#but it's either this or i go back to wailing like a war widow so! cope | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

theshipsfirstmate · 3 years

Text

Black Widow Fic: No Time Left to Start Again

Post-BW, between the end and the post-credits. Yelena Belova faces life after The Snap.

No Time Left to Start Again (AO3 - wc: 4983)

She looks down to see her hands disintegrating -- fingers floating away like the wispy tufts of the dandelions that grew in their front yard in Ohio -- and Yelena thinks, Is this a cool way to die?

The question is still on her mind when she comes to, even though she’ll find out later that five years have passed since she started wondering.

She puts the pieces together as fast as she can, even though each one only makes the picture more grim. She learns she was lucky to be in the Widows’ safe house in Istanbul when it happened, even if the rancid smell of the rotted fridge makes her gag and there’s a hole in the ceiling and straight through the floor from a bathtub left running.

She learns that the best estimates say it was half of the population that floated away with her that day, and has now returned just as abruptly. The world wasn't ready for them to go, and it is even less prepared for them to return. Cities are plunged into chaos in an instant, governments and aid organizations just starting to steady themselves after half a decade of desolation get the rug pulled out from them once again.

She learns that her phone still works, even if internet service is shit, thanks to dwindling maintenance and overloaded servers. She learns that the Avengers are fighting a war for the fate of the universe (again), somewhere in upstate New York. And she learns, quickly, where she needs to go next.

“Малышка.”

Melina greets her at the gate with an unexpected softness -- so different than the last time -- and Yelena wonders if the woman has simply spent the last five years alone with her pigs, if they've felt any different than the twenty before. Then, Alexi steps out the door behind her, and she realizes that they have.

“So, neither of you…” Yelena starts to ask as they let her in, though she doesn't really have to. She can see the years on them both, and for a moment, she's a child with a family once again.

My mother is going grey at her temples. My father's glasses are thicker than they used to be.

They both have deeper crinkles at the corners of their eyes and Yelena finds herself hoping that it’s laughter that’s left them there.

“For five years we've been on our own,” Alexi answers, but he can't help himself a little smirk before he continues, “and moss grows fat on a rolling stone.”

He doesn't smell so bad this time, when he wraps her in a bear hug. Mercifully, he's shaved and taken to civilian clothes -- she decides to keep to herself how much she dislikes his new handlebar mustache.

“You did?” Melina guesses, and Yelena nods her agreement into Alexi’s chest before he relents and lets her go.

When she turns back to face the question, she finds herself on the receiving end of a look that feels equal parts discerning and maternal. That too, she remembers from her childhood.

“Are you alright?”

“I seem to be,” Yelena answers, gesturing down to her hands, tangible once more. There won't be an answer that satisfies the woman scientifically, she’ll have to be proof enough. “I don't remember any of it.”

What she truly doesn't expect from Melina is a hug, and it's even more surprising when it’s fiercer and longer than Alexi’s. A beat too long, Yelena realizes slowly. Alexi turns away when she tries to meet his eye, and her stomach turns over with dread.

Something else has happened. Something she doesn't know yet. Something worse.

“The report came over my comms just an hour or so before you got here,” Melina says softly, an arm reaching up to stroke the back of Yelena’s head, just like she did when she was a toddler. “It's over. The Avengers have won.”

There's the sound of splintering wood and both women step back sharply, turning to see Alexi clutching a handful of splinters that used to be the back of a dining room chair. He drops them to the ground and strides back out the door, pointedly not looking at either of them, and Yelena tastes bile in the back of her mouth.

“What else?” She tries and fails to stop herself from asking the question. It comes out on a choked kind of half-breath.

“Tony Stark is dead.” Melina answers, dropping her eyes, an uncharacteristic waver in her voice. “And it's been... harder to confirm, but we are almost certain that Natasha is too.”

In the Red Room, after the treatments, there would be a buzzing in your ears for days, like static from an old radio. Widows in training were known to be disciplined after missing commands, and would do their best to shake it off as quickly as possible, but Yelena sometimes welcomed the fuzzy silences, the chance to try and focus inward, no matter how painful.

This is nothing like that.

This is a heartbreak in a cry, a desperate, wailing sound that builds and builds, cutting through the quiet isolation of the farm compound like a knife. It's only when it gets muffled by Melina wrapping her up in her arms once more, that Yelena realizes she's the one making it.

“Малышка,” her mother whispers again -- my baby -- and Yelena can’t tell if it’s meant for her or not.

They sit around the table again that night, but dinner consists only of vodka and memories and they all try -- and fail -- not to notice the empty chair closest to the windows, the one with the broken back.

“Oh, I hated that blue hair!” Melina admits with a watery chuckle, paging through the photo album when their second bottle is nearly gone. “But she was so good at getting what she wanted.”

“You know, I begged her to dye mine too,” Yelena shares, recalling a long-forgotten memory that means something completely different now. “She said no, that she wouldn't let me be spoiled.”

Alexi interrupts the reverie before she goes too deep, laughter overtaking him as he pokes at Melina’s arm. “I remember the night she did it. You came to bed and you were so fed up, you cried! She made you cry!”

“And I punched you for laughing at me, do you remember that too?” Melina fires back, swatting his hand away.

When she was old enough to realize what had happened to her as a child, Yelena remembers scouring her memories for real moments, signs of genuine affection between the family she hadn’t known enough to question. It was difficult then, to believe any of it had been real. But sometimes now, it's not so hard.

“The only reason I was glad we left when we did, was because I knew I could never have handled her as a teenager,” Melina muses then, but there's little humor left in her voice. Yelena wonders if her face darkens in the same way as her mother’s when they think of that day on the airstrip.

It's quiet for a long moment, but Alexi never stops looking at Melina. Yelena's head is heavy from liquor and tears and she rests it on folded arms as she watches them. (Sometimes, it's not so hard to believe.)

“You didn't want to go,” her father says, low and mournful. “I should have listened.”

“You followed the orders,” her mother answers. “What was the alternative? They would have killed us and taken the girls back if we had made even one misstep.”

None of them had a way out, Yelena thinks, they never had. A super soldier and a Widow, weapons both, with daughters destined to follow in their footsteps. Maybe that's still true. Maybe there is no peace when all you've ever known is war.

But they'd had each other.

“It was real,” she murmurs, as her eyes drift closed. “Natasha said it was real.”

-----

A public memorial for Tony Stark is held on the National Mall. Steve Rogers is consecrated at the Smithsonian, again. But no one seems to know quite what to do about Natasha Romanov. The Black Widow, the female Avenger, the Russian-born assassin, only claimed by America, it seemed, when they wanted to accuse her of treason.

Still, Yelena flies to Washington DC, half-curious and half-desperate to burn off the fog she’s been wandering around in since Melina’s suspicions had been confirmed.

Captain America, the new one, had announced the events on a world-wide broadcast -- making a point to mention Natasha by name, Yelena had noticed -- and so she heads to the museum first, though she's not entirely sure what she hopes to learn. The Avengers have saved the world several times over, but those conflicts are usually reduced to heroic platitudes when it comes to the public, and she expects this to be no different.

She's mostly right, but the exhibit is worth it for a few glimpses of Natasha fighting alongside the Captain, scattered throughout the pictures and video of the Avengers’ years together. That's how she finds herself in a darkened theater, watching a compilation of newsreel footage, broadcasts and shaky cell phone shots, the valiant timeline of Earth’s Mightiest Heroes.

She feels him sit down beside her, catches the glint of metal in the sleeve of his leather jacket before she can even clock his face. Her nerves are instinctively on edge, but if he came for combat, they’d already be in it, so she stays still and quiet, waiting to follow his lead.

“ты сестра?” he asks softly. You're the sister?

Yelena turns to face him, the question and answer on her lips. But the Winter Soldier speaks again before she does.

“She showed me the pictures once. From when you were kids.”

Yelena couldn't count them if she tried, the nights she spent in the Red Room, rubbing a finger along the torn seam of her photo strip, willing the thought that Natasha was out there somewhere, holding the other half, to be enough to comfort her enough to sleep.

She turns away before he can see the tears in her eyes, but it’s no use -- they’re there in her throat when she speaks.

“They didn't even know her.” She nods back to the crowded museum and hopes he can grasp her meaning. There’s no way Natasha can be properly memorialized by government officials, who knew her as little more than a recon file, or the adoring public, who only thought of her when the world was ending.

“She liked it that way.” He means it as a comfort, but still, it makes Yelena flinch.

He notices, and she knows he understands when he tries again. “They were never gonna do her justice.”

The world never would, never could, Yelena thinks. A spy. A sister. A survivor. A lost girl, who fought her whole life for the kind of peace she’d never allow herself. These are not the people who get parades in their honor, holidays in their name.

“I will,” she says, and the stubborn tears win their battle, spilling down her cheeks. “I will do her justice.”

The Winter Soldier nods, with as much of a smile as he seems to allow himself. “I hope you will.”

Then he's gone, back the way he came, and Yelena thinks it's time to leave this city, with its buttoned-up bureaucracy and privatized secrets.

She doesn't care much about the Stark memorial, but skirts around the periphery on her way back to the airfield, catching a glimpse of the enormous photos and expensive-looking displays.

Natasha’s in these too, off to the side or just out of focus. It's starting to wear on her, the way these people seem to barely even notice the Black Widow, how quick they are to disregard one of their greatest heroes because she didn't fly or transform or wield some mystical weapon.

Shouldn’t that have made her even more impressive?

She's standing in front of a tribute to the Battle of New York just beside the bridge, weighing that unanswerable question, hands clenched unconsciously to fists, when Valentina finds her.

“I've been looking for you.” It sounds more like a taunt. I found you.

Yelena scoffs. “Probably a bad idea, if you know anything about me.”

“Oh, babe, believe me. I know plenty,” the woman answers, offering up that ridiculous name, a business card and a tone that's too familiar for Yelena's liking.

She's not to be trusted. That would be clear even to the Red Room’s youngest and most naive recruit. But it's this gleeful performance of espionage, or maybe villainy, that keeps Yelena from writing her off entirely. From the outfit to the attitude, she's either insane or untouchable. Or both.

And then: “So I have some… let's call it interesting information about your sister.”

Yelena clenches her fists tighter, digging her fingernails into her palm. “I don't believe you.”

Valentina seems to anticipate this, and is already reaching into her bag at the answer. She pulls out a thin, soft-bound book, printed with colorful block lettering: Parkside Elementary School, ‘95-’96.

Instantly, Yelena feels like someone's tightening a vice around her ribcage. “No.”

The woman shrugs, with that haughty grin she's already starting to loathe. “See for yourself.”

She flips it open, turning only a few pages to find the first grade classes, and there she is. Six years old. An innocent smile on her face and a fake last name beneath her picture. Orange juice spots on the collar of her shirt -- Melina had scolded her when they brought the photos home.

“How did you get this?” Even if it's a fake, it was done by someone who knows far too much.

“Well, you don't trust me, so I won't bother telling you,” Valentina snaps, taking the book back before she can look for Natasha. “Let’s call it proof that I know a lot of people who have been keeping a lot of secrets.”

Yelena tries to look unimpressed, dropping her shaking hands to her sides when she realizes they're giving her away. “You and me both.”

“Ha! No kidding,” Valentina replies. It's not actually a laugh. “That's exactly why we're gonna work so well together.”

Maybe it's the grief clouding her judgement or residual conditioning left over in her frontal lobe. Maybe it's the unspoken threat to the rest of her family. Or maybe she was just born for this -- a soldier like her father, an assassin like her mother. Whatever it is, Yelena can feel herself agreeing to Valentina’s “offer” before she's even made it explicit.

“We'll start you out small,” the woman assures, but she knows better than to be comforted. “How do you feel about some light arson? There’s some documents and hard drives at a warehouse in Bethesda that need disappearing.”

“Fine,” Yelena answers, ears already buzzing, as a small voice in her head sings along. Fire is the devil's only friend.

-----

When the money from her first job comes in, she buys an old Chevy C/K and drives to Akron, with a useless hope to disappear again. She's lucky enough to find a modest apartment with a kind neighbor who's always happy to dogsit, which becomes a blessing -- Valentina’s demands only increase as the corners of her fake smile tighten.

But it's enough. Enough that when Yelena thinks about home, she can once again think of Ohio.

Not long after, Alexi and Melina keep a promise she’d asked them to make, and return for a few days. She picks them up at the airfield, and drives to the spot she and Fanny found on one of their long walks together -- under the trees that are just starting to blossom with pink flowers.

Alexi lifts the heavy gravestone from the back of the truck and places it at the end of a row, under a tree, where the ground can't be dug up anyway.

“Toughest girls in the world,” Yelena hears him murmur as he runs his hand over the inscription.

Melina hasn't spoken much since they landed. Yelena thought at first that she didn't want to come back, but when she closes her eyes and takes in a deep, shuddering breath as they stand facing the grave marker, she understands that it isn't that at all.

“Big girl,” her mother begins with an uncharacteristic, watery softness, and Yelena is transported back to another lifetime once again. “I’m so sorry...”

There might be more to say, but the long, mournful silence is broken by the sound of another car pulling up. All three of them go on alert, until Yelena spots a familiar flash of metal from the driver's side.

“не волнуйся,” she says, still stepping defensively in front of her mother. “It’s OK.”

The Winter Soldier -- Sergeant Barnes, she reminds herself -- parks and exits quickly, moving to the rear of the car to help an elderly man step out and straighten himself.

He isn't what Yelena expected, but once he's at full posture, it's impossible not to recognize him. He's the man from the news, the internet, all the posters — give or take a few decades.

“Captain America.” Under normal circumstances, she might chuckle at Alexi’s awed whisper.

“Forgive us for interrupting,” the Captain says by way of a greeting. He sounds like him, too, so it must be true. “And, in advance, for not explaining. I just… I thought both of her families should be here.”

“If that's OK,” Barnes adds with a look, first at Captain Rogers, then back at the family.

Yelena nods her acceptance, but feels her heart sink a little when Melina turns back silently to face the gravestone. Only Alexi steps forward, extending his arm, first to the captain, then to his comrade.

“Alexi Shostakov,” he offers. “You probably don’t…”

“The Red Guardian,” Captain Rogers interrupts, and Yelena tries not to let her eyes go wide as they shake hands proudly. “The Soviet super soldier. Of course I know who you are.”

Alexi puffs his chest up for just a moment, and gives himself a pleased nod, before returning to Melina’s side. It's proof of his grief, Yelena thinks, that that's the end of it.

Then it's her turn. “You must be Yelena.”

“Captain.” She nods once and then twice, looking past him. “Sergeant.”

“Buck mentioned you two had run into each other in Washington,” the older man says with a well-worn, knowing smile.

“I would say we're glad to have you,” she offers as a reply, “but now I'm mostly worried that I'm not covering my tracks as well as I should.”

“Don't worry about that,” Captain Rogers replies, with a shake of his head. “I had to call in multiple favors to find you. Big ones, too.”

“Well then,” she sighs, “I guess I should say I'm sorry you went through all that trouble.”

Another small smile, and then the captain steps closer, lowering his voice almost conspiratorially. It strikes her that, while he's likely still one of the most powerful men in the universe, there's nothing about him that feels threatening to her.

“I don't know if you've noticed,” he tells her, “but I'm getting up there in years. Why don't you save us both a lot of time from now on, and only bother saying what you mean.”

He means it as a kindness, Yelena can tell, but there's only one question she wants to ask, and it's screaming in her mind like a klaxon horn.

“Will you...” she begins, stopping to swallow when her throat turns to sandpaper. “Will you tell us what happened?”

“Yelena,” Melina says sharply, and she almost takes it back. But she knows the curiosity will eat her from the inside out if she doesn't take the chance now, when it's literally right in front of her.

“No, I want to know,” she tells her mother before turning back and steeling herself once again. “I want the truth.”

Captain Rogers purses his lips and tilts his head, like he's seeing something different in her now.

“You really are her sister, aren't you?” he muses.

She scoffs, almost reflexively. “There's no family resemblance, if that's what you mean.”

“Isn't there?” She hears Alexi chuckle softly behind her and makes a mental note to elbow him in the ribs later. One super soldier at a time.

“Please,” she asks again, and the twinkle leaves Captain Rogers' eye as he nods solemnly.

“Natasha sacrificed herself to retrieve the last of the Infinity Stones.” Yelena only understands part of that sentence, and she's not sure if it's the important part.

“The stones were the key to bringing everyone back, to defeating Thanos once and for all,” he explains. “We made a plan, as a team. We each had our assignments, but we didn't know the cost.”

The cost, it's evident now, had been Natasha, and it grates again at Yelena that all the other Avengers had returned from this mission for their final battle, while her sister’s sacrifice had merely been part of the unknowable set up.

But Captain Rogers continues, and she finds consolation in the fact that at least he doesn't take Natasha's death lightly, not in the slightest.

“I went back, after,” he reveals, sounding close to tears. “I tried-- I tried like hell to get her back. I never should have let her go.”

“You wouldn't have been able to stop her.” Melina’s voice comes out of nowhere; even she seems surprised to have spoken. But they all nod at the truth.

“Clint said he-- she wouldn't let him go in her place,” Rogers adds. He’s turning something over in his hands, but when Yelena looks closer, it seems to be just a simple pack of bubble gum. “She was just too…”

His eyes, cast towards the sky, return to their group, and he speaks first to Alexi, and then to Melina. Yelena reaches out for her mother's hand, and it's taken with a fierce squeeze.

“I'm not sure I ever really understood her until now,” the Captain says. “I thought her strength, her heart, who she was, was in spite of what she'd been through. But I know now, it was because of it.”

Yelena’s eyes have blurred with tears, but she can see him turn to her next. “We fought that war for her,” he adds. “And I think she fought it for you.”

It's the eulogy Natasha deserves, the one none of them could have hoped to give, and it feels both fitting and unfathomable that it comes from Captain America, of all people.

They sit in it for a moment, each thinking of Natasha in their own way, until the silence is broken by two people speaking in unison -- perhaps the two that understood her best.

“She would have hated this,” Yelena mumbles, only realizing after a moment that Barnes had said the same thing.

A reserved chuckle rumbles through the five of them, and then a deep, forgiving breath. It’s time to go.

But Yelena drops Melina’s hand as the rest of them turn back for the road, suddenly unable to move. She can’t pull her eyes away from the grave, stuck staring at a legacy that makes her feel six years old again, a metaphorical pair of shoes she'll never be able to fill.

When she doesn't hear either car start, she expects maybe Captain Rogers or Alexi, but surprisingly, it's Barnes who returns to her side.

“I haven't… I didn't make a speech or anything,” she admits, gesturing at the stone with her sister’s name and titles, and willing him, once again, to understand the feelings she can’t put into words. “I don't know what to say to her.”

He's quiet for a moment, and when he speaks it's lower than she’s expecting, like he’s drawing the words from somewhere deep. “Nat never shared much with us,” he tells her. “I understood that. It's hard to talk about memories you don't think you deserve to miss.”

Yelena knows she’s felt that too, that kind of arrested nostalgia. And she’s seen it in the Widows she recovered before the snap. It's not a surprise that the Winter Soldier could understand it as well -- what it’s like to be freed from a prison in your own mind, but constantly aware of how easily that door could slam closed on you once again.

“She wouldn't care what you say here,” he continues. “She would care what you do out there.”

Suddenly, Yelena wonders if his heightened senses include a bullshit detector, if he can somehow see the marionette strings Valentina has looped around her conscience.

“I might have lied to you when we met,” she admits, telling him as much of the truth as she can muster. “I'm not sure I know how to do her justice.”

“I think you do,” he answers. “Even if it’s hard. Even if it takes a while.”

She turns to face him, and he’s staring at the gravestone like he can see something more than the paltry words they had paid someone to carve in Natasha’s memory.

“Nat was haunted by the red in her ledger, but she also thought it was what made her a good Avenger. She thought it made her fearless, unbreakable.” Yelena looks down and watches the metal of Barnes’ bionic hand curl into a fist, and then release. “But I'll take a wild guess that she was fearless before that, wasn't she?”

Through the years of mind control and conditioning, Yelena has never forgotten the feeling of Natasha’s arm wrapped around her back on that airstrip in Cuba, screaming and threatening men twice her size to try and keep them both safe.

“You may not know what to do now. You might feel like the things you've done, or the things you want to do, have set your future in stone,” Barnes continues, cutting through the haze of her memories.

“But there's gonna be a moment, maybe in the future, maybe soon, when you're faced with a choice. And in that moment, if you choose to be the person she thought you could be, that'll do her justice.”

Yelena looks up and Barnes’ eyes are there to meet now. Whatever he knows, it’s enough.

“Thank you for coming,” she tells him. “Truly. And thank you for bringing the Captain.”

“Couldn't keep him away,” the man admits, with his little half-smile. “The two of them...I think that was as close as they let themselves get to anybody. I know he’ll always blame himself, but I hope this helped.”

Yelena nods her goodbye, thinking idly, mournfully, about the way Natasha never gave any thought to her future -- wondering if that’s something she and her teammates had shared. But as Barnes returns to his car, the back window rolls down and Captain Rogers flags her down with something dark and folded in his hand.

“I found this with her things on the quinjet,” he says as she approaches the window, and her throat is tightening with new tears before he can finish, before she can even reach out to touch the familiar fabric. “Thought maybe you might want it. It’s pretty nice, it’s got a lot of pockets.”

-----

When she returns Melina and Alexi to the airfield a few days later, it's the most Yelena has felt like a real person in a long time, maybe the whole of her adult life.

“You’ll come to visit, yes?” Alexi asks, but his raised eyebrow tells her it's more of an order than a request.

“I will.”

“Come for Christmas!” he booms as he climbs out of the truck. “I will tell Santa Claus where to find you.”

Melina doesn't follow him out the passenger door right away, turning back to face her and looking for all the world like a typical worrisome mother.

“Yelena…”

“мама, I'll be fine,” she promises, trying not to hear how hollow it sounds.

“I know you will. But please, watch out for yourself.” Yelena’s stomach knots at the memory of Melina telling Natasha the very same. That was the last time they were all together, she recalls. It always will be.

“And if you need us,” Melina adds, “just come home, where it’s safe. OK?”

It's something about the way she says it that steals Yelena's planned reply from her lips. She doesn't want to lie, not now.

So she ducks forward, pressing her head against her mother’s and willing them both a little bit of peace.

“You are the best of us. Strong like your father, smart like your mama,” Melina whispers. “And like Natasha, through everything, you’ve kept your heart.”

Yelena pulls back then, swiping at her eyes, unable to stop herself from asking. “You don’t think that’s a weakness?”

“Maybe, at one time,” Melina admits. “But now, I think it’s lucky. Because now, you have a place to carry her.”

She can do that, at least, Yelena promises herself, reaching down to tug instinctively at the hem of her vest. Natasha died for them, and so she can live for her. She can do her justice.

“Stay safe, Малышка,” Melina says again, kissing her on the cheek before climbing out and following Alexi towards the runway. They two of them turn back to wave before boarding their jet, and Yelena’s heart knocks in her chest to remind her. That’s my family.

She puts the truck in gear and is pulling out to the main road, brushing away a few stray tears, when she notices it. A cassette, half-ejected from her ancient tape deck, with a Post-it stuck to the end.

She peels off the note and grins at the mismatched handwriting -- “Love, Mom. And Dad,” both in Cyrillic -- before pressing the tape in and starting to sing along.

“A long, long time ago, I can still remember how that music used to make me smile…”

#first mate fic #black widow fic #yelena belova #yelena belova fic #black widow spoilers #black widow #natasha romanoff #romanogers (if you squint)#post-bw

34 notes · View notes

neoptolemid · 3 years

Text

Neoptolemus super doc ? ??

