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hollowed-theory-hall · 12 days

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Any thoughts on the mystery behind the Veil of Death and the three brothers?

ana-lyz: So... What does it mean to be the Master of Death in HP universe? And like what does being MOD mean specifically for Harry?

Okay, funny thing is I got the first of your asks like an hour after I added to my drafts a post titled "Master of Death", so I was just thinking about it. And then I started answering it and you sent the second ask, so, great minds think alike, I guess.

Long post ahead:

The Veil, Death, and its Master

I'm going to cover what we know from the books, my opinions on it, and some of my evidence-based headcanons, since there is a lot of speculation on my part.

The Afterlife and the Veil

So, I wanna talk a bit about death, as it appears in the Harry Potter books. We know an afterlife exists in the HP world both when Harry dies and when he speaks to Nearly Headless Nick after Sirius dies.

I want to start with the scene in Deathly Hallows in the King's Cross limbo. Specifically these few sections:

Barely had the wish formed in his head than robes appeared a short distance away. He took them and put them on. They were soft, clean, and warm. It was extraordinary how they had appeared just like that, the moment he had wanted them. . . . He stood up, looking around. Was he in some great Room of Requirement?

(DH, 596)

“Where are we, exactly?” “Well, I was going to ask you that,” said Dumbledore, looking around. “Where would you say that we are?” Until Dumbledore had asked, Harry had not known. Now, however, he found that he had an answer ready to give. “It looks,” he said slowly, “like King’s Cross station. Except a lot cleaner and empty, and there are no trains as far as I can see.” “King’s Cross station!” Dumbledore was chuckling immoderately. “Good gracious, really?” “Well, where do you think we are?” asked Harry, a little defensively. “My dear boy, I have no idea. This is, as they say, your party.”

(DH, 601)

“Tell me one last thing,” said Harry. “Is this real? Or has this been happening inside my head?” Dumbledore beamed at him, and his voice sounded loud and strong in Harry’s ears even though the bright white mist was descending again, obscuring his figure. “Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?

(DH, 610)

I don't think this place Harry was in is the Afterlife, or even connected to the Afterlife. I think it is in Harry's head. Harry having complete control over it, actually calling it out as behaving like the Room of Requirement, Dumbledore not knowing where they are until Harry knows where they are, etc. All this doesn't fit with it being a limbo on the way to death and the figure there being the real Dumbledore. Dumbledore, throughout this scene, acts kind of strange, way more helpful and finally says all the right things Harry wants to hear.

Not-Dumbledore himself tells Harry he already knows everything he explains to him:

“Explain,” said Harry. “But you already know,” said Dumbledore. He twiddled his thumbs together

(DH, 597)

So, I truly believe it isn't really happening. That this isn't death and it isn't Dumbledore. throughout the scene, Dumbledore doesn't actually give Harry new information Harry couldn't guess on his own. He's just going over things Harry already knew and creating a nice narrative out of them. At some points, he asks Harry what he thinks, and only starts explaining once Harry knows the answer (or what he wants the answer to be). I think this is Harry's subconscious coping and not actual death.

Additionally, there's the disturbing baby Voldemort thing. Now, the real Voldemort is still alive, so contrary to what Not-Dumbledore says, it isn't actually Tom Riddle:

“Oh yes!” said Dumbledore. “Yes, he destroyed it. Your soul is whole, and completely your own, Harry.” “But then . . . ” Harry glanced over his shoulder to where the small, maimed creature trembled under the chair. “What is that, Professor?” “Something that is beyond either of our help,” said Dumbledore

(DH, 598)

What I believe it is, is the soul in the Horcrux in Harry. Separated from Harry's own soul within his mind. That's the only thing it can be, in my opinion. I don't believe the soul shards in the Horcruxes could pass into an afterlife, or even to limbo. They were created to be bound to life and passing away is against their very nature (unless, maybe, if you through them through the veil).

Besides all these oddities in the scene, it just doesn't make sense for Dumbledore to be there. Nearly Headless Nick gives some insight about death and the Afterlife:

“He will not come back,” repeated Nick quietly. “He will have . . . gone on.” “What d’you mean, ‘gone on’?” said Harry quickly. “Gone on where? Listen — what happens when you die, anyway? Where do you go? Why doesn’t everyone come back? Why isn’t this place full of ghosts? Why — ?” “I cannot answer,” said Nick. “You’re dead, aren’t you?” said Harry exasperatedly. “Who can answer better than you?” “I was afraid of death,” said Nick. “I chose to remain behind. I sometimes wonder whether I oughtn’t to have . . . Well, that is neither here nor there. . . . In fact, I am neither here nor there. . . .” He gave a small sad chuckle. “I know nothing of the secrets of death, Harry, for I chose my feeble imitation of life instead. I believe learned wizards study the matter in the Department of Mysteries —”

(OotP, 861)

From the way Nick speaks, ghosts are caught between life and death, part of them remains among the living while the rest moves on. Hhosts live in limbo, unable to be alive or dead. From his words, it also implies the properly dead, those who chose to move on, stay dead. They stay gone.

If that is the case, how could Dumbledore have come to greet Harry in limbo? He's dead, truly gone, and death has no exceptions. There is no reason Dumbledore could speak to Harry in limbo and his parents won't. Once you're dead, you reach the afterlife and there you stay.

So I don't think the white King's Cross in Harry's death vision was connected to the afterlife, nor was it the real Dumbledore there. So, what is the actual afterlife?

Well, we don't really know. But, I can cover what we do know about the nature of death in the HP universe.

From Nick's words, the afterlife is the better option, than becoming a ghost. Nick describes ghosts as imprints left behind, but imprints of what specifically?

I talked about this already when I discussed how to make Horcruxes, but in alchemy, everything is comprised of three things:

Sulfur - soul

Mercury - spirit (that binds the body and the soul)

Salt - body

A ghost doesn't have a body, and we know all that moves on to the afterlife is one's soul. Therefore, it stands to reason ghosts are an imprint of a soul, while the spirit leaves at the moment of death. That's what an Avada Kedavra does, it removes the spirit, the connection between the body and the soul. That's how it kills instantly and without a trace.

So, when someone passes into the afterlife, it's their soul that passes away.

What about the echoes of Harry's parents and Cedric in Voldemort's wand during the duel in the graveyard?

Well, they're dead, they moved on, so it can't be their soul. The figures aren't even described the same way as ghosts or diary Tom, figures we know are made of souls:

and then something much larger began to blossom from Voldemort’s wand tip, a great, grayish something, that looked as though it were made of the solidest, densest smoke. . . . It was a head . . . now a chest and arms . . . the torso of Cedric Diggory. the dense shadow of a second head, If ever Harry might have released his wand from shock, it would have been then, but instinct kept him clutching his wand tightly, so that the thread of golden light remained unbroken, even though the thick gray ghost of Cedric Diggory (was it a ghost? it looked so solid) emerged in its entirety from the end of Voldemort’s wand, as though it were squeezing itself out of a very narrow tunnel . . . and this shade of Cedric stood up, and looked up and down the golden thread of light, and spoke.

(GoF, 665-666)

Their bodies are buried, and Cedric's is just lying there, neither are they physical enough to be bodies. I believe this is their spirit. Remember what I said about the Killing Curse just now, it severs the tie, and as such, it keeps the spirit. So, Harry is speaking to his parents' spirit, the echoes of their lives, not souls.

Now, let's talk about the veil. The veil is one of the most fascinating things introduced in the books, and the way it is introduced is fascinating on its own, but that's for later. The veil is a physical archway into the world of the dead.

The concept of such an entrance exists in multiple mythologies. In Greek mythology, many heroes (Odysseus, Orpheus, Heracles, Theseus, etc.) all travel through the underworld in one way or another, this is why the hero's journey goes through the underworld, it's very common. In Mesopotamian mythology, Gilgamesh and Ishtar both travel to the underworld. The point is, a gateway into the afterlife you can travel through, is a concept humanity has been toying with for millennia.

What's interesting is that, like Thestrals, those who've seen death (Harry, Luna, and Neville) can hear whispers from it. They experience it differently from others who haven't witnessed death (Ron, Hermione, and Ginny) who feel unnerved by it (although, Neville and Luna react differently from Harry, but more on that later). Not much more can be said about it, except that unlike all these gates into the underworld from myths, the veil is meant to be a one-way ticket.

In general, the afterlife in the Wizarding World is a one-way passage. Once you're gone, you're gone. Hence the closest thing to proper necromancy they have is creating inferi, which are soulless since the soul can't be pulled back from the afterlife.

The veil was also there before the Ministry of Magic, which was built around it. My guess is that some ancient wizards made it, and how or why were forgotten over time.

As the Peverell brothers were born around the 1210s and the Ministry of Magic was founded in 1707, it's possible, that the same Peverells from the story have built the veil. I actually think it's quite likely.

Death Himself

The idea of death personified is just as old and prevalent in many myths and cultures as a gateway leading into the afterlife. Whether Death, as a being, exists in the Wizarding World, I'm uncertain, but I don't think it's likely.

God-like spirits like Death feel out of place in the world in a way. Like, having a pantheon of gods feels wrong for the world of Harry Potter. It feels out of place with the established lore and magic. We don't see any evidence of wizarding society having any kind of unique religion in which such beings exist. Death, in the tale, is also described as similar to a dementor, making the idea that the author based Death's appearance on that of a dementor plausible.

That being said, Death's similarity to dementors could be the other way around. As in, the dementors look like death because of their connection to him. And, Death from the Tale doesn't really act like a god. How he behaves and is spoken of in the Tale of the Three Brothers reminds me a lot of a fae-like creature. Like, a powerful being who's a trickster that twists your wishes into something that he can use against you.

However I look at it, I still don't feel a being like this would fit in the world of Harry Potter, it feels wrong to add gods (or fae) in there. We don't see any hint that such beings might exist, which makes me feel they don't. So, I don't really think a personification of Death as appearing in the tale actually exists, but they do have an afterlife, as established above.

The Peverells and the Hallows

So we all know the legend about the three Peverell brothers who cheated death and received his gifts. Dumbledore (the one Harry imagines in his death fever dram) is certain it went down a little differently. That the tale is to explain incredibly powerful magical artifacts made by extraordinary wizards:

“Oh yes, I think so. Whether they met Death on a lonely road . . . I think it more likely that the Peverell brothers were simply gifted, dangerous wizards who succeeded in creating those powerful objects. The story of them being Death’s own Hallows seems to me the sort of legend that might have sprung up around such creations.

(DH, 602)

While it's not really Dumbledore and more Harry's own mind, I agree with him the Peverell brothers were probably no run-of-the-mill wizards, and I agree it's unlikely they've met Death, as I don't believe he exists.

Now, all the Hallows have a sentience to them beyond just any magical artifact. Even the wand is more sentient than any other wand, which are already quite sentient ("the wand chooses the wizard").

The wand of the first brother is a Hallow I already wrote about how it chooses its master. It is a wand intrinsically connected with death, having a core of Thestral hair. (I wonder if a core from a Thestral would agree to work for a wizard who hasn't seen death, but I digress)

This wand is actually the least impressive Hallow, in my opinion. Even though it says to be unbeatable:

Naturally, with the Elder Wand as his weapon, he could not fail to win the duel that followed. Leaving his enemy dead upon the floor

(DH, 352)

Its user is beaten quite often, that's how the wand changes owners, after all. This wand's tendency for even more sentience than other wands is what is particularly unique about it. How it chooses its master repeatedly, and sometimes even decides it prefers another over its current master, something unheard of for any other wand.

The Resurrection Stone has the supposed ability to pull a soul imprint from the afterlife:

“Yet she was sad and cold, separated from him as by a veil. Though she had returned to the mortal world, she did not truly belong there and suffered.

(DH, 352)

Something that I just discussed above should be impossible. Once dead and in the afterlife, nothing comes back out. Harry uses it as well for the same purpose and describes them as being similar to Tom from the diary:

They were neither ghost nor truly flesh, he could see that. They resembled most closely the Riddle that had escaped from the diary so long ago, and he had been memory made nearly solid. less substantial than living bodies, but much more than ghosts, they moved toward him, and on each face, there was the same loving smile.

(DH, 589)

Because that's what the stone brings back, echoes of souls, but they aren't what Tom Riddle was in CoS.

“We are part of you,” said Sirius. “Invisible to anyone else.”

(DH, 590)

This line, made me believe the resurrection stone does something different than its name suggests and more similar to the lie Tom in the diary told Harry. They aren't souls, they're memories, echoes from within Harry himself. "Memory made solid"

Magic, in the world of Harry Potter, can't bring back someone who has moved on to the afterlife. It's a one-way ticket, as I've established before, once your soul moves on, that's it (if you try to resurrect someone immediately after they died and their soul hasn't yet moved on it's a different story). So I think, these shades are based on Harry's memories, and not actual souls brought back. It'll make more sense magically since his thoughts and memories are there, but the souls have gone on.

It also makes the tale of the second brother make more sense. He suffered because it wasn't really his wife that came back, but a shade based on his own memory. The tale said that she suffered, but I think it was Cadmus who suffered, not truly having her back. However, depending on how she died, her suffering might've been his memories of her that the stone resurrected, or the tale made it all up just like it made up Death.

The stone is just as picky about its master as the wand. It does not seem to have worked for anyone other than Cadmus Peverell and Harry himself. We don't hear of any Gaunts who used the stone, nor do we hear from Dumbledore he succeded in using it (I don't think it's actually Dumbledore in the conversation in King's Cross as I mentioned above). Regardless, I think the real Dumbledore probably did try to use it, and I will hazard a guess he failed. Since the stone didn't choose him.

The Cloak is unique in many ways. Lasting centuries, way longer than any invisibility cloak can, passing from parent to child for generations. It also does a better job of concealing you than another invisibility cloak, if, it still has its limits:

“...We are talking about a cloak that really and truly renders the wearer completely invisible, and endures eternally, giving constant and impenetrable concealment, no matter what spells are cast at it. How many cloaks have you ever seen like that, Miss Granger?”

(DH, 354)

The cloak is similar to the other Hallows in how picky it is regarding its master. The cloak wouldn't belong to anyone who just possesses it, it's not enough. It has to be passed willingly on the owner's deathbed, as they great death as an old friend. It means that in the books, no one but Harry could be its owner.

All artifacts are powerful, but they aren't capable of anything that breaks the laws of nature (as the stone doesn't really resurrect), they are also sentient and picky, but it isn't something beyond the capacity of wizards. Why, we know of four wizards who made three sentient magical artifacts already — The Hogwarts founders.

The four founders enchanted the sorting hat together, but more relevant to the discussion of the Hallows are the Book of Admittance and the Quill of Acceptance.

At the precise moment that a child first exhibits signs of magic, the Quill, which is believed to have been taken from an Augurey, floats up out of its inkpot and attempts to inscribe the name of that child upon the pages of the Book (Augurey feathers are known to repel ink and the inkpot is empty; nobody has ever managed to analyse precisely what the silvery fluid flowing from the enchanted Quill is). Those few who have observed the process (several headmasters and headmistresses have enjoyed spending quiet hours in the Book and Quill’s tower, hoping to catch them in action) agree that the Quill might be judged more lenient than the Book. A mere whiff of magic suffices for the Quill. The Book, however, will often snap shut, refusing to be written upon until it receives sufficiently dramatic evidence of magical ability.

(from pottermore)

The idea of multiple sentient, powerful magical artifacts that need to agree is something wizards are capable of. And that, I think, is the secret to becoming the Master of Death — having all 3 Hallows pick you. Just like the book and quill need to agree a student should be admitted to Hogwarts.

Master of Death

Or more specifically what does that actually mean and why I think even if someone retrieved all 3 Hallows they wouldn't have become the Master of Death if their name isn't Harry James Potter.

