you even speak her name with your defiler’s mouth!?”

“Argonas,” Mierne was quick to get between the Vindicator and Avehi.

Nedemus retracted, stepping back. He had begun to intercept Argonas’ movements, but stopped as he noticed Mierne step in. His foot slid back to position, his gaze glancing towards Avehi as he waited to see if the shaman could handle the zealous fool.

Her hands came up to his chest in an effort to stop his advance. Even though they were no longer intimate, she hoped their friendship was enough for her words to calm him. Her eyes held nothing but concern for the younger Vindicator. If anyone knew how difficult Sinafay’s passing had been for him, it was her. He’d spent a whole year on her island, in isolation, mourning her loss. She’d seen the devastation in his dealings with the alternate version of her. 

“I understand your anger, but you must keep a clear head, yes? There is still much that needs to be learned before any judgment can be made” she kept her voice soft and soothing. 

“Hmph! There is still much truth to be learned! None of these blatant lies serve to see justice met!” Argonas continued protesting. “This is an obvious attempt at manipulation! She seeks to  establish some personal credibility to her twisted and outlandish tale!”

He stayed by Mierne’s hand, but showed no signs of calming or backing down. His piercing gaze still affixed accusingly to Avehi. The Death Knight returned his scowl defiantly, tail flickering in agitation as he went on his rant. Her eyes narrowed.

“It’s true, Argonas. Your wife is in the Maw.” she reiterated. “And the longer you try and hold me up, the longer she’ll suffer there!”

“SHUT UP!”

With his aggressive outburst, Argonas brusquely pushed past Mierne. Amber Light arced across his plated body, brought on by his unbridled rage. He brought a hand up to reach back behind him for his sheathed blade as he stomped towards Avehi!

Nedemus growled out, placing himself between Argonas and the Draenei, though his own blade stayed holstered on his back. “Stand down, Argonas.”

“Step aside, you accursed dog corpse! Or you shall be the first--”

“--Vindicator Argonas.”

He stopped in his tracks. The Light sparking off of the Vindicator subsided, Argonas almost wincing at Khanaros��� command. The High Vindicator didn’t raise his voice much louder than usual, but his tone struck with authority. Command. Disappointment. Slowly, Argonas’ hand lowered from the hilt of his crystalline sword, as he turned his gaze; an angered and vindictive glare at Nedemus, to a remissive and chastised leer as it settled on his old mentor.

“You brought Avehi here to be heard, correct?” Khanaros continued his reprimanding. “I will be the judge of the merit and intent of her words. Not you. Is that understood?”

“... As you say, High Vindicator.” Argonas replied, tone laced with begrudgement. 

He scowled once more at Nedemus, then again at Avehi, before stepping back - an apologetic glance to Mierne as he passed her by again.

The shaman brought a comforting hand up to the Vindicator’s arm as he moved by her. There was no disappointment to be seen in her features as she looked up at him, only concern. His reaction towards Avehi’s words, while non-conductive to what they were trying to achieve, was understandable.

“I know this is difficult, but we must keep a clear head. I know Avehi well, and I do feel her words are worth investigating, at the very least. If she is right, and the unspeakable has befallen your wife, then there are other ways to verify that claim, I’m certain.”

She glanced to Khanaros.

“I do not have a connection with the afterlife… but another shaman… or perhaps a priest? I’m certain they have a connection with the dead. If you do not trust the words of Death Knights, then perhaps calling on a worthy soul that has recently passed could communicate what they see.”

Khanaros exhaled a sigh, as he looked Avehi over. Pensive, thoughtful… still not entirely convinced. He knew this would be a difficult thing to hear out and pass suitable judgment on, but more so than he had anticipated. There was a lot of new information to consider, to process, and to weigh against the greater good of not just his people, but all people in general. Slowly, he shook his head.

“A difficult claim to verify, seeing as none of us possess the capacity to venture into this place ourselves.” he lamented, crossing his arms over his chest. “Is there any way you can prove that you saw Argonas’ wife? Or… any of this, for that matter?”

Avehi huffed. There wasn’t an easy way to do that, unfortunately. Khanaros was right about that. For a moment, she considered his point of view; would she be skeptical if their positions were reversed? No… no she wouldn’t. She would trust Khanaros, and take his word as truth at face value. A courtesy he apparently wasn’t willing to extend to her. Her nose crinkled, nostrils flaring in frustration. This was a waste of time.

“Allow me to kill and raise Argonas. He can see her for himself. Then come back and tell you all about it.” she snapped, glowering. “If you won’t take my word for it, perhaps you’ll take his!”

“Mind yourself, Avehi. Take this seriously, as I have been. Your indignation is no more helpful than Argonas’ aggression!” Khanaros snapped back, with a scowl of his own. “Given what you’ve been doing, it’s not unfair to ask for some manner of verification of your claim.”

He shook his head, and cleared his throat. 

“I will ask again - if you know of a way your claim can be proven to us, I would hear it.”

Avehi scoffed, eyes trailing to Argonas. She stared at him for a moment, before speaking again.