ARE WE ABSOLUTELY SURE,, , ,, ,

uh okay, I pull together my super document of Pyrrhus, have pardon cause it's a bit old and i'm gonna spread it through like 3 or 4 posts probably , , so uh enjoy and I'm sorry for all grammatical errors

Skyros

Pyrrhus was born by the name Pyrrhus and this was based either on his red hair or due to Achilles name of Skyros being Pyrrha.

When it comes to appearances I generally describe him as a good mix of both Deidamia and Achilles’ traits, having inherited Deidamia’s red hair and Achilles Blue/teal eyes. He is around the middle of both of his parent’s height as I make Achilles 6’0 and Deidamia 5’3 when full grown, Pyrhhus rounds out to be 5’6. He also has a number of beauty marks which are similar to Achilles’.

It is unknown how long Achilles stayed on Skyros or when Pyrrhus was born. Either way Achilles did know about his son, we know this from the fact Achilles makes references to his son within the Iliad and Odyssey.

I like to believe that part of Pyrrhus growing up with his mother and aunts is that he has a lot of appreciation for women’s crafts and what they do. That he as a younger child would simply sit and be by his mother and/or aunts as they worked enjoying their company.

He would try his best growing up to join into their songs and dances, and at least once dressed himself in girls clothes to show his mother and aunts which got a good laugh out of them.

From Quintus ‘Fall of Troy’ we are informed that learning to fight and it was Odysseus and Diomedes who came with their black sails to ask him to join the war cause. He was promised to marry Menelaus’s daughter Hermione, he was also promised to have Achilles’ armor and gold, riches, and glory for coming with them.

While work will generally age him to being a young man or simply portray him to be very well spoken, if you follow along with the time line it is very possible that Pyrrhus is only 11 or 12 when he leaves Skyros, I tend to write him as being 13 for my own comfort.

Another thing to note form Quintus’s piece on Pyrrhus is they depict this being especially sad for Deidamia, she is written as having weeped and weeped. She doesn’t want him to leave because she doesn’t want him going to war and leaving her. She doesn’t want him hurt and she doesn’t want another person she loves leaving her again.

Deidamia Pyrrhus’s mother is written as loving him and I interpret bits of this story as Pyrrhus is the only tie to Achilles she has. Generally I prefer the idea that Deidamia did care for Achilles and so it did break her heart that he left and she had hoped that he would return eventually to her and their son.

Over the years she understood more and more that he would not return, so all she had was her son, and then eventually they come and take him from her as well.

Mattering on the version of the story, it is fully possible that Deidamia may have never seen her son again once he left the island.

Dawn climbed the wide-arched heaven, straightway they rose from their beds. Then Deidameia knew; and on her son's broad breast she cast herself, and bitterly wailed: her cry thrilled through the air, as when a cow loud-lowing mid the hills seeks through the glens her calf, and all around Echo long ridges of the mountain-steep; so on all sides from dim recesses rang the hall; and in her misery she cried: "Child, wherefore is thy soul now on the wing to follow strangers unto Ilium the fount of tears, where perish many in fight, yea, cunning men in war and battle grim? And thou art but a youth, and hast not learnt the ways of war, which save men in the day of peril. Hearken thou to me, abide here in thine home, lest evil tidings come from Troy unto my ears, that thou in fight hast perished; for mine heart saith, never thou hitherward shalt from battle-toil return. Not even thy sire escaped the doom of death -- he, mightier than thou, mightier than all heroes on earth, yea, and a Goddess' son -- but was in battle slain, all through the wiles and crafty counsels of these very men who now to woeful war be kindling thee. Therefore mine heart is full of shuddering fear lest, son, my lot should be to live bereaved of thee, and to endure dishonour and pain, for never heavier blow on woman falls than when her lord hath perished, and her sons die also, and her house is left to her desolate. Straightway evil men remove her landmarks, yea, and rob her of her all, setting the right at naught. There is no lot more woeful and more helpless than is hers who is left a widow in a desolate home."

Lemnos

Pyrrhus agrees to go with them and on the way they stop by the island of Lemnos to get Philoctetes. Odysseus makes Neoptolemus lie to Philoctetes because he knows that he hates Odysseus because he is the man who abandoned him on Lemnos and he knows that Philoctetes doesn’t want to go to Troy but back to Greece and to his home.

This causes a Pyrrhus strife because he has been taught to be noble up until now, in the play Philoctetes by Sophocles we are shown multiple times how this causes him strife because he is having to lie. Philoctetes also considers Pyrrhus to be a friend because Pyrrhus lies and says that he wants to go back home to Skyros because of the way he is treated by the other Greeks even though he hasn’t met any of them yet to our knowledge.

Good lines from this play that I personally characterize him are

‘It would have been better if i had never left scyros. Everything around me oppresses me ..’

‘He’ll (odysseus) claim i’m too soft-hearted’

‘I can’t. It is right and in our interest to listen to those in authority’

Some of the best development to see from this is how he was raised to be noble and how he doesn’t want to trick people or lie, he wants to be honest.

Another thing I find interesting to read from specifically this play is how Pyrrhus is very rarely called by his own name, he is almost always referred to ‘son of achilles’ and also in this play he is often referred to as ‘child’ or ‘boy’.

While none of these things are brought up as an issue in the play I do think it is a detail you can play with, like how it might weigh on an individual to be always referred to by your famous father or how people don’t recognize you by your name but by your father’s.

I think these are things that would weigh on Pyrrhus he wants to live up to his father but it also oppresses him to be referred in such a way. He wants to be like his father but he is still his own individual which he doesn’t feel recognized by as people continually anything but his own name.

To the idea of playing into the fact he is also often called ‘boy’ or ‘child’ These could be names that eventually upset and anger him. He is being dragged into this war like he is old enough to fight, which he is not and yet he is not recognized as such by those around him.

It is a case of a child feeling indignatinge by being called terms which denote being naive, though I like to think there is some justification for his anger because this isn’t just a small thing but he is being taken into a man's world.

In Philoctetes he is referred to by the name Neoptolemus, he was given this name by Phoenix, a man also considered to be a father by Achilles. Phoenix is one of the oldest men in the Trojan war and he is either involved with Pyrrhus coming from the island to Skyros to the war or some time later down the road. He gave him this name because it means ‘new war/warrior’ it is meant to reflect how Achilles himself was a young man when he entered the war.

It is honestly more common to see Pyrrhus referred to as Neoptolemus by the Greeks and Pyrrhus by Roman sources to my knowledge. (i’ll be using Pyrrhus just for simplicity)

Troy

There are a lot of various stories that have to do with the fall of Troy, we have records again from Quintus “Fall of Troy” and the “Aeneid” by Vergil. There are also a number of plays by the three tragedians of Ancient Greece(Sophocles, Euripides, Aeschylus) that have to do with the end of the war and various stories of the aftermath.

While Pyrrhus doesn’t appear in these very often they still help to give more insight to his possible character.

Pyrrhus makes a minor appearance within the play of ‘hecuba’ and is in the background of ‘andromache’, he makes no appearance within this story but he is directly related to things happening in the play.

Back onto the subject of the fall of Troy, he is regarded as the killer of both Astyanax and Priam. These are generally agreed upon details and sometimes Odysseus fills the role of Pyrrhus when the story decides they don’t want to introduce more characters.

He is generally described as being ‘battle-eager’ ‘Fierce-hearted’ and a few other epithets relating to fighting. In general he is not described as being worse than anyone else. The fall of Troy is a greek work and all the Greeks within this work are killing and fighting people. He is by all means a competent fighter within the text.

In the Odyssey when Odysseus goes into the underworld and speaks with the dead, and when Achilles comes to speak he asks about his son.

Odysseus describes him as

‘but I can tell you all about your son Neoptolemus, for I took him in my own ship from Scyros with the Achaeans. In our councils of war before Troy he was always first to speak, and his judgement was unerring. Nestor and I were the only two who could surpass him; and when it came to fighting on the plain of Troy, he would never remain with the body of his men, but would dash on far in front, foremost of them all in valour. Many a man did he kill in battle- I cannot name every single one of those whom he slew while fighting on the side of the Argives, but will only say how he killed that valiant hero Eurypylus son of Telephus, who was the handsomest man I ever saw except Memnon; many others also of the Ceteians fell around him by reason of a woman's bribes. Moreover, when all the bravest of the Argives went inside the horse that Epeus had made, and it was left to me to settle when we should either open the door of our ambuscade, or close it, though all the other leaders and chief men among the Danaans were drying their eyes and quaking in every limb, I never once saw him turn pale nor wipe a tear from his cheek; he was all the time urging me to break out from the horse- grasping the handle of his sword and his bronze-shod spear, and breathing fury against the foe. Yet when we had sacked the city of Priam he got his handsome share of the prize money and went on board (such is the fortune of war) without a wound upon him, neither from a thrown spear nor in close combat, for the rage of Mars is a matter of great chance.'

In general from the greek sources he is described as nobly.

He is noted for killing quite a few people during the fall of Troy but his most notable kills are Priam, who he kills within the throne room (to my knowledge) and Astyanax who is killed after Troy has fallen.

In the Aeneid by Vergil he is described in ways that frame him a more villainous or evil way

‘The fatal work inhuman Pyrrhus plies,’

During when Pyrrhus is about to kill Priam there is a line that I believe characterizes him as more of a tragic character than anything else. Before killing Priam, Priam berates him about how Pyrrhus is about to treat Priam because of how Achilles showed him humanity and how Achilles gives Priam his son’s body back. This is partly brung up because Pyrrhus getting into the throne room kills one of Priam’s sons in front of his face.

The line basically translates out to be Pyrrhus telling Priam that when he dies and sees his father to tell him of the terrible deed of his son, of how terrible his son is.

In the translation that I read they use the line ‘Tell him of degenerate Neoptolemus’

When in the context of the Philoctetes I think this paints Pyrrhus as being a rather tragic and sad character, because prior to going to the island of Lemnos Pyrrhus tried to act most noble, he wants to be noble like his father. When on Lemnos he has his morals questioned and is forced to go against his morales at the hand of Odysseus.

I interpret this as him vocalizing how he might be upset with himself as he is forced to look at the reality of war which isn’t noble or glorious at all. He wants to live up to the noble idea of his father and everything he is forced to do makes him feel terrible.

I personally think that Pyrrhus probably doesn’t know a lot about the terrible things that Achilles has done or he tries to ignore them. When fighting in the war he might realize his idea of his father might not truly be acturte, he was raised on stories from his mother telling him of his outstanding father.

In terms of justifying his actions during the war because going off my own headcanon he probably wouldn’t be so interested in killing so many people, I imagine he kinda just turns off his head and acts purely on his emotions and just acts like that of a soldier. (Is this PTSD?)

He follows the orders given to him and acts without questioning and lets all his emotions out. I personally don’t assign Pyrrhus that much pride but I like to think he inherited some of his fathers famous anger. All of his anger at what he is being forced to do comes out when he is forced to fight.

That is where the brutality of his portrayal within the Aeneid comes from.

#super doc sorry #my thoughts #my terrible terrible thoughts of my boy #I am sorry some of these thoughts are kinda old and need to get updated lol #neoptolemus #pyrrhus #the iliad #(I guess)#my super doc of all things

39 notes · View notes

agentrouka-blog · 4 years

Note

I agree that Ned treated his daughters as more "child like" than his sons. Even then he had a scene with Arya, where he warned her of the danger they were in, winter is coming and the pack survives, all that. He bonded with Arya better than with Sansa. Among all his children, Sansa was the most sheltered one. No wonder, she was so naive!

One of my side-theories is that Sansa’s insistent preoccupation with love and songs, her escapism into fiction and her desire to trust in ideals, is related to Ned’s “bastard” son.

She is naturally romantically inclined, and she grew up witnessing her parents sharing a loving relationship. And at some point this happened:

He missed the girls too, even Sansa, who never called him anything but "my half brother" since she was old enough to understand what bastard meant. (AGOT, Jon III)

So Sansa, somewhat sheltered, learned about the meaning of bastard in a way that may have been similarly traumatizing to her as it was to Jon.

That morning he called it first. "I'm Lord of Winterfell!" he cried, as he had a hundred times before. Only this time, this time, Robb had answered, "You can't be Lord of Winterfell, you're bastard-born. My lady mother says you can't ever be the Lord of Winterfell."

I thought I had forgotten that. Jon could taste blood in his mouth, from the blow he'd taken. (ASOS, Jon XII)

Not on the same scale and not for the same reasons, of course.

But the realization that there was a chink in that love, and a very vicious power imbalance between her parents, would have been traumatizing for a Girl who knows her Destiny is to follow in her mother’s footsteps.

THIS is the mindset Cat grew up with:

Many men fathered bastards. Catelyn had grown up with that knowledge. It came as no surprise to her, in the first year of her marriage, to learn that Ned had fathered a child on some girl chance met on campaign. He had a man's needs, after all, and they had spent that year apart, Ned off at war in the south while she remained safe in her father's castle at Riverrun. Her thoughts were more of Robb, the infant at her breast, than of the husband she scarcely knew. He was welcome to whatever solace he might find between battles. And if his seed quickened, she expected he would see to the child's needs. (…) She had come to love her husband with all her heart, but she had never found it in her to love Jon. She might have overlooked a dozen bastards for Ned's sake, so long as they were out of sight. (AGOT, Catelyn II)

The mindset of duty, of sexism, of pragmatism. It is an ugly mindset for romance. There is a contradiction there that cannot be resolved between them because Ned never gives Catelyn a resolution on Jon. He refuses to share information and he refuses to spare her the sight of the son of the “woman he loved” and apparently cannot let go of. So his mother remains and shadow and Jon remains a thorn in her side. Catelyn can not do anything about it. Ned has all the power. This power Imbalance, and Ned’s willingness to take Advantage of it, is anathema to romance. Cat blocks it out, most of the time, because it is how she was taught to live.

But the expectation of infidelity and pragmatism is not the marriage Sansa and Arya witness, the idea of marriage they are shown by their parents.

He looked at her uncomfortably. “My aunt Allyria says Lady Ashara and your Father fell in love at Harrenhal—” “That’s not so. He loved my lady mother.” “I’m sure he did, my lady, but—” “She was the only one he loved.” “He must have found that bastard under a cabbage leaf, then,” Gendry said behind them. Arya wished she had another crabapple to bounce off his face. “My father had honor,” she said angrily. “And we weren’t talking to you anyway. Why don’t you go back to Stoney Sept and ring that girl’s stupid bells?” (ASOS, Arya VIII)

Arya deflects, she cannot resolve the contradiction there, either. Because it shadowed the marriage of their parents.

So, Sansa - and this is another beautifully wrought example of trauma shared in the family and wreaking havoc on everyone - grows up with the necessity of accepting and blocking out contradictions. Her father is a good man, so his absolute power and his use of it cannot a bad thing. But Jon clearly causes her mother emotional pain, so this contradiction must be blocked out. Arya does the same, never ever having dwelled on where Jon came from, while still deeply aware of how bastardy is a bad thing.

When Arya had been little, she had been afraid that meant that she was a bastard too. It had been Jon she had gone to in her fear, and Jon who had reassured her. (AGOT, Arya I)

“Half-brother”, Sansa will always insist on calling Jon, never bastard and never full brother, a compromise, but that is the extent of what we see on that subject. There is zero textual evidence of any animosity between them.

And yet we have Sansa dreaming of romance, of Jonquil and Florian, of Aemon and Naerys, of knightly valor, of true knights.

She pulled a chair close to the hearth, took down one of her favorite books, and lost herself in the stories of Florian and Jonquil, of Lady Shella and the Rainbow Knight, of valiant Prince Aemon and his doomed love for his brother's queen. (AGOT, Sansa IV)

This is her coping mechanism with trauma.

Learning about the power imbalance between men and women, between her parents, about her potential future of having to bear humiliations and infidelity from her husband with no recourse, that may well be one of the roots of her “head in the clouds” insistence on romance and songs. It may be one of the roots of her somewhat distant relationship with Ned, too.

If her life is a song, then her future husband will be a source of truth and of love without abusing the power he is legally bestowed on her.

Of course, starting in his first chapter, Ned proceeds to arrange the opposite for her:

"Gods, Catelyn, Sansa is only eleven," Ned said. "And Joffrey … Joffrey is …" (…) "Sansa must wed Joffrey, that is clear now, we must give them no grounds to suspect our devotion.” (AGOT, Catelyn II)

He outright hands her over to a family he distrusts, to a future husband he knows is not kind, for pragmatic reasons. He uses his absolute power over her in a very careless way.

I think it is pretty reasonable to assume that Arya’s rejection of the entire Concept may be rooted in the exact same traumatic realization. Unlike Sansa, her Coping mechanism is to back away from the female social role altogether. Ned is equally unhelpful with that until he at last grants her lessons with Syrio Forel. He never has the Chance to make up for his mistakes with Sansa.

Ned and Cat’s marriage, and Sansa and Arya’s reaction to the visible power imbalance is such a big aspect of GRRM’s feminist message in the books. Jon unlearning at least parts of his sexism, his relationship with Arya, his respect for different facets of feminine power, his appreciation of soft power and his failure as an “absolute monarch” when he “kills the boy” as Lord Commander at the Watch, as well as Sansa’s journey examining the feminine social role and power abuse in general, all of that is a dismantling of the Hero and the Lady in oldschool romances. Deconstructing and reconstructing.

They are all being reforged, like Ice, pared down. Oathkeeper goes to Brienne, the true Knight. Widow’s Wail stays behind.

#asoiaf #sansa stark #eddard stark #sexism #parenting #jon snow #arya stark #Family therapy would have been a great idea #catelyn stark

231 notes · View notes

css1992 · 3 years

Note

I absolutely love all of your stories and was hoping to give you a prompt! I haven’t seen you write Tony or Peter as superheroes, but I would love a story where the team goes on a mission that goes wrong and they think Peter is dead. A few months pass, and Spider-Man pops up in a different color costume next to a big baddie (Quentin? Rumlow? Whoever it is def has a crush or Peter lmao). If you can’t write the prompt, no worries.❤️

(...)

“Thank you so much for taking my prompt omgggg! To answer your question, Spider-Man pops up as a baddie, and he works with/for another baddie”

You’re too sweet and kind, my dear, thank you so much! I’m so sorry this took so long, something happened in my personal life and I was too heartbroken for love stories for a while there hahaha Everything’s fine now. I hope you’re still out there to read this and I really hope you enjoy it! <3

[*]

This takes place a few years after Civil War. A few details were changed – Peter was recruited at 18, while attending MIT; Endgame never happened, they defeated Thanos in Titan; Tony and Pepper never got back together after their break-up somewhere between IM3 and CACW.

TW: Mentions of blood, alcoholism, grief and death. I guess that’s it, let me know if you find anything else triggering!

[*]

“It’s him.” Tony stood there paralyzed, staring at the hologram projected from Nat’s phone, heart pounding, ears ringing. “It’s him,” he repeated, running his hands through his hair, trying to get a hold of himself, trying to make sense of what was happening, of what he was seeing. It was too surreal – impossible! – he had to be hallucinating. Right? Maybe dreaming? Had he drunk himself into a stupor again? Had he finally gone mad?

It was a regular day, Tony had been down in the lab for an unknown number of hours when Friday announced Steve, Nat and Bruce were at the door, which was unusual. Usually, they’d visit one at a time, an unspoken agreement not to overwhelm the engineer, but that particular day they all marched into his house saying that he needed to see something. He was too exhausted to tell them to fuck off, so he just poured himself a drink and shrugged, gesturing towards the living room.

Nat proceeded to project a video from her StarkPhone and what he saw took away the ground from beneath his feet. He tried to sit down, but he didn’t make it to the couch, his legs were not responding, he fell on his butt in the middle of the living room. The blood felt like ice in his veins, his throat was closing up, his eyes were burning and his hands were shaking so fucking badly. He was boneless and petrified all of a sudden, as he watched him swing from building to building on his webs, a black and white blur.

Peter.

He felt Steve and Bruce on either side of him, trying to help him up, but he didn’t take his eyes off of the projection. It was him. My Peter, you’re back, you came back to me, you’re okay, you’re alive–

“Tony, it’s not him.” Steve’s voice brought him back to the real world, and he looked around. Natasha and Bruce both stared at him with worry in their eyes, like they agreed with Steve.

“What, are you fucking insane? Of course it’s him!” His voice was firm, angry, even though his hand was shaking when he pointed at the hologram, to the short video that kept replaying on a loop.

“Tony, he robbed a bank. He put civilians at risk. How could you think this is Peter? Are you insane? Don’t you know him? Look, we had to show you this because it’s going to be all over the news soon and whoever this is, they’re trying to tarnish Peter’s memory and we can’t allow it, but this – this isn’t him, Tony. I’m sorry.”

The older man stopped for a second, taking a deep breath. Was he going insane? Was he seeing things, was his mind playing tricks on him again? It wouldn’t be the first time in the last few months. He focused on the images. The bank’s alarm was sounding loudly, as people started running wildly out the front door. Seconds later, someone wearing a cape and a – helmet? Fish bowl? – on their head walked out, then finally him.

Not him, Steve said, but how could it be anyone else, when Tony could clearly see it was Peter gracefully swinging around on the webs. Not him, Steve said, but how could it not be him when Tony recognized every inch of his body? The long neck, the narrow, yet strong shoulders, thin waist, round ass, strong thighs, small feet, long hands and thin, wiry arms. How could it not be him when Tony could recognize the way he moved, the way he leaped and landed effortlessly, the grace with which he swung back and forth?

“It’s him, Steve.” Even as the words left his mouth, his eyes were fixed on the boy in the video. The suit looked a lot like the one Tony made for him, but it was slightly different. Black, instead of blue. White, instead of red. But it was him. Alive and breathing. “It’s Peter, I know it is.”

***

It was supposed to be an easy mission. Even though it called for every Avenger in town, it was just a security measure, Steve told them. They intercepted a terrorist group communicating online, planning a coordinated attack on Stark Tower, the Avengers Compound and Times Square. They were professionals, but only human. They thought they’d be enough: Captain America, Black Widow, Iron Man, Spiderman, Winter Soldier and even the Hulk as a safety net.

In a way, they were sufficient. They were able to avoid the attack and arrest almost every single one of the terrorists that weren’t killed during the mission. But the cost was high – way too fucking high.

Peter.

Tony knew what happened the exact moment when it did. He knew there was no saving him when he opened his lips and tried to call out his name and instead of words, blood came out. Thick, dark blood. He saw the life leaving his eyes when he looked at him one last time, eyelids drooping and then closing. There was no saving him, Tony knew that, and yet he tried. He flew as fast as the suit would allow him, even though he had no idea what he would have done if he had reached him in time. Which he didn’t.

Peter disappeared before his eyes, along with the man who had put a knife through his heart. And not just any knife, not any metal would have been able to pierce the suit. It had to be vibranium. Whoever that man was, he knew that, maybe he had Peter in mind all along. The only thing Tony remembered about him were his wide, blue eyes. Cold and wild. The sadistic smile when he heard Tony’s wail of despair. Tony thought he knew him somehow, but couldn’t be sure.

They just disappeared. One second, they were there, right within his reach, the next, they were gone. He’d lost him. The person he’d sworn to protect at all costs, at the cost of his own damned life, but he was useless the moment Peter needed him the most. Gone. Disappeared before his eyes, Tony couldn’t even bring his body home.

He remembered crumbling to the ground, broken and unbelieving, staring at the empty space where Peter once stood.

“Tony...” Steve crouched down next to him, looking pained and devastated, and the older man broke down.

“I lost the kid, Steve. I lost him.”

He didn’t remember a lot of that day, he’d passed out drunk in his room for the first time in ten years, woke up hours later in the med bay with Steve, Rhodey and Pepper speaking in hushed voices. He didn’t care what they were saying, because the first thought he had when he opened his eyes was that he’d lost the love of his life. His Peter.

***

“Boss, I was able to acquire the footage from the bank’s security cameras.” Friday’s voice brought him back to the present and they all jumped up, all eyes turning to the huge screen facing the couch.