This is definitely more in the headcanon territory, but the first scene that really made me think about it is the one in the Death Chamber in the Department of Mysteries. Because I think Harry and death always had a weird connection, it might've been around before the failed killing curse, and it was definitely around before Harry mastered all 3 Hallows.

So, why do I think Harry was always bound to be the Master of Death, and even if Dumbledore or Voldemort had all the Hallows it wouldn't have helped them?

There, are a few things that led me to this conclusion.

First, as I mentioned above, the cloak can not belong to anyone other than Harry in the books. It means that no one but Harry could master all of the Deathly Hallows, regardless of what they did.

Second, This first scene in the Death Chamber with the veil. I'll copy parts of it below and ask you to note, as you read, that Harry, Neville, and Luna are the only three who can see Thestrals and therefore should react more to the veil:

“Who’s there?” said Harry, jumping down onto the bench below. There was no answering voice, but the veil continued to flutter and sway. “Careful!” whispered Hermione. ... He had the strangest feeling that there was someone standing right behind the veil on the other side of the archway. ... “Let’s go,” called Hermione from halfway up the stone steps. “This isn’t right, Harry, come on, let’s go. . . .” She sounded scared, much more scared than she had in the room where the brains swam, yet Harry thought the archway had a kind of beauty about it, old though it was. The gently rippling veil intrigued him; he felt a very strong inclination to climb up on the dais and walk through it. “Harry, let’s go, okay?” said Hermione more forcefully. “Okay,” he said, but he did not move. He had just heard something. There were faint whispering, murmuring noises coming from the other side of the veil. “What are you saying?” he said very loudly, so that the words echoed all around the surrounding stone benches. “Nobody’s talking, Harry!” said Hermione, now moving over to him. “Someone’s whispering behind there,” he said, moving out of her reach and continuing to frown at the veil. “Is that you, Ron?” “I’m here, mate,” said Ron, appearing around the side of the archway. “Can’t anyone else hear it?” Harry demanded, for the whispering and murmuring was becoming louder; without really meaning to put it there, he found his foot was on the dais. “I can hear them too,” breathed Luna, joining them around the side of the archway and gazing at the swaying veil. “There are people in there!” .... “Sirius,” Harry repeated, still gazing, mesmerized, at the continuously swaying veil. “Yeah . . .” ... On the other side, Ginny and Neville were staring, apparently entranced, at the veil too.

(OotP, 773-775)

The interesting to note:

Luna, who can see Thestrals, also hears the whispering. I assume Neville does too.

Ron, Hermione, and Ginny are mesmerized but unnerved by the veil. Ron and Hermione seem to fight this memorization in their fear for Harry as he nears the veil.

Harry is the only one who is drawn to the veil He is the only one that moved, the only one whose feet take him against his will to the dias with the veil.

Harry thinks of it as oddly beautiful.

He has an urge to pass through that no one else does. All of them are frozen in place.

Harry is so affected he needs to be reminded twice that he's there to save Sirius before he can draw himself away from the veil.

Third, later in the book, after Sirius fell through the veil, there's this part:

He had reached the floor, his breath coming in searing gasps. Sirius must be just behind the curtain, he, Harry, would pull him back out again. . . . But as he reached the ground and sprinted toward the dais, Lupin grabbed Harry around the chest, holding him back. “There’s nothing you can do, Harry —” “Get him, save him, he’s only just gone through!” “It’s too late, Harry —” “We can still reach him —” Harry struggled hard and viciously, but Lupin would not let go. . . . “There’s nothing you can do, Harry . . . nothing. . . . He’s gone.”

(OotP, 806)

Harry's instinct to go through the veil to get Sirius out is so odd. The way he thinks that he himself can pull him out, not anyone else, but he... I don't know, but, this scene is interesting. It almost makes me feel Harry could pull Sirius back out. He defied death already once and will defy it again in the 7th book, so why not? Why wouldn't he be able to pull someone back from beyond the veil if they fell through just now (the timing is relevant, I don't think Hary could pull, say, his parents out).

My headcanon is that in that very moment if Lupin let Harry pull Sirius out, it would've worked. Caused a pandemonium about the fact Harry can apparently resurrect the dead (even if it's not really what he did), but that it would've worked. (I actually really want to write a fic like this)

Fourth, throughout the 7th book, once Harry finds out about the Hallows, he can't let the thought go. He knows his cloak is one, he is convinced the stone is in the snitch Dumbledore left him, way before he opened it. He just has a sense about it, and a fixation on it that's almost instinct:

Dumbledore had left the sign of the Hallows for Hermione to decipher, and he had also, Harry remained convinced of it, left the Resurrection Stone hidden in the golden Snitch. Neither can live while the other survives. . . master of Death. . . Why didn’t Ron and Hermione understand? “‘The last enemy shall be destroyed is death,”’ Harry quoted calmly

(DH, 374-375)

So, these are my reasons why I believe Harry is the only character in the books that could or would be the MOD. It's just that he always was, in a way. The Hallows already chose him before he ever held any of them.

But what does it mean to be the Master of Death?

“Well, of course not,” said Xenophilius, maddeningly smug. “That is a children’s tale, told to amuse rather than to instruct. Those of us who understand these matters, however, recognize that the ancient story refers to three objects, or Hallows, which, if united, will make the possessor master of Death.” ... “When you say ‘master of Death’—” said Ron. “Master,” said Xenophilius, waving an airy hand. “Conqueror. Vanquisher. Whichever term you prefer.”

(DH, 353)

We don't really get much besides this. Along with what's written on James and Lily's grave:

The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.

(DH, 283)

Harry believes all phrases, along with the prophecy are connected and lead him to believe he should become the Master of Death:

Three objects, or Hallows, which, if united, will make the possessor master of Death. . . Master. . . Conqueror. . . Vanquisher. . . The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death. . . . And he saw himself, possessor of the Hallows, facing Voldemort, whose Horcruxes were no match. . . Neither can live while the other survives. . . Was this the answer?

(DH, 369-370)

So what can the Master of Death do? Death isn't a personified deity, what is defeating or contouring death mean? Does it mean immortality?

I don't know if I'll say full immortality, I think the Master of Death can die the same way Ignotus Peverell did. I think Ignotus Peverell was the first Master of Death, in a way, he at least represented the concept:

And then he greeted Death as an old friend, and went with him gladly, and, equals, they departed this life

(DH, 352)

He was death's equal, he could escape it and live a fulfilling life, before choosing to meet Death on his own terms. I think that's what it means, that Death won't find Harry until he is ready to move on, and when he finally chooses to move on, Death would greet him with open arms.

The crux of it is the choice. That death can't touch you until you choose to allow it. And those who become Masters of Death, would always eventually choose to greet death, as these are the type of people the 3 Hallows would choose. It's all about choices.

(For the record, yes, I think there could be more than one MOD, I think Ignotus was until his death, and then in the books, Harry is)

And considering how much emphasis is put on choices and intentions in the magic of this world, it seems only right to be so relevant here too.

Like with the Mirror or Erised, which only let someone who wanted to have the Philosopher's Stone but not use it, have it; the Hallows won't choose a master who wouldn't, eventually, be willing to accept death. Because mastering death, isn't only not dying, it's understanding it, and accepting it. Both the deaths of others and eventually your own.

Also, as I mentioned above, I headcanon that Harry could pull Sirius out the moment he fell in through the veil. I don't think anyone but Harry could. I believe, as a Master of Death, Harry is the only wizard (well, being) that can go into the afterlife, walk past the veil, and come back out. A Master of Death is the only one who the afterlife isn't a one-way ticket for.

(Although, I think it's possible that if you wear the invisibility cloak you might be able to pass into the veil and come out even without being the MOD, but, I wouldn't bet on it)

Summary of my thoughts

The afterlife exists in the Wizarding World and nothing that passes beyond the veil can return. It's a one-way ticket.

The scene in Deathly Hallows with Dumbledore in King's Cross station limbo didn't actually happen.

Death, as a deity of sorts most likely doesn't exist.

The Peverell brothers were powerful wizards who made the Deathly Hallows and perhaps the veil too.

The Resurrection stone can't bring a soul back from beyond the veil so it does the next best thing — reviving an illusion of a memory.

All 3 Deathly Hallows are very sentient magical artifacts like the sorting hat. Each of them is very picky when choosing its own master.

When all 3 Hallows choose the same master, this person is the Master of Death.

Being the Master of Death means the MOD won't die until the time of their choice. But the MOD will always choose to die eventually because that's the kind of person the Hallows would pick.

There can, over time, be more than one MOD (not at the same time though). And it's possible Ignotus Peverell was one, in a way.

The MOD might be the only person who can go into the veil and come back out.

The invisibility cloak might also allow you to make a trip into the veil and then back out.

#harry potter #hp #harry potter thoughts #hp thoughts #harry potter theory #hp theory #hollowedtheory #wizarding world #asks #death harry potter #Peverell brothers #hollowedheadcanon #deathly hallows #master of death

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ow-old-men · 1 year

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Sure, Cassidy is good when he’s drafted into blackwatch, but it’s all brute force and instinct; tension that will wear him away in the long run

And Reyes doesn’t care, doesn’t have the time to, really. Not when it still works and his own body allows him to disregard technique and finesse- they can learn later, now they have to do

So it’s Ana who steps in, her legs folded under her and rifle rested against her knees, her hands strong and nimble while she cleans it. Movements like water and waves. “Lower your shoulders or you’ll wreck them.”

The end of his barrel and his cigar send twin towers of smoke into the air and he has to look up at her, perched over the training range. “Cap’n?”

“And stop doing spins. It adds flair but lowers accuracy, and this is no joke or fair.” She is looking at him in a way few people will ever do again, makes him want to bristle at critique and yet making him unable to.

It carries him, through smoke and gunfire and heartbreak and decay. Her hands over his while Peacekeeper clicks apart, the nooks and crannies you have to reach, or dirt will build up.

“You make it look so easy,” he says and feels equal parts pride and shame at how raw the words sound.

Her face moves, lines that weren’t there a year ago, a month, a week. She hands back his gun. “You shouldn’t have to fight this hard.”

And then he is alone and she is only alive when he whips around in empty buildings thinking he saw something glint off a scope on a rooftop.

Mostly, he doesn’t think about it, but sometimes he does.

A shot that lands exactly where he wants it and suddenly she is breathing close to his ear. Proud and sad and ingrained into every muscle that makes it possible. He visits her grave only once and finds she isn’t there half as much as she is in his hands, the slope of his shoulders; his body made a graveyard by her kindness

#overwatch #overwatch 2 #Ana amari #Cole Cassidy #cassidy #I’m so serious about Ana being Cass’ primary mentor in original overwatch #ask me about trans cass coming out to Ana and I’ll just cry type for multiple thousand words #anyway this could have been a fic but you get this instead #the most violent form of love is reaching people stuff #what do you MEAN I’ll have to think of you every time I peel potatoes to the day I die??#how dare you ingrain your life on my body and my mind like that

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satashiiwrites · 2 years

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snippet sunday

Tagged by @radio-chatter—thanks for the tag as always!

Tagging whoever wants to play along as well as the usual suspects: @quietborderline @missanniewhimsy @elisela @imsupposedtobewritting @tkwritesdumbassassins @outtoshatter

Title: Eddie Diaz Ain’t ‘Fraid Of No Ghosts

Fandom: 911

Pairing: buddie

Tags/warnings: halloween fic, i’m terrible at writing banter, first draft. Idk what i’m doing here… because i s2g my muse is eating my brain this week.

“So what?” Eddie might be playing with Buck now.

Probably.

“You going to give it to me?” Buck was wiggling his eyebrows salaciously, his smile wide and eyes hungry. “Or do I have to go find another ghost to show me what they got?”

“Don’t joke about that,” Eddie grumbled, moving to kiss him which drug his body against Buck’s with just enough friction to rev his motor so to speak. “I don’t have a condom.”

“I’m clean… and I know you are after the whole… Ana thing.”

Buck had walked in on that conversation where Hen had been chastising him about getting tested regularly if he was going to start dating again. “I don’t know… do I have to worry about ghost cooties?”

“What are you five?”

Eddie kissed the end of Buck’s nose making him go cross-eyed. “I have it on good authority that I’m a ten.”

“Bastard,” Buck growled, kissing him on the mouth and wrapping his legs around Eddie.

“That’s my parents your slandering,” Eddie teased as he found the lube and squirted a bit more onto his fingers, nipping at Buck’s lower lip.

“What you gonna do about it?”

“I don’t know….” Eddie drawled, rubbing Buck’s hip as he snuck his fingers around to slick his cock. “Might have to fuck you.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

“Who says I’m threatening?”

“Promises… promises…mpfff!”

#eddie diaz ain’t ‘fraid of no ghost #buddie fic #buddie #first draft #snippet sunday #untitled eddie ghostbuster fic #now has a title #it’s so grown up 😂

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lifesizehysteria · 4 years

Text

Deleted Scene: Stef & Lena (from The Night Before Christmas)

A/N: One of a collection of scenes that were deleted or rewritten from various fics during editing that I liked too much to discard. These scenes have not been edited beyond when I originally wrote them, except for one final edit for major grammar/spelling errors. They are not final drafts but instead are snapshots of my writing process. A bit of context will be given at the beginning of each scene in order for it to make sense, including the name of the fic it was originally written for.

[Context: Cut from the flashback in The Night Before Christmas because it wasn’t right for the mood of the story and was just too much for a flashback. I decided to take the main elements and add those into the conversation between Stef and Lena after the flashback but I really enjoyed the broodier mood of this original conversation, as well as Lena’s internal dialogue about the situation. I think it’s very telling about Lena and how she approached adoption.]

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

Another silence fell between them, this time less comfortable. Lena could feel the anxious energy in her partner’s body and she knew what was coming when Stef cleared her throat.

“Have you…” Stef paused to wet her lips. “Have you given anymore thought to adoption?”

The way she tried to make the question nonchalant gave her away in an instant. Lena already knew Stef’s heart was tied to the twins. Not that hers wasn’t. She already loved them in a way she couldn’t describe. But she knew she had to be rational for both of them. If it had been possible, she was sure Stef would have adopted them on the spot that day in the police station. Her partner’s heart was big and although Stef’s capacity to love so fully was one of her greatest qualities, always leading with her heart often had her acting without regard to consequences.

During a too-long pause, Lena decided if she wanted to have this particular conversation. Mariana and Jesús had a mother who they knew and loved, even if right now she wasn’t fit to care for them. Maybe someday she would be. If not, would her own love be able to fill the void left by their mother? Would they ever be able to truly trust her, to feel safe with her? Could she be everything they needed or would she always just be a substitute? These were questions that ran on repeat in the background of her mind lately. So even though her heart ached at the thought of losing them, Lena wanted — needed to be sure that adoption was in the twins’ best interest, not just her own. As of that moment, she still wasn’t sure.

“What if Ana puts up a fight for custody?” she finally asked.

“Then we’ll fight back,” Stef said with conviction.

“It won’t be easy. The system wants to put kids back with their biological parents. They haven’t been with us that long. We won’t have much leverage.”

Stef scoffed. “You mean aside from the fact that their mother is a drug addict who continuously neglected her children so she could get high?”

Lena sighed. “And what if she gets clean?”

Stef snorted and rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right.”

“I’m serious, Stef. What if she gets clean and wants the twins back?”

“Love, it’s going to take a lot more than a 30 day token for her to prove she’s fit to be a parent. I mean, come on. Not only did she neglect them when she had them but how many times has she blown off visits since we started fostering them? Every time she does, it sends both of those kids into a tailspin for days. A judge isn’t just going to overlook that stuff.”

