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herherteartear · 3 years

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blanket kick

précis— Peter's not the suave man he would hope to be in front of his crush. instead, he's a blushing mess that haunts his memories and causes him to take out his frustrations on his blanket. luckily, you prefer cherry cheeks over smooth lines any day.

pairing— Peter Parker x enhanced!maximoff!reader

a/n— this is my first standalone written story and my first time writing for marvel! i hope you guys enjoy thisss<3 i'm also open to creating drabbles to continue this if anyone's interested????! pls enjoy and pls comment and let me know ur thoughts!!!

there are many ways to describe Peter Parker, but none could ever wholly capture the true essence of the boy

besides the obvious stuff,, his intelligence , his insanely good looks , his teenage awkwardness,,

it was a hard feat to string along words to describe the way he carries himself , the way he is with others , the way his heart loves with the same ability a sponge soaks up water and soap

Peter's had crushes before

perhaps more than he'd like to admit

(can't blame the boy, who gave Ty Lee the right be that cute!?)

but when he sees her, his heart begins to swell and suddenly, he forgets how to breathe..

or how to think... talk. y'know normal human stuff

in all honesty, Peter has tried his absolute hardest to block out their first meeting from his memories

he doesn't regret meeting her, of course not! never would he even repent that embarrassingly wonderful day

he only wishes it would've gone a little differently

let's set the scene, shall we?

the sun was shining brightly, the sky was a Carolina blue, the clouds were the prettiest porcelain color, rimmed with lace

Peter was riding in an awfully silent car that Happy was driving to the airport. despite being terrified of what's to come,, the fight Mr. Stark had recruited him for,, the boy was thoroughly enjoying this adventure.

the car came to a stop, which did little for Peter's nerves. he gathered his courage before stepping out, eyes squinting at the brightness of the yellow sun. once his eyes adjusted, they landed on the prettiest head of hair he had ever seen

(although he did think the same for Hermione Granger)

Peter had never been on a plane before that day. but even then, his sparkling eyes stayed trained on her,, completely ignoring the brilliant private jet behind her

"oh? Happy, i thought it was just us?" her voice made Peter's ears burn. he swallowed thickly. you blinked at Peter, curious but also intrigued , you smiled.

to which Peter choked. on air. your eyebrows furrowed in worry.

"a-are you okay?"

"god, kid, get ahold of yourself."

"i-i'm okay! it's– i'm– i'm fine!" Peter quickly stuttered out.

"well, Yn, this is– uh,, what's your name again?" Happy turned towards the boy who's cheeks were now redder than a firetruck.

"oh! i'm Peter– Peter Parker. it's nice to meet you- not that i don't know you. well i don't, y'know not personally. but like from the news.. not that i believe the news! they're awful to you, but i mean i guess i do sometimes– but never about what they say about you–"

"i'm Yn Maximoff. it's nice to meet you too, Peter." you cut him off before Happy strangled the cute boy. you had an amused smile

he was cute

finally getting on the plane, Peter had hoped he would be able to sit far away from you and wallow in his embarrassment,

maybe sneak a glance or two.. imagine a couple of scenarios where he wasn't a doofus,

but that's not quite what happened.

after witnessing just how much the new kids was able to ramble,, Happy was not about to spend a whole ass plane ride remotely close to him

so he took it upon himself to make the kiddies sit together.. much to Peter's dismay.

like!!? did Happy not see how Peter crashed and burned in font of you?!

you, on the other hand,, had the opposite reaction.

being the youngest avenger, you don't get to be around people your age too much,, which isn't something you're complaining about!!

you totally made the decision to be an avenger and you happily welcomed the consequences..

that didn't mean you didn't get lonely at times. especially now with the accords and the team breaking up., things got a whole lot more lonely

your sister, Wanda, had made her choice to leave the compound. you completely understood why, but a part of you had hoped she would've taken you with her

although, staying at the compound did ensure your safety.

it was a weird time for the avenger's , it felt wrong for you to say some of your teammates were criminals

it left a sour taste in your mouth

you glanced from the window seat to see Peter nervously wringing his fingers. you frowned.

"are you okay?" you asked, gently. Peter's eyes widened and his heart jumped to his throat. he wanted to say something, something cool or aloof, something that would make up for his ranting earlier

"i've never been on a plane before." Peter squeaked out. he dropped his shoulders, rolling his eyes at himself. that was the highest pitch he had ever heard his voice. you took in his clearly anxious posture.

"lets switch seats? maybe looking out the window will help you." you stated. before Peter could quickly shake his head, because how rude would it be of him to take your seat?, you were already stood up.

"oh god!" Peter breathed. he quickly shifted over to the seat you once occupied. he wanted to put up more of a fight, but the way you were swaying due to the turbulence, made his palms sweat in fear for your safety.

"you, like, swing from buildings and stuff, right?" you asked. he turned to you with a nod. "are you afraid of heights? or do you just not like planes?"

oh god. oh. no. you thought– you thought he was scared of being on the plane. Peter wanted to shrink in a hole and hide. you probably thought he was such a baby! that he could handle swinging from hundreds of feet in the air, but a plane is where he drew the line?

but what else is he supposed to say? 'oh, no! it's not the plane I'm scared of. it's just your beautiful smile and the way you smell like cocoa that gets me sweating'

wtf.

that was so wrong in so many ways.

"um, no, no. i'm okay, just– just a little nervous, is all." Peter tried to force out a chuckle. but it come out more like a cough. you mouth formed an 'o.'

"ohh, okay." you paused before your eyes lit up. "how about we play a game? to distract you?"

"o– okay.."

"can you talk with spiders?" Peter lifted his eyes from looking at his hands hovering above yours,; he let out a much more relaxed laugh than earlier.

you took advantage of his distraction to swiftly bring your palm from underneath his and slap the top of Peter's hand. he jumped.

"ouch!" he playfully pouted. you eyes glanced down at his lips. you giggled nervously. your hand went to hover over his, him now being the one to do the slapping. "of course i can't talk to spiders! i– i feel like i should probably be able to shape-shift into a spider in order for that to happen, y'know?"

you nodded thoughtfully. "that's true.. you didn't hear this from me, but i heard there's an Ant-Man going around." Peter looked at you with wide eyes.

"no way! that's crazy! does he like turn into an ant?" you bumped his hand with yours in order to get his attention back to the game. his hand burned at the feeling

"i don't know-" you said in a singsong tone. "it's just what's being said around the compound." you quickly slid your hands to avoid Peter's attack. he huffed.

"how are you so good at this?" he knitted his eyebrows to focus on how to attack quickly without hurting you.

"it's a game i used to play with my brother and sister." you answered. Peter finally took his chance to slap your hands, to which you squealed excitedly as you had tried to move in time. Peter and you fell into a fit of giggles.

you both leaned against your seats, still facing each other. your hands fell on top of Peter's.

the brown haired boy quickly slid his hand out from under yours, not because he didn't enjoy the contact, but because he was worried you'd feel how clammy his hands were

you frowned slightly at the loss of contact.

"a– are we really fighting your sister?" Peter wondered out loud, without a second thought.

you shifted uncomfortably. Peter quickly noticed; his heart sped up and he mentally scolded himself for being so inconsiderate.

"not because i think she's evil! i mean,, i know that's what the news says.. but they also think Spider-Man's like thirty. and i'm not thirty! its just everything's crazy right now.. with the accords., i can't even imagine how you're feeling! probably terrible.. oh, g od wait, not terrible, i'm s–"

you had been watching with an endearing look in your eye. you had come to find that you enjoy watching Peter ramble.

his eyes would become unsettled and shaky, his body would begin to become more and more animated, but his voice

gosh, his voice was something you wanted to listen to for the rest of your life

but you could tell he was getting more and more skittish. so you put him out of his misery

"terrible probably wouldn't be my go-to word, it's up there though.. at least i got to meet you." you smiled softly.

Peter's eyes ran over your soft features. night had fallen, so the windows of the plan displayed an almost picturesque display of the moon and stars. the light hue of color the moon provided painted your face in a way that clouded Peter's thoughts.

with your comment of being grateful to have met him, Peter wasn't in control of his mouth for much longer.

"so pretty." he breathed. both of you guys froze.

Peter's face quickly morphed from love-sick to mortified. you blushed violently.

deciding you didn't want Peter to fall into another rant-like apology (because if you got to listen to him talk for that long in this setting, you might just drop the 'L' word) , you said,

"let's watch a movie?"

the two of you sat, shoulder to shoulder, watching Scott Pilgrim Vs. the World, but being too hyper aware of their thighs pressed together and brushing hands to actually pay attention

upon arrival, both teenagers walked off the plane, sleep deprived , but with thumping hearts and dazed grins.

Peter threw himself on his hotel bed that night,, hiding under the covers

his thoughts replayed your interaction over and over (and over and over) in his head

the boy shoved his head, face first, into the stiff hotel pillow and let out a muffled groan

Peter flipped himself over, stared at the ceiling, before remembering his spouts of unnecessarily long explanations

he thrashed his body, kicking his poor blanket in frustration but most of all, out of embarrassment

he calmed himself down once his memories refreshed themselves over your gentle giggles and how soft your hands were

Peter fell asleep with cherry red cheeks and a blissful grin.

because despite those small mess ups, despite the futile way he beat his covers in humiliation, Peter treasures that day like no other.

#peter parker #peter parker x you #peter parker x reader #peter parker x yn #peter parker fluff #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker imagine #peter parker x y/n #tom holland #peter parker headcanon

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thewatercolours · 2 years

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✏️ can you describe what summer in Daventry feels like (okay it’s not a story prompt but you’re so deliciously good with phrases)

An hour before the monsoon struck, the king and queen portaged a raft of their own handiwork down a fern-strewed, curlicue trail. It took them down to the heart of Miscreant’s Hollow. The hollow resembled a giant’s wolftrap at this time of year, for while it was a steeply sunken place, a newcomer to Daventry would only see a lush cover of overgrowth, with no hint of hidden depths. As they descended, the green, dripping humidity of July thickened into haze on their skin. The tang of the tangled plant life played strangely in their noses. It tingled almost like the touch of peppermint oil, and breathed with a deceptive coolness, considering the perspiration dribbling down both their faces.

“Wanna bet whose sweat will crust their eyelashes shut first?” Graham grunted, attempting a one-handed carry so he could whack a flimflammery branch out of their path.

Neese rubbed her damp temple against her shoulder. “Ladies don’t sweat – they glow. Anyhow, if the almanac’s right, the storm will be here long before that.”

The Golden Storm, the townsfolk called it, for reasons Graham still hadn’t parsed. Some of the older chin-waggers called it the Welcome Flood, or Johnny-Come-Lately Springtime. For six nights the rumblebuffin clouds had been churning their way inland, darkening and sagging more heavily every time you looked up. Until the clouds came, summer in Daventry tended gentle and temperate. A week ago, Neese might even have bundled up in a shawl to descend into the shadows of the hollow. But now the air itself was full of invisible rain just waiting to fall, for the clouds to rupture like old wineskins, and downpour for at least a fortnight.

“This looks like a likely spot,” Graham said, as they hefted the raft off their shoulders and dropped it into a dry gully bed, where the sand looked sea-green in the shade. “How do you think we’re doing for time?”

“Considering I have absolutely no idea how much time we have left, I say we’ve been marvelously efficient,” said Neese. She untied a satin sheet from round her waist and draped it flat over the raft. “ Be quick with the plates, dear. If we don’t waste the minutes, we might have time to finish the first course before the flash flood gets here!”

Graham grinned, fishing out Daventry’s second-best silver from his second-safest pocket. Smuggling it out of the kitchen beneath the gaze of the guards had been the trickiest part of the operation. “You sure you want to do this? We maybe should have equipped the raft with handles to hang on to…”

“What? No need. Where are the napkins? Ah, yes. No, as I say, no need. I’ll just hang on to you.”

“And what exactly will I be holding on to?”

“Me, of course! I’d be awfully mad if I held you and you didn’t so much as hug me back. Here – have a napkin and wipe your face off before we eat. Happy birthday, Graham.”

#Hmm... somewhere along the line it got shippy #I had thought of including a passage about how the monsoon used to bother Graham because of the anniversary of the goblin captivity #but about how he's reaching a point where instead of dreading anniversaries he can smile at them compassionately from afar off #before they arrive #so that by the time they arrive he's ready to treat those days gently - and on the whole peacefully.#I liked the idea of showing Graham having put in the work to be in a better place with these things #but it didn't quite work with the shape of the rest of this thingummy.#teeny tiny ficlet #king's quest #kings quest #fanfiction #king graham #valanice #Neese #Daventry #telthor #ask

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newtonsheffield · 3 years

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First off it has to be said that I truly adore Bridgerton and Sons. I didn’t expect this AU to change my world, but I’m addicted. I’ve literally reread multiple works within the series an insane amount of times and then to come on here and find even more content??? My heart actually cannot deal.

You literally put so much love and effort into this world- the fact that you are really out here working hard during the day as well as writing chapters and then you provide us with even more content on here- you are a superhero and it’s so so soooo appreciated, and the love and adoration that you get is so well deserved.

One of my favourite elements of your AU is Gregory and Kate’s relationship, I think it’s just beautiful and I love it soooooo much! So it made me wonder, what’s the dynamic between Anthony and Lucy/ the dynamic when all four of them are together?

Thank you soooo much once again for everything that you do- B&S has such a special place in my heart and does brighten up my day in this dreary timeline that we’re in x

Hi!

Y’all are sending me the most heartfelt messages at the moment (always but particularly in the last few days!) and honestly, I’m just a little overwhelmed by everyone’s love for this series. I feel like I say all the time that when I started this series I never could have imagined that it would have turned into this. I was so excited when Insufferable got 100 reads and now it’s just about to top 5000!!!!!!! Which is truly... insane. And Honestly, at this point it’s much more down to all of you than it is me. I cannot express how it makes me feel that people have really taken this series on board truly just... I love and appreciate every single one of you and I hope you know that, I’m just too awkward to express it. I will just finish my little drone by saying that I have a stressfulish job and so I use writing his universe as a bit of harmless escapism. Some people do drugs, I do this. It is what it is 🤷🏻‍♀️ But ii’m very glad that it does the same for you!

Okay! Now! Anthony + Lucy! Let’s take a look!

Anthony Bridgerton first met Lucy Abernathy when she was hired as the receptionist at Bridgerton and Sons. She greeted him every morning and he returned it smiling politely but they never interacted beyond that. About a year into her employment Harold, his assistant, had come in and explained that they were scheduling appointments in a slightly different way so their may be a few kinks to work out in the coming days. Irritation flared in his chest when he said And who decided on this? Harold had brightly said Well Lucy thought that it would be- But Anthony was barely paying attention as he strode purposefully from the room, Lucy was very well liked and good at her job but what right did she have to decide how his appointments were scheduled?! Miss Abernathy who gave you the authority to-? He started, and Lucy, to her credit, looked barely ruffled at his sharp tone as she smiled and said Let me explain why this was a good idea. By the end of their little chat Anthony was feeling very embarrassed as he said Errr Lucy, I’m sorry about the way I spoke to you, it was uncalled for. We have a new associate starting in a few weeks, I think it’s about time for a promotion. Lucy’s answering smile was blinding.

Of course, after he’d promoted Lucy Abernathy to be Kate Sheffield’s assistant he deeply regretted it. Kate Sheffield may be an absolutely infuriating woman, but her schedule thanks to Lucy was flawless. Kate glided in and out of meetings Lucy behind her rattling off lists of questions handling things seamlessly. He may not like Kate, but he had to admit, she made one hell of a team with Lucy Abernathy. Their relationship was good, easy chemistry as Kate breezed into the office weekly with cake and sweets, and Lucy brought coffee and they giggled and laughed, and Anthony couldn’t help feel a little jealous. Of Lucy’s filing system of course, not the way Kate smiled at her. And so when Harold left Anthony saw his chance. He called Lucy into his office and said Lucy, how would you feel about leaving Kate’s service? Lucy looked positively stunned. Her mouth falling open a little as Anthony continued. I think you’re a bright girl with a bright future and we could work together. Lucy’s brow had furrowed slightly as she fixed him with a stern look. Mr Bridgerton, I’m awfully flattered, but I’m very happy working with Kate. And I hope this won’t affect our working relationship moving forward. And then, with nothing further she stood, and left his office and Anthony was left to marvel over this ridiculously competent young woman.