“Good girl, play it,” he answered quickly, taking a seat because he knew he would need it.

It started with a normal day in a bank, people walking around, standing in line, talking to each other, nothing out of the ordinary. Then the guy they’d seen leaving the bank in the other video – Fish-bowl-guy – appeared out of nowhere, levitating above the patrons, slowly floating down.

“My fellow citizens, do not fret, I mean you no harm.” Of course, New Yorkers wouldn’t take his word for it, not after everything they had gone through over the course of the last decade. People started screaming and running, trying to get to the exit, but Peter stood there by the door. When they tried to push through him, he webbed some of them to the walls and the others froze, slowly stepping away from him. “This will all be over soon, I promise.”

Fish-bowl-guy demanded the tellers filled bags with money from their drawers as Peter guarded the exit. He didn’t say anything and it was driving Tony crazy, because he was dying to hear him. Both because he wanted Friday to run the audio through a voice recognition software to prove once and for all that it was him, but also because for six months he hadn’t been able to even look at pictures of Peter, let alone hear his voicemails or watch his silly videos. And he had several of them, the younger man sent him at least a video a day – his daily vlogs, he called them – even if they were just in different rooms.

But Peter didn’t say anything, he just stood by the door as Fish-bowl-guy talked to the patrons.

“I know we seem like the bad guys right now, but I promise you, we’re not. We’re the heroes here, really,” He started, overlooking the tellers as they filled the bags with cash. “We’re here to take the city back from those who took it from us. You know what I’m talking about, right?” The man looked at the patrons as if he was expecting an answer, but no one said a word. “Tony Stark and his little army. He took over his daddy’s empire, now he thinks he can just take anything and claim as his own. He’s done it to this city, even if some people haven’t realized it yet. We’re his hostages. He built himself an army and they control this city, the country, even! They fake threats and then come to ‘save us’, they destroy our homes, they kill our loved ones, they don’t care about collateral damage! Some of us have lost everything, because of Tony fucking Stark and his minions. But it will all be over soon, I promise you. I will set you free.”

He took the twelve bags full of money that the tellers placed on the counter and gestured for Peter to come closer and the young man webbed his way to him, until he was standing by his side. That was the moment people started running out of the bank, the moment they saw from another point of view in the other video. As they watched people leaving, Fish-bowl-guy placed an arm around Peter’s shoulders, pulling him close in a very friendly way, it made Tony’s blood boil and his heart sink.

“You’re doing great, honey. You’re doing the right thing. Come on, now.” He stroked his shoulder softly then walked outside, followed closely by Peter and then the video was over.

The room was silent for a few seconds after that as they tried to understand what they’d just seen. Tony didn’t want to read too much into it, Peter was clearly not in his right mind if he was robbing a bank, but still – the guy called him honey. He was… comforting him. And Peter let him.

“We have to find him.” Tony quickly ordered Friday to do a thorough search on the web, check surveillance cameras all over New York, police database, anything that could give them a clue on where they might have escaped to – or where they had come from. The news said they were followed by the police for a few blocks, then they simply disappeared before their eyes. It brought back terrible memories.

“Yes, we do, but not for the reasons you want, Tony.” Bruce frowned, coming to stand next to his friend. “You have to agree this – it’s just not possible. Peter is dead, he would never –“

“Then where’s his body, Bruce? Huh? Can any of you answer me that?” He looked around the room and they all avoided his gaze, as if worried they’d break him if they dared to say what they thought. “He disappeared. Right before my eyes, Bruce. Friday couldn’t connect to Karen, we have no idea what could have happened after that.”

“Tony, his heart was pierced.” It was Natasha’s turn to try. Tony could see it was hard for her too, she had a soft spot for Peter, from the very first time Tony recruited him, when he was still an eighteen year-old kid. “He couldn’t possibly –“

“He was enhanced!” He yelled, annoyed they were all so ready to discard the possibility that the person in the video could be Peter when it very clearly was. “Is! He is enhanced! I was never able to measure just how far his healing factor went, Friday could only estimate with the amount of information we had at the time, but clearly–“

“Tony, listen–“

“No, you listen! You listen to me, okay? That’s my fiance! I’m telling you this, that is the man I love, the man I sworn to protect and then abandoned for six fucking months assuming he was dead, when I didn’t even try to look for him! I just fucking drank my days away when I could be looking for him and now he needs my fucking help! So you can either help me find him, or you can fuck the fuck off, ok?” He was breathless by the time he was done, and they all looked at him like he’d gone insane for good.

“What do you suppose happened?” Steve asked quietly, and Tony frowned. “What do you think could have happened in these past few months that would turn Peter into that?” He pointed at the screen. “If he was alive this whole time, why not look for you?”

“I don’t know, Steve, we’ll have to ask him.” Truth was, Tony was terrified of the answers to those questions. He couldn’t think about it at that moment, he had to find him first. “What happened to Barnes? You of all people –“ He didn’t need to finish the sentence, couldn’t. He sighed and Steve flinched, eyes growing wide as the familiarity of the situation seemed to dawn on him. “Do you think you could’ve mistaken him for someone else? Ever?” Tony’s eyes were burning, but he didn’t shed a tear, he didn’t have time for tears. He needed to find him.

Steve was stunned silent after that, watching Tony with huge, watery eyes.

“Tony, we just don’t want you to get hurt,” Bruce intervened again, approaching him carefully. “We don’t want you to go through the pain of losing him again in case...”

“It’s doesn’t get any worse than this, Bruce,” Tony sighed, because he knew that nothing could hurt more than the thought that he’d failed Peter. That he didn’t try to look for him. That Peter had been held captive by a fucking terrorist organization for six months because he was too drunk to get out of bed and fucking try to look for him. Because he just lost hope and never thought Peter might be out there, waiting for him to come, to save him. “There’s nowhere else to go but up, from where I’m standing.”

Nobody said anything else after that, but later that day he got a message from Steve saying they would find Peter.

***

He was in the hospital for three days after Peter’s death. He was a fifty-year-old man with a shitty heart, after all. He was sedated for most of it, whenever he woke up he was so out of his mind with grief that they put him right back to sleep. When he was finally able to go home, he insisted he was left alone, but to calm Pepper and Rhodey down, he activated Friday’s babysitter protocol. It was Peter’s creation. It would let them know if Tony wasn’t eating well, or if he harmed himself in any way. If he tried to deactivate it, it would notify them immediately.

So he was left alone, at least most of the time. He spent his days in the lab, drinking, working, crying, thinking. The memories came and went unsolicited, specially when Tony was too out of it to control them. Suddenly, he’d be back in the boy’s dorm room in Boston, looking at that ridiculous onesie that he hid in a box of books under his bed, watching him stutter as he tried to explain it was just a cosplay.

“A cosplay of some dude who does stunts on Youtube?” Tony raised a brow, amused, and Peter’s face grew red as he scrunched up his nose and frowned in annoyance.

“He’s not some dude doing stunts, he – he’s helping people!” He argued, taking the “suit” back from Tony’s hands and stuffing it under his tiny bed, before sitting on top of it.

“Sure, if you consider doing back flips for the camera helping people, then Spider-boy is doing great,” Tony shrugged, sticking his hands in his pockets nonchalantly, only to watch him grow even more irritated.

“Man! Spider-man! And I don’t just do back flips, I– He...” He stuttered and Tony took pity on him. His expression softened and he sat next to him on the bed, feeling the tension coming in waves from him as he muttered a quiet “fuck” under his breath.

“Peter, I know. I know. Okay?” He clasped a hand on his shoulder and the young man looked at him with huge, round eyes. Scared. Unsure. “I’ve been watching you for years. Your secret is safe with me. I’m not here to expose you.”

“Then why are you here?” He raised a brow and Tony took a deep breath, trying to organize his thoughts.

“I kinda picked up a fight with Captain America about signing some papers and then he met this friend who was supposed to be dead, like, eighty years ago, but is somehow alive and possibly a mass murderer? Now I need all the help I can get to fix it.” He winced and watched the boy’s face for his reaction, but he just raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

There was silence for a few seconds as Peter looked around the room, then back at Tony.

“So when do we leave?”

That was the thing about Peter. He trusted Tony blindingly, he never asked too many questions before jumping headfirst into whatever the older man proposed him. No matter how crazy, how inconsequential, how inappropriate. So he wasn’t too surprised when the boy said yes when he asked him out.

They had just arrived at the compound after Strange teleported them back from Titan, they hadn’t even showered yet, they were both covered in bruises and blood, but he looked at Peter and couldn’t help but think he could have lost him. They could have died, and he would have died without knowing the answer to the question that had been sitting at the back of his throat for months by then, which was–

“Yes,” Peter nodded, a faint blush taking over his dirty and bruised cheeks, and Tony blinked a few times.

“Don’t you want to think about that for a minute?” He asked, tilting his head to the side, and Peter frowned.

“Um, no? Why?”

“Because you’re twenty and I’m twenty-seven years your senior, kid.” It was terrifying to say that out loud. Peter was twenty. Tony was forty-seven. Twenty-seven years separated them. Tony was full grown man when Peter was swimming around in his father’s testicles.

“You just asked me out, you can’t call me kid anymore, I’m sure that’s written in some rulebook somewhere.” Even though he was still blushing, he found it in himself to be sassy and annoying. Tony rolled his eyes playfully.

“Fair enough. So, should I call you later?” He pointed over his shoulder, signaling that he was going to his quarters to shower and rest for a few hours. Peter frowned.

“For what?”

“For your answer? About that date?” Peter just looked at him like he’d asked the most stupid question ever.

“I just said yes.” He said, raising an eyebrow, and Tony sighed.

“I thought we agreed you’d think harder about it.”

“Uh, no, you just chickened out for a second there, but my answer is still yes.” He shrugged with a playful smile on his lips and Tony gawked at him.

“I didn’t chic – ugh, you’re such a brat.”

“I’m sure brat is off-limits, too.” He winked, walking away towards his quarters.

Tony worried about their relationship – as did everyone else, specially their close friends and May. Peter was so young and, to make matters worse, he sort of worked for Tony. Ever since Germany, the older man paid him a hefty salary for being a part of the team – he was always on call, after all, and always trained at the compound whenever he was in New York.

But as it turned out, his worry was unnecessary. Although young, Peter was mature beyond his years and acted more like an adult than Tony did most of the time – they sort of met in the middle. As for the power imbalance, it actually felt like Peter was in control more often than not. It was subtle, though, Tony only noticed because Rhodey pointed it out once.

“That kid’s got you wrapped around his little finger.” He laughed into his beer bottle as he watched Peter walking away. Tony blinked, having a sip of the tea the younger man had just brought him. Peter was dead set on getting him on a healthier diet and tea was somehow involved. The young man insisted it would help with his sleeping schedule, so Tony just agreed, even though he thought most teas tasted like dirty water. “If he says jump, you ask how high.” Tony was going to argue, but then stopped himself. He tried to think of the last time he’d said no to Peter, the last time he’d denied him anything, but not a single memory came to mind. “I’m not judging, it’s a good look on you. Whipped boyfriend.”

Tony noticed, then, that he was. Whipped, that is. Peter was always telling him what to do – gently, of course, and always with his best interests at heart. And he listened, because, as it soon became apparent, Peter was usually right about most things. Tony was more practical, he was in charge in the lab, what with decades of experience over him, as well as in the battlefield, for the same reason. But when it came to their personal lives, Peter called the shots. And it was fine. It was good. He felt loved and cared for like never before and he loved it. He loved Peter.

But he’d lost him.

And he couldn’t help but feeling guilty. It was his fault, had to be. He was in charge out there. He was supposed to look out for him in the field, he was supposed to keep him safe, bring him home alive and well, but he couldn’t even bring his fucking body back. He had nothing left of him but terrifying memories of cold, dead eyes and bloody lips trying to call out his name.

Days and weeks and months went by, but he barely noticed, barely left the tower anymore. He was vaguely aware of people coming and going – Pepper, to check on him from time to time; Rhodey, trying to get him out of the lab; Steve, with constant reports on what the Avengers were doing, as if he cared; Bruce, with excuses about projects he was working on; and Nat, for unclear reasons. They never asked him to suit up, though, not for anything. Not in a Tom Ford three-piece, not in Mark L. They just let him be. Which was good, it felt good to be forgotten up there in the workshop, which used to be their favorite place in the world.

Over those three years they’d been together, Tony had taken Peter everywhere – and he meant everywhere. A boy who had barely left Queens before he met Tony got to see so may different cities, so many different countries, even if just for one night sometimes, just for dinner, before they had to get back to their hectic lives.

But they always went back to their favorite place, Tony’s workshop, filled with so many memories it sometimes felt like it was haunted by their ghosts. Both of them. Because some part of Tony must have died with him and sometimes, when he got distracted, he saw them. Specially on the floor by the couch, that was too tiny for the two of them and Tony kept saying he was going to buy a bigger one, but for some reason he never did and they always ended up on the fluffy rug on the floor.

“You feel amazing,” Tony whispered as his fingers enveloped Peter’s hips, pulling him down lower, and the younger man moaned quietly and smiled as the words left Tony’s lips. He leaned forwards to kiss him as rocked his hips in a slow, lazy pace. “You are perfect, my love.”

“If you keep feeding my praise kink like that, I’m not gonna last two minutes here.” He laughed quietly against the older man’s lips, who sighed when he felt the boy’s muscles tightening around him.

“I won’t complain too much about it.” He tightened his grip on Peter’s hips when he sat back up and started moving up and down in a way he knew would drive the engineer insane. “You’re gonna kill this old man someday, I swear.”

“I really hope not, I kinda like him a little.”

And their ghosts giggled together and disappeared into thin air, like dust in the wind, and only a half-dead Tony remained with a glass of whiskey in hand, staring at the rug on the floor.

***

Friday was monitoring the press and the internet for any sign of Peter, but there was none to be found. For the first couple of days, Tony was restless, but hopeful. Peter had been missing for six months, there hadn’t been any sign of him for all of that time, so the fact that he appeared out of the blue that day meant that something had changed. He was sure he would show up again at any second.

As days went by, though, his hope started to dwindle. He grew desperate by the hour thinking that he would have to go another six months without seeing Peter, perhaps even longer – perhaps he’d never see him again. Sometimes he wondered if he was wrong, if that wasn’t even Peter in the video, if maybe he was really dead after all, but whenever he watched the video again he was sure of it. It was him.

So he couldn’t help but think that he had to be locked up somewhere. It brought back terrifying memories of those three months he spent in that cave in Afghanistan and how he never really recovered from that – he still had nightmares about it, twelve years later. Peter had been gone for six months, seventeen days, four hours and thirty-three minutes. And counting.

He couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, the only thing he could think about was Peter, and the cave, and Barnes’s sessions with BARF, and Hydra’s brainwashing methods. He drove himself mad with all the possibilities of what could have happened to Peter – what might be happening right at that second as he waited for answers.

He’d been awake for almost sixty-two hours straight when it happened.

“I think you should see this, boss.” Friday’s voice interrupted the loud music and Tony frowned as he raised his eyes from his latest project – a new suit for Peter, one so sophisticated and impenetrable, not even vibranium could pierce through it. Friday wasn’t supposed to interrupt him unless the world was ending or she had news about Peter, Tony was very specific about that, so, yeah, he was a little freaked out when he heard her voice.

She showed him footage of Stark Tower’s security cameras, Tony’s heart almost stopped when he saw the boy sneaking in through a window, along with Fish-bowl-guy.

“He’s here.” He whispered to himself, unable to move for a second. His first instinct was to run to him, but he couldn’t be irresponsible, there were lots of people in the building, he couldn’t predict what could happen, so he had to take a few precautions. “Friday, where’s Pepper?”

“Miss Potts is not in the building, she’s caught in traffic a few miles away, boss.” Tony nodded to himself, taking a deep breath, then he started moving.

“Evacuate the building immediately, but don’t cause a panic, I don’t want them to know I know they’re here. Call Pepper, tell her to stay away. Where are they headed?” As he barked out orders, he watched Peter climb into the vents.

“They seem to be heading to the mainframe, boss.”

“Revoke Peter’s access to the systems,” Tony rushed to the elevator, the mainframe was situated right below his penthouse, it took up the whole floor and there was no way in or out other than the elevators and the air vents.

“Done, boss.”

Tony’s heart was beating wildly in his chest, filled with mixed feelings. He was going to see Peter for the first time in six months, after he literally rose from the dead – he’d gone to his funeral, for Christ’s sake – but it wouldn’t be a heartwarming reunion. He knew Peter wasn’t himself. Something had happened to him and he wasn’t okay, he was worried about what might happen, but the anxiety to see him again in person after so long was stronger than anything else.

He activated Mark L and when the door to the elevator opened, the room was quiet. It was huge, the light was low and blueish, there were at list seventeen rows of processors from one end of the room to the other, and Tony knew that at the very back, in a corner, there was a computer. He walked down the aisles quietly until he saw them. Peter had his back to him, but there was no mistaking the line of his shoulders, his neck, the way he stood, his quick fingers flying over the keyboard.

“Peter...” It came out as a sigh, but it was loud enough for both of them to hear and turn to him. For the first time, Fish-bowl-guy had his helmet off and Tony could see his face – the same face that took Peter away from him months earlier. “You!” He stalked towards them, but Peter webbed his feet together. Tony could easily break it, but stopped in his tracks, he didn’t want it to escalate to a fight. “What are you doing, Pete?”

“How dare you talk to him, Stark! After everything you’ve done?” Those eyes were so familiar, but he couldn’t place them. Tony frowned, taking a step closer, breaking the webs around his ankles.

“What– Pete –”

“You revoked my access?” Peter asked, exasperated and nervous when the computer announced his access was denied. That voice. That sweet, honey-like voice...

“So it is you.” Tony took yet another step closer, reaching out to him, but Peter got into a fighting stance.

“Why did you have to do that?” To Tony’s surprise, his voice trembled, like he was actually hurt by that. His heart broke in a million pieces. “You used to love me, you said–“ He shook his head, taking a deep breath. “You leave me no choice.”

“Peter, please–“ Before he could say anything else, the younger man leaped at him and almost managed to rip the faceplate off his face as he sat on his shoulders and started pulling it, but Tony was able to grab him and throw him away, but not far enough to hurt him. He stumbled a few feet and got right back up. “Pete, what are you doing, just stop!”

“No! You stop, Tony, please! How could you–“ He came at him again, and Tony flew out of the his way, but was caught by his web around his ankle. Peter swung him and threw him to the floor, but Tony quickly got up. “Please, Tony, you –“

“Don’t talk to him, Pete, he’s gonna try to manipulate you! We have to kill him, there’s no other choice!” Fish-bowl-guy was typing furiously at the keyboard, but Friday was keeping Tony updated. He was good, definitely above average, but he probably wouldn’t be able to hack into his systems. “Once we’re done, we can’t let him live, Peter.”

“What the fuck is he talking about! Kid, it’s me, it’s me, what are you doing?” Tony tried to reach Peter again, but he shot webs at him, trying to tie his arms to his torso, which was useless. The engineer knew Peter was going easy on him, he was almost as strong as Mark L and if the suit he was wearing was anything like the one Tony made for him, it had an instant kill mode. Still, he kept trying to bind him, not hurt him.

“I can’t let you release Extremis to the public! Please, I’m begging you, let me help you, we can–“ Fish-bowl-guy grabbed Peter’s arm, pulling him away and shaking him.

“Peter, stop fucking around! He’s dangerous!”

“Don’t fucking touch him!“ Tony had had it with him, he charged his repulsors and was going to aim right at his head, but for a short while, the room went dark, then when the lights came back up, only Peter was there. He had his mask off and, for a moment, Tony was free to breath. For the first time in months, he could fill his lungs up with air because his beautiful face was right there in front of him, within reach. Alive, healthy.

And staring at him with hatred.

“You’re disgusting, Tony. How could you do that to me? You groomed me, you sick fuck, I was just a boy, you molested me!” He started walking towards him and Tony blinked in shock.

“What?”

“You’re a good for nothing piece of shit, you left me for dead months ago, didn’t even come looking for me, I bet you found some younger ass to fuck, didn’t you? You old perv.” Tony took a few steps back, heart beating loudly in his ears. He’d never seen such hate in his eyes in all those years they were together.

“Pete...”

“You came after me because you couldn’t find someone your own age who would put up with your crap, right? The drinking, the nightmares, the fucking panic attacks, I was so fucking done with it! All of it!” He couldn’t believe his ears, Peter – he would never talk to him like that. Right? Or was that how he felt the whole time? “Give me access to EDITH, Tony.” He demanded and Tony frowned. EDITH was an AI that gave its users access to Stark Industries's global satellite network along with an arsenal of missiles and drones. It was only supposed to be used in case of Tony’s death, Peter knew that. “If you want to redeem yourself, you’ll do it, and I might forgive you.”

“Boss, I think you should see something,” Before Tony could answer, Friday activated the suit’s thermal imaging and Tony frowned. Peter was not standing in front of him. In fact, he was nowhere to be found and there was nobody where he stood just seconds ago. First, he panicked, thinking he had disappeared again, but it just took him five seconds to realize what was going on.

“Where is this hologram coming from, Fri?” Friday deactivated the thermal imaging and Tony was shocked by how realistic the Peter staring back at him was. So realistic that only one person in the whole world could have made it: himself.

“There are five drones projecting images in the room, sir.”

“Take them out.”

In seconds, five tiny missiles were launched from his suit and the drones fell to the floor, lifeless, and suddenly the whole room changed. It was still the same setting, but it somehow looked more real then, and of course, Peter had disappeared.

“Tony? Tony, where did you go?! What – what happened?” He heard Peter’s voice on the other end of the room and he rushed to get there.

Peter was curled up in a corner, looking scared and desperate as he looked around him in confusion. The other guy was kneeling next to him, trying to comfort him again.

“Pete, whatever he showed you, whatever you saw, it wasn’t real. He’s using BARF!” He tried to approach the young man, but his eyes were wild as he shook his head. He pushed the other guy away but kept crawling backwards, away from Tony as well.

“Stay away from me, please, don’t come any closer. I-I don’t wanna hurt you, please, Tony, please...” He was still looking around like he didn’t expect to still be there.

“Why do you always have to ruin every-fucking-thing, Stark? Why do you have to stand in the fucking way of every single thing that I do?” Fish-bowl-guy got up and started marching towards him, furious.

“I have no fucking idea who you are, you fucking weirdo.” Tony aimed his repulsors at him and the guy stopped, laughing incredulously.

“You hav – you motherfucker! You think you’re a God, don’t you? Above everything and everyone, literally wrapped in wealth and technology you’re unfit to wield. Like the holographic system I designed. A revolutionary breakthrough with limitless applications, that you turned into a self therapy machine and renamed it BARF! My life’s work, Stark, and you renamed it BARF! I told you it was a mistake, that my technology could change the world and then you fired me. You said I was… unstable. Ring any bells?”

It clicked, then. The crazy, wild eyes, the hand gestures, the insane world domination plans.

“Beck.” No wonder Tony had forgot about him, the guy was brilliant, but completely insane. He helped develop the technology behind BARF, but once he started talking about weaponizing it, Tony decided to let him go. “I didn’t steal it, it belonged to me, it was my idea, I made you head of the project because I thought you could see it through, but your ideas for what it could be used for were clearly unhealthy and a fucking threat to the world. So, yeah, not sorry for firing your ass, I was clearly right. What even is your endgame here, Beck? What do you want?”

“These days, you can be the smartest guy in the room, the most qualified, and no one cares. Unless you’re flying around with a cape or shooting lasers from your hands, no one will even listen. Well, now I’ve got a cape. And lasers. With my technology and with EDITH, I will be the greatest hero on Earth!” He spread his arms and laughed like the madman he was, and Tony frowned.

