#the man she's known for half a century and probably one of her closest friends now

[heartoferebor]

On a scale from 1 to 'has been listening to Violent Ceasefire from the MGS4 OST on a loop for the last hour and sobbing haltlessly whilst baking gingerbread' how well did you cope with that cutscene at the end of MGS4 ACT III?

[whitesparrows97]

Heartstring Melodies – Part 1

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Soulmate AU, College AU, fuckboy!Yoongi

Summary: Min Yoongi, the fuckboy of the whole college and the guy all girls fall for, should be your soulmate? You don’t believe that, you don’t want to believe that. Therefore, you and your best friend make a pact: She pretends to be you and gets together with Yoongi. Nothing can go wrong with that, right?

Warnings: Light swearing

Word Count: 3.8K

Next

Chapter One: «The course of true love never did run smooth.» – w.s.

Lost in thought, you pushed the strap of your backpack, which had slipped down, back onto your shoulder. You searched for the familiar bunch of black hair, but it wasn’t easy among the many groups of people standing in front of the library. A waving arm ended your search and with a little smile you headed in the direction of your best friend. No sooner had you reached her than you were pulled into a tight embrace. Your laughter was muffled by the body in front of you as you returned the hug.

“We last saw each other two days ago, Liv,” you laughed as she released her grip around your body and smiled at you. 

She shrugged as you walked towards the entrance of the building. “I hardly have anyone else but you,” she said softly and you could only hear her because it was so quiet in the library. “Besides, I’ve missed you.”

“We really should have studied the same subject,” you muttered. 

The three years of university would probably be a lot more fun and more exciting if the two of you sat next to each other in the lecture hall. But you knew that your passions and interests were in different areas. Liv would probably go insane if she had to listen to daily seminars about the salinity of the sea or hear the word ‛photosynthesis’ one more time. On the other hand, you would probably lose it if you had to hear the names Nietzsche, Sartre or Aristotle more than once a week.

You were aware that you shouldn’t make compromises when it came to your future. And it wasn’t as if you never saw Liv; on the contrary, you saw each other practically every day at lunchtime or after your lectures.

“Are you going to the lab later?” Liv asked as you sat down at an empty table.

You let yourself sink onto the chair, exhausted from the long day, and took your papers out of your backpack. “I don’t think so,” you replied and brushed a few strands of hair aside that had fallen into your face when you shook your head.

“Jin will be disappointed,” Liv teased but you ignored her ambiguous undertone. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said and tried to concentrate on the text you were supposed to read. However, your concentration was immediately interrupted when a hand placed itself on yours. Surprised, you looked up.

“Honestly, Y/N,” Liv started and you had the feeling that you didn’t want to hear the next part of her question. “What is going on between you and Jin?”

You pulled your hand out of her grip and dropped both hands in your lap as you leaned back against the chair. “Nothing,” you said, but Liv raised her eyebrows. “Really, he’s a good friend, and he knows I want nothing more than that. A good friendship.”

“If you say so,” Liv said in conclusion, but not without giving you a quick examing look. 

The silence around you tempted your thoughts to buzz all the louder in your head and from minute to minute it became more difficult to concentrate on the text in front of you. You knew that the relationship between you and Jin was purely platonic. But you were afraid that it wasn’t as clear to him. Even though you made it more than clear to him after he asked you out for coffee a few weeks ago. 

You gave Liv a belated angry look and cursed her for even bringing the topic up. Your eyes fell again on the text in front of you and with a sigh you turned to the next page. You were just about to look at the different types of sponges when you heard Liv gasp.

You looked up in wonder, but her gaze was directed at something behind you. You suppressed the impulse to turn around and look to see what had made her lose her voice.

“What?” you asked and couldn’t prevent the annoyed undertone. You had come to the library because you wanted to be well prepared for your homework and the laboratory work that went with it. 

“Oh my God,” Liv croaked out. She was still staring intently at something behind you. “He looks so good,” you heard her whisper and you knew exactly who it was about.

With an eye roll you grabbed the pencil you had dropped on the table and continued to underline important passages in the text. “You’d better concentrate on your studies, Liv,” you said and watched out of the corner of your eye as her head snapped towards you.

“How?” she said a bit too loud and got some angry glances from the students around you. “How can I concentrate if a man like Min Yoongi exists?” With a sigh she let her head fall into her hands and stared in the direction of the man she was talking about. 

“If you keep staring like that, he will notice it,” you stated, but a little smile played around the corners of your mouth as you remembered a situation from a few weeks ago.

“Hopefully,” Liv said and the same situation seemed to have entered her head as well.

“How long has he looked at you last time?” you asked, thinking pretentiously. You knew the answer only too well, Liv had told you often enough. “One second? Or was it even two?”

“Make fun of me,” she replied and lowered her hands. “But the one second he looked at me was the best in my life.”

“Wow, then the rest of your life must be very sad,” you muttered and laughed when you had to dodge the pen that flew in your direction. “You’re not even sure if he was really looking at you.”

“So what? He looked in my direction, which is more than some girls on this campus can dream of.”

You shook your head in disbelief. You didn’t understand how you could be so attracted to someone you had never spoken to before. Especially to someone like Min Yoongi. Your thoughts spat out the name and you had to control yourself not to pull a face when the image of the man came into your head. 

Objectively speaking, he was handsome. Even you could see that. But what was the point of all that good looks when the character was nothing but a big pile of junk? And in Min Yoongi’s case, his personality took on the dimensions of a whole garbage dump.

Unfortunately, most girls on campus had a different opinion than you and they made it all too clear should they ever cross paths with him in the hallways or the cafeteria. You imagined that this only confirmed Min Yoongi in his ego even more. And it was well known that Yoongi rarely ever said no to a beautiful girl; at least if you could believe the rumors. Actually, him and his small group of friends had made a name for themselves, to live up to those rumors. 

Your thoughts were interrupted when you noticed how Liv held her breath. A second later you saw the reason for her behavior when none other than Min Yoongi himself walked past your table. You watched him for a moment as he, his hands buried in the pocket of his black torn jeans, disappeared behind one of the many shelves.

“Please don’t start to freak out,” you said, half joking, half serious. 

“Why is he here?”, Liv asked instead, stretching her neck, to get another look at the man. “He never goes to the library.”

“You sound like a stalker,” was the only thing you replied and returned to your homework.

“Y/N,” Liv tried to whisper, but her voice was louder than she had planned so she was almost shouting your name. Again you felt the annoyed looks of the students around you. One boy even clicked his tongue in irritation and groaned before turning his gaze away from you to bury his nose back in his book. “He’s coming here,” she finished her sentence, and you were glad that she had the volume of her voice under control this time.

When you looked up, you knew that Liv was not exaggerating this time. Your gaze met that of Min Yoongi and for a moment it seemed as if the few noises of the quiet library around you were blurring into a loud humming. You felt your heartbeat pounding in your throat as you looked into the dark eyes of the man who wore an indefinable expression. 

He had drawn his eyebrows together in confusion and turned his gaze towards the floor for a moment as he continued to walk towards your table. Your table was the last one in the row and was therefore closest to the aisle he had just come from. Before you could get your thoughts in order, or calm down Liv who was shifting nervously in her chair, Min Yoongi had stopped in front of you.

“Hi,” he greeted you and his deep voice was what made you avert your gaze from him and release you from your rigidity. He cleared his throat briefly and pointed with his thumb over his shoulder towards the aisle behind him. “I’m looking for a book on composers of the 20th century. Do you know where I can find the music section? I’m not here that often,” he added the last part, and if you didn’t know better, he seemed almost embarrassed as he rubbed his hand over his neck.

Your eyes fell on Liv for a moment and you realized immediately that she was beyond help. Her eyes were two big hearts and her mouth hung slightly open as she looked up at the man in front of her. You suppressed an eye roll and turned your gaze back to the man in front of you who looked at you.

With the pen in your hand you pointed to the other end of the library. “If you go down this corridor, almost to the end, you’ll find everything about music,” you explained to him and he looked in the direction you were pointing. “I think that what you’re looking for is in the aisle next to contemporary art. But I’m not entirely sure about that.”

Yoongi turned his gaze back to you and a grin spread across his face; he was back to his old, arrogant self. Too bad, he had been very nice until now. Almost too nice…

“Thank you,” he said and mustered you once from to head to toe. You had to supress the urge to make yourself smaller in your chair.

“If there’s nothing else,” you said as an invitation for him to leave and trying to get him to look away from you as quickly as possible. But he raised an eyebrow when he heard the tone of your voice and the distinct disinterest when you turned back to the papers in front of you. 

“Sorry,” said Liv, and her voice was an octave too high when she spoke. “She doesn’t mean it like that,” she tried to explain and you flinched as her foot came into contact with your shin. 

“No problem,” he replied and took a look at the text you tried to read. “Well, I’d better let you two get back to work. We don’t want Mommy and Daddy to be disappointed,” he added and you raised your eyes briefly to shoot him an angry look. Asshole…

He gave you another smug grin before he went in the direction you pointed. You already regretted having helped him at all. Although he had been so nice for the first few seconds. It was probably all part of his tactics to get girls into bed. 

The next minutes you had to listen to the whispered, excited monologue of Liv, who told you over and over again what had just happened. As if you hadn’t been there yourself. Sighing, you stowed your folders in your backpack when you were sure you wouldn’t be able to do anything productive today. Especially not with your hyperactive best friend, who seemed to be vibrating with excitement in her chair. You, and probably all students around you, were happy when you both left the library and headed to the dorms.

Unlike you, Liv lived in her own apartment not far from campus. So you gave her credit for taking you to the building where you had your apartment, which you shared with two other girls. Then again, she had a lot to make up for after the last two hours. After you two said your good-byes and you climbed up the stairs to the fourth floor, your thoughts inevitably drifted to the incident a few minutes earlier. 

You still saw the briefly confused look on his face as he had approached you. The black hair had fallen into his face, so you hardly noticed how he pulled his eyebrows together. Something had been strange at the moment your eyes met. You had never experienced anything like it; that feeling as if everything around you was disappearing and your focus was only on one person for a split second.

You snorted when you noticed how much this thought reminded you of romantic love stories. A woman met a man and it was like love at first sight. Everything except for the other person became meaningless. You would describe yourself as not a particularly romantic person. Sure, you wouldn’t mind if a man gave you flowers or some other small gift. But for that you would have to have a man who would find you interesting enough to go out with you in the first place. 

Yet you were strictly against the romanticizing that took place in so many movies, books, music and real life. Your stomach almost turned when a term came into your mind which you tried to erase from your thoughts as soon as it entered your head. 

Soulmates.

With a little more force than necessary, you yanked open the zipper of your backpack to look for the key card of your apartment. Soulmates were an invention of a cruel god or higher power who had grown bored and wanted to see people suffer. There was no other way you could explain what the whole thing was for. There was nothing worse for you than the thought that your future and your life partner were predetermined. 

And even worse was that it could hit you every day. There was no particular age at which soulmates found each other. You could find them when you were two, playing with them in the playground. Or you could find them at 92, sitting in your rocking chair at the retirement home. Many people never found them either and died without ever having a name on their skin. What a disappointment so many people went through, just because they never found their soulmate. 

Did that make other relationships less valuable? Did it make life less worth living? Not in your eyes. You couldn’t understand how many people cared that much about a tattoo that put more pressure on you than it helped. You hoped that you would never have that problem and that the spot on your skin right over your heart would remain empty forever.

This thought had just crossed your mind when you suddenly felt a hot sting in your chest. The key card to your apartment slipped out of your grasp as your hand shot up to the spot right under your left breast. “Fuck,” you mumbled and tried to apply some pressure on the spot, hoping to take away some of the pain. In vain.

It felt like the burning was working its way into your chest until it finally enveloped you completely and for a second you felt like you were on fire. As fast as it had come, as fast the feeling ebbed away and a moment later you stood breathless in the hallway in front of your door. You leaned against the wall next to it and tried to get your breath under control.

Was that a heart attack? Or a stroke? 

With shaking fingers you picked up the key card from the floor. It took you three attempts until the door finally opened and you were able to enter the apartment. As you brushed off your shoes, you ran your hand over the spot under your breast. Your eyes widened and you froze completely in your movement when a thought occurred to you.

No. No, it could not be. What a coincidence it would be if at the very moment you were upset about soulmates… 

You shook your head, you didn’t want to think for a second about what might be on your skin. A name that would turn your life upside down.

You ignored the warmth that seemed to radiate from your chest as you stepped into the kitchen of the small apartment. You had never been happier than now that your two roommates weren’t home yet. A few minutes alone was exactly what you needed. You didn’t feel ready to answer the questions of the two curious girls when they noticed that something was wrong with you. It wouldn’t take them five minutes to figure out what was wrong with you.

You had lost your appetite, so you left the kitchen and went straight to your room. While you were sitting at your desk, hoping to finally be able to get some homework done, your thoughts recalled the past day. You tried to remember all the faces that you had met for the first time today. There were probably hundreds of them, if you thought about the hustle and bustle that was happening on campus every day. 

Was there anyone that you spoke to for the first time? One more thing that indicated for the cruelty of the gods or spirits that invented soulmates. It could happen that you were sitting next to your soulmate day in, day out on the way to work on the same train. You would see each other every day, maybe for years. The name on your chest, however, only appeared after you had exchanged your first words with the person. That was another reason why so many people never knew who their soulmate was.

Your eyes fell on your phone, which was lying next to you on the desk and your fingers twitched in that direction. For a moment you toyed with the idea of calling your father, but you knew better and let your hand fall back into your lap.

Instead, you tried again to remember the day and to recall the conversations that took place. In your chemistry class, you had a short conversation with another student who asked if he could borrow a pen from you. At the cash desk at the cafeteria there was a new temp, a young man, probably in his mid-twenties. He had handed you your food and asked you if that was all or if there was anything else you wanted to get. On the way to the library you had not met another person.

It took you a moment to stretch the time line further and your heart skipped a beat when you thought about the conversation at the library. For the third time today you froze and sat on your chair as if you were glued to the spot. You were sure that any color had disappeared from your face as your thumb subconsciously ran across the slight burning in your chest. 

A moment later, you jumped up in anger. The chair slammed against the desk with a loud thud and out of the corner of your eye you saw some of the little collection figures you had placed on it fall over.

You ran to the mirror at the back of the door to your room and came to a halt in front of it, breathing loudly. It had only been a few steps, your room was not that big, and yet you were out of breath as if you had run a marathon.

That could not, no, that would not be true. You weren’t even sure if it wasn’t a heart attack you had had after all. You would lift up your shirt and see nothing but your skin underneath. Everything would be the same. With clammy fingers you grabbed the hem of your shirt and slowly pulled it up. You could see more and more of your skin in the mirror and you swallowed hard as you worked your way up inch by inch. 

With a choked scream you let the material of the fabric fall down. Had you just seen something black? Or was it a shadow of the low, setting sun? You didn’t want to try again, but you knew that sooner or later you would have to look. 

You took one more deep breath before closing your eyes, grabbing the hem and pulling the shirt over your head with a jerk. You held on to the thin fabric for a moment before it fell to the ground and landed by your feet. You heard your heartbeat rushing in your ears and were torn between opening your eyes or squeezing them even tighter.

Okay, it was gonna be okay. You probably didn’t even know the name, if there really was one. If those were the only conversations you had with strangers today, the chances were one in three that it would be him. That wasn’t too bad, was it?

You pulled yourself together and opened your eyes. Right away, you wish you hadn’t. You wished you could close your eyes forever to this name that would be engraved on your skin for the rest of your life. You stroked over it, at first lightly, then more firmly, until the skin around the black fine lines turned red, so vigorously you tried to wipe the name away. 

The name you heard people whispering in the corridors. The name that belonged to the man who immediately attracted attention as soon as he entered a room. Any other name would be better than the one you were staring at in the mirror before you. And even though it was mirrored, it didn’t take you a millisecond to read it.

Min Yoongi.

Note: Hello! I really hope you enjoyed the first chapter of this little story! Any kind of feedback is appreciated a lot and helps me to stay motivated and get chapters out more quickly. So I’m happy about any kind of feedback if you enjoyed the chapter (or not and you want to give me tips on my writing, which is appreciated as well)!

I hope you’re all staying safe and see you soon! 💜

[hlcreators]

AUTHOR REC: mediawhore / @mediawhorefics 

Be sure to show some love and leave kudos and a comment!

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[an-unknown-writers-world]

The Promise of Our Youth

Warnings: Angst, if you try really hard there is a bit of fluff?

Pairing:  Loki X Reader

Characters: Loki; mentions of Frigga, Thor, Sif and Warriors Three

Word Count: 1649

A/N: Based on the Banners song Start A Riot- I don’t know what this is, honestly. It came out and I just kind of went with it.

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

I will march down an empty street like a ship into the storm. No surrender, no retreat. I will tear down every wall, just to keep you warm, just to bring you home. I will burn this city down for a diamond in the dust. I will keep you safe and sound when there's no one left to trust. Will you take my hand? We can make our stand.

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I will wade through the fire and smoke like sunlight through the haze. I will fight till the flag waves white until my dying days. Through the bombs and blasts. We will take it back

**********************************************************************************************************

“Penny for your thoughts?” A soft voice broke the silence.

You jumped.

“Sorry, love. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

With a half-hearted smile, you looked up at the man you’d grown so fond of. He stood dressed for the party, a black shirt, and peacoat with green accents and dark green pants tucked into his leather boots. His flawless alabaster skin glowing in the library lights; with enough imagination and the right angle, the reflection of the lights cast a halo in his jet-black hair.

“What are you doing here?” You asked harsher than you meant.

He scooped up your crossed ankles and sat down before laying them across his lap. “I was worried, Sif said you weren’t coming tonight; something about you not feeling well. That seems to be the case a lot lately.”  

You nodded slowly; making a mental note to speak with her about the proper excuses for when you’re hiding from people.

“Talk to me,” He said running his fingertips slowly up and down your exposed ankles.

“There isn’t much for me to say, Loki,” You shrugged. “I’m just tired.”

“(Y/N),” He sighed, “I’ve known you our whole lives and can tell when you’re lying to me.”

You fidgeted with the book in your hands. It was an old book, the pages smelled beautifully aged, and were rough and crisp to the touch. You tried to focus on anything but the God currently holding your ankles; the thought of having him so close was agonizing.

Rumors had been flying through the palace that he was in love with a girl; although, no one knew who exactly she was. It wasn’t a secret to most of the royal family’s inner circle that you had been in love with the God of Mischief from a young age. It seemed like the only person it was a secret to was him.

Your mother had passed when you were a child, so you often found yourself with Frigga. They had been best friends before she passed; in many ways, Frigga was the closest thing you’d had to a mother in the last nine centuries.  Since the rumors had started, you’d spent many days and even some nights with her, crying out your frustration and pain. Often Frigga would go back and forth between defending Loki claiming his ignorance and blaming him for being so oblivious to what was in front of him.

“Love,” Loki spoke softly breaking your trance.

Looking up at his brilliant blue orbs you smiled feebly.

“Where’d you go?” He asked.

You knew he wasn’t asking where you physically went at any time. He knew you weren’t mentally or emotionally present. The anger and pain you felt started to well up in your eyes, threatening to break free purely by being in his presence.

“Loki, can you please just let me be?” You asked.

“No, I can’t, and I won’t,” He huffed.

A moment of silence passed. You felt no obligation to fill it, you had come here to be alone while everyone else went to the party.

“Do you remember when we were children at your mother’s ceremony,”

“Loki,” you interrupted.

“Please,” he hushed.

You rolled your eyes knowing it was pointless to argue.

“You couldn’t watch, it scared you to see her in that condition.”

“I remember,” you whispered thinking back to the waterfall ceremony. The sight of her casket engulfed in flames as it hovered over the water.

“You buried your face in my chest and made me promise to always protect you, to comfort you and be here.”

“We were just children, Loki. I didn’t know what I was asking. I surely didn’t grasp how long we lived either. Always is a very long time.”

You felt a pang of guilt that he remember this promise and seemed to be clinging to it. His gaze was cast down to where his hands rested on your legs.

“I’ve never broken that promise. It’s been almost 900 years.” He spoke softly.

The wheels in your mind started to turn, feeling as if you knew where this conversation was headed. How could he keep this promise and love another?

“You are not bound to me.” You stated. “I will never hold you to a promise you made me in our youth.”

He sighed. “I remember when we were teenagers and your night terrors started, you were too afraid to tell your father and scared that Frigga would tell him if you shared with her,” a soft smile played on his lips as he reminisced. “I would sneak into your bed chambers and stay up the whole time you slept, promising to chase away any demons that came in the night.”

“Some of the most restful nights,” you smiled remembering. “Until Frigga caught you. To this day I don’t think she believes us.”

He laughed; it was a melodious sound.

“Your first heartbreak, I was there to pick up your pieces.” He stated. “Sif and Thor made me promise to not snap his neck.”

You laughed softly. “He probably would have deserved it.”

“How can I protect you if you won’t tell me what’s wrong?”

You sighed.

How do you tell the person who is trying to protect you that they are the problem?

You don’t.

“Please, just go to the party.” You begged. “Drop this, for both of our sakes.”

He sighed and cupped your check with his palm, adoration, and devotion evident in his gaze. You couldn’t help but lean into it, closing your eyes for the briefest moment.

Before he spoke again, he took his hand from your face and rested it back on your ankle.

“I would burn down the nine realms to protect you. But I can’t if you won’t be honest with me. Let me back in, please (Y/N). I am begging you.” His eyes were fierce with emotion. “You used to come to me, but now I feel as if I am one of the frost giants that so many fear.” He paused, searching your expression for some kind of acknowledgment. “For weeks you’ve become more and more distant. You can be with Thor and Sif and even those imbeciles they call Warriors Three and be fine, but the moment I enter the room you leave. Thor or Sif making an excuse for your abrupt departure. Even my mother has given me terrible explanations that no one would believe.”

You sat idly; he knew something was wrong so how could he not put things together? Surely, he had to know about the rumors.

“Is it me, love? Did I do something to harm you? Upset you someway?” He asked.

You could feel the tears escape your eyes; it broke your heart to see him this way. The thought of causing him the agony he was obviously in. And to think, he is in this state because he rightly fears your anger is directed at him.

“I don’t think it was intentional,” You finally spoke, turning your eyes down to your lap. “I thought they were just stupid jokes at first, but the more the rumors spread through the palace. I guess, I just.” You paused trying to collect the right words. “I thought I could get past it all better if I wasn’t around you.”

“What are you talking about?” He looked confused and almost angry.

“The way you smile every time you come into the room. The way that happiness is just seeping out of you; the thought that someone else is making you feel the way I had always tried. The pain it causes me is suffocating.”

A strangled breath caught in his throat.

It was the first time you acknowledged what was really bothering you. You were incredibly thankful that he was so happy and experiencing the love that he was worthy of but deprived of for so long. It was your own selfishness that was causing the pain you felt.

“I know that you cannot keep the promise you made me and love someone else. Please, Loki forget about the promise.”