Lucy would be lying if she wasn’t a little nervous when she first started dating Gregory. Yes, she knew that she and Anthony got along in a professional environment, put appreciate someone’s work ethic was a far cry from wanting someone to be in a relationship with your youngest brother. Even when She caught Anthony smiling softly at Gregory and her huddled together in the break room at lunch a little caught in one another. She was still a little hesitant. And so when Gregory said, smiling his adorable little grin that wrinkled his eyes and made her heart flutter, I’m going to dinner at Kate and Anthony’s tonight. You should come! And Lucy had said a little hesitantly Greg I wasn’t invited I don’t- and Gregory had stood from his desk, threw his brother’s door open and said Can Lucy come tonight? And Anthony called out Loud enough for Lucy to hear I thought she already was! And Lucy had to bite back the smile. And their dinner’s became a weekly occurrence.

#bridgerton and sons au #Anthony + Lucy #anthony bridgerton #lucy abernathy #molly's asks and answers

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 4 years

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But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 18: Summers In Florence] [Series Finale]

A/N: If it doesn’t end with a wedding, is it even my fic??! 😂 For those who somehow haven’t yet read Baby You Were My Picket Fence (my most popular series), you might be a tiny bit confused during this chapter. Just roll with it. 😉 Also, COVID-19 doesn’t exist. What a wonderful world. Thank you so much for sticking with me and BYCNL. I love you all. 💜

This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.

Chapter warnings: Language.

Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii @loveandbeloved29 @maggieroseevans @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark @im-an-adult-ish @queenlover05 @someforeigntragedy @imtheinvisiblequeen @joemazzmatazz @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye @namelesslosers @inthegardensofourminds @deacyblues @youngpastafanmug @sleepretreat @hardyshoe @bramblesforbreakfast @sevenseasofcats @tensecondvacation @queen-crue @jennyggggrrr @madeinheavxn @whatgoeson-itslate @brianssixpence @simonedk @herewegoagainniall @anotheronewritesthedust1 @pomjompish @writerxinthedark @culturefiendtrashqueen @allauraleigh @deakydeacy @bluutac @johndeaconshands @nyxaura

It’s May 25th, 1984, and Roger and John are in Perth, Australia to promote Queen’s eleventh album, The Works.

Interviewer, daytime television host Ronald Inglewood: “Good morning and welcome to our viewers across Australia! We’re sitting down this morning with Roger Taylor and John Deacon, respectively the drummer and bassist of Queen, who are here to talk about the band’s brand new album called—quite self-assuredly, if I may say so, gentlemen—The Works. Hello to you both.”

Roger: “Good morning, Ron!”

John: “Hello.”

Interviewer: “And this latest album has been rather well-received so far, is that right?”

Roger: “It has, yes, and we’re enormously proud of it.”

Interviewer: “Now, The Works is a very different album than Hot Space, Queen’s sort of notorious foray into disco...do you think the back-to-basics, classic rock and roll feel of The Works has been the driving force behind its success?”

Roger: “Well, you know...I think experimentation is very important. We’ve always been an experimental band. The single Bohemian Rhapsody was hugely experimental, and that’s why it was such a phenomenon. We were experimenting long before A Night At The Opera, and I suspect we’ll keep on trying new things until we run out of ideas, whenever that is! I didn’t love every song on Hot Space, I’ll be completely transparent about that, but I certainly don’t think the album was a failure or a waste of time. It was an experiment. And The Works is an experiment as well, just one that runs in a different vein, I suppose.”

John: “Some people did actually enjoy Hot Space.”

Roger: “I think I know one or two.”

Interviewer: “Of course, it did have its bright spots. Under Pressure remains one of Queen’s biggest hits, doesn’t it?”

Roger: “Yes, and John wrote the bassline for that one!”

Interviewer: “Really?!”

John: “And Roger has his own hit on The Works, at last. We’re all very happy for him.”

Roger: “Only took ten years.”

John: “Fourteen, actually.”

Roger: “I’m going to murder you as soon as we get backstage.”

John: “You’re welcome to try.”

Interviewer: “Now this hit of yours, Roger, is Radio Ga Ga. And I’m sure we’ve all seen the famous music video, the hovercraft, the futurism, the clapping...we’ve all seen it, right? Where on earth did you get the idea for that song?”

Roger: “It actually originated from something I heard my daughter Violet say.”

Interviewer: “Fascinating! And you’ve just welcomed another one recently, haven’t you?”

Roger: “Yes, last month, in fact. A little girl named Nora. “

Interviewer: “Congratulations!”

Roger: “Thanks so much, Ron. Our eldest, Violet, turned two in January, and the idea for Radio Ga Ga came about when she was first learning to talk. She would always stumble around—you know how babies do—clapping her hands and squealing the most nonsensical things, and one day she started trying out ‘radio’ and then adding random words to it, ‘radio goo goo,’ ‘radio mama,’ ‘radio dada,’ etcetera. Well ‘radio ga ga’ got stuck in my head and I started sort of lamenting how television had begun to eclipse the radio as a medium for music and entertainment. We were on vacation in California at the time, and I locked myself in a hotel room with a keyboard and a drum machine to get it written. I initially thought it might end up on one of my solo albums, but then John heard it and wrote a bassline, and Freddie really thought it could be a hit and pushed to have it on The Works...and here we are today!”

Interviewer: “That Freddie Mercury has awfully good instincts about these things, doesn’t he?”

John: “Oh, he’s a genius, no doubt about that.”

Interviewer: “And John, I understand you wrote the other single released from The Works, I Want To Break Free. Any deep philosophical messaging in that one?”

John: “Well I suppose we’ve all been in situations that feel...rather constraining or hopeless. And then things that bring us back to life again. So this song is about a character going through that process and coming out on the other side.”

Interviewer: “Indeed.”

John: “But we wanted to keep things amusing and lighthearted in the music video, hence the dressing in drag bit. And to our absolute horror, Roger was very alluring as a schoolgirl.”

Roger: “It’s true. I have irresistible legs. I was born to wear miniskirts.”

Interviewer: “Ah, this is the music video that is beloved in Europe and here in Australia but has stirred up so much controversy over in the States. Has the hullabaloo dampened your enthusiasm for the song, or even the entire album, somewhat?”

Roger: “We’re not bothered much at all, to be honest with you. It’s like I said, Queen is always going to have fun and experiment and take creative risks. And if people don’t like it, then they’re welcome to not listen.”

Interviewer: “Yes, yes, I suppose you could say that.”

Roger: “Americans, you know, they can just be so bloody puritanical. It absolutely takes all the enjoyment out of life. All the humor. Americans these days can be very difficult for us to connect with.”

John: “Well, not all of them.”

Roger: “No, of course, not all of them.”

John: “But we’ll start touring at the end of August, and we’ll be spending several months in the States, so they have time to come around to us. We’re all really looking forward to being on the road again.”

Interviewer: “It has certainly been and will continue to be a very eventful year for Queen. And for the four of you personally. A new baby for Roger, and you’ve just gotten married, haven’t you John?”

John: “I did, yes. And Roger was in attendance! No miniskirt that day, though. Sadly.”

Roger: “The whole band was there. And my girlfriend and children too. It was quite a party.”

Interviewer: “That’s wonderful to hear, considering the...the...well, not to bring up tabloid gossip, but the complexity of the situation. It was a destination wedding, wasn’t it?”

John: “Yes, we were married in the Basilica di Santa Croce in Florence, Italy. It’s breathtaking, the largest Franciscan church in the world, built in the 1300s. And we filled it with friends and family and live music and flowers and food...all the trappings. Took about a million photos. Celebrated until dawn.”

Roger: “It was a very sentimental occasion. Everyone really enjoyed it. John cried.”

John: “I did, it’s true.”

Roger: “He promised he wouldn’t and then he did.”

John: “Well, you don’t have to bring it up all the time!”

Roger: “It was touching, really.”

Interviewer: “It must have been a magical time. You’re positively radiant, John! Marvelous. And some much-needed good news, I imagine. I understand you’ve recently gone through an exceptionally antagonistic and protracted divorce.”

John: “Well...uh...I suppose that’s...uh...”

Roger: “How about we ask you the same thing? How was your divorce, Ron?”

Interviewer: “What?”

Roger: “You’re on your third marriage, is that right? And I think I heard that the latest Mrs. Inglewood is very young indeed, almost thirty years your junior. How did your former wife take that news? How did your adult children? How was your goddamn divorce?”

Interviewer: “That’s a rude question.”

Roger: “Yes, you’re right, it’s an extremely rude question. So you shouldn’t fucking ask it.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s December 25th, 1986, and the children are tearing open presents under a fifteen-foot-tall Christmas tree in the living room of Garden Lodge.

Freddie and Jim Hutton are serving cookies and milk and clapping their hands as they tower over tiny shoulders, cheering the kids on as they litter the floor with wrapping paper and bows and scatter their new toys everywhere: Care Bears, Magic 8 Balls, My Little Ponies, Mr. Potato Heads, Barbies, Etch-A-Sketches, Transformers, miniature Lukes and Leias and Chewbaccas, View-Masters with scenes of oceans and deserts and forests and stars. With so many fragmented families, there was only one logical approach to handling major holidays: convincing everyone to celebrate together on neutral ground.

Mary and Veronica are chatting by the roaring fireplace. Phoebe, Joe Fanelli, John, and Roger are embroiled in a brutally competitive Scrabble game; Dominique, smirking stealthily, leans over Roger to read his tiles and periodically whispers ideas to him. Brian and Anita are circling the flock of giggling children—Laszlo, Anna, Teddy, Evelyn, Lena, Antoni, Violet, and Nora—and snapping photos with your Canon between long, yearning gazes at one another, wearing matching Christmas sweaters that are a deep, passionate crimson. Chrissie’s husband Denny is admiring Freddie’s extensive vinyl record collection as he sips a hot chocolate and compulsively strokes his green-and-red striped tie. Tiffany the cat rolls around between his feet and occasionally hisses or gnaws on an ankle, which Denny takes in stride, as he does most things.

Meanwhile, you and Chrissie are camped out by the wet bar, drinking mulled wine and nibbling on cookies shaped like snowmen and reindeer. You give Veronica a wide berth with the children anytime you’re in the same space; she hates you, and she’ll probably always hate you, but she loves her children too much to poison them with that reality. Their happiness is her whole life, her purpose. And that’s the only thing that finally convinced her to come to the bargaining table.

“She seems...nice,” you tell Chrissie, gesturing to where Anita is crouching to wrestle a Yoda piggy bank away from Antoni before he can lob Teddy on the head with it. To John’s children, Veronica is “mum” and you’re the distinctly more American “mama”; and no one ever really taught them that, they just started doing it somewhere along the way.

Chrissie rolls her eyes and shifts Stevie to her other hip. For two and a half years after leaving Brian, Chrissie made it her mission to date at least one man from every country in Europe. She managed to cross off Ireland, France, Germany, Austria, Italy, Sweden, Switzerland, Portugal, Poland, and Greece before meeting professional archer Dennis Clarke at the 1984 Olympics in Los Angeles. They got engaged at Christmas, eloped on New Year’s Day, and had a daughter that Chrissie named after Stevie Nicks nine months later. Stevie Clarke has adorably chubby baby legs, wide blue eyes, and blonde hair without a single spiraled ringlet.

“My therapist said I needed to cultivate a rapport with Brian for the good of the kids,” Chrissie says. “You know. Be the bigger person. Get amnesia and forget about how he made my life a living hell. Act like I don’t want to freaking decapitate him. So I, trying to be nice, trying to rise above and make polite small talk with my nauseating ex-husband, made a comment about how much I liked EastEnders. So he starts watching EastEnders. Then he begins to fancy one of the actresses. Then he meets her at a movie premier in Beverly Hills and invites her to the concert at Wembley. Then he ends up in love with the woman. What the fuck. You couldn’t write this shit.”

“Love is a roulette wheel,” you agree.

Chrissie scoffs sardonically. “Yeah. Russian roulette, maybe.”

After his marriage fell apart, Brian bounced between New Orleans and London, liberated bliss and aimless, disgraced, black depression. Whoever Peaches is as a person, she couldn’t tame Brian’s demons. You worried about him almost constantly until he started seeing Anita. She’s cheerful and magnetic and persistently hopeful in a way that reminds you of Roger. She’s good for Brian. She’s good for all of you. Well...Chrissie is still coming around to the idea.

“I do like that she wasn’t fucking my husband behind my back,” Chrissie muses. “So that’s something.”

“And she’s good with the kids.”

“True...”

“And her hair matches Brian’s.”

Chrissie laughs. Her sparkling ornament earrings jangle, and Stevie paws for them with minuscule, uncoordinated, wrinkly hands. “Okay. You win. I don’t despise her.”

“That’s the Christmas spirit.” You knock back the rest of your mulled wine. “I’m gonna go search the refrigerator for cheese cubes, you want anything?”

“Yeah, a Valium.”

“Slavic Jesus would be horrified. And on his birthday!”

Chrissie grins. “Surely drugs would be the least of our sins.”

Freddie’s sunshine-yellow refrigerator is enormous and a labyrinth of shelves and crevices without a single tray of cheese cubes in sight. You sift through jars of olives, bottles of champagne, a glazed ham waiting to be put in the oven, a sack of yams, eggnog, rising bread dough, and numerous pies—apple and cherry and lemon chiffon, naturally—swathed in aluminum foil.

“Damn,” you mutter, and then you try a mysterious drawer beneath the double doors of the refrigerator. Lo and behold, it contains a sprawling tray of cheeses. “Yaaaaassssss.” You lift the tray out, set it on the kitchen counter, and peel back the clear, clinging saran wrap. As you spear cheese cubes with a decorative toothpick—the handle is a little plastic Christmas tree—and plop them onto an appetizer plate, you hear the click of heels on the hardwood floor behind you.

You glance back. “Hi, Dom. Can I offer you any of Fred’s extremely expensive and exotic cheeses?”

“Sure,” she replies in that effortlessly elegant French accent; but that’s not why she’s here. She’s wringing her delicate hands, which are bronzed from her last holiday to Ibiza and ringless. Dom divorced the husband she had back in France—or maybe he divorced her, who knows, that’s not your business, although Roger would tell you if you ever asked—and she and Roger signed papers for the good of their daughters. But being Roger Taylor’s wife is not always such an easy thing.

“He’s getting bad again, isn’t he?” you ask softly.

Dominique nods; but you already knew.

Roger was perfect for years after they had Violet: attentive, content, startlingly domestic. He rarely popped pills. He went to physical therapy. He quit smoking six months ago at Dominique’s insistence, around the same time John quit for you. But since the Magic Tour ended in August—and with no new tour in sight, considering Freddie’s seeming reticence about scheduling another—he’s started to drink more, stay home less, disappear at night citing dinners or parties or recording sessions that Dom isn’t invited to. He’s edgy and irritable. He’s rarely home when John calls. And you can see all those immortal shadows of imperfection creeping back into him like storm clouds, like smoke.

“I’m going to tell you something,” you say. “It’s very similar to what somebody else once told me. I wasn’t ready to understand it yet, to really let myself feel it, to believe it, but you might be able to.”

She watches you with those vast oil-well eyes, biting her lower lip, waiting.

“Roger is wildfire. He’s bright, yes, he’s warm, but he’s reckless and insatiable too. He always has been. He always will be. And that has nothing at all to do with you. It’s not your fault. He’s wonderful, of course, and you already know that; he dazzles people, he makes life so exhilaratingly beautiful that you forget what it felt like without him. But he’ll always disappoint you. He’ll relapse, he’ll cheat, he’ll come home late, he won’t come home at all. And he’ll hurt you. He’ll do it as many times as you’ll let him. But here’s the thing other people won’t tell you.” You smile at her, with empathy, with sorrow, with hope. “It might still be worth it.”

Dominique blinks, not understanding.

“It might be enough for you to only ever have part of him, because that part is so incredibly brilliant. It was almost enough for me. And I would never blame you for leaving Roger. But I wouldn’t blame you for staying either.”

And then you embrace her, and she latches onto you, her long manicured nails nipping through your sweater, her Coco Chanel perfume a plume that fills the kitchen. She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to. You hold her until she pulls away, swiping at her tearing eyes with slim fragile fingers, sniffling, looking away to hide her heartbreak behind her shock of glossy bangs.