“I know.” A little exasperated, Lena sat up and faced her partner. “That’s not what I mean. I know that Ana’s going to have an uphill battle, even with the courts favoring biological parents. But if she gets clean, and can stay clean, don’t you think it’s better for them to go back to their mom?”

Stef looked at Lena, bewildered. “Absolutely not.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because she’s had every chance to try and make up for the choices she’s made and she’s shit on every one of them—”

“Please don’t yell.” Lena cut her off, unwilling to let her partner’s frustrations make it out to the twins’ ears. The last thing they needed was for one or both of them to think they hated their mother.

“I’m not—” Stef stopped and closed her eyes, her jaw flexing as she reeled herself in after realizing that, in fact, she was. Her voice was down to a seething whisper when she started again. “There isn’t anything that can undo the damage she’s already done to those babies but she can’t even be bothered to try. You can’t possibly think the risk of them getting hurt again is worth it when the last good thing that woman did for them was give birth.”

Lena was taken aback by Stef’s harshness, her eyebrows arched high in surprise. “Of course not. I don’t ever want to see them hurt again.” She paused and searched for the right words. “But biology… it means something. It connects us.” When Stef opened her mouth to interrupt, Lena shook her head and powered forward. “I don’t mean emotionally. I mean in a real, physiological way. It’s linked to our survival. It’s powerful and instinctive and I don’t think that’s something we should just ignore because it’s convenient for us.”

Stef’s eyes narrowed. “So what? You think she’s naturally more fit to be their mother because she’s related to them? After everything she has put them through.” Her words were sharp and quiet but beneath the smoldering anger, Lena could see the hurt in her partner’s eyes.

“Honey—”

“Whose side are you even on here, Lena?”

“Ours. But I have to be on theirs, too.”

“Oh so I’m not on the twins’ side? That’s news to me,” Stef snapped, resorting to sarcasm to hide her hurt feelings.

“That’s not what I mean—” Lena closed her eyes and gave her head a little shake. Somehow, every time she tried to climb out of this hole she’d gotten herself into, she just kept digging it deeper. She took a breath to focus her thoughts and push away her frustration. When she spoke again, it was slowly and with intention. “I just don’t want to rush into a decision without considering all possibilities. I want to make sure that whatever decision we make, it’s the right one for them.”

#adamsfosterfic #adamsfoster #the fosters #lena adams foster #stef adams foster #otp: adamsfoster #written by lifesizehysteria #fanfiction

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thepausedsforzando · 3 years

Text

III. The Paused Sforzando

Part I. The End To The Remaining Effort

*******Introduction*******

It’s been 5 years. 5 years and a month just about. This post looks weird in public because it’s first one. It’s also marked as III. On October 8th, 2019 I nuked my entire Tumblr. Actually, I nuked all 3: hunkee, digitalclothingofhunkee and thepsychologyofdarthvader. That was a heavy day. This series has been shotty and inconsistent, in that gaps have become bigger and the details have lessened. This could likely be due to the feedback and problems I’ve had with people in my posts when I would talk about personal things that were not only private for me but for them. Primarily, these inconsistencies and gaps are because I’ve slowly descended into more of a void of a human being than I ever thought I could be when my life was right. January 6th, 2016. That’s where we last left off. “We” now means, and has always meant, current Matthew, as well as the one who will be reading this. If any Where are we now? Corny, I know, but you wanted to type it.

I have always dreamed of having a Tumblr where I had literally 0 holdbacks. If it was disturbing or could easily be misunderstood, I’d post it anyway. But coming from a Christian background where the Christian homeschool choirs I was in had its dark pockets of judgement, it, or more than just it, made me severely self-conscious. But that is tied deeper to why I care about what others think, and how their attention makes or breaks me as a human being. But I’m getting head of myself. On purpose.

hunkee, and it’s other 2 sisters were that of restriction. No more. So many have lost touched, forgotten and abandoned me, so who fucking cares now. I may still care. I’m showing it right now, but I’ll contradict that.

One thing I will hold back on is the private information of loved ones who never got a voice to choose whether or not to have their private lives posted here. I am transparent and honest to an extreme, and it’s gotten me in trouble more than I ever thought or wanted to. Therefore, what you will be seeing is the second draft, edited to filter out private events out of love and/or respect to those who didn’t get a voice. They will be edited with summaries and I may even redact names or change said names. Those people deserve it. And I should have known back then. But you can’t know everything. I could have learned faster, but respect is being shown nonetheless.

Alot has happened from January 6th, 2016 to February 5th, 2021. What I choose to be here will be here, and other installments will follow. Where we last left off was- well before I say it, let me show you the progression:

- 2009: The end of my childhood and innocence - 2010: a solid year of happiness in the first chapter of adulthood - 2011: not bad - 2012: The beginning of the dark renaissance; the start of it all - 2013: The Darkness: The darkest point, the breakdown, the intervention and the beginning of me stopping any care and any effort. Laziness became my life. - 2014: The Void: Through trying with little effort, the numbness grew - 2015: I literally forgot most of 2015. The Void at its highest - 2016: The End: The year that I gave up, after 5 years of trying through abandonment. - 2017: Committing to my abandonment. - 2018: Rebirth: The slow growth of the tiniest voice within me. - 2019: Pause #1: Amber - 2020: ugh: - 2021: ugh:

Let’s just begin.

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

As per usual, let’s recap from the 16th. My name is Matthew. I’m 24 and a half years old. I work at Patsco Windshield Repair and had for about a month. I have been living back at my parents now for 2 years and about 4 months. I’d been single for 1 year and 2 months. I still had my Roth IRA and likely got rid of my savings account due to poor management of my money. I had suppressed my love for Amber again, and it wouldn’t be the last time. I was emotionally void after raging and depressing for years. My life had no meaning, nor did I really have many friends or any social interactions. I had a car. I can’t remember what bills I dealt with, but it was likely phone, insurance, health insurance and idk.

Life at Patsco was pretty lame. I would drive to the corner of a parking lot on a busy road, hold up a sign for a while and repair people’s windshields. Calling insurance companies and cleaning headlights. Great for a high schooler; pathetic that I was there in life at 24. The pay was $12/hr. I forgot if the hours were good. But the best thing that happened then was I read Dante Alighieri’s Inferno. I fell in love with that book. Standing on the grass next to cars at the red light of whatever intersection I was assigned that day. Immersed in the world and loving the darkness. I found beauty in dark things and gravitated towards hateful content. Who would have figured.

Patsco didn’t last very long. Maybe I got fired, I think I did. My memory has deteriorated so much over the past x amount of years. As has my attention span. And effort. Anyway, it usually takes me 1-3 months to find work, and on April whenever, I became a delivery driver for Jimmy John’s. Yet again, a low end, dead end job. I lasted just about 2 years. I asked Asia to let me stay long enough to make it an even two years, but she couldn’t stand me and it didn’t go that long.

Amber had either come back or was always there. For private reasons, someone in her life had jealously forbade me to come over and witness the birth of her first child. That didn't fucking happen with her second. I was there. More on that later.

Remembering 2015, 2016 and 2017 is hard. I'm having to pull up my resume, previous entries of this series and go back to where I was then. By the time Jimmy John’s rolled around, I’d been back home for over 2 and a half years. Being numb and unmotivated, I was also an asshole to live with. I treated my mother horribly. There is much to get into about what I have learned about her over the years and why we clash, but I always handled it wrong and I still do. Too lazy to confront her. She saw me at my worst. Whatever I could do out loud, she mostly saw and had to be the victim of it. She didn’t deserve it.

What I write about tends to focus on home, mom and dad, work, cars and not much else. I’ve neglected to mention Eva but once. I feel bad that in a forgetful and numb phase, I forgot when I met Eva. I met her on MeetMe, a social app for meeting people that too many guys used as a dating site. It was really, really pathetic. But I was open to meeting a significant other too I bet. There goes the hypocrisy. Take note. I just didn’t advertise it and let whatever unfolded, unfold. Before I mention Eva, what happened on MeetMe is notable. I just didn’t advertise it and I'd let whatever unfolded unfold. This is where I was at: I met someone who lived across the road from me named Evie. I put what I wanted onto her and god fucking dammit I was creepy. We were barely just talking and I was gushing over her. She was pretty and I wanted to be with someone.

My obsession with women had always been a tame problem that sprouted when it got to be intense. In 2011, when the neglect started, my creepiness, lack of social interactions and desire to have a girlfriend got weirder. Every girl that was remotely attractive, or not even that attractive was ‘so right for me’ and I’d pursue. Ashley, Andrea, Christa, Amy. I can’t even remember them all. It was every. fucking. woman. that came to Josh's and I's house. Someone I hadn’t been vibing with or talking to in the first place. That’s the key, you get to know someone and if they move that way WITH you, then it’s something. I always bash guys for pursuing if THEY want it, whether they’ve talked to them much or not. In my own way, I did that. I just didn’t assert myself as hard because in this context, it would have been awkward.

Evie casually told me where she worked. We were barely acquaintances and had never met or even had each others’ numbers. And when I saw she was getting off work one night, I bought her the candy she said she loved and walked over to her in front of the store at night, basically a total stranger, and gave her the Reese’s after clarifying who I was. She was extremely quiet. I bet she didn’t eat those candies because she thought the psycho who I guess you could say stalked her poisoned them and is going to kidnap her. Fuck me that was stupid. But that’s where I was at. My desire got stronger and more obsessive over these 4 years. This might have happened in 2015. Either way, I was doing things that were not Matthew. Using a woman for sex, stalking one, and Naomi....Poor Naomi.

We were talking as friends. She was beautiful. I wanted someone. She did NOT want to find a significant other. When she was reaching out for someone to talk to, it was a friend to confide in. And she made that clear. I lowkey pursued her romantically. We’d meet down the street of her house and park in a parking lot close by. We’d talk deeply, about her hard life. And I would be there for her. Once I told her my intentions, we stopped talking. She was upset, and had every right to be. When I was pursuing Amber 3 years prior, I was putting her newborn to sleep and said ‘can you say “daddy?”’...............................it’s hard for me to bring that up because as wrong as it was and I probably knew at the time, now I can’t....I can’t even explain the awkwardness and shame I feel for saying that. Like I devolved from already clingy/kinda obsessive/maybe on occasion creepy to.....that. To a newborn whose mother....I can’t remember if she liked me at that time. I think she did. ReGARDLESS.

The last time I wasn’t like this was Ana. in late 2011/early2012. I was never perfect as I’ve said like 3 times with regards to my intense emotions towards girlfriends. Hell, I wasn’t bad at all to Nicole. But this loneliness, that was a combination of my fault and other things that made me do things I regret. I had my first one night stand years ago. Attaining friends was through the screen of my phone. I couldn’t make friends. I lost my ability to be social. I became more socially awkward. Pursuing women wasn’t successful, and my desire had gone out of control.

Here I am, miles away from the original point: Eva. She was a female and I was looking for a relationship. Desiring love, affection and to get fucking laid. It came in the form of many creepy endeavors. I wasn’t as terrible with Eva. I liked her because I liked every female that came in contact with me. So it wasn’t even genuine when I told her. But we got past that. Wasn’t trying to get in her pants or anything heinous. But as that small phase passed, for the first time in years, I gained a friend. I made a new friend........it’s not that it’s hard, but was for me. I can’t think of the last time I made a new friend. But I hit the jackpot. No one is more loyal than Eva.

She was an actual friend. She listened to me. I listened to her. We cared for each other. She invited me to her house and to outings with her friends. She cared about me. Someone finally did. It was nothing to her. Like it should be nothing to anyone else: you have friends and you spend time with them. But it was the universe and all its stars to me. I made a big deal out of it for reasons you already know. She was the true friend I needed, but got so late. I felt included, I felt cared about and I felt wanted. I think she’d even text me first! That doesn’t exist anymore! She became a bright spot, but it didn’t change what was coming.

I got mad at Jimmy John’s. Aggressive driving, maybe dealing with the occasional dick ‘cause I was in an upper middle class (some would say rich) area of town. Having been void for so long, I felt I was at a dead end. I think I was friends with Eva by then. I had only been at Jimmy John’s for a month, not even. 2 days before Mother’s Day was when it finally happened.

Despite the angel that had come into my life, I was still lazy and numb, but I feel I was more angry at this point. Regardless, on May 6th, 2016, I officially gave up. From neglect to anger to depression to laziness, it had all culminated to this. It came in waves: neglect, anger, depression, suicidal ideation, hopelessness, self-attack, breakdown, intervention, self-abandonment, extreme sloth, numbness beyond the realm of textual representation, sick of my state, denying help, anger and then release. Release of it all. When I say ‘I gave up’, that seems so small in text, but defined ‘the rest of my life’. This had been culminating for 4 years and I finally just gave up. Career? never. Healthy diet? never. Friends? They already all left me so nothing’s gonna change ‘cause it hasn’t. Love? either I said I can’t ‘cause of my mental state or idk. Being happy? it hasn’t been possible.

I adopted a new phrase: Until death. It kept repeating in my head. I had a new set of goals and motivation in my life. My goal was to avoid being happy. It was to never seek love or really get anything serious, idk. My goal was never to get a better paying job, but get enough just to live on my own. Push everyone away, not get lied to by people’s flakiness. Be in a shitty apartment and watch my 30′s, 40′s, 50′s and maybe even 60′s alone. Eat junk food and clog my arteries as no one cares and everyone has forgotten me. What’s the use. I tried. I FUCKING TRIED!!!!!!!!!!!!!! And I couldn’t do it. After 4 years, I was alone, I had no social life, I couldn’t score a woman and I was too creepy to even get close to the first step, I had eaten junk food most of my life and it was affecting my mental and physical health, I couldn’t hold a job, I couldn’t advance because I couldn’t stay long enough, my mental health was blocking my success rate before I started telling people it was blocking my success rate, I was at odds with my parents, Missy was in Chicago, no matter what I did I just couldn’t progress. It wasn’t worth it. I just let it go. My life and my desire to be happy. And that was a commitment. Hard as it would be for my family to have to endure that, I didn’t do it for them. And they didn’t have to suffer. But they did.

Missy graduated the year we're talking about now. To preface that, the whole family had vacationed to New Orleans sometime.....2014? idk, but my mental state and circumstances had made me a recluse. My family was outgoing, talking with Uber drivers and the person kind enough to let us use their house instead of a hotel. They experienced New Orleans and were having fun. But not me. I was not fully there. I was withholding myself from participating. I was quiet. if you knew me when I was myself, I was the opposite of quiet and shy. But the darkness had just become me. I was barely participating, sitting away from people and not saying a word, focusing on rooting my phone and occasionally talking about it, not talking to humans outside of my family and not speaking with a sad, distant, vacant expression.

I learned something through my silence. Usually, if there were family problems, I’d be overly involved and not able to think straight ‘cause I’m thinking of all the perspectives and dividing my attention up multifold. I wasn’t like this in New Orleans. When I said nothing, I got to listen more; I got to see what I hadn’t seen all this time. Or at least what I didn’t bring into focus all my life. And that was more true sides of my family through their interactions. The fighting over nothing and people from different perspectives. The escalations and how my family just doesn’t understand each other. If anyone else is reading this but me, you can learn more than you can possibly imagine when you say little to nothing, sit back and let the conversation you normally are involved in happen in front of you. Don’t interact, just let it happen. Watch what you don’t pick up. Our compassion is valid; we can also get carried away and not notice what’s fully going on right in front of our faces.

Much changed from that much as I used to. Optimism is ideal in moderation, as is everything else. My father was so aperspective shift. I learned more about where we are as a family and I didn’t brush it under the rug as ngry that my standout silence and being a weird, burdensome stick in the mud of a family vacation was affecting everyone and our time together. Not to mention my sister moved out...........2013? I forget. She had been in Chicago so we don’t see her everyday. Things had changed. I had moved back, but for a small amount of time, mom and dad had the place to themselves. That part of your kids growing up and leaving. He confronted me angrily and I learned something else by what he said. You would think he would say something based on how I’ve prefaced this, but instead what uttered from is angry face was:

“Do you have any idea how much money I’ve spent?!”