His hands came to cover your own; your breath hitched in your throat. You could feel your heart shattering into a million pieces, that’s what he came for. To be released from the promise that he made.

“There is no one else,” He spoke softly, his eyes locking onto yours; “Only you. It’s always been you and will only ever be you.”

“But the rumor?” You asked.

“Someone overheard a piece of a conversation between our fathers and me.”

“My father?” I interrupted.

He smiled, “This was not how I planned and certainly far from the ideal condition for this conversation.”

��Loki,” You begged, “Please, I don’t understand.”

“(Y/N), I love you; I cannot think of a moment of my life that I have not. My hope is that you would be willing to spend the next several millennia with me.”

A tear streamed down your cheek, you felt silly and childish. Instead of asking him about the rumors, you chose to run and hide, causing you both unnecessary pain.

“My love,” He spoke again softly, his hand returning to cup your face.

“Yes,” You whispered, “Yes, I want to spend every moment of eternity with you.”

His thumb carefully wiped away the tear falling down your cheek before kissing you. His lips were soft and warm against yours; the salt of your tears could be tasted in the kiss.

Pulling away he rested his forehead to yours as you breathed each other’s air.

“I’m sorry for being so ridiculous,” you said softly.

He laughed and pulled back to look at you, “You did better than I would have,” He said honestly. “I probably would have started a war.”

This made you laugh, he wasn’t joking.

“I’ve missed that melody,” He smiled.

You rolled your eyes with a smile before kissing him again.

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

Thank you for reading! If you liked it, you can find more here! 

[naerwenia]

Face of the Empire

So, here's a fic I wrote one night after getting an idea, where Eshka is recruited by Thrawn to work for COMPNOR, to be a face for alien acceptance in the Empire. This was supposed to be a longer story, but I realized I don't actually have a plan for the plot, so this is all for now. Maybe I complete this one day. For now, it's just an unfinished idea without a point, about Grand Admiral Thrawn and my OC/Star Wars rpg character Eshka Kith'lya (who's actually full Bothan rather than just half like in this fic). I tried to smooth out some weird sentences, but I am just a human. When she thought about her future, she didn’t see herself as someone who would ever work for the Empire. She was an anarchist, educated, and more importantly, alien, a half-Bothan to be exact. Not someone who would ever look to work for the Empire, yet here she was, smiling for a picture as the Commission for the Preservation of the New Order crafted the next poster to be spread around, with Eshka as the face of lies.

University of Bar’leth was not the Hutt's first choice for Eshka. He wanted her to continue her studies in Coruscant but new policies prevented that. Credits would have solved that but what good would forcing an alien into an all-human university do? All the politics working in that situation would undermine the core education she was there to get. Her major was medicine, not political science. All social skills and charm were to be learnt on the side while maneuvering in the social circles of university life. Even Eshka knew she wasn’t there to just learn, she had to gather life-long connections, knowledge, and make sure her name would be known. Even if she didn’t have to do all that, her loyalty to the Hutt meant she had to obey his every word. If she didn’t, there was no reason for him to keep her around, she just cost him credits and sometimes gave him a headache, but soon she would take her place in the high society and get to pay back the Hutt’s kindness.

It really was kindness that made him take her under his wing, if any Hutt ever happened to have such quality. He had promised her parents that the girl would get an education and everything she needed, but she’d have to pay back in the end. No amount of credits would pay back the life Eshka was given, but information and favours might, and she was sure if need be, she would be shipped to a foreign lord to secure an alliance. Eshka had her own life until she didn’t, and she was aware of it. This deal, however unbalanced, didn’t come without positives though. Her freedom had been exchanged for fancy dances, extravagant gowns, education, and a name she could drop to get herself out of trouble: Marlo, Leader of the Hutt Council. There was, however, an acknowledgement that if she used that name frivolously, she tied her own name to him even more, and being known as one of the Hutt’s women was not what she wanted. Eshka was a doctor, a half-Bothan, taken care of monetarily by Marlo. That was the lie Eshka told herself, and got most to believe.

That was the first sentence Eshka learnt to tell without it sounding like a lie. She learnt to twist words, to make up the truth she wanted. The way she told everyone what she wanted them to hear, what she wanted them to know, just choosing not to tell the whole truth, just the words that the audience needed to hear. This was the lesson Eshka had learnt from Hutts. If nothing else, she knew how to speak and find her way up the social ladder. Each and every word had such a weight to it, and Eshka hated it. No matter how good she was with the words, she didn’t know how to express her feelings, to give words true meaning. It probably had something to do with the fact she never had a chance to do so. She had friends, caretakers, people to look up to, but also a distant Hutt as the closest thing to a twisted father-figure, so she learnt to keep her distance, to give people what they needed to keep them indebted to her, to have their trust, yet not show what she truly wanted, because she didn’t know that herself.

Not a sound escaped from the lips of the debutantes, the ballroom just stood in silence after Eshka’s impromptu speech. Her voice shook, as the weight of the words shattered any mask she might have been wearing that night. This was not the place she was supposed to be in. This was not her place. She had just told a hall full of young Imperial officers and privileged university students that the only way to peace is through understanding and encouraging societies to govern themselves democratically through local governments, that the Empire may overlook the small, the helpless, less fortunate who were also looked over by the majority, the Emperor is not omnipotent and governing from this ballroom full of gold and crystals is madness, we don’t even know what happens underground at Coruscant, even one floor below, not to mention at the Outer Rim. Too much, she had said too much and at the wrong place. Soon the guards would take her away, she may have been under the protection of a Hutt but spreading rebellious propaganda was a crime. She was an alien, they would take her away, she would lose everything, and these words were her last action, not to be remembered by anyone. An act of resistance in the ivory tower, tears drowned in rain, not even a ripple to be seen in the great ocean of consequences.

“And the only way to prevent this ignorance and lack of oversight is through you, Officers. You are the hands and ears of the Empire, through you, there is peace in the Galaxy”, said a male voice next to Eshka, turning her resistance into Imperial propaganda with just a few words. Eshka knew that voice. It was made of the same weight as hers usually was, one to omit words to tell the truth they wanted in a way that furthered their ideals. Calculated, thought through, precise. They knew what they wanted and Eshka’s sudden outburst only furthered their goals in attending this god-forsaken ball. She was left deciding if she wanted to embarrass herself even more or go with this new narrative. But there was no choice to make as applause arose from the audience, cheering, as the poignant and uncomfortable truth was turned to a morale boost of the century, only assuring the Imperial cadets of their own importance. Only when her hand was taken by the man next to her did she realize that she had just stared blankly at the crowd, and quickly turned her head to see who had taken her hand, the one to lead her out of the trouble she had created for herself. A man in a white suit, red eyes smiling at her. No, she thought, wanting to cry out and run. No, she yelled in her mind as he guided her down the stairs to the dancefloor. No, she screamed yet no words could escape her dry lips. There was no air to fill her lungs so she could express the abject horror she was feeling in the arms of Grand Admiral Thrawn. His grip was tight around her waist, his skin warm against her back, his hand in her hand even hotter, his eyes burning. This is my end, she thought, making peace with herself that she would die in the hands of her enemy, being whisked away after a dance for the greatness of the Empire. Ironic.

As the music stopped, he bowed but did not let go of her hand. “My lady, you look awfully pale. May I offer you some refreshments, and maybe let you sit down?” he said, leading her to the back. He could smell my fear, Eshka said to herself in a haze. He led her to a small room with a chaise lounge, made her sit there and ordered a maid to bring drinks for “my lady”. Eshka wanted to throw up, but only closed her eyes to help herself to gather her own thoughts somewhere else. At least the Grand Admiral gave her the time to catch her breath, then water. Just then she realized, embarrassment crept to her; she, a common student, was keeping Grand Admiral waiting. As soon as the moment really hit her, Eshka had a choice to be made: mask or truth. This time, she decided to let the man talk before she wanted to make her decision, but she had a feeling the Chiss might be already scheming.

“I am terribly sorry for my outburst, Grand Admiral, I may have, no, I stepped over my line, and embarrassed everyone. You saved me as my nerves got to me, and I couldn’t get a word out. You even saved my pride, danced with me, like I hadn’t just fallen into the back of my…” Eshka rambled, but Thrawn silenced her with one look and a hand movement. Nothing got past him. He knew.

“After your insolent speech and blatant propaganda in front of the finest of the Empire…”

“You don’t believe that”.

A smirk on both of their faces.

“But you could make it true”.

That caught Eshka off-guard. What on the Galaxy did he talk about?

“You clearly have a way with words, and know how to make your speech heartfelt, even if misguided for now. So I propose an offer in exchange for me sweeping any accusation that may arise from tonight, you join the Commission for the Preservation of the New Order. You have a human face, which humans find the most appealing, but have features of an alien. The posters…” the Grand Admiral says, looking for the word.

“Propaganda” Eshka suggested, still not exactly knowing what he was going for.

“Propaganda, or information war, needs to appeal to aliens too. You are both. Human and alien, delightfully both.”

Eshka didn’t quite understand, and the word “delightfully” was used so casually she wanted to question him even more. Delightful? She took a deep breath before answering, looking at the floor.

“I’m sorry to inform you that I am not in a position to accept your offer. I am in debt to Marlo the Hutt, who has decided in his great wisdom that I must study medicine and serve him..”

Thrawn seems slightly confused, seeming not to quite catch the meaning of your words though he understood the meaning of each word, so Eshka tried to extrapolate.

“He has given me a life, I am in debt with my life”, she added, and he nodded, understanding the depth of the issue.

“In that case, I still have an upper hand. Either he lets you go to prison, have you disgraced, or lets you join. Then you have the same choice.”

“I… Have a choice?” Eshka asked, not quite believing it, but was put back down immediately.

“No”, Thrawn snapped, his eyes watching her breathing stop and demeanor withdraw back to one of a cornered animal. Interesting. Delightful.

“Then my life is in your hands, Grand Admiral Mitth'raw'nuruodo”, she said in Sy Bisti, with the final chance to plead and beg, and to get one last word in the conversation. The situation was bad, but it could be worse. He might not care at all about her and just liked to play some holochess with her mind, maybe thinking there’s others that shared her beliefs and she was a way to get to them, or he just wanted to save the face of the ball. Probably that, and some sadistic pleasure he got from making her submit. Submit.

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

“Do you wish to know your value?” Thrawn asked as he escorted Eshka to the Lambda shuttle, ready to leave Bar’leth and move back to Coruscant, this time in service of the Empire rather than a Hutt.

“If it is in credits, no”, she answered, a bit annoyed, thinking it wasn’t worth knowing she was worthless, especially to a Hutt or to her new employer. However, Thrawn just smiled to himself.

“You underestimate yourself, miss”, he said, “You are worth much more than a chip with numbers, in fact, you have proved useful already, so I must thank you on behalf of the Empire”.

She shuddered. Empire. Useful to the Empire.

“You understand loyalty, so you will learn soon enough.”

“Is this a way for you to play mind games or rid out resistance before it has been born? Because either way, I am only here to enlist my help to the Commission and pay my debt to you the best way I can. No matter what you say, I do not think I will change my mind about the Empire”, Eshka retorted back, letting the Stormtroopers carry her luggage to the back of the shuttle, and sat on an isolated seat, yet when Admiral took the seat next to her, it felt cramped. And only four troopers were with them. The flight wasn’t long, at least it wasn't supposed to be.

“So, I believe you have questions. May I inquire what you are thinking?” Thrawn asked, with a voice that sounded almost soft for him. Eshka took note of that, replaying the sound of his voice to remember it, as she hadn’t heard him talk enough to make an educated guess about his thoughts that made him say those words.

“I was hoping you would have clear instructions for me, and what is my relationship with you, if any, “ Eshka said looking down, then raising her gaze to Thrawn, who, both surprisingly and unsurprisingly, looked relaxed, yet his gaze met Eshka with piercing intensity. Shuddering, fear striked right into Eshka. Death was no longer an option. This was the gaze of a man who knew the outcome of this battle, and used this moment only to understand the advantage they had better. Lowering her gaze, she submitted, and this gesture didn’t go unnoticed by the expert tactician.

“You submit to your faith, I see.”

“I have no battle here, so I can not be defeated”, she said, slightly smiling.

“You choose your battles well.”

“Thank you, Admiral”.

A sigh from the Chiss was unexpected, yet a weirdly humanizing touch. “You may address me as ‘sir’ from now on. Unless you are in a formal setting, then Grand Admiral Thrawn. If you wish to call me by my full name, you may, but I assume you know the right situations for that.” Sentimental reasons, he keeps me close, too close, Eshka thought.

“You have been given a position in the Commission as an alien relations specialist, you will serve as the face and spokesperson in that area. Your position will include information influencing campaigns, which will have you attending balls and giving speeches. You will be an exemplary Imperial civilian to others like us, someone to look up to.

“You are just an insolent child, privileged and rich, a teenager who is trying to rebel and does not understand what troubles their parents went through to secure your position in a society that has nothing but contempt for you. So what I am giving you is an opportunity to change the system from the inside, just like your parents did, but with more support. The success of a system is not on the shoulders of the leader as much as it is on the ones who serve. The lead gives the command, but the success depends on the ones who carry out the order.” Silence filled the room between the two of them like a thick fog, clouding the true intentions of Thrawn.

“I didn’t think you would care that much about politics”

“I do not, but some changes are inevitable for the system to work better in the future. I do not care for politics, pleasing others is not in my nature, but this is something that has to be done in order for the Empire to win this war”.

“The Empire values the needs of the many over the needs of the few, how does propaganda help my kind?”

“You misunderstand. The majority is the only one who may give betterment to the minority, but if the minority rebels against the majority, there will be no acceptance, and no moving forward. At the moment, species other than humans see their options as joining the Empire, which does not care for them, or active resistance with the Rebellion. But there is a third option. Compliance. You will be the face of compliance and order. Comply to the orders and you shall be rewarded.

“With basic rights?”

“At the moment, yes. But isn’t it better to comply with one unfair order so that you may live to the next day and then receive what you deserve?

“Or your oppressor takes your compliance as a sign that the order is not unreasonable, and continues with that.

“Could be, but do you not want to see what you could do to change that sentiment?”

“I could never side with the Empire”

“But would you join me, Chiss?”

“You work for the Empire, you line your ideals with the Empire.”

“My goals line with the Empire, and my loyalty is towards the Empire. But I am a Chiss, I serve my people too. Even after they exiled me, I will see that they are safe in the Galaxy.”

“I admire your loyalty, sir” Eshka responded, with soft fondness for the Admiral at that moment, as she had to face the fact that she was not really part of any group. Not human, not Bothan, not a Hutt, definitely not part of the cartels or any organization. Any place she ever lived in was not her home planet, she never really had a home. There was no sentimentality, there was only logic governing her life, she understood that, but now, as an alien soldier who

“So, who are you?”

“I’m sorry, what?” The question caught Eshka off-guard.

“You want so many things for those around you, yet don’t talk about anything related to who you are. So tell me, who is the Eshka sitting next to me?”

Who am I? “I’m… Eshka, I’m … “ and silence filled with anticipation on behalf of Eshka, who was trying to find anything to answer with. Yes, she studied to be a doctor, but that was not on the table anymore. Saying half-human, half-Bothan sounded weird. “A girl?” she continued, looking at Thrawn, expecting him to tell her if this was the right answer.

“No no, you have to know that for yourself. Now, you may continue, or do you wish to keep me waiting until you realize yourself?” he said snidely. Embarrassment coursed through Eshka’s veins, infecting her cheeks and tongue, making her unable to respond in any other way than just saying “I’m sorry, sir”.

---------

Grand Admiral Mitth'raw'nuruodo watched the sad and small woman lie in her recliner, sleeping soundly in the vastness of space. A canvas for a different kind of art found lost in the galaxy. Emotional to the point of being a flaw, yet unaware of her self. Chaotic, yet logical and smart. Lonely, but altruistic. She needed guidance, and he needed someone to be a force for acceptance. No matter how well Thrawn did in the military and kept to himself, the world he was fighting for was not always kind to him. Order and peace were what he was fighting for, but if Eshka could soften the Imperium’s people’s attitudes towards both of them, his position might not be questioned so often and he would be able to focus on fighting the rebellion. Humans liked cute things like Porgs and doves, and Eshka seemed to fit the idea of cute, but had some visible Bothan features like nose, eyes, and ears. Otherwise her body reminded him of paintings from Togruta: colourful, sweet, vibrant.

Eshka tossed and turned, clearly distressed in her dreams now. Thrawn sat up and got on his feet, taking one step towards the sleeping lady, only to kneel next to her and putting his warm hand on her shoulder. Simple trick to calm humanoids, and it worked on Eshka. Her breathing calmed and her shoulders relaxed. A moment later Thrawn turned back to his chair. Maybe he should catch sleep too, even if his metabolism didn’t really need it. What he needed was a clear idea of what he wanted Eshka to be. The lack of self-awareness she had played into his hand, and the way she was trained by Hutts was good; always ready to please, understanding of her own lack of agency, loyalty to the contract, but it also made Thrawn angry, the way she was denied any closeness and made to grow up without a strong sense of self. No culture, no customs, nothing but humans of Coruscant and Bar’leth who ostracized her and made her build herself to fit in wherever she went. She was a blank slate, and Thrawn would build her to a perfect woman who would no longer submit to anyone but him. She was not a slave, but he wanted her to wear chains of diamonds. What a weird thought, Thrawn stopped. Maybe it was related to the conversation he had had with Marlo the Hutt. It had been the first time Thrawn had to interact with a Hutt, and he surely hoped it would be the last. Arrogant and cunning, almost catching Thrawn's intentions, yet not useful in the long run, as he got a crash course in the politics within the cartel and now knew to limit any contact with them unless absolutely necessary. It was funny how well the Hutt knew the value in Eshka, yet could keep the knowledge so out of her reach. Just telling Marlo Eshka was going to be executed for treason didn’t sway him, he even laughed straight at Thrawn’s face, telling him no one could touch her for such a small thing, and why would such a high-ranking officer come there just to inform him? No, it had to be more personal, and if Thrawn wanted the girl, he had to give more than credits, in fact, credits were useless in this matter. Frustrating, but fruitful conversation ensued. The puppet changed owners, and there were new plans on the works.

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

Eshka put her hand on the glass, watching the view in front of her, city lights dancing in her eyes. When taking the job, she thought she was going to be living somewhere underground, with low-class officers if she was lucky, but here she was, in the same building with high-ranking officers. She could see the sky, star destroyer’s lights, the roofs of smaller buildings. It was beautiful, but the loneliness grew in her. There was a whole sky to share, yet here she was, alone above everyone.

Perfect, she was perfect. A gown made of stars, extravagant to many but tasteful for Coruscant. Lights reflecting from the velvety fabric made it look like the whole galaxy was moving as she moved and danced. Eshka, however, felt weird. It wasn’t the first time someone else chose a dress for her, but she didn’t think the Grand Admiral would be the one to do so. Yet his love for control was enough to explain this, but not why she was invited to a banquet for Imperial Officers and socialites of the city. When moving, Eshka had sold her formal dresses to get some money for savings, as she wasn’t sure how much she would be compensated for her work, and she thought there was no need for formal attire, or at least hoped she could hide from the public eye as she was working in her position, but she should have known better. Thrawn wanted her to change the perception humans had of aliens and be the face of the Empire, so why would it not include actual face-to-face meetings or larger events too. She only knew Thrawn and the director of COMPNOR there, maybe some officer she had brushed by at other social gatherings, but if most were military personnel, she had no idea what she could talk with them about. Small talk, flirt? Those should be enough for this time, just feel the atmosphere and plan for the next event. Lose a battle to win the war, and so on. Even if she didn’t like what she was doing in relation to her employer, she had to admit not everyone had the same opportunities to choose sides in the Galaxy, and if she could change some views in the higher ups, she had done something right.

A deep breath, name said aloud, and Eshka stepped in a tall room with chandeliers illuminating the glass cage high above the city. Curious looks were exchanged between guests as Eshka moved inside the room, looking around for a good guest she might be able to introduce herself to. She kept a soft smile on her face, bowed her head as she maneuvered around people already deep in conversations, not letting a single one of the guests to think for a moment she was intimidated. She didn’t know anything about the military, she would say to herself, she was there only to have fun and drink the Corellian wine people spoke so highly of.

An officer with six blue and red taps, probably an admiral or a marshal, was standing by himself with a whiskey in his hand by a window looking a bit uncomfortable in such an open space with people other than military troops. A good start, Eshka thought to herself and joined the gentleman. Starting the conversation with a quip about whiskey seemed to work in Eshka’s favour, just like a light-hearted joke about not taking alcohol well opened the older man to Eshka, and she was just happy it was working. Marshal Kof’ral was surprisingly sweet, considering he was one who had dedicated his life to the military, nowadays commanding his own ground fleet. With whiskey in one hand and Eshka’s hand in the other, he took her to the bar to tell her more about the whiskeys. Few younger officers joined them, clearly new to the setting, but the Marshal knew them and invited them to join the lesson on whiskeys around the galaxy. The officers, however, weren’t too enamored by Eshka, in fact, they seemed to enjoy the jokes they could make at her expense than the whiskey, but let their hands wander down her back. Marshall just laughed with them, so Eshka did too even when it hurt a bit. This wasn’t the place to confront them, this was just to introduce herself to the high society. Thankfully, the dinner was to start soon, so Eshka got the chance to excuse herself from the situation, telling the men she needed to add some face powder before the dinner.

Just a few more hours, I can make it, she told herself, looking at the mirror in the bathroom. Maybe there’s no need to have a conversation with the one next to me, whoever they may be. A racist who hates me, they wouldn’t talk to me, or someone nice, it’s going to be just fine.

When she finally stepped back to the hall, she was escorted to the dining room and seated. Next to Grand Admiral Thrawn. Both relieved and nervous, she didn’t know how to react. There was a lady next to him on his left side and Eshka thought it might be his date. Before Thrawn could even say a word to Eshka, a council member was seated next to her, taking her attention with a flirty greeting. Bail Carivus, a politician from a long family line of legislators and senators, and him talking to Eshka with such empty praises was infuriating to Thrawn, yet Eshka didn’t seem to mind, only blushing and giggling.

“And who is this serious man you are next to?” Carivus asked, flashing a condescending smile to Thrawn, and pure hate flashed in Thrawn’s eyes before Eshka could see it.

“Oh, he is Grand Admiral Thrawn, the captain of Chimaera”, Eshka said, glee in her voice, like she was proud to introduce the two of them, the opposites of each other. Tension between them just grew with the realization they were from very different worlds.

“It is very nice to meet you, Admiral”, Carivus said, clearly disregarding military ranks, yet offered his hand to Thrawn for a shake. Thrawn took it, if only to not embarrass Eshka.

“As it is to meet you”, Thrawn replied, coldly.

Before the tension grew too much or the silence between them stayed longer than appropriate, the first course was served.