“Yeah? Where are your lasers now?” The guy looked at him like he had just realized he had nothing. Peter was curled in a corner, too confused to act, his drones lay limp on the floor, and he had no way out of the room. “Better luck next time, asshole.” Tony wanted to kill him, he did, but he controlled himself and just knocked him over the head. He fell heavily to the floor and Tony turned to Peter, who was still looking at him like the whole world had been turned upside down. “Peter, baby, c’mon, it’s me, it’s Tony,” He tried to approach him, but he shook his head violently.

“S-stand back!” He panted, eyes flicking between Tony and the guy on the floor. “What’s happening, I don’t understand, I don’t… We were… Outside and you…You killed people, how…”

“It’s fine, it’s gonna be fine, I promise, just trust me, I will take care of you, I’ll take care of everything, I –“

“Stay away from me!” Peter got up and run towards the elevator, Tony had no choice other than shoot him with the tranquilizer he used on Bruce when he hulked out at the wrong time. He rushed to catch him before he hit the ground and carefully cradled him in his arms.

Finally, in his arms. Warm and alive, solid and breathing.

“I’m so sorry, Peter. For everything. I’ll make it up to you.”

***

Tony startled awake when he heard screaming. His heart almost jumped out of his chest and he was on his feet in a matter of seconds the minute he registered it was Peter’s voice. He was distressed, possibly hurt, so he flew to his side, but was quickly pushed away by nurses and doctors that rushed into the room and Tony remembered the last 24 hours, where they were and why.

“Tony! Tony!” Peter called as he gasped for air, and that was more than enough for the older man to force his away back to him, grabbing his shaking hand.

“I’m here, baby, I’m here, are you okay?” He asked in a rush looking into his wild, scared eyes, and the kid just looked back at him for a few minutes, blinking several times, before he nodded slowly.

“Are you – are you real?” He rubbed his forehead, panting, and Dr. Cho approached him to run a few tests. Peter had been out for a whole day after the Hulk-sized dose of tranquilizer Tony shot him with, even with his fast metabolism.

“I am. Do you feel that?” He brushed his thumbs across his cheeks and Peter closed his eyes, sighing and nodding slowly. Tony took his hands and pressed them to his own face, down his scratchy cheeks that hadn’t seen a razor in weeks, and Peter smiled. “It’s me, I’m here now, it’s over.” Tony explained to him as doctor Cho checked his blood pressure and his pulse, asked him a few questions, then once she was satisfied, she nodded.

“You’re okay, Peter. You just need a lot of rest, ok? Most of your wounds from the fight have already healed, but I’m going to keep you here overnight just to be sure, then you can go right home, ok?” He nodded and she smiled. “Welcome back.”

She left the room and silence took over for a second, but they still looked at each other, as if afraid that if the looked away the other would disappear. Nat had interrogated Beck and figured out his plan. The terrorist attack was an ambush, it was his goal to kidnap Peter all along, he knew he was the only person, besides Tony, who had access to EDITH.

He made them see Peter’s death as he kidnapped him with an illusion of Tony. He was holding Peter in a warehouse in Queens and the sad thing was, he didn’t even need anything to contain him. He kept him there with illusions. Peter thought he was at Stark Tower the whole tome, living with Tony as if nothing had changed.

Well, with a few changes. Beck’s Tony was slowly going mad, called himself Superior Iron man and planned to take over humanity by spreading a virus called Extremis 3.0. When Peter refused to help him, he was turned into a hostage. Peter was “Tony’s hostage” for months before Beck “rescued him” – by keeping him in the same warehouse, with different illusions. He managed to make him believe the Avengers were in on Tony’s plan and they had to stop them. The bank robbery was necessary to weaponize the few drones he was able to build after he left Stark Industries.

“How… How are you feeling, Pete?” He braced himself for the answer, because he knew it would be nothing short of horrible and he knew that whatever happened to him was his fault. The younger man bit his lower lip, frowned, and shook his head slightly.

“Confused. Scared.” He confessed, tearing up, but he kept holding Tony’s hand tightly. “Not sure if any of this is even real. If you are real.”

Tony could see that he meant it when he looked into his eyes. He was terrified. The older man took a deep breath and sat beside him on the bed.

“Do you remember our trip to Brazil?” He placed Peter’s hand on his own face again, kissing its palm. Peter nodded with a small smile. “Remember our last night there, on the hotel suite’s balcony? We had been together for, what, two, three months at the time? Remember what I said to you?” A tear ran down his cheek when he whispered yes. “I’m gonna marry you someday, kid.” Tony whispered back, joining their foreheads.

“And I said you couldn’t call me kid when you were making marriage plans.” Peter laughed wetly between tears, leaning up to place a gentle kiss on Tony’s lips, sighing in relief. “I should have known that could have never been you…” Peter’s hand slid from Tony’s cheek, to his shoulder, down his arm, until it reached the little cuts on his hands, the rough pads of his fingers. Peter took a deep breath, closing his eyes. “How long?”

Peter didn’t have to ask the whole question, Tony heard it, and he squeezed his hand.

“Six months.” He winced when Peter’s eyes grew large as saucers.

“Fuck... Fuck! Tony – I feel so stupid… I should have known, I should have fucking –“

“Hey, hey, don’t, don’t you dare blame yourself, you hear me? He fooled us all, Pete. The reason why I didn’t come looking for you before was because... For six months, I thought you dead.” He cradled his face in his hands and Peter gasped.

“Oh, God, Tony.”

“I saw you die, Pete,” He whispered, lowering his head so Peter didn’t have to see his tears. “I saw you die before my eyes. And I – I believed it, too. I never went after you, kid. I’m so sorry, I could have saved you, but I–“ before he could finish, he felt the boy’s fingers under his chin, lifting his head, and he was met with an equally wet face staring back at him.

“I’m here, now. And so are you. We’ll get through this together, okay?”

“Pete...”

There were no more comforting words to say other than his name. The name he hadn’t dared to say for so many months. He knew they had a long way to go, he could predict the sleepless nights, the nightmares, the anxiety attacks, the absolute terror of thinking of ever losing him again. He knew it wasn’t going to be easy, but they were going to do it together, they would heal together and relearn how to recognize each other blindly once again. One step at a time.

#starker #canon-compliant #sorta #cssprompts

83 notes · View notes

crystalessenceswrites · 4 years

Text

You’re Enchanting--Chapter One

Guess who finally got her shit together enough to work on this WIP again! I originally started this off as an xreader but as I got into it I decided the storyline fit my Treveylan almost too well...

Updates will be posted here and also on A03 (linked if you prefer the other platform)

Thanks to @toshmmm for listening to me go on about this for months now and has probably read 5 different drafts of this chapter

Summary: Delphine always told Elazar she would do anything to help him if he was ever in trouble, even knowing his knack for finding it. She didn't expect to be helping him save the world after someone blows up the Conclave and tears a hole in the sky. Nor did Delphine expect to be falling for anyone, let alone a troubled, former templar, while she's watching her best friend shape the future of their world with a green glowing hand.

Pairings: Cullen/Trevelyan & Dorian/Lavellan

Warnings: none besides canon-typical mage-templar relations... I don’t think there’s even any swearing in this one...

Chapter One- Whirlwind

The wailing continued in the village for three days. No one seemed to know what else to do after the hole appeared in the sky. They were close enough to see what had happened at the temple in the valley but far enough away that there was next to no news. Three days since the explosion and most had come to accept the worst. Their loved ones weren’t coming home. The Conclave had been the end of them, the Temple of Sacred Ashes their tomb.

Delphine couldn’t bring herself to wail like the other women in the village. A part of her would not give up hope that he was still alive. After all the time they had spent together this could not possibly be the end. The rest of her was saying that she had to face the truth. An explosion at the temple had opened a hole in the sky- there was no way anyone could have survived that. Delphine had to accept that he was gone. So, while the families of the village wailed in the streets and looked on at the hole in the sky with horror, Delphine curled up in her room at the inn, his last letter clutched to her chest.

It took more mental coaching than she would want to admit for Delphine to get out of bed on the fourth day. Dread and exhaustion were a nasty combination. Delphine has not slept through the night since the hole had opened in the heavens. The dreams- the nightmares- crashed down upon her in waves. Some familiar, some not. None were pleasant. There had been whispers of demons floating around the inn since the explosion, some falling from the hole, others crawling through tears in the Fade that had supposedly begun to appear in the area. Delphine almost hoped it was a demon that plagued her nights. Demons were easier to kill than the fear and sadness gnawing away at her insides.

There was not much sense in moping about it, no matter how sleep-deprived she was. The world seemed to be falling apart around her- there was a hole in the sky and a war that was sure to carry on. The question was, what could Delphine do about that? She’d been hidden away for so long like a coward. It had only been his final pleading letter that had pulled her out of the protection of her family’s villa. Would it be possible to make it all the way back to the Free Marches safely? She doubted it. Continuing to the temple in the valley was not an option now, either.

A grumbling stomach interrupted any concentration she may have had in weighing her options. So, Delphine continued her musing downstairs, over a bowl of odd tasting porridge.

“The Inquisition! The Inquisition sent news from the temple!”

Everyone milling about the inn jumped as the runner shouted in the doorway. This is what everyone had been waiting for. Though Delphine has a sinking feeling that there would be little good news to share.

Delphine shuffled outside with the rest of the crowd to the square where a soldier in a green hood waited. There had been whispers along the roads about an inquisition when Delphine had reached Ferelden but she had not known whether or not believe them. If she remembered any of her Chantry history correctly, it had been ages since there had been a need to call an inquisition. With all that had been unfolding across Thedas it was not uncalled for- the Chantry needed some force to keep the peace now that the templars were gone- but was it truly wise to introduce another army in all the bloodshed?

The crowd formed around the soldier who stood stone-faced. Nearly the entire village had come to hear what word was being sent. All the clamoring ended when he finally spoke, though.

“The Divine Conclave has been destroyed. Divine Justina is dead.”

Murmurs spread through the crowd. Devoted to the Chantry or not, hearing the Divine was dead so suddenly was enough to shock anyone to the core. She was the hope during this time of war and turmoil- the Divine was going to bring the templars and the mages to heel- she was supposed to fix the mess that Thedas had become.

“But there is hope!” The soldier shouted, “before her death the Divine ordered an inquisition. We are working in her name to the close the Breach in the sky and slay the demons! Among our ranks is the man chosen by Andraste herself. She has sent us a herald to put and end to this disaster!”

Delphine looked on at the messenger in disbelief. Andraste sending someone to save Thedas from the hole in the sky seemed more than a bit farfetched. Nothing she remembered from her Chantry lessons spoke of a herald or anyone else coming to save them. Delphine didn’t seem to be the only one skeptical of the news.

“Andraste sending someone to save us? To close the sky? What nonsense do you think we’ll believe?” One man from the crowd shouted back. Most of the crowd seemed to nod in agreement. Who would believe that the Maker would allow the Divine to die in order to send down a herald?

“I speak the truth! The Herald came out of the Fade after the explosion at the Conclave. He has already sealed the Breach in the sky. It no longer grows! The Inquisition knows with his help we will be able to close it completely!”

It had been growing before? That hole could have killed them all.

Delphine wrapped her arms around herself, bracing for the next wave of dread and worry.

How had the world come to this?

“The Inquisition needs help to restore order. If you wish to protect your families, your loved ones, we are taking recruits in Haven!”

With that the crowd dispersed. Some stalked off, angry and balking at the bearer of bad news. Others stood in groups; hushed whispers followed by glances at the soldier who was preparing his horse for departure. A handful of young men approached the soldier, probably not much younger than Delphine, faces painted with determined looks. It appeared some had been swayed to the messenger’s cause. Protecting those you care about was a noble cause, she could not fault them.

What did she have left to protect now that he’s gone? She’d abandoned her friends at the first sign of trouble and hadn’t spoken to her family since the rebellion had begun.

But a hole in the sky? That was more than her family or the Circle. With the world already up in arms maybe this… this Inquisition could actually do some good. Andraste’s chosen herald or not. If not, Delphine could continue on. Find some other way to survive until she could make it back to the Free Marches.

Delphine rushed back to her room to gather her things.

Traveling to Haven was not what Delphine had expected when she had settled her tab at the inn and left the village. She found herself among throngs of people making the trek into the frozen hills. With the threats of rogue templars and mages and the possibility of demons, Delphine hadn’t expected to see so many risking the trip. The crowds offered a sense of protection. She couldn’t imagine either side of the rebellion attacking with so many civilians on the road. As the day progressed the more obvious the Inquisition patrols became. Their green hoods stood out among the plainly dressed travelers.

When she had started off, Delphine kept to herself, just as she had since she’d landed on this side of the Waking Sea. She harbored no desire to interact with the crowds, even if most of them looked innocent and trustworthy enough. By midday she was chatting with her fellow travelers, hearing their stories. Some were like her, on their way to Haven to see what part they could play in fixing the sky. Others were family members of those at the Conclave, headed to the Chantry there to mourn their dead or check if their loved ones were among the survivors. A few seemed to be devoted Andrastians, making the pilgrimage to see the blessed Herald of Andraste.

Delphine was still unsure of where she stood on the topic of the Herald. Just like the small corner of herself she allowed to believe he could still be alive, she allowed herself the hope that maybe someone out there was looking out for them. Andraste was said to be merciful, after all. Yet there was the rational part of her that saw the story as a tidy way for the Inquisition to draw more people to their cause. She kept her skepticism to herself, not one to squash out the hope of others.

The innkeeper in the last village had told her when she set out that it was about a day and half journey to Haven on foot. Delphine sought out a room in the next settlement she reached as the sun started to set over the Frostbacks. The tavern and inn were packed when she arrived with travelers, pilgrims and soldiers. So crowded that Delphine couldn’t even pay for a space in the stable to sleep in.

“Miss, if you’re looking for a place to stay, I know someone with rooms!”

Delphine happily approached the barkeep as he waved her down after her disappointing conversation with the inn owner.

“Is there another place further down the road?”

“Not quiet. My sister’s a widow, lives down the road ‘bout half a mile. S’got a big old farmhouse with plenty of extra rooms. She puts pilgrims up during the summer season for a few coin.”

The weight began to lift off Delphine’s shoulders at the prospect of being able to sleep in a bed again tonight.

“Just let her know I sent ya’ over and she’ll get ya’ settled for the night.”

Delphine shuffled around in her coat for a moment before passing the barkeep a few bits. She didn’t have much more to spare but it was the best way she had to show gratitude for his help. “Thank you.”

He sent her a toothy grin as he swept the coin up off the bar, “ ’ave a good night, miss!”

Delphine reached the home of the widow Emelia as night fell and she thanked the Maker for the gift of warm food, a roof and a soft bed. The greying woman had welcomed her in with a soft smile and open arms. Delphine couldn’t remember the last time anyone had treated her so warmly. A small part of her wondered if Emelia would be so welcoming if she knew the truth. She shook the thought away as she slipped out of her coat and left her rucksack at the door.

It turned out Delphine wasn’t the only guest that had been sent Emelia’s way. An Inquisition soldier was already enjoying a warm meal by the fire when she arrived. Emelia instructed her to join him while she disappeared into the kitchen. She gave the man a small, polite smile as she settled in across from him. He returned the gesture in kind before returning to his dinner.

Emelia bustled back in moments later, placing a bowl of soup and thick slice of nut-filled bread before her. The smell of her fellow boarders’ meal had already awoken her stomach, Delphine did her best to thank the older woman before digging in.

“I’ll be upstairs making up a bed for you. Help yourself to a second bowl if you need it, and just shout if you need anything, miss…”

“Del. My name is Del.” She’d been in such a hurry to warm up inside she hadn’t properly introduced herself. Delphine could only imagine the scolding she’d receive from her mother if she knew. “Thank you, ma’am.”

Emelia just smiled and walked off, cooing something about how polite she was.

The pair ate in silence for a while. Delphine silently thanking the Maker for the warmth filling her belly and the feeling returning to her frozen toes. The closer she gotten to Haven the colder it seemed to get. Oh, how she missed the mild winters in Ostwick.

“Headed to Haven then, miss Del?”

Delphine nods at the soldier as he stands, finished with his own meal. She keeps her eye on him as he wanders the room, seemingly interested in the knickknacks Emelia has decorating the space. He didn’t appear untrustworthy but the rigid posture and polished armor was too much a reminder of a life not far in her past.

“And you’re with the Inquisition?”

He looks at her briefly, over his shoulder, “I am.”

“The green is already recognizable. Lots of you on the road these days.”

“There are quite a few people on the roads to keep safe these days.”

Delphine nodded in agreement as the soldier settles back into his spot at the table. “So why are you headed to Haven?”

“To help.”

The man almost looked amused. “To help?”

“There’s a hole in the sky. For the sake of the world not ending I’d like to help the people trying to close it,” she must have sounded as unsure of her decision as she felt because the man just quirked an eyebrow. “Forgive me for not being reserved at the thought of Chantry authority with all that’s happened.”

“Your caution is warranted. It is always wise to question those you follow.”

He almost sounded as if he spoke from experience.

“And why did you join the Inquisition?”

“I was in the right place at the right time when the world first went to shit. How the Inquisition has stepped up with this mess just proved I made the right choice, found the right people to follow. You don’t have to worry, miss, about the people at the Inquisition.”

His words sparked a slight glimmer of hope, but Delphine had seen too much that to trust a stranger at their word. “So, they’re the kind of people who just want to close the hole in the sky. They’re not interested in trying to take over all Thedas, or something like that?”

“If the Commander is planning on conquering Thedas, he hasn’t informed the rest of us.”

Joshua, the Inquisition soldier, departed Emelia’s farmhouse at first light and Delphine left with him. It seemed a safer bet to make the final leg of the trip with her new acquaintance. Along the way he was checking in with the sentries and patrols, even taking a moment to introduce her to some of them. Delphine caught accents of all kinds; most were human or city elves but there were a handful of Dalish and dwarves among them. It seemed all walks of life were intent on making a difference. She hoped that was a good sign.

When they weren’t checking in, Joshua turned out to be a rather chatty traveling companion. It gave Delphine the chance to gather bits and pieces of what she wanted to know.

“The Herald? To be honest I don’t know all that much about him. Most people don’t,” Joshua admitted.

“Except that he walked out of the Fade after the explosion?”

That tidbit was the part of the story Delphine couldn’t wrap her head around. To physically be in the Fade…the implications of the went far beyond Andraste.

“That and he’s a Dalish mage-“

Dalish? How many elven mages could have been are the Conclave besides him? Did she dare let herself hope he could have been the one to step out of the Fade?

“Del?” Joshua’s brow was furled as he placed his hand on her shoulder. “Are you alright?”

“Oh? I’m fine. Just lost among my thoughts. You were saying?”

“I was saying-” Joshua makes a sweeping gesture towards a semi-fortified village- “that we’ve arrived.”

Apparently, he was a bit of a dramatic as well.

Looking up at the gates of Haven was not overly awe-inspiring, though Delphine figured it was never meant to be. The village was supposed to be a stepping stone on the way to the Temple of Sacred Ashes, not the lodgings of a budding army. Like the village, the masses weren’t all the impressive either. Considering how many Delphine had seen on the roads leading into the valley, there was next to no one walking around. It was all a tad underwhelming.

“If you’ll come with me to the Chantry to drop off a report, I can help find you a place to get situated,” Joshua offered.

Delphine agreed, following Joshua up and into the slow, snow-covered village. As they approached the chapel the chatter began to grow. On the front steps of the Chantry it seemed a fight was ready to break out- an apt metaphor for the situation of the world at the moment. Now Delphine understood where everyone in Haven was.

The tension in the air was palpable. Joshua gestured for Delphine to stay behind him. She scoffed, only slightly offended by his protective instincts. Though, the two sides gathering did look to be more than ready to attack the others.

“Your kind killed the most Holy!”

Delphine noted the man at the front of the crowd wearing the most recognizable armor in all Thedas. So, if he was a templar that meant the side he was arguing with was compromised of mages.

“Lies- your kind let her die!”

Delphine’s fists clenched as the templar grabbed at his sword. “Shut your mouth mage!”

Before the man's sword left his scabbard another figure stepped between the pair, his voice echoing across the gathered crowds. “Enough!”

“Knight-Captain!”

She marveled at the second templar- in her life Delphine had seen few in the Order who would stop a templar from lashing out at a mage. Yet this man was not only a templar but one of importance. His armor looked expensive and well kept, covered in a full fur mantle.

“That is not my title. We are not templars any longer. We are all part of the Inquisition!”

Both the mage and the templar appeared to back off, if just a bit, but neither looked pleased. Even in the face of natural disasters or the end of the world, templars and mages would not get along. One well-dressed soldier wasn’t going to change lifetimes of tensions.

“And what does that mean exactly?”

Joshua began to grumble under his breath as a man decked out in chantry robes approached the Inquisition Commander.

“Back already, Chancellor? Haven’t you done enough?”

“I’m curious Commander, as to how your Inquisition and it’s “Herald” will restore order as you’ve promised.” Delphine would have been happy to hear the answer to the Chancellor’s question but the malice rolled of the cleric in waves. His smirk was more than enough an indicator the he held no desire for a true conversation about restoring order.

“Of course you are-” the Commander turned to each group gathered at the entrance- “back to your duties, all of you!”

Grumbling, the groups slowly dispersed, while the Chancellor remained to stare down the Commander. Joshua didn’t budge, probably curious with whatever was about to go down between his boss and the cleric.

“Ah, Herald, you’ve returned.”

Delphine followed the Commander’s gaze down the path to see a party approaching. The woman in front bore a Seeker’s emblem on her breastplate. Delphine wondered if she was the Right Hand of the Divine that Joshua had told her about. The figure behind the Seeker brought her world to a halt.

He walked up, draped in leather armor, a simple disciple staff at his back. For a moment she wondered where his lightning staff was- he had worked tirelessly on it for weeks- but it would make sense he had lost it in the explosion. Otherwise, he seemed to be in one piece. His mousey hair was still as messy as ever and his signature half-smile graced his lips.

It took every ounce of self-control Delphine possessed to not run out to him. She had nearly come to terms that he was almost certainly dead, yet there he was, the one they were calling the Herald of Andraste.

“Mages and templars were already at war. Now they’re blaming each other for the Divine’s death,” the Commander explained as the man Delphine had mourned stopped at his side.

“Which is why we require a proper authority to guide it back to order.”

The chantry chancellor obviously rubbed the Commander the wrong way and he was already beginning to do the same to Delphine. It was obvious that the Chantry had already failed at forging peace in Thedas. What more authority did he think they held over the people?

“Who, you? Random clerics who weren’t important enough to be at the Conclave?”

It appeared the Commander had a sharp tongue when provoked.

“The rebel Inquisition and it’s so-called “Herald of Andraste?” I think not,” the Chancellor spat back.

The “Herald of Andraste” was not pleased either. His upper lip twitched up at the name, something Delphine could pick up on, even from a distance. The title must not sit well with him, not that she blamed him. “I don’t believe I’m Andraste’s Herald any more than you do, Chancellor.”

“That laudable humility won’t stop the Inquisition from using the misconception when it suits them!”

“The Inquisition only claims that we must close the Breach or perish.”

Delphine didn’t quite enjoy the picture the Commander painted with that claim. A supernatural disaster, the downfall of the Chantry, the destruction of the Circles and a civil war. The world was looking at the threat of unraveling, so his picture was accurate, but that didn’t make the idea any less terrifying.

“You say that now Commander. We shall see if the sentiment remains true.” Everyone in the vicinity seemed to let loose a sigh as the Chancellor strutted off.

“Don’t let anyone riot while we’re gone,” the Herald joked, shooting the Commander a small grin.

“The walls will still be standing after you leave. I hope…”

The Herald won’t be standing for long, Delphine mused, a small smirk growing on her lips. Before Joshua had a chance to stop her, Delphine bolted out towards the elf, and for once managed to catch him by surprise. The pair tumbled into a heap on the ground while everyone looked on in shock and confusion.