“Here.” You pile an appetizer plate high with cheese cubes and shove it into her hands.

Stunned, she giggles. “All my woes have vanished.”

“That’s exactly how stolen cheese works,” And then, seriously: “Don’t be sad on Christmas, Dom. There’s plenty of time for that later. And I’ll do everything I can to help him.”

“That’s why you’ll never leave the band, isn’t it? You can’t leave Roger alone. You can’t let him destroy himself.”

“I owe him,” you say simply. “Without him I never would have followed Queen to London. I never would have found this family. I never would have married John. Roger took things from me, yes, of course he did. He took until I felt empty. But he also gave me the world.”

She nods slowly, thoughtfully.

“Please, Dom. Go enjoy yourself.”

“Alright. Joyeux Noël.” She gives you a parting wave and slips back out into the living room, where Freddie is now playing the grand piano and signing Thank God It’s Christmas. Roger is assisting in an increasingly hoarse falsetto.

A moment after Dominique leaves, John strolls into the kitchen, humming merrily. He stops dead when he sees your somber face, your shining eyes. “Who do I have to fuck up?”

You chuckle and shake your head. “No one. I just heard something sad.”

“Not about you, I hope.”

“No, I don’t have many sad stories anymore.”

“Yeah, me either.”

He reaches out to take your hand. A sapphire glints on your left ring finger, and it means everything.

“You sure you don’t need me to torment anyone for you? I could get drunk and plow my Benz into their house. Or write a scathing diss track about them. Was it Brian? Please tell me it was Brian.”

You laugh and twirl a lock of his fluffy hair. “That won’t be necessary.”

“In that case, you’re needed in the living room immediately,” John says, smiling. “Antoni climbed halfway up the Christmas tree and says he won’t come down for anyone except his mama.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s November 3rd, 1999, and Roger, John, and Brian are promoting Queen’s upcoming compilation album, Greatest Hits III.

Interviewer, daytime television host Brad Chenoweth: “Today we have a very special treat for our viewers. Here with us in our London studio are the men of Queen: guitarist Brian May, drummer Roger Taylor, and bassist John Deacon. Good morning, and thank you all so much for being here.”

Brian: “It’s our pleasure.”

Roger: “I do screams as well as drums, Brad.”

Interviewer: “Hahaha, yes, of course. Now Queen has had an extremely busy year, and this Greatest Hits album has a few new selections on it, right? Take us through that process.”

Brian: “It does have a few new tracks, that’s correct. You know, ever since Freddie...ever since we lost Freddie Mercury, I mean, you know, it’s impossible to fill a space like the one that he left in the world.”

Roger: “Yes, yes.”

Brian: “But as difficult as it was, after finally finishing Made In Heaven in 1995 and getting it just right, feeling as if we had really done Freddie justice...we were left with this distressing feeling of ‘what’s next?’ What are the three of us supposed to do with ourselves? Split up and never work together again? Retire to the seashore? Open up some corner store to putter around in until we die?”

Roger: “A clog shop, perhaps.”

Interviewer: “You were thinking, ‘well hell, we’ve got plenty of talent ourselves!’”

Roger: “Well, talent, yes, but also energy. Drive. We’ve been working at being one of the best bands in the world for almost thirty years now, Brad. I wouldn’t even know how to begin to stop.”

Brian: “None of us wanted to stop, we came to that realization. And so we’ve done a tremendous amount of benefit concerts and recording sessions with some of the best artists of our time, and I think people who listen to this album are really going to appreciate that. We’ve got a live version of Somebody to Love with George Michael, and The Show Must Go On with Elton John, he’s just lovely to work with...oh and a rap version of Another One Bites The Dust with Wyclef Jean, which John was not exactly a fan of. But we all have to learn to give and take, don’t we?”

Interviewer: “Absolutely, and I’m really looking forward to getting my hands on a copy of this record. Is there any chance Queen might settle on a permanent new front man one day?”

Roger: “If we can ever find somebody John likes enough!”

Interviewer: “But, truthfully...none of you wanted to quit after Freddie passed away? It was a unanimous decision to keep with it?”

Roger: “Essentially, yes. I mean I think it was an all or nothing deal, wasn’t it? If one of us left then that would throw the whole thing off. I was always adamant from very early on in the band’s lifetime that I wouldn’t be interested in continuing without John. And I couldn’t imagine him and Brian being left alone together, my god, there’d be literal bloodshed, someone’s throat would be cut within the hour, believe me.”

John: “We might have lasted a day or two. But yes, it was more or less unanimous.”

Interviewer: “Now you’ve always been known as the quiet, domestic one, John. You weren’t tempted by the thought of retirement? Not even for a moment?”

John: “Well...I think it depends on the circumstances, really. I like working, and I like touring and traveling a good part of the year. But I imagine I’d get very homesick if I was alone on the road. Fortunately, that’s not the case. So the thought of retirement didn’t appeal to me nearly as much as it might have otherwise.”

Interviewer: “That’s right, I understand that your wife has been Queen’s touring nurse for...how long now? Twenty years?”

John: “Since 1974, so that’s twenty-five years.”

Roger: “Wow. It’s been that long?!”

Brian: “Feels like yesterday, doesn’t it?”

Interviewer: “How lucky for you, John. And look, you’re beaming!”

Roger: “Get it together, Deaks.”

John: “I’m an astronomically lucky man. It’s like having home with you anywhere in the world.”

Roger: “She’s good for curing hangovers as well, so that’s useful. And she knits everyone hats.”

Interviewer: “And you’ve got children, haven’t you John?’

John: “Four from my first marriage, yes. They’re all adults now so they come to visit us quite often, especially when we’re travelling. It worked out beautifully really, because they’re very close to their mother, of course, but my wife and I got together when they were all still fairly young, and so she’s always been there for them as they’ve grown up. My youngest especially was a rather...how would you say it diplomatically? A spirited child. But he warmed to her right away.”

Brian: “All the children are still friendly with each other as well, mine and Roger’s and John’s.”

Interviewer: “One big happy family, huh?”

Roger: “There are still a good amount of screaming matches between us dads, to be completely forthcoming.”

John: “You have to keep things interesting.”

Roger: “Exactly!”

Interviewer: “Yes, one can sense that there are still plenty of egos in this room, even after all these years! Tell me, Queen is nearly three decades old now, a worldwide phenomenon, the second-bestselling artist in the UK of all time behind the Beatles...how have you stayed together for so long when most bands last only a fraction of Queen’s lifespan?”

John: “Well I think we’ve all, you know, for the good of the band we’ve all had to grow towards each other to bridge the disagreements and keep peace. For example, I’ve had to learn to be more communicative, more open to collaboration and change. I can be someone who’s very comfortable being in the background. But then I’m resentful if people don’t see my point of view, even if I haven’t properly expressed it. So I have certainly had to work on that quite a lot.”

Brian: “Yes, John, I think that’s very true. Personally, I’ve had to learn to not get lost in the details so much. I have a bad habit of getting so fixated on something that I cause a massive row over a vanishingly small aspect of a song that no one else will ever notice. It’s just not worth the strife. So I’ve really tried to avoid that. Although, I’ll admit it, I still occasionally cause my share of drama.”

John: “Oh, sure.”

Roger: “And I’ve had to work on being less...”

John: “Annoying?”

Brian: “Combative?”

Roger: “Fiery.”

John: “That’s one word for it.”

Interviewer: “Was there ever a time when Queen’s existence was in serious jeopardy? And if so, how did you pull through?”

Brian: “Well, to be perfectly honest, as a band we went through quite a difficult time in the early 80s. And then we did again in the early 90s. And on both occasions there was a real worry that Queen might be over and we would all go our separate ways. But what kept us together through that...and feel free to disagree, Rog, John, if you have a different perspective...but what I feel kept us together was this profound sense of family. Queen predates all of our marriages, our children, our successes in the music industry or otherwise. It has become a constant place of belonging in the midst of professional and personal turmoil. And now our partners and children have been integrated into that network as well, so even if an individual relationship is strained or falls apart, the gravity of the band keeps us all in a perpetual symbiotic orbit. And I don’t see that ever ending.”

John: “Yes, well, I suppose that about sums it up, doesn’t it?”

Roger: “Bleeding christ, Brian. ‘Perpetual symbiotic orbit.’ Just say we’re friends, you pretentious twit.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s August 19th, 2020, and John’s 69th birthday party is winding down as the sun dips lazily into the rust-colored western horizon.

You’re standing on the cobblestones in the garden behind the Surrey house. You had always thought it was too extravagant, too massive; it wasn’t until Roger sold it to you and John in the spring of 1982 that you realized it was the perfect size after all. Six bedrooms meant one for each of the children, one for you and John—the one with the blue-grey wallpaper and nautical decorations, to be exact—and the last for when Chrissie and Denny or Roger and Dom stay the night, which is fairly frequently. Your vacation home, where you and John spend most of the summer when Queen isn’t on tour, is a little country cottage in the sunlit Alpine hills of Florence, Italy. John designed it himself, every last detail; right down to the white picket fence grown over with ivy.

“Look what we got in the mail.” You hold up the invitation to show your husband, grinning, raising your eyebrows. “Guess we have to buy him another toaster.”

He reads the names on the shimmering cardstock patterned with jungle ferns and dinosaur footprints. Interesting choices. “Is Ben actually going through with it this time?”

“John!”

“Wasn’t he supposed to marry some Italian heiress or something?”

“Love can be complicated, Mr. Deacon,” you remind him.

When he smiles, crinkles spring up around his eyes. “Yes, I suppose it can be.”

“Ben Hardy’s having another wedding?” Chrissie calls over from where she’s shooting arrows at the archery targets set up in the backyard. Denny periodically steps in to correct the angle of her wrist or elbow. “And Queen’s invited this time?”

“Apparently,” you reply. “You could go too if you were still married to Brian.”

“Ha!” Chrissie cackles and looses an arrow. It hits damn near the bullseye. “Not worth it.”

“I’ll bring back all the scandalous gossip I can scrounge for you.”

“You better. What do the kids call it now? Spilling the tea? Spill all the tea, bitch.”

“Oh, kettles and kettles’ worth.”

“So a teapot,” John says. “Not another toaster. Maybe decorated with...” He squints at the invitation again. “What’s the theme? What do they like? Fossils? Brontosauruses?”

“Bizarre people,” Chrissie mutters.

“I’ll figure something out,” you say. “Something special. Something old.”

“John?” Brian shouts from the doorway that leads into the kitchen. Inside the refrigerator is covered with sketches and birthday cards and photographs curling and fading around the edges. “Anita and I are heading out now, can we get a hug goodbye?”

“Ugh,” John jokes. “Well, alright.” He gives you a wink as he trots off.

The Surrey house isn’t exactly roaring—John has never been one for crowds, and incidentally neither have you—but it is alive with his children and grandchildren and life-long friends. Not just his, you correct yourself. Ours.

Veronica—once Tetzlaff, then Deacon, then Tetzlaff again, and finally Kowalski—is not in attendance. You see her only at holidays and birthday celebrations for the kids and grandchildren, and even then only in passing. She is still cold towards you, resentful, extremely Catholic...although somewhat less dogmatic since her second husband Ivan, a former priest, left the Church to marry her. When the last of her children were grown, Veronica got certified to be a doula and now primarily serves unwed mothers seeking assistance from Catholic charities in London. She mentioned to Chrissie, who later told you, that something you had once done for her had inspired her to pursue it. That’s the only nice thing you’ve heard her say about you in almost forty years.

Roger wanders over to meet you, nursing a Heineken, stroking his white beard with his free hand. He and Dominique have always been off and on—including a few years in the late 80s when he moved out of their three-story Kensington townhouse and had a daughter called Adeline with some leggy, platinum blonde supermodel—but these days they’re mostly on. He and Dom had two children after their reconciliation: a son, Blaise, and a daughter named by Freddie after the Japanese word for tiger, Tora.

You gaze out into the sunset. Half of the garden is flooded with white calla lilies, a new bouquet for every February 15th since 1978.

“You’ll be sending back an RSVP in the affirmative?” Roger asks.

“Of course! Any excuse to visit the States. And I like Ben. Although he doesn’t look anything like you.”

He groans. “Those wigs, bloody hell.”

“It’s like they produced a whole movie just to have an excuse to make fun of your atrociously crunchy bleached hair.”

“And I bet you enjoyed that.”

“You deserved it.” When Freddie’s health began to fail and Queen stopped touring, you went back to school to get a degree in physical therapy. You and Roger have sessions three times a week, provided he’s on the wagon; and he usually is, nowadays. When he’s not, John’s the one to get the call from Dominique, and he hunts Roger down, convinces him to come home, works whatever quiet, soothing magic he carries around in his deep pacific blood. But right this moment, Roger is awfully quiet himself. His large, pale eyes—like clear water, like unraveling delphiniums, like the harmony that only comes when age burns away all those last entrenched talons of bitterness, of fear—skate over the calla lilies.

“Do you think things would have been different for us?” Roger asks softly. “If she had lived.”

It took you a long time to understand why Roger was in no hurry to get a divorce, to move you out of the Surrey house. They were the only ties he thought he had to anchor you to the band, to him. They were the only cards he thought he had to play to keep you in his life in any capacity. But John fixed that dilemma. He can fix just about anything, you’ve learned.

“No,” you tell Roger. “You would have worn me down eventually. You and your drinking and drugs and late nights and interminable recklessness. It might have taken longer, but we always would have ended. And John always would have been my home. She wouldn’t have kept us together. She just would have lived. And I wouldn’t have loved her for being a part of you. I would have loved her for whoever she was, whoever she grew up to be. But now I’ll never know who that would have been. I love the children I have, Roger, I do. But I still miss her, miss the person she would have been. It’s like chasing a shadow. It’s like a page of a book written in a language I can’t read. And it’s a feeling that never quite goes away.”

He smiles at you wearily, immensely sad, full of perfect understanding. “I know.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s October 10th, 2020, and the reception is held under shedding autumn leaves the color of rubies and imperial topaz and amber and yellow jade. The exuberant bride and groom weave through the crowds milling about the quaint farm, which is nestled in the hills of a small town in Northern California called Zenia. It belongs to Gwilym, apparently, and he and his flame-haired girlfriend Shiloh are shuttling tirelessly this way and that making sure everything goes according to plan. They don’t speak much to Ben or his new wife directly—there’s a stiltedness there, an uncomfortable period of readjustment that reminds you of how John and Roger were for a while after all the secrets came out—but there is undeniable kinship as well. Love can be complicated, you find yourself thinking, for the innumerable time. But that doesn’t mean it’s not real.

Making the rounds with the bride and groom is a strikingly beautiful, dark-haired boy who wears a miniature suit and a perpetual, mischievous grin. The new Mrs. Hardy almost always has her hand on his shoulder, his back, wiping cake frosting from his cheeks, ruffling his hair.

“Eli is kind of a demon kid,” Joe Mazzello warns you. “But in the best possible way.”

“Hm. I have somewhat of an affinity for demons myself.”

“Clearly,” Roger quips, sipping pink champagne. The snack table is Halloween-themed and extremely casual: Cheetos and pumpkin pie and caramel apples and dinosaur-shaped brownies. Per usual, you’re grazing through an orange paper plate stacked high with enough nibbling material to keep any undesirable small talk at bay. But strangely, in all of the times you’ve crossed his path since Bohemian Rhapsody’s filming began, you’ve never minded chatting with Joe.

“Yeah, you two were married at some point, right?” Joe asks. Then he immediately blanches. “Oh my god. That was so rude. I did not just say that. I’m so sorry. I saw it on Wikipedia. I’m gonna go drown myself in the stream now.”

“No, you’re right!” you admit in a peal of laughter. “Briefly and disastrously.”

“It wasn’t that disastrous,” Roger protests, thieving a Cheeto off your plate. He misplaced his prescription sunglasses on the flight over and is thus relatively helpless.

“Rude. Get your own. They’re over on the other end of the table.”

“I can’t see that far—!”

“Dom?” you call as she sashays over in a flowing white dress and licking a stick of orange rock candy. “Please control your husband.”

She smiles. “If I haven’t managed it yet, I don’t think there’s much hope.” She nods to Joe. “It’s so nice to see you again. Meeting you people was the only bright spot of that whole movie ordeal.”

“What, you didn’t fancy it?” Roger jests.