Few times during the dinner Thrawn caught Carivus’ hand laying on Eshka’s thigh, his eyes wandering down her chest, hand “accidentally” brushing her neck, ass, ears. Sleazy, infuriating, with a lack of taste in art, Thrawn thought, trying to keep his cool, but as Eshka got more and more uncomfortable, Thrawn wasn’t sure he liked this part of his plan. As the dinner came to a close, Eshka excused herself, and as soon as she was out of the room, Carivus leaned over to Thrawn with a grin, ready to ask something, but another Admiral came to talk to Thrawn before he could hear the trashy words the sleazebag was trying to say. For a moment, Thrawn forgot that the politician existed. But when the Admirals shook hands, he took notice that Eshka hadn’t returned and Carivus was not there either.

Thrawn didn’t know where Eshka might be, but he had to find her soon, before that poor excuse for a human touched her. He would not tolerate that. A new rule for Eshka to follow was now in order, as soon as she was away from Carivus’ hands; no one was allowed to touch her, no one, there was no social climbing with her body, no matter how beneficial it might be. She may fight and be defeated, but her submission was reserved for Thrawn.

[sheliesshattered]

This Isn’t A Ghost Story - Chapter 3

Whouffaldi non-canon AU. 8 chapters, will be about 32,000 words when complete. Rated Mature for heavier themes starting in this chapter, please contact me privately if you’re worried about triggering topics. Clara Oswald/Twelfth Doctor. Mystery, pining and angst with a happy ending. Available on AO3 under the same username and title. Updates every Friday.

This Isn’t A Ghost Story

Chapter 3: The Journal

Clara couldn’t sleep that night. Alone in her flat, she tossed and turned in bed, the day’s events replaying on a loop in her mind. The revelation of the identity of her ghost, the family secret he had spent almost a century protecting, her uncanny resemblance to her great-grandmother, it all felt like a complicated knot she needed to untangle. Beyond everything she’d learned, there was still more her ghost refused to tell her, and the thought nagged at her, keeping her awake.

Shortly after midnight she gave up on sleep, getting up and padding down the hall to her small sitting room. Given that it was early Sunday morning, she wouldn’t have to be up for work in a scant few hours, so if she was awake anyway she might as well do something useful. She flicked on the lamp closest to the sofa and pulled over the ancient box she’d brought from her Gran’s house, positioning it at the near end of the coffee table.

Before she left, she’d managed to extract a promise from her ghost that he wouldn’t burn down the house while she was away. But she still hadn’t completely trusted him alone with the box that had caused so much upset, so she’d loaded it into her car and brought it home with her, uncertain of exactly what she intended to do with it. 

It’d been obvious that he was no more comfortable with the idea of her in sole possession of the box than she was with the thought of leaving it with him. You won’t stop digging until you’ve uncovered all the gory details, he had said to her, and she knew herself well enough to admit that he was probably right. Now that she knew of the existence of this box, she could hardly just let it be. 

But it was more than simply feeling entitled to her family history. There was something there, some hidden edge of the mystery that called to her, something she felt like she should know. It wasn’t just her resemblance to her great-grandmother, or her attachment to her ghost, or his unwillingness to explain the situation to her. It’s more than that, and you know it, he’d told her. Deep down, you know it. And now it’s only a matter of time until you realise...

Clara shivered a little, remembering his words, more unnerved in the silence of her flat than she’d been when he’d first said them. Whatever this was, wherever this led, she had to know.

Glancing into the box, she picked up the wedding photograph from the top of the pile of papers and leaned towards the lamplight to examine it again. It was less disconcerting than it had been earlier, now that she knew some of the context behind it, but it was still odd to see her own face in a photo taken more than ninety years ago, in the spring of 1923. Staring at it, she was struck again by the feeling of what should have been, of how fiercely she wished it was her in that photo, marrying the man she loved.

But it wasn’t her in the photo. It couldn’t possibly be her, no matter how much it looked like her and no matter how much she wished it was. Perhaps getting to know the woman depicted there, her great-grandmother and namesake, would help her shake the feeling that somewhere along the line, fate had gone horribly awry. With that thought firmly in mind, she reached into the box and began pulling items from it.

There was no sense of order to the box, but as she dug through it, Clara began to suspect that it was the contents of her great-grandmother’s writing desk, quickly and haphazardly transferred to the box, however long ago. It was a mix of correspondence and shopping lists, photographs and small pieces of memorabilia, all jumbled together, fragile with age. She took each item out one by one, sorting them into piles as she went — a stack for photos, another for letters, a third for keepsakes, and a smaller pile for the ephemera of everyday life, things she probably didn’t need to keep. She could spend tomorrow going through them in more detail, reading the letters and looking at the photos in the light of day.

At the bottom of the box she found what appeared to be a well-loved brown leather travel journal, thick with envelopes and postcards and loose leafs of paper fitted between the pages. The front was emblazoned with a globe and the words 101 Places To See. She smiled softly, running her fingertips over its dips and ridges, and thought of her own brief travels after university. When her Dad had balked at the idea of her travelling on her own, her Gran had declared it a family tradition for the women in their family to travel. Apparently it was one that went back further than Clara realised.

Curious about the sorts of travels her namesake had chosen, she leaned closer to the lamp and opened the journal to the first entry, written in the same small, looping handwriting as on the back of the wedding photo:

1 March 1921, London

I purchased this journal for my upcoming holiday, but I fear the title may be more aspirational than factual. Mother and Father have agreed to allow me a solo European tour, perhaps under the mistaken belief that giving me that much freedom will quench my thirst for more far-flung adventures. If they knew of my ambitions, they would certainly forbid me from leaving home at all. We shall see how far I can get on the stipend they have gifted me, before their disapproval catches up with me.

A family tradition indeed, Clara thought, smiling wider, and flipped ahead a few pages.

16 March 1921, Paris

Paris is lovely, if not so very different from London. It is, however, an excellent hub from which to book further travel...

The next several pages were devoted to cataloguing life in Paris in the early ‘20s, an era that had fascinated Clara during her literature studies at university. She scanned through the entries on the off-chance that her great-grandmother might have crossed paths with a famous name during her time there. Seeing none, she ran her thumb along the outer edge of the pages to jump further ahead and get an idea of where she had gone after Paris.

Of its own accord, the journal opened to a place where a small sepia photograph had been wedged between the pages, and Clara carefully prised it free to examine it closer. Though it wasn’t nearly as crisp as the wedding photo, the two figures in it were instantly identifiable as her ghost and her great-grandmother. They stood side by side, her arm slung around his back and his draped over her shoulders, smiling at the camera and squinting in bright sunlight, a desert landscape rolling away behind them. Surprised, she turned it over to find her great-grandmother’s handwriting on the back had labeled it Doctor John Smith, Thebes Egypt, 19 May 1921.

Egypt? Her curiosity piqued, Clara backtracked a few pages to try to find the context of the photo, and when exactly her ghost had first entered her great-grandmother’s life. 

2 May 1921, Cairo

Egypt is enthralling, everything I had dreamed it would be. Thankfully I find I am able to stretch my budget further here than I could on the continent. I sent my last letter home from Athens, and carefully did not mention my future plans — my hope is that I can spend a few weeks here before returning to Europe via Malta and then on to Italy, and Mother and Father will never be the wiser. To that end (and to ensure I don’t run out of funds and thus be forced to resort to begging parental assistance), I have already booked passage aboard a ship departing in three weeks. 

The next few days detailed her sightseeing in and around Cairo, and Clara scanned ahead until her eyes caught on an entry almost two weeks later:

14 May 1921, Cairo

I met the most fantastic and intriguing man at the museum party last night! We spoke like old friends for near an hour and a half before he was pulled away by his compatriots, and it was only after he was gone that I realised we did not so much as exchange names. At the time, names felt superfluous, secondary to my desire to know him, but this morning I find myself wishing I could put a name to the face that hasn’t left my mind these last twelve hours.

He is Scottish, an academic of some description, though his interests and expertise seem so wide ranging, I can hardly guess at what his specialty might be. His has the nose of a Roman emperor, more regal than the bust of Marcus Aurelius that lives on the shelf in my bedroom back home, but recently burnt to peeling by the hot desert sun in a way I found entirely too endearing. There is no question that he is significantly older than myself, but he carries none of the condescension I typically associate with such an age difference. He showed more than polite interest in hearing of my travels and my thoughts on all that I have seen, and in exchange told me stories of his many adventures.

He is exactly the sort of kindred spirit I have for so long dreamed of knowing, and yet I know no hard facts about him at all. I don’t suppose we will ever meet again — and isn’t that sad? To have met someone as singular as him, spent an hour and a half in one another’s company, only to be forever lost to each other in the shuffle of humanity. At least he will be a fond memory of my time in Cairo.

Gripped by this introduction to the ghost she had known all her life and the man she had never had the chance to meet, Clara turned the page and read on.

15 May 1921, Cairo

I wrote yesterday that I know no hard facts about the man I met at the museum party, but on reflection I find that isn’t entirely true. His friends called him only ‘Doctor’, though that hardly narrows down his identity, with so many educated men roaming about the country. He has lived in Egypt for several years, can read ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics, and mentioned he was in Cairo on a brief respite from some activity in Thebes, on which he did not go into detail.

But a ‘brief respite’, by definition, should mean that he will return to Thebes, shouldn’t it? And then there is the matter of his sunburnt nose...

The on-going archaeological work at Thebes is widely known in Cairo, especially amongst those who frequent the museum. Could it be that this ‘Doctor’, this man who has not left my thoughts since Friday evening, could now be found in Thebes? I so wish to see him again, even if only to exchange our names and other such information, so that I might send him a postcard from time to time. And perhaps more, if he is agreeable.

And if he is not to be found in Thebes, at least I will have tried. I will be able to board the ship to Malta knowing that at least I tried to find him.

Despite knowing that her great-grandmother would, inevitably, cross paths again with the man who would become her husband, Clara read on without pause, enthralled by the unfolding drama.

17 May 1921, en route

I have left Cairo for Thebes, though it may well mean I will miss my ship to Malta. He has not been out of my thoughts, and I find I cannot wait any longer. I cannot talk myself out of this. And if there were anyone in a position in my life to talk me out of it, I would not let them, either. My mind is made up.

An adventure, then. To see the archaeological work at Thebes, and perhaps recognise a friendly face. I do hope his sunburn has not got any worse.

The next entry, adjacent to where the photograph had been tucked away, read simply:

19 May 1921, Thebes

His name is John, and I am besotted. I fear I may never recover.

Clara set the journal down in her lap and picked up the photo, looking again at their smiling faces. She tried to imagine it, meeting an interesting stranger and then striking out into the unknown, alone, on the hope of finding him again. Studying the picture, she could almost feel the desert sun on her face, and the giddy joy of new love. In just under two years, they would be married, but it had begun there, with a conversation in the Cairo museum and her great-grandmother’s bold decision to follow him to Thebes. 

In the spring of 1921, she would have been just barely twenty-two years old, and Clara couldn’t help but wonder about the age of her ghost. He looked so unchanged in the photographs she had seen, the length of his salt and pepper hair the only thing that indicated any passage of time. He had always been ageless to her, but her namesake had commented on the age difference, and as she neared twenty-eight herself, Clara had to admit that he still looked significantly older than her. In his forties, easily, perhaps fifties. He’d told her that if she dug into the paperwork she would find him there, and she decided to look into it in the morning, see what information could be gleaned from genealogical websites and the like, since he’d always shown such unwillingness to answer any sort of personal question.

She turned back to the journal, curious where their story had gone in the two years between meeting and marrying. The next section was filled to bulging with postcards and envelopes tucked between the pages — a period of extensive correspondence, clearly. Clara hesitated. Reading her great-grandmother’s travel journal was one thing, but in the current moment, alone in the post-midnight silence of her flat, she wasn’t sure she could bear to read the letters her ghost had written to his future wife as they fell in love. Instead, she flipped through quickly until she reached the last of the postcards, and then read the first journal entry that followed it.

4 March 1923, London

He is in Glasgow! After all these months of correspondence, of knowing my true feelings but being unwilling to divulge them via the impersonal medium of paper, the Doctor is no more than a train ride away. And yet after the fiasco of my extended stay in Egypt in ‘21, I cannot imagine that Mother and Father will react well to my desire to go to Scotland to see him. 

His postcard did not say how long he plans to be in Glasgow, only that letters sent to the university there might reach him faster than if sent via the normal address. I worry that he will be this close by for only a short time. With all the news out of the Valley of the Kings these last few months, I don’t expect he will stay in dreary old Scotland for long. 

I’m afraid that if I don’t seize this opportunity, I will never get another chance to tell him of my feelings for him in person. I worry that if I ask to go, Mother and Father will not permit it, and that if I take the initiative and go without asking, they will never forgive me.

And I am afraid that the Doctor does not love me as I love him, that he won’t be able to see past the differences in our ages to all that we could be, the life that we could build together. I worry that in running off to see him, I will destroy not only my relationship with my parents, but also my friendship with him.

What fear should I let rule me? Which worry is the most likely to be true?

No. 

Instead, better questions: How will I live with myself if I let myself be ruled by fear? If I do not live by the truth of my heart, how can I live at all?

I will follow him to Glasgow, as I followed him to Thebes. Let me be brave. Let the fates do as they will.

The next entry was written a few days later, detailing her clandestine departure from home and the long train journey from London to Glasgow, peppered with her simmering fears at how her unannounced arrival would be greeted by the Doctor. Her worry and her longing were palpable, and Clara felt an odd sort of kinship with this woman, her great-grandmother and namesake, as she abandoned everything in her life on the chance to be with the man she loved. She had never done anything like it herself — she had never felt that strongly about anyone, besides her ghost — but somehow it felt like something she would do.

She turned the page, looking for their reunion, but found that the next entry was dated weeks later.

28 March 1923, Glasgow

The days have been too full and too happy to find a scrap of time to add my thoughts here, so in short: one of my fears was unfounded, the other not.

The Doctor loves me as I love him. It is the truth that will chart the course of our lives together, from now until the stars all burn from the sky.

And Mother and Father will never forgive me.

The pages that followed were filled with hastily jotted down notes, interspersed with little keepsakes: a visitor’s guide to the Kelvingrove art museum, a program from an orchestral performance, a short love letter scrawled on university stationary in handwriting Clara had to assume belonged to her ghost. She folded that one back up without reading it, then skipped ahead to the date on the back of the wedding photo and found that her great-grandmother had written:

12 May 1923, Glasgow

Tomorrow we will make our farewells to Scotland and start the long journey south to Egypt, but today marks the beginning of a different and far greater adventure: marriage! 

It will be a very small wedding, with only a few of the Doctor’s friends and cousins in attendance, but I find I do not care. I get to keep him, and any other concerns fade out of existence in the blinding light of that fact.

Tomorrow will also be two years since our first meeting in Cairo, and I am looking forward to revisiting the scene of that fateful interaction, this time as a married woman. How wonderful it is to have not lost that intriguing stranger to the shuffle of humanity, after all.

The journal shifted in tone after that, chronicling their journey from Glasgow to Cairo and the beginnings of their life together in Egypt, as the Doctor returned to his archaeological work in the field. In the summer of ‘23, her great-grandmother decided to take up drawing, and many of the pages that followed were filled with pencil sketches of the monuments of Egypt, the series of small homes they lived in, and the familiar face of her ghost, growing ever more accurate as her skill improved. 

Clara thought of her own childhood habit of sketching his face on any blank corner of paper she could find, and wondered how they might compare. Her great-grandmother’s drawings were occasionally dated, and by the spring of 1925, the journal shifted back to being more of a travelogue again, though the entries were more sparse than they had been before, and sketches continued to fill the margins.

15 June 1925, London

Even in the height of summer, London feels grim and drab after two years in Egypt. When I said as much, the Doctor merely laughed and pointed out that it could be worse: it could be Glasgow. He has spent so many years now, off and on, living in Egypt, moving from dig site to dig site as the work demands, and I think he is ready for a more settled existence for a while. The position at the British Museum suits him well, and will provide us with a more stable foundation on which to build our life — and as much as I enjoyed our transient circumstances in Egypt, there is a certain allure to building something lasting together. A new sort of adventure.

I had hoped that with our return to London, and after two years of marriage, Mother and Father might have found a way to forgive me, but it seems that door is forever closed. I am determined to focus on the future instead, and on the family the Doctor and I mean to create together. 

Reading that, Clara felt a pang of heartsickness for this woman she had never known. She had been close with both of her parents before their deaths, and was grateful to have had that time with them. She couldn’t imagine her parents being so angry with her that they would shut her out of their lives, but scanning ahead, she didn’t see any indication that her namesake’s parents had ever relented. Instead, the journal dealt with the process of settling back into life in London, and her great-grandmother’s dreams for the future, with small sketches peppering the edges of each page.

As she turned the pages, Clara’s eyes caught on the rare use of colour in one of her drawings, and with a surprised blink she realised she recognised it as the stained glass window over the front door of her Gran’s house. The journal entry beside the drawing read: 

1 August 1925, London

The House, as I have determined it must always be called, is a ridiculous rambling Victorian thing, all gabled roofs and ornate woodwork and stained glass windows, such as the one I have drawn here. It is entirely too large for the two of us, but it was love at first sight for both the Doctor and myself, and no house we have considered since has compared. At least there will be enough room for our ever-growing legion of books. And there are several bedrooms — perhaps it is too ambitious of me to imagine them someday filled, but despite all our failed efforts, I remain hopeful.

Having dealt so closely with her Gran’s personal details the last few weeks, Clara knew that she would be born barely three years later, in late August of 1928. Her great-grandmother died only a few months after that, and it felt strange to read of her hopes for a large family, knowing it didn’t happen in the end. Through reading her journal, it had become clear to Clara that they were alike in many ways, but on that one point they couldn’t be more different. She enjoyed children, she wouldn’t have become a teacher if she didn’t, but she’d never felt drawn to motherhood. She was almost the same age as her namesake had been when her Gran was born, and she couldn’t imagine having a baby now, much less hoping for multiple children.

Of course, she wondered if she might feel differently if she’d had the sort of fairy tale romance her great-grandmother had had. Starting a family with someone she loved felt a lot less abstract than the vague idea of having a baby. Maybe that was the difference. She could certainly understand her great-grandmother wanting children with the Doctor—

At that thought, it all came back to her in a rush, everything her ghost had revealed that afternoon, the truth of her Gran’s parentage — and with it, one of the few facts about him that she’d managed to wring out of him as a child. With dread turning her stomach, Clara quickly flipped ahead to the autumn of 1927, scanning the journal entries for any indication, any clue. There was a brief note in early November about plans for Christmas, but then nothing until:

1 December 1927

He is gone. He is gone, and I will never, ever recover.

The bruises may heal, but I will not.

Tears sprung to Clara’s eyes, but she blinked them away, reading on.

8 December 1927

Is it the House that is haunted, or me?

She stared at the words, knowing that almost eighty-seven years later, the house was very much haunted. She turned the page, feeling the tears begin to roll down her face.

12 December 1927

Perhaps it is only my mind playing tricks on me, but perhaps it is something more. Perhaps there is some magic that ties us together even now. I live in hope — for what other way is there to live, now?

The following pages were full of nothing but undated sketches of the Doctor, looking exactly as Clara knew him. I made that promise to the only person I’ve spoken to since my death. The only one who could ever see me, her ghost had told her, not twelve hours earlier. Gripped with the need to know, she turned the journal pages quickly, looking for her great-grandmother’s familiar handwriting amongst all the drawings of her ghost, until finally:

3 February 1928

I have counted out the days and counted them again. My memory of last November is far from clear, but there is no mistake in this: I am with child. And this is no parting gift, no consolation prize from the universe, only one more tragedy to heap onto the pile. This baby will not have the Doctor’s eyes or his smile or his laugh. This baby—

How am I to endure this? Alone in the House we had hoped to fill, how can I possibly find the strength to face what is to come?

I continue to dream of him, to have visions, even. Some days I fear I have gone mad with the grief, but other days, those visions are my only comfort, those dreams my only reprieve from the nightmares that plague me. Something in my heart refuses to believe that the Doctor is truly gone. Something compels me to speak to him, and hope that he will, somehow, impossible though it may be, hear me and respond.

And then:

8 February 1928

They are not visions, and I am not mad. 

But more importantly — I am no longer alone.

Clara set down the journal, taking a moment to swipe at the tears on her face. She had known, deep down she had known that she would find only pain at the end of this story, and yet she hadn’t been able to stop herself. I know you won’t stop digging until you’ve uncovered all the gory details, he’d said to her, and he’d been right, of course he’d been right. Her ghost had tried to protect her from this, but she had charged ahead anyway, disregarding his warnings.

And that edge of the mystery still called to her, the unanswered questions still nagged at her. However much it hurt, she had to know. Picking up the journal again, she skipped ahead, flipping pages until she reached her Gran’s birthday.

21 August 1928

It is a girl. I have named her Margaret Eleanor, as we so long discussed. Our little Margot. None of this is her fault, and I do not love her less for it. I only wish I could love her more. I wish my heart were still capable of it. I wish I could have greeted her arrival with the joy she deserves. I wish I didn’t have to welcome her into the world alone.

The more days pass, the more I am convinced the Doctor meant what he said as a final goodbye. The last six months with him have revived me in a way I didn’t think possible, and to have that ripped away, to once again be facing the prospect of a future without him— 

‘You are stronger than you know,’ he told me, and I wish I could believe it.

Even more, I wish he was still here. In whatever form, I wish he was here. Perhaps in time I will see him again. I must hold to that hope, for it is the last one I have.

The journal entries stopped after that, and again the pages were filled with sketches: a round-faced newborn with wispy hair, bits of the house that Clara recognised easily, and the Doctor, always the Doctor.

Turning the pages quickly, she came across one last entry in the journal, the following pages all blank. Her great-grandmother’s familiar handwriting was no longer small, neat loops, but instead scrawled wide with anguish, and Clara felt her heart skip a beat at the date at the top of the page.

23 November 1928

Where have you gone, my love? Why have you left me?

I suppose I cannot fault the dead for not keeping their promises. You did not choose this fate for us, and I do not blame you for it. I only wish it could have been different. I wish that we had a second chance at life, a second chance to build for ourselves everything we dreamed our life together could be.

I cannot live like this. I will not.

I will follow you, my love, wherever it is that you have gone. Wherever you are now, I will find you. As I followed you to Thebes and to Glasgow, I will follow you now.

I will see you again. 

Wait for me.

Clara stared in horror at the final words on the page. Seized with a sudden nauseous dread, she dropped the journal on the coffee table and bolted up from the sofa, lurching towards her laptop on the desk across the room. Her hands trembled as she pulled up a search page, pouring out every scrap of relevant family information she could think of, ending with 23 November 1928 suicide. 

The internet, that modern wonder, took only moments to confirm her fears. Tears filled her eyes again, blurring the screen in front of her, but she fumbled her way through printing the eighty-six year old coroner's report. She snatched up the paper still warm, jammed her feet into her trainers and pulled on a coat, grabbed her keys and her purse, and was out the door before she could change her mind.