Sometimes, maybe many times, the way you say something or the first thing you say reflects where your focus is at. I disagree this is always the case. But in that moment, I believe as a man whose life revolved around providing for his family for 20 years, became focused on that primarily. The man can love. The man loves him family incomprehensibly. Never doubt that. But I learned not only of his perspective but how men (traditionally and mostly) make their life’s purpose of providing....larger than love, communication and interaction. All of that is still there in my father at this point, but when it wasn’t, I learned why.

Back to the point, Missy was graduating. I had been at Jimmy John’s a bit and even though New Orleans was a while ago, I only got worse for vacations. And going to Chicago was..........terrible. My sister had always been a social butterfly and extravertive. Our personalities were now white and black. I didn’t know how to talk to people. I didn’t know how to socialize. I didn’t want to. I’d been burned so much that I forgot how to be a human being, and also tried not to be. The silence and seclusion as people were in my sister’s living room, talking, was bizarre. People would kindly ask me about me and raise small talk and I don’t remember how much I’d say if I said anything. I think I’d straight up ignore people. It was extremely awkward. I was introvertive, shy, quiet, ignoring and reserved like I was an extreme trauma victim or a mute (no offence meant to either an victim of a crippling trauma or mutes). My sister was in love and trying with this man that turned out to be an asshole. But at the time, my sister was showing me her life and a very important man in her life and I was just letting it pass me by. Was it as simple as just getting over it? Faking it and putting on a face? That, is the opposite of who I am, and I couldn’t just shake this off. I was alone for 4 years and upset about it. It changed me so much that you don’t just pull out of that. Who Matthew IS. PERIOD. at this point. IS. too far gone from who he really is and so deeply warped and shaped by his depression that who he IS is hopeless and functionless.

Her boyfriend got me a present. I practically said nothing. I watched my sister graduate. I don’t remember it. This is trauma. This has affected my caring, my memory and my attention span. I’m not myself or a functioning human. PSA: it is possible to get out of the habit of many things you don’t think you could get out of the habit of. Like social interaction, how to talk to people, react to things. It wasn’t the darkest point, but such a troublesome time. I was 99.9999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999% darkness and 00.0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000001% myself. There has always been a voice inside that never wanted this. That disagreed with the (verbal) self harm I’d convince myself. After a while, if you tell yourself the same thing, whether it’s good or destructive, you’ll believe it. You’ll trick you mind. Same thing with your environment. You become affected and accustomed to your environment to some extent. When you don’t realize it.

But this was never me. Me just got smaller. The darkness took over. The darkness was my Caretaker, which leads me to...

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lumi-klovstad-games · 4 years

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Ramses-17′s opinions on Destiny 2′s cast in the unfortunate event of his Death or Amnesia

The Prompt: Your Guardian, or a character of your choice, making video logs in case they die or start losing their memories

Ramses-17:

*shuffles nervously in front of the camera*

Hey you... so, I guess I’m either dead-dead or I’ve lost my memory completely. If I’m dead, I hope I pulled a Cayde-6 and went out like an absolute badass, defiant to the end. I mean, not that I’m eager to punch out or anything, but I at least hope my death measures up to what I hope my life amounted to. Preferably, even more so, but that’s a tall order. It’s been quite a life so far.

Some notes: I hope Saint-14 is still hanging around. If he is, go say hi. Make friends with him. He’s a damn good example of the very best of us. The image of a Guardian. He’s the icon I strive to live up to -- he taught me what it means to be a Titan and a Guardian. Just don’t don’t engage in a snowball fight with him. I don’t care how tempting it seems.

Be nice to Zavala. Yes, he’s made some dick calls, I mean, really dick calls... but his one love and loyalty is the City. Everything he’s done, smart or not, kind or not, was in its defense. He just... doesn’t understand that not all Guardians are like him, I think. You can get the story of what went down between us from Ikora, Shaxx, or Reena Feng but... dammit I’m just no good at telling stories. Point is, don’t judge him too harshly. There’s a good man underneath that gruff and social ineptness. Kind of like me, I guess.

Speaking of Reena Feng... it’s taken me a while to come to terms with the girl, and the choices she made, but ultimately... she made a better call than I did at the time. Showing mercy to Kaya-Sei was absolutely the right call, and I’m glad she was there to stop me. If she hadn’t been there, I think I would have regretted my decisions forever. If it’s Ramses-18 watching? Go thank that plucky Warlock. Say 17 told you to do it. She’ll laugh it off, tell a joke to try to deflect how much it makes her feel, but she’ll really appreciate it. With luck, you’ll be best friends with her, just like I used to be.

On the note of Kaya-Sei: she’s not that different from Zavala. She’s stuck in her way of seeing the world, but she’s not a bad person. If you cross paths with her, don’t treat her like the traitor everyone says she is. You can absolutely trust her, and this is coming from me, so that’s gotta mean something. Normally I wouldn’t say “trust the personal hitwoman of Mara Sov”, but if Kaya’s involved, take her side. She’s damn well earned that apology from me. Also her judgment is much better than it looks from the outside, which is a good thing because sometimes she really looks like a moron. Don’t tell her I said that. I mean, the part where I called her a moron. Go ahead and flatter her with the bit where I said she has good judgment. Mostly because it’s true.

Quick bits: Ikora Rey? Excellent sagely counselor. If you have concerns, she has some of the best advice out there. If you’re concerned about where to turn or what to do, ask her. You won’t regret it.

Drifter? Keep well away from that smarmy bastard. Something about him doesn’t add up, and the loot just isn’t worth the risk.

Ada-9: Worth kissing up to. Her gear is second to none. Just... learn to put up with the attitude; it’s not going away.

Devrim Kay: I may not have taste buds, but his tea is so good I’ve forgotten that fact any number of times. You can rely on him too. He may not have a Ghost, but he’s every inch a guardian in my book.

Asher Mir: ...kind of an asshole with a heart of jerk. Deal with him only when you must.

Sloane: Lady gets stuff done. Can be gruff, but don’t let it get to you. She’s worth getting to know.

Failsafe: I used to stop by every weekend and play board games with her. You should too. I know she likes the intellectual stimulation and the company.

Ana Bray: Ana Bray.... what do I say about her? That she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen? That I’m grateful to have ever known her? That she’s kick ass? That she helped me discover some bits about myself before I was all... metal? Ana’s brave and beautiful and unconventional and a trouble magnet, but she’s up there with the best of us. She should be a legend, in my opinion. But maybe I’m biased. If you’re watching this, Ramses-18: go get her, Tiger.

Eris Morn: Queen of spookiness. Has a knack for knowing where we should really make our stand. You should absolutely dance in front of her. The worst that can happen is raisins. *barely contained laughter*

Emperor Calus: Bad news, and definitely that “friend” nobody should like. Steer clear.

Xur: Oh dear god, ditto. Even if his loot is awesome, he’s shifty as hell and keep an eye on him. You don’t need his gear anyway. A real Guardian makes do and has plenty of tools in every situation anyway. Whatever he’s selling, you don’t need it. Even if it is really, really cool.

Tess Everis: Shrewd woman. Offers some neat stuff, but keep your hand on your cash when you deal with her, because she’ll probably rob you blind and call it “commerce”. Cayde never did finish that investigation of whether or not she ran Eververse sweat shops in the City. You should look into that for me.

Fenchurch Everis: I really don’t think he exists. Tess 100% made him up. I mean, has anyone ever actually seen him? Like, in person? Exactly. He’s pure fiction and you need to tell Tess to knock those stupid stories off.

Petra Venj: God I hate her. But... *sighs* she occasionally makes a good point and she’s handy in a fight. Also, if you kill her, I’m pretty sure Kaya-Sei will go all hitwoman on you and you will not make it through the rest of the week so play nice, I guess.

Mara Sov: Everything I just said about Petra Venj goes triple for Mara Sov.

Mithrax: Pretty damn chill for a Fallen.

Spider: Same, and oddly trustworthy. Do not trust him anyway, just for pragmatism’s sake.

Osiris: Means well but will 100% screw you over purely by accident. Keep your distance, but be ready for Ikora to draft you into cleaning up his latest mess on a monthly basis.

Banshee-44: Ever seen an Exo with Alzheimer’s? Banshee’s as close as you get. I heard a rumor that 44 is just the amount of reboots he lost count at. Either way, he’s got a memory like a sieve, but it’s hard to find a better gunsmith. Be patient with him. He’s been through more than I could possibly know.

Shaxx: He’s loud, he’s proud, he will get you killed many, many, many times, but he’ll help you stand back up every time. He’s quality guardian.

Lord Saladin: He’s grim, but like Eris, he comes by it honestly. Make sure he adds my name to his list.

Amanda Holliday: God I love her. She’ll have more than few tales to tell you about me. Not just me, lots of interesting stuff from our recent history. I think she’s seen almost as much as I have, and in a much shorter span. I have no clue how she keeps it together, but she does, and I’m grateful.

Suraya Hawthorne: I mean, she’s a nice gal and a great ally, but I think her desk job is getting to her -- sometimes it seems like she doesn’t realize how much stuff actually happened since she took her posting in the Tower. Poor girl needs some time in the field again if you ask me.

Who else is left? I guess I should mention Caesar, my ghost. Hopefully he’s watching over a Ramses-18, who is hopefully watching this. We’ve been through some times together, and hopefully, he’s there to get you through some more. I couldn’t ask for a more stalwart partner.

I guess all that’s left is me. I’ve always been a survivor. From Twilight Gap all the way to the Crimson Spire Offensive, I’ve made it through battle after battle. If I’ve lost my memory, maybe in some way it’s a blessing. I can’t begin to tell you the things that witnessing what I have does to a mind. Sometimes it’s better to simply know what you’ve faced and overcome and not know the details. I wouldn’t choose to forget any of it, but... if I have, I’d be hard pressed to say I regret the loss. But if you’re watching this, I don’t care if you’re Ramses-18 or someone else: by watching this, you’re picking up a piece of my legacy.

Go on and make something great with it. Most (keyword: MOST) of the folks I’ve mentioned will help. But you’ve sat and listened to an old Exo reminisce long enough. The future’s yours, Guardian. Go build it.

#ramses-17 #ramses 17 #destiny #destiny 2 #destiny the game #my guardian #The Guardian #my guardians #guardian #destiny guardian #fanfic #kaya-sei #kaya sei #reena feng #reena #writing prompt

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supersoldierfreak · 6 years

Text

Undercover: Part 1 ~ Avengers Cast x Reader

Masterlist

The file was flicked through by your hands. "You've got to be kidding me, sir."

"I am afraid not." The older man sighed. "The man is a terrorist and this needs to be done. Moreover, you are the only one suitable for the job."

Frugally, you glance up at him. "You want me to pose as a budding actress in one of the most renowned casts in modern cinema, discover the one of the world's most wanted terrorists all whilst acting as a bubbly, happy, innocent, young woman. And you want me to use my real name?"

"Unfortunately, Agent, these orders have come from the superior of my boss, so there is little or more probably no chance of you getting a say in this. Beynin is one of the most dangerous people in the world and the board want him gone."

You swirled from your seat and took a position staring out into the night time skyline of London. "And you're thinking this is the best way, Agent Ford?"

Your handler stood from his desk and stood by the window next to yours. "I think it has the potential to be."

Your narrowed eyes swept across his face, illuminated by the warm lighting of the office.

The file was perched tauntingly on the dark wooden desk, secrets complied within. It was harrowing, thinking that you probably knew more about the cast of the Marvel franchise than they did themselves - people who had known each other for years and yet you'd never met them. Tilting your head back, you rested it against the window frame. The plan seemed good, admittedly with its difficulties, you couldn't deny that it did have a good chance of succeeding if you got in. Your eyelids fell as you thought everything over in your mind.

"For whatever it may be worth to you, your mother would be proud. She was always one to see things though."

You hissed before becoming resigned. "When's my flight?"

"You're flying into New York in a few hours."

Rolling your eyes, you grabbed the file and left for your apartment.

A side benefit to being an MI6 operative, you knew, was being able to skip airport security with the flash of a badge. The snakes of tourists and home-comers alike slouched, frustrated as they tried to consulate their kids and shush their crying toddlers. Perhaps you were slightly too smug as you grabbed your main luggage and started out of the exit and hopped in a cab to your hotel. Throwing more than necessary at the driver, you jumped out without a word and signed in at the front desk for your keys. Upon reaching your room, you couldn't help but smile because it was clear that Agent Ford had been involved as before you was a grand modern suite: something you didn't get on missions.

You dumped your bags and kicked off your shoes before taking a running flop onto the bed. It was a comfy bed. Sending a quick text to Ford, you sighed and took a nice long nap in preparation for tomorrow's audition.

.................................................

You nearly jumped through the ceiling and reached for your concealed blade you had gotten through security when a glass smashed against the floor.

Get a grip on yourself, Y/N.

A girl was apologising an unnecessary amount of times as a cleaner rushed in to save the day, wielding a dustpan and brush, telling the girl not to worry. You rolled your eyes and returned your eyes to the piece of paper you had been given upon arrival. Some assistant had given you a small excerpt of a drafted scene that you had to prepare to then perform. It had been hours since that had happened and you were leaning back, eyes closed because damn, jet lag sucked no matter how many times you went through it.

“Y/N L/N! Please make your way into the auditioning room please.”

You quickly stood up and folded the script into your pocket before following after the assistant. Short corridors and many turns later, you emerged onto a stage where a man was waiting along with a panel of five people. The desk was piled high in application forms, one stack significantly higher than the other, with various food wrappers and drinks scattered everywhere.

“Hi! I’m Y/N.” You threw on a genuine smile with a small wave.

Stay innocent, Y/N, stay normal.

“Hi.” Anthony Russo, - as your file had informed you- one of the men smiled. “Where are you from?”

“I’m from the UK and I’m currently living in London.”

“Okay, and what family do you have?”

“It’s just my Dad and I. I’m an only child.”

“Very well and final thing, why do you think you should be apart of this upcoming film?”

You took a ‘nervous’ breath. “Well, for one thing I would be able to do all my own stunts, I’m fluent in several languages, and I think this is a great opportunity and I’d hate to pass it up.”

“Sorry, right before you perform, what languages are those?” Joe Russo queried.

“I speak English, obviously.” Everyone gave a slight chuckle. “But I also speak French, Spanish, Romanian, Mandarin, German and Russian.”

“Cât de bine vorbești limba română?” The dark-haired, blue-eyed man in stage asked you.

You smirked. “Depinde de ce vrei să pot spune.”

He laughed in delight and extended his hand. “Sebastian Stan, nice to meet you.”

You shook his hand smiling. This had just gotten so much easier for you.

“I have no idea what just happened, but it’s time for you to perform, Y/N.” The man on the end of the panel smiled at you.

You nodded and took a step back from Sebastian before looking at him, asking if he was ready to start.

“Here, take my script.” He offered a piece of paper towards you but you just looked at it.

“No thank you, it’s okay.”

He looked at you puzzled however never the less, he tucked it into his jeans pocket.

“Ana, I need to go.” Bucky stepped towards her.

“But James, this isn’t your fight. We could easily use the face changers and move country.” Anastasia pleaded. “France is still clean.”

Bucky looked directly at her before moving away again. “You need to go. I can’t protect when I’m gone.”

Anastasia scowled up at the taller man, her words barely a hiss. “Don’t you dare think I need your protection!” Bucky took his chance to turn away from her. “This destroys everything we’ve been working for.”

The ex-assassin remained silent as the woman wrapped her arms tightly around herself. “I’ll go to the ends of the earth for you, soldier, I don’t need your protection. I need you.”