“At least they included you,” you tell Dom, smirking. “They ignored my existence entirely. They threw in some random woman with zero lines and called her Veronica in the credits. Whatever.”

Dom rolls her expressive umber eyes. “Yes, how flattering, I was in two scenes and one of them involved a joke about Roger cheating on me.”

“You’re a star, baby,” you say. “Deal with it.”

Dom smacks your arm playfully. She may be annoyed, but it doesn’t pain her the way it used to. She’s had decades of practice.

“The script could have been better,” Joe concedes. Then he spies John as he approaches, almost drops his caramel apple, waves frenetically. “Hi, Mr. Deacon! Hi!!”

“Wonderful job with all of this, Joe.” John shakes his hand as Joe gapes at him, starstruck. He’s always like that around John, appreciative, in awe, acutely aware of John’s legendary place in rock and roll history; and you love that someone besides you and Roger look at him that way.

“Thanks, I did it myself. Just kidding. It was 99% Gwil.”

“Well, I’ll still get you front row seats at the next Queen + Adam Lambert show.” It had taken a long time for John to find a front man he liked...a long time. He drove Roger and Brian insane. He kept saying he wanted someone who was like Freddie and yet simultaneously not trying to be Freddie, someone genuinely kind and charismatic and empathetic, an otherworldly talent, a natural performer. And then, on an unassuming spring night in 2009, they found him.

Joe claps a palm on John’s shoulder and grins, his eyes glistening. “I’m obsessed with this little old guy! Obsessed, I tell you!”

“You want to see how old he is?” Roger teases. “Lift up that hand-knit hat and see what’s underneath. I’ll give you a hint. Not much.”

“At least I made it through the 90s without requiring hair plugs,” John counters.

“It was from all the bleaching!!”

“Hi, Rog!” Ben shouts as he rushes to embrace Roger, nearly knocking him off his feet. Mrs. Hardy is still across the field, talking to Brian, Anita, Rami, and Lucy, and trying to convince Eli not to crawl into a chocolate fountain.

Ben Hardy has always been somewhat of an enigma to you, mostly because he’s nothing at all like Roger. He’s subterranean-voiced and emerald-eyed and brooding and guarded and seems so much older than his twenty-nine years, and then every once in a while someone will come along and light him up like fireworks on the Fourth of July. Unlike Roger, Ben doesn’t light up for many people. He does for his son Eli, of course, and for Joe Mazzello...and for his new wife. He lights up for her like fucking wildfire.

“Ben,” you say, holding out a bag speckled with black cats. “I have our gift for you.”

“You shouldn’t have! Thank you so much.”

“You can’t thank us until you open it,” John chastises.

So Ben does. Inside is an album of hundreds of photos you’ve taken of Queen since Roger bought you your first Canon for Christmas in 1974: pictures that have never been released publicly of the boys at the Rainbow, at the Budokan, in Rome, in Boston, in Japan, in New Orleans, at Montreal, at Madison Square Garden, at Live Aid, at the Surrey house, at Montreux. Interspersed are some of John’s sketches, the only ones you can bring yourself to part with: close-ups of a long-haired Freddie drawing on messy eyeliner, Roger adjusting his sunglasses with a cigarette smoldering between his fingers, Brian tuning his Red Special.

“Oh my god,” Ben whispers.

“Most of those are very old,” you explain. “And I heard you both like old things.”

“We definitely do.” He hugs you, suddenly and fiercely and warmly; and you catch a glimpse of what it must be like to be one of the few people that he allows to truly know him, those shadowed depths to balance Joe’s uncomplicated light.

Maybe that’s it, you realize. Maybe Joe is more like Roger and Ben like John.

The wedding playlist is exclusively classic rock songs: the Doors and Aerosmith and Fleetwood Mac and Led Zeppelin and Queen. As A Kind Of Magic ends, the eerie opening notes of Hotel California ripple out over the breezy autumn fields.

“Not this fucking song!” Roger cries.

Joe turns to you, confused.

“LSD,” you inform him. “1977. I would not recommend it.”

“Noted.”

Roger continues, rubbing his forehead: “It makes me think of...freaking...weird, creepy shit...like swimming at night through cold water. But I just keep swimming and can’t get anywhere.”

“It makes me think of sharks,” you say. “Maybe they’re related.”

“Freddie always said it made him think of birds,” John sighs. “And the color blue.”

The three of you pause, nodding, remembering.

Joe frowns solemnly, peering down at his shoes. “I’m sorry I never got to meet him.”

“He would have adored you,” you say.

“Really?”

“Are you kidding?! You would have been best friends. Always looking out for people. Always plotting the next escapade. That charming chaotic energy. The utter inability to bake anything.”

“Awwww.” Joe beams, delighted. “I fucking love you guys.”

“That’s the thing,” Roger says. “People don’t realize it. We’re more of a family than a band. We find people we take a shine to like ancient treasure, snatch them up, sand away all their rough edges, show them everything the world has to offer. And if they can survive the casualties of stardom, that trial by fire, they become permanent. They grow like roots into our blood, our bones...and perhaps we claim a part of theirs as well. They become things we can’t live without.”

“And once you’re in the family,” John tells Joe with a fond, crafty smile. “You can never leave.”

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soranis-sunshadow · 4 years

Text

My first attempt at fanfiction

I’ve had this stuck in my head ever since that interesting post about how Hordak’s brothers would react to him but not being a native speaker and being so self conscious about my writing has made me somewhat reluctant about posting it. I hope it doesn’t suck. Anyway.. here it goes...

Constructive criticism is always welcome, just, please be gentle. It’s my first attempt at this and if you spot any mistakes, please point them out to me. Pretty please.

Through a mirror, darkly

The castle of Dryl loomed in the distance, perched on the side of a mountain, it bore witness to the new settlement that had sprouted at its base seemingly overnight. The once lonely monolith was now surrounded by scaffolds and life. Where once it had stood alone, isolated and self-sufficient, both a technical marvel and a monument to eras passed, it now had a following of dwellings in various states of construction growing all around it. It would never be alone again.

Following the war, Entrapta had invited Prime’s clones to Dryl. The offer had been made to them in the hopes that they might find a new home and a new purpose and Princess Entrapta herself was, for whatever reason, quite fond of them. Some of them had instantly accepted the offer. They had an instinctive reaction to comply with most requests. Others had accepted because Entrapta already had two of their brothers at her side, it felt natural for more to follow. Some accepted because this new direction was better than the nothing and silence that followed them every day after Prime’s demise and the abolition of the hive mind. A few reluctantly accepted because they had no other real choice. Not many other kingdoms were as willing and the ships in orbit were not pilotable without input form the hive mind. For better or worse, they were stuck on this world for the foreseeable future.

It had been a few months since the war and in the time passed, some of the clones had started manifesting unique personalities. Preferences and choices were still difficult, but individuality was budding all the same sometimes, even despite the wishes of the clones themselves. Some had been named by the locals, others have given themselves names and some still refused to be called anything other than Brother.

Yudi was one of the former. A local cat person had called him terrible and an utter disaster and despite his best efforts to make them stop, the moniker of Utter Disaster, shortened to UD had stuck to him like thistle to clothing and just like thistle it was infuriating at the best of times. Despite his “prickly” personality, Yudi, was one of his more functional brothers. Some were still shy or lost, some were confused and some were paralyzed by all this new “choice” that had been forced upon them.

There was no time to panic, no time to wallow and no time to lick wounds. His brothers needed accommodations, supplies they needed safety and Yudi had chosen to tackle the problem head on instead of wallowing at its magnitude.

Without the hive mind, information was not as readily accessible and the better solutions to his problems were hard to find. Where once there had been thousands of voices, all working together to achieve the same goal, all in harmony, now he was left with either numbing silence or the dissonance of his own lonely thoughts. Doing things by himself was hard, but he would get better at it, he had to get better at it. His more vulnerable brothers relied on him getting better at it. Not to say that he was the only brother tackling the construction project or the long term agricultural goals or even establishing some form of production and economy for the kingdom of Dryl.

There were others here too and amongst them was his least favorite brother, the runt that had stranded them here in the first place. It didn’t help that the defect had apparently learned a thing or two in its exile and had started to put the knowledge to use leading to a sort of grudging admiration from some of his other brothers. He handled the planning of the new settlement, the logistics and even the construction itself through the use of the robotic drones. He had found a way to coordinate them through the use of some sort of neural interface but remained tight lipped on how exactly it functioned when asked about it directly. He would deny the existence of a neural link and maintain that the implant device he was utilizing was merely a long distance communicator with which he coordinated the drones. He insisted that should Yudi himself need the drones to assist with any task, he had to verbally communicate the task in explicit detail to the drones. Verbal communications was still hard. Yudi hated it and resented its necessity.

The things were clumsy and rather stupid and Yudi himself thought that he would do a far better job than the runt ever could with coordinating them. But no, Hordak had to be difficult about it.

A bubbly voice broke him out of his thoughts.

“Greetings brother!” came from behind him, “I hope the day finds you in good spirit!” It was Kadroh, one of the more outgoing and functional of his brothers. He had been a calming, guiding influence throughout the ordeal on all of them. It was hard to be anything but calm in his presence.

“Day, is a measurement of time, it can’t find me. It’s an abstract notion” Yudi had said without turning towards his fellow clone. “and you know I think spirits are nonsense”. He put down the electrical power panel he was working on and turned to face his sibling. “Greetings brother!”

Kadroh lets out a laugh “it’s a figure of speech brother” then smiles at him, “ I meant I hope your day is going well”

“Things could be going better, can’t concentrate on the electrical grid of this dwelling without these damn drones interrupting me when they get stuck in loops. How am I supposed to get anything done like this?”

“Peace brother, it will be done when it’s done, we are not on a schedule.” Kadroh puts a hand on his shoulder and looks at him with a disarming smile. “We are comfortable at the moment in the camp and Entrapta is almost done deactivating all of the traps in the castle.” He added enthusiastically. “Everything will be fine, no need to push yourself so hard”. He let go of his shoulder and bent down to the basket at his feet to take a package out of it. “Have you had anything to eat today, or drink?”

“I knew I kept forgetting something” he reached out for the package and took it gingerly from Kadroh’s outstretched hand.

“The locals call these sandwiches” he bent down and pulled a bottle of colored water out of the basket next. “what a silly name for a food, they have absolutely nothing to do with sand or magic, the Etherians are usually literal in their naming conventions but apparently, sandwich is one of those exceptions that proves the rule.” He chuckled and smiled broadly at him and then handed him the beverage.

“How would an exception prove a rule?” Yudi said through bites. He had been hungry. His brother seemed to have a knack for providing sustenance whenever he forgot about that bothersome need himself. Kadroh acted like a caretaker for most of them, always there to help and to listen to guide and to comfort.

“The argument states that if an exception exists or has to be stated, then this exception proves that there must be some rule to which the case is an exception to.” came from behind him in a haughty voice. How could they all have the same voice and yet sound so different? By the Light Yudi hated that particular voice.

“Greetings brother!” Kadroh piped in. “You look glum, are you feeling all right?”

“Hey defect” Yudi added with a sneering tone.

The runt regarded Yudi with a blank expression at first then raised a brow ridge and tiled his head slightly to the side. One of his ears twitched and he coughed in his hand. “Why would I not be feeling all right?” then stared with his uncanny red eyes at Kadroh.

After the abolition of the hivemind and being weaned off the amniotic fluid, the eye color of most of his brothers started changing from green to yellow. Apparently, san’s Prime’s influence, their natural eye color had been a golden yellow glow. Some had different shades, of yellow like lime, or saffron but the defect had uncanny glowing red eyes. Even the defect’s defective creation had the right colored eyes. That walking fetus may have been stunted and released from gestation before maturation but at least when it looked at you; it didn’t instill the same uncanny eeriness that the defect himself exuded. What’s worse was that the runt insisted on highlighting the difference by painting the area around his eyes black. He was proud of being broken and that provoked Yudi even further.

“Oh, you know” Kadroh said absently “ you’ve been working yourself awfully hard brother” he shrugged "you could use a break and a sandwich” he walked between Yudi and the defect, blocking them off form each other and extending his hand towards Hordak, holding the packaged food out. “something tells me you too forgot to eat today”.

Hordak frowned at the offering. “I can’t be bothered with that now, I’m leaving tostart on the reparations project for Salineas in a few days and there are still drones that I haven’t had a chance to update to the new firmware.”

“Brother!” Kadroh said reproachfully “eating, hydrating and resting aren’t things you should be putting off” he looked at him pleadingly. “please eat this” he jerked the food towards him once more “for me?”

Hordak huffed and took the food bundle then started unpacking it. He took small bites out of it while standing and surveying the area. He eyed the electric panel that Yudi had been working on.

“Something to say?” Yudi pierced him with his golden glare.

“You are using uninsulated cables.” the runt said between bites. “The whole panel will be unstable,” he takes another small bite then swallows “prone to overheating and shorting out” he takes another bite “Perhaps I could assist you in making it more stable, it won’t take long.”

“I don’t need your help with this.”Yudi stated flatly. Oh but the defect sure had gumption!

Hordak simply blinked slowly and added. “But you do require assistance, this task is too complex to handle by yourself. A second pair of eyes might highlight minor issues you that might have gone unnoticed. The uninsulated cables are a simple mistake, it could have happened to anyone, no need to be defensive about it.”

Yudi straightened to his full height, walked around Kadroh and faced Hordak completely. “Perhaps I do need assistance, just not YOUR assistance. I don’t trust your ability to aid me in this task.” He snapped dismissively.

“Brothers!” Kadroh tried to interject in a calming tone but was interrupted.

“I’ve been stranded on this planet for decades, in the interim; I’ve handled far more complex operations than this.” Hordak said while gesturing with his hand at the buildings around them, his tone flat and gravely. He regarded his bother with half closed eyes, mimicking indifference but the slight wilting of his ears gave him away.

“Please!” Kadroh tried to squeeze in, his tone now urgent.

“As if anything you’ve done here hasn’t been failure after failure!” Yudi pressed on with gleeful mockery.

“THIS! He started in a harsh tone, then stopped and continued in a forced calm “is something that I have already successfully accomplished before, I built a whole city with nothing but my broken ship. If you weren’t so obstinate to fight me at every turn, this job would be done so much quicker.”

Yudi puffed up and, without really thinking, immediately bit back with “Prime gave you one job, defect! to die! And you couldn’t even get that right!!! Why should I trust you with anything else?” It came out sounding more like a bark than a shout.

The sound of shattered glass broke them both out of it. Kadroh was panting besides them having dropped the glasses and the drinks. He’s looking at Yudi with pleading, warm golden eyes. He tried to say something but all that came out was gasps. He opened and closed his mouth like a fish.

Hordak lets out a feral growl, bearing his crimson teeth at them and clenches his fists, the rest of the sandwich dropped on the ground, forgotten. He too takes in a sharp breath, preparing to shout but then, all of a sudden, he stops himself, his grimace flattens to a neutral expression and he unclenches his fists. The only thing that comes out of his mouth is a tired sigh. He looks away from them “I don’t have time for this.” He then turns around completely and walks away leaving Yudi alone with Kadroh in the deafening silence that hangs around his departure for a few minutes.

“Brother! That was completely uncalled for!” Kadroh says with a reproachful tone after having calmed down. Great, now his brother is angry with him because of the defect. And Yudi thought this day was already terrible enough. Apparently there’s always room for more terrible.

“Was it?” he said to Kadroh’s face, eyeing him with squinting eyes. ”Was it really? It’s his fault we’re all in this mess, his fault Prime found this planet and didn’t glass the damn thing form orbit” he started adding faster “it’s he’s fault we’re stuck here, stranded and at the mercy of these creatures on this ridiculous planet, it’s his fault Prime got distracted at the end, and it’s his fault Prime’s DEAD! his fault we’re all alone now!”

“YES! Prime’s dead! And the universe is better for it!” Kadroh shouted at him snapping Yudi out of his rant. In a meeker voice he added “we’re better for it.” He looks away “If Hordak hadn’t done what he’d done, you wouldn’t be here to resent him for it. None of us would.”

“Brother I” Yudi tried to deflect but Kadroh interrupted him “That was cruel, brother! That was cruel and it was wrong!” he crossed his arms. “And I’m crossed with you.”

“I don’t want to fight with you brother” Yudi said, deflating. “please, forgive my outburst.”