--

Chapter 4: The Past

[graglithans-library]

Welcome to Paris, Fur-ance Ch 3: Kitsunes, Flea Markets, and Scheming

Nazuna explains some things to Kagami and her mother and gets some explanations in return.

Meanwhile, Shirou gets to do his thing and starts searching for his charge and her friend.

The staff of the Tsurugi household could be considered both exceptionally efficient, and indescribably unflappable. It was due to those traits that the servants didn’t even bat an eye at the sudden addition to the household’s occupants. It was Kagami’s posture that let them know the police wouldn’t be needed, as she lacked the degree of tension they would have expected, should this other girl have been unwelcome. Doubly so for Mistress Tsurugi herself. Blind or not, had this extra guest been a threat, Tomoe would have had her at swordpoint by now.

Which is why they did nothing to disturb the three as they sat in the living room, discussing the situation over tea.

Setting down her cup, Tomoe’s face scrunched in thought. “So, you’re from a place called Anima City, which is located just off the coast of the Japanese mainland?”

Nazuna nodded after she had a small sip of tea. “That’s right.”

Kagami looked at her ears as they twitched through the long pink hair. “And you’re a... beastman?”

“Yep.” Nazuna smiled and raised an eyebrow at Kagami. “I’m surprised you haven’t heard of us. Pretty much the whole world knows about beastmen. Or is Paris truly that isolated right now?”

Looking down at her tea, Kagami grimaced. “I am truly sorry, Hiwatashi, but-”

“Nazuna.”

Startled, Kagami raised her head to look at Nazuna again. “W-what?”

Raising a hand gently, Nazuna kept smiling. “If it’s okay with you, just call me Nazuna.”

Blushing a bit, Kagami nodded. “R-Right,” Kagami muttered before she took a moment to clear her throat. “Nazuna, I’m not sure how to tell you, but the closest thing I have ever heard of Beastmen would be in fictional stories and myths.” Nazuna’s eyes widened as Kagami continued. “I thought you were a Kitsune when you appeared in our living room.”

Nazuna’s eyes moved to her own fuzzy hands, and a melancholy smile fell onto her face. “There are days I wonder that myself.”

Tomoe raised an eyebrow as she turned slightly from her tea. “Why would you? Were you not born this way?” Kagami winced a bit at her mother’s bluntness, but Nazuna looked relatively unfazed.

Staring down at her tea, Nazuna looked like she was starting to get lost in memories as she gently shook her head. “I know this may come as a shock, but I used to be a normal, everyday human.”

Kagami didn’t know she could get more surprised. “Really?”

Tomoe’s voice carried a small hint of steel. “Those are very steep claims, Ms. Hiwatashi. Especially after having felt your hands myself.”

Sighing, Nazuna set her cup down as she looked up. “I know, so please, let me explain.”

Nazuna took a deep breath to calm herself as she picked her tea back up. “About a year and a half ago, I was meeting up with my friend on the way to school, when a bus failed to stop in time, and we ended up in an accident. My arm was shattered, and my friend’s leg was actually worse. The damage was bad enough; we needed surgery to have a chance at a normal life afterward. We both had to get blood transfusions as a result, which would be completely normal in any other situation.”

She paused to take a sip before she continued. “That was where our lives, unfortunately, took a turn. It was due to a mixup with the blood packs that we were given something other than our blood type. Instead, it was a regent of beastman blood that was being used to test experimental drugs. Nobody noticed it had even happened, and we went on with our lives as normal. Until one day, after we were better and I had managed to land an audition,” Nazuna gestured to herself and smiled sadly, “this happened, right where everyone could see. I didn’t even get through the day before I was being loaded into a van and taken away from everything I knew.”

The sight of Nazuna’s sorrow was heartbreaking, and at that moment, Kagami envied her mother’s blindness. She wanted to know what was causing such pain but wasn’t sure if she should ask. When she couldn’t think of anything else, she decided to bite the bullet. “Can you not change back?”

“I sort of can. I can make myself look human again.” Nazuna took a moment to breathe before in a pink flash that rippled up her body, she shifted back into human form; pink hair turning orange except for a red streak in the front. “But on a genetic level, I’m still a beastman. This is just a disguise I can use.”

Tomoe spoke up with a frown. “And your friend? Did they?”

Nazuna nodded, then remembered that Tomoe was blind and blushed. “Yes, she turned into a beastman too. It happened only a day or two after me, but I didn’t find out until a few months ago. Though, instead of a fox, she turned into a tanuki.” An amused giggle escaped her lips as a memory came up. “It’s kind of fitting, considering her more eccentric personality. Always rushing into situations and jumping to conclusions without thinking ahead. There was one time when she tried to transform back into a human by putting a leaf on her head doing a backflip. Everyone still teases her about that.”

________________________________________________________________

Roaming a random street in Paris, Michiru sneezed hard enough; she almost lost her human disguise. “Someone’s talking trash about me, I just know it... Probably Marie. Stupid weasel-mink hustler.”

________________________________________________________________

“I see.” A rare smile came to Tomoe’s lips as she hummed. “You sound very fond of this friend.”

Nazuna’s face sobers as she nods. “I am. Michiru is like the sister I never had. She was the only friend I had growing up, and she supported me so much, even when I told her about my impossible dream of becoming an Idol. We did everything together.” Sighing, she slumps back into her seat, turning to look at the door leading out of the room. “Which is why I hope she’s alright.”

The three sat in silence for a while. Tomoe respected the need for a break, and Kagami was unsure what to say. At least she was able to gain a name for this friend of Nazuna’s. Michiru. She certainly doesn’t sound mature from what Nazuna said.

It was Tomoe that started the conversation anew, breaking Kagami from her thoughts. “I take it this has something to do with how you got here?” She pulled out the dart that had once been stuck in Nazuna and placed it on the table.

Nazuna’s face fell as she looked down at the dart. “That’s correct. We were on the rooftop of a skyscraper when this strange man attacked us. He was wearing a full-body suit and a mask that hid his face entirely. He said he needed our ‘assistance’ for something, but when we told him no-.” She trailed off, glancing away from the dart and holding one of her arms.

Kagami looked at her with concern before putting a finger across her lips in thought. “Could this have been an Akuma’s doing?”

Raising an eyebrow, Nazuna looked over at the fencer. “Paris has demons running free?”

Tomoe chuckled a bit at that before standing. “It seems it is our turn to explain some things.” gesturing for them to follow, Tomoe led them out of the room and down the halls. “To answer your question, yes and no. We of Paris currently have a problem with a man calling himself Hawkmoth. He has been abusing power, powers he should not have, to create Akumas, which he then sends out to seek Someone with negative emotions. When they do find Someone, they give them frightening abilities and warp their mind into committing evil acts and obeying Hawkmoth’s orders.” They paused for a moment at the front door, Tomoe nodding, and one of the assistants bowed before walking away. “Our family, like many, have felt this touch before.”

Kagami looked down with a grimace as she tried not to look at Nazuna. “I am ashamed to admit that I was Akumatized twice so far. Both times, it was Ladybug and Chat Noir that had to bring my rampage to an end.”

As a car pulled up and the passenger door opened on its own, Nazuna looked to Kagami with confusion. “Ladybug and Chat Noir?”

Kagami nodded and gave a small smile. “The protectors of Paris. They use ancient artifacts known as Miraculous to give themselves superhuman power, and use that strength to protect this city. It is actually the same pair of Miraculous they use that Hawkmoth seeks, as every Akuma under his control demands them.”

Nazuna wasn’t sure how to appropriately respond, so she just looked at the city that sprawled before them and picked up her jaw. “And here I thought Anima City was lively.”

“Indeed. However, this is where I must cut our conversation short. I have business I must attend to.” Stepping into the car, Tomoe sat in the first seat but held up a hand when the two girls tried to follow her in. “Kagami, do your best to assist Ms. Hiwatashi. If her friend was with her when she was brought here, it is likely they are somewhere in Paris as well and will be unable to communicate with anyone.”

Kagami bowed to her mother and smiled. “Yes, Mother. I will do my best.”

Tomoe’s car pulled away, and the two stood looking out at the city. “You know, I always wanted to come to Paris one day. I thought any chances of that had been ruined when-” Nazuna’s face fell as dread washed over her. “Oh, no... I just remembered Michiru hates transforming into a human. Knowing her, she’s probably running around with her tail out.”

“With her-? Oh, you mean she’s still a tanuki.” As Nazuna nodded, Kagami frowned in concern. “That... might cause a panic.”

“We should find her before she gets into any trouble.”

“Agreed.”

________________________________________________________________

Whatever Shirou had expected when he tackled his perp, it certainly wasn’t this.

Shifting back down to being merely a wolfman and not a full-blown wolf, Shirou sighed. He looked over the city of Paris from a perch he hadn’t been to in almost a century. Paris... that level of distance being covered with teleportation will make catching this guy the hardest case I’ve had yet. He put a hand to his chin and hummed in thought. Worse, he did something to Michiru and Nazuna. They were alive, which means he wants them for something. But what?

A gust of wind blew by and ruffled the fur on his chest, making him sigh. “Hopefully, the flea market has trench coats.” Looking over the city again, he closed his eyes and inhaled.

His eyes shot open as he fought back a snarl. Not even a single beastman!? How!? Not even World War II was like this. Just what did these humans do to cause this?

A thump came from behind him, and he could smell the human before he landed. “Excuse me, but I’m going to have to ask you to get down. Tours are closed for the day.”

“Human. Where are the-” Shirou turned and glared, only to pause at the sight of the leather-clad boy. He looked at the kid with annoyance and noted how he was armed with a baton. He also saw how he was trying to avoid using his left hand. These humans send a child to fight when injured? Just how barbaric has France become since I last visited?

As Shirou’s eyes bore into him, the kid twirled his baton to hold at the ready, narrowing his eyes. “Look, I don’t know what kind of effect you’re under, but I’d rather not see if your bite is worse than your bark.” And he makes puns. “Besides, I need to make sure that Tanuki isn’t giving my partner any trouble.”

A growl escaped Shirou as he looked towards the boy. Eyes narrowed as he stepped closer, the wolf man’s shadow loomed over the boy. “Where are they?”

A spark of fear wafted off of the kid before he jumped back to get some distance. “Hey now, no need to bare your fangs.”

Shirou really was trying to calm down, but knowing that Michiru and Nazuna were being kidnapped right when he had tackled the perp, only to find himself a moment later dealing with some punk, was doing little to help. Shirou could feel the rage, but a flash of Michiru’s face in his memory made him calm down, if only somewhat. Still, he had a more critical matter to figure out. “I won’t ask again. The tanuki you mentioned. Where is she?”

He could tell how well practiced this boy was at hiding emotion behind a smile. “Not sure, but if you think I’m going to let you run around terrorizing Paris, you’ve got another thing coming.” With a lunge, the kid swung his baton right for Shirou’s head. Shirou didn’t even blink as he darted past the boy, got behind him, and caught the baton on the backswing. With a twist, he disarmed him, spun him around, and jabbed the staff into his gut, sending the boy sprawling onto his back.

Looking down at the kid, who was groaning as he pushed himself back up with a look of surprise, Shirou jabbed the baton into the grate beside him and sighed. “I have more important things to worry about than dealing with you. Stay out of my way.”

Shirou leaped off of the platform and landed on the ground with a thump before looking around. “If I remember right, the flea market was in that direction.”

In a few minutes, Shirou had made it a few blocks away and stalked the shadows of the alleyways. It wasn’t too hard to find the flea market, but he now had a new problem.

If he shifted back to human form, he’d be naked.

Seeing a man about his build walking closer, he sighed and waited by the mouth of the alley. The poor sap didn’t even register what had happened as he was dragged into the alleyway, and Shirou knocked him out. The dress jacket itself was somewhat tight, but Shirou put on the clothes anyways before taking enough Euros to reasonably barter himself some clothes, even if they wreaked human scent.

Even now that he was at least mostly clothed, Shirou’s internal thoughts found the whole situation oddly familiar. Reminds me of 1926. That was an eventful year. Never did catch that guy who stopped Mussalini’s assassination.

It didn’t take long for him to barter a new trench coat and some cheap shirts and slacks. He almost ended up having to buy sequin disco pants until he saw the less expensive pair he had on. Never again. And if Barbara still has that picture, I’m deleting it and her phone .

Once dressed in the new clothes, he left the borrowed pair on the unconscious guy that was still in the alley. Stepping out and heading a small way down the road, he flagged down a police officer and told them there was a guy knocked out in the alley, probably mugged. The officer just nodded to him with thanks before taking off to check on him.

Shirou sighed again and headed back to the Eiffel Tower. Once he was at the base, he took a deep breath through his nose.

The smells were still human, but now he had an idea of what scent to track.

The smell of that boy from earlier was still on the higher platform, but it trailed off in two directions. The older smell went over the roofs towards what he remembered as residential areas, while the other bounded off towards a business district.

Following the older trail, he found himself at a school that had police at the front gates, talking to who he assumed was the staff. From what he could glisten around the corner, some students were missing, and something about a demon terrorizing the students.

He took another whiff of the air and smiled faintly as a familiar scent caught his nose.

It was only a moment before he was off again, trailing after a certain Tanuki.

________________________________________________________________

Screaming in frustration, a man in a dark room punched the wall, leaving cracks splintering up the concrete. “Stupid wolf! I was this close to finishing this!”

He took several deep, heaving breaths before he stalked to a computer and pulled up his chair. “Whatever. Sure, that mangy mutt managed to send all of us across Paris, costing me a crucial component, but that’s fine.” A twisted smile started to grow as several screens flickered to life. Two of which had what he wanted to be shown. In one, a young girl in a red jacket was running down the streets of Paris looking for Someone. Another showed a girl in a long skirt that was doing the same.

He paused at the sight of the second one for a moment, grabbing his chin as a third girl came into the picture. “It looks like they’ve made a friend already.” His eyes lit up with excitement as he fought back a laugh.

“Perfect.”

[melodiouswhite]

Quiet

(Lady Summers, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde struggle to cope with their immortality, as their loved ones pass away one by one. But they find comfort in their friendship.)

Most people found that with the end of Victoria's reign, it was finally time for progresses that hadn't been made before.

It was December 1926 and many things had changed.

While she was all for progress, she was a child of the mid-19th century and this new era seemed so foreign to her. So fast. So fleeting. So different.

Women had won the right to vote.

Medicine progressed like never before.

The Great War had ravaged the whole world just a few years earlier and changed everything.

She still could see the scars. In form of shell-shocked soldiers, of people who found no work, because of the poor economy, of invalids, who were reduced to begging in the streets.

She had more patients than before – most of them traumatised from the War.

She had buried herself in her work as a therapist. It was all she had left.

For Lady Summers, the beginning 20th century was a time of grief. After decades of wearing no mourning attire, she had returned to wearing nothing but black.

Her villa, which she had loved ever since she had moved in, had grown quiet.

While she hadn't aged a day, her servants had and most of them had passed on by now. The fact that most of them had been her half-siblings made this even more painful.

Philippine had been the first to go.

The night nurse had always been of delicate health. So it had been no surprise, when she had succumbed to scarlet fever (proving once again, that scarlet fever was no children's disease).

Her older sister Julie had died a few years later.

One day the Frenchwoman had styled Lady Summers' hair not with her usual braids and fourragères, but with a fashionable, beautiful and complicated style. It had been the last time – a farewell gift, maybe. Aoimoku was now the one to do her hair, as the Countess hadn't hired a new stylist. It just wasn't the same.

After that, they had died like flies. Some of the losses were worse than others.

The worst was Marie.

The cheerful and hardy Austrian day nurse had been one of her closest servants and the oldest of her half-siblings. And she had been her closest confidante, even closer than Aoimoku. But tough has she was, she had been the last of her deceased servants to pass on. Just a month ago, she had died at the age of 80 – the only one of her servants to die of old age so far.

Lady Summers had sat beside her elderly younger sister's bedside, as she had died.

“I know that you have lived a long time, but it still seems too soon”, she had whispered.

Marie had laughed faintly: “Now, now. Don't be sad, because it's over. Be glad, because it happened. I'm content. It was … a beautiful life. Being your nurse … and your little sister … was more than just … a great honour. It was a gift from Heaven.”

And with a last feeble squeeze of the Lady's hand, she had fallen asleep forever, smiling.

Just the memory made the Lady's heart bleed.

Of her over a dozen servants, only three were alive now: her butler Sameer Singh, her first lady-in-waiting Kurogawa Aoimoku and her driver Sean O' Connor.

Sameer, just like herself, hadn't aged a day. She attributed that to his Rakshasa heritage. He was more demon (or spirit, or whatever those beings were) than human. But it was a comfort, that he would always be there, her loyal butler.

Aoimoku was 71 years old now, but still held herself with a unique grace, elegance and nobility. The wrinkles and the grey strands in her raven hair had in no way tarnished her beauty.

Sean had gone from being her coachman to being her chauffeur, as Lady Summers had traded her coach for a car. Probably better. He was 76 now and his hands were too stiff from rheumatism to hold reins. His red hair had grown thin. Lady Summers dreaded the day when she would no longer hear his cheerful singing and see his goofy smile.

The only other one of her half-siblings still alive, was Alma, who was now sixty years old, but had never been part of the household. The half Irish, who had once caught everyone's eye with her fire red corkscrew curls, ice blue eyes, red lips and tall and slender figure, now looked more like a crazy old witch (she was even keeping cats – Aoimoku hated them).

Lady Summers sighed.

There were other losses she hadn't recovered from – maybe never would. Coping with loss had never been her strong suit.

Most of her friends and family had passed away as well and each loss had been painful.

Of course her former father-in-law, Lord Summers, was long gone. He had lived on to eighty-two, a feisty and kind old man.

Her brothers-in-law were also gone, the last tie to her first husband.

“Say hello to my darling copperhead from me”, she had asked his oldest brother Edward, the last of them to go – a hardy gent like his father.

He had responded with a toothless laugh and a twinkle in his eye (so much like James): “Will do.”

Gabriel John Utterson, her oldest and best friend in England, had passed away of old age fifteen years ago. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, his lover(s), had been left behind to grieve.

But the worst loss was Dr. Lanyon.

Her dear soulmate.

Shortly after the incidents in 1886, they had entered a morganatic marriage with Queen Victoria's permission.

But he had been a bit older than her without having her immortality.

And he hadn't wanted to be immortal either. She had accepted and understood, but it still had broken her heart.

He had passed away in 1910 at the age of 80.

He had been long ill before, so it had only been a matter of time. He had died awake and promised her that, if rebirth really existed, he would meet her again one day.

“Auf Wiedersehen … my lady, my love, my wife …”

It had been sixteen years now and her heart was still as shattered as it had been back then.

Lady Summers didn't know the future, like her dear half-sister and her old friend.

Lanyon had always kept his promises, but the lady just didn't know, when “one day” would be.

It could be tomorrow or in a hundred years and the thought was unbearable. Worse, her old friend Johann (who now called himself John in response to the anti-German sentiment) had implied, that it was closer to being a hundred years.

So the only thing she could do was wait … and grieve.

It was so quiet in her house… so empty.

It was unbearable.

“Sahib?”

Her butler's voice tore her out of her spiral of depression.

Sameer truly had the best timing.

“What is it, Sameer?”, she asked.

“Doctor Jekyll is here to visit you”, he announced.

Suddenly she felt a surge of relief.

“Show him in then.”

The butler left the room and returned with a tall, blond Englishman.

Dr. Jekyll hadn't changed at all – he was still the dignified, handsome gentleman she had met more than forty years ago.

“Hello, Henry”, she greeted him and stood up. “You have no idea how good it is to see you.”

They had been on first name basis for a long time now.

“Actually, I think I do”, he replied smiling. “Hello, Luise. I would ask you, how your day has been so far, but your facial expression sort of gives it away.”

She chuckled bitterly, but invited him to sit down.

“Do you want some tea and cake?”, she asked. “It's tea time anyway.”

“Yes, please.”

Sameer saw this as his cue to make his way down to the kitchen. He returned with a full tablet for his mistress and her friend, before seeing himself out.

“Do help yourself”, she invited, “My new cook is quite a good one.”

Dr. Jekyll was obviously a bit apprehensive, when he tried the muffin, but his face brightened up quickly.

“Oh, they're scrumptious!”, he exclaimed, “Your butler must have a really good eye for picking your servants.”

“He certainly does”, the Lady agreed. “Then again, he is part Rashasa. They can see and are aware of things that are beyond human comprehension.”

Dr. Jekyll chuckled: “I remember how you and he identified the impurity in my special salt. Speaking of which, I have never thanked either of you. Had you not found out, what was different in my first badge of salt, ohhhh boy! I don't know, if Edward and I would have learned in time how to properly share control of our body. Sooner or later he would have overpowered me without even wanting to and without the proper formula, I wouldn't have been able to transform back. And what's more, you two helped me learn to shift without my formula.”

Lady Summers nodded: “Yes, that was fortunate. Don't forget to thank him personally.”

Suddenly she sensed Mr. Hyde stirring inside Dr. Jekyll's conscience.

“Did somebody say my name?”, the androgynous, guttural voice piped up.

Dr. Jekyll just rolled his eyes, but the Lady smiled lopsidedly.

“Hello, Edward. Did you sleep well?”

“Eh, it was okay. Hi, Luise.”

“Speaking of sleep”, Dr. Jekyll spoke up again, “How has yours been?”

She sighed and didn't answer.

It wasn't necessary.

After more than forty years, the Doctor knew her so well … and he was one of the few friends she had left.

His face became sombre. “It's so quiet here without Marie.”

“It is”, she whispered. “It really is. Without all of them … and so empty …”

She didn't bother keeping her act up and broke into sobbing.

“I … I miss them so!”

Soon his arms were around her and she was crying into his shoulder.

Lady Summers didn't cry often. It just wasn't in her nature.

But she had been strong for too long now.

It seemed to be the same for Dr. Jekyll; at some point she felt his body shake and knew that he – no, she could hear Hyde sob too – that they were crying with her.

This way they sat, hugging each other and crying together.

They wept for their lost loves, their dearest friends and all the other familiar faces, which had one by one faded away, wept because they could never follow (they had promised to Gabriel and Hastie, that they would never end their own lives), because almost everything they had once known and loved was gone and because all they had was each other.

Sure, there were the three alchemists and Victor and Adam and they all knew the pain of losing someone dear. But these five had chosen immortality; they had wanted it, had strove for it.

Luise and Henry had never wanted to be everlasting, had never asked for this cursed existence.

When they finally stopped and withdrew, a glance at the clock told her, that they had wept for three hours.

“Are you feeling better?”, he finally asked kindly.

She nodded and blew her nose. “A little. And you?”

“Me too”, he replied.

“Me too”, Hyde echoed from inside Jekyll's head. “Holy shit, we three really needed that, huh?”

“Indeed so”, the Lady sighed. “Listen, you two, I have never apologised.”

Dr. Jekyll tilted his head in confusion. “Apologised for what?”, he inquired.