“I spoke with her. She is lost, and scared. She thought you died as well. And she worried she somehow deserved to be there, and that you separated from her and joined with the Light.” she explained, managing her tone. “I told her you yet lived. And she gave me a message for you. She told me to tell you - in her words, mind you - to ‘stop being a dumbass’. And she said to have some alcohol ready for her when you bring her home.”

Argonas’ scowl remained, brow only knitting further with every word. His hands tensed to fists, lip curling to bare his teeth. He grunted.

“... High Vindicator, you give this thing far too much leeway.” he growled. “I will not stand here while you permit Avehi to besmirch my deceased wife in such a manner!”

“Then… you are dismissed.”

Argonas snapped his gaze to the High Vindicator, in shock!

“--What?”

“You are dismissed, Argonas.” he repeated, firmly. “Your presence is no longer required.”

“B-But… what about her? What is your judgment?”

Khanaros glanced to Argonas briefly, before sighing and looking to Avehi once more. 

“Either she’s fabricated an elaborate lie to buy herself time… or she’s expressing to us a terrible truth.” he stated. “I am choosing to believe the latter, in this case.”

Avehi, too, looked surprised. She hadn’t expected Khanaros to believe her. To trust her. With all she’d seen so far, she wasn’t sure he hadn’t already made up his mind. In affirmation, she nodded to the High Vindicator.

“I… thank you.” she uttered, hesitantly.

“This is outrageous!” Argonas shouted, in anger! “She has been raising the dead! She came here and slandered my dead wife! And you believe her blatant lies?”

“You find error in my judgment, Vindicator Argonas?” Khanaros asked, tone threatening.

He didn’t even glance at Argonas' way. Instead he approached Avehi, arms still crossed before him. His gaze was penetrating, and severe.

“She knows if she is lying, there will be no second chance. If I must send someone for her a second time, it will not be to invite her to be heard.” he replied to Argonas… and cautioned the Death Knight. “I will be following up with the Auchenai to verify these things. Perhaps even the Ebon Blade, if they’ll speak to me. But one way or another, I will find out the truth.”

He dipped his head to Avehi, stern expression softening just so.

“And I hope when I do, I will owe you both an apology and appreciation for bringing this to my attention.”

“Hm! Then I will expect both once you’ve looked into this yourself, High Vindicator.” Avehi smirked, bowing her head in return.

Behind them, Argonas was seething. His face contorted into a hideous scowl, as he clenched his fists so hard as to cause his gauntlets to begin buckling! His face flushed blue, vessels bulging beneath his skin. With an agitated grunt, he turned and stomped off - he had been dismissed, after all… 

Mierne breathed a sigh of relief as Khanaros gave his verdict. She looked over to him as Argonas stomped off, giving him a smile and a nod of approval. 

“I will allow you to finish your business, then. See you tonight,” she informed her lover, before following after the younger Vindicator.

Nedemus nodded softly towards Khanaros. “Thank you for allowing her the chance to speak, Khanaros… Argonas seemed to make it appear that she had no choice in the matter, that you were unreasonable. Doesn’t seem like he was representing you well.”

Khanaros nodded to Mierne as she departed, before looking to Nedemus. He exhaled a heavy sigh, and shook his head.

“Argonas has always been… direct. Presumptuous.” he shrugged. “Despite what you may have seen of him here tonight, he means well. Perhaps not for you specifically, but for the world as a whole.”

“Hmph. If that were true, he wouldn’t work so hard to interfere.” Avehi commented, with a light scoff. “This issue grows worse by the day, and there’s still no clear way forward.”

“Mm, there’s still no clear problem, to many of us. I would not have known any wiser if you had not told me of it.” Khanaros explained. “For Argonas… his reluctance to believe all this shouldn’t surprise you. If not because it is adverse to all he knows, because accepting it means accepting the painful truth that his wife is suffering… and that he’s helpless to stop it.”

The High Vindicator shook his head, as he stepped back from the pair of Death Knights. He regarded them both, appraisingly. 

“We will be in touch. Not only as I follow up on what you’ve revealed here tonight, but I also expect if anything more develops… you’ll let me know, correct?”

Avehi nodded once more, before dipping her head respectfully. 

“We will, Khanaros. It is… a relief… to have your support in all this.”

“Mm. It isn’t support just yet. Not until I learn more of it. But for now… I’ll do what I can to see to it that your investigations aren’t hindered.” he replied, brow furrowed. “I make no guarantees; going around raising the dead certainly doesn’t sit well with a vast majority of people. So being, I trust you’re at least keeping that to a minimum?”

“As much as I can.” Avehi nodded once more. “This existence isn’t any I would wish on anyone. But compared to the Maw…”

She trailed off, shaking her head. Khanaros nodded, understanding nonetheless. He turned from the two, and began to walk the cobbled path - deeper into the cemetery, rather than out of it. 

“Mm. Light guide you, Avehi. Nedemus.” he bid them as he departed. 

“I entrust you to do what is right.”

~*~