Anastasia silently moved to be in front of Bucky. “I’ll be with you.”

“Ana, this isn’t for-“

“James, it isn’t for you either.” She drew her finger tips across the side of his face. “Together.”

Bucky gripped her hand tightly. “Together.”

You smiled at Sebastian before taking a step back from your close position.

“That was incredible. Well done, you two.” One of the men, aside from the Russos, said.

“Thank you.” You smiled because you knew that it had gone well.

“You didn’t use your script which was impressive. None of the others did that." Sebastian complimented you.

A sultry smirk may or may not have been on your face as you walked away when you heard yours had been the best of all the auditions.

Taglist:

@nyxveracity @ariii287 @pointlesscasey @tahiti-island-dream @jayzayy @kapolisradomthoughts @curlycals @castellagreen @chipz4dayz @the-obsessive-fangirl @darkmelodies1 @saltymaddiee @lalalahgh @sammysgirl1997 @woofstar64 @marvel-lously @madamrubrum @ailynalonso15 @laqueus-ludovios @evyiione @steve-thotgers @in-the-potterhead-know @ironspiderguy

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lethalneuroses · 5 years

Text

femslash february day 24

Symmarah, major character death, grieving, extremely unhealthy coping mechanisms.

Anyone who’s followed me for a while may recall me mentioning a piece I was working on about two years ago; this is a condensed version of that.

Fareeha Amari’s Raptora suit fails on a Tuesday afternoon on a counter-Talon mission in Lima. Horrified onlookers describe the scene like watching a falling star, how her blue suit hurtled toward the ground with monstrous velocity. Her teammates are there; Angela Ziegler is called in from Gibraltar while Amari is rushed to the closest hospital. By the time Ziegler arrives, there is nothing for her to do but sign the death certificate with shaking hands. A decade ago she saw Ana Amari get on a transport and never come back, and now her daughter has followed.

Satya Vaswani is in Lijiang on a diplomatic mission with several other members of Overwatch. When she receives the news, her comrades describe her going utterly still. She insists that the mission continue, and her voice is level and businesslike. She seems, almost, to be smiling.

She is not smiling.

The idea grips her so fiercely and so completely that there is no time and no reason to grieve. She returns to Gibraltar to the distraught faces of the people who have become her family, but she does not weep. She wishes she could convince them they do not have to either. It will be all right; she will make it all right. She will do it or die trying; there is no alternative. Never in her life has a project been so imperative. Perhaps it has all led up to this, and she will not fail. She cannot even begin to consider failure as a possibility.

She sequesters herself in the lab and does not leave except for occasional meals or the restroom. She avoids the others when possible. They try, inevitably, to comfort her. They neither know nor understand. She simply works around the clock, irrepressible. If only Vishkar could have summoned such fervor from her, she would have been an unstoppable weapon for them. If she truly is a genius at hard-light construction, as she has been told so many times, she will prove it now.

Sleep is an unwilling reprieve taken an hour or two at a time with her head slumped on her desk. She eats less and less, subsisting on energy bars so she doesn’t have to leave her work for a moment.

A week into the project, Hana brings her a tray of food and sits opposite her, just watching her for several long minutes. Satya does not know what to say. She is vexed by the attention. She does not know how to put her intentions into words in a way that anyone else will understand. Hana is her friend, her very good friend, but she will try to stop her. They all will.

“What are you doing in here?” Hana finally asks, though, and Satya has always been awful at lying as well as despising doing so, and so she considers her words with care and closes her eyes and tells her friend, the friend who gave her the impetus to pursue Fareeha in the first place, who has been her rock and confidante at Overwatch. She tells her.

When she opens her eyes, Hana is staring at her with tears slowly rolling down her cheeks and her face contorted into a look Satya has never seen there before.

“You can’t,” she whispers. “Satya, you can’t.”

In that moment Satya hates her, is forced to bite back bile and try not to slam her hands on the desk too hard.

“I can and I will,” she says through stiff lips. “Please leave.”

Hana does not leave right away. She sits there and stares at Satya while she cries silently and watches her work. It frazzles Satya to be watched like that. Hana’s reaction, too, has upset her, but she does not think about it. She cannot think about it. There is only the design and her goal and determination.

There are, fortunately, thousands upon thousands of recordings in Athena’s archives of their lives on the base in the years since Overwatch’s recall. Fareeha features in so many of them. After they unanimously agreed to make her Strike Commander, she insisted on spending time with all of them. She got very good at street hockey and okay at soccer with Lúcio, decent at Hana’s video games of choice, even broadly knowledgeable in the horticulture that so fascinates Bastion. She would dance with Satya.

Satya must not linger in the archives, she knows. She is there for only one purpose, and she will not let the monstrous thing biting at her heels catch her. But she finds an old voice message Fareeha left her just a few months into their relationship, and she listens to it over and over again in the cold stillness of the laboratory.

“I love you,” Fareeha’s voice, soft with feeling and only a bit muddled by the medium, says again and again and again, until the battery dies and Satya comes awake like a sleepwalker who wandered far from her bed.

She stands mechanical and beautiful like a goddess of hard-light and electricity and artificial memories. The likeness is achingly familiar, and as soon as the face is complete Satya cannot help but draw her fingers across it, again and again, kiss the lips and stroke the cheeks and wait for her to wake up.

But this is no fairy tale, and the hand-made woman before her will not awaken of her own volition, so Satya returns to work, each success emboldening her. Her heart pounds with excitement. She is so close, so close. And Fareeha comes together piece by piece, and Satya comes together with her, and when she finally sobs they are tears of happiness at the face that blinks and turns and observes her.

(Not how she used to. Not anything at all like how she used to. Mechanical and incomplete and wrong, a child’s toy, a mockery of the woman she loved and loves—)

“Fareeha,” she breathes out, and holds her creation in her arms, and she is cold and hard but it does not matter, not when there is something to hold onto.

“Satya,” Fareeha says, and it is her voice, her voice, saying her name, saying her name— “The point what is you?”

Satya steps back, joy dissolving into disappointment. Something sick threatens at the back of her throat. She can feel the thing she has been keeping at bay threatening to arrive at last.

But she forces herself to smile, because first drafts are never really perfect, and she would be a fool to expect it to be so easy. She will perfect it. She will perfect her.

“Satya, is that—is that supposed to be—”

Lena’s voice trembles. She looks almost terrified. Most of them do, wearing expressions ranging from disgust to shock to fury.

McCree is more straightforward.

“What the fuck is that thing?”

Hana, sitting on the couch, catches Satya’s eye, but she looks as lost and disapproving as the rest of them. She doesn’t understand. None of them understand. Before it did not disturb her, but now, as she looks at the people she thought were her family, a horrifying panic rises in Satya.

She hurries from the common room, Fareeha a cold and steady presence beside her, before the tears spill over. In her dorm room, Fareeha’s hard arms encircle her as they lay together in her bed. Fareeha does not stroke her back or play with her hair. She just sits, motionless.

“They don’t like me,” she notes flatly.

Satya shakes her head. “They’ll understand. I’ll make them—”

But then her voice breaks off into another sob, and Fareeha’s chest is too cold and hard to make a good pillow.

She sees pieces of the wreckage at the bottom of the cliffs, fallen like Fareeha was in Dorado, before the waves sweep them away. She feels horror and numb anger at that, at everyone else there, and it is a knife through the heart once more.

They all deny it, but she can’t trust any of them, it feels. Perhaps it was all of them. She looks at Hana and does not recognize her. Who are these people? Who are they to her? They stood by and watched Fareeha fall from the sky and did nothing, nothing. Why wasn’t Doctor Ziegler there? Why couldn’t any of them save her?

Why wasn’t she there?

In one of the communal showers, she curls up in a ball on the floor and lets lukewarm water pour over her. They are frequently cleaned but she still has always imagined them grimy and full of bacteria, wearing shoes whenever she washed. But now what does it matter? What does any of it matter? Fareeha used to hold her in the shower, used to wash her hair and touch her all over and let herself be washed in return, would press herself against the wall so Satya did not have to touch it.

She screams and screams and sobs out her anger and grief and hopelessness, choking on it, certain she will die of the emotion alone.

She forces herself to calm. This is only a setback. She has the plans and the experience now. She will build her again, and again, as many times as it takes for it to be perfect.

Fareeha Amari will live forever.

#symmarah #symmpharah #sympharah #pharmetra #femslash february #original #natalie writes fanfic

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luckyladylily · 5 years

Text

Last night I wrote a super angsty widowmaker/reaper/sombra scene, but it makes no sense out of context. I would have to write everything that happens before that before the scene will mean anything, and it will take like 100k to get to that point. It’s all part of my huge overarching plot of Overwatch, basically what I would do if I wrote the story of Overwatch.

Fun fact, a lot of my Overwatch stories are set in this overarching story:

The Beauty of a Red Sunset

The Redhead on the Underground

Girl Talk

Embers and Ash

Limitations

Beauty on the Beach

A Very Serious Situation

Trust

First Kiss

All of these were written with the idea that if I ever got my shit together they would all be part of a single, larger story. I never really checked them against each other for minor continuity errors and things changed and updated all the time as new content was released so there are going to be some conflicts. But I intended to clean those up and fix up the story as things slotted into place.

Even VCG takes place in this theoretical storyline, though as a non canon offshoot

I also have probably 10-20k of outlines and rough drafts and little ideas. A character piece for Bastion and Zenyatta I wrote immediately after the last bastion that I never felt was good enough to post, detailed explanations of how overwatch was reformed and how they work around the technical illegality of doing so, a minor romance arc between Lena and Satya that is hinted at in TBRS, some Ana/Mei set pre freeze. An angsty healing arc centering on Angela and Amelie. So many plans.

Maybe I should start chipping away at it again.

#overwatch #fanfiction #fanfic au #my take on overwatch is a soap opera wrapped in angst and cooked in lemon juice #with a heaping pile of violence on the side

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captainmarvels · 6 years

Text

wicked games [6]

Summary: A relationship’s survival is dependent on communication. What happens when you find out Tom’s only manner of communicating is nonexistent?

Pairing: CEO!Tom Holland x Reader

Warnings: Dry humping, substance abuse; minor violence; excessive use of the word ‘fuck’.

Word Count: 7,253 [I seriously can’t stop myself]

A/N: Oh. Did I forget to mention this series was a slow burn? || Dedicated to @stvharrington because this series and I would be nothing without her.

series masterlist

Casual.

That’s all it needed to be.

That’s all it was.

Right?

The rest of your visit to Optimo went well. Ana came in shortly after you and Tom had finished making your mark on the place, so to speak. She took in your measurements over your clothes, making you stand on the same pedestal Tom had used earlier that evening.

“I am going to need you to take off everything except the undergarments you have on now. I will be back in just a few minutes. As for you,” Ana turned to face Tom, who looked away from his phone to meet her stern gaze. “... you know the drill. No peeking.”

Tom nodded, grinning as she patted his shoulder, leaving the two of you alone once again.

“No peeking?” You asked, looking at him through the mirror.

“Usually I don’t come to these appointments, but when I do, I do like to maintain an element of mystery and surprise, you know?” He had made his way over to you, his hands settling on your hips as he met your gaze in the mirror.

“You can - you can stay, if you’d like,” You mumbled, your eyes falling away from the reflection as you played with the hem of your shirt. You felt him squeeze your waist, his lips pressing a kiss to the back of your arm.

“Only if you want me to, darling. You sure you want to ruin the fun?” You snuck a peek at him over your shoulder, catching a glimpse of him raising his eyebrow as he smirked.

“Thought you said we were reserving the fun for later?” You giggled when he rolled his eyes, dropping his hand to squeeze your ass.

“I’d love to put that pretty mouth of yours to work again, darling. Don’t tempt me,” He whispered. You hummed at his words, turning to face the mirror as you felt his arms snake around your waist, toying with the waistband of your leggings.

“Now, you heard Ana. Strip.”

Nodding, you gasped quietly as Tom pushed your hand away, his own hands gently pulling your pants down your legs as you watched. He let them pool at your ankles, his fingers barely brushing against your smooth skin as he stood up.

His hands came up to your waist, carefully pulling your shirt up and off of you; taking his time as if he were savoring the moment. Tossing the clothes on the chair next to him, you watched his hands wander over your body. His eyes studied your figure in the mirror as his fingers traced over the delicate lace of your lingerie, as if he were seeing it for the first time.

“Do you pick out the designs for the new lingerie you buy, or…” Your voice trailed off as you met his gaze in the mirror. Tom smiled, shaking his head as his hands fell away from your body. You mentally cursed yourself for saying anything at all, your skin already missing the warm touch of his hands.

“Sometimes, but not always. My taste is more on the… simplistic side of things. I tend to leave it up to personal choices and wants when it comes to this. Did you have anything in mind?” He ran a hand through his tousled curls, his eyes memorizing every single one of your features as he licked his lips.

“How do you feel about red?” He perked up at your suggestion, eyes wide and teeth digging into his lip. Just as he was about to answer, Ana entered the room, rustling sheets of paper and measurement tape in her arms.

“What did I say about peeking, Holland?” Her attitude was stern, her hands resting on her hips as she looked at you both. Tom blushed, staring at the ground as he clasped his hands behind his back.

“I want him to stay… if that’s okay?” You spoke up, your cheeks hot with embarrassment as you stood there, practically naked in front of a woman old enough to be your grandmother. She glanced over at Tom, who nodded, agreeing that it was your idea.

“Fine. But only because I like this one, mister.” This one?

You didn’t have much time to ponder over Ana’s phrasing as she gently moved Tom to the side, her cold hands splayed all over your legs, stomach, and back as she took in your measurements for just about everything - garter belts, underwear, bras, and you were pretty sure she mumbled something about a corset along the way.

Once she was done, she motioned for both you and Tom to follow her back to the drawing table at the center of the room.

“These are some ideas I drew up based on what we had talked about over the phone. Let me know what you like and don’t like, and if there’s any changes you want to add. I’ll be right back,” She hurried off without another word, leaving the two of you alone to scan over her meticulously detailed outlines.

The designs were astounding and breathtaking - the lace details were better than anything you had ever seen before; so simple, and yet so elegant. You noticed she had scribbled in specific colors for the sets: black, only.

You were beginning to figure that Tom’s favorite color had to be black; why else would all his clothes, his entire office, and probably his apartment, be decorated in black and white monochromatic layouts?

“Darling,” Tom’s voice, soft in your ear, pulled you out of your thoughts. His hand was resting on the small of your back, a small smile on his lips as he looked at you. “You mentioned something about red earlier?”

“Oh, yeah. I uh, was thinking… it’s my favorite color, so I’d love to maybe have some of these in red, too, if that… if that’s okay?” You bit your lip, tapping your fingers against the hardwood surface as Tom nodded.

“I love that idea. I’ll let Ana know - are you sure you don’t want to request anything else while we’re here?” You shook your head, rubbing your arm as you felt a slight draft enter the open space. Tom only nodded, leaving you alone as he flashed you his phone, mouthing “be right back,” as he stepped out of the room.

“What do you want now?”

“Hello to you too, bro. Mum and Dad want to know if you’re bringing anyone to dinner tomorrow night.” Harry did nothing to hide his annoyance as he spoke. Tom rolled his eyes, glancing back towards the room where he had just left you alone.

“No, unless you want to tell them I’m with Harrison.”

“Funny; never would have pegged you for a bottom. Or pegged you at all, for that matter.” He snickered from the other end of the line.

“You’re disgusting, Harry.”

“Oh God, you don’t know the half of it, mate!”

“I’m hanging up now, twat. See you tomorrow, unfortunately.”

“Oh c’mon, you know you never get tired of seeing this beautiful face. See ya.” The line went dead, and Tom held out as his temptations begged him to smash the phone to complete ruin.