“For doing this to you”, she explained softly. “It's my fault that you're ageless and immortal now. I know, you never asked for this cursed existence.”

He smiled gently. “Hey now. We know you didn't mean to. In this moment, our life was at stake and if it hadn't been for your blood donation (and that of Gabe and Hastie), Edward and I would have died. And maybe … maybe it was supposed to come to this. Maybe it was fate, that Edward and I should remain on this earth and keep you company, my friend. Anyhow we're both glad that we can finally return the kindness and sympathy you have given to us all these years.”

“Couldn't have said it better”, Hyde agreed.

The Countess chuckled hoarsely.

Dr. Jekyll patted her hand. “You know, I'm glad that we three are together in this. I know what loneliness feels like. But when you and I can just sit together as old friends, the silence becomes so much more bearable.”

Finally she smiled back. “Yes, I suppose it does.”

A knock on the door made them look up.

In the doorway stood Sameer, with a table cloth, and the Lady's new nurse, holding a carafe of water.

“It's time for dinner”, the butler reminded his employer and laid the table.

The day nurse nodded. “And we saw you crying earlier, so we thought you might want some water afterwards?”

Lady Summers laughed: “Thank you two, that's quite considerate. We could indeed use some food and drink. Ah, and bring a second set, Dr. Jekyll is staying for dinner.”

The two servants nodded and saw themselves out.

Dr. Jekyll turned back to the Lady. “Isn't your new day nurse the granddaughter of your hairstylist?”

“Indeed”, the Lady confirmed, “She even looks a bit like Julie. But in her personality she comes more after her grandaunt Philippine.”

The Doctor chuckled: “Mademoiselle Desmoulins never truly left you, did she?”

“No”, the Lady answered fondly. “She didn't.”

“And you know what? Perhaps your butler is right about the reincarnation thing. I think someday we will see them all again, in one form or another. We just have to wait for that to happen.”

His trusting smile warmed her to the bottom of her soul.

Yes. They just had to wait.

All of their friends and loved ones would return one day, because true friends never truly left.

And then Luise's and Henry's homes wouldn't be quiet and empty anymore.

[chicagocityofclans]

Scorpius Getta → Jake Gyllenhaal → Vampire

→ Basic Information 

Age: 1378

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Straight 

Birthday: December 2nd

Zodiac Sign: Sagittarius 

Religion: Satanism

→ His Personality Getta is practical and down to earth with strong ideas about how vampires should be in this new age. He is orderly, organized, systematic and controlled, and once committed there is no stopping him. Getta has a great capacity for loyalty and affection, considering vampire nature. Being a calm and methodical individual, Getta is mostly in control of his emotions. He rarely loses his temper, but has a great capacity for violence when pushed. Getta is courageous and a true survivor, he is the builder and the foundation of the Underground, and his hard work and values paid off; the Underground is booming and he has one of the largest seethes in America. It's also his ‘fuck you’ attitude that links up with his sucess. Getta is unconcerned about being viewed as ‘the bad guy’ and sees his actions as a means to an end. He is often secretive and can be somewhat of a trickster, but is honest and direct. He is headstrong, persistent and passionate. Getta downright refuses to accept authority and has a stubborn belief in himself and his dreams. 

→ His Personal Facts

Occupation: Master of Chicago Seethe 

Scars: None

Tattoos: None

Two Likes: Blood with Pepper and Business

Two Dislikes: Vampire Movies and Bananas 

Two Fears: Being Forced to Feed Off of Himself and Naked Zombie Grandmas 

Two Hobbies: Enhancing the Underground and Inventing 

Three Positive Traits: Innovative, Lively, Extremely Confident  

Three Negative Traits: Sassy, Maniacal, Disconnect 

→ His Connections

Parent Names:

Ulfrik Göransson (Father): Getta enjoyed his father and if he had been given the chance he would have changed him into a vampire.

Bon’Ginnever (Mother): Getta doesn’t remember much about his mother beside the fact that she had blonde hair and an unusual eye color. Bon’Ginnever died from an infection. He was sure it was over the loss of Aleigha, his little sister. She was never the same after and death took her months later.

Emmalee (Step-Mother): Getta didn’t approve of his father remarrying. Since Emmalee was around his age, Getta tried his best to ignore her to keep from showing her any disrespect and disappointing his father.

Sibling Names:

Eirikur Ulfrikson (Brother): Eirikur was born several years after Getta. Getta doesn’t remember much about Eirikur as a child but he remembers his little brother all grown up and being a ladies man. Eirikus died mysteriously in his sleep. Getta is now sure he must have caught an STD or something. 

Aleigha Ulfrikdotter (Sister): Just like Eirikur, Aleigha was born several years after her brothers. Getta was nearing his late teens when she was born. Sadly, Aleigha was sold off to pay their debts and Getta still has no idea what faith laid out for her.

Bryleigh Ulfrikson (Half-Brother): Getta was out of the castle when Bryleigh was born. Getta never had the chance to meet Bryleigh. He only knew his name and the random updates his father would send him.

Children Names:

Ulfric Scorpiusson (Son): Ulfric was named after Getta’s father, following the old Nordic practice, before hereditary surnames were introduced. Ulfric grew to be a spitting image of Getta’s father with the same attitude to follow it. That’s probably why they get along so well. Getta turned Ulfric, on his request, into a vampire on his 20th birthday. He is still alive and married with his own seethe in Sweden.

Bjorn Scorpiusson (Son): Bjorn was named after Solveig’s father, following the old Nordic practice, before hereditary surnames were introduced. Getta doesn’t know where Bjon got it from but he is absolutely unpredictable. He was well on his way to become a shadow vampire when Getta stepped in and killed him. Bjon was always Solveig favorite and Getta still mourns the both of them.

Kjersti Getta née Scorpiusdotter (Daughter): Kjersti was named after Solveig’s mother, following the old Nordic practice, before hereditary surnames were introduced. Kjersti was unexpected but wanted. Getta made sure she didn’t follow the same fate as Aleigha and kept her close. She was the 3rd person Getta changed and he doesn’t regret it. She now holds rank in his seethe.

Romantic Connections:

Solveig Pelledotter (Wife): Getta wasn’t in love with Solveig but at the time it was his duty to marry and continue his bloodline. After marriage, they became close friends. If given the chance, Getta was sure they would have eventually fallen in love. Solveig had taken her own life after Getta was changed.

Platonic Connections:

Alva Ebba Getta nee Garbo (Daughter-In-Law): Alva married Getta’s son Ulfric over a thousand years ago. At first he did not approve of her but thought a wedding would be good for overall morale. Over time Getta learned to love her as one of his own. Getta especially likes it when she puts his son in his place.

Geralt Getta (Son-In-Law/Progeny): Geralt was an orphan on the streets Getta fed from. Getta adopted Geralt and he was Getta's first vampiric progeny. Getta sees him more like a brother and best friend than a son, especially after Geralt married his daughter, Kjersti. 

Winona Fili (Progeny): Getta had originally turned Winona into a vampire for his son Bjon. He should have known better because the two hated each other. Frankly, after the way his son reacted Getta knew Winona deserved better. Getta still cannot accept that Winona is gone and is trying his hardest not to fall into a depression. Losing Winona was worse than losing a limb or death itself. Getta still expects her to be there when he turns around or wherever he gets a brilliant idea.  

Aleksander Mazur (Progeny): Getta found Aleksander when Aleksander was at his lowest on the streets of London. Aleksander tried to rob Getta and failed. Instead of killing him or turning him to the authorities, Getta fed him, gave him fresh clothes and offered him a new life as a vampire. They have a well built relationship that is not exactly a father and son type but close enough. 

Raphael Caron (Progeny): Getta saved Raphael's life. Raphael was dying from Leukemia when Getta gave his parents the terms and conditions of vampirism. Their relationship is stronger than ever nearly two centuries later. Getta enjoys Raphael’s creative side and allows him to use him as a test subject.

Fiona ‘Fi’ Marz (Progeny): Getta does not like sharing the story of how he found Fi but she has been with him since she was a 6 years old human. Getta held out on changing her into a vampire until she was mature enough. After living and dealing with Fi for centuries, nearly a millennium, Getta has turned from an overbearing father to a cool understanding brother and to a best friend. Getta can switch to whichever role she needs from him at the time without making it awkward.

Dan Prior (Vampire Son-In-Law): Getta couldn’t hate Dan if he tried nor can he blame Dan for Winona’s death. Dan's first few years were tough on Getta, he was the new master of his seethe, lost his closest companion and progeny, and had a suicidal baby vampire to watch over. Getta feels like Dan and Fili are the only things he has left of Winona. He has been better about separating them from her but something in him always feels like it's snapping when he does.  

Richard Fili (Vampire Grandson): Fili was changed by Winona many years ago. Getta has always been accepting of Fili and even fatherly at times. Getta puts up with Fili’s bullshit, only getting pissed if Fili messes up big time, and he knows that is enough to make Fili grateful and undeniably loyal. Fili seems to be the only one that has taken notice of Getta keeping himself busy and staring off into space since Winona’s death; Fili is worried for him but Getta isn’t ready to talk yet.

Audrey Ann Wallace (Vampire Granddaughter): Audrey was turned into a vampire by Garelt when Kjersti started mourning the loss of ever being a mother. Audrey reminds him a lot of Kjersti and can be mistaken as their biological child.

Petra Chak (Best Friend): Petra and Getta have an unlikely friendship. She had originally come to Chicago to take over Getta’s seethe for her own master but somehow Getta had won her over. Over the years they formed an unbreakable bond and Getta trusts Petra with his life and the lives of their entire seethe. 

Sadie McCoy (Good Friend): Sadie randomly showed up one day… Or at least Getta finally noticed her and was too ashamed to ask anyone who she was or where she came from. Sadie hung out with Winona and by default hung out with Getta. It didn’t take long for him to grow fond of her and to constantly want her around. She became his muse and little soldier girl. She took Winona’s death as hard as Fili, Dan and Getta’s other progeny.  

Morana ‘Ana’ Vickors (Old Friend): Ana was a part of Getta’s seethe before he became the seethe master. She saw the destruction their old seethe master caused and quickly jumped on his support train when he took over. Getta considers her a trusted and loyal friend. Getta is also close to Ana’s husband and daughter. 

Sven (Old Friend): Getta met Sven a few times in Europe and again in the New World. Sven was always a loner and some considered him to be a feared shadow vampire. It took Getta a while but he convinced Sven to join the seethe he was apart nearly 300 years ago. Sven came and went as he pleased but Getta is happy to see that lately Sven has been making a permanent home for himself in Chicago. 

Chiara Ricci (Friend): Getta knew Chiara’s adopted vampiric parents. When he asked them to come teach for them, he was aware that they had changed a woman to be their child but never figured it would be someone with Chiara’s personality. She makes Getta laugh and can retell stories about himself better than he can. 

Hostile Connections:

Nick and Ray Hamelin (Hate): Getta doesn’t hate easily nor does he have a vindictive streak but the Hamelin brothers live to test his restraint. Vampires are not widely liked among the mortal supernaturals and Getta understands that. What Getta doesn’t understand is why the rats are constantly trying to enter the closed section of the Underground or why the rats cannot leave them in peace. After the poisonous gas accident Nick and Ray attacked the Underground killing multiple orphaned and neonate vampires. Getta was tempted to retaliate but put the entire seethe needs ahead of his own. He and Petra have tried to explain that the closed section of the Underground is semi poisonous but their pleads have gone unheard. 

Pets:

None

→ History Scorpius Getta was born Göran-Skorpionen Ulfirkson. He changed his name to Scorpius Getta after he was changed into a vampire and a widower. He no longer wanted to associate with his human past and this was especially so after changing all of his biological children to vampires also. Getta travelled the world, finding those he bonded with or those he thought deserved another life and changing them. → The Present Getta plans on expanding the Undergrounds and opening an above ground full service Hotel made especially for vampires. The only thing holding him back are key features and trusted human or supernatural construction workers. The key features are shutters and windows that completely block out the sun which are currently out of reach. Getta has already begun employing witches and warlocks to help, and his dreams seem closer to reality. Getta plans on naming it Hotel Winona. 

[paramounticebound]

Plots please lmaooo cuz yknow we always need a minimum of 10 more

⤏ send me “plots please” ... || @vuulpecula​ asked for this || probably accepting.

A read more to save the dash:

i. 

okay but CLONE WARS ERA FOX & KHAN

The height of his life-- primed for battle, and failing spectacularly at bending to the rules. He's getting awfully tired of being treated like something less-- he's better. His brothers are better. Instead of being cast away, frozen in stasis for centuries like in his main SW verse, he fights through the Clone Wars up to and through Order 66. 

Padawan and Clone Commander Fox is too young for this-- too young to be leading such an elite group of clones especially. But that’s how the galaxy is: unfair, cruel. It is how they meet, and despite Khan’s best efforts, he does begin to care for the Jedi, though ultimately he cannot understand why supposed peace keepers are now militant agents. By the reckoning of Order 66, Khan’s already pushed away from the Republic in all but distance, having already removed his biochip in preparation of defecting. He’s able to protect Fox from the order, though at the greatest cost: his brothers. 

The two escape into the underbelly of Coruscant, lying low, attempting to reconcile with a new Imperial reign and the chaos of the galaxy. 

Okay, so this is more of a situation than a plot but WE CAN WRITE IT OUT OKAY?

Bonus: Sith Lord Alexei knows about Khan and has a special hatred for him for reasons

ii.

Princess/Rebellion leader of Ruushya SW thing:

Likely the only time that Khan would ever give more than zero fucks about either side. This time it’s because he’s a refugee himself, having defected from the Clone Army, finding his way to Ruushya as a means to decipher just what it means to live his own life. 

But despite himself and all of the rage he holds, he can’t always remain apathetic in the face of tyranny. As the separatists continue to encroach on the planet, he’s drawn into battle once more. After one particular instance that reminds him that loss is a constant of war-- for everyone-- he begrudgingly joins Fox’s rebellion. 

This is just a bare bones idea, sorry.

iii. 

Another 1920′s au, but instead of a bootlegger/gang leader, Khan is a WW1 vet that became a wolf of wall street, coping with stress and PTSD alike by drinking (illegally) and consorting with flappers and women of the night. 

And what if, what if, Fox is a flapper or a woman of the night or anyone really that he’d stumble across-- and they knew each other from the war, but were separated. :’)

Extra angst points for experiencing the Wall Street bombing together too, and all of the terrible war memories it would conjure up.

iv. 

College professor and teaching assistant au. My garbage heart lives for this and every detail can be discussed sfklsdjf

v. 

Preacher-inspired southern gothic au:

Khan is an escapee from a cult that somehow, against all odds, found himself still holding faith in something greater than him. At least-- for a while. The horrors of the world and the demons of his own past erode his faith over time, and he copes with alcohol and chain-smoking, though still manages to give his sermons every Sunday. One of his congregations most faithful is Alexei Alkaev, who also remains a thorn in his side with his constant need to pray at the altar after hours. Khan knows there’s something off about the man, but he ignores it in favor for his daughter, Fox, who is likely the last person a failed preacher should have eyes for. 

As an interesting side note, Khan escaped his cult because everyone else that was in it is dead. There weren’t any leads, and although he was the only survivor, nothing could be concretely died back to him. Not really a great ice breaker.

vi. 

The Master of the Vanishing House: another eldritch/horror au that’s obscure and strange but here we are. 

Legends are told of a decrepit house that appears and vanishes at will among the Russian hinterlands. Locals from the nearby villages, the closest that the house allows itself to be, warn children and strangers alike to stay away. The house has been in existence longer than legend can recall, seemingly without beginning, shaping itself to the architecture of the era. 

And those that are curious enough, foolish enough, to venture inside of the bizarre structure? They disappear into the darkness and are never heard from again-- and shortly after the house has had its fill, it too vanishes again, only to reappear when hunger wills it. 

Stories are only stories until they become real. 

Sasha and Fox know of the legends, and with that cutting edge of youthful bravery, still sought ought the house. Whether or not it would appear was never something they’d planned-- the adventure, running through snowy forest like creatures that might have been free, was the only true intent. 

So, when it appeared just behind a snowdrift, half-hidden behind trees, they hadn’t known what to do. At least, not for long.

Sasha went first, with Fox mere yards behind-- she’d paused on the steps to the house. With a valor only children know, he’d tested the structure, hovering near the entrance despite his friend’s hesitance. As he approached the door, hand only just hovering above the handle-- then a click, and it opens of its own accord. Darkness, pure and raw and otherwordly, meet him from inside. Light cannot seem to penetrate. Sasha swallows, turns to look back at Fox, by then it’s too late. He’s all but swept back into the darkness, the door slamming shut behind him. No matter of pounding on the doors or windows will give her entrance, and when Fox runs back to find help-- anyone--- it’s already too late. 

The house has vanished. 

Obsessed with the house, with finding whatever evil had stolen her friend, Fox waits and waits and waits. She’s twenty years older (or w/e idk) when it reappears, and this time, she will be allowed to enter.

Cliff notes: 

- Khan is the master of the vanishing house-- as in, the house itself is not an entity, but rather a “trap” set by him. He needs the life force of his victims to continue, but he’s a dying creature, too ancient for the modern world with people less and less inclined to chase after urban legends. 

- He’s likely a K’n-yan and an abandoned avatar of Nyarlathotep: this is why his power has dwindled significantly as well, though it opens up more of a path to redemption (if we want that lmao)

- There’s unless the concept of cosmic beings looking for a spouse but that would be weird (.... unless??)

- anyway there’s a lot more that could be added: Fox escapes the house but is now ‘haunted’ by a lesser cosmic entity because his house is gone lmao; Sasha is somehow still alive but likely pretty scarred (and/or unaged); etc, etc

[petri808]

Mirror’s of the Soul

Hau’oli la Hanau!  Happy Birthday!  @dark0angel13  Hawaii misses you ;)