“I’m not the one you should be apologizing to.” Kadroh added then turned around and left in a brusque pace.

#hordak #wrong hordak #Yudi #spop #spop fanfiction

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lonelyandlovelorn · 4 years

Text

Dangerous

A/N: Hey all, it’s been awhile, but I’m back. Like most of my Marvel writings, this completely ignores a lot of canon. Marked as gender neutral, let me know if you think I’m wrong.

Genre: fluff

Warning: maybe a curse or light violence?

Word count: 3300

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: You can tell how much danger someone is to you, but you’re sure that ability is wrong when you meet Bucky Barnes.

Masterlist

You had worked at SHIELD for several years before it came crashing down, and with shadier organizations before that. When SHIELD dissolved and everyone found a new job, you took a step back. You believed in Captain America and the Avengers enough that before disappearing, you made sure they could contact you should they need you. Your skill set was very similar to that of the Black Widow: stealth, weapons, seduction, etc. You simply had one extra ability that most didn’t even know about. You were able to see how dangerous people were to you. While as a child, it had simply confused you to be surrounded by other kids with little number 2’s or 1’s above their heads, you figured it out as you went along. You originally believed that you could see how dangerous someone was, but when you befriended another assassin and saw her number to be too low for how deadly you knew her to be, you discovered the specifics. Some people, though incredibly dangerous in the abstract, posed little to no danger to you, which you quickly realized.

This skill was only disclosed to a select few higher ups in whatever organization you were working for. It was an ability that had prepared you for a betrayal often days or weeks in advance. However helpful this was to you, it did not necessarily aid a team, which left you to solo work most of your career. You simply joined the fight when you were needed for your other skills. When Captain America called you in to help him track his best friend the Winter Soldier, you were there. You never joined the fight against Tony Stark, as you didn’t feel it was your place. Your only mission was to aid Bucky Barnes to safety and help that he desperately needed.

Once the Avengers fixed themselves a little bit, you stayed with them at the compound, hidden away and not attracting attention. After all, you were still semi-retired, but you were about as successful as Clint with that. When you met most of the Avengers, you weren’t shocked by their numbers, though some impressed you. Often the first meeting with someone displayed their true level of danger before it shifted towards you, and each of the heroes had a massive value that quickly decreased as you got to know them. Clint and Natasha were already familiar with you, though you remembered their numbers being around 7 for the first few months of knowing them. Steve was also a 7 in the beginning. Wanda presented an impressive 9, and perhaps the most shocking of all was Tony at a 10. He was the first 10 you had ever seen, and it confused you to no end until you watched him work in his lab and talk strategy. Perhaps Tony wasn’t the most powerful, but you knew his brain made up for that tenfold, and you knew he would do anything to protect his family. All of these people were wary of you when they first met you, but they each warmed up to your dry humor and quiet comfort fairly quickly. By the third month living in the tower, none of them were above a 4.

In your early months staying with the team, Bucky was nowhere to be seen. You had met the man, in a way, but only after he had been brainwashed and was in full Winter Soldier mode. That man was an 8, and you knew it was because he was practically a machine, with no empathy or mercy for his opponent. About 5 months into your stay, he finally came into the tower, shadowing Steve like a child hiding behind their mother. Tony shook his hand, and everyone else gave him hesitant, but encouraging, smiles. You were almost left speechless at the number above Bucky’s head. The only times you had ever seen a 0 was when you saw a baby. And yet, here was this man that towered over nearly everyone else, a wall of muscle, and he posed absolutely no danger to you. Some part of you was touched by that, the fact that even though he was designed to kill, he was essentially harmless.

The only other person in the tower that knew about your ability was Wanda. Partly because she was similarly weird, and partly because she could read minds. No one else around you could tell what was happening, but Wanda glanced over at you with a raised brow. You were sure your eyes were wide and you were sort of staring at him, but it was hard to help it. You finally looked away when he glanced at you, beautiful blue eyes on display. You didn’t know how to handle this information.

After the awkward introductions, everyone returned to their normal activities. Wanda grabbed your arm and hauled you towards her room.

“Was that true?” Wanda asked the moment she was sure you were alone. All you could do was nod, dumbstruck. How does a grown man like that not pose any danger to you at all? It didn’t make any sense at all and you didn’t know what to do about it.

You were sure the numb panic showed in your eyes because Wanda set a soothing hand on your shoulder. “Why are you so freaked out by this?”

You look away before looking her in the eye. “What if this means that my powers don’t work? Or does it mean that man is so broken that he can’t hurt anyone? Is it only for me? And why would it just be me?” You were asking rhetorical questions faster than she could reassure you, so she finally slapped a hand over your mouth.

“Calm down, Y/N. Maybe all of that is true and maybe it’s all wrong, but worrying about it won’t help you at all.” Wanda continued to soothe you, and if she maybe used some magic to lull you into a calmer state, then who could blame her?

You were certain your powers didn’t work anymore when you watched Bucky in battle. He tried to avoid missions as much as you did, but sometimes people with specific skill sets were needed. For example, this particular mission you were on with him, along with Barton and Romanoff, required four people designed for stealth who could defend themselves if push came to shove. You were infiltrating some base of some crazy scientists who thought they were smarter than Tony Stark, with the task of retrieving files and data about their work and taking out anyone you encountered.

As you were used to being a solo agent, you didn’t often rely on teammates or pay much attention to them. However, since the day you met him, you couldn’t not pay attention to Bucky Barnes. As you each crept towards the building you were infiltrating, you glanced over at him, having become accustomed to checking if the 0 was there at all times. For such a large man, you were always impressed by his stealth. You shook your head and returned your focus to the task at hand.

The mission went smoothly all the way until the end, when a guard noticed you and Natasha running from the building to the woods nearby. You didn’t even notice him until you heard a shot go off behind you. You turned in time to see Bucky come from behind him and swiftly take him down. As you watched him smoothly knock the man out, you studied the number as it stubbornly remained at 0. You let out a huff of frustration, waving off Natasha as she looked at you curiously.

The boys made their way towards you both, joining you as you walked to the quinjet. You distractedly followed behind them, hardly noticing Bucky sidling up next to you. You’re off in your own head until you hear him softly speak. You whip your head towards him, shocked at his attention toward you, a first in the time you’ve known him.

“Are you okay?” It takes you a moment to realize that he just wants to make sure that you hadn’t been injured when the guard fired his gun. You nodded mutely at him, not wanting to startle him by responding overenthusiastically. You didn’t know him well, but you knew enough not to scare him off. He gave a miniscule smile before facing forward once more.

You couldn’t stand the silence for too long, so you had to say, “Thank you for taking care of that guy for us, by the way.” He nodded in acknowledgement.

“What are teammates for?” You sent a smile his way before letting the silence settle as you all climbed into the jet. You couldn’t help but return to your thoughts he had interrupted. You were pretty sure your powers were broken, but there was a possibility that the man really just posed no danger to you. You weren’t sure what to make of either option, so you sat back, glancing around at your teammates, only to find Natasha watching you and Bucky glancing at you from time to time.

Later that night in your room, after a lot of deliberation, you decided to try to make friends with Bucky. He seemed awfully sweet and you regretted not trying to yet. Whether your powers were correct or broken, you couldn’t see the harm in getting to know the man and showing him kindness he deserved after so long without.

You didn’t bombard him with friendliness immediately, but you slowly began to settle into a place in his life. You sat next to him at meals, watched movies with him, spent free time silent together on a couch somewhere in the tower. The change was so slow and subtle that most people didn’t notice it, except for yourself, Steve, and Wanda. The other spies had realized too, but seemed much less inclined to mention it.

Wanda pulled you aside one night to ask about it, seeming to worry about your powers and what might happen if they were wrong. You reassured her, having decided in your time getting closer to him that he might actually deserve that 0. She didn’t quite seem convinced, but the conviction coming from you was enough to calm her down. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust her newest teammate, she just worried about you.

Steve found you one morning drinking coffee alone in the kitchen. You gave him a small greeting smile before turning back to your phone. You assumed it would be a comfortable silence that you were used to with Steve in the mornings, so you were surprised when the man settled beside you and called your attention to him. You turned to look at him curiously.

“I just wanted to… thank you, I guess, for spending time with Bucky.” Of course you had noticed that several of your teammates shied away from the man, but you didn’t see that as a reason to thank you for talking to him. “It’s just, you seemed nervous the first day he came by and I was worried no one would give him a chance. It’s nice to see him relax sometimes.”

You knew you didn’t have to tell Steve what had in a way led to your friendship with Bucky, but you wanted to. After all, he was your captain, and you trusted him fully. So you slowly explained your powers to him, before telling him that the reason you were nervous when meeting Bucky was that you had never seen anything like it before and you thought you were broken. “But then I talked to him and got to know him and realized that maybe my powers were working perfectly.” You shrugged, not sure how much to divulge to Bucky’s best friend. You weren’t going to pretend to yourself that you felt absolutely nothing for the man, but you also weren’t willing to admit it out loud yet.

Steve set his hand on your shoulder and flashed you a smile. “Thank you for telling me. Do you mind if I ask why you haven’t told the team that you can do this?” He didn’t sound like he was accusing you, just curious.

You sighed. “It only seems to work for my own personal safety, so I guess it seems stupid to tell my team that I have a power that can’t help them at all, and then if something bad happens that I couldn’t warn them about because I didn’t see it, it’s on me.” You didn’t truly think so lowly of your friends, your family. You just learned from experience.

Steve nodded in understanding before leaving you to your coffee and wandering off to who knows where.

You really weren’t that obvious. You were a spy, and you knew how to control your expressions. The problem was, you lived with several other spies who all knew how to read past the mask. You were so sure you were inconspicuous when you watched Bucky until Clint and Nat pulled you aside one day. They were both slightly older than you and had always treated you like a little sibling.

“Are you sure about this, Y/N?” Clint asked. You glanced back and forth between them quizzically, completely at a loss. He sighed before continuing. “You and Barnes?” No matter how hard you tried, you could do nothing to stop the heat that rose into your face.

“We trust you, we just want to make sure that you can trust him. No matter how nice he is, he was trained to be dangerous.” Nat’s warning was meant to be from a place of love, but it only made you defensive.

“There is no danger to me from that man, I can promise you that.” There wasn’t a single lie to be heard in your voice, and they believed you. They were just a little protective.

After a pause, Clint started speaking again and made you wish he hadn’t. “Why haven’t you done anything about it then?” Nat smiled jokingly with him. You groaned and covered your face.

“Because it’s not that simple. Apparently, I’m pretty obvious to you guys, but he isn’t obvious to me.” They exchanged a look before turning back to you. “What?”

“That will be something for you to figure out on your own.” They patted you on the shoulder before leaving you feeling distressed and confused.

It was late at night and you were wandering around, not quite ready for sleep. You were aimless, drifting through hallways and floors without paying much attention to your surroundings. You almost didn’t notice that someone was on the couch in the area of the tower you had wandered into until he called your name. You startled, looking to see Bucky leaning into the plush cushions on the large couch, looking out the large windows at the city lights. You weighed your options before settling into the couch next to him. You sat close to him, leaving just enough space to avoid touching him. You sat together in a comforting silence for a while.

The darkness of the room and the hour of day made you brave. Here, you could hide parts of you from the world. With this courage of cover, you leaned your head on his uninjured shoulder and entwined your hands. You felt him stiffen beneath you and nearly jumped away at the realization that you might make him uncomfortable, only to feel him relax immediately. You smiled to yourself and settled in beside him to enjoy the scenery in your hidden corner of the building. You were completely content and began to speak your mind, knowing that you would not have another chance.

“Bucky, I really like spending time with you. You make me happy and I feel comfortable around you. You make me feel like you want me around and I always want you around.” The ramblings didn’t make a lot of sense even to you, and they were still pretty far from what you really wanted to tell him. “I guess I’m trying to say that I want to spend more time with you if you’re okay with that and maybe some of that time can involve things like this and… I don’t know, I’m sorry, I’m bad at this.”

He didn’t interrupt you once, and when you finally finished speaking, you lifted your head from his shoulder to see his features dimly lit by the city lights. His eyebrows were crumpled and there was a slight frown on his face as he deliberated. Horror overcame you as you realized that you had completely bombarded him and he probably didn’t even feel the same. You began to stand up and retreat, but his hand held you in your seat. You watched him in what you could only describe as fear as you waited for him to say something. You glanced up out of habit to see the 0 resolutely above him.

He let out a breath before turning to look you in the eye in the darkness. The moment felt incredibly intimate. “I love spending time with you, Y/N. But you know as well as anyone else that I’m dangerous and I don’t want to put you any more in harm’s way than you already are.”

He couldn’t hide his confusion as you beamed at him. He quirked a brow as he looked at you as you geared up to knock down that one point. If he truly did return your feelings, then you weren’t worried about telling him, and if that was the only thing stopping him, then you could fix that. “I have this… power… where I can see how much danger people pose to me on what I assume is a 1-10 scale. When I first met the Avengers, most of them were around an 8, but they all got lower as we got closer. Normal people are usually around a 2 or 3, and babies and children are usually 0. And then I met you when you came to the tower. I thought I was broken because here you were, a man who could destroy me physically… and you were a zero. From the first day I met you, you have posed absolutely no danger to me. You might be dangerous Buck, but you aren’t to me.” He looked completely shocked for a moment as he stared at you. Slowly, though, a smile matching yours spread across his face. He let out a relieved laugh, realizing that he wouldn’t endanger you.

He surprised you more than you had surprised him when he planted a gentle kiss on your lips. Of course, you saw it coming, but it still surprised you. Surprise didn’t stop you from returning it though. Suddenly, he had pulled you into his lap to straddle his thighs as the kiss became slightly more heated. You both enjoyed the passion and heat of each other in the dark until someone cleared their throat from the doorway. You ripped apart, feeling like teenagers who got caught by their parents. You looked up to see Steve smiling teasingly at you. “I was just coming to check on you Buck, but it seems like that’s already covered.” You hid your face in your hands as you felt the chuckle rumble through Bucky beneath you.

“Oh, you’re dangerous alright,” you muttered as he tugged at your wrists. You were grateful to see that Steve had gone, and the happiness in Bucky’s eyes almost made your humiliation worth it.

“If the only danger I bring to you is being caught like this, I don’t mind being dangerous.”

#bucky barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #winter soldier x reader #marvel #fanfic #reader insert #imagine #avengers #gender neutral reader #lonelyandlovelorn

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judgmentofcorruption · 4 years

Text

Episode 10–The Court Ends; Scene 6

Judgment of Corruption, pages 295-303

The ones targeted most in the revolts were wealthy people who had been favored by Gallerian’s judgments.

The USE united government immediately tried to suppress the rioting populace inside Levianta by mobilizing their World Police forces.

But the chaos continued unabated, emboldened by the influence of the news, and the next day the government decided to send in the military.

There were rumors that it was Asmodean guerillas stirring up the people beneath all the revolts. And that these guerillas were linked to the Tasan party.

As far as I know, such rumors were nothing less than the truth. After all was said and done, the one rampaging as the leader of the militia that stood at the heart of the uprising was Gammon Octo.

The fact that the first casualty of the revolt was former Levin University professor Jason Jack supported this. Gammon’s older brother Nyoze had been sentenced under false chargers to take this man’s place, after all. It’s only natural that he would be the first target for violence.

Around the outbreak of the violence, Bindi Freezis—who had been staying in Alicegrad—immediately made plans to flee to another nation, but before he could all the main land and air routes were blockaded by the militia, and he was forced to remain.

In a bind, the person he sought for help was—

“I’d like to borrow your ‘mail carrier’,” Bindi declared to Gallerian on his visit to the Dark Star Bureau.

“You mean Postman?”

“Yes, that one. I know of his merits. A pro who can safely deliver anything that they’re entrusted with—even if that’s a person.”

“Just as I might expect from someone of the Freezis Conglomerate—your information is sound.”

“Yes, I remembered my older brother talking once about how he was saved by Postman in the past. Is he still with you?”

“Yes…But not here at the building. If you wish to use Postman I’ll have to call first,” Gallerian said, picking up the receiver of the phone on his desk.

He dialed the number and made a call to someone.

“Hello—Yeah, it’s me. It’s about what we were discussing earlier…Yes, exactly. He’s in the director’s room right now. So, please have Postman sent over here…Yes, yes, I’ll leave it to you. Bye.”

After that brief conversation, he hung up.