“Not today,” He muttered, running a hand through his hair as he took a few deep breaths, calming himself down.

You were combing through the designs while he was gone; Ana was beyond talented, and this was just everything on paper. You were beyond excited to see how they’d look once they were brought to life.

Ana’s words resurfaced to the forefront of your mind as your thoughts wandered off.

“Only because I like this one.”

What could she possibly have meant by that? The obvious answers in particular came to bear anxious weight. Tom’s definitely brought other girls - other interns? - here before, most likely to get their lingerie measurements taken. You wouldn’t be surprised if that were the case; you were more than aware that he had definitely had a relationship like this at least once before.

You just didn’t want to admit it stung just a bit more than it should.

“So, anything I need to know before you leave?” Ana’s voice popped your bubble of concern, alerting you of your surroundings. Tom magically appeared on the opposite side of the table, his suit jacket draped over his shoulder.

“I want double orders of everything, in black and red. I’ll send other specifications over by the end of the week.”

“Sounds perfect. A pleasure meeting you, sweetheart,” Ana pulled you into a tight hug, a small squeak leaving your lips as she squeezed you tight. Tom chuckled at the sight, smirking when you glanced at him. “... and a pleasure seeing you again, Holland. Stop disappearing all the time, alright?”

She had rounded the table, pulling him into a hug as well. You could tell he was slightly uncomfortable; his face was flushed as he quickly pulled away, running a hand through his hair with a slightly nervous expression written over his face.

“I’ll do my best, Ana. Have a good night.” He came over to you, wrapping an arm around your exposed waist as she left, waving goodbye.

“Please get dressed before my impulses get the best of me, darling.” He whispered in your ear, squeezing your hip before stepping away. You shivered at the short moment of contact, quickly crossing the room to grab the clothes from where Tom had placed them earlier.

Finally dressed, one of the various staff members of the shop guided you back out the way you had entered. Tom’s driver was waiting for you in the exact same spot, as if he had never left. This time around, Tom let him do the gentlemanly work, leaving you alone in the back of the car while he rode upfront. He flashed you a small smile before facing the front, leaning over to say something to the driver.

Next thing you knew, the divider was rolling up, leaving you in complete, isolated darkness.

“Martha, I need you to make sure the room I had set up last month is clean and prepped. I’m bringing someone over. Also, pull out the liquor from my birthday.”

Ending the call, he released a deep sigh as he closed eyes.

“Is she the girl you were telling me about yesterday?” Tom looked over at his driver, slowly nodding.

“Yeah; Y/N. Works as an intern at the company,”

“Doesn’t seem to be your type, boss. She’s… the complete opposite of all the others. Not to be rude, but,” He shrugged as Tom rolled his eyes.

“Thanks, Nicky, but I got the idea. Focus on the road, yeah?”

At some point during the somewhat long ride, you fell asleep. You woke up at the sounds of hushed whispering outside the car, followed by a streak of bright light striking your face. Groggily sitting up in the backseat, you bit back your tongue as you looked out the window.

You were pulling up outside one of the most luxurious buildings on this side of the river, the massive structure looming over the rest of the city. As you took in the rest of the area, you realized you weren’t anywhere near Central Park, but Sutton Place. Confusion blindsided you as you recalled that Tom’s primary address was near the landmark, but all you could see across from you was the East River.

The door on your left suddenly opened, Nick appearing alongside it.

“We’re here, ma’am. He’s waiting for you inside the lobby.” He helped you out of the car, gesturing towards the main entrance behind him. You quietly thanked him, spotting Tom at the main desk as you walked towards the massive front doors.

“It’s incredibly difficult to find time for things like that, I’m afraid. Ah, darling,” He turned to face you as you finally arrived at his side, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“I thought we were going back to…?” You let your question trail off as Tom slowly shook his head, glancing over at the receptionist.

“Diane, it’s been so great seeing you. Take care, alright?” He didn’t wait for an answer as he took your hand, leading you towards the elevators waiting behind glass doors.

Once you were alone inside the marble interior of the elevator, you aired your question again.

“This isn’t the address listed in the contract. You move recently?” Leaning against the wall opposite you, Tom chuckled.

“No, actually. I just have two apartments, a few blocks away from each other. Some would say that’s a bit too over the top, but I consider it more of a… safety precaution.”

“And why’s that?” You supported yourself on the rail of the elevator, quirking an eyebrow as he avoided your gaze.

“Remember my friend Harrison?” You hummed in response. “Well, he’s my best mate. But sometimes, he can get to be a bit too… much. I bought out this apartment a few years ago as a sanctuary away from him and the stress of work. Besides, this place has a fantastic view,” He shrugged as he toyed with his cufflinks, glancing up to meet your questioning gaze.

“If you want to be away from him… why pick a place so close to your actual apartment?” The elevator bell rang at that exact moment, opening its doors to reveal a crisp, white and black foyer interior.

“Right this way, love.” Tom ignored your question, holding out his arm. You took it, your steps falling in sync as you entered the room together. The interior left you breathless as you took it all in. Mahogany wood floors, a massive, all diamond chandelier, and sleek black and white walls spanning the floor plan as far as you could see. The decor was stunning, and you found it hard to believe that he had taken it upon himself to decorate it all. The kitchen was off to your right, a beautiful view of the city outside its windows. There was a small laundry room to your left, where Tom was kicking his dress shoes into as he let go of you.

“Make yourself at home; I’ll be right back.” He walked away, passing through the gallery into what you assumed was the living room. You slipped off your coat and shoes, leaving them in the laundry room before heading off towards the kitchen.

Everything was stainless steel; from the counters to the stove, and everything in between. You ran a hand over the cold surfaces as you scanned the room. There was a small TV built into the wall by the sink, and you couldn’t help but chuckle. Really? I’m going to die if there’s a fucking tv in the bathroom.

You marveled at the view from the kitchen’s windows, the city and park to your right, and the skyline directly ahead. Grabbing an apple from the basket of fruit sitting on the table by your side, you headed off into the living room. You nearly dropped the fruit as you studied the enormous space.

White fabric and black leather couches - at least six - filled up a portion of the space; some lined up alongside one half of the room, almost right up against the massive windows. Two smaller seats sat next to a collection of art statues on wooden pedestals, a miniature bar lining the wall opposite the windows. Tom was behind the counter, mixing a glass of vodka and rum when you met his gaze. Your mouth was gaping, and you quickly clapped a hand over it, eliciting a small laugh from him.

“Impressive, I know. I can give you a tour, if you’d like.” He raised his glass, taking a long sip as you looked down at the apple in your hand.

“I might pass out if there’s a second floor.” Tom grinned, setting his now almost empty glass on the counter.

“That floor is for my housekeeper and driver. They’re married, and I thought it’d alleviate some pressure if they could just… live where they worked. C’mon, I promise it’ll be quick, yet amazing.” You rolled your eyes, following him out into the gallery.

The black wooden walls were decorated in abstract art, a few portraits of famous painters and inventors scattered in between. Not a single picture of any sort of family, though.

“All the bedrooms are on this side of the penthouse, along with the bathrooms and a full size dressing area.”

“Dressing area? Isn’t that what you have a bedroom for?” Tom laughed at your question, shaking his head as he started walking. “No, seriously. A dressing area?”

“Yes, darling. A dressing area. It’s where I have the tailors fit me when I can’t make it out to the shop, or when I need them to take something in before an event, last minute. It’ll also house your event attire, just so it doesn’t get ruined. This way,” He stopped outside the second door on your right hand side, unlocking it with a silver key.

The door swung open, revealing a pristine, yet again, white and black interior. You stepped in first, your feet slowly sinking into the plush carpet lining the floor. You passed the bathroom and closet on the way in, too captivated by the spacious bedroom.

There was no specific decor lining the walls; only a massive mirror situated in the corner, a large vanity lined with a few jewelry boxes and other trinkets opposite the bed. It was a king size with a velvet black duvet and white pillows lined up against the grey headboard, off on your right. Floor to ceiling windows were dead ahead, showcasing a stunning view overlooking the city, with a row of plush seating right in front of them.

“Do you like it?” Tom was watching you from the door, his back resting against the frame as he spoke.

“It’s amazing. Oh my god,” You said as you sat down, peering out the windows.

“Well, this is your bedroom. Whenever you want it.” You whipped your head back, eyes wide and jaw wide open as you looked at him.

“Mine?”

“If you had agreed to move in from the beginning. Remember? I said I’d keep it a viable option if you ever changed your mind.”

“Did you bring me back here just to change my mind, Tom?” He averted his gaze as you said his name, tugging at the knot of his tie as he cleared his throat.

“Of course not. I’m no manipulator, love.” You quietly hummed, looking over the room once again while he stood, rooted to the floor.

“Do I get to see your room, too?” You bit your lip as he met your eyes, a small grin pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“Whatever you’d like, princess.” He smirked as he watched you walk back to him, your hips slowly swaying.

“Don’t get any ideas, mister.” You whispered, pulling on his tie just a bit before slipping out of his grasp.

“You’re a minx, you know that?” He said, shaking his head as he shut the door closed, following you to his room.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about! Now c’mon, I’m waiting,” You giggled as he squeezed your ass unexpectedly, his free hand unlocking the door with another key.

“Get in here,” He growled playfully, gently pushing you into the massive, dark interior. The walls were all black, matching wooden floors mirroring the dark ambience as you observed the space.

To your right was his bed; king size, all black everything decorating the mattress, with a matching headboard made up of black, wrought iron rails. It faced the tall windows that lined the other half of the room; the entire city of New York on display for him. You spotted a similar seat setup to yours along one side of the windows, a desk and large dresser opposite the foot of the bed. Once again, the walls were devoid of any decor, accentuating the vivid minimalist detailing of the room.

“This feels like it’s straight out of a horror movie,” You whispered, taking a seat on the edge of his bed. Tom was leaning against the wall, fiddling with his cufflinks again.

“Why do you say that?”

“It’s so dark in here. I’m starting to think I’ll find a body tied up in your closet or something,” You said in a hushed voice, trying your best not to laugh as Tom gave you a bewildered look. “Seriously! Do you hide people in here?” Your poker face was impressive, making him think you were dead serious as you looked at him.

“You’re joking,”

“Tom, tell me you’re not some deranged psychopath,” A giggle slipped out at the last second, and the visible relief washing over Tom pushed you over the edge. You were practically wheezing as you feel back on his bed, your lungs begging for air.

Tom rolled his eyes, quietly chuckling as he strided over, climbing on top of you as your giggling died out.

“You think you’re so funny, hm?” You met his darkening gaze, a familiar shiver crawling down your spine as you nodded. “Let me give you something to laugh about, darling.”

You were momentarily confused by his words until you felt his hands on your sides, slipping under your shirt and tickling you. Your laughing commenced once again, your own hands undoing his suit jacket to get back at him.

You were slightly taken aback by this playful, joking side of Tom, but decided to ignore the questionable feeling in your gut as you rolled around the bed with him, your laughter and heaving breaths mixing together.

Once you successfully pushed Tom off of you, he proposed you stay for dinner.

“I’m starting to get the feeling you like me,” You teased as you walked into the kitchen, his arm wrapped around your waist.

“Where the hell are you getting such a daft idea?” You smacked his chest, rolling your eyes. He laughed, squeezing your ass before stepping away towards the counter.

“Cheeky boy you are, Mr. Holland,” You stuck your tongue out at him as you took a seat at the counter.

“You’ve barely scraped the surface, princess.”

It was just past midnight when you realized how late it was, having spent almost the entirety of dinner asking Tom about his time in college. Not to your surprise, he expertly deflected every question. He coyly suggested you spend the night - in your own room. You agreed, knowing it was best to avoid spending a decent hour or two riding back to your apartment. Tom had set up the room for you as you got ready for bed, providing you with a clean, spare set of his pajamas and other toiletries. He left before you were finished, texting you a simple “goodnight” a few minutes after he had gone.

Disregarding what Harrison always called a ‘normal’ bedtime routine, Tom found himself rummaging through his extensive liquor collection. Settling on a bottle of whiskey, he served himself a few drinks on the rocks, stowing away the handle before he got too carried away.

He finished half the served glasses by the time he sat down by the windows looking over the park. He was nursing his fifth one when his phone lit up, a text from Harrison staring at him.

Are you coming in the morning? Have something we need to discuss.

Tom ignored it, downing the rest of the brown liquid before reaching for his last glass.

“This is fucking pathetic.”

Not much time had passed before Tom woke up, the bright, early sunlight streaming through the windows stirring him. He had fallen asleep in the living room, scattered, broken glass and melted ice sitting a few feet away from him.

“Damn it,” He quietly muttered, wincing as he spoke. The massive headache currently pounding against his brain was hurting like a bitch.

He slowly stood up, mumbling a cold greeting to his housekeeper, Martha, as he made his way from the kitchen to his bedroom, stumbling over every other step.

Barely making it past the door, Tom struggled to get to the bathroom without hitting his head against the doorframe. He cursed himself under his breath, reaching for the rather large bottle of pills sitting on the counter.

Walking back to the kitchen, he grabbed a bottle of water, downing three of the pills before Martha returned.

“Do I need to call Mr. Osterfield again?” Her stern voice grabbed Tom’s attention, his headache slowly subsiding as he met her glare.

“What for?” He muttered, already annoyed just with the mention of Harrison’s name.

“I found traces of white powder by the bar, again. Have you forgotten what happened the last time you messed around with cocaine?” Tom waved her off, rolling his eyes as he slowly stood up.

“It wasn’t… fuck, it wasn’t coke, alright? Just some… leftover crushed up Adderall. I swear!” He held a hand up when she raised her eyebrows, her eyes telling him she wasn’t buying a single word he spoke.

“I already told you what’ll happen the next time you mess with those godawful things. Don’t think I won’t follow through, Mr. Holland.” She waved a finger at him before walking out of the room, barely missing Tom’s hushed curses.

“This is my fucking place, for fuck’s sake.”

You were woken up by the sound of dull knocking at the bedroom door, followed by a soft, female voice.

“You can come in,” You called out, slowly sitting up to greet your visitor as the door opened.

It was a slightly older woman, dressed in what appeared to be something close to black scrubs, carrying a small tray of food.

“Good morning, miss Y/N. I’ve brought you breakfast, per Mr. Holland’s request,” She smiled sweetly at you, slowly making her way to the bed as you pulled the covers up to your chest.

“Oh, thank you. That’s really nice of him.” Martha only nodded, still smiling as she set the tray down next to you.

“Would you like me to bring you anything else?” You surveyed the food; toast, bacon, eggs, orange juice, milk, and a cup of freshly cut fruit. You shook your head as you took a quick sip of juice.

“Just a question - do you know where he is?” You shrugged your shoulders as you took a bite of the bacon, your stomach suddenly growling. She chuckled, nodding as you smiled.

“He’s training in the gym down the hall. Although, I will personally suggest it would be best if you left him alone for a bit while he’s there; usually only works out when he’s angry or stressed.” She bid you a quick goodbye after that, shutting the door behind her before you had the chance to ask about her… suggestion.

Why would he be angry already?

Tom was running his regular boxing session, currently throwing calculated punches at the massive punching bag in front of the mirror. You were standing by the miniature locker room, still donning his borrowed pajamas. You had washed up after breakfast, only to realize you didn’t have other clothes to wear. Sticking with what he’d given you, you found yourself watching him train from afar, savoring the little grunts he made every time his gloved fist made contact with the bag.

From his reflection in the mirror, you could see the sweat glistening on his forehead and arms and his usually perfect, moussed locks were a sweaty, slicked back mess. Even when he was kind of gross, he was still hot.

Stop that.