Based on the folklore of a “dog-man” in Hawaii called the Kaupe.  Spun to be a werewolf AU lol, but with a twist.  The Kaupe was used in the DC tv show Legends of Tomorrow.  It was pointed out to me that Lucy’s character reminded them of character from Witcher 3 as well lol.

~~~~~ Nalu AU one-shot

Lucy had heard the wild rumors of the dog-man of Nu’uanu Valley, but she chalked it up to Hawaiian folklore.  These islands were full of such supernatural tales, and as a transplanted college student, seemed more like ghost stories intended to keep children from misbehaving.  She hadn’t heard of any actual werewolves confirmed in the last few centuries, and this was probably not a real case.  As far as she was concerned, superstitious hocus-pocus wasn’t going to keep her from hiking in the valley.  It’s lush rainforests, waterfalls, or Pali cliff overlooks were stunning, especially near sunset or sunrise.  A slice of nature surrounded by a growing metropolis.  

While the professor droned on at the front of the lecture hall, one of her closest friends slides into the seat next to her.

“You’re late Natsu,” she whispers, “class started 20 minutes ago.”

“Did I miss much?” the young man retorts.  Lucy shakes her head.  “Then I’m not late at all,” he grins back.

She rolls her eyes but can’t help a chuckle from escaping.  “Got any plans this weekend?”

“Tomorrow yeah,” he shifts in his seat, “but should be free Sunday.”

“How about you take me on a Dave ‘N Busters date Sunday so I can kick your ass at RD again.”

“You’re on!”

The next morning, Lucy awakens to perfect outdoor weather.  Balmy breezes lightly shifting her curtains and blue skies as far as the eye could see.  It seemed her roommate hadn’t made it back to their dorm in the night, probably staying the weekend with her boyfriend off campus.  Lucy sighs, and turns on her bed facing the window, maybe one day she’ll be able to do the same.  Yeah sure, Hell might freeze over before Natsu saw her in that way.  He was the best of friend that any could be, but no matter how many times she threw subtle hints or flirted with him, it all seemed to go right over his head.  Oh well, the times they spent together sufficed, but for now the valley was calling her name.

Not only did she like simply being surrounded by the peace and tranquility the forest could provide, it also served as a perfect, distraction free place to write her stories. Notebook, extra pens, fully charged laptop, trusty outdoor blanket, lunch, and ready to go, she ascends the Lulumahu Falls trail.  It was only a 2-mile hike round trip, but unlike some of the other trails in the area, this one cut through a bamboo grove and wasn’t one of the official paths.  As such, traffic tended to be lighter with fellow hikers opting for the maintained trails instead.

She reaches the end of the line and finds a shady area with large flat boulders to sit on.  Thank goodness for the recent sunny weather.  The trail had been mud-free, humidity was lower, and the air was crisp.  Lucy takes out her laptop, balancing it on her thighs and gets to work, letting the sounds of the forest send her into a rhythm.  Her words flowed forth like the gentle burbling of the nearby stream of the same namesake.  Hands gliding across the keyboard like the chirping birds around her.  Every now and again there was a crackle of a falling branch, or footsteps of a fellow nature seeker, but she paid these no mind, her characters keeping her enthralled.

It was great when ideas came to her so easily.  The infamous writers block plagued her from time to time, but not today, and it wasn’t until the light was growing dim that she realized how long she’d been in the writing zone.  Oh crap!  It may still be warm for fall, but the sun also set quicker in these later months.  She checks the time on her phone and guestimates another hour tops before she needed to get out of there.  Alright, this chapter was almost finished, she could make it!

She didn’t make it.

And by the time she’d stumbled into what she assumed was the Kaniakapupu Ruins, it was dark, cell phone coverage was nil, and it was growing a bit chilly.  Thank goodness for her blanket!  Lucy had two options, keep trying to find her way out through unmarked trails and risk getting more lost, or staying put until morning.  The clear skies were in her favor and the bright harvest moon chased away some of the darkness.  She groans and finds a decent rock to plop onto, guess she’ll just hunker down for the night.  

About a half mile away, deeper into the Nu’uanu valley, something catches the scent of the lone female, but that wasn’t good, for he recognized the scent.  ‘What is she doing here and on this night of all nights?!’  He came here to hide during this phase of the month, an ancient calling against his bloodline to guard the heiau of Kaheiki.  Legend has it, his ancestor had impregnated a human female shortly before being killed by a chief from the island of Hawaii, and to atone for that progenitor’s misdeed’s, a descendant was born as a Kaupe every hundred years or so to guard the heiau of the priest that helped to stop it’s rampage.

A thousand years later, it was Natsu’s bad luck that this curse fell upon his generation and with puberty came the confirmation.  He tried consulting the most knowledgeable kahuna’s and priests he could find in the hopes of breaking the curse, but they all told him the same thing, this was his ancestors atonement and only the gods could see fit to change that.  Yeah, well his family had been punished enough for something they hadn’t even done.  It wasn’t fair in this modern era to keep suffering like this.  All he wanted to do was settle down some day like a normal person, but who would want a freak like him?

Natsu’s worries were confirmed the moment he crept up to the ruins and sees Lucy sitting on a rock all bundled up.  With his keener eye sight, he can see her hiking back pack near her feet and puts two and two together that she must have gotten lost.  He could only imagine how cold she must be with nothing more than a light blanket to stay warm with.  At least his fur helped with that, but it was still another 10 more hours before the sun will rise.  Natsu paces as he weighs his options.  Great, so what should he do?  He couldn’t leave her all alone.  But if he made his presence known it might scare the wits out of her.  

He fails to realize that Lucy is now staring in his direction.  It was strange at first the mixed scent of Natsu and canine.  She couldn’t see him through the darkness but knew he was out there somewhere, but putting the clues together and it wasn’t a total shock.  Lucy groans internally at the irony.  The man had been keeping a secret, though she was no better.

“Natsu,” she lets out an exasperated exhale and stands up.  “You might as well come out I know you’re there.”  

That was impossible!  How could Lucy know that he was there in the first place, and second, he wasn’t some random person!  He hears her sigh.  

“Natsu, I can pick up on your scent, now please just come out.”

With a lot of trepidation, he steps beyond the tree line into the clearing.  “Lucy… but how??”

“Just come closer,” she sits back on her rock, “we both have a lot of explaining to do.”

Okay things were getting a little weird, and considering he was the werewolf, to think this was all really strange was… Weird!  No one outside of his family had ever seen him in this form because he’d done well to stay completely hidden from humans, and even though clearly this woman knew it was him, Natsu was still hesitant to let Lucy see him for what he was.  It was also a bit unnerving how unfazed she seemed to be.  He finds a fallen log about 10 feet away from her and sits down on the edge of it.  If he needed to take off again, it would only take mere seconds to do so.

Lucy adjusts the blanket around her body, then props her head with her hand against her knee.  “I assume you are confused?”  Natsu nods.  “Back home, my family hails from a long line of hunters…. Creature hunters.”  She tips her head, “I remember my mom telling me how my great, great, grandfather immigrated to America to establish a line of Heartfilia’s in the new world.  I think it’s silly and I moved here to get away from it all because I didn’t want to continue the tradition.”  An exasperated sigh escapes her lips.  “How ironic that I run into one so easily.”

“That still doesn’t make sense.  How did you know it was me?”

She taps her nose.  “I can track.  Look I know it seems strange, and it’s not normal for a human to do that so easily.  How do I explain it…  Somewhere in my family line, an ancestor was imbued with a few abilities.  I can’t see in the dark, which is why I’m stuck here, but an enhanced olfactory system allows me to detect scents, especially inhuman ones.”

“And, what do creature hunters do exactly?” his voice filled with an air of hesitancy.

“In the old days, they hunted to kill.”

Natsu tenses up and leans back, “should I leave?”

Lucy just waves her hand, “I came here to Hawaii to get away from that life.  Just wanted to be normal, ya know, but it seems I can’t run away from it either.”  She shivers as a breeze funnels through the clearing.

“Are you cold Lucy?  I’m sorry I don’t have a jacket or anything and I can’t leave the area till morning.”

“Why not?  In fact,” she pats the area next to her, “come closer and tell me your story.  It’s only fair since I shared mine.”

“I--I really don’t like anyone seeing me like this, you’re the first outside of my family to.”

“I’m not gonna hurt you and I don’t care what you look like.  I know you’re still you.”  Natsu shakes his head.  “Suit yourself.”  Lucy stands up, gathers the blanket around her and trudges over.

“Wait, what are you doing!” Natsu scrambles to his feet, tripping, and falling backwards over the log with a thud.

She rushes over to help him up, “Are you okay?!”

He rubs the back of his head, “I’ve got a hard head,” he winces, “more my pride that got hurt.”

Lucy chuckles, “see,” she pulls him to his feet, “should’a just stayed still.”

After getting him to come back to the rock with her, Lucy pulls her feet into a cross-legged position. “Alright, now spill.”

With a deep exhale, Natsu lets the words flow.  Everything he knows about his family, the curse, and what it’s like to be a Kaupe….  

All the while Lucy sits quietly not wanting to interrupt him.  She’d heard other tales of werewolves, old legends and such, including the idea of a curse causing the transformation.  Though this was the first time she’d heard of a curse carrying on through a bloodline before.  Guess, there is a first time for everything.  The tale he told was heartrending.  Their family’s ancestor may have been cursed because of a cold-blooded killer nature, but the man sitting next to her was nothing like that.  Natsu would give you the shirt off his back if you were in need and he always made her feel safe, especially at night.  If only there was a way to break the curse.    

Having determined for herself what kind of soul lay behind his Olivine hues, the longer she stared at him, it occurred to her that Natsu… wasn’t that bad looking in this condition.  Hawaii didn’t have wolves so did that make him more of a Weredog?  Not that she truly knew what a werewolf or weredog was supposed to look like since old tales differed on appearance.  Some depicted them as more human with canine features, others as more canine-like and barely human anymore.  Almost all of the stories described large fangs and claws dripping with blood, no ability to discern right from wrong or with any human consciousness left.  Boy were they wrong in this case!  Natsu was fully aware of himself and more scared than she was.  

His human fangs did look a bit longer than normal, his eyes still green but more canine-esque, with claws on his fingers and toes.  Tufts of fur covered the parts of his body that she could see, but he wore a t-shirt and baggy pants, so it wasn’t much.  A tail was definitely coming out of his lower back with pointy ears growing through his pink head hair.  Lucy tips her head, those ears were really cute!  She wondered what he would do if she rubbed them…

“Ahem.  Are you even paying attention anymore?!”

“Huh?”  Lucy shakes her head.  “Sorry,” her face flushes and she’s glad it’s too dark to see it.  “Curiosity and all.”

“I can’t let you touch them, so don’t even think about it.”

“Touch what?”

Natsu rolls his eyes, “my ears that you’ve been staring at for a solid 5 minutes.”

“Oh, why not,” she pouts.

“Because they are sensitive.”  Okay that was a semi-lie.  They were sensitive but rubbing them made him feel good in a provocative manner.  “So, as I was saying, we have no idea how to break the curse, no one in the family ever knows who in the next generations will become the next one, but it usually happens when the current Kaupe is close to death.”

“Is this why you’ve never tried to make a move on me?”

Well that was blunt!  “Um, I guess, yeah…” he scratches his head, “wh-what makes you think I would have?”

Lucy shrugs her shoulders a little sad by his response, “wishful thinking, I guess.  Anyways, don’t worry, your secret is safe with me Natsu.”

“Y-you know Lucy,” he averts his eyes to the ground, “if I had… asked… what would you have answered?”

“Yes,” she turns his chin back and smiles, “I do like you, if that wasn’t already obvious.”  Chuckling, “I just figured you only saw me as a friend.”

He takes a leap, “what about now, even after knowing this about me?”

“Hmm,” Lucy leans against him, resting her head on his furry shoulder, “the huntress and the werewolf,” she chuckles, “it sounds like a movie plot, but,” she looks up and smiles, “yeah, I’d still like to be your leading lady.”

[3than1no]

Hi I just came across your page and it's not fair that I'm now just coming across you. Beautiful work. If you are taking requests, can you do a male reader prompt with Steve rogers where he wants to date the reader but the reader is second guessing it because he just came out of a bad relationship??

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Steve Rogers/Male Reader

A/N: Hey! Thank you so much. I’m glad you like my posts :) Yes of course. I changed the request just a tad but I would be willing to do a part 2. Hope this is to your liking :) x

Steve let out a nervous breath as he stood in front of your hotel room door, in the seedy motel somewhere in Scotland. He knew he shouldn’t be outside of your door in the middle of the night. He knew that maybe he was setting himself up for a fall. His feelings were spiraling and he couldn’t help himself.

Since Steve had awoken from the ice you had been there. You were the one who eased him into the 21st century. The one who helped him through his list. The one there when he felt overwhelmed. or scared. or there when he just needed to talk. You went from someone who had been assigned to help him to being one of his closest friends. He had a lot of respect for you. Steve made the decision a long time ago that he would most definitely put his life on the line if it meant you would survive. 

The feelings he felt were gradual. They weren’t all at once. Steve hadn’t even considered ever liking you romantically. You were his friend. One of his best friends. There hadn’t been a certain moment when Steve had realized how he felt, there wasn’t some life changing event that made Steve stop still. It just… happened. The process was one over the years that he had known you. 

Steve had been terrified at first. For a long while he ignored them. He was still wildly in love with Peggy and he knew he always would be. It felt like he was betraying her. Betraying the feelings they had once had together. Yet he knew that she would of wanted him to move on. Something he couldn’t bring himself to do. It made him nervous. The newfound feelings he felt for you made him want to throw up. He couldn’t go through it all again just to eventually lose you.

The fact that you were a man didn’t scare him. Neither did what everyone would think of him. It was the falling into the abyss of love again that he couldn’t quite bring himself to do. He had only ever thought he would love Peggy. He had been so sure that there was no one else for him. 

Yet here he was, hesitantly bringing his hand up to knock on your door. Nerves swirling around in his stomach. Swallowing thickly, trying to get rid of the lump in his throat. He wasn’t even sure what he was going to say. He was almost adamant you would laugh in his face. Although, he knew you wouldn’t do that. You were too kind, too pure to even consider laughing him. It was just his overthinking. 

He knew he was clutching on straws seeking you out. You had come out of a bad relationship. A relationship Steve had heard about time and time again. He had been there through the whole thing. He had helped you, given you advice. Despite how much it hurt him. He knew you hadn’t been happy, it was toxic the whole relationship. The only way you had gotten out of it was going on the run with Steve and the rest. He knew you were still hurting from it, despite it being nearly a year ago now. You often spoke to Steve about how you felt, how you were so sure you didn’t want another relationship again. Steve almost felt foolish thinking that you would maybe change your mind for him.

Letting out another shuddering breath, Steve went for the plunge and knocked quietly on your door. He could hear you rustling around inside. Probably getting out of bed. It was late after all. The door opened, Steve sucking in a breath, revealing a very disheveled you. You were clearly still half asleep. You squinted at him, the harsh light of the hotel hallway burning your eyes. 

“Steve?” You croaked out, confused as to why he was standing at your door in the middle of the night. “Has something happened?”

He couldn’t find himself saying the words he wanted to say. He felt tongue tied. The words just wouldn’t come out. His mouth opened and closed, your gaze making him nervous. Even more nervous than he had already felt. Concern passed over your face then. 

“Steve.. what’s wrong?” You asked, getting more and more awake by the minute. 

He looked at you with wide eyes, his mouth open as though he was about to say the words he so wanted to say. To tell you how in love he was with you, how much he wanted to be your guy. How he wanted to make you so happy, to see your smile every single day for the rest of his life. How he just wanted to hold you. To kiss you. To make love to you. To do everything he had never been able to experience before now. 

Yet nothing came out. He was frozen under your stare, mumbling that it didn’t matter. You narrowed your eyes at him as Steve made his escape. Saying he would see you in the morning. He felt a complete fool. His face bloomed red as he turned the corner, away from your prying gaze. When he made it back to his room, he slumped against the door. Running a hand over his tired face. Completely and utterly humiliated by the entire situation. Despite the fact you still didn’t know. 

[no1else-but-me]

Book Recs if you love Jaime and Brienne

This is a collection of all the book recs I could find from @briennesjaime​ tumblr books rec, the reddit, and my own. Please reblog your own if you have some. 

1. The Queen of Attolia which is book#2 of the The Queen’s Thief series

This is definitely more for the enemies to lovers trope. The thief even loses a hand like Jaime but under much different circumstances.  The Queen is like the colder version of Brienne.

Revenge When Eugenides, the Thief of Eddis, stole Hamiathes’s Gift, the Queen of Attolia lost more than a mythical relic. She lost face. Everyone knew that Eugenides had outwitted and escaped her. To restore her reputation and reassert her power, the Queen of Attolia will go to any length and accept any help that is offered…she will risk her country to execute the perfect revenge. …but Eugenides can steal anything. And he taunts the Queen of Attolia, moving through her strongholds seemingly at will. So Attolia waits, secure in the knowledge that the Thief will slip, that he will haunt her palace one too many times. …at what price? When Eugenides finds his small mountain country at war with Attolia, he must steal a man, he must steal a queen, he must steal peace. But his greatest triumph, and his greatest loss, comes in capturing something that the Queen of Attolia thought she had sacrificed long ago… 

2. The Lumatere Chronicles 

One of my favorite series of all time. It’s character driven and it’s has many surprises. Starts off with Finnikin has lost hope like Jaime but gains it slowly over time. Evanjalin her honor and her pursuit of her quest reminds me very much of  Brienne. 

Finnikin of the Rock and his guardian, Sir Topher, have not been home to their beloved Lumatere for ten years. Not since the dark days when the royal family was murdered and the kingdom put under a terrible curse. But then Finnikin is summoned to meet Evanjalin, a young woman with an incredible claim: the heir to the throne of Lumatere, Prince Balthazar, is alive. Evanjalin is determined to return home and she is the only one who can lead them to the heir. As they journey together, Finnikin is affected by her arrogance … and her hope. He begins to believe he will see his childhood friend, Prince Balthazar, again. And that their cursed people will be able to enter Lumatere and be reunited with those trapped inside. He even believes he will find his imprisoned father. But Evanjalin is not what she seems. And the truth will test not only Finnikin’s faith in her … but in himself.

3. Howl’s Moving Castle 

This one might be a stretch but hear me out. Howl is pretty much the embodiment of Jaime but probably more vain. While, Sophie really conveys Brienne self-esteem issues but still noble in her own right. Plus, their banter very reminiscent to Jaime and Brienne. 

Sophie has the great misfortune of being the eldest of three daughters, destined to fail miserably should she ever leave home to seek her fate. But when she unwittingly attracts the ire of the Witch of the Waste, Sophie finds herself under a horrid spell that transforms her into an old lady. Her only chance at breaking it lies in the ever-moving castle in the hills: the Wizard Howl’s castle. To untangle the enchantment, Sophie must handle the heartless Howl, strike a bargain with a fire demon, and meet the Witch of the Waste head-on. Along the way, she discovers that there’s far more to Howl—and herself—than first meets the eye.

@temporiibus recommends The Raven Cycle!!

“There are only two reasons a non-seer would see a spirit on St. Mark’s Eve,” Neeve said. “Either you’re his true love . . . or you killed him.” It is freezing in the churchyard, even before the dead arrive. Every year, Blue Sargent stands next to her clairvoyant mother as the soon-to-be dead walk past. Blue herself never sees them—not until this year, when a boy emerges from the dark and speaks directly to her. His name is Gansey, and Blue soon discovers that he is a rich student at Aglionby, the local private school. Blue has a policy of staying away from Aglionby boys. Known as Raven Boys, they can only mean trouble. But Blue is drawn to Gansey, in a way she can’t entirely explain. He has it all—family money, good looks, devoted friends—but he’s looking for much more than that. He is on a quest that has encompassed three other Raven Boys: Adam, the scholarship student who resents all the privilege around him; Ronan, the fierce soul who ranges from anger to despair; and Noah, the taciturn watcher of the four, who notices many things but says very little. For as long as she can remember, Blue has been warned that she will cause her true love to die. She never thought this would be a problem. But now, as her life becomes caught up in the strange and sinister world of the Raven Boys, she’s not so sure anymore. From Maggie Stiefvater, the bestselling and acclaimed author of the Shiver trilogy and The Scorpio Races, comes a spellbinding new series where the inevitability of death and the nature of love lead us to a place we’ve never been before. 

The Winners Trilogy

As a general’s daughter in a vast empire that revels in war and enslaves those it conquers, seventeen-year-old Kestrel has two choices: she can join the military or get married. But Kestrel has other intentions.  One day, she is startled to find a kindred spirit in a young slave up for auction. Arin’s eyes seem to defy everything and everyone. Following her instinct, Kestrel buys him—with unexpected consequences. It’s not long before she has to hide her growing love for Arin.  But he, too, has a secret, and Kestrel quickly learns that the price she paid for a fellow human is much higher than she ever could have imagined.  Set in a richly imagined new world, The Winner’s Curse by Marie Rutkoski is a story of deadly games where everything is at stake, and the gamble is whether you will keep your head or lose your heart.

Daughter of Smoke and Bone recommended by @realduality

Errand requiring immediate attention. Come. The note was on vellum, pierced by the talons of the almost-crow that delivered it. Karou read the message. 'He never says please', she sighed, but she gathered up her things. When Brimstone called, she always came. In general, Karou has managed to keep her two lives in balance. On the one hand, she's a seventeen-year-old art student in Prague; on the other, errand-girl to a monstrous creature who is the closest thing she has to family. Raised half in our world, half in 'Elsewhere', she has never understood Brimstone's dark work - buying teeth from hunters and murderers - nor how she came into his keeping. She is a secret even to herself, plagued by the sensation that she isn't whole. Now the doors to Elsewhere are closing, and Karou must choose between the safety of her human life and the dangers of a war-ravaged world that may hold the answers she has always sought.

The Mars Trilogy by Kim Stanley Robinson. Hard SF, and the romance is definitely not a major plot, but one of the characters involved in the trope is legit my favorite fictional character of all time and that journey from enemy to friend to lover is a big part of it.

In his most ambitious project to date, award-winning author Kim Stanley Robinson utilizes years of research & cutting-edge science in the 1st of a trilogy chronicling the colonization of Mars: For eons, sandstorms have swept the desolate landscape. For centuries, Mars has beckoned humans to conquer its hostile climate. Now, in 2026, a group of 100 colonists is about to fulfill that destiny. John Boone, Maya Toitavna, Frank Chalmers & Arkady Bogdanov lead a terraforming mission. For some, Mars will become a passion driving them to daring acts of courage & madness. For others it offers an opportunity to strip the planet of its riches. For the genetic alchemists, it presents a chance to create a biomedical miracle, a breakthrough that could change all we know about life & death. The colonists orbit giant satellite mirrors to reflect light to the surface. Black dust sprinkled on the polar caps will capture warmth. Massive tunnels, kilometers deep, will be drilled into the mantle to create stupendous vents of hot gases. Against this backdrop of epic upheaval, rivalries, loves & friendships will form & fall to pieces--for there are those who will fight to the death to prevent Mars from ever being changed. Brilliantly imagined, breathtaking in scope & ingenuity, Red Mars is an epic scientific saga, chronicling the next step in evolution, creating a world in its entirety. It shows a future, with both glory & tarnish, that awes with complexity & inspires with vision.

The Folk of the Air

Of course I want to be like them. They’re beautiful as blades forged in some divine fire. They will live forever. And Cardan is even more beautiful than the rest. I hate him more than all the others. I hate him so much that sometimes when I look at him, I can hardly breathe. Jude was seven when her parents were murdered and she and her two sisters were stolen away to live in the treacherous High Court of Faerie. Ten years later, Jude wants nothing more than to belong there, despite her mortality. But many of the fey despise humans. Especially Prince Cardan, the youngest and wickedest son of the High King. To win a place at the Court, she must defy him–and face the consequences. As Jude becomes more deeply embroiled in palace intrigues and deceptions, she discovers her own capacity for trickery and bloodshed. But as betrayal threatens to drown the Courts of Faerie in violence, Jude will need to risk her life in a dangerous alliance to save her sisters, and Faerie itself.