“What in the world?”

The body under Delphine began to shake with laughter. “It’s all right, Commander. I brought this upon myself.”

“You surely did.” Delphine shoved herself up into a sitting position so she had him pinned by his stomach. “So now you must suffer the consequences.”

Joshua’s horrified face made Delphine snicker a moment while the rest of the Herald’s new friends watched with varied levels of amusement. If her mother could see her now, oh how she would die of embarrassment.

“Is she your girlfriend, Herald?”

Delphine made a face at the dwarf. As if she would ever think of being with this lug of a mage. “I would say that would never, ever, happen… but it seems stranger things have been happening in the past few days.”

His dwarf companion got a good laugh out of that.

“You have a point, Delphine. Now I think I’ve learned my lesson, can you let me up now?”

“Not yet,” she gripped both sides of his collar and began to give him a solid shaking to drive home her point, “Elazar Lavellan! Don’t you dare let me think you’ve died again! Next time I’ll kill you myself!”

“Alright, alright. I am truly sorry I worried you Delphine. It won’t ever happen again, though. I promise.”

Accepting his apology, Delphine rolled off, allowing Elazar to stand and then help her to her feet at his side. The pair dusted themselves off, Elazar sneaking a toothy grin in her direction as they did. They had been apart for what felt like ages now. So long that even despite their reunion Elazar was practically buzzing with joy. Delphine could read it plain as day on his face, even without his smile.

“So, if you’re not his girlfriend, who are you, Miss Delphine?” The dwarf asked, looking her over not so subtly. Delphine had chosen to dress as inconspicuously as possible for her journey so her clothes offered few clues.

“With a whirlwind entrance like that, you must have some past with the Herald,” the last member of Elazar’s party chipped in; a bald-headed city elf in a green get up.

“Unfortunately, yes. I’ve spent quite a lot of time with this idiot. As for formal introductions-” curtseying slightly, despite the fact she was wearing trousers, Delphine gave the Inquisition members a wide smile- “my name is Delphine Athelyna Trevelyan, I’ve studied nearly my entire life with Elazar at the Ostwick Circle. It’s a pleasure to meet all of you.”

“The pleasure is mine, because now I have a source of embarrassing stories on our lovely Herald.” The dwarf grinned, “Varric Tethras, by the way.”

“As in the author?”

“The one and only!”

Delphine had so many questions for the dwarf but Elazar quickly cut in to finish introductions, he always was one to lead conversations. “Delphine this is Solas, our resident Fade expert, and Seeker Cassandra keeps everyone in line.”

“Herald, that is not my-”

“Oh, come on Seeker. We all know that’s what you do,” Varric added, sharing a grin with Elazar.

He already was sharing inside jokes with these people? How long had Elazar been with them? What had she been missing for all these months?

“Ugh.”

“And lastly, Delphine, this is Commander Cullen.” Elazar clapped the blond man on the shoulder. Cullen seemed momentarily thrown by Elazar’s friendliness but his strong posture never changed.

She’d never seen Elazar so friendly with a templar before. Delphine decided she’d follow his lead for now.

“A pleasure, Commander. I’ve heard many good things about you.”

Cullen’s brow scrunched up, “who’s talking about me?”

“Why Joshua, of course.” Delphine glanced over to the soldier who was looking a little hot under the collar.

“And what has the Lieutenant been saying about me?” Although he came off as strait-laced, Delphine didn’t miss the mischievous glimmer in his eye as he stared down the nervous lieutenant.

Oh, had Delphine thrown someone from the pan and into the fire? “Only good things, I can assure you, Commander.”

“As much as I’d like to stay and watch this unfold-" Elazar chuckled, watching the Commander’s stone gaze turn Joshua into a sweating mess- “I believe Delphine and I have much to discuss.”

12 notes · View notes

thecardsimagine · 4 years

Note

I have an idea for a scenario for Asra. The mc is a soldier that had to leave Vesuvia to fight a war. But luckily their in one piece and their coming home. How would Asra would react to the news of mc coming home and later that day the mc surprises him? (I've been watching videos of military people surprising their loved ones.)

I really loved this idea, though I got a bit of a different way to convey it in mind, so I hope you are okay with me changing it up a little! Thanks for requesting it nonetheless!

≿————-————- ❈ ————-————-≾

The winds had changed, again.Ever since they left, it had been different, but now it brought back a new gust, signaling something Asra couldn't yet point his finger at. Teacup in his hand, he watched the steam bow to the superior element, the window, however, only allowing Asra to see so far, barely a few other roofs over. From his shop, he couldn't even make out the gates of the city walls, but it was clear to him what was going on after all.They were coming home.Finally, after so many weeks that had passed, they were returning. It had been an unusually long deployment, but Asra still felt the way too short hug they had shared as a goodbye as if it had been a few hours ago. And now, he knew, something of them was returning, the feeling of their presence being brought to him by the wind.Heaving a relieved sigh, Asra had to quickly gather himself again. After all, he could never know what returned. MC? Their body? Some part of their luggage? He blamed not knowing more specific about it, on the fact that he had taught them too well to honor and treasure the things in their life, so they'd always belong to them, and now, it was hard to discern them from their actual being.But there were also the other things that the wind whispered about. War, blood, death. Asra knew they'd bring a new package home with them again, something new to work out and help them overcome. New fears, new trauma, new worries. But he'd be there, he was waiting for them. Together, they'd work this out, no matter what, if it was him being gone, they'd do the same for him, he was certain. Sipping his tea, he looked out into the distance, wondering how many days it would take this time. Wondering if it was them coming home or just a fragment of themselves this time.It was these kinds of days where Asra wondered how many people had the special intuition - a sixth sense, so to say. Surely, there must have been more than just him and those close to him, but the number of people gathered in front of the massive gates to the outside world was still mesmerizing him. It was barely past four in the morning, everyone seemed worn out, either from their lives, or they were just no early risers. However, they were still attending, determination in their eyes.But also, fear. What could they expect? Their loved ones? The remains of those they loved? A simple letter from the commandants that their family members and lovers had died in battle, unable to recover them? Looking into some of their faces, Asra could already see the first tears being shed in anticipation of what was to fall over them.They probably already knew, just as much as they all felt the strong winds of return on that day, making them gather here - just like Asra.Turning his head forward, he watched the people some more. The guards were giving them weird looks as they fussed around the gates, trying to get the first glimpse of the returning army. The flags were raised, so the Countess must have been long informed about the return, though no royal was to be seen that early in the morning. Heaving another sigh, Asra wished the wind wasn't such a tease, promising him the return of the MC if maybe... they wouldn't. But all he could do was wait as the time drew near. At some point, he must have nodded off while waiting, leaning against a building, his eyes closed. He didn't know how much time had passed, but the creaking of the massive gate as it opened woke him up. It was accompanied by the trampling of hooves, the loud dragging of the carts behind the horses, and the clanking of armor. All around him, people tensed up as the soldiers returned, the first few being welcomed by the arms of their left-behind families. At the same time, the loud wails of the ones that simply got handed the leftover baggage of their lost ones rung through the air, and Asra had to take deep, calming breaths to brace himself. Shoving and pushing his way through the masses, he made it to the front, looking around hectically for MC, trying to see if he had already missed them on their march to the inner city. "Asra," he heard suddenly, heart sinking as it wasn't the voice he knew calling out to him. Shoulders slumping, he turned towards the person that had called out for him, watching them unclasp their helmet before pulling it off.The feeling of relief washing over him was like no other relief he could ever feel. Making out their outgrown hair, the tired expression on their face, he still recognized them immediately, how could he not, with the wind now hitting him heavily with their presence. Despite the way they seemed to be healthy yet sick from their work, they were still in one piece, looking at him sheepishly with eyes that had seen things that a human shouldn't in their lifetime. "Welcome home," he sighed, wrapping his arms around them tightly as they were close enough to be approached. And they did it just like him, their armor uncomfortable between them and their body sweaty. But he didn't mind, he was nothing but glad they were back at him, able to hug him still. Otherwise, he could have sworn he'd have ended up like the crying widows and devastated members of the families of the fallen soldiers."Want me to take your luggage home?" he asked, and they thankfully gave him their bags, needing to attend the formal return of the army still. "I will see you later," he assured them, giving them a quick kiss to their cheek before releasing them back to the march towards the center.It only took them a few steps before they turned around to him again, the little distance far enough they needed to raise their voice. "I am glad to be home, Asra," they admitted, a tired smile playing on their lips.“Me too, [Name]. More than anything."

#asra #asra alnazar #The Arcana #The Arcana game #The Arcana imagine #The Arcana headcanons #The Arcana scenarios #The Arcana fanfiction #the arcana asra #asra the arcana #Asra the Magician #Anonymous

56 notes · View notes

writingamongtheroses-archive · 4 years

Text

Summer Gala- Updated

Hello everyone! I updated the piece I wrote for last week’s @flashfictionfridayofficial prompt of Summer Storms, with more plot. Hope you enjoy!

The thunder of a summer storm was providing a backdrop to the music playing inside the National History Museum. The gala for the Hilton Wing of the museum was in full swing.

“Grandpa, not to question you, but why are we here?”

Connor Klein had entered, ranked by his granddaughters. Both Becca and Ella wore dresses- Becca in yellow and Ella in purple. Terra wore a tux with a green bowtie, matching her grandfather. “All of this is from the times Hilton lost to you.” Becca continued. She raised a brow as she took it all in. “And trying way too hard to make himself look better.”

“Becca, darling, as upstanding members of the city, it is our duty to support the cultural institutions of it,” Connor said, looking very proud of himself. “There’s also the fact that supporting the museums is one of the main moneymakers of Klein Enterprise. And…” He led them to a table.

It was overflowing with appetizers.

“Hilton does try way too hard, and this buffet is part of it. He paid for everything on this table.” He pulled out a bunch of plastic Ziploc bags, passing them to the girls. “So fill these up! And make sure to get some of that garlic bread, I promised Elliot some-”

“Mr. Klein!” The group froze. Connor turned, met with Hilton’s angry CEO, Antigona Delvina-Prifti. She marched up to him. “Please tell me that you didn’t just come here to raid the buffet.”

“Um…”

“If so, move. That’s the only reason I’m here.” She pulled out plastic bags from the pocket of her suit.

“I thought you had to babysit Hilton too.” Terra pointed out, emptying an entire tray of brownie bites into a bag.

“I lost him. And he’s being surprisingly quiet, so I can’t track him down unless he makes a scene.”

Connor hummed happily, watching as Antigona chatted with the triplets, all of them filling up their bags. He stuck a filled bag in his pocket and made the mistake of looking up. He gasped, just as a crack of lighting rumbled outside.

Standing at the top of some stairs, clearly having walked in through the side door they led to, was a woman. Her blonde curls were pulled back, revealing a beautiful face. She wore a gold dress with matching gold jewelry, making her stand out. They locked eyes. He whirled away, glaring very hard at the table. “Don’t look behind us.”

The triplets all looked back. Connor groaned.

“Who is that?” Becca asked

“A cursed villain?” Ella asked.

“A villainous curse?” Terra asked.

“A...man, I hate going last!”

“Worse.” he groaned. “It’s my ex.”

Antigona raised a brow as she considered the woman. “I don’t think she’s on the guest list. If you’ll excuse me…” Nobody noticed her walking away, too focused on the word ex.

“Your ex?!” Becca managed to screech quietly. “As in girlfriend ex?”

“Ex-girlfriend, ex-wife, ex-partner, ex-rival…” Connor listed each one on his fingers. “She’s been everything to me. Which means she’s my ex-everything. She’s also your grandmother.” The triplets blinked as the woman approached. “Watch your valuables.”

The blonde woman laughed. “Oh, Connor! I wouldn’t steal from children! Unless they had something I wanted or I was bored or...you know!” The woman grinned brightly at him.

Connor grinned back. “Giselle Archer. The Black Widow of Dublin and the Huntress of the Klondike. I thought I heard cloven hooves.”

Giselle laughed again at his comment. “Well, what you thought were the clatter of my cloven hooves was probably your brittle bones settling, Connor Moneybags, you old gilded geezer!” The last part came out harshly, a near snarl painting her face.

Terra leaned towards her sisters, never taking her eyes off her grandparents. “I feel both disturbed and intrigued. Oh, found Hilton!”

The two were pushed aside by a fat blonde man, grinning at Connor. “Oh, hello Connor! This is my date, Giselle.”

“I’m not your date.”

“What’s that? Your ex? Oh, how awkward this must be for you. You must be so jealous, you third wheel-”

Thunder cut him off, as well as the next song starting up. Giselle held out her hand, offering Connor a dance. He took it, passing his cane to Ella. The group watched as the two headed for the dance floor, taking their positions. The song hit the right note, and they began to waltz.

“It’s been a long time, Connor.”

“And yet, it still feels too soon.”

She laughed into his shoulder. “I guess that’s why your waltz feels so rusty.” Giselle gasped when Connor spun her, clearly to make a point about him being ‘rusty’. She grinned at the reminder. “Not bad. But let me lead.”

She grabbed him and spun him, catching him. He grunted when something in his back popped. Defiantly, he stuck his tongue out at her before managing to straighten. “Anyway, you look good. Younger?”

“I made a deal with a water nymph in Rome. You?”

“Oh, I pissed off a fae queen and got stuck in her timeless dimension.”

“Oh, really?” Giselle said brightly. “Which one?”

“The queen of Avalon, I managed to escape when the courts ended up going to war,” Connor said with a shrug. “I had a feeling that involved you…?”

“Of course! I caused that war! I must’ve just missed you!”

The two laughed, settling after a minute. “Now,” he said, allowing his tone to grow cold. “Let’s get down to business. Why are you really here?”

She sighed. “Why do you always think I’m up to something?”

“Because the triplets can’t be left alone for more than five minutes without something blowing up. They get that from you, you flaming wreck.”

Giselle chuckled. “Well, we can’t all be sparks like you, Connor-”

Hilton shoved them apart, grinning brightly. “Ladies and gentlemen and hated rivals, I am proud to present a new exhibit for our lovely museum. It was dug up by my oil crew in the Yukon. I am proud to present…” He clapped his hands. Behind him, the large thing covered by a sheet was unveiled. “The Yukon Mammoth!”

Connor gasped. “I know that beast anywhere.” He glanced at Giselle. She grinned back at him. She winked…

And the lights went out. Loud gasps rang out as people started to panic. A minute later, the lights were back on.

To reveal the mammoth skull was missing.

As people whispered, Connor looked around. His ex-wife was gone as well.

-_-

The limo screeched down the road.

“Step on it, Kalani!” Connor ordered. “I need to get back to the manor! That’s where she’ll go next!” A throat cleared. The triplets were sitting across from him, glaring. “What?”

“So, quick question.” Becca said, straightening her skirt. “When were either you or Uncle Abott gonna, oh, I don’t know...tell us our grandmother was alive!”

Connor raised a brow. “Theories?”

“Fling with a secretary.” Becca said.

“Fling with a princess.” Ella said.

Terra shrugged. “Fairy?”

“Did your uncle tell you that last one? That was his.” Without waiting for a response, Connor sighed. “I never told you girls about Giselle because, well...she wasn’t important.” All three opened their mouths. “Let me talk. We divorced five months after getting married and just after your uncle and ma were born. Giselle isn’t interested in children.”

“Oh.”

He smiled reassuringly. “Back when I was starting out my fortune, I went up to the Yukon during the Gold Rush- no, Becca, you can’t ask how old I am. Anyway, I made the mistake of allowing your grandmother to join me.” He sighed. “Together, we decided to try and find the Golden Falls.”

Becca raised her hand. “The...what now?”

“The Golden Falls are said to be a series of caves under the Klondike.” Connor said, his smile turning dreamy. “Rivers of molten gold flow through it all in a series of rivers and waterfalls.” He frowned. “But Giselle wanted it all for herself. So, believing I was asleep, that conniving minx tried to steal the map I had managed to create.”

“Did you take it back?” Ella asked.

“I was in the process of doing so!” Connor said, making a swiping motion. “But during our struggle, the map tore in half. Before I could tackle her and get her half, the Yukon Mammoth came after us!” He sighed. “Giselle lost her half into his mouth and we barely managed to escape.” He shrugged. “Presuming it lost, we gave up.”

Ella wailed.

“I know sweetheart. But the half of the map must’ve survived-!” The car screeched to a stop. “What’s wrong? We can’t have-” Connor asked, poking his head out the window. “Oh.”

The girls poked their head out.

Blocking the gate was the mammoth skull.

Taglist (People who enjoyed the first): @vexed-hexed-perplexed, @inexorableblob, @peggydreadful, @anika-writes, @soilrockslove, and @shortlittlestorythings.

@fields-of-ink, @ink-fireplace-coffee, @shattered-starrs, @meteor-writes

#Treasure Triplets #story #Thirsty Thursday #wip #writblr

11 notes · View notes

notyetneedcoffee · 5 years

Text

Soul Seer Pt. 2

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Warnings: None this Chapter, but later

Author’s Note: Takes place right after Avengers 1, with time travel elements and hints of Infinity Wars. Does NOT follow cannon after Avengers.

* * *

The gentle caress of cool fingers against the back of your neck pulled you from a thick sleep full of dark images. You jerked upright, realizing you’d fallen dozed off at the table with your head on your crossed arms. Tony looked pissed. Rogers frowned and chewed his lower lip. Loki, on the other hand, looked on with worry while he rubbed your back.

“Sorry.” You tried to rub away the grogginess.

“She’s mentally exhausted. Allow me to put her into a dreamless sleep, then we may continue.”

“I think you’ve riffled around in her head enough, Loki.” Natasha grumbled.

“I just need a nap.”

“Her sleep will not be restorative, or peaceful, while her subconscious processes what she found in my mind. (Y/N) needs the dreamless sleep.” Loki insisted.

“Is that like an induced coma?” Rogers asked.

“No. She may wake as normal.”

“I don’t think so.” Tony shook his head. “(Y/N), I’ll have you taken to one of the guest rooms so you can sleep it off, but I you’re not cleared to go back to your apartment yet. You stay under guard for now.”

You were too tired to argue, and nodded. Loki, however, wasn’t so keen to be separated. “How about we move this entire gathering to one of your meeting rooms upstairs? There’s more space. (Y/N) could sleep on one of the sofas and you would have access to your precious AI through more than your phone.”

After a bit of negotiation, the entire band moved to a large conference room adjacent to the 74th story labs. It provided plenty of space, only one door and quarantine capabilities. Natasha, ever the practical one, also made sure food would be brought in.

You, however, didn’t last long enough to enjoy the shawarma take out.

Stark and Banner worked furiously at the wall interface as Loki briefed the group on the alien threat. Thor filled in a few blanks, sharing what knowledge he could that had reached the Asgardians. Widow and Hawkeye listening intently from the back wall, both uncomfortable and tense.

Loki paused and Stark took the opportunity to take several large bites of food. However, he only stopped talking because a tiny keening noises drew his attention. Cap was already turned toward the sofa. “She’s been balled up like that for a while now.”

“Allow me to stop the nightmares.” Loki insisted again.

“Stay the hell out of anyone else’s mind.” Barton grumbled.

“She’ll be okay.” Cap nodded, but he failed to sound convincing.

Loki continued his briefing, however his eyes remained on you. When your scream tore through the room, he was the only one not to jump. He moved so fast, no one could have stopped him. Loki gathered your thrashing, wailing form into his arms. Cool magic began to quiet the tremors in your limbs and reduce your cries.

The others lurched forward. Thor shouted “No!” At the same time, Loki hissed “stay back!”

He held you possessively, protectively, and snarled at the others with intense and violent intention should they attempt to separate you. A jolt of recognition hit Thor and he moved between his brother and his friends.

“Let him help her.”

“Thor!”

“I’m not standing here while he turns her mind to mush!” Tony barked, crowding the Thunder God.

“Come closer and I’ll show you what I can do, bindings or not.” Loki’s voice was murderous, but his hand soothed your sleeping form with infinite gentleness.

Your breath became calm, slow and deep. Loki lounged back onto the sofa and you curled close to him, resting your head low on his chest and an arm thrown over his lap. He tucked a throw pillow under your chin, and you sighed. His bound hands petted your hair. He did not look up at the others when he spoke.

“I owe her a debt. One I do not know if I can ever repay. Therefore she is mine to take care of. I will not hurt her. But know this, I will destroy anyone who keeps me from taking care of what’s mine.”

“Sounds,” Banner paused. “Nuts.”

Loki looked up, half amused.

Thor cleared his throat. “Brother, I know you mean what you say. Though, I’ve not seen such – intense dedication – from you since Sleipner was a colt.”

“(Y/N) is not the same.” Loki rolled his eyes.

“Wasn’t Sleipner supposed to be one of your children?” Tony scoffed.

“Midgardian tales!” Thor threw his hands up. “No. He was an abandoned colt, eight-legged and skinny.”

“He was magnificent.” Loki grumbled.

“Father wanted to put him down immediately but Loki pleaded with Mother for his life. She intervened but Odin wouldn’t let any of the stable hands attend him. Loki had to do it himself. For a whole winter season, Sleipner struggled but Loki claimed him as his own assuring he prospered. By spring he was big and strong and faster than anyone had ever seen. Odin’s stable master dared to take a whip to Sleipner and Loki nearly beat the man to death. We were still children.”

“He turned out to be the strongest steed in Odin’s stables and the finest mount in Asgard.” A wistful smile touched Loki’s face. “The Allfather may have ridden him into battle, but he’ll always be mine.”

“And now you’re claiming (Y/N)?” Rogers scowled.

Loki did not answer, he only stared passively back.

You woke slowly, aware of the warm blanket tucked beneath your chin and the too tight clothes pinching in places. It also seemed as if something nasty crawled into your mouth and died. You tried to swallow the cotton mouth away. Opening your eyes, you quickly realized your were not where you fell asleep.

The bed faced a curtained window with a sliver of sunlight shining through. It was quiet, although you could hear large machinery far off in the distance. They must have moved you to a guest room. You felt better, a little like waking after taking a sleeping pill, but still rested.

You swallowed again and began to sit up.

“Where are you going?” The smooth rich voice surprised you. Loki leaned against the headboard, legs stretched out. In his unbound hands, he held a book.

“Bathroom.”

He tilted his head in acknowledgement and went back to his reading.

Once alone and business taken care of, you stared at yourself in the mirror. Physically, you felt fine. However, you most definitely did not feel the same. The vastness, the sheet volume of information, from Loki’s mind left you overwhelmed. You felt altered.

When you stepped from the bathroom, Loki’s eyes rose from his book. You stared at one another for a long while. You could see the concern in his eyes, beneath that, regret. With a sigh you returned to the bed, sitting crossed legged facing him.

“So, what are they going to do?”

“They seem to have taken the information I’ve given them on Thanos seriously.” Loki set the book aside.

“I should hope so,” You frowned. “The Black Order are terrifying.”

Loki leaned a little closer. “What do you remember from my mind? How much did you retain?”

You shook your head ruefully. “I’m not certain. A fair amount, I think. There’s stuff I am still trying to put in order. I remember the recent – pains. There are also memories of your youth, your studies, and trickery. You really love a wicked prank.”

He gave you a crooked smile, but it faded immediately.

“I think I know how to read Asgardian and Vanir,” You realize with awe. “And alchemical mathematics.”

Loki’s brow furrowed even more.

“Will this last?” You asked.

“As long as any natural memory might.” Loki stood and began to pace the room. “It’s no wonder such exhaustion over took you. It could have killed you. A millennium of experiences flooded into your mortal mind.” He stopped, staring at you with an unidentifiable expression. “Why would you do that?”

Your promise to Stark, to the other Stark, kept you from speaking. In all likelihood the room was being monitored, and you were not about to vary from your story. “I just knew that I had to.”

“I could have killed you.”

“You didn’t.”

The silence stretched. You could tell he wanted to say more, but the words either would not surface or he too did not want to say them where others may hear.