You pushed away the thoughts when you recognized a familiar warmth spreading in your lower abdomen, your thighs involuntarily pressing together as you watched him switch sides on the bag. The way his back muscles moved… oh, god.

“Princess? You okay?” Tom’s voice pulled you out of your dirty thoughts, spurring on a nervous warmth that rose to your cheeks as you met his gaze from across the room.

“Did you say something?” You asked quietly, biting down on your lip.

“Just said good morning when I saw you in the mirror, but you didn’t answer me. Did you sleep well?” He pulled out the wireless headphones you hadn’t noticed before, setting them down on a weight bench before walking up to the bag again.

“Yes, very. That bed itself may just convince me to move in,” Tom nearly missed the bag, his fist making swift contact with the mirror. You gasped, running over to him as he fell back against it, sinking to the floor.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” You kneeled down next to him, cupping his cheek as he quietly groaned.

“Yes, I’m - I’m fine, don’t worry,” He slowly stood up, gingerly brushing your hand off his face as he stepped away. “So, you’re considering moving in, then?” His tone seemed… hopeful, to say the least. You smiled carefully, shaking your head.

“Key word was ‘may’ there, Tom. You sure you’re alright?” You came up behind him, resting a hand on his waist as he gently pushed the bag backwards with his hand. He tensed at the contact, but made no move to pull away from you.

“I think I’m done for today,” He said, undoing the velcro strap on his glove with his teeth. He dropped one to the ground, turning to face you as he undid the other. “Meet me in my bedroom, love.” He licked his lips, smirking when you nodded, your hand falling to your side as you stepped back.

He picked up the fallen glove, tossing them in a basket by the weights as he walked off into the small changing area. Once he was out of sight, you ran out of the room and straight into his.

You sat on his bed, your back resting against the surprisingly comfortable headboard. You toyed with the hem of your shirt, taking in a sharp breath when you heard the door open a few minutes later. Tom appeared, bare chested with only a towel wrapped around his waist that hung dangerously low on his hips. His hair was wet, perfectly slicked back, a few, stray water droplets running down his abs.

“Enjoying the view, princess?” He quipped, chuckling when you averted your gaze, shaking your head.

“So…”

“Don’t worry. I didn’t ask you here to fuck, darling. I mean, usually that’s why I would but, I need you for a different reason right now.” Oh. Wait what?

“What is it?” You sat up straighter, straining your neck to see what he was doing as he stood in front of his dresser.

“Which of these,” He spun around, holding up three different dress shirts. “...would you like to wear?”

After a more ‘proper’ tour of Tom’s penthouse, you found yourself sitting on the largest couch in the room, watching some random holiday movie on the gigantic plasma screen hanging on the wall. Tom came out of the kitchen, juggling two bowls of chips and popcorn in his hands. He set them down on the coffee table, nudging your thigh with his hand as he sat down.

“What?” You looked over at him, raising an eyebrow as he massaged the flesh.

“Wanna play a game?” He whispered, his eyes looking down at your lips as he spoke. You got the hint, rolling your eyes playfully. You threw your arm onto the back of the couch, your hand coming up to play with his curls at the nape of his neck.

“What kind of game?”

“How about the one you say I always win, princess?” He chuckled darkly as he watched you shift, swinging your leg over his lap, your ass resting on his thighs. “That’s it, baby.” Your hand cradled the back of his head as he cupped your cheek, pulling you down for a kiss.

His tongue swiped over your bottom lip, asking for entrance. You whined as Tom’s hand came down hard on your ass, kneading the flesh while his tongue finally danced with yours. Your hands were intertwined in his hair, pulling every time his hand squeezed your ass.

Without a second thought, you started grinding against Tom, your hips slowly swiveling against his. He grunted, moving his hands to your waist to push you down against his rising hips.

“Fuck, darling,” He growled, pushing his hips up in search of friction. His hardening cock felt so fucking good against your clothed cunt, the fabric rubbing against your sensitive clit with every movement. His lips had strayed away from yours, kissing all over your jaw and neck as you moved in tandem.

His mouth found yours again in seconds, his teeth sinking into your bottom lip as he brought you in for another kiss. Your moans mixed together with your panting breaths, pushing you both closer to the edge.

His cock was straining against his sweatpants, the friction growing more intense with every move of your hips. The knot in your stomach was growing tighter, Tom’s quickening pace knocking you over the brink in record time.

“Oh fuck,” You whimpered, your hips stilling as your orgasm hit, Tom’s lips collecting your mewls as his own hips faltered. His hands dropped to your ass again, squeezing the flesh as he came right after you, a low growl his only warning.

Your head fell against his shoulder, your chests heaving with parallel desperation after your whirlwind activity. He kissed the exposed skin along your collarbone, his breath hot against your warm skin.

“I win,” He mumbled, dropping his head back against the couch. You let out an airy laugh, raising an eyebrow when he pushed you against his chest.

“How did you win, if I may ask?” He laughed, patting your ass as he met your mildly confused stare.

“You gave in first, darling. And you came first. Ergo, I win.”

“Since when are there rules to dry humping, Holland?” You scoffed, crossing your arms so your chest stuck out just a bit more under the dress shirt you were wearing. Tom’s gaze dropped for a moment, his teeth digging into his lip as he glanced up at you.

“Them’s the rules, baby. Deal with it,” He retorted, taking you by surprise as he spun the two of you around, pushing you down into the couch. His lips attached themselves to your neck, making you giggle as his hands undid the buttons of his shirt.

You moaned when his lips started sucking on your sweet spot, your fingers tugging on his hair as he smirked against your skin.

A loud knock startled you both, Tom pulling away to sit back on his knees.

“What is it, Martha?” You scrambled to sit up, covering yourself with your hands as you tried to fight back your growing flustered state.

“Mr. Osterfield is in the foyer, and he’s asking to see you immediately.”

“Tell him I’m bu-”

“Already did, Mr. Holland. He’s insisting.” Tom waved her off, rolling his eyes as he stood up.

“Fucking Harrison, what the hell does he want?” He muttered under his breath, turning away from you so you wouldn’t catch his words; except you did.

“Stay here, love. This shouldn’t take too long,” He cupped your cheek momentarily, stroking his thumb over your lip before leaving.

Once he shut the door, and against your better judgement, you quietly made your way over to the other side of the room, instantly picking up on two muffled yet loud, angry voices in the gallery.

“Learn to pick up your damn phone, you imbecile!”

“Harrison, would you calm the fuck down, for fuck’s sake? What the hell is your problem anyways?” Tom watched him pace back and forth, his chest heaving with frustration and pent up anger.

“The fucking dinner, Tom. The fucking dinner with your fucking parents! Did you forget? It started almost forty fucking minutes ago!”

“Oh, fucking shit.” Tom muttered, his pulse picking up as fear and anxiety flooded every nerve in his body.

“Oh fucking shit is right, Holland! Your father had to send me to drag your pathetic arse all the way to the fucking house! Can’t you get your fucking shit together for one fucking day and do something right for once?” Tom took a step back from Harrison, his hands balling up into fists as he locked eyes with him.

“Don’t be such a fucking twat, Harrison. Yeah, I forgot, but for crying out loud, it’s not that big a deal anyways, alright?” Tom was struggling to keep a lid on his rising anger, his face flushed a bright pink as he held back his tongue.

“Not a big deal, huh? Keep fucking up like this, and you can kiss the goddamn company goodbye, Tom! If you can’t get your fucking shit together, the twins are getting the golden key to your dream job, you dumbfuck! All because you can’t think outside sex and spending money! You’re a fucking idiot, Tom, I swear to God,” Harrison scoffed, leaning against the wall as he tried to calm his breathing.

“I know she’s here, Tom. Martha didn’t have to say anything; I could tell the minute I walked in the door. Does she know, Tom? Does she know how fucked up you really are?” Harrison’s voice was getting louder with every word he said, each one spoken out of spite.

“Mate, calm the fuck down, alright? You’re starting to scare me,” Tom said through gritted teeth, taking another step back as Harrison stepped away from the wall.

“Did you spend all day with her? I’m shocked, in all honesty. I thought the routine just consisted of shopping and fucking, then you’d have dear old Nicky drive them home, every damn day - am I wrong, Tommy?” Harrison scoffed, smirking as he watched Tom shake his head.

“Fuck you and your fucking constant scrutiny of my love life! You’re too busy up my ass for anyone to even like you!”

“At least women like me for more than just what I can do in fucking bed, Tom. Anyone gets a whiff of who you really are, and they’re out the fucking door in the matter of seconds! Why do you think your parents have these fucking dinners in the first place?”

“Enlighten me, you fucker. Why?”

“Harry and Sam always bring their girlfriends to these things, but your pitiful self always shows up with me and a bottle of hard liquor. They’re worried about you, dumbass!” Harrison walked up to Tom, who pushed him away as he reached out to him.

“That’s a fucking lie if I ever saw one, you piece of shit. You know damn well they’ve never given two fucking shits about me or my love life! Now get the fuck out before I fucking hit you, Harrison, I swear to God I will -”

Tom landed a clean right hook against Harrison’s jaw, forcing him back against the wall. He spat on the ground, the tiniest spot of blood on the corner of his mouth as he pushed himself up, hitting Tom straight in the stomach.

“What the ever living fuck was that for, you motherfucker!” Tom yelled, shoving Harrison against the wall, his hand instinctively wrapping around his throat, squeezing tight. All he could do was laugh, wincing at the pain as he struggled to breathe.

“You call yourself my fucking best mate, and yet you come into my home and fucking hit me? You’re whole different brand of fucked up, Osterfield.” Tom growled, ignoring the pain in his hand as Harrison scratched his skin, trying to pull him off.

“Tom,” He wheezed, his throat burning.

“Get your miserable ass out of here before I fucking ruin you, Harrison. Go!” Tom let go, smacking the side of his face with his knuckles as he fell to the floor. Tom kicked him in the shin, muttering a string of incoherent swears as he pushed Harrison towards the door, his best friend practically dragging himself on his knees.

Nick showed up at the base of the stairs next to the kitchen, a pained look of shock written over his face as he took in the scene before him.

“Get him out of here, now.” Tom said, watching Nick help Harrison into the elevator, letting him slump to the ground as the doors shut.

You were sitting on the couch, hugging your knees to your chest. Tom opened the door leading into the kitchen with Martha following close behind. You saw him holding an ice pack over his hand, a few specks of what you thought was blood scattered over his chest.

“Tom, oh my god,”

“You need to leave. Right now.” He ignored you and grabbed his phone off the coffee table, gently pushing you back against the couch as he walked past.

“What?”

“You’re leaving, now. Martha, please,” He didn’t even look back at you as he left the room, slamming the door shut. You looked at Martha, who avoided your gaze as she held out two bags.

“New clothes, and here are your shoes. His other driver is waiting for you outside in the foyer.” She placed the bags on the couch, dropping your shoes on the floor before excusing herself, heading out the way she came in. You ignored the gnawing feeling eating away at your heart and mind as you quickly changed, leaving Tom’s clothes on the couch as you walked out of the room.

The driver was waiting by the elevator, a pair of sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He said nothing as you approached, pressing the button and entering the elevator shaft without a glance or even a nod of acknowledgement.

So much for a good day.

A few hours had passed since Tom had kicked Harrison out and sent you home. He refused to see Martha or Nick after locking himself up in his bedroom. He snorted the last of his pills and was struggling to ignore the part of him that desperately craved the few ounces of cocaine he had stowed away from the last time.

Once he was sure the coast was clear, Tom made his way to his favorite place; the living room bar. He sat down on a bar stool and pulled out a few glasses. He studied the bottles of liquor on the counter, grimacing as he realized that every single one of them was a previous ‘gift’ from his father.

“Fucking asshole,” Tom muttered, grabbing one of the wine bottles by the neck. He flipped the bottle and threw it over the counter, cheering when the glass shattered against the wood floors, glass flying everywhere.

“Serves him right, that fuck,” Tom said as he grabbed another bottle. He flipped open the card tied to the neck, reading over the printed text.

Happy birthday, son. x Dad

“You don’t even know my birthday, you motherfucker!” Tom screamed, throwing the second bottle against the wall behind him, covering his face with his hands as glass flew about.

Kicking a few broken shards to the side, Tom sat down and poured out an entire bottle of scotch into a couple of glasses, throwing the bottle over the counter and relishing in its crashing sound against the hardwood floors.

He downed three glasses of the burning liquid before grabbing as many of the others he could, carrying them to his bedroom.

He slumped down outside his door, nursing the drinks until he fell over, his head hitting the floor with a loud thud.

So much for numbing the pain.

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twilight-seawitch-blog · 5 years

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♛ FILL IN ABOUT THE MUSE.

(( originally posted by allthemusings @ tumblr)) Kitchen:

What is the character’s favourite food?: She is not particularly picky, but if she could she would eat a ton of bubble chocolates. Are they good at cooking? How good/bad?: She’s decent with cooking, but this is the kind of girl that makes coffee and tea in her beakers? Do they leave the dishes out?: More like she leaves it in the sink for someone else to do, then complains about whoever does it. Ends up washing the dishes anyway. What kind of food is in their refrigerator?: A mix of healthy foods and nosh foods. It is organized, and gods help you if you mess up the order. Do they cook, eat out or get take-away/delivered food more?: Mostly cooked meals by Naia or take out when Naia’s not feeling well. She’s loyal to her crew’s cook.

Living Room:

How does the character spend weekends?: Sleeping, studying, reading, writing in her journal, and tidying up her quarters. Might see her in only a pair of pants and a towel wrapped around her neck. What kind of movies does the character watch?: Science fiction and horror. What do they do with friends?: She likes to tease and hang out with them. What’s their favorite pastime?: Collecting dead things and dissecting them. What’s their favorite TV show/Film?: In a modern AU, I think she would prefer documentaries particularly on forensics. I think she would prefer video games to television and film since they are more interactive. She can get bored easily.

Bathroom:

How does the character prepare in the morning?: She takes the bathroom hostage, until she’s done. It is why Ana’s very tempted to put in a bathroom in the captain’s quarters. Do they sing in the shower?: Sometimes. What kind of hair product/make-up do they use?: Most likely something she concocted solely for her skin type. How clean is this character?: Very clean, unless she has been drafted for ass-kicking. Does the character have thousands of shampoo/shower gel bottles by the shower, or do they use only the bare essentials?: The bare minimum that she crafted. This way she does not have to spend much money.

Bedroom:

How do they sleep? (Position, sleeping habits, bedtime routines): Usually sleeps on her side facing the wall, cocooned. Sleeps in only her underwear, but does wear pj’s around the house if visitors are coming. She does snuggle, but do not tease her unless you want a spell of fire and ice in your face. What are their pajamas like?: She sleeps in her underwear, or whatever night gown she has on at the time. What do they dream about usually?: The trauma she went through in her life so far. How neat/tidy are they?: Decently, although, I think she would still give a neat freak a severe panic attack somehow. How affectionate are they?: Not very, unless you are someone she considers part of her “family”. Her affection comes in the form of light-hearted teasing, the rare hugs and touches, and smiles.

Attic:

What is the character afraid of?: Being a slave or prisoner of war again. How do they deal with bad memories?: Bottles it up for the most part, saves them till she is alone. Then, lets her feelings out. Otherwise, she is slinging spells at a nearby dummy on the training grounds. What is this character’s role in a horror movie?: The last one that survives only to be killed in the upcoming Apocalypse at the end, maniacally laughing. How do they hide their secrets?: She puts an anxiety-inducing price on her secrets. Confides solely with her crew and sometimes Garlond for free.