“—They should arrive in about four hours.”

Bindi sounded awed. “You’re awfully well prepared. Did you know things would turn out like this beforehand?”

“Well, something like that. …But the military has already started mobilizing. I’d think there’s little need to risk danger to flee the country at this stage.”

“I have to make absolutely sure of things. If I were to get caught up in the revolts and lose my life, that would be a severe loss to both the USE unified government and to the Freezis Conglomerate. –Naturally, to you as well.”

“You took good care of me when Tasan tried to indict me. Please think of my loaning you Postman as being repaying you for that.”

Gallerian inclined his head.

“Ho ho ho, you needn’t be so self-effacing, Gallerian. I’d like for our mutually beneficial relationship to continue to flourish hereafter, after all—Well then, I will wait here until Postman arrives.”

Bindi sat down on a nearby sofa.

After four hours, Postman arrived before the two of them right on time.

Gallerian said to Postman, “Well then, as we planned—you know where you’re to go?”

Postman nodded.

“You are to take Sir Bindi safely to his destination. –Please go along, Minister. It looks like Postman came here by car today.”

Postman’s favored, deep red gasoline powered automobile was visible outside the window.

“Won’t it stand out with that color?”

“It’s alright. Everyone will simply thing it’s a mail carrier’s vehicle.”

Postman gestured for Bindi to follow them outside.

“I suppose I’ll get going now…Thank you, Gallerian. You take extra care you don’t get caught up in the uprising yourself.”

“Don’t worry. I have no plans to leave the bureau until they’re over with, and we have excellent security here.”

“PN, right? They’re not proper soldiers, but they should be alright against simple militia.”

“Well then—Farewell, Mister Bindi.”

Gallerian cheerfully waved him off.

The red vehicle that Postman drove splendidly slipped through the militia’s besiegement, and safely snuck out of Alicegrad.

“Stupendous! You live up to your name of ‘Postman’. Exactly as skilled as I heard. I’ll trust you to handle matters from here.”

“…”

After that, the car pushed through a snowy field.

“My, how odd that there’s so much snow left around here despite it being summer.”

“…”

“By the by, where is this car headed? I was wanting to get to Marlon—”

“…”

“Ah…that’s right, you don’t talk. I think my brother said something about that. Oh well. As long as you deliver me safely I have no complaints.”

“…”

Eventually the vehicle came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the field.

“Hm, what’s wrong? Did the car break down?”

“…”

Postman got down from the car and gestured for Bindi to do the same.

“Why in the world would we get off at a place like—What’s this metal panel? Should I touch this?”

Postman pointed, and Bindi obediently put his hand on the metal panel that had been stuck into the snowy field.

“…Wha!? Everything’s just turned to nighttime! But it was bright out just a second ago…No, it isn’t just that. There’s a field of stars all over the ground, too! What a bizarre—”

Bindi was so surprised by the scenery that had been brought about by “Lunaca Labora”’s mechanism that he didn’t notice that there were people approaching him from behind.

“Hey there, boss.”

Bindi whirled around, startled at the throaty voice.

“You’re—Gusuma Yarera!?”

“It’s been decades since we were able to meet face to face like this, Bindi. Ha ha ha.”

Gusuma laughed loudly alongside the five subordinates he had brought with him.

“Why!? Why are you in this—What’s the meaning of this, Postman!?”

Postman ignored Bindi’s cry and gestured for Gusuma to sign some documents.

“—There, I signed it with my full name of ‘Great Super Marvelous’. Is that enough? …Alright then, thank you for your service.”

Taking back the signed documents, Postman then passed through a hole in the space and vanished somewhere.

Gusuma once more turned to Bindi.

“The person who commissioned this delivery—was me. I dispatched Postman to bring you here. …You, who killed my little sister and my niece.”

Gusuma took a shotgun from one of his underlings and pointed the muzzle directly at Bindi’s brow.

“Eek!”

“I’ve gotta thank Gallerian. He made all the arrangements for you to be brought over like this, after all.”

“Th…that bastard! He’s betrayed me, after all I’ve done for him!?”

“Yep. He betrayed you…Or rather, I suppose it’s a little different.” Gusuma tilted his head, still holding the gun steady. “He did have a pretty long acquaintanceship with you…So this is how I’ve come to think of it. –Gallerian had no intention of ever letting you off from the start.”

“Huh?”

“The poor man’s gotten a bit touched. He’s convinced a doll is his daughter, and this is what he said to me. ‘Michelle was paralyzed in the incident with the ship. I need money to return her to normal’. I got fed up with him, and severed ties. So then he goes and joins up with you of all people, and gives you an innocence verdict in trial. But…there was no way he was going to let slip the man who had made Michelle suffer, given he loved that girl more than anyone.”

“What are you saying? Just put the gun down already!”

“If I’d been him—Just out of the blue I started considering that. What I would do to the one responsible, if I’d lost my wife and daughter…It wouldn’t be enough just to kill him. I would use him for all that he’s worth, and then cast him to the depths of despair just as he was getting cocky…I’m positive that’s what Gallerian was thinking, don’t you agree? And that’s why he gets in touch with me recently. Tells me I’m free to use this place, Postman, and Jorm as I see fit.”

“Jorm?”

“Don’t you know about him? The man who killed the members of ‘Zeus’ and escaped from prison—my adopted younger brother.”

There was the sound of something knocking on the other side of the field of stars.

Along with a man’s wheedling voice.

“—Big bro, you done yeeet? I’m tired of waitiiiing. I’m almost out of meds, and I’m itching to get going.”

“Oh, our conversation’s just about over, Jorm.” After replying to the voice, Gusuma lowered the gun. “I thought about killing you myself, but—everyone has their own domain. I have never once killed someone with my own hands. Though it’s easy to think otherwise from my appearance. Making the Yarera Zusco Conglomerate into a world-spanning corporation is the domain that was granted to me, and that is my objective. For that reason I can’t sully my hands with someone’s blood.”

Bindi collapsed on the spot, losing his strength. “Th-thank you—”

“That’s why I’m going to leave it to Jorm.”

The moment that Gusuma said that, Bindi vanished.

Eventually, his voice became audible from somewhere.

“Wh-what is this!? Where did you all go? –Wh-who are you!?”

And Gusuma replied to that.

Facing the starry sky.

“Let me introduce you two, boss. That’s my younger brother, Jorm. The serial killer who can chop people up empty-handed. He’s so dangerous even I can’t be in the same room with him.”

“Y-you put someone like that in here with me—Help! Let me out of here!”

Once more, there was the sound of something knocking.

“I don’t wanna say it, but Jorm’s even more far gone than Gallerian. He’s getting on in years and he still can’t stop killing. Jorm’s domain, his objective of killing people, has become everything to him. It’s sad, but since that’s the case—at the very least, all I can do as his big brother is to help him.”

“Stop clowning around! You’re crazy too—O-ow!”

Bindi screamed.

“Maybe so…That’s the world we live in. Maybe there isn’t anyone left who’s sane anymore.”

“My arm! My arm! Please let me out! I’m begging you!”

“No. Well, be sure to have fun, little brother.”

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!”

Was that Bindi screaming?

Or was that Jorm’s war cry?

“…Come on, let’s get back to headquarters.”

Gusuma and his subordinates slipped out the hole in space and returned to the outside world.

<<prev------directory------next>>

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noona-clock · 5 years

Text

A Familiar Face ✨🏰 - Part 3

Genre: Harry Potter!AU

Pairing: Eric Nam x You (Female!Reader)

Warnings: None

Part 1, 2, 3, 4 | Words: 2,888

You had told Eric that the beginning of the school year was always the hardest, and that was incredibly true.

Professors and students alike were busy preparing for lessons, doing and grading assignments, getting used to new schedules. So much went on, and it truly seemed like there was barely a minute of downtime.

Naturally, this meant the beginning of the school year also went by in the blink of an eye. Or the flick of a wand, if you want to be more appropriate.

After that first week, both you and Eric got caught up (and, frankly, overwhelmed) with work... but you still managed to see him every day without fail. In fact, your daily lunch breaks in your classroom were what kept you sane, and he felt exactly the same way -- he’d told you so on multiple occasions.

The two of you had also managed to spend many a night up in the astronomy tower or, if the weather dictated it, in the Room of Requirement with your trusty Astrellus Lumos charm.

Unsurprisingly, you had become pretty close friends. The intimacy of stargazing had led you both to some pretty deep conversations, and after two and a half months, you were fairly certain he knew everything there was to know about you.

Well. Except for the fact you’d harbored a crush on him for seven years. And still did even now.

But that wasn’t something he needed to know because it had been two and a half months, and there hadn’t been one single moment where you’d wondered if maybe he felt something more. Not one. Not even half of a moment.

So, apparently, that would be a secret you took with you to your grave.

But it was now another Friday afternoon, and you realized things had been slowing down over the past week or so. Or maybe you were just getting into the swing of things so being busy simply felt normal. Either way, you still felt like welcoming the weekend with open arms.

“Happy Friday!” Eric greeted when he appeared in your classroom doorway for lunch.

Without missing a beat, you waved your wand, summoning two plates of food and the chair from Eric’s classroom. You then lifted your head and grinned at him, trying to ignore the thumping in your heart (as you always did). “Happy Friday,” you replied. “This week went by quite quickly, didn’t it?”

“The past couple of months have gone by quickly,” Eric chuckled as he arrived at your desk and pulled out his chair to sit down.

“This is true,” you agreed with a laugh. “I can’t believe it’s already November.”

“It seems like just yesterday we had the Welcoming Feast, and now it’s the first Hogsmeade visit.”

“Wait, what?” you asked, your eyes wide with surprise. “Is it really?”

Eric had just taken a bite of his shepherd’s pie, so he nodded instead of answering verbally.

“Wow,” you marveled softly. “I can’t believe it’s already that time of year.”

After a few moments, Eric looked up at you and asked, “Are you going?”

“To Hogsmeade?”

“Yes, to Hogsmeade,” he chuckled, his lips forming into a playful smirk.

“I didn’t plan to...” you told him. “But, then again, I didn’t know about it.”

“You should come,” he said casually.

...He said that like he wanted you to join. Come with him.

“Are... you going?” you asked, mentally kicking yourself because you hadn’t been able to keep the timidity out of your voice.

Eric nodded, humming positively as he continued to eat his lunch.

Okay, you knew he hadn’t just asked you to go with him, but --

“Yeah, come with me,” he said, interrupting your thoughts. “I kind of just assumed you were going, so I was planning on asking you to be my Hogsmeade buddy anyway.”

Even though you were mentally freaking out because he had, in fact, asked you to go with him, you still laughed softly at his last words.

“We’re professors now,” you reminded him. “We don’t need Hogsmeade buddies anymore...”

A tiny, almost bashful smile appeared on Eric’s lips, and you could have sworn his cheeks were turning pink.

“You know what I mean,” he retorted.

It took you a few minutes to compose yourself, but you were finally able to muster up some normalcy to respond with, “Well, I won’t carry you home if you drink too many Butterbeers, if that’s what you mean.”

Eric burst out laughing, and your heart positively soared.

“I won’t, I promise,” he chuckled.

You ate the rest of your lunch with a smile on your lips, and when the warning on your clock sounded, Eric stood and waved his wand to clean up.

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning?” he asked before turning to leave. “I think McGonagall said the students should meet at the front entrance at 10.”

“Yes, I’ll be there,” you nodded, cleaning up your own meal, as well. “I bet Neville will be glad for the extra help. I don’t think he particularly likes having the Hogsmeade visit responsibility.”

“Who else would McGonagall pick, though?”

“Exactly,” you shrugged. “I mean, he literally fought in the battle of Hogwarts... No one else could handle supervising all of those students.”

Eric smirked, and just before he spun around on his heel to head toward your classroom door... He winked at you.

Are we surprised that you were still thinking about that wink the next morning at 9:55am?

No?

No, I didn’t think so.

A rather large group of third-years and up had already gathered by the front entrance, and Professor Longbottom was checking to make sure they’d all turned in their permission slips. You had offered to help, of course, but he insisted there was no need. You were attending as more of a personal thing rather than a professional thing.

Eric arrived just before 10, and your heart honestly stopped beating for a second because he just looked so handsome and nice in his Autumn coat and scarf and not in his professor robes and just -- ugh.

And also because you were still thinking about the wink.

Your crush was getting bigger by the week, apparently.

“Morning,” he greeted quietly, not wanting to draw too much attention to his arrival.

To absolutely no one’s shock and awe, Eric had quickly become one of the students’ favorite professors. When you had brought it up once, he’d tried to insist that you were also a student favorite, but you assured him your interactive history lessons were no match for his open, friendly demeanor... and incredibly good looks. But you didn’t include that last part.

Anyway.

If Eric had strolled on up to this large group of students, letting his presence be known, he surely would have been bombarded and Neville would have been none too pleased about it.

“Good morning,” you replied with a little grin, shoving your hands into the pockets of your jacket. “I already offered to help with the permission slips, but Neville insisted I stay out of it so I could enjoy my weekend.”

“Good for him,” Eric nodded. “I know it’s a school visit and everything, but I was going to try and not involve ourselves with the students as much as I possibly could.”

And there went your heart skipping a beat again. Because what Eric just said sounded awfully like he... wanted to spend time alone. With you.

I mean, the two of you did spend time alone together. Quite often, actually. Every weekend, and during lunch every weekday.

But, still.

This just seemed... different, somehow.

It probably wasn’t, but oh well. You’d already got it in your head that it was, so there was no turning back now.

Once the clock struck ten, Professor Longbottom announced that they would be leaving now. The students all began walking toward the train station, and when you started following them, Eric reached out and put a hand on your arm.

Oh, no. Was he about to ask you to stay behind so he could talk to you and confess that this was actually a date and he wanted to spend alone time with you because he viewed you as more than a friend now?

“Why don’t we just apparate?” he asked quietly, brow furrowed.

...Ah.

Yes.

That made a lot more sense.

“Oh, right,” you chuckled, shaking your head as if you hadn’t a clue where your sense had gone. “Of course.”

As the students and Neville started their journey to Hogsmeade on foot, you and Eric quickly apparated to the small village, both appearing in the middle of the village square.

Since the group from Hogwarts hadn’t arrived yet, the village was fairly empty, so the two of you had your choice of where to go and what to do.

“What would you like to do first?” Eric asked, looking around at the nearby shops. “Three broomsticks? Fancy a drink to help you unwind?”

A somewhat awkward smile crossed your lips, and you lifted your shoulders up toward your ears. “Actually... can we... go to Honeyduke’s instead?”

“Honeyduke’s?”

Rather than drown your worries in alcohol, you were the type to drown them in sweets. You had quite a massive sweet tooth, and you much preferred the taste of chocolate frogs and lollipops to that of alcohol. Butterbeer was delicious, yes, but... so was candy.

“I just have a sweet tooth, and I really like sweets, but if you want --”

“Honeyduke’s it is,” Eric interrupted, obviously catching on that you now felt somewhat embarrassed for your more juvenile choice of destination. He grinned at you and held one arm out toward the candy store nearby, ushering you over there.

As soon as you walked into Honeyduke’s, a smile tugged at your lips. There was just something about candy stores which made you feel... I guess the best word to describe it was happy.

The smell of sugar and freshly baked goods and the beautiful pastel colors and candy as far as the eye can see.

Eric, being the perfect friend he was, followed you around, insisting you look at all the candy you wanted for as long as you wanted. You were scooping out some red licorice bites into a paper bag (after careful consideration of what you wanted) when the door opened and some students trickled in.

Two sixth-year girls came in first, Cassandra and Phoebe -- two of your favorite students, actually. You knew you weren’t supposed to have favorites, but you did, anyway. They noticed you, of course, and you shot them a small smile in greeting. Eric followed suit, and almost immediately, the two girls hid behind their hands and giggled.

Eric didn’t seem to notice, though, and he suddenly reached out for your bag of candy.

“Wha --”

“I’ll be right back,” he announced quietly before turning and heading to the register.

Was he... buying your candy for you?

Your brow furrowed deeply, and when you turned back around to face the wall of candy, Cassandra and Phoebe had suddenly appeared next to you.

“Oh!” you breathed, startled by their presence. “Hello, girls.”

“Hi, Professor Y/L/N,” they greeted in unison. “We didn’t know you were coming to Hogsmeade this weekend.”