A rumble from your stomach announced how hungry you were. “So, are we locked in here? Or can we go find some food?” You chuckled.

“I’m afraid we are, indeed, still incarcerated by Stark’s people. I would not allow them to separate us in case you awoke with ill effects.” Loki came around and lowered himself to sit beside you. “I will have them bring food. Is there anything else you require? I should have asked sooner. Are you in any pain?”

“Not pain, no.” You looked backed into his piercing green eyes. “Why are you being so kind to me?”

You watched a myriad of emotions dance across his eyes, although his face remained passive. Finally, he closed his eyes, whispering “I must.”

With blinding speed, Loki moved to the door.

Ignoring the quiet conversation, you moved to the window. It didn’t open, and you wished you could breathe in some fresh air. Still, you could see movement around the city. New Yorkers were quick to organize and take care of business. As Loki’s reflection appeared in the glass, you lifted your eyes somewhat mournfully.

Your lips moved, and you breathed words not even to the volume of a whisper. “There’s so much to talk about, but we’re being watched. Aren’t we?”

His chin dipped in acknowledgement. “They will bring food for you in a few minutes.” He said in his normal voice. “Be patient.” His whisper tickled your ear.

Not much later the door opened and Tony Stark sauntered in with a tray. “I didn’t know what you liked, so I had them whip up a bit of everything.”

You took a seat in front of platter holding several plates; a bacon cheeseburger and fries, an omelet with a side of avocado toast, salmon on a bed of greens, and a piece of chocolate cake. A glass of juice, a bottle of sparkling water and bloody mary with enough goodies to be a meal finished off the tray.

“Wow.” You popped the green bean from the blood mary into your mouth. “Thanks.”

“Looks like you’ve behaved yourself.” Tony crossed his arms and leaned against the wall.

Loki only shrugged. “I gave no indication I would do otherwise.”

“Except for throwing me out the window.”

The corner of Loki’s mouth twitched up. “Yes, there was that.”

“But” Stark rolled his eyes, “Your big bro keeps reminding me that was before-” he waved his hands randomly around “whatever this is.”

“Indeed.”

“Fury wants to lock you in body shackles and bury you under a hundred feet of concrete.” Tony scowled.

“I’m certain.” Loki slowly lowered himself to the chair opposite you, but remained facing Stark.

“Thor says you were under an outside influence.”

“That’s true.” You said before Loki could answer. He shot you a look, but you only took another bite of the omelet.

“Thor also says you’ve been known to cause some trouble.” Stark snagged a fry off the tray.

“It is my nature, after all.” Loki smiled and it carried an air of danger.

The fork paused halfway to your mouth, knowing that the enticing heat that wicked smile inflamed between your legs was probably not a healthy thing. Still, damn.

Tony cleared his throat and reached for your juice. “You gonna drink this?” You shook your head so he downed the glass. “Cap brought up a point that pissed the whole room off.”

“Truly? I have trouble imaging the good Captain angering his troops.” Loki tilted his head in mock shock.

“Imagine, he said, if we held Barton to what he did. Or if one of us fell under the same influence you had, would we be so quick to condemn?” The muscles in Tony’s jaw were working overtime. He even gripped the glass with white knuckles.

His feeling radiated off him in waves. He needed to be angry at Loki. Having him to blame was an imperative. Even the thought that somehow Loki was even partially a victim created such a storm of emotion in Stark that he was barely holding it together.

You placed your fork on the plate and dabbed your mouth with the napkin, moving slowly. Purposefully reaching for your calm center, you tried to project it towards Tony. “It would be so much easier if Loki were the purely maniacal villain. He’s right here, in your grasp. You could control the situation if that were the case.”

Loki opened his mouth, but paused and sat back.

Tony’s scowl hardened to the point of looking painful.

“I get it. Tony, you know that I mean it when I say that get what you’re feeling.” You sighed heavily. “But I’ve been in his head, and trust me, he’s a major pain the ass. Problem is…” the memory slid over you bringing bile to the back of your throat. “There’s someone way worse out there. Someone surrounded by evil. Loki is no choir boy. There’s centuries of troublemaking, but Loki is not evil. His nature, his own issues, were warped and amplified to turn him into a tool of destruction.”

You picked up the Bloody Mary and took a sip. “It would still be easier if you could just take out all your anger and pain out on him though, right?”

Tony barked out a bitter laugh. “Well the big guy got his turn.”

Loki’s eyes narrowed at you. “Are you attempting to help? I’m not certain I can tell.”

Both you and Tony laughed in earnest. It became a balm and you felt Tony begin to mentally unclench. Loki’s grumble of “happy you find me so amusing” inspired another round of giggles. By the time you turned back to your food, the emotions bouncing around the room felt far better.

“So,” You asked through half a mouth of food. “What’s going to happen to us?”

“That’s still being discussed. Loki is a question all on his own, but you managed to step in it when you went on the three hour cruise through his mind. You know too much now. We have to figure out what to do with you too.”

“I understand.”

“You’re being awfully calm about it all.” Tony’s brow arched.

“A little while ago I thought I would killed by aliens. Being held in a nice room, with pleasant company, and good food while any alternative other than death is being considered is a step up in my book.”

Loki smirked. “I am both admonished and flattered.”

“So you’re really okay?” Tony ignored him.

“No.” You answered honestly. “I’m not physically hurt or in danger. But I’m emotionally battered, and confused, and have things in my mind that I’m trying to sort out. There’s so much in my head right now, I’m really trying to stay focused on being present otherwise it would be overwhelming. I’m not sure how to deal with it.”

You felt the tears well in your eyes. “In all honesty, I would really like to have a thorough breakdown for a while, but I know we’re being watched.”

“(Y/N),” Tony crouched before you as a few tears escaped. “It’s totally normal…”

“Bullshit.” You bit off. “You telling me you would let S.H.I.E.L.D. watch you fall apart? You know as well as I do that all that video and audio would be used to claim I was unstable, or unreliable, or use it to commit me. So unless you want to turn the surveillance off, you can shove the sympathy up your ass.”

Loki scowled hard. Tony rocked back on his heels.

“You know I’m right.” You wiped away the tears, and turned back to the food even though all hunger was gone. “I get why you have to do it, Tony. I do.” You did not look at him again as he stood.

Loki got to his feet. “Are we done for now?”

“Yeah.”

The two of them moved to the door. Loki leaned a little closer and spoke quietly. “She will not be able to maintain for long. I assume by breakdown you mean a release of pent up emotions?”

Stark nodded.

“(Y/N) has absorbed a millennia of memories and emotion all at once. She needs my help to sort through them, but it will be…messy. Should she continue to lock down her mind as she is right now, it will break free in an uncontrolled and painful manner.”

Tony searched the God of Mischief’s eyes for sincerity. He nodded again and left.

#loki x reader #loki fic #loki fanfic

309 notes · View notes

tyrannoninja · 4 years

Text

Arrows of Alodia

Japan, 1500 AD

The walls of the castle glowed pale yellow before the face of the setting sun, with blue shingles sparkling on stacks of curved roofs. This radiance conferred the semblance of a tall gold crown encrusted with lapis-lazuli gems. The castle sat atop a wooded hill, overlooking the fields, forests, and scattered peasants’ villages like an emperor surveying his rural domain.

A young woman hiked a series of stone steps that zigzagged up the hill’s northern slope, cradling in a yew chest her arms. Her hooded waist-length kimono and trousers, both dull green like the trees sheltering the path, protected her both from the evening’s damp chill and from any eyes spying on her. Not that the woman had noticed anyone giving her a second glance so far, but nobody in her line of work could afford to let their guard down.

She reached the summit of the hill, strolled across the short bridge over the castle’s moat, and paused to gaze over the sprawling countryside. The verdant beauty of the Japanese landscape would never leave her eyes entirely, yet years of experience had scraped away much of its allure. She knew that underneath its lush and tranquil veneer lay a cutthroat and lawless world of cruelty and treachery.

This would be her last evening in the land. The next day, she would set sail for civilization.

Among the irregular mass of rocks building up the castle’s base was a rectangular slab, as tall and wide as a man. The woman inserted her fingers along its edge and pushed it aside as if it were a regular sliding door. Ahead ran a narrow corridor lit with paper lanterns hanging from the ceiling, a small courtesy she had not expected.

Underneath the more pleasing scent of the cherry blossoms, the stink of dead flesh leaked through the chest’s lid. The woman hugged it against her breast, a queasy nausea swelling in her stomach. Grisly as the odor was, it was only part of the price she had to pay for her upcoming escape.

She followed the passageway through the base until it led into a series of rooms, the walls built of white paper with wooden frames, a building material she had always thought strange. Back in her native Alodia, along the Nile to the south of Egypt, people built almost everything from sturdier materials such as mudbrick or stone. For a race that constantly warred with their own, the Japanese could have stood to fortify the interiors of their homes better.

After sliding open a succession of paper doors, the woman found the Daimyo Takeshi awaiting her in his study. She greeted him with a bow of her head while laying the chest before the tatami mat he sat on.

“I see you already had the way in lighted for me, my lord,” the woman said. She pulled down her hood to reveal her dark brown face and braided black hair. “Very kind of you.”

“I have good timing.” The old Daimyo croaked a chuckle as he laid his hands on the chest. “I trust this is Hiroshi himself?”

The woman nodded as she unslung her bow and quiver. “I took him out in the dead of night. Nobody suspected a single thing. Suffice to say he won’t trouble you anymore.”

Takeshi pried the chest open, releasing the stench of its contents in a full wave. Inside lay the half-rotten head of Hiroshi, once his vassal. The Daimyo’s cackling made the woman feel even more sick than the morbid object.

“Excellent work, Maia of Alodia,” he said. “I see you more than deserve your reputation.”

“I’ve had a lot of practice, my lord.”

Maia glanced around the study for a bag of coins, yet she could find none. The only gold she detected in the room was the paint on some serpentine dragon illustrations on the walls. “Now, where is my payment?”

The Daimyo’s smile vanished. He pulled a curved scabbard from his belt and slid out the katana sword within. “You didn’t really think I would let you go with my vassal’s blood on your hands, did you?”

Maia’s pulse kicked into a thumping panic. She held her bow close to her. “Why not? None of the other daimyo I’ve served had a problem with that.”

“Then they were fools. Think, Alodian, of what would happen were you around to blurt out the truth, in whatever circumstance. The world would know I was behind this all, and I’d have even more insolent subjects to contend with than before!”

“Then perhaps you shouldn’t pay anyone to take out your critics, O Daimyo.”

Takeshi stood and drew back his sword, his once pale yellow-brown face flaming red. “Unless I can take you out in turn!”

Maia ducked beneath the slicing sweep of his katana, dodging it by less than an inch. She hopped across the room and swung her bow at him as if it were a sword. Its bottom tip slashed across the back of the Daimyo’s blue silken vest. Despite not drawing blood, he fell over with a yelp and a groan, his sword flying out of his grip and rolling over the floor until Maia picked it up.

Maia strutted over to where he lay and pressed the tip of his katana into the nape of his neck. “I could easily kill you as I killed your vassal, Daimyo Takeshi. But I’ll give you one more chance than you gave him. Pay me the gold you promised, and I’ll leave your hide unscratched.”

“Never!” Takeshi swept his arm aside and banged into Maia’s ankle, tripping her. He snatched his sword back in a springing leap. “I still have tracks to cover up.”

After wheeling away from his next few attacks, the Alodian shot her foot into his shin. He growled a hideous curse and repaid the blow by slashing across her hip.

The cut burned hot through the flesh of her leg. Her rage blazed so much hotter that it drowned out all pain.

Again the Daimyo charged, brandishing his blade with a bloodthirsty roar. Maia sidestepped and swatted him in the skull from behind, throwing him across the room until he crashed through the wall, tore through the paper and splintered the framing. From a leather sheath under her belt, she grabbed a curved dagger and flung it into his spine. After one last guttural croak, the Daimyo Takeshi lay without movement other than the blood flowing out of his wounds.

Signing a cross into the air, Maia whispered a prayer that her God show mercy on the poor sinner’s soul.

“How could you?”

A young woman in a scarlet kimono burst into the study, her hair tousled and her face wet with tears. She knelt sobbing by the Daimyo’s body.

“I’m sorry, was he your father?” Maia asked. She lowered her hand to touch the other woman’s shoulder in consolation.

“No! I was his beloved wife, Ichiko.” The Japanese girl slapped the Alodian away and tore the katana out of her fallen husband’s grip. “Now you will pay for your crime, barbarian bitch!”

Yanking the dagger out of Takeshi, Maia thrust it to parry Ichiko. Sparks erupted from the clashing of blades until the Alodian’s smaller weapon broke in half. She lunged to stab her opponent’s thigh, but Ichiko kicked her into the room’s opposite wall.

Maia had carried half her dagger, and the Daimyo’s widow showed just as much agility. Maia carried only one weapon that would give her any advantage in the fight.: the one she had used on the vassal Hiroshi.

What she needed was more space between she and her target.

After chucking a stick of shattered wood into Ichiko’s face, Maia scrambled to retrieve her bow and quiver. She hurled herself through the hole, over the Daimyo Takeshi’s body. She had an arrow drawn the instant Ichiko launched herself into the air, katana raised overhead for a downward cleave.

Maia fired. Ichiko fell in mid-arc onto Takeshi, the arrow through her heart seeming to pin her onto her husband’s corpse, uniting them in death as in life. It was a bittersweet way for them to go, Maia admitted to herself.

Through her labored breathing, she heard the shrill wailing of an infant.

Hurrying out of the study, the Alodian stumbled into a room, where three flat cushions rested like low beds on the floor. The first two were adult-sized, for the Daimyo and his wife. The third was only big enough to support the naked, wailing baby that lay curled into a ball on it, bawling with frightened distress.

Throughout her career, Maia of Alodia had taken many lives. Some were daimyo rival to the ones who paid her, whereas others were insubordinate vassals like the one she had taken at Takeshi’s behest. Still others had been guards and soldiers she fended off when her missions went sour. It was her way of earning what she needed to survive in a ruthless country. Never had she imagined she would feel guilt or remorse, until she saw the tears glistening on the baby’s face.

He had no mother or father anymore. No one left to comfort or protect him. Instead, he lost them to the cold bite of steel, much as Maia had lost her own mother and father when she was a girl. This time, though, Maia’s own steel had robbed him of his family.

She could not leave him there. Either he would die young in this merciless land or would grow up forever ablaze with hatred for her and perhaps all the people of Alodia. Maia could not blame him one bit for that.

She had to make it up to him, to give him what she had taken from him.

Maia picked up the baby in a firm embrace, murmuring soft words to soothe him. “I shall name you Isaac, sweet one. Don’t cry, you shall be safe with me.”

The castle of the late Daimyo Takeshi, once a brilliant pale yellow, turned a luminous white before the moon and stars. Down the hillside steps Maia descended, holding the sleeping Isaac under one arm while hauling the yew chest in the other. Instead of a human head rolling within it, the chest now jingled with plundered gold coins, more than enough to buy Maia a sailing trip away from this beautiful yet deadly land.

Where could she go next? She didn’t know. Her family had fled Alodia when it fell under attack by the Muslim Funj, and doubtless they would have taken the kingdom over and replaced its Christian religion with their own. Perhaps Ethiopia, another African kingdom still faithful to the same God as Alodia, would offer sanctuary. Or maybe Maia could sate her appetite for adventure elsewhere in the East, perhaps the jungle kingdoms to the south or the steppes to the north. Even the empire of China might hold promise, as they enjoyed more unity than the Japanese.

Wherever Maia went, she would carry Isaac with him. She would nurse him, raise him as her own, and teach him how to shoot arrows like a true Alodian.

This and other short stories can be read in my self-published collection Beasts & Beauties.

#short story #fiction #literature #african #sudanese #nubian #black woman #woman of color #warrior woman #feudal japan #japanese #asian #historical fiction #woc #poc #writing

3 notes · View notes

aviss · 4 years

Note

I didn't know you were taking the Arcana prompts, too! Oops/ Would you consider the Moon, please?

Thanks so much for the prompt! Hope you don’t mind some fix-it of the very bad scene in 8.04

The Moon: domesticity, the wilderness, howling, illusion, insecurity

Brienne woke up slowly, by stages, not the abrupt snap into consciousness of a seasoned soldier in the middle of a war, but the luxurious stretch of limbs she had become accustomed to in the past moon, the burrowing into the warm blankets and the warmer body pressed against hers. Except, when she went to hold Jaime’s body against her, she only touched air.

The sheets were still warm and the fire was burning merrily in the hearth, she yawned and lifted her head. Jaime was standing by the heard, his back to her, head hanging.

He was fully dressed.

“Jaime,” Brienne rasped, suddenly gripped by a terrible fear. “Come back to bed.”

He didn’t move, though his back hunched further, shoulders coming up, tense. “I’m sorry,” he said, barely a whisper. Brienne wouldn’t have heard it if there had been any other noise in the castle, if it hadn’t been the darkest hour where everyone slept.

She had seen him like this, staring into the fire lost inside his own mind several times in the past moon since they started sharing her chambers. It usually happened when he’d had troubled sleep, or if he’d been with his brother. Brienne wasn’t an idiot, she knew he was thinking about his sister, back in King’s Landing, and that part of him probably wanted to be with her.

It was the part of him that usually took over during the night, when fears and demons spoke the loudest.

She hadn’t seen the shadow of Cersei during their waking hours, hadn’t had to contend with her during their lovemaking, when Jaime only had eyes for her and gave his entire being to her. She wasn’t there during their meals or their training. She wasn’t there when Jaime sparred with Pod, nor when they were discussing the reconstruction of Winterfell and assigning jobs to the people. And she wasn’t inside their chambers when they lay entwined with each other talking about their past, and the years separation, their bodies still cooling after their previous exertions.

At night, when they slept, was a different matter. Brienne had heard him muttering her name, and had seen him get up and go stare into the fire until he was shivering, arms crossed over his own torso. He always came back to bed and warmed against her body, pressing fevered kisses to her naked skin and calling her name like a benediction.

Brienne had feared one day he wouldn’t come back to bed.

“Jaime,” she repeated. “Please.”

He flinched as if hit, but didn’t turn back. “Go back to sleep, Brienne.”

She got out of the bed instead and walked to him, the coldness of the stone on her bare feel making her shiver. She had known, somehow, today would be the day Cersei’s shadow would take him from her, had known it since Sansa had received the raven.

“Go back to bed, Brienne, you’ll freeze,” he said, still not looking at her, his voice flat and lifeless.

“You’re leaving me,” she said, the words hanging in the air between them.

“I’m sorry.”

“They’re going to destroy that city, this time there is no sacrifice for you to make that will stop them.”

“I know that,” some bite had returned to his voice, a spark of life.

She blinked rapidly against the sting in her eyes, she knew what he meant to do if not saving the city. “You can stay here, with me, and live.”

“I don’t deserve that, I don’t deserve you. She wouldn’t have done half of the things she’s done without me. She’s going to die for all her crimes, but she couldn’t have done it without me.”

Brienne’s heart clenched, half in sorrow and half in rage. “Fine,” she said, the word dragged out of her. She turned and went to her clothes, and started putting her underwear on, then her undershirt and breeches. Jaime turned at the noise, an alarmed look on his face when she saw her getting dressed.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m coming with you.”

She was almost gratified at the panic on his face before he smoothed it out, his jaw set. “Absolutely not. You just said it, they’re going to destroy the city.”

“I know that,” she mimicked him.

Jaime narrowed his eyes at her. “You’re not coming, you’ll die.”

She mirrored his expression. “And how do you propose to stop me?” She looked at Widow’s wail strapped to his waist and lifted her eyebrows in challenge.

Jaime flinched as if struck, deflating. “Please. You don’t deserve to die there, you belong here where people respect you. You’re a Knight, you’re Sansa’s trusted commander.”

She approached him, fully dressed and grabbed Oathkeeper from the peg where it hung, strapping it to her own waist. “You said you deserved to die because your sister wouldn’t have held onto power without you,” she said, playing her last card. “You wouldn’t have been in a position to help her were it not for me. I got you back to her.”

Jaime shook his head. “No.”

“If her crimes are yours, then your crimes are mine. We can all die together in King’s Landing.” She headed to the door. “Come, we have to ride hard to get there in time to die with Cersei.”

He grabbed her shoulder and made her turn. “What are you doing? Why are you doing this?” She saw the anguish and desperation on his face. “You have to stay here. I can ride south and face my sins if I know you are here.”

“They are my sins too,” she said, softly.

“No they’re not, you stupid, stubborn wench!” he spat, pushing her against the door and closing the space between their bodies, caging her there. “I have to go to her, we were born together and we’re meant to die the same way. But you have to live. I can’t bear the idea of you dying with me, don’t you see?”

“And what makes you think I can bear it if it’s you?” She put her hands on her face. “You do love me, that is the reason you want me to live. I love you, and I’ll try to keep you here even if you hate me for it.”

“I could never hate you,” Jaime whispered, horrified by the prospect.

“If your sister loved you, she’d want you to stay here, as far from King’s Landing as possible. If she wants you there so you can die with her, she doesn’t love you.”

She saw the moment she got through to him, the fight gone out of him. He sagged against her, his head dropping to her shoulder. Brienne encircled his back with her arms while he shook against her, not caring that her jerkin was getting wet or that her back was getting stiff. They stayed like that for an eternity, until Brienne moved them back inside the room and started the process of undressing them both.

Jaime let her, and let her put him to bed again, curling immediately against her body.

There would be no more sleep for either of them, but it was fine, they were together and alive. They would stay that way, the shadow of Cersei finally gone.

#arcana prompts #jaime x brienne #fix-it #my fic #my writing #scoundrels-in-love

43 notes · View notes

blackmissfrizzle · 5 years

Text

A Tale of Two Soldiers Part 6

Title: A Tale of Two Soldiers Part 6

Characters: Erik x reader, Bucky x reader

Summary: Erik and Bucky come to save you.

Word Count: 5703

Warnings: Sexual assault and sex trafficking (Plesse don’t read if they’re triggers for you even though it does not go into depth.) Violence and a little torture

A/N: no keep reading link since I’m on mobile.

You awoke with a pounding headache, it was worst than the time you were matching drink for drink with Steve. Whatever room you were in the air was freezing and it didn’t help that Marcus or whoever he was working with left you in your lingerie set.

As you were coming to, you heard a murmur of voices. You got up to investigate where the voices were coming from. With each closer step you heard a bunch of:

‘She’s up’

‘She’s coming’

‘Is that Y/N’

‘Isn’t she an avenger’

When you found the voices, they belong to a group of women, scratch that not all of them were women. The youngest seemed to be about 11. All of them were in skimpy shorts and crop tops. Judging from their outfits, your new environment, and your abduction you just got caught in a fucking sex trafficking ring. Great, Bucky and Erik weren’t going to let you out your sight after this.

A young girl with big doe eyes tentatively walked to you.”Are you here to save us? You’re Y/N, the avenger, right?” Her eyes were filled with hope and you didn’t want to tell her the truth and break her heart but you also didn’t want to lie to her and give her false hope.

You didn’t know if it was luck or not but a girl who looked like life hardened her answered for you. “Does she look like she’s here to save us? She’s for sell just like us!”

To make yourself smaller you kneeled down to the other girl’s level. “She’s right. I’m here against my will. But, I got some powerful friends and they’ll find us sooner than later.”

Suddenly, you heard a loud slam of a door and the clicking of heels against the tile floor. A man in a full Armani suit was surrounded by his bodyguards appeared. He seem like the type of man to brag about his accomplishments and flaunt his wealth, especially with women. And if they didn’t do as he asked, he’ll call them anything but a child of God.

“I see that you met your new roommates,” the man stated smugly.

Already tired of the bullshit you punched ole dude in his smug face. In return you received a kick in the gut that caused you to fall to the ground.