#allthemusings #op:allthemusings #musings #mira's canon #cringe-inducing

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zin-33 · 3 years

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OVERWATCH OC - ESSIX

"Doesn't matter how much one tries, world always finds something to keep you down. I worked with Morrison for 15 years, before everything went down. I lead missions, trained a few agents, and helped Amari make sure Jack had his head on straight. When everything with Blackwatch went down, I told Morrison that Reyes was too close to it all to retaliate, but he let him go anyways. We lost public trust, London wouldn't even let us help them. When Overwatch fell, I took my gear, and walked out. Winston means well, but he's in over his head. Omnics are taking over again, and we barely have anything left to fight with. But I know Winston, he won't give up. Heh, guess it's up to me to make he doesn't get himself killed."

BACKSTORY

Born in 2030, Nathan Taylor was around 12 years old when the Omnic Crisis began. His Father was a Soldier, and his Mother was a Doctor. Nathan's father died from injuries sustained in combat when Nathan was 15 years old, despite his Mother's best efforts to save him. Nathan and his Mother both grieved their loss, as the war outside with the omnics raged on and got worse. When Overwatch was founded, Nathan's Mother was drafted to become a Doctor for the organization, rather than staying in Seattle. Everyone was still losing so much, and Nathan became an orphan at age 17 after learning that his Mother was killed by a sudden bombing run by the omnics. At age 18, Nathan was drafted into the Military after the government learned of an impending attack on Seattle. Everyone who was able to handle a gun was given one, and about a week later, Seattle was ground zero. There were constant shootouts in the streets between humans and omnics, and everything just kept getting worse. Seattle was prepared to make it's last stand when Overwatch arrived. Nathan held his own, but was getting overwhelmed. Suddenly, a soldier donning twin shotguns blasted the omnics closing in on him apart, wearing an Overwatch logo on his shoulder. Nathan was amazed, but didn't let it interfere with his job. When this soldier was occupied on another group, Nathan returned the favor and blasted a couple omnics that were closing in on him from behind. The soldier thanked him, and identified himself as Reyes. Nathan introduced himself in return, and told Reyes everything he knew so far.

The invasion in Seattle lasted for about two weeks, and then the omnics gave up their advances on Seattle. Reyes asked if Nathan wanted to come with him, stating he saw something in him. Nathan wanted to go with him, but he knew where his place was. Reyes understood, and commented that he hoped they'd fight together again someday. Over the next three years, Nathan trained and enlisted officially in the Military, continuing his fight after helping where he could in Seattle. When the Crisis ended in 2051, Nathan breathed a sigh of relief. He continued his military life, cleaning up what was left from the Crisis and putting down other threats. In 2056, Nathan was deployed to South Korea. The monstrosity that attacked South Korea was horrifying, but Nathan worked with his fellow soldiers to eventually take it down. His tactics and his ability of keeping his fellow soldiers alive caught the eye of Strike Commander Morrison, leading to Nathan being summoned to Overwatch HQ.

Commander Morrison extended an invitation to him, and Nathan accepted without hesitation. Nathan gave Overwatch everything he had in skill and tactics, pulling off many successful missions. Nathan eventually put in a request for a call sign, asking for it to be Essix. Essix was the middle name of Nathan's father, and he wanted to continue what his father started in terms of saving lives and keeping people safe. His request was approved, and from there on out his call sign was Essix. For years, Nathan continued to prove himself as a good soldier, and a good friend. He also teamed up with Ana occasionally to help make sure Jack was sleeping and had his head on straight, something Jack appreciated from both of them. When an Overwatch facility was attacked in 2068, which lead to Reyes leading a strike team into Venice, Nathan tried to convince Jack that Gabriel was too close to this to be reliable on the safe retrieval of Antonio, but Jack had already let Gabriel go. Nathan was right however, as Reyes had killed Antonio and caused a massive shootout in Venice. Public trust was starting to dissolve, and by the time the Uprising rolled around, Overwatch was not authorized to intervene. Nathan said that something had to be done, regardless of what the government said. Ultimately, it was Tracer that convinced Jack to let Overwatch intervene with a strike team. Ana, Gabriel, Nathan, and Jack oversaw the strike team from HQ. The mission was a success, and the hostages were rescued, and the Uprising was over. Overwatch faced backlash, but they knew they did what they had to. Nathan continued to work closely with Overwatch and became fast friends with Tracer, sharing some interests of hers. He even helped train her a bit in hand to hand combat before the Uprising happened.

When Ana Amari didn't return from a mission with Jack, Nathan was in shock. He couldn't believe that she was gone, but that's a fact he had to accept. Eventually, Doomfist was captured, scoring a big victory for Overwatch, but it was short lived. Overwatch HQ exploded, killing Gabriel, Jack, and many others. Nathan attended their services, and continued what they started until Overwatch was disbanded. Nathan stopped fighting after that, and got off the grid. He had fought all his life to make a difference, and felt like it all meant nothing. Five years later when Overwatch was recalled, Nathan wanted nothing to do with it. He gave the world everything he had, and it casted him aside after everything he did for it. When he saw how bad the second Crisis was getting, he finally decided to try and track down Winston to join back up with his old friends. He doesn't know if he should even go back, he only knows what's right.

ABILITIES AND OTHER INFORMATION

E - Stasis Grenade: Throws a grenade with a 4 meter explosion radius that slows the movement speed of any enemy caught inside it for a short time.

Shift - Pulse arc: Sling an arc of energy projectiles that seek nearby targets and stick, exploding on contact.

Secondary fire - Flak Grenade: Fires a grenade from your grenade launcher attachment, dealing damage to nearby enemies within it's blast. Does not detonate on impact.

Q - Discharge: Discharge a powerful energy explosion around you, stunning and knocking down every enemy within 10 meters of you.

Space - Jump pack: Press the jump button twice to get a jet boost from your jump pack into the direction you are moving.

Passive - Advantage: Gain a small amount of personal shields for each enemy caught in your Discharge.

HP: 150

Shields: 50

Role: Damage

Weapon: Heavy Pulse Rifle with Grenade Launcher attachment

#overwatch #overwatch fandom #overwatch oc #overwatch original character #original character #oc

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amythecinnabunny · 4 years

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Apartment 42 -- A BuckyNat AU

Master and rival assassins unknowingly live together for almost a year, making sure their real jobs remain a secret from each other and everyone around them.

Chapter 11

"I never told you because I was afraid of this. I knew you were the Widow a week before Christmas at least. I thought about telling you every day, but I was sure youd react horribly and I'd lose you."

Natalia hugged herself and looked up at James. "You mentioned nightmares . . . what were they about?"

"You," James said, "you dying. Various ways. All very terrible, very traumatising. Josef, the one that attacked us on Christmas eve, he features in a lot of them."

"How do I die? In your nightmares."

James shrugged. "Oh, you know . . . impaled, beheaded, shot in the head, shot in the heart, stabbed in the heart, ambush, rain of bullets from Hydra agents, starved, tortured, the works."

Natalia's eyebrows rose. "Any of them have your hand in it?"

"One," James admitted. He frowned at the carpet of Natalia's current bedroom. "Hydra can do this . . . thing. I'm not sure what it is. It's new. I don't remember what happens in between. I hear some agents talking. Says it turns me into a machine, obeying every order. They call it effective. Really bad nights are the ones where they use it and I come back to your dead body. I never know what happened, but I know I did it. It -- it -- sometimes it's really bad. Sometimes it's a clean shot. Sometimes you're covered in bruises. I -- I don't want to talk about it."

Natalia walked up to James and took his hands in hers. "Don't. Just . . . do you love me? Do you really love me?"

James tightened his hands around hers. "More than anything or anyone I've ever known."

"How much?"

James offered her a small smile. "Completely, doll."

Natalia watched him carefully. "I want to believe you but I know myself, and I know that I would lie to me. I don't know."

"I don't expect you to, doll, I just need to let you know that I stopped chasing the Widow the day I met you outside our apartment. I only realised it that night. I just need you to know that you're what I'm going to miss. One way or another, this is going to end. Either I succeed, or you succeed. But either way, we won't get to stay here. When Hydra takes me back, you're what I'm going to miss. You, with your bright smile, your twinkling eyes, your infectious laugh. You and your annoying habit of being unable to remember where anything goes, that horrified face you make when you taste your own cooking, the fact that your bras somehow manage to hang from the top of the fridge and finding heels in the freezer, that stupid face you make everytime I suggest cleaning the apartment, when you curse under your breath in Russian and you think I can't hear, the fact that you hate the toothpaste I buy, when you want attention and you'll do anything to get it, those little ballet moves you subconsciously do when you actually get cleaning --"

Natalia shut him up quickly by lifting up on tiptoes and briefly brushing her lips over his. She leaned against him, using his arms for support as she stayed balancing on her toes. "Love me," she whispered.

"How much?" James asked without hesitation.

"Completely," she said, silently daring him to deny her.

///////////////

"I see the two of you have ironed things out," Ana commented when James joined them at breakfast in the courtyard.

"At least you didn't have to hear them ironing until three in the morning," Maria grumbled, snapping her toast in half.

James hid his face behind a mug while Natalia pretended like she hadn't just choked on her coffee.

"I only got back with Howard at one," Natalia said, turning her nose up, "your husband is to blame for how late it was."

"Oh?" Maria said, raising an eyebrow. "Am I to assume that the two of you wouldn't have been slamming the ironing board against the wall if Howard had come home earlier?"

"We would've done it in our own apartment," James muttered.

Anthony cleared his throat. "Can we please not discuss your sex life in front of my oats?"

"Sorry, darling," Natalia said, "but this is all on your mother."

"Tallie!"

"What? You started with me!"

James laughed softly and pulled her closer, chair and all, to kiss her cheek. "You're so childish, doll."

Anthony rolled his eyes. "You watch too many old movies, Uncle Jamie. Who even calls other people 'doll' anymore?"

"Why not?" James asked, grinning.

"It sounds so . . . blergh. Like I just imagine one of those porcelain creeps with Aunt Tal's face on them. Eugh."

"Anthony Edward Stark, did you just subtly call me ugly?"

"What? No!"

"Besides," James said, "I've barely seen any movies, let alone old ones."

"No, I don't mean old black-and-white stuff. I mean like, movies set in like really old times. Like that stupid World War 2 romance movie where that soldier got drafted and in all his letters home, he called that girl 'doll' and then when he got back, he realised he forgot her name. . ."

While Anthony rambled on about the movie that truthfully sounded like she would have seen it, Peggy's mind drifted. There was something nagging her. She just couldn't put her finger on it. It bugged her the entire day, as well as the next.

///////////////

"Jamie! Hello, love!"

"Evening, Peggy," James said, leaving Ana to greet Peggy. "All good?"

"Yes, why?"

"You're . . . bouncing. You never bounce. Uh, is Natalia back yet?"

Peggy's eyebrows lifted, as if she'd just realised something. "No! They're still out. Howard's got something big going on at work these days so he spends a lot of time there. Anyway, come with me. I've got something I want to ask you."

"No problem," James said, offering Pegyy his arm.

"Why, thank you, Sergeant Barnes."

She hadn't called him that since the day they'd met in the hospital and James had almost forgotten he reminded Peggy of someone in her past. Still, he didn't call attention to it. People made mistakes all the time.

Peggy walked until they were in Howard's study where she was sure they wouldn't be disturbed. "Jamie, I want to know a few things from you."

"Uh, sure. What's up?"

"What's your full name?"

James laughed slightly, grinning until he realised Peggy was serious. "James Buchanan Barnes. Why?"

"What is the name of the person you know best and what is the name of the person who knows the most about you?"

"Oh, that's easy, they're both Natalia."

"Jamie, do you even know your birthday?"

"Yeah. It's tenth March."

Peggy stepped closer to James. "What year?" she asked softly. "In what year were you born?"

"Peg, what's going on with you?"

"You don't know, do you?"

"Of course I know! It's nineteen--! Uh. . ."

Peggy stared at James for a second. "Seventeen. You were born in 1917, Jamie. You served in the war. You died in the war. Your best friend was Steve Rogers. You had three little sisters and you all lived with your parents. You and your family was all Steve had. You . . . you were my best friend too."

James stared at Peggy. "You're joking. You're making it up."

"Why would I make this up, Jamie? Do you really think I'm that desperate to have something to hold on to from some of the best days in my life?"

"Peg . . . it doesn't make sense. Look at you! Look at me! I don't look anything near your age!"

"I don't know how it happened, Jamie, but I know that once upon a time, you used to be Bucky Barnes. You used to braid my hair, you used to make the best tea I ever had, you used to always say that you'd bring me home so the girls could meet their older sister, you said we would all make it out of the war, you said you would help Howard with that stupid car, you said you were gonna get me married to Steve, you said so many things and then you went and DIED!"

James just managed to dodge Peggy's left hook.

"Peggy Carter, what is wrong with you?!"

"You promised you'd help us win the war and we had to do it without you!"

"That wasn't me, Peggy!"

"Bullshit, Barnes! What's stopping you from remembering me?"

James's jaw dropped. "My memory is the biggest problem you have with this theory of yours?! If I'm really your best friend, I should be looking like you!"

"Theory?!" Peggy cried, "I know you're Bucky and I pray that it's not too late when you remember!"

///////////////

Peggy's outburst sat on James's mind for days.

"What's on your mind, darling?" Natalia asked one afternoon, leaning over James's shoulder to steal a few fries.

"Nothing, doll," James lied, smiling and snatching one of the fries from her hand with his mouth. "Stop stealing my food."

Natalia rolled her eyes and grabbed two more before sitting across James. "Don't lie to me, darling, you're not that good at it."

James debated lying again, but decided she was right. Once she'd looked past the Winter Soldier, she stopped being blind to all his little lies too. Not that the reverse wasn't true.

"Hydra wants you."

Natalia froze with her hand over the fries. "What?"

"Hydra wants me to recruit you."

"You can't recruit me. I'm Red Room!"

"Try telling that to Karpov. He's a bitch when he wants to be."

Natalia rolled her eyes. "Maybe he and Barkova are siblings."

"Barkova?"

"Madame B, her name is Vladimira Barkova. Didn't you know?"

"No. Should I have?"

Natalia shrugged. "Maybe not. Anyway, how would Hydra even manage that? Madame B doesn't let her students and agents go that easy."

"Well, Karpov never explained that bit, but I'm pretty sure he's not talking about getting Madame's permission for this."

Natalia pulled her hand back and slumped into a normal seated position in her chair. "Hydra wants me to ditch the Red Room," she said, "as if I were trying to escape."

James nodded. "I believe so. There are numerous ways we could do that and I'm sure you've run through them all already, knowing that none would work but. . ."

"James, are you actually considering this?"

"Yes, Natalia. I am. Because I don't want to spend the rest of my life running, looking over my shoulder. I don't want that for me and I sure as hell don't want it for you. Do you think things have gotten better because we know about each other? No! It's probably gotten worse! Because when this is over, Hydra's going to take me back and wipe my memory. I won't remember you. I won't be able to miss you. And worst of all, I'll hate you all over again! I won't remember loving you! And you! You won't get that luxury. You'll have to see me hating you while remembering a time when I loved you! Knowing you, you'd stand your ground and you'd let me shoot you! Because I know me, and I know I'd rather die trying to save you than fight you to survive. If we do this," James had stood up and now leaned on the table, palms on either side of his forgotten food, "there is a chance that won't happen. There's a chance at a life for us. We'd be partners. We'd be together. Hydra isn't saving us, but it would protect you from the Red Room."

Natalia blinked very slowly. "I can't kill Howard," she whispered, "I can't do that to them."

"You don't have to do it. You just have to let me."

"I can't -- I can't let you kill Howard. I -- he's my mission!"

"And mine."

Natalia shook her head, trying to find her footing in this whole disaster.

"And one way or another, doll, one of us is going to have to lose this mission."

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#apartment 42 #fanfiction #marvel #90s #au #buckynat #tony stark #peggy carter #bucky barnes #natasha romanoff

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