“Well, yes, I -- Professor Nam -- we wanted to spend some time outside of the castle.”

You had been about to say he had invited you, but that would surely give them the wrong idea.

Except... they had gotten the wrong idea anyway.

“Ooh,” Cassandra smirked, one eyebrow raised almost devilishly. “A date?”

“No, no, of course not,” you chuckled. “Just two friends and co-workers enjoying their weekend.”

Phoebe screwed up her face in thought and then shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know, I think it’s a date.”

“It’s not --”

“He likes you, though,” Cassanded piped up.

“Oh, yes, he definitely likes you,” Phoebe agreed, nodding knowingly.

You really, really, really wished they hadn’t said that. Because you had already thought this in the back of your head, and hearing other people say it just made you think it was actually true. Could actually be true.

But you knew better.

There was no way someone like Eric Nam would ever have more than friendly feelings for someone like you. It just didn’t happen! You weren’t living in a fairy tale or a romantic movie where the quiet, nerdy heroine gets the cool, popular guy.

“He’s buying your candy,” Cassandra said, standing on her toes and peering over toward the register.

“I bet he’ll ask you to eat lunch with him,” Phoebe added.

“We eat lunch together every day,” you told them. “Him asking me that would signify nothing.”

“You eat lunch together every day?!” both of them squealed.

“Oh, hush, and go buy your favorite professor a chocolate frog,” you said, reaching out and pushing their shoulders away from you.

“Okay, Professor Y/L/N,” Phoebe giggled before adding, “But Professor Nam still likes you.”

You let out a half-amused, half-irritated sigh and shook your head at their sixteen-year-old antics.

“What’s so funny?” Eric’s voice suddenly popped up behind you, and you inhaled sharply, jumping and quickly turning around to face him.

“Oh -- nothing,” you said breathlessly. “Just -- you know how sixteen-year-olds are.”

“You know, being a professor now, I sometimes shudder thinking about what I put our professors through back then. I thought I was hot stuff, but I think I was just annoying.”

“You were not annoying,” you assured him with a chuckle. “Everyone liked you, even the professors.”

Eric scoffed playfully, finally remembering to hand you your bag of licorice bites. You took them gratefully and reached in immediately to pop one into your mouth. Eric reached in at the same time, his hand brushing against yours. He grinned when you felt his fingers knocking into yours, and he mischievously fought you for the piece of licorice you were currently trying to pick out.

“Hey!” you laughed.

“I bought them,” he reminded you, still attempting to knock your fingers out of the way.

“You offered to buy them,” you pointed out with the biggest, cheesiest grin on your face. “I didn’t ask you to. Stop!”

Eric finally grabbed a piece, smiling triumphantly and wiggling his hand out. He threw it up slightly in the air and caught it in his mouth.

“I am not impressed with your candy-catching skills,” you sighed, hoping you would be able to keep up a serious facade.

Because, unsurprisingly, on the inside... you were jumping for joy.

You still weren’t going to entertain the idea that he liked you as more than a friend; Phoebe and Cassandra would not get in your head. But... still.

You were thoroughly enjoying this friendship, and nobody could take that away from you.

After exploring Honeydukes, you and Eric wandered around Hogsmeade until your stomachs began to grumble. You ate lunch at the Three Broomsticks, despite the fact it was filled with students, and then you decided to head back to the castle.

When you returned, you ran into the Ravenclaw quidditch team on their way in from practice.

“Oy, Professor Y/L/N!” the captain, Emmaline, called out to you.

“I think you should try that again,” Eric warned with raised eyebrows.

Emmaline pressed her lips together and looked incredibly put out when she said, “Hello, Professor Y/L/N,”

“Much better,” Eric nodded.

“Hello, Emmaline,” you greeted her with a chuckle. “How was practice?”

“It was perfect,” she nodded. “We’ll definitely beat Gryffindor this year. But that’s not what I wanted to tell you. It’s why I said ‘Oy’...”

You pressed your lips together to keep from laughing, and then you motioned with your hand to urge Emmaline to go on.

“Headmistress McGonagall said she’s going to make an announcement at dinner tonight, but she wants to tell the staff beforehand. She said if I saw you I should tell you to go to the staffroom, Ma’am.”

“Thank you, Emmaline, I very much appreciate the message,” you smiled.

“And what about me?” Eric asked.

“...What about you?” Emmaline retorted. And then she quickly added, “Sir?”

“You only called out Professor Y/L/N’s name... you weren’t going to tell me?”

“Well... I mean, you’re a Gryffindor, ain’t ya? Sir?”

You couldn’t hold back your laughter any longer, and you reached out to pat Emmaline on the shoulder.

“Thank you, Emmaline,” you repeated. “You guys go get something to eat.”

As the team headed off toward the school, you turned to Eric and furrowed your brow slightly. “I wonder what this announcement is.”

“Well, there’s only one way to find out,” Eric shrugged.

The two of you made your way into the castle and headed straight to the staffroom, your heart thumping just a little both from anticipation and from walking so quickly.

McGonagall was there, and when the two of you entered the staffroom, she lifted her hands and chirped, “Aha! There you are! Besides Longbottom, you are the last staff I need to tell.”

“Tell what?” you asked with wide eyes.

“Next month we will be having a Celestial Ball,” she explained.

She kept speaking, but you honestly didn’t hear anything.

A ball.

You’d always hated balls. They were a shy, quiet person’s worst nightmare.

You’d thought you were done with them, but... you’d thought wrong, apparently.

Part 4

#kwritersworldnet #eric nam scenarios #eric nam imagines #eric nam au #eric nam fluff #eric nam fanfic #eric nam #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #kpop au #kpop fluff #kpop fanfic #kpop harry potter au

209 notes · View notes

thorne93 · 4 years

Text

Unforeseen Chasm (Part 54)

Prompt: Two sisters fall for men that are absolute enemies. The love they have could tear all of them apart, or it could bring them together.

Word Count:2821

Warnings: Language, taking sides, arguing,mentions of casualties from past fights,Civil war major plot points, songs for this part: The afterglow, Look what you made me do- Taylor Swift, Falling Apart-Papa Roach Note: This is by far the longest thing I’ve ever written (including my novels). It’s a collaboration with the amazing @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo. It started as a funny “What if…?” and it evolved and got huge. This took two years to write. We are both proud and happy and we hope you enjoy it. It follows from Thor 1 to Endgame in the MCU. Some of the timelines may be off in order to fit certain people, and some characters may show up earlier or in different ways than they have in the movie. But for the most part, it follows the MCU. It also has a bit of crossover with some other Marvel characters throughout the story.

Masterlist for Unforeseen Chasm

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once all of you returned home, Hank and Charles escorted you and Shannon to the med bay. They took a sample of Shannon’s blood and tissue and determined that after one session, she should be healed. They suggested you give her one more treatment and after that, they would anesthetize you and Shannon and remove your triggering, and remove her Red Room protocol.

Of course, you agreed eagerly and after two days you were released from the mansion. You had seen Remy once and he apologized for his actions and asked if you could stay friends. Without hesitation, you said you’d like nothing more.

Shannon returned to Stark tower with her husband, and you returned to your apartment with Loki.

Life went on… normally for a while. Loki continued his work with Stephen. In fact, most days, you met him at work when he was getting off and the three of you had tea. It was nice to have Stephen back in your life again. You worked where you could find it, whether it was with Jane, or Shannon, or even Bruce. Shannon and Tony had a blissfully happy marriage, running Stark Industries and helping to manage the Avengers.

From what you could tell, the storm had passed. Remy and you remained friends, acknowledging his feelings and he respected your wishes to stay with Loki. You still visited him, and he you. Loki wasn’t jealous any more, for he had you and he knew this. You and Tony had made complete amends. Since that night at Xavier’s mansion, you let bygones be bygones. You both loved Shannon, and you missed being friends. It wasn’t just Stpehen and Remy either. You seemed to gravitate towards the Avengers compound quite a bit, and when Shannon was busy, you spent a lot of time with Wanda, Pietro, and if Clint was around, him too.

Shannon was completely healed at this point. She could exercise her powers at will and not be drained of them.

You and Loki visited Asgard, often. Most of the time you went for a week at the end of each month. It was nice to visit the motherland and return to a familiar home. Loki finally began to accept that Earth was his home and he started to feel…. Happy here. He didn’t really care if he was on Asgard, or Voromir, or Earth, so long as he was with you.

It seemed everyone was happy, moving on, building their lives back up from the chaos that had been the last five years.

Until Secretary Ross came in and said he was introducing a new plan for the Avengers -- The Sokovian Accords. Wanda had accidentally killed some citizens, and now the government was cracking down on the team.

“Steve’s right,” Shannon suddenly said, once the debate had broken out about the accords. Sides were being taken, quickly. So far, Sam and Steve were against signing this treaty, as it were. Natasha, Vision, and Rhodey leaned on the side of complying with the government.

“What?” Tony asked, shocked. He pulled up an image of a boy, a boy who was crushed by some of the destruction caused in Sokovia. You felt a pang of guilt. “You’re telling me you’re okay with that?” Tony demanded of his wife.

“I’m saying that the Avengers should be able to go out and save the people and clear the danger from becoming worse. We shouldn’t have to wait to be called upon to save the day. That’s not what we are, that’s not why we were formed.”

“Exactly. Tony, what if there’s somewhere we need to go, and we can’t because of this?”

“The Avengers were created to save the world from whatever threat is upon the Earth. So for us to be there like sitting ducks… it’s infuriating because I could be healing people while the rest of you are handling whatever’s left,” Shannon responded.

“Y/N is awfully quiet,” Natasha remarked.

“Look, I’m not an Avenger, not official, so I--”

“Right, her vote doesn’t count,” Tony interjected with a smile at you.

“But I agree with you, Tony,” you finished.

Tony did a double take. “What?”

“What?” Shannon scoffed. “Y/N/N, what--”

“Shannon, toying with forces unknown will result in bad outcomes. Maybe it’s good you--we-- don’t go running to every fight. Look where that got me. I became a slave because I thought I could help fight them.”

“You were forced to do something you didn’t want to, Y/N. But as the Avengers it’s our duty to defend the only home we have against whatever or whoever tries to come and take over.”

“No matter the cost?” you asked incredulously.

“How would you feel if everyone on this earth became a slave because we were told we couldn’t stop the threat from doing that to us? It would mean that everything we've done would be for nothing.”

“I understand that but look at New York, look at Sokovia, look at what just happened with Wanda. If Banner had been more under control, or if we’d had the government to help extract the citizens…. Maybe we wouldn’t have as many casualties.”

“You know we wouldn’t have any casualties from New York if you and your boy toy hadn’t come in storming the place,” Sam retorted and you shot him a look of frustration.

“We’re going to get nowhere arguing like this,” Tony stated. “The accords are being signed in a week, in Vienna. I suggest you all be there, if you don’t want to be considered criminals.”

With that, he left the room, Steve got a text message, and you and Shannon stared at each other.

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

Loki said he was staying out of it, but supported your decision either way. You informed him you would sign as a symbol of good faith to the government and to show you could comply. Maybe order was a good thing.

A week later, you were in Vienna with Tony, Rhodey, Nat, and Vision. Vision complimented you for making a sound decision. Nat said she was glad to see you there. Tony was… still bitter about Shannon and didn’t talk much.

Until the next thing you knew was the signing had exploded.

From there, it was a whirlwind of fighting. Apparently, the Winter Soldier, the man who had trained Shannon, Steve’s old friend Bucky had blown the place up. Steve went after him, only to be arrested and all of them in captivity, until Bucky was reactivated.

Shannon, Steve, Bucky, and Sam were fugitives. They had escaped holding and you and Tony had figured out they were headed for the airport.

That’s when things got really hairy. When you ran into them, you were trying to stop them, just hoping they’d give themselves up. But Steve and Bucky were determined to chase down a phantom. For you, it wasn’t about the Accords or Bucky or any of it. You had made a promise to the UN, and now you had to bring the others in.

On one side, it was Steve, Sam, Bucky, Shannon, Wanda, Pietro, Scott, and Clint.

On your side, it was you, Tony, Rhodey, Vision, Nat, Peter, and T’Challa.

Utter hell broke loose between the two opposing sides. You mainly focused on fighting Wanda and Shannon, the two you could do the most damage against. Ultimately though, Steve and Bucky got away with the help of Shannon and Nat. Tony followed them.

When the fight ended though, you and Shannon made up, as did you and the rest of the group. You felt the accords were silly, and slightly unnecessary, but it seemed like a step in the right direction. You respected everyone’s choice on the matter though, and that’s what everyone said once the physical fighting was over. Everyone had civil discourse on what had happened. But ultimately, Rhodey had to make the call to Ross to ask that they all be arrested.

“No, Rhodey, you can’t do that,” you begged, turning to him. “Come on, they were just trying to help Bucky, you know this. Come on, it’s Steve. It’s Shannon,” you pleaded. “We can’t do this!”

He continued to stay on the phone as he talked to you. “It’s out of my hands, Y/N. You know as well as I do if we just let this go, we’ll all be as good felons too.”

“It’s okay,” Shannon assured. “He’s right, Y/N. It’s your duty to call this in.”

“No,” you argued. “I didn’t sign up for this shit. I signed up to stop threats. No one here is a threat,” you retorted, angry. “You didn’t get a chance to keep me from jail. You pulled strings to get me out early. I want to be better for you. You don’t belong in a jail cell. Vision, come on. You know as well as I do none of them belong in prison!” You were trying to plead with the people on your side, but their hands were tied.

“Y/N,” Shannon said softly, “it’s okay. It’ll be okay. Tony won’t let any of us stay in a cell too long. It’ll be a slap on the wrist. He’ll make sure everyone gets cut some slack and gets out. No civilians got hurt. It was just us. We’ll be alright.” She came up and rubbed your back.

You peered at her, glancing to all of your friends. “I don’t like it.”

“I know,” she agreed. “It’ll be fine.”

The government showed up and all of them stood still, not fighting as handcuffs were put on them. That part killed you.Meanwhile, you tears were hot on your face as Vision wrapped you in an embrace, trying to comfort you.

You never wanted anyone locked away, especially Shannon. She didn’t deserve the same fate you had after New York. Truthfully, none of them did. Tony could be stubborn, and you knew he thought they got what they deserved except for Shan, but you couldn’t bear to see them in that prison.

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

Tony walked into the floating cell that held all of his friends, including his wife. He didn’t want her to be here, or any of them, really. But the law was the law. He walked up to her cell after he made a round to everyone else. Perhaps it was because he couldn’t bear to look at her just yet.

“Shan…” He started, his voice sounding broken. “What the hell, babe? You went against me on this? We fought? Physically. What the hell happened?”

“Tony, you know how I feel about this. As a team we were formed to save.” She turned her body to face him. She didn’t attempt to come closer to the cell wall. She didn’t want to get shocked again. “I’m sorry we fought but we needed to get Bucky out of there, you wouldn't really understand why I did it but I did and I don’t regret it.”

“I’m so glad you were concerned with getting Roger’s friend out of there,” he snapped, beyond angry and hurt. “Shannon, I needed you, beside me. I thought as my wife you’d support me, back me up. And then you just… You decided to go against not only me, but most of the global governments. Was this all to get back at me in some way or…? I gotta know.” He had that signature amused, irritated look. He was at his wits end.

“Tony, would you not make this about yourself for once? I’ve always stood by your side in everything!” she shouted and took a deep breath. “I was not about to sign something that makes me the government's pet going when they call. You would have done the same thing to save Rhodey if it had been you in Steve’s shoes.” She got up, walking a little bit close. “Just like I would have done for Y/N or you, not that it seems to matter to you.” she lowered her voice at the end.

“How can you say it doesn’t matter?” he asked, his voice low, hurt. “Shan, everything you do matters to me. That’s why it hurt so bad to know you fought me on this.” He sighed, running a hand down his face. He shook his head. “Shan, babe, I just wanted us to be on the same side. We’re not always on the same side, and it kills me when we aren’t. It surprised the hell out of me when you said you disagreed with me on this. When I found out that you weren’t going to sign, I freaked.”

She stepped as close as she could to the plexiglass. “All my life all I’ve know is following orders and being the assassin they want me to be and I finally got away from that when we created the Avengers and I met you,” the pain in her eyes was evident she hated that she hurt him like this but he didn’t want to live through another version of her past. “And now you ask me to do it all over again but as a soldier to the government? It took me years to feel comfortable in my own skin after all the atrocities I did back then I won’t start again from zero.” She wiped the few tears that had escaped. She couldn’t do this. She wouldn’t, not if she had the choice.