Armani suit bent down and jerked your chin so you could look into his emotionless eyes. “They were already ordered not to hit you in the face. We don’t want to damage our money maker.”

“You’re really selling me and these girls? Oh, you don’t know what trouble you just got yourself into asshole.”

“Trouble? I don't think so. You’re gonna be worth more than all of them combined. Someone as beautiful and strong as you. You’re gonna make me a rich man.”

“Let’s say if you get the chance to sell me, you’re not gonna live long enough to spend it. My dad’s a senator, my uncles are War Machine and Ironman, my best friends are Captain America and Black Widow, and my boyfriends are the two most ruthless killers ever. I’m starting to feel bad for you bro.” You shrugged at the man and smirked.

“I knew you were a little slut.” He gripped your face harder to the point you thought he would break some of your teeth and then he gave you a bruising kiss. In return you head butted him, which he seemed to enjoy from his evil chuckle. “I wish I could keep you for myself. Do you know what’s the most satisfying thing about my job?”

“I don’t know. You get your tiny dick sucked? You must be overcompensating for something,” you sneered.

The big bad grabbed your hand and put it on his rather unimpressive hard on.”I assure you I’m not overcompensating for anything.” Great, not only were you kidnapped by an asshole but he was delusional as well.

“Anyway, my favorite thing about my job is dousing out fires. Now, your average sex trafficker wants to get easy girls. Girls who won’t put up fight. But me personally, I like it when my girls got fight in em, because I enjoy putting them out. I love when a break down a girl and make her submit. The more fight she had the better. And you, Ms. Y/L/N are one of the strongest women I ever had and to bend you to my will until I submit,” he took a deep inhale and palmed himself. “I would pay good money for that, but you’re the product and I can’t make money if I use my own product. But no worries, there are buyers out there with similar viewpoints as mines and they’ll pay a pretty penny for you. So, I’m not scared because I’ll have enough money in the world not to worry about your friends and family.”

As Armani suit gave his bad guy monologue, you found a random pipe on the floor behind you. Despite your better judgement you grabbed the pipe and whacked the smug smirk off your captors face. “I’m glad you like your girls with fight because I gotta whole lotta fight in me.”

When he faced you, you finally saw the anger in him instead of that giddiness he had earlier. “Make sure you don’t hit her in the face. Remember that’s our money maker, but everything else is fair game.” While he ordered his men to do their worst his eyes never left yours until he exited the room.

Soon as their boss left, the goons started pounding at you. Some used their fists, some used their feet, some used the butt of a gun, and some used a pipe. No matter what they were using, pain reverberated throughout your body. Although, you were in immense pain you refused to give these monsters the satisfaction of your screams in pain, so you suffered in silence. The only thing that could be heard were their grunts and vile words towards you. It wasn’t until you blacked out with thoughts of Bucky and Erik saving you were you able to escape the pain.

——

Charles automatically noticed something was wrong when you didn’t show for the family photo shoot. Even though you hated doing things like these you were always 30 minutes early, just in case someone needed help with something. So when his baby girl wasn’t there when he got there, he ordered his crazy daughter, Casey to track you down.

That was two days ago and there was still no word from you. HPD inform your parents that they couldn’t find Marcus, who you were last seen with and now he was officially a person of interest.

The whole family was gathered in the living room with the Wakandans, James Warren, Tony, Rhodey, and Detective Johnson from HPD.

“We have an update on your daughter’s case,” the detective informed the Y/L/N family as he handed a folder to your father.

His knees buckled once he saw what was inside. It was photos of you in your lingerie, posed for sell. The pictures got worse as he saw all the bruises on your body.

Your mother got a look as well and she instantly wailed. “Who would do this to my baby?”

Tired of being in the dark, Erik took the photos from your dad. When he saw them he was fuming and he knew just who to blame.

Throwing the photos at Bucky, Erik stormed towards Bucky and sucker punched him.”Its your fault! I was stupid enough to listen to you and let her go to that damn auction! Now look, Barnes she’s caught in a sex trafficking ring!”

Everyone except the Wakandans perked up at the mention of Barnes. “Bucky Barnes?” Tony and your mom questioned.

Bucky was outed now, so he took the nano mask off. “I’m just as pissed as you, Stevens and I blame myself more than you ever could.” Then Bucky turned his gaze towards Tony and your mom, “But all of you have a choice. You either can turn me in over duty or some personal vendetta or you let me be Winter Soldier and bring our girl home and kill those sons of bitches.”

Regrettably, Tony conceded to Bucky. He was far too worried about you to get back at Bucky and he knew how much those bastards needed to pay and the Winter Soldier was what they needed.

“Who took those photos,” Rhodey asked gravelly.

“We believe it’s Richard Dominguez. He just took over the Dominguez crime family and expanded into sex trafficking, which his recently deceased father was against.” Detective Johnson informed the room.

“What about this Marcus nigga?” Erik asked. He was ready to kill someone and if he couldn’t get to Dominguez then Marcus would have to do.

The detective felt uncomfortable under Erik’s murderous gaze. “Umm...we can’t find him.”

“Then what the fuck you niggas good for? Oh wait never mind y’all good for killing innocent black people.”

“Cousin!” T’Challa admonished his younger cousin.

Erik just shrugged his shoulders because he believed he told no lie. He looked at Shuri and nodded his head at her. “Lil cuz, can you find this Marcus dude if we give you his picture?”

Shuri looked at Erik as if he grew a second head. Did he know who he was talking to?”

“My bad, cuz,” Erik quickly apologized once he saw the look on Shuri’s face. “Can you find him quickly is what I meant to ask.”

“Give me the picture and I’ll tell you his last location within 30 minutes, cousin,” the Wakandan princess stated.

Detective Johnson handed a photo of Marcus to Shuri and she promptly went to work.

---

Everything hurt. You were sure that you had a couple of broken ribs. The girls took turns looking after you and in that time they told you who held the group captive. It was some dude named Richard Dominguez and he was fairly new to the game.

The door squealed open and the girls hid in their respective corners. You thought it was Dominguez coming to gloat about the offers he got for you, but it was a woman instead. She reminded you of a Kim Kardashian wannabe. Nothing on the woman was real. Her ass was disproportionate to her thighs, her lips looked as if they were stung by bees, and her tan was so dark that she was nearly the same color as you.

“So, you’re the one my husband can’t shut up about. He keeps on talking about your beauty, but from where I’m standing, darling, you ain’t that beautiful.” The woman sneered at you as she inspected you.

If her physical appearance didn’t put you off, her attitude did the job for you. Annoyed with the woman you sighed, “Don’t tell me your ok with this? And please don’t tell me you’re jealous.”

“Ok? Sweetie, I’m ecstatic with anything that allows me to afford my lifestyle. I would sell my own grandmother if it meant I could live like this. Honey, why would I ever be jealous of you?”

What a delusional one this chick was. You laughed at her and proceeded to read her. “Listen, sweetie, ummm, everything on your body is predominantly features of a black woman and under all that tanning lotion, you’re clearly not a black woman. You literally just came in here and called me ugly for having the same features you have that your plastic surgeon did a botch job on.”

You stood up face to face with Dominguez’s wife and even in your diminished shape she was frightened by you. “I bet your bitchass husband is fantsizing about me while he’s fucking you,” a look of embrassement from the woman confirmed your hunch and you contined. “I’m gonna go as far and say he called out my name on accident. Man, it must suck to be you.”

The wannabe was in tears by now and she ran out the room. Usually, you wouldn’t revel in the fact that a husband was mentally cheating on his wife, but since she was compliant, you didn’t feel an ounce of guilt.

Once again the door creaked open and this time it was Dominguez and he was pissed. He stormed towards you and punched you in the gut. “You made my wife upset, you little cunt! Be glad that you are of value to me or you be dead.”

You knew Dominguez didn’t care about his wife, but she must’ve gave him an earful and that set him off. Holding yourself back, you smirked at the man. “I don’t know what’s worse for you. Me getting to you and killing you or the Winter Soldier and Killmonger killing you. Either way you end up dead and you better pray that nothing happens to me, because those two I mentioned are nothing nice to play with.”

All the blood drained from Dominguez’s face when you mentioned the Winter Soldier. He didn’t know about Killmonger, but he didn’t sound fun and now suddenly he was fearing for his life.

His silence stuck with you and you knew you had him. You decided to taunt Dominiguez some more. “Remember when I said boyfriends? I was talking about them. So, even if I end up getting sold, you won’t be spending any of the money.”

Richard continued to keep his mouth shut as he tried to calmly exit the room. When he was outside the door, he ordered his head of security to hire more guards in case the Winter Soldier came looking for him. Now he had to get rid of you much quicker than he would like to, because he refused to be a victim of the infamous Winter Soldier.

---

Shuri came through and she was able to locate Marcus in 15 minutes instead of 30, and the team had him in their custody no less than 45 minutes.

Bucky was sharpening his knife trying to calm himself before interrogating Marcus when Tony approached him. “I know you hate me, Stark, but I love Y/N, so don’t be mad at her when we get her back. She was just doing what she believed what was right by protecting me.”

Tony held back his disdain for Bucky. He had to admit that he admired how fiercely Bucky wanted to fight for you. “Barnes, I’m not here to fight you. Y/N would whoop my ass if I did right now. I just wanted to say I appreciate how you’re fighting to get her back and that none of this is your fault.” Bucky drew his brows in confusion at Tony’s statement. Did Stark really compliment him?

“I know. I know. It doesn’t sound like me. But you can’t fight at your best if you keep thinking its your fault that Y/N is captured. You were ok with Y/N going to the auction, because you knew she was going to do it anyway. Don’t beat yourself up over that,” Tony advised the soldier.

“Thanks.”

“I still hate you by the way. I’ll just hate you less once we get her back.” Tony effectively killed the chance of any reconciliation between the two and left the room

As Tony and Bucky were having a moment, Rhodey was talking to Erik trying to calm him down. “You can’t just go in there and start beating on the dude.”

Erik looked at Rhodey in disbelief, “Oh, I can’t? Watch me.” Erik was walking to the door that Marcus was behind and Rhodey pulled him back before he turned the handle.

“You need to calm down and do it quickly! I’m not letting you blow the only lead we have on finding my niece. Do you understand me?” This was the first time Erik seen the older man lose his cool. He heard from you how your Uncle James was always the chill one despite how crazy our mom or Uncle Tony could be. So, he knew he needed to calm down for the sake of your uncle.

“A’ight. I’m sorry, man. I just need to find her asap.”

Rhodey understood the young man’s urgency. He clapped his shoulder and warned Erik. “We need Marcus alive. The cops need someone to arrest.”

Erik caught Rhodey’s drift. He wouldn’t he able to kill Marcus but whoever was the real culprit was fair game.

When Erik finally gathered himself together he went to the door where Bucky was at and entered the room. The two killers had to school their faces as they entered the room. It smelled of bodily fluids and the heat in the room made it no better.

Marcus was sitting in the middle of the room in his own mess. He was a nervous mess because he didn’t know who kidnapped him and then the crazies had a jaguar and wolf snapping in his face.

“They miss their mom and they know you have something to do with her being missing.” Marcus instantly recognized the man talking. He was the Winter Soldier and he was casually flipping a knife around.

Soon as he recognized Bucky Barnes, Marcus soiled himself once again. Erik scrunched up his face in disgust and pinched his nose. “Really, nigga? You already pissed now you gotta shit! I bet you didn’t have that same energy when you let Y/N go.”

“Look man, I didn’t have a choice,” Marcus yelled in desperation.

Pissed off, Bucky echoed Marcus. “No choice!” Bucky kicked Marcus’s chair, causing him to fall and have Apollo and Artemis growl in his face.

“Are you really gonna let em eat him?” Erik pointed to the predators.

“They haven’t ate all day and he’s obviously no help. Is that a problem?”

“Nah, it’s chow time.” Erik broke out into a smile while Apollo and Artemis widen their jaws for their new meal.

“She’s in Huntsville! Dominguez has a bunch of land out there, but he has a small army. He’ll know you’re coming.”

“We don’t care!” Bucky yelled already texting T’Challa with the information.

Erik bent down to Marcus. “Before I rock yo shit, why did you betray her?”

Marcus was a sobbing mess by now, he feared for his life. “I had a gambling debt at one of Dominguez’s underground casinos. He said it’ll clear my debt and I could get a little extra if I help him get her. Y/N’s an Avenger, I thought she would be out by now.”

As Bucky heard Marcus’s explanation, he crushed the door knob in frustration. What kind of man traded his friend for money? He took his knife out and aimed it at Marcus and cut off the top of his ear.

Annoyed that Bucky threw the knife so close to his face, Erik reprimanded him. “You had to throw it next to my face?” Bucky nonchalantly shrugged his shoulders and exited the room. Erik quickly followed Bucky after he punched Marcus to silence his wails.

Thanks to Bucky texting the intel while they were still with Marcus, Shuri had the location of Dominguez. Everyone suited up as soon as a plan was formed, even though Bucky and Erik just wanted to go in guns blazing.

“You know we don’t plan on bringing Dominguez alive.” Bucky warned your parents.

Your mother left her husband’s side and for the first time looked Bucky in the eye. “I don’t give a damn. If he’s begging for mercy, you better let him bleed out. Just bring back my baby girl.” Now Erik and Bucky understood where you got a fierceness from.

Both men gave a head nod and a yes ma’am to her and left to go save their girl.

—-

You were getting anxious. If it was just you held captive, you would’ve already escaped and killed Dominguez, but you weren’t. The other girls were your responsibility and you promised them all that you would get them out safely and alive.

“Miss. Y/N, are your friends going to save us?” Lexie, the 10 year old asked you with hope in her eyes.

“Of course, honey. They’ll be here soon. If we get lucky, we might get to see the Scarlet Witch.”

Santana being the pessimist she was told the child not to get her hopes up. You were on the verge to cuss Santana out, but you heard gunshots and the screams of Dominguez’s guards.

A smile broke out on your face, help had came. You ordered the girls to grab the shivs they made in the past days.

All of you gathered together and were approaching the door when you heard footsteps by the door. You pushed the girls behind you and got in your fighting stance.

You abandoned your stance and fell to the floor in relief when you saw Steve, Nat, Sam, and Wanda at the door.

“It’s okay. I got you,” Steve hugged you being mindful of your injuries. You hugged everyone else and asked Wanda where Vision was. She told you he joined Tony and should be here soon.

“This family reunion is great, but we got people shooting at us and we need to get these girls to safety,” Nat reminded everyone.

“Nat’s right. You guys get the girls out and I’ll handle Dominguez.” You offered to your former teammates.

Steve was heavily against the idea. He claimed that you would be outnumber and your injuries would be a clear disadvantage. But you weren’t hearing none of it. You needed to kill Dominguez and your friends couldn’t get caught since they were still fugitives.

In the middle of your argument with Steve, your sword Shuri made for your birthday was suddenly in your hand. Then you heard the roar of Artemis and the howl of Apollo.

You smiled at your friends. “Game time, bitches.” This time Steve didn’t argue with you when you ordered them to get the girls to safety. He knew Bucky was there to save you and nothing would get in his way.

Thanks to your sword being made out of vibranium you easily dodge bullets and sliced through Dominguez’s henchmen. Your goal was to kill your captor and everyone who helped him, and you weren’t leaving the base til you did.

Taking two stairs at a time, you ran into the master bedroom and found Dominguez’s wife frantically throwing clothes, shoes, and jewelry into a duffel bag.

“Materialistic to the end, huh?” Your chuckle halted her packing. Immediately she was begging for her life and in that moment you truly didn’t know if you would leave her alive. You asked yourself WWCAD (what would Captain America do?) and regrettably you only knocked her out with a vase.

As you were tying up Richard’s wife, he came running into the room seeking refuge. Once he spotted you, he pointed his gun at you. “Damn, I thought you would’ve killed her. She knows too much about the operation.”

Dang, this man really didn’t care about anyone except himself. “You know I would say I feel bad for her, but she’s as guilty as you are.”

“Then maybe you should give me the same punishment as her,” he tried to bargain with you.

“Too late,” you stated and then you charged the man.

Your fight ended up in the hallway and near the railing. Dominguez and you were dodging each other’s hits. You lunged to stab him, but he fell over the railing but he grabbed you to bring you with him. You were expecting to feel the coolness of the marble floor, but instead you felt the familiar warmth of strong arms.

“I got you, princess.” Tears threatened to spill out when you saw Bucky and Erik. You kissed Erik and murmur a bunch of I love you. Then you jumped out of his arms and limped towards Bucky to do the same.

Unfortunately, your reunion got cut short by the groans of Dominguez. Erik and Bucky instantly got in defense mode but you had to pull them back. As much as you understood their anger, this was your kill.

You slammed your foot into Dominguez’s chest to stop him from getting up. “Remember when I told you I didn’t know if it was worse for you if I got to you if they got to you,” you pointed towards the two soldiers. He gave no answer, but looked at you in pure hatred.

“Well, I forgot about a third option and I’m gonna go with them, cuz they’ll kill you slower than I ever could.” Confusion and then fear crossed Dominguez’s face as he saw the jaguar and wolf prowling towards him out of the shadows.

While Apollo and Artemis were snarling in his face, you bent down to his ear and whispered, “You know my favorite thing about you douchebag dudes is the fear on your face once you know you lost and how you’re gonna die soon. It’s the best feeling.” You patted his chest as you smugly mocked his first conversation he had with you.

Once you started walking away you heard the crunching and breaking of his bones and his cries of pain as Apollo and Artemis ripped into him.

The adrenaline must’ve stopped pumping through you, because you fell to the ground before either Bucky or Erik could get to you. Blood was seeping out of your stomach when the boys reached you. Each of them were yelling it wasn’t your time yet as you repeatedly told them you were sorry. Luckily, Erik managed to insert a Kimoyo bead into your wound to stop the bleeding. And once again you blacked out as you have done so many times this week.

—-

“You’re very lucky Mr. and Mrs. Y/L/N based on all your daughter’s injuries she should be dead,” you heard the doctor inform your parents.

“Thank God!” Your mother praised as she sat in the chair next to your bed.

“Ummm, but is it necessary for them being here?” You could only assume that the doctor was referring to Apollo and Artemis, since you could sense their presence.

“They stay,” Erik ordered leaving no room for negotiations.

A few moments later and you felt your eyes flutter open. No one noticed that you were awake until they heard you groan in pain.

Your first words were where was Bucky and Erik.

Erik left his corner in the room and ran up to you. “Hey, princess. I’m right here and Barnes not here right now. We have too many eyes on us right now.”

Usually you would be understanding, but you didn’t feel complete until you had both men by your side. So, you pleaded with Erik to get him and he was about to comply when Secretary Ross entered your hospital room.

Automatically, you were on the defense and tried to sit up despite the pain you were in. Last time you saw Ross, you cussed him out so you doubted he would be happy to see you again.

“Y/L/N, it’s good to see you’re doing well.”

“What do you want,” you croaked out.

Ross widen his stance in an attempt to intimidate you. “We have reports from the other girls you saved and they said that Steve Rogers and the others were there helping them. Do you know where they have could’ve gone? And please don’t lie, the girls did say you did talk to Rogers.”

Your monitor was beeping quickly indicating the spike in your blood pressure. At this point, Ross was more than a thorn in your side and he was getting dangerously close to be on your kill list.

It also must’ve been your mother’s breaking point, because she jumped out of her seat and was in Ross’s face. “Are you fucking kidding me!!!” Your mama had to be furious to be cussing. You only heard her cuss a handful of times in her lifetime. “My daughter is in the damn hospital barely escaping death and you’re worried about capturing damn Captain America??? My baby girl is right, that heart attack must’ve fucked with your head more than you thought. Now I suggest you get out of this room or that wolf and jaguar are gonna have a new chew toy.”

Ross made the smart decision of leaving the room with no protests. You knew your mom could be scary, but for her to successfully threaten the Secretary of State, she earned a new level of respect from you.

“Damn, Mrs. Y/L/N remind me not to piss you off.” Erik laughed in admiration.

While looking at you and giving you a motherly caress, your mama replied to Erik. “I don’t play about my kids, even the ones who give me the most headaches. So, it’s best you and Barnes remember that.”

You almost couldn’t contain your excitement. That warning your mama gave Erik was also a seal of approval for both of them to date you. Who would’ve thought your mama would be open to you dating an assassin.

For a while you talked with your family. Shannon tried to apologize for unknowingly helping you get kidnapped, but you threatened to burn all her wigs if she tried apologizing again. That quickly got her to shut up.

The nurse came by and told everyone that visiting hours were over. Everyone left except Erik and when she tried to get him to leave, he gave her a deadly stare until she scurried off.

Running your fingers through Erik’s dreads calmed you and him. It was very possible that you wouldn’t have survived and never had the chance to see each other again.

Tears were forming in Erik’s eyes and this was the second time you saw him cry. Between sniffles Erik spoke for the first time since you two been left alone. “I almost lost you, Y/N. That scared the shit out of me. I’m about to ask T’Challa to assign a Dora to follow you when me or Barnes are not around.”

Half of you was grateful that you had a man that cared that much about you, but the other half was annoyed that you were about to get a 24 hour detail after this whole debacle. “I’m safe, E. But don’t you think it may be a little extreme to have someone watching me all the time?”

“Hell no.” Welp, there’s goes any negotiation. You didn’t have the energy to fight Erik on the topic, so you let it go for now.

Erik jokes with you for a bit to lift your spirits, but he knew eventually you would ask for Bucky again. He told you what you already suspected which was that Bucky felt guilty about your abduction and was avoiding you. You told Erik to get Bucky and tell him if he refused to come you would never speak to him again.

Within 10 minutes, Bucky was sulking in your room. Erik excused himself, knowing that you two needed this intimate moment and appreciative that he spent time with you already.

“You two seem really close now,” you pointed out to Bucky after Erik clapped his shoulder.

Seemingly nervous, his metal hand scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah, when the girl you both love gets kidnapped it brings enemies closer.”

Bucky made no attempt to get near you and it broke your heart. In the time you needed him the most he refused to be there for you, but you understood it, he was still blaming himself.

“Doll, I really shouldn’t be here.”

“Why?”

“It’s not safe. I heard that Ross came by looking for intel. Someone can come by and turn me in.”

Although, it was a valid concern, you knew that wasn’t the real reason Bucky thought he shouldn’t be there. “I have my own hospital floor and Tony made sure everyone signed a NDA, so try again, Barnes.”

This time Bucky moved towards you and you could see the pain in his eyes. Hell, you practically felt the pain rolling off of him onto you.

Bucky was crying by the time he sat next to you. He laid his head on your stomach and you could feel his tears seeping through your hospital gown.

When he finally composed himself, Bucky spoke.”Fuck doll, if I hadn’t encouraged you to go to that damn auction you wouldn’t be in this damn hospital bed.”

You lifted his chin to get his attention. “I’m only gonna say this once. It’s not your fault. I was gonna go with or without your permission.”

Bucky opened his mouth to apologize, but you held up your hand to stop him. “James Buchanan Barnes if you are fixing those gifted lips of yours to apologize, I promise you I will cut off your dick and you know how much I love it, baby. You wouldn’t want to do that to me, would you, babe?”

Laughter filled the air and it was music to your ears. Bucky’s laugh was low like his voice but it held a certain lightness that Bucky must’ve retained before joining the army.

“Ok no more apologies. But you’re gonna have someone with you at all times just to make me feel better.”

“I basically told her the same thing and she didn’t argue with me,” Erik added while he was standing in the doorway eating some jello-o.

You rolled your eyes in annoyance at the two men. They really thought you were gonna comply with them. “I didn’t argue with you because I’m too mentally tired to do so. But watch, once I’m feeling better I’m cussing both of you out for trying to tell me what to do.”

Both muttered a ‘we’ll see’ and laughed at you. Throughout the entire night the boys kept you entertained and not once did they argue. It was a rare occurrence for Bucky and Erik get along and you hoped for more of it in the future.