Feyre's survival rests upon her ability to hunt and kill – the forest where she lives is a cold, bleak place in the long winter months. So when she spots a deer in the forest being pursued by a wolf, she cannot resist fighting it for the flesh. But to do so, she must kill the predator and killing something so precious comes at a price ... Dragged to a magical kingdom for the murder of a faerie, Feyre discovers that her captor, his face obscured by a jewelled mask, is hiding far more than his piercing green eyes would suggest. Feyre's presence at the court is closely guarded, and as she begins to learn why, her feelings for him turn from hostility to passion and the faerie lands become an even more dangerous place. Feyre must fight to break an ancient curse, or she will lose him forever.

 @swainlake recommends the darkest powers trilogy by kelley armstrong is really good

My name is Chloe Saunders and my life will never be the same again. All I wanted was to make friends, meet boys, and keep on being ordinary. I don't even know what that means anymore. It all started on the day that I saw my first ghost - and the ghost saw me. Now there are ghosts everywhere and they won't leave me alone. To top it all off, I somehow got myself locked up in Lyle House, a "special home" for troubled teens. Yet the home isn't what it seems. Don't tell anyone, but I think there might be more to my housemates than meets the eye. The question is, whose side are they on? It's up to me to figure out the dangerous secrets behind Lyle House... before its skeletons come back to haunt me

@imladriss recommends: We hunt the flame by hafsah faizal

People lived because she killed. People died because he lived. Zafira is the Hunter, disguising herself as a man when she braves the cursed forest of the Arz to feed her people. Nasir is the Prince of Death, assassinating those foolish enough to defy his autocratic father, the king. If Zafira was exposed as a girl, all of her achievements would be rejected; if Nasir displayed his compassion, his father would punish him in the most brutal of ways.  Both are legends in the kingdom of Arawiya—but neither wants to be. War is brewing, and the Arz sweeps closer with each passing day, engulfing the land in shadow. When Zafira embarks on a quest to uncover a lost artifact that can restore magic to her suffering world and stop the Arz, Nasir is sent by the king on a similar mission: retrieve the artifact and kill the Hunter. But an ancient evil stirs as their journey unfolds—and the prize they seek may pose a threat greater than either can imagine. Set in a richly detailed world inspired by ancient Arabia, We Hunt the Flame is a gripping debut of discovery, conquering fear, and taking identity into your own hands.

@moirindeclermont recommends  anything from Jacqueline Carey (she is a goddess and my favourite writer) but also Deborah Harkness (A discovery of witches) which is amazing, I’m obsessed with it. Nemesis by Isaac Asimov touches some themes similar to Brienne’s. Arn the knight

The land of Terre d'Ange is a place of unsurpassing beauty and grace. It is said that angels found the land and saw it was good... and the ensuing race that rose from the seed of angels and men live by one simple rule: Love as thou wilt.  Phèdre nó Delaunay is a young woman who was born with a scarlet mote in her left eye. Sold into indentured servitude as a child, her bond is purchased by Anafiel Delaunay, a nobleman with very a special mission... and the first one to recognize who and what she is: one pricked by Kushiel's Dart, chosen to forever experience pain and pleasure as one. Phèdre is trained equally in the courtly arts and the talents of the bedchamber, but, above all, the ability to observe, remember, and analyze. Almost as talented a spy as she is courtesan, Phèdre stumbles upon a plot that threatens the very foundations of her homeland. Treachery sets her on her path; love and honor goad her further. And in the doing, it will take her to the edge of despair... and beyond. Hateful friend, loving enemy, beloved assassin; they can all wear the same glittering mask in this world, and Phèdre will get but one chance to save all that she holds dear.  Set in a world of cunning poets, deadly courtiers, heroic traitors, and a truly Machiavellian villainess, this is a novel of grandeur, luxuriance, sacrifice, betrayal, and deeply laid conspiracies. Not since Dune has there been an epic on the scale of Kushiel's Dart-a massive tale about the violent death of an old age, and the birth of a new.

Deep in the stacks of Oxford's Bodleian Library, young scholar Diana Bishop unwittingly calls up a bewitched alchemical manuscript in the course of her research. Descended from an old and distinguished line of witches, Diana wants nothing to do with sorcery; so after a furtive glance and a few notes, she banishes the book to the stacks. But her discovery sets a fantastical underworld stirring, and a horde of daemons, witches, and vampires soon descends upon the library. Diana has stumbled upon a coveted treasure lost for centuries-and she is the only creature who can break its spell.

In a hail of fire and flashing sword, as the burning city of Acre falls from the hands of the West in 1291, The Last Templar opens with a young Templar knight, his mentor, and a handful of others escaping to the sea carrying a mysterious chest entrusted to them by the Order's dying Grand Master. The ship vanishes without a trace. In present day Manhattan, four masked horsemen dressed as Templar Knights emerge from Central Park and ride up the Fifth Avenue steps of the Metropolitan Museum of Art during the blacktie opening of a Treasures of the Vatican exhibit. Storming through the crowds, the horsemen brutally attack anyone standing between them and their prize. Attending the gala, archaeologist Tess Chaykin watches in silent terror as the leader of the horsemen hones in on one piece in particular, a strange geared device. He utters a few cryptic Latin words as he takes hold of it with reverence before leading the horsemen out and disappearing into the night. In the aftermath, an FBI investigation is led by anti-terrorist specialist Sean Reilly. Soon, he and Tess are drawn into the dark, hidden history of the crusading Knights, plunging them into a deadly game of cat and mouse with ruthless killers as they race across three continents to recover the lost secret of the Templars. 

Irissa and Kendric Series

Irissa was the last of the sorcerous Torlocs, untutored in magic and abandoned upon this decaying world by her people. Kendric was one of the Six of Swords, gifted with a legendary weapon to guard the Realms from harm. But now he was an outcast, and his death was sought with reason by the other Five. Sorceress and swordsman, they were thrown together; each filled with ancient prejudices against the other. But only by combining her uncertain powers with his remaining skills could they survive. Survive they must, however. Rule was a world formed upon magic - but now magic was failing and there would soon be no place for it. And destiny in strange guise had chosen them to make one last stand against the dark forces that were waiting at the Gate of Valna, seeking to destroy their world

Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte

Orphaned as a child, Jane has felt an outcast her whole young life. Her courage is tested once again when she arrives at Thornfield Hall, where she has been hired by the brooding, proud Edward Rochester to care for his ward Adèle. Jane finds herself drawn to his troubled yet kind spirit. She falls in love. Hard.

But there is a terrifying secret inside the gloomy, forbidding Thornfield Hall. Is Rochester hiding from Jane? Will Jane be left heartbroken and exiled once again?

Since its immediate success in 1813, Pride and Prejudice has remained one of the most popular novels in the English language. Jane Austen called this brilliant work "her own darling child" and its vivacious heroine, Elizabeth Bennet, "as delightful a creature as ever appeared in print." The romantic clash between the opinionated Elizabeth and her proud beau, Mr. Darcy, is a splendid performance of civilized sparring. And Jane Austen's radiant wit sparkles as her characters dance a delicate quadrille of flirtation and intrigue, making this book the most superb comedy of manners of Regency England

In the medieval and fantastic realm of Tortall, Keladry of Mindelan (known as Kel) is the first girl to take advantage of the decree that permits women to train for knighthood. But not everyone in Tortall believes a woman is up to the task, and Kel faces harsh discrimination. With unparalleled determination and a knack for leadership, she captures the hearts of her peers and proves that she is not a girl to underestimate! 

[searchingwardrobes]

White Flag

Happy Birthday, @winterbaby89! When we were chatting earlier today, I was so tempted to tell you I had a gift for you, but I wanted it to be a surprise! So here’s a brooding, pining pirate for your birthday 🙂

Yes, this is based on the song by Dido. I know we’ve all heard it on countless crack fan vids, but when I really listened to the lyrics the other day, it just struck me how all the lyrics of this song fit Killian so well, especially during the year he was away from Emma. And how many ships can boast an ACTUAL ship? Right?

Summary: Killian Jones swore that not a day would go by that he wouldn’t think of Emma Swan. Of course, his crew doesn’t have to know about that. Until a certain first mate figures it out and seems hell bent on helping his captain . . .

Rating: G

Words: 3,000+

Also on Ao3

Tagging @snowbellewells @kmomof4 @snidgetsafan @kday426 @bethacaciakay @thislassishooked @teamhook @whimsicallyenchantedrose @delirious-latenight-laughs @jennjenn615 @let-it-raines @hollyethecurious @branlovestowrite

I will go down with this ship, I won’t put my hands up and surrender. There will be no white flag above my door. I’m in love, and always will be.

If there’s one thing Killian Jones learned after tossing his Lieutenant's coat into the sea, it’s that being a good pirate captain is ten percent action and ninety percent reputation. By the time he lost his hand to the Dark One, he was already known as a deadly swordsman who captained the fastest ship in all the realms. Once he became Captain Hook, the legend only grew. Pirate Captain Killian Jones had to fight to the last man while most everyone gladly surrendered to the fearsome and ruthless Captain Hook.

Killian frowned as he looked down at the rings adorning his fingers. Of course, there was truth to the rumors as well. He’d done many a foul dead in his long centuries of life. But for every tale of bloodshed and villainy that was true, there were ten more that were gross exaggerations.

The same held true when it came to women. He was no saint in that regard either, not even much a gentleman, but he didn’t bed every woman he came across. Despite his bravado, for example, he had never coerced an unwilling lass, and he certainly would never use violence to satisfy his libido. Yet the rumors said otherwise, of course. Sometimes, like Milah, the rumors protected the reputation of the dissatisfied housewives who found temporary escape in his bed. Or permanent escape, in Milah’s case. Yet the rumors also helped build up the aura of Captain Hook; the pirate who would run you through as his eyes glinted with two red spots, the man who would plunder your village and ravish your women. People would cower before a man with that sort of reputation. Made piracy so much easier.

But he was a different man now, as much as he was loathe to admit it, and keeping up the ruse was becoming tiresome. He remembered what Ariel had called him – a hero – laughable, really. Even worse, Blackbeard had called him soft. Both those descriptors had fueled his decision that day: to sacrifice a man’s life to get his ship back. With the Jolly in his possession again, the tales of besting Blackbeard and feeding him to the sharks buzzing around every tavern, he felt that surely he could finally forget. Finally, he could slip back into his old ways.

There was only one problem: he couldn’t forget her. He saw her lovely lips turned down in a sad frown every time he had a dagger to a man’s throat. He saw her flashing jade eyes every time he lifted his hook over a trembling, pleading sailor. Emma wouldn’t want this. And he would have mercy. He saw the confused expressions of his crew, heard the whispers that suddenly went silent when he entered a tavern. He knew other rumors were flying aside from his duel with Blackbeard. Captain Hook has gone soft.

The most difficult reputation to maintain, however, was his reputation with the ladies. He knew his flirtation had become half-hearted at best, and surely word had gotten around about the willing lasses he had left unsatisfied. Then there was this constant charade with the wenches he kept paying; but not paying for their services, paying for their subterfuge. Tell people I gave you a good time.

So here he was again, as he often found himself, alone in his quarters as his men passed their shore leave with rum and women. He hunched over his desk, his eyes squinting in the lamplight, as he replayed the way Emma Swan had smiled at him that final day. Good she had said.

“Captain?”

Killian startled and looked up to see Smee poking his head through the half-opened door. Instead of growling at the man, he suddenly found himself blushing as if caught in the act. His first mate shuffled hesitantly into the room.

“I uh, didn’t mean to pry, but I ran into that wench on the docks? And um, she looked like she was hiding something, and I was worried, so . . . “

Killian’s embarrassment morphed into anger as he scowled at the man. “I don’t need a nursemaid, Mr. Smee. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of meself.” He bent once again to the paper and pencil in front of him. “You’re dismissed.”

“If I may sir,” Smee continued, undeterred. Killian sighed wearily under his breath as the man shuffled closer to his desk. “The men and I have been a bit concerned. You seem . . . off. You only just left with that wench naught ten minutes ago, and -”

Killian surged up from his desk, sending papers scattering to the floor. “I said you’re dismissed!”

“Y-yes sir,” Smee said, bobbing his head nervously as he twisted his cap in his hands. He looked down at the papers scattering the floor, and he brightened. “Let me help you, Captain!”

Killian attempted to lunge and stop him, but he couldn’t get around the desk in time. He clasped his first mate’s wrist just as his eyes took in the parchment in his hand.

“This . . . is the Princess, Captain.”

“Obviously. Now, leave me be.” He slumped down in his desk chair, rubbing his forehead.

Smee laid the drawing of Emma reverently upon his desk. “I haven’t seen you draw a woman’s likeness since Milah, sir.”

Killian looked up tentatively at the man’s soft words. Smee could be a bit of a buffoon at times, but in all honesty, he was the closest thing Killian had to a friend. The man was loyal to a fault, and he was probably the only one who had seen Killian’s mask slip at times. In every such instance, he had kept that information to himself.

“What happened in Neverland between the two of you?” Smee asked after a moment’s silence.

Killian’s jaw clenched. Closest thing he had to a friend, yes. Confidant about matters of the heart, however? Definitely not.

“My relationship with Miss Swan is none of your business,” he bit out, gently sliding his drawing closer with the tip of his hook. Or lack thereof, he thought bitterly.

Smee seemed unoffended as he gave a firm nod and placed his cap back upon his head. “Say no more, Captain. And don’t worry, I’ll keep the ladies of the night away from you, sir.”

Killian rolled his eyes and waved Smee out. “Oh, and Smee?”

“Y-yes Captain.”

“Speak of this to no one.”

“Course sir, wouldn’t dream of it.”

Killian looked down at his drawing and frowned as he picked his pencil up once again. The eyes weren’t quite right . . .

********************************************************

The days slipped by, and Killian was fairly certain Smee had forgotten their conversation. Until it dawned on him that he was left alone in the taverns more often than not to nurse his rum in peace. And were his crew giving him sympathetic looks? If that imbecile had been wagging his tongue . . .

The man himself suddenly took the chair in front of him at the back of the tavern, an eager expression on his face. Oblivious to Killian’s angry glare, he gestured to the woman he had brought with him. Killian blinked as he took in the woman’s odd appearance. She lowered herself elegantly to the seat beside Smee, adjusting her luminous skirts of grey and white, made of ripped and tattered strips of satin. Her bodice seemed to be made of cobwebs, topped with a blood red corset. Her black lace gloves had holes in them, and her black hair hung in dirty dreadlocks. A tattoo, a constellation that he could have identified if he hadn’t felt uncomfortable staring, filled half her face. The most startling thing, however, were her eyes. They were milky white. Yet she gazed upon him fully, so he didn’t think she was blind.

“Tanith here thinks she can help you, sir,” Smee told him, his smile eager.

“You are a man of heart ache,” she said in a voice that grated like a hinge in need of grease. She reached out with fingernails like talons that tore through the tips of her gloves and caressed his hand. He jerked it back.

“Going to a sorceress is a dangerous business,” Killian muttered, eyeing her shrewdly. “All magic comes with a price.”

“Smart you are, my pretty pirate,” she replied with a smile, showing a mouth full of blackened teeth. Killian suppressed his revulsion lest he insult the powerful woman. “But the price for this is not steep to most.”

She produced a wand of deep purple, decorated in swirling carvings painted red. He swallowed nervously, as if he could feel the magic pulsing from it.

“It can undue a spell,” Smee put in, fidgeting in delight.

Tanith gave Smee a sharp look for stealing her thunder, then turned a smile upon Killian that would have been seductive if not for her foul teeth. “It will reunite you with the woman you love.”

Killian’s jaw clenched as he tried to push down the hope that swelled in his chest. His fingers itched to pick up the wand as Tanith set it on the table before him. “And the cost?” he managed to choke out. Unable to resist, he picked up the wand, his gaze mesmerized by the vermillion carvings.

“The life of the one who cast the spell,” Tanith said flippantly. “Like I said, it is a trifle for most. What better revenge than to undue a spell and take the life of your enemy at the same time?”

Killian’s eyes pressed closed as he released a sigh of disappointment. “She is not my enemy.”

“The Evil Queen?” Smee scoffed. “She’s been your associate, but hardly a friend. Most people would call you a hero for getting rid of her.”

Killian set the wand on the table again and slid it across to the sorceress. “She is the boy’s mother. I would never break Henry’s heart that way.”

“The princess is really his mother, I hardly think -”

Killian grabbed Smee by the front of his shirt and hauled him across the table. “I suggest you stop talking, mate.”

He pushed the man back into his chair which wobbled on one leg, almost sending Smee sprawling to the floor. As he strode in anger from the tavern, the looks on the faces of his crew almost seemed relieved. They were used to his brooding so long as there was a helping of rage to go with it.

******************************************************

Smee, in his typical fashion, took Killian’s threats to him in stride. He seemed no worse for his failed scheme with Tanith the sorceress, still asking his Captain what he needed with almost annoying regularity. Worse were the times he popped into the Captain’s quarters and inquired after Killian’s emotional health with a motherly tone. It was driving Killian batty. At least he had stopped commenting on the growing pile of sketches he’d made of Emma.

One evening, after they had just set sail from yet another meaningless port, Smee bustled in unannounced with a satchel in his hands. Killian tossed aside his pencil in irritation.

“A man needs his privacy, Mister Smee!”

“Apologies, sir, but now that we’re out to smooth seas, I can finally show you what I found.” He reached into his bag and pulled out a crystal ball. “Where do you think this came from?”

Killian arched a brow as he took the offered globe and hefted it in his palm. “I wouldn’t know.”

“The Dark One’s castle! It’s been pillaged, and all sorts of magical objects can be found in every merchant’s wares.”

“And you believe I would be excited about this because . . . “

“The merchant I bought it from told me that all you must do is think of someone you care about, and the crystal ball will show that person to you.”

Killian chuckled sardonically. “Or it’s just a glass ball and you’ve been had.”

“Try it, sir, think of the princess!”

Killian rolled his eyes, but it was a temptation he couldn’t resist. Besides, thinking of Emma was his constant state, so why not give it a go? He gazed into the glass orb and concentrated his thoughts upon it. He gasped when it gray clouds began to swirl within it, and Smee cried out. Then, through the clouds, there she was. She was walking down a street with her lad beside her. Her golden hair was free and blowing in the wind, just as he remembered it. She was laughing at something the boy said, and he was smiling up at her. They were happy, and it made him smile. They walked through a door and shed their coats as they sat at a small dining table. Emma picked up a menu with “Solo Pizza: New York, New York” emblazoned across it. Then the globe went dark.

Killian blinked, his eyes suddenly wet, and he extended the crystal ball to Smee. “Take it,” he choked out.

“But sir, it worked!”

He gazed sadly at his first mate. “Which is exactly why you must get it far away from me.”

“I don’t understand - “

“Through it into the bloody sea!” he thundered.

Smee recoiled, and Killian felt instant remorse. The man had gone to so much trouble to help his troubled heart, and how did he repay him?

“I’m sorry, mate, I just . . . I don’t want to invade her privacy, you understand? And the temptation -”

“I think she would trust you with it,” Smee replied gently as he put the clear globe back into his master’s palm. Then he turned and left.

Killian clenched his hand so hard, he feared the glass would crack. The orb began to swirl again, and he hastily shoved it in the bottom drawer of his desk.

****************************************************

He lasts only until the next port before succumbing to temptation. This time, he sees Emma open the door to a man in a suit with an unflattering haircut. He scowls in disgust, then stuffs the crystal ball into his satchel before he can find out if the man is Emma’s date or just a traveling merchant. That’s it, he’s selling this bloody thing.

When he walks into the closest merchant’s shop and reveals his prize, the man behind the counter reaches for it with eagerness.

“How much?” he asks.

“Perhaps a trade?”

Killian doesn’t really care, but he rubs at his jaw anyway, glancing around the shop. He’s been frugal lately with his doubloons, but perhaps the man has something they could use at sea. Or more drawing paper and pencils his traitorous mind offers, but he pushes that thought away. He had made a decision recently – no more sketches of Emma. It was too painful.

“See what catches your eye,” the merchant tells him, “then we can settle on a deal. How’s that?”

Killian nods and ambles about the room. He does look at a nice art set in a mahogany case, but shakes his head even as his fingertips skim across it. He’s just about to head to the back where the more practical items are displayed when he sees it. He isn’t sure why he’s drawn to it. Maybe because the tiny vial is made of jade the same shade as Emma’s eyes. He picks it up and holds it up to the light. Attached to the cork in its neck is a tiny scroll.

“Now that would be an even trade,” the merchant speaks up, “one rare magical item for another.”

“What is it?”

“If you catch your tears inside, it will reunite you with a lost love. Living, of course.”

Killian doesn’t even hesitate. “I’ll take it.”

*******************************************

It’s humiliating how easy it is for him to catch a few tears that night. He thought the pain would get easier, but now that about a year has passed, the anguish is only deeper. He really is separated from Emma forever. He can’t believe he’s reduced to this: believing the words of a random merchant without so much as a second thought. Nothing happens to the little jade bottle as the salty water drips inside. He puts the stopper in, then unrolls the miniscule scroll. The spell is short, and luckily in Greek. He doesn’t have to worry about getting the pronunciation wrong. Latin would have been another story.

“Eímai erotevmenos kai tha einai panta”

Suddenly, he’s no longer in his quarters on the Jolly Roger. There’s no burst of magic, no portal, not even a sudden wind. He’s simply just . . . somewhere else. It’s cooler here, is the first thing he notices, but then he looks down, blinks, and . . . it’s her. Sleeping peacefully in her bed, just inches away from him, is Emma Swan. All he can do at first is drink in the sight of her, so peaceful, as her breaths rise and fall, her hair fanned out on the pillow. His gaze flickers to the tiny shirt she wears to sleep, the one she called a tank top in Neverland. One strap has slipped down her shoulder, exposing a good portion of one of her breasts. He curses himself as he shifts his gaze elsewhere.

It suddenly occurs to him how bad this is. If she awakens to see him there, he’ll scare her to death. He wouldn’t be surprised if she had a gun loaded in that nightstand beside her, and without her memories, she’ll most likely shoot first and ask questions later. He wouldn’t blame her. He wets his lips, wondering what the hell he’s supposed to do now. His eyes dart to the door, but what if he runs into the lad?

He clenches his fist around the jade vial still in his hand, and that’s when he notices: he isn’t corporeal. He can almost see the vial through his fist. He pats his chest, he can feel himself, but the colors of his skin, his clothes, are all muted and hazy.

And getting hazier. “Swan!” he cries out, unthinking. Her eyes blink open, and a furrow creases her brow.

“Killian?”

Abruptly, he’s back on the Jolly Roger, in his quarters.

“Bloody hell.”

****************************************************

It’s only about a week later, and Smee is chattering in his ear incessantly as he navigates the Jolly Roger to yet another port. His men haven’t questioned how antsy their Captain seems to be, never at sea for long stretches of time, hopping from port to port yet never satisfied. As long as they have enough doubloons to satisfy their bellies and their libido, they are a happy lot.

“ . . . so I was thinking of this soothsayer that I met in Glowerhaven once, who has a cousin here in Misthaven. Not a soothsayer, mind you, but he dabbles, and -”

“Mr. Smee, would you quit blabbering on and get to your post.”

“Y-yes, sir,” he runs down to the lower deck, but doesn’t cease his rambling, “anyways, that vial of yours I’m sure is worth plenty to my friend’s cousin. He’s always got some interesting spell books, even does a bit of palm reading. Or is it tea leaves? Anyway, then there was also the skuttlebutt I heard about a pirate with magic beans -”

“Smee!” Killian stomps down the steps from the upper deck, and the entire crew goes silent. “No more spells, no more false hope.”

“B-but sir” Smee protests, yanking his cap off to twist it nervously. Killian hitches his thumbs in his belt loops and tilts his head back in irritation. As fidgety and fearful as the man is, he certainly has no qualms arguing with his Captain. “Did you hear what I said? Magic beans! Portals! Now, one sailor said it was Blackbeard who had them in the Southern Isles, but you and I both saw him walk the plank, so I thought -”

“I don’t care what you bloody think!” Killian snapped, his temper rising. “You sell that damn vial for a pile of doubloons. That’s final!”

Killian turns, his breaths coming hot and fast. He doesn’t even bother to shout orders, but his crew makes port easily anyway, leaving him to brood. Suddenly, right near his hand, a dove flutters down, cooing as if to get his attention. Killian tilts his head in surprise to see the tiny paper tied to its leg. He reaches out tentatively to take hold of the bird, and it doesn’t protest as he holds it to his chest with the crook of his left arm. With his right, he slips the paper – a note – free. Then he releases the bird, and it flies away. Scrawled hastily on the tiny parchment is written:

“Curse coming! Get Emma!”

He crumples the missive in his fist as he gazes out over the water, but there really is no decision to make.

“Sir, are you coming ashore?” Smee asks, his voice more subdued after his dressing down.

“No,” Killian says quietly, “but enjoy yourself, mate.”