Sleep eventually claimed you and you were glad that you had your two favorite men by your side as it always should be

Tags: @blackreaders-assemble @destinio1 @lildashofmelanin @nickidub718 @dumbchick @chaneajoyyy @wakanda-inspired @blackpinup22 @pastelastronomy24 @cyrioussoul @valkyriesnymph @bitchacho25 @yoyolovesbucky @toniilaney @euphoric05 @marvelmaree @dessianna1

155 notes · View notes

anchored-in-high-tide · 5 years

Text

MILK

Fandom/Pairing: Sherlock/Johnlock Rating: GA Words: 2k Tags: Post Mary’s Death, Pining Idiots, First Kiss, Parentlock, Angst with a Happy Ending, Grocery Shopping

Summary: It's been two months since Mary's death but John doesn't blame Sherlock. They live together again but still struggle with their past, caring for baby Rosie, and their feelings for each other. A trip to the supermarket might change everything.

John sighed. “Damn, I forgot the milk.” His shoulders slumped in defeat as he spoke. He loaded the bananas on the belt a little more forcefully than necessary and pinched the bridge of his nose, pressing his eyes shut against the cold neon light. It was already dark out. They should be home by now, lounging in their chairs or on the sofa, watching something trivial on the telly. But between a particularly gruesome triple murder and flu season at the clinic, neither of them had had time to go out for groceries. With Mrs. Hudson gone to her sister’s, their emergency food supplier had forsaken them as well, leaving their fridge and pantries shamefully empty. They had had no choice. In her baby carrier, Rosie gave another sharp wailing sound that drowned out the soft 80s music droning from the speakers. The little girl had begun to fuss and cry as soon as they had entered the supermarket, raising either annoyed or pitying looks from other customers. John had hardily ignored them while he put toast, produce, and diapers into their cart and bounced his agitated daughter. Sherlock shot John a quick glance, eyes taking in the deep bags under John’s and the way his skin seemed to gradually lose its usual golden colour. He could all but taste the exhaustion oozing out of every pore, seeping through John’s shirt and coat, tainting the air with sleep-deprived resignation, so tangible it might actually be contagious. “I’ll go get it,” Sherlock said before John could ask. He weaved past the other people in the queue behind them. “I’ll be fast.” “Thank you,” John called after him as Sherlock disappeared into the next aisle, his long legs bridging the distance to the dairy section much quicker than John could’ve managed with Rosie strapped to his chest.

As he reached down and grabbed one of the cartons, a sad smile fought its way up to his lips. Buying milk. This used to be such an innocent annoyance when they had first moved in together, a cause for infinite bickering and countless jokes. But that was before everything had changed. Before Sherlock had gone and come back. Before John had gotten married and Sherlock had been shot. Before Mary had jumped in front of him, had spared Sherlock a second bullet and given her life in return. Before her loss had rippled through the already stained fabric of John’s existence and torn it to shreds. And yet, hanging on barely more than threads, John carried on, ever the brave soldier. Every day, every night, he marched onward with bleeding feet and steely stubbornness, Sherlock always by his side to catch him as soon as his legs would ultimately give in. It had been two months and not a single accusation had left John’s lips. In fact, he had barely spoken at all. Uttering not one word too much, he had organized the funeral, taken time off at the clinic to arrange everything for Rosie, packed up all their belongings and moved back to Baker Street. Somehow, he had brought this impenetrable silence with him. Maybe it was the boxes containing what was left of Mary. They still stood in John’s old bedroom, a brooding monument of their marriage, filling 221B with her presence. Sherlock knew—or at least strongly suspected—how unhappy John had been in the few months he had been married, not only because his wife had turned out to be an ex-assassin and shot his best friend. In John’s eyes, carefully covered with layers upon layers of self-preservation, swam something else, something like regret and longing and shame. Sherlock could catch a glimpse of it some nights, when John had numbed his sorrows with one too many glasses of whiskey. This look, this strange look he gave him, had grown so familiar over the years, its intensity waxing and waning. Lately, it had become so powerful that Sherlock was sure it would break through the surface at any moment. Or maybe he was just wishing for it, actively looking for the mirrored image of his own distraught face in those dark-blue eyes. They hadn’t talked about it, of course. And now that Mary was dead the conversation seemed, paradoxically, even more out of the question. Her death had sealed their fate and their lips alike, presumably forever. Some things simply had to stay unspoken, unseen, unfulfilled. Sherlock didn’t care though. John was back at his side again—a worn-out, almost pellucid version of him, but John nonetheless. This time, Sherlock decided, he would do everything right. He would be as supportive and kind and accommodating as he could muster, for John, and for his goddaughter. If this resemblance of togetherness was all that could ever be between them, he would take it. Even if it meant accompanying John on such tedious tasks as grocery shopping. The milk slowly bedewing with little drops of perspiration, Sherlock hurried back to the check-out, finding that the cashier had already begun to scan their items. He shimmied past the other waiting customers and slammed down the milk just as the clerk picked up the last item, the box of formula for Rosie. Her eyes coolly eyed the packaging before wandering over to John who still tried to calm down the baby while packing up the groceries. She pursed her lips into a tight smile. Her voice thinly masking her condescension, she said: “Someone’s a little fussy, I see, being out this late. You know that breastfeeding is actually much better for your child, don’t you? For their immune system and—” “What did you just say?” Sherlock interrupted her, stepping closer and fixating her with an adamantine stare. John startled and halted in his movements, only his eyes flicking back and forth between Sherlock and the victim of his anger. “Excuse me?” the cashier asked, her disapproval still written all over her face. Sherlock examined her closely; the way her cheaply coloured hair framed her turgid, starkly rouged cheeks; the company-issued t-shirt that clung to her sinewy body; the nicotine-stained fingernails. His voice dropped to menacing depths as he cocked his head and said: „Did you seriously just try to shame him for buying formula for his child?” The woman didn’t avert her gaze but swallowed heavily. “I just—” “Do you have any idea what this man has been through? His wife died only weeks after giving birth to their daughter and here you are, you sorry excuse for a human, and try to lighten the weight of your own meaningless existence by belittling a grieving father!?” His voice was barely more than a deadly whisper but the cashier stared at him as if he had shouted. The look on her face—shock, confusion, defiance—made Sherlock’s synapses sizzle like high-voltage lines, sending white-hot sparks to his eyes and overriding his self-control mechanisms. How did this horrible woman dare to even look at his John with anything other than utter admiration? The anger that bubbled up in him like boiling sulphur kept spilling out. “Oh, it’s so much easier, sitting in your chair and judging other people, without having to give their problems a second thought, you insensible woman. Just so you know: This man is a war hero, a doctor, and now a widower and single father. He’s the most hard-working, loyal, and intelligent man you’ll ever meet, but you wouldn’t recognize intelligence when it hit you in the face, now, would you? What have you ever accomplished in your life, apart from becoming a bitter, arrogant underachiever who can’t even work her way up the ranks by shagging the manager? What on earth gives you the right to spill your unqualified, self-absorbed opinions on decent men like him? You’re not even worth the dirt under his shoes so, for fuck’s sake, just shut up.” The woman’s mouth stood agape, giving her the look of a carp in an existential crisis. Sherlock felt a grim sense of satisfaction rush through him and took a deep breath, readying himself to fire another round of words sharp enough to sever limbs. A warm hand on his forearm stopped him. “That’s enough, Sherlock,” John said, his voice calm but stale. He lifted their shopping bags off the counter and made for the door without so much as looking at the cashier or any of the other customers. For a second, Sherlock stood there completely motionless, his eyes following John out of the store. The sight of his back, upright and sturdy as always, extinguished Sherlock’s anger as if John had emptied a bucket of ice water over his head, leaving nothing but wet, charred doubt. Hastily, Sherlock grabbed the milk, threw a few pound notes on the counter, and hurried after John without waiting for his change. Outside, the chilly wind blew away the last wads of smoke still erupting from his curls. It already smelled of spring. John was waiting for him, only a few steps away. The store’s harsh lighting illuminated his figure but his face remained hidden in the shadows as he bowed his head down to Rosie’s and cooed sweet words that finally seemed to calm her down. Cautiously, Sherlock stepped closer. The milk carton in his hand weighed five stone at least. “Why did you say that?” John asked in a tone Sherlock couldn’t quite place—confused but soft and… hopeful. Taken by surprise, Sherlock took a moment to answer. “It just… made me so angry that she assumed you weren’t doing what’s best for Rosie. She shouldn’t—no one should be allowed to talk to you like this. Not on my watch.” Maybe it was just the neon light playing tricks on his eyesight, but Sherlock was certain that John had smiled for just a second, even though his expression was more serious than he had ever seen when he finally looked up. “No, I mean, the things about me.” “About you?” Sherlock knitted his brows. How he hated stating the obvious. “Because it’s true. You are the best person I know, by far.” John moved closer, this unidentifiable thing floating in his eyes again, right beneath the surface. “So, you meant it?” “Of course, I meant it. Every word,” Sherlock rasped out. Why was his heart pounding so fast? When John gave him a doubtful smile, he added: “John, you are amazing, how do you not know that? You’re an amazing doctor and a great father. You’re irreplaceable as an assistant and a friend. You’re talented and smart and funny and understanding and basically every good thing I could never manage to be. I never dreamed that someone like you would even consider putting up with someone like me. And yet, after all we’ve been through, you are still here and you are still as amazing as ever.” With these words, Sherlock saw it finally break free, rupturing the invisible barriers between them and pouring from John’s eyes, iridescent and beautiful. Before he could as much as take a breath, John had let go of the bags, grabbed Sherlock’s face instead and pressed his lips to his in a desperate kiss. The world cracked at its hinges, tumbled over and spun around with twice its usual pace. Dizzying bliss flooded Sherlock’s system at this touch he had least expected and most longed for. His mind shut off, saturated by unadulterated happiness. He barely gained enough consciousness back to reciprocate the movement of John’s warm mouth against his and fling his arms around the man he had loved for longer than he dared to admit. When they finally broke the kiss, both gasping for air, Sherlock felt something wet creeping through his shoes and into his socks. He looked down to find a white puddle slowly spreading on the pavement. “I—I dropped the milk.” John gave him a smile so bright that it seemed to wash off all the hardship of the past months. “Forget about the milk.”

@itsalwaysyou-jw @benzedrine-calmstheitch @sarahthecoat @micahmatters @lsop712 @drunk-rambles @barbsiebabe @alexangelscuddles

#johnlock #johnlock ficlet #sherlock BBC #post mary #first kiss #fanfic #johnlock fanfic #johnlock fic #Sherlock Holmes loves John Watson #john watson loves sherlock holmes

115 notes · View notes

bookedandbusythough · 5 years

Text

Buzzfeed Unsolved: Gendrya edition

#gendrya #arya x gendry #fan fiction #stories #fanfic #buzzfeed unsolved #au #gendry x arya #arya stark #arya #where arya is the skeptic #and hot pie is the believer #gendry is the cameraman #because closeness opportunities #hot pie #lommy #harrenhall #bfu #jojo writes sometimes

121 notes · View notes

sunevial · 6 years

Text

The Followers: The Lieutenant

So, I absolutely love Discord Murder Party, which is done by the lovely people at @internetremix, so I thought I’d whip up a little fanfiction for you guys staring @miss-goggles character, the Murder God! I had a blast writing this and I hope you guys enjoy the first in what I’m expecting to be a five or six part series!

Night was falling behind the hills, casting shadows in every direction until the land was bathed in an eerie twilight. The man idlily tossed a small dagger in between his fingers, his gaze wandering towards the small town resting in the valley below. What a change from all those years ago, the roads paved with rough cobblestone instead of blood, the winds carrying the sound of laughing children instead of the wails of newly widowed wives. And of course, he was now up here instead of running between the houses, his blade gleaming with dark magics and a wicked smile across his face.

It was so quiet, so peaceful, so calm, so...so incredibly boring.

With a sigh, he tucked away the knife and stretched out his dark wings. He was dressed rather simply all things considered: just a hoodie, jeans, and sneakers. His long chestnut hair was combed back out of his face, well kept, just like his neatly trimmed beard. If he served any other god, maybe he’d be called an angel or a guardian or something along those lines, and maybe he’d actually dress the part if he did have an impressive title like that. But he wasn’t anything quite that fancy. To Her enemies, he was just Her right hand, one of the few beings in existence who had talked back to her and hadn’t been made part of her little game, and generally the most feared of Her servants. Well, at least, he had been, back when people still remembered Her name and didn’t just think her a fairy tale to tell to misbehaving children.

But if he was right about that sign, that was about to change.

“My dear Lieutenant, why exactly did you think a stunted old tree was a good place to take a nap?” She asked, appearing out of the vast nothingness of the plain. “It’s really dull here and there’s some really weird history associated with this place, hm. Oh that’s right, you’re the sentimental sort.” The years certainly had changed her fashion sense, given she was sporting a red dress and heels instead of…well, whatever the Captain had worn before wasn’t really important in the grand scheme of things. But her hair was still the same short blond cut it had always been, framing her delicate six eyes and pointed ears.

“You’re looking well, Captain,” he said, pushing up to his feet. Even with the heels, he still dwarfed her. “Still getting enough sleep? Eating well?”

She snorted and let out a cackle, her fangs glistening in the starlight. “Oh honey, that’s cute that you still think I need either of those things. It would warm my cold dead heart if it existed in the first place. Anyways, I can see that you got my message.”

“It was kind of hard not to,” he said with a shrug, rubbing the back of his neck and pulling out a small knife out of his pocket. It was a strange strange piece of weaponry that didn’t really seem to exist in three dimensions, always appearing flat from every angle it was viewed. “You know, most gods send animal messengers or dream omens, not a knife through your jacket sleeve.”

“Well, we both know I’m not like most gods,” she said with a smirk and a small sigh. “You’ve always been one of my strongest supporters, you know. Most people tend to back out, but no, not you, you’ve pretty much backed me up from day one.”

“Hey, we cryptid types have to stick together, otherwise no one really will believe us.”

“That’s adorable. You’re adorable,” she said in deadpan. “So, where just are the others who so foolishl-I mean...my other followers who have devoted their time and skills to help further the cause?”

The man rolled his eyes a little. “Scattered to the winds after the games ended, but I figure I can find them in one way or another,” he replied with a mischievous smile, spinning the dagger on his finger. “So, I see they’re up and running again?”

She gave a sadistic grin back. “Oh yes they have. Finally brought some…rogue elements into the mix this time. Not exactly intentionally, mind you, but I think this will be one of our best runs yet if we play our cards correctly. And to do that, I need the full crew because I only have six eyes and the players and our audience are getting rowdy. And no one likes a rowdy show, now do they? Doesn’t exactly make for a good story.”

“It seems the gusts and gales are going to be my friend tonight then,” the man said with sigh. “You stick to game preparations, Captain. I’ll find them. Don’t you worry about that.”

“Aww, you’re too good to me, really,” she smirked, stretching out her arms and looking up into the stars. “You know, sometimes I do miss those days when we were all out there together, waging wars against the mortal meatsacks and doing the dirty deeds ourselves, but let’s be honest, that was kind of messy and it was really hard to get the mud off of everything. No, no, this is much better. Much cleaner. Much more dramatic. And much more fun. But you five deserve a little fun of your own. So, I think it’s time we brought this back out.”

With a snap of her fingers, a banner appeared at Her feet. Dyed a deep red, it showed a the silhouette of a woman with a crooked halo framed by a triangle. Four smaller stars surrounded the triangle, all equal distance from the larger star on her chest. There were some words there as well, written in some script no mortal could read and he had not used in some time. But he knew what it said. All who saw the banner knew what it said.

The man scooped it up, the familiar weight resting in his hands like an old friend. Unfurling his wings, he opened his mouth and out bellowed something equally comprehensible and eldritch, leaping into the sky with the flag flapping wildly in the winds. Her cackles rung out below him, twisting and turning into something so horrific that the sleeping townsfolk below woke up in a cold sweat to her laughter. As he climbed higher and higher, the words he shouted were already echoing out to all corners of the earth. It was time they all knew the truth. It was time for them to remember.

“Hear me, old friends, for tonight, the Followers of the Murder God ride!”

#fanfiction #internet remix #discord murder party #the followers

33 notes · View notes

jaxsteamblog · 6 years

Text

Avatar Katara- 3: Katara

They had run for a year. During the spring and summer months, they moved frequently from village to village. It seemed like any time they stopped for more than a few days, there came a notice that the Fire Nation was raiding closeby. While they were probably not looking for Katara, at least not each time, it was still enough to push them onward. Their plan had been to get as far into the interior as possible. Anytime they tried to head toward the pole, however, something stopped them. A pathway had melted more than expected in the summer, or the only available team of dogs were too ill to pull their sled, and more than once they had been stymied by moving Fire Nation raiders.

When the sun started its descent toward winter, the family found themselves back on the coastline, but more north than they had ever been. The village even had a small farm scratched out and other woolly mammals that chewed the rough grass that grew on the tundra.

As with all of the other villages, this one accepted them readily. They were all one tribe after all, no matter how far away they each had lived. They shared a hut with a widower and his son, two hard eyed men with fingers leathered and split by the tanning they did. As was their custom, everyone was hospitable and they each had their own skin and shared a lice free mattress between the four of them. Katara had found comfort curled against her father’s back as Hakoda took in deep swirling breaths in his sleep.

They had only been there for three nights before the chief pulled them into his hut.

“I think you should go.” Cheif Malitut said as his wife set out the plates for dinner. Katara felt that sour knot begin to form in her stomach, as it always did when they spoke of leaving a village.

“Is that best? With the dark months coming, the ice shelf will grow larger and the Fire Nation raids will lessen.” Hakoda said in reply.

“But they will still come and if they arrive in the middle of the dark season, you will have nowhere to run.” Malitut said.

“We have nowhere to go now.” Hakoda stated and Katara pushed at the meat on her plate.

“Brother, I do not intend to send you to the wilds. You are going on a boat.” Malitut said and Katara glanced over at her brother. Sokka stared back at her with wide eyes.

“A boat to where?” Hakoda asked.

“Not far. The ruins of the Southern Air Temple are nearby. We send our livestock there to graze during the dark season. We intend to send you to graze in greener pastures as well.” Malitut answered.

“Is it safe?” Kanna spoke up now and Malitut regarded her seriously.

“We’ve been fishing in the waters between the two places since before the Airbenders were wiped out. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if a Waterbender had been born there before the war.” Malitut chuckled and scratched the side of his nose. He cleared his throat and sat straighter before he continued. “Ever since the raids started, we made a point to occupy those waters. During the summer, we still fish there. In the days before the dark season, we send out our youngest and oldest to attend to our livestock where it is warmer. They know we send people and animals, and they’ve gotten mostly lazy.”

“Mostly?” Hakoda asked, suspicious. Malitut’s wife sat down next to him and put a hand on her husband’s shoulder.

“They will not allow men of a fighting age to cross. They don’t want us to start an army.” Malitut said. The sour knot finally tightened in Katara’s gut and she winced in pain. Sokka reached over under the table and took her hand, squeezing it gently.

“So I will not be able to join my children?” Hakoda questioned, his voice thick and heavy.

“Your mother will be with them.” Malitut countered. “And if you don’t want to do this, I will not force you. You will always be welcome in my hut and we will defend your daughter till the last man.”

Katara saw the pain in her father’s eyes. He knew Malitut was being honest. In the perpetual ice and forever darkness of the winter months, all of the people in the south pole had learned that the only way to survive is to have the support of the tribe. Without it, they would all die. Whomever had exposed her in the beginning had paid a great price at the hands of the Fire Nation, there was no mistake about that.

And now, Katara saw plainly what that cost could entail. This entire village, even the hard eyed widow and his son, would fight a fully armed raiding party to let her escape. They would die before letting any child, let alone the last Waterbender, come to harm.

“I will not put your village in danger.” Hakoda said softly, shaking his head.

“Brother, danger is the polar bear dog’s teeth, the lying ice on the edge of the shelf, and bad fish not properly salted. There is danger everywhere in our lives, and we will face it together.” Malitut said and Katara felt tears come to her eyes.

“It is best, though, for the children if we go.” Kanna stated and Hakoda looked at his mother. As always, her face was stern and her jaw was set.

“You still want to take her north.” Hakoda said quickly and then flinched. It was something he had not meant to say and Katara seized it immediately.

“North? Where?” She questioned and Hakoda sighed, but did not answer.

“I am from the North Pole. We have kin there, and most likely a proper Waterbending master.” Kanna answered instead and Malitut made a thoughtful hum.

“I don’t think you can make it to the north in one go.” He said. “But the Southern Air Temple is a good start.”

They ate dinner together and then after, Chief Malitut took them to the shore where many of the villagers were loading up the rafts. The vessels were wide and flat, with an army of paddling oars to send them slowly over the choppy sea. Bales of dried grass had already been heaped on and the smaller animals - the woolly ovines and the woolly porcines - had already been herded onto many of the rafts. The woolly bovines didn’t like to be penned in for too long, so they would be pushed on in the morning before they set sail.

It was decided that Sokka would travel on one of the larger rafts with a group of older shepherds. Boys at his age did not often go with their families and it would look less suspicious. Katara and Kanna were assigned to a smaller one with a group of elderly women who were hand-knitting and watching one very pregnant sow.

That night, as they readied for bed, Hakoda took Katara back outside of the hut. They both looked up at the night sky, watching high up clouds drift over the stars, causing them to blink in and out of view.

“We will cross many miles before we see each other again my snowflake.” Hakoda said and Katara immediately clung to her father, weeping. Hakoda laid a heavy hand on her back, neither soothing her nor bidding her to stop.

“Papa, I don’t want to go!” Katara wailed. She pressed her hot face into Hakoda’s coat till her nose began to hurt. “Please don’t make me!”

“Katara.” Hakoda said sternly, but lovingly. Katara sniffled but looked up at him. Hakoda crouched down and put a hand on either of her shoulders.

“Your name comes from ‘atka,’ the spirits. They are the ones who came before us, and the last Katara from our village was once a great angakok. She could put on a whale seal skin and become one, swimming in deep waters to feed the village during a famine. You are the last hope for our people.” Hakoda stopped, abruptly as if he had more to say but could not gather the words. Katara whimpered and Hakoda brought her to his chest, hugging her.

“You are my daughter Katara, and I will love you forever.” He said and kissed her hair.

Katara thought she would never be able to fall asleep, but ultimately, between her father’s even breaths and Sokka’s deep ones, Katara felt tears dry on her cheeks as she drifted.

The next morning, there were more tears. Sokka now, even at ten, still had to have his hands pried away from Hakoda’s coat. The other boys took him gently and tried to cheer him up, mostly by poking the tied up woolly ovines with long pieces of hay. Hakoda also stayed busy by helping the other adults push the woolly bovines up onto the rafts and lashing them down. The animals were massive and the rafts dipped dangerously low in the water. Katara felt the ramping anxiety watching it all, and Kanna had to gently lead her away.

When they were settled and the animals had all been tied down, the rafts began to push away. Some distance don the row, Katara could hear the sudden howling of her brother. She too began to cry and Kanna gathered her into her lap, swaying slowly from side to side.

Just as they pushed off, someone called out.

“Wait!” Hakoda yelled and Katara looked up. Her father came up huffing, and his eyes were red and tight. He held out something in his hands and Katara scrambled over to get it.

“Your parents will never leave you.” Hakoda said. The raft pulled away from the shore and Katara grasped the thing her father had offered. She sank back once the raft fully hit the water looked down at her hands.

It was her mother’s necklace.

A/N This is the last update on Tumblr! I’m going to start posting this on FF and AO3, with the link being the weekly update instead!

<<FIRST | <PREV | NEXT>

buy me a coffee?

#avatar katara au #zutara #jax writes #fanfiction #atla au

7 notes · View notes