The men depart with eager cries and slaps to the back. He feels a bit guilty abandoning them once again to face another curse. But this time, it’s for a greater good. His Swan needs him.

************************************************

Emma’s eyes blink open, and she frowns. She dreamed of him again, the man in black leather. Dressed lke a pirate? It’s ridiculous. The first time she had the dream, it felt as if he were really there, standing beside her bed. She had even called his name – Killian. But she doesn’t know anyone by that name, and she’s certainly never met a man who dresses like a pirate.

A handsome man who dresses like a pirate.

She shakes her head and laughs at herself as she heads out to the kitchen. She turns on some music, looking forward to a lazy, quiet Saturday with Henry. He steps out of his room soon after, bleary eyed, yet smiling. He waters the plants while Emma gets breakfast ready.

They’re just sitting down to eat, when there’s a knock at the door . . .

[sol1056]

EPs: "we chose Netflix to explore things like sexuality" (nothing was explored or was explicit for even 2 seconds) "when they told us u cant kill Shiro, we knew we could push the reveal 4 later" (so nice of them to admit they stopped our rep just to be able to kill him) "when we found out about byg we knew we coulnt kill Shiro & we thought we'll find rep w another character. Then we learned we could go on w/ Shiro as the rep" (theres ANOTHER REP WE DIDNT GET?? Was it vague then erased? Whatt??)

I think these are two separate issues. One is related to who made VLD, and the other is related to the EPs’ ignorance of characterization. The second overlaps with a bunch of asks I’ve recently gotten about race and representation, so here I’m just keeping it to a general discussion of characterization, with Lance as example. And then about Shiro in particular, how the EPs’ statements reveal their lack of thought.

Behind the cut. 

remember where these people came from

The team behind VLD is almost entirely formerly Nickelodeon. DreamWorks wanted to break into television on a much larger scale, and since they almost always promote from outside the company, they lured over Margie Cohn from her position as a Nick VP. As VP/exec levels tend to do, Cohn brought a bunch of people with her.

One of those was Mark Taylor, who’d been involved in both AtLA and LoK. Taylor, in turn, brought JDS, LM, and I think one or two of the other producers. Taylor also probably brought over Hamilton, Chan, and Hedrick, as known entities with proven track records. 

These are people who — for for the last ten or more years — have swum in Nickelodeon’s considerably more conservative fishbowl. It’s entirely possible (given what people tell me about storylines in HTTYD, and DW’s open support of She-Ra) the former Nickelodeon team automatically downgraded DW’s “go ahead and explore these heavier/darker topics” to mean “maybe kinda mention in passing but don’t be too obvious about it.”  

Now, to be fair, the EPs may have pushed for more LGBT+ rep, and their obstacle might not have been DW, but Taylor. It’d explain how the EPs could praise everyone (read: DreamWorks staff) as supportive, yet allso complain about pushback (read: Taylor’s Nickelodeon-influenced sensibilities). Two different parties were calling the shots. 

It’s also possible what the EPs saw as ‘rep’ was still considerably toned-down from what DW execs (and the VAs) may’ve expected. After all, that one-minute scene in VLD might’ve required an act of god at Nickelodeon. VLD’s staff may have genuinely considered this scene landmark because even that tiny bit was far more than their previous employer would’ve allowed. 

Cue the victory lap and excited chatter, and seeming blindness to Korra being long since surpassed by Steven Universe, Young Justice, Bob’s Burgers, Adventure Time, Gravity Falls, RWBY, Rick and Morty, Clarence, BoJack Horseman, Danger & Eggs, Big Mouth, and Summer Camp Island. Remember, it wasn’t until 2016 that Nickelodeon would have a married gay couple (in The Loud House), and they’re not even central characters. The VLD staff may’ve thought itself bold, and unprepared for the reality of modern (non-Nickelodeon) audience expectations. 

No, I don’t think that absolves them. It just seems the most reasonable explanation. That is, short of seeing the EPs as so utterly cynical they’d pump up the audience for what amounted to a nothingburger in light of what else popular media now delivers. 

and then there’s representation

VLD’s troubles can all be traced to one crucial detail: the EPs don’t understand that characters are the bedrock of stories. And as such, there are no shortcuts.

Ever had the misfortune to catch a home decorating show? Here we have a windowless basement: mock up a mantle from polystyrene, paint the walls gray, put up sconces with flickering lightbulbs… it’s still a basement. It’s just now desperately pretending to be something it isn’t. The bones of the structure are undeniably American Suburbia, not generic castle keep, and those bones are integral to how we experience the space.

The average person isn’t trained to be aware of those bones — the underlying architecture — and its subtle impact on our experience, just as most non-storytellers aren’t trained to see how and where and why characters create plot. I guarantee you, though, you will never mistake a late-century Kmart for the Centre Pompidou or the Forbidden City or Mount Vernon. Just as you would never mistake a beginner’s first novel for Lord of the Rings or Left Hand of Darkness. 

That is, the dressed stone isn’t paint and plaster; it’s a core element informing (even dictating) height, width, and depth of a space. Characterization is the same: it must be structural. In turn, characters inform the breadth and depth of the story. If your characterization is shallow, wild swerves and dramatic reveals can make the story fun, but they will never make it deep. 

I empathize with the (hopefully genuine) intent to avoid making Shiro’s sexuality a ‘reveal.’ The unfortunate truth is: waiting 60+ episodes to even mention in passing makes it a reveal. It wasn’t structural, or viewers would’ve been sensing it from the very beginning. 

This isn’t a haircut or a pair of jeans. It’s a person’s identity, and that has crucial impact on hopes, fears, desires, and needs. It doesn’t start only once the audience is let in on the secret; it was always there. It should’ve informed the character’s actions and reactions all along. 

If Lance is Cuban, and the story takes place in a quasi-future America, then to understand Lance’s perspective, we need to ask questions like: is Cuba still under embargo? Is it a free democracy now, or did Lance’s family flee at some point? Is he part of an exchange program, or is there a lottery that let him come to the US for his education? Did he leave his family behind? How young was he, when he left? What was his childhood like, and how does that differ from what he found in America? What was his parents’ relationship like, and how does that influence his expectations for friends and lovers? 

Was he fluent in English when he arrived, or did he only become fluent later? Does his Spanish have a noticeable accent, and if so, has he felt isolated from other Latinx at school? Or is he the only Latino at the Garrison? Is he proud of his heritage, or ashamed of it? Did he get bullied for being foreign, and how did that change what he says/does? Even if America is joyfully multi-cultural, he’d still be an immigrant or foreigner, and that’s a different experience from a non-white community that’s multi-generation American. What was his impression of his new life? What compared favorably (or not) to his childhood? 

It’s not just, “He’s a boy from Cuba.” You have to think about what it means to be ‘from Cuba’ and how this is different from, say, growing up next door to the Garrison (like Pidge probably did). If you put that much thought into it, if you talk to people who’ve lived that experience, if you push yourself to imagine as deeply as you can how Lance’s life would have shaped him? 

By the time you’re done, Lance would never need to say a word. 

His reactions, his assumptions, maybe a few mannerisms, his humor, a few throwaway comments about his family or things he did as a kid — and there would be Cubans in the audience going, “hey, wait a minute, he’s just like my cousin.” Or brother or uncle or friend. By the time someone asks at a panel? Half the audience would be saying, yeah, we were right, Lance is totally Cuban. 

Or you don’t think about it, and you use stereotypes in hopes that’ll do the work for you. As @sjwwerewolf commented:

Man, I’m ready to rant about Voltron. I’m Cuban. Lance, oh boy, Lance. From season 1 on, he has been written as a huge stereotype. The flirtatious, passionate comic relief character who’s dumb. Like. He’s literally Antman’s sidekick. That character. All you need to make him a full caricature is like, “I have a gangster brother.“ 

The stereotype is a shortcut. It’s slapping on behaviors without thought for a real person’s experiences or perspectives. VLD is, sadly, full of them: the Latino (wannabe) lover, the big guy who likes food (with only the slightest twist to have him actually good at cooking), the boyish-girl who’s a brain and likes computers more than people, etc. 

just pull shiro out of a hat

At some point early on, the EPs said (once again in an interview, not in the story) that VLD is a world without homophobia. The story itself contradicts that ideal, or at least, it emphasizes a certain level of heternormativity over an open embrace of diverse relationships. What’s in our face for six seasons is Lance’s lover-boy stereotype, Allura’s attraction to Lotor, Lotor’s attraction to Allura, Matt’s attraction to Allura, and so on… and the closest we get to anything resembling an alternate attraction is one blush from a servant in a flashback, and Kuron’s startled reaction to Keith’s return. 

All VLD had to do was have Hunk mention his moms. Or Coran mention his late husband. Or Lance mention his sister’s wife. Something explicit to offset the heterosexual attractions going on. Frankly, for six seasons it was an open question whether homosexuality even existed in VLD: the absence of a negative is not proof of the presence of a positive. 

That absence means we really have no idea how being queer in VLD’s world would affect a character — and it would, have no doubt. Our sexuality affects every single one of us; it’s just that straight people have the benefit of seeing the roadmap of their sexuality played out in a million books, movies, and television shows. If you haven’t given thought to whether this is also true in your world, then you don’t really know how a character could discover, define, and map their sexuality, or how they’d quantify or qualify relationships that overlap their sexual preferences. You don’t understand the structure. 

That lack of thought means, nine times out of ten, the creator has said to themselves, “it’s easier to just say this character’s experience of their sexuality is exactly like the one I, as a straight person, vaguely recall having (that I never actually had to question because it was already mapped out for me, everywhere I looked).” That’s not a queer character. That’s a character with a label slapped on their forehead that says here be a queer character. It’s paint, because the structure underneath is straight person. 

Which means that of course the EPs could consider making someone else “the rep,” because they really seem to believe this is as easy as removing the label from Shiro’s forehead and sticking it on someone else. And it’s not. People don’t work like that. Sexuality is no more a simple paint-job than race, gender, culture, or dis/ability. Each of these things is etched on our bones, literally or metaphorically, and that changes us all the way through. 

The short version, then, is: no, we wouldn’t have gotten any other rep, just as we haven’t truly gotten any rep as VLD was delivered. Shiro has a label on his forehead, but unless and until the canonical story demonstrates this goes all the way down to his bones… he’s just a straight suburban basement with a mediocre paint job and some fake queer columns.

[invisibleanonymousmonsters]

Heritage - Part 9

Description: Steve Rogers wakes up in the 21st century to learn that he missed more than he could ever realize.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader; Steve Rogers & Y/N [Platonic]

Word Count: 3,000

Previously On...

Y/N slowly came to and felt the vibrations of a car. She could tell they were moving at a high speed. But the car quickly went to the back of her head when she realized she wasn’t laying down on a seat. She was laying across someone’s lap, their arms wrapped around her protectively. She felt the cold touch of metal tracing circles across her skin.

Bucky. She was laying in Bucky’s lap.

Her eyes fluttered open to find that Bucky’s bright blue eyes were already staring back at her.

“Hey…” She whispered without thinking.

“Hi,” Bucky whispered back, with a little side smirk.

He knew that she’d be okay. But his body lifted in relief at her finally coming back to consciousness.

Steve must’ve heard, because he was quickly turning around from the driver’s seat to look at her.

“You’re awake. How ya feelin’?” Steve knew better than to act too concerned or sound like he was babying her.

“Fine.” Y/N answered quickly and immediately tried to sit up.

That was a mistake and she attempted to hide her grimace when her head was instantly met with a raging migraine.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Bucky warned. “Take it easy, doll.”

Y/N’s eyes flickered to the the front of the car to see that both Steve and Sam’s jaws were clenched after hearing Bucky call her ‘doll’.

“I’m fine.” Y/N snapped back and scooted to the other side of the backseat so she was no longer in Bucky’s lap. The car was small though, and she really couldn’t escape anyone even a little bit.

Then Y/N looked up and caught her reflection in the rear-view mirror. The right side of her face was black, blue, and yellow. The bruises were already healing from the downgraded serum. But they still looked awful.

Y/N held her breath, already knowing that Bucky probably felt terrible and fully responsible for the injuries.

When she glanced over at him, his eyes were trained straight ahead and looking at the road. It was obvious he didn’t want to meet her gaze anymore. His relief at seeing she was okay was short-lived. 

“Where are we going?” Y/N finally broke the silence.

“Leipzig/Halle Airport.” Sam answered as he glanced behind to look at her.

“We gotta make a stop before that though.” Steve added.

Y/N just nodded and looked at Bucky again. But he was still pretending she wasn’t there.

Steve explained the situation, told Y/N how Zemo infiltrated the base and said the words that turned Bucky into the Winter Soldier. Bucky stayed quiet the entire time, never adding anything to Steve and Sam’s breakdown. He didn’t even chime in when Steve got to the part about Hydra freezing other Winter Soldiers.

A few hours later, Steve pulled off the highway and stopped beneath the underpass. Y/N kicked Steve’s seat up and escaped the backseat as soon as he got out. She muttered something about needing air before walking in the opposite direction of Sharon and Steve.

Bucky sighed as he turned around and looked out the back windshield to watch her.

“Man, if you don’t get your ass out of this car and go talk to her, I’ll beat the crap out of you.” Sam finally piped up after a minute.

Bucky glared at the back of his head, since Sam didn’t even bother to look at him as he gave the threat.

“Then can you move your seat up, so I can get out?” Bucky countered darkly.

“No.”

Bucky sighed as he scooted to the other side and got out from Steve’s door. When he walked to Y/N, her back was to him as she leaned against the cement support beam.

“You okay?” He asked her softly.

Her expression was annoyed. “Can you blame a girl for not wanting to see her cousin and grandpa make out?”

Bucky looked back at Sharon and blinked. This all got stranger and stranger.

But he just nodded his head, as he looked at the ground and kicked some rocks aside.

“Why didn’t you tell me about your… connection to Steve?”

Y/N’s ground her teeth together. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t play coy, Y/N. You never stopped me from thinking that you and Steve were together.”

Y/N finally turned to him and glared. “Why does it matter? Are you saying that you would’ve slept with me that night if you’d known I was Steve’s granddaughter, instead of Steve’s girlfriend?”

“That’s not fair.” Bucky shot back.

“Look, we don’t need to have this talk. I get it. I thought there was something between us. But clearly I imagined it.” Y/N’s body tensed up, showing that she was trying to hide her emotions. “I threw myself at you, like a total fucking bimbo. I don’t need to relive the rejection again, okay?”

“I almost killed you.” Bucky whispered, his voice shaking.

It made Y/N’s eyes flicker up to his.

“Those bruises could’ve easily been a broken neck… or something else that would’ve killed you.” He murmured as his eyes filled with tears. “Everything Hydra put in my head is still there. And I don’t think it’ll ever be gone.”

Then Bucky took in a deep breath. “You didn’t imagine it.”

Y/N stopped breathing. It was the closest thing she’d ever get to Bucky admitting his feelings for her.

“But I can’t.” He declared. It sounded like he was going to be sick. “I just can’t. And I’m sorry. But I have to keep you - ”

“If you say that you have to ‘keep me safe,’ I will punch you in the face, James Buchanan Barnes.” Y/N interrupted.

So he said nothing instead.

Then Y/N looked past Bucky to see that Steve was finally making his move on Sharon, locking his lips with hers. 

Bucky followed her gaze.

“Steve just became America’s most wanted. He’s a criminal. Yet, somehow, even he’s not scared to let himself love the woman he wants.” Y/N knew it was a low blow. But she didn’t know what else to do. And, as childish as it was, she wanted to hurt Bucky, like he was hurting her.

Without waiting for a response, Y/N shoved past Bucky and back toward the car.

Sharon watched Y/N join her and Steve. She walked over to her trunk and handed Y/N a duffle bag. Y/N unzipped it to see all of her weapons that had been confiscated by Sharon’s team were in the bag, along with dozens of new ones. Below the weapons was a neatly folded combat suit.

“Thanks, cuz. You know me too well.” She winked at Sharon. Then she raised an eyebrow to Steve. “I’ll go back to the car if you two want to keep making out.”

“The mouth on that one…” Steve muttered.

Sharon laughed. “Yeah, I wonder where she got that from.”

Steve playfully glared at her.

Then the two of them watched as Bucky got back into the car too. But Y/N refused to even look at him.

“What’s going on there?” Sharon asked as she crossed her arms.

“Honestly?” Steve sighed. “I have no idea. But I’m not too happy about it.”

“Y/N is a grown woman, Steve.” Sharon argued.

“Yeah, but you don’t know Bucky. I might not even know him anymore.”

“Then maybe you should talk to him. I have a feeling that guy from back in the day is still in there.” Sharon offered.

“That’s what I’m worried about.” Steve mumbled under his breath. Images flashed in his mind of Bucky flirting with every pretty dame he could find, of him constantly having to remind Bucky of their names because there was so many. 

————

Once they got to the airport and exchanged pleasantries with the rest of the team, everyone split up to change and prepare.

Steve ended up having a moment alone with Bucky.

Anyone with half a brain would be able to sense the tension.

“I know you want to ask, so just ask.” Bucky finally ended the silence.

“What happened between you two?”

“Nothing.” He answered firmly.

“It’s not nothing. I see the way you look at her.” Steve argued confidently. “And I saw the way you protected her in the tunnel, back in Berlin.”

Bucky’s shoulders dropped, knowing Steve deserved to know the truth.

But he took his time, thinking about what he wanted to say before actually opening his mouth. 

“I knew she was following me,” Bucky explained softly. “But then I kept letting it happen. I was alone and she…she was the only person who knew who I really was. It was selfish. I know that. I thought if I let her follow me, but kept my distance, she’d stay safe.”

“But you didn’t keep your distance.” Steve pointed out.

“I tried. But she wouldn’t let me.” Bucky shook his head. “I could’ve tried harder. I know that. But Y/N - she…” The words died out. He knew he was walking a fine line between what he should share with Steve, his best friend, and Steve, Y/N’s protective grandfather.

“Do you love her?” Steve boldly asked.

Bucky just looked at him, pleading Steve not to make him answer.

But their conversation was interrupted by the airports alarm going off. Bucky listened to the foreign language and knew they were evacuating.

Steve gave Bucky a look that told him this conversation wasn’t over. But they both silently moved to rejoin the group.

Bucky’s gaze instantly found Y/N.

Her hair was pulled away from her face. She was wearing the combat suit Sharon had given her, along with fingerless gloves. There were countless weapons on her body. She was already flipping a knife in her hand.

Bucky wondered if Steve felt the same way when he first saw Peggy in uniform.

His eyes didn’t leave Y/N, as they all listened to Steve’s plan.

When Steve finally released them, Bucky quickly grabbed Y/N’s elbow before she could depart.

“Be careful out there, okay?” He told her tenderly.

Y/N wanted to snap back at him, say something rude. But his blue eyes were so soft and worried for her. She couldn’t bring herself to do it.

“You too.” She managed to mumble before walking away. She turned around and gave him one last glance before disappearing from his sight.

Sam grabbed his attention then, looking annoyed for having to wait even a moment.

The two men walked through the abandoned terminal in silence.

“You know, she has the same serum you and Steve do. It’s not as strong, but damn, is it there.” Sam told him. A part of him just wanted to shove it in Bucky’s face that he knew things about Y/N that he didn’t.

Bucky glared at him. It earned him a mischievous smirk from Sam.

“What I’m saying is that you don’t have to worry about her. She can take care of herself.” Sam added with only sincerity.

Bucky stared at him for a moment, caught off guard by the sudden gesture of kindness.

The battle was utter chaos.

Friends were fighting each other, strangers weren’t sure how hard to push, and Bucky couldn’t help but feel like it was all his fault. His eyes kept searching for Y/N every time he could spare a glance. To his relief, she was always winning. Sam was right when he said Y/N could hold her own.

Then Sam told Steve that some of them had to stay behind for Bucky and him to actually make it. Steve and Bucky shared a look. They each knew what the other was thinking. But they had to go. So the two of them sprinted forward.

“Y/N, you have to make it.” Wanda suddenly yelled out as she tried to hold the falling building that was threatening to block their path to the jet.

Bucky and Steve suddenly looked behind them to see that the Black Panther was racing after them, but Y/N was sprinting behind him, as well. She managed to tackle him before he could attack Bucky.

They were just at the edge of the hangar when Y/N rolled off him and then put herself between T’Challa and the two men. Her eyes were so trained on her enemy that she didn’t even realize Natasha was there as well.

“Get to the jet.” Y/N hissed to them, without taking her glare off T’Challa.

“Get out of my way, child. This is between me and Barnes.” T’Challa warned.

Y/N just tilted her head in challenge.

She was about to charge him when something whizzed past her face and landed on T’Challa, electrocuting him.

Y/N, Bucky, and Steve whipped around to see Nat with her arm raised.

“That won’t be necessary.” She said darkly. “What are you waiting for? Get out of here!” Nat scolded when the three of them remained frozen.

“N-Nat…” Y/N stuttered, knowing how much this betrayal could hurt her old mentor.

“Go, Y/N.” She said as she shocked T’Challa once again.

Next thing Y/N knew, Bucky was practically dragging her away. Now that she was at his side, he wasn’t letting her go.

Bucky sat at the back of the quinjet as he watched Steve and Y/N pilot the quinjet together.

It remained eerily quiet on the aircraft.

Y/N could practically feel the guilt and remorse Bucky was feeling as the events of the day finally settled.

“What’s going to happen to your friends?” Bucky finally asked.

Steve and Y/N looked at each other.

“Whatever it is, I’ll deal with it.”

Y/N remained quiet, somehow knowing that she understood the severe consequences they would face more than even Steve did. She’d worked for this government, in this world, in this time longer than Steve. There was still a naivety to him.

“I don’t know if I’m worth all this to you.” Bucky finally answered.

It was the first time Y/N heard him sound weak.

Steve’s heart broke from hearing it. “What you did all those years…wasn’t you. You didn’t have a choice.”

Y/N forced herself to turn around and look at Bucky. Her eyes urged him to believe the truth that Steve was telling him.

“I know,” Bucky agreed. His eyes flickered to hers before saying, “But I did it.”

Steve held his breath, not knowing what else to say to his broken friend.

Bucky got up, needing to move away instead of sitting in the same place. Y/N watched him move to the back of the quinjet, where the lights were dimmed and he stood in shadow.

Steve saw Y/N fidgeting in her seat. She wanted to go to him. But she was torn.

“Go talk to him.” Steve finally told her quietly.

“He doesn’t want me.” She said it as in he didn’t want to talk to her right then. But they both knew she meant he didn’t want her at all, not now or not ever.

“He’s scared.” Steve told her. “And he’s trying to protect you. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want you.”

Y/N looked at him in shock. Was Steve really trying to push them together?

“So go talk to him.” He repeated.

She nodded, almost in embarrassment, and then unbuckled her seatbelt to go to the back of the quinjet.

Bucky was sitting on a pulldown seat in the shadows.

Y/N pulled down another right next to him.

“All that time following you, I should’ve made it clear to you that you aren’t to blame for any of that shit you did.” She sighed.

“I killed children… ruined families… dismantled governments… you don’t get to just brush all of that aside, Y/N. Someone has to take responsibility and I think the man who pulled all the triggers should be the one to do it.”

“You weren’t a man.” Y/N snapped almost too harshly. “When someone drops a bomb on a country, killing thousands of people, does the world blame the bomb? No. They blame the person who ordered the attack. You were a bomb, Bucky, a weapon. Hydra’s to blame, not you. It should never be you.”

“Why is it so easy for you to forgive me?” Bucky finally whispered.

“Because I…” Y/N stopped for a moment, “care about you.” But her eyes told a different story.

Bucky watched her, blue eyes taking in every detail about her. She was tired and sweaty from battle. But he still thought she looked as beautiful as ever. 

“What do I have to do to keep you on this jet when we land?” Bucky whispered with utter desperation.

Y/N was shaking her head before he even finished the question, “You know I’m not going to let you and Steve face this alone.”

Bucky sighed with a smirk. “I had a feeling you’d say something like that.”

Then his eyes were skipping between her eyes and lips.

Bucky pulled her to him by the back of her neck and crashed his lips against hers.

This kiss was different than that night in Romania. 

Now Bucky didn’t hold back his feelings. Last time, he was simply responding and allowed Y/N to take control. But now he was absolutely the one in control.

Y/N had been too drunk and hazy to realize how amazing of a kisser Bucky was. But now the realization was hitting her like a freight train.

Eventually Bucky had to pull himself away, remembering that they weren’t completely alone. Not only that, their moment was being somewhat witnessed by his best friend and Y/N’s grandpa.

“Please, please, please be careful out there, doll. Stay close to me and Steve.” Bucky all, but begged.

Y/N was still in a daze from their intoxicating kiss that all she could do was nod her head.

“We’re landing in 10.” Steve called back to them.

By some miracle, his eyes were too trained on the sky ahead to notice the passionate kiss the two of then had just shared.

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Part 10 [Epilogue]

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