He sighed, rubbing his neck. He started nodding. “You know what? You’re right. I never thought of it that way. I saw it my way and that’s all I could see. All I saw and heard was that you weren't backing me up, and I freaked. But you’re absolutely right. You’ve never gotten autonomy and for the first time in your life, you got a chance to do that. I’m just sorry it ended in this. You gotta help me right now though. Where did they go?” he implored, staring at her. “I want to help them, but you gotta tell me where they went.”

“How do I know you're not just going to lock them in here with us?” She scrunched her eyebrows. “They should already be at the location, Tony. They need to end what Zemo started.”

He frowned. “Zemo… Where would he have gone?”

She looked at Sam who shook his head as if knowing what was going on. “ I can’t tell you Tony.” she points to the cameras with her eyes hoping he’d get why.

He sighed before pulling his watch up, running his finger over a few things. “There, audio is out. We have thirty seconds. If you ever trusted me for a moment in our life, you’ll tell me now. It’s either me or the government,” he challenged.

“It’s you Tony, it’s always. “ she stopped. “They’re in Siberia that's where all the other super soldiers are frozen.” she put her hand to the glass not caring that she’d get shocked. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he vowed, kissing his fingers and pressing them against the glass. “Gimme some time. I’m gonna go help them, and I’ll be back to get you babe. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you or on your side.” He gave her an apologetic smile.

She winced at the pain of the shock. “Just please be careful...fuck!” she pulled her hand back from the glass. “Damn you Ross!” she glared at the camera and she looked down at her hand to see that it was bleeding.

“I’ll take care of that prick,” Tony promised. “Love you. Be back in a bit.” With that, he turned and was off. He needed to get to Steve and Bucky before the UN caught on.

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

Tony arrived at the bunker, happy to help Bucky and Steve, only to have that idea shattered. The truth of his parents murder sent him reeling and he launched into a full on fight, ready to tear Bucky apart. Steve left him and his suit broken in the bunker as T’Challa had captured Zemo.

Steve and Bucky went off to God knows where, and T’Challa, Tony, and Zemo returned to the States. Tony got back and got Shannon a deal. He immediately got Shannon out of the prison as soon as possible, as he did with Clint and Scott, both who had kids. The rest stayed in the prison cell until Tony could maybe work something else out.

But by the time Tony started on the paperwork, Steve had busted everyone out of the floating prison. He sent Tony and Shannon a letter saying if anyone needed him, he’d be there for them.

As of that moment, everyone knew the Avengers were no more.

You kept in a bit of contact with Wanda, Pietro, and Steve, keeping the correspondence from Tony. Ultimately, you had to return to Asgard with Loki and Thor for Odin and you lost touch for around a year.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tag List: @essie1876 @magpiegirl80 @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked @iamwarrenspeace @marvel-imagines-yes-please @superwholocked527 @missinstantgratification @thejemersoninferno @rda1989 @munlis @thefridgeismybestie @bubblyanarocks3 @igiveupicantthinkofausername @kaliforniacoastalteens @feelmyroarrrr @kaelingoat-blog @friendlyneighbourhoodweirdo @damalseer @heyitscam99 @yknott81 @sorryimacrapwriter @glitterquadricorn @xxqueenofisolationxx @little-dis-kaalista-pythonissama @bittersweetunicorm @alyssaj23 @sea040561 @princess76179 @thisismysecrethappyplace @sarahp879 @malfoysqueen14 @ellallheart @breezy1415 @marvelmayo @random-fluffy-pink-unicorn @cocosierra94 @hardcollectionworldtrash @capsmuscles @marvelloushamilton @paintballkid711

Loki: @lostinspace33 @ultrarebelheart @lenawiinchester @esoltis280 @tngrayson @wangdeasang @harrymewmew @jayfantasyatyourservice

UC: @lokis-high-priestess

#unforeseen chasm #loki x reader #loki fic #Loki Laufeyson #tony stark #tony stark fic #tony stark x ofc #steve rogers #bucky barnes #t'challa #wanda #vision #pietro #bruce banner #rhodey #clint barton #peter parker #scott lang

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release-the-sheep · 5 years

Text

Thanks to @curriebelle for the prompt, "masquerade ball". I did a bit of research for historical accuracy and proper Venetian-ness, but I make no promises. Also, there's a bit of Italian throughout this that I didn't bother to footnote, so you may want to have google translate open, or you could guess, you'll probably be fine, it's not very involved.

Venice, 1724

Ah, there he is.

A bit on the nose, perhaps, the devilish red Volto-style mask, complete with sculpted horns, but then Crowley has never been all that subtle. It's been said that Carnevale is where people show their deepest, truest selves, hearts on sleeves and all the rest of it. A shame, Aziraphale thinks, that humans need the security of a mask to hide behind before they'll let themselves be truly free. A shame, but entirely understandable to Aziraphale. Humanity is often cowardly when it comes to profound emotion, and he can certainly relate.

Which is why it has been nigh on a half hour since he showed his invitation at the door - addressed only to Il Putto in a quirk of charming and enticing secretiveness - and he has yet to take a single step forward since noticing Il Diavolo. Well, in all honesty, "noticing" was probably not the best word for it. He had been fairly struck by the sight of Crowley in his crisp red velvet coat with its black brocade and gleaming gold buttons, vest and breeches in sleek black silk, a jaunty but elegant black tricorne hat adorned with a plump red feather perched on his head, and the look finished with frankly outrageous varnished red shoes with massive gilded buckles. The vision had rooted Aziraphale to the spot. Ever the flash bastard, was his... counterpart. A waiter had soon come by with a tray of drinks, to which Aziraphale had almost unknowingly helped himself, and he had been standing there ever since, sipping from it and watching Crowley prance and twirl from dance partner to dance partner, temptation to temptation. The latest song ends and the dashing demon bows low to his latest conquest, snapping up at the waist just as the musicians lift their bows from their instruments in unison, before removing himself to the edge of the dancefloor and disappearing among the crowd of revellers.

Aziraphale's corporeal feet suddenly remember how to move and begin to carry him through the crowd, not toward Crowley, heavens no, but to somewhere he can hope to catch another glimpse of that impressive red mask, the bob of a scarlet feather. It seems the feet in question had grown restless during his prolonged motionlessness, and they pull him along rather more zealously than the rest of his body can handle. It is only a matter of a few steps before he tumbles headlong into the arms of a fellow partygoer, spilling his white wine and dignity all over the stranger. "Oh dear, terribly sorry- or ah, scusa..." He straightens and brushes himself off, then nearly jumps at the fearsome sight of the Medico della Peste before him. He manages to turn the fright into a respectable chuckle, though, remembering that certain individuals have in recent years taken to making a costume of the plague doctor's dark robes and odd, beaked mask. He had thought it rather tasteless initially, but confronted with one now, close-up, he has to confess that it is rather impressive; dark folds of heavy cloth envelop the man like a panel of thick, black, night sky, a cowl fully covering the head and neck, the odd flat hat and characteristic white beak painting up a singular silhouette. "Ottimo costume, signore," he says, remembering his Italian. A terse nod from the other, and silence. "Ah, where are my manners, I've spilt your drink, too. Cameriere!"

Crowley is stunned.

He had come here off-duty, with no intention of inciting, aiding, or abetting any sort of sin, for a few reasons. Firstly, humans were rather good at doing all that themselves without him; doubly so with alcohol present, triply or more from behind the anonymity of masks. Secondly, while temptation could be fun, it had been a long year of wiling and he was uncharacteristically tired. Wiled-out. Wild-through. Wiled-thin (and if there was more to it than that, if it had been an awfully long time since two adversaries met on a misty battlefield and talked about war and peace and the fomenting thereof, and if he was starting to feel the weight of those years empty of a particular bright smile and endearingly questioning eyes, well he certainly wasn't going to admit it).

The third reason was that it was Carnevale, da- bless it, and if no one else had to work for these few merry weeks, then he certainly wasn't going to. That was just basic sloth, that. Straight out of Sin 101. Besides, Crowley rather enjoys simply watching people, and there are many to watch here in this city, at this time of year. He likes posting up in the corner of a crowded room and letting the full spectacle of human virtue and vice and everything in between unfold before him, as dramatically or discreetly as it pleases. There has always been something fascinating about humans, Crowley thinks. They are clever things. Ruthless and tender, full of contrasts. They never fail to put on an entertaining show, and now they are even dressed as performers.

This is why he had pulled the great black cloak on, donned the pointed mask, miracled up a party invitation for Il Dottore Peste and set up camp here in the shadows at the edge of the ballroom, where he can see widely without needing to be seen - though he is utterly unrecognizable in the doctor's guise. He likes this costume. It amuses him, somewhat morbidly. Humans had started to wear it to remind themselves that life was short, a message which fit seamlessly into the spirit of Carnevale. Crowley rather enjoys the irony of an eternal being walking around dressed in memento mori. Besides, it is warm. He is cold-blooded, and it is impossible to escape the way wind comes up off the water and snakes its way into your bones here, in this city of waterways. It is December for Hell's sake, he isn't about to go skipping about without a sturdy outer layer on.

So he had prepared, in a manner of speaking. But not for this. He had not prepared for Aziraphale to be there, let alone for the blasted angel to trip and fall literally into his arms like some tragicomedic heroine. And yet there he was, all wrapped up in soft pinks and blues, and a generous helping of cloud-white in the form of a flowing cravat and dainty tricorne. A white-feathered Colombina half-mask, too, which left his round little apple-red cheeks and soft-lipped pink mouth unhidden. Absolutely bloody cherubic.

Crowley had frozen in place at the sound of the familiar mortified voice, the scrambled apology threaded through two languages and pulled taut by fretting hands. Crowley had just had the time to blink a couple of times and ensure that he wasn't hallucinating when Aziraphale swept back around to face him again, brandishing two fresh glasses of wine, one of which he places in Crowley's gloved hand.

"There you are my dear fellow! Ancora scusa."

And with that he's gone, tottering off between the fine suits and frilly dresses, neck craned toward the dancefloor. Crowley's mouth opens behind the plague mask, then shuts. He didn't know it was me. He slumps back into the plush upholstery of the seat he's claimed, sprawls out over it as is his custom. Of course Aziraphale didn't recognize him like this. What would there be to recognize? His face? Mask. His hair? Cowl. The shape of his body? Cloak. His voice? He hadn't breathed a word. Crowley grits his teeth and scrunches his face up in a frightful expression of dissatisfaction, which no one sees. This is just as well, because it is entirely inwardly directed. He lets his gaze drift to the dancefloor, where bodies are beginning to gather once again, following the orchestra's quick break. A sea of masks filling up once more, white Bauta and black Moretta, the likenesses of Zanni, Arlecchino, Pantalone, and the rest of the cast of the Comedia dell'arte, old gossips and military captains and monsters and animals and - oh.

There, nearing the very centre of the dancefloor, is a dandy dressed in a vibrant red coat, with a blood-red devil mask to match. He is twirling and peacocking about in front of a row of ladies, an absolutely ridiculous puff of a plume lazily following his movements. What a prick, thinks Crowley bitterly. His eyes trace a line to the other side of the room where a cloud-white hat is poking up eagerly, angled directly toward the detestable man in red. Fuck. Now that will not do.

Aziraphale has finally managed to push to the front of the crowd and get a clear few of the dancefloor. His eyes scan it for a moment before once more alighting on the vivid red shape of Il Diavolo. He jostles slightly, adjusting his position for prime Crowley-viewing, and prepares to drink his fill of the way the demon moves, the way the light plays on his flamboyant clothes. He finds himself wondering how long Crowley had been based in Venice; he seems to have picked up certain Italian idiosyncrasies since they last spoke, little locally inspired changes to his manner, new flutters of his hands. Aziraphale really has been away too long. He sips his wine and watches the show, keeping his hat low as if that would have any effect on Crowley's ability to recognize him should he happen to glance Aziraphale's way. There doesn't seem to be much of a chance of that happening anyway, frankly. Il Diavolo seems determined to dance the night away, and as such is quite distracted with his apparently endless parade of partners. At that thought, Aziraphale notices a suspiciously orderly row of people on the edge of the dancefloor behind Il Diavolo, and is that- it is! He's got them queuing up!

Demonic stamina, he marvels, surreptitiously shaking his head. What if he were to- no, no, certainly not. But after all... why not? It wouldn't be all that difficult to make his way around to the other side of the dancefloor, to join the queue. He'd continue to have a good view and in a while, he could take his own turn dancing with the demon. He wasn't usually one for dancing, but he hadn't known Crowley to be particularly either, and yet there he goes, nimble feet somehow managing not to tangle with those of the handsome Capitano now on his arm. Maybe it isn't so hard, he thinks. What does he have to lose?

He stifles a laugh. He has a great deal to lose. He has... missed Crowley, in a way, and he cannot allow their reunion to be marred by some clumsy, literal misstep. No, it would be foolish. Definitely foolish. He is happy to watch.

Il Diavolo's dance takes him across the dancefloor again, and again Aziraphale finds himself twisting his neck uncomfortably to see him clearly. He starts to shift back again the way he came, toward the silent plague doctor chap in his darkened corner.

Crowley is propulsed out of his seat by the sudden pang of jealousy. And then, as soon as it came, the heat is gone.

What exactly would he have done, he asks himself as he settles yet again in his corner, body melting back against a cushion. Stormed over there and shouted at Aziraphale through the mask, something about "not him, me!", or pulled off his getup in the middle of the party to reveal himself, going against every unwritten code of Carnevale and drawing a mountain of unnecessary attention to the two of them, probably getting them both booted into a canal for the imposition? And even without considering the practical aspects of delivering such a message, what was the point of the message itself? Minutes ago he would have been perfectly content (well not quite, but never mind that) for the entire evening to pass without him seeing head nor tail of Aziraphale, and now here he is, scrambling to make himself known to the angel. What sense does that make?

No, he shall stay here, and let Aziraphale go on thinking whatever he thinks. He considers taking a drink from the glass in his hand, then remembers the mask. Just an accessory, then, this wine. Let Aziraphale have this, he thinks, he's clearly enjoying himself, watching the overstuffed fop put on his show.

It is an easy enough mistake to make, Crowley supposes. He is a bit hurt that Aziraphale could mistake him for such a- pompous, puffed up- arrogant- son of a- ahem. The point is, as much as it may hurt his demonic pride to admit, there could be said to be certain - minor, superficial, and only in a certain light - similarities between himself and the fellow in the red. Crowley knows he can scarcely be counted among the humble, that his style could certainly be described as showy, if not typically colourful, and he can even concede that there is something of his usual temptations in the way the man takes each new partner by the hand, as though he is about to show them a brand new world. But it's exaggerated and crass, almost a caricature of his own way of doing things, and he can't help but feel somewhat miffed in the face of Aziraphale's obsession with the bloke, obvious even from a room away. Or it was- at least, he was-

"You've got a good view of Il Diavolo from here, haven't you old chap? Ah, I mean, come si dice- oh bugger it all, it isn't as though you were much of a conversationalist earlier. I hope you'll excuse me, but the drink is rather impeding my ability to make myself understood in your language, and by no means do I wish to sober up at this time."

Aziraphale drops down into the seat next to Crowley, folding his hands in his lap as he turns his head back toward the blur of red controlling the dancefloor. Crowley forces himself to recover quickly from the minor shock of the angel appearing so suddenly again at his side.

"I know him," Aziraphale says, pointing, a proud little smile on his face. "I've worked with him before. He's a colleague."

Crowley tilts his head in what he hopes looks like an interested gesture.

Il Putto takes the encouragement. "Lovely fellow, really. A bit... stubborn, at times, but quite pleasant, deep down." Aziraphale looks to the dancefloor with wistful watery-blue eyes. "I quite like him."

Behind the safety of the mask, Crowley gulps. Is that so, then? He opens a gloved palm in a curious gesture. Go on.

Aziraphale's cherub cheeks darken further, and he chuckles. "Yes, I rather enjoy his company. It has been some time since we last spoke, and I was happier to see him than I had expected I would be, if you can believe it." At that he flexes one of his doughy hands, toys with a ruffle on his sleeve. "Do you know, I was considering going to line up for a dance with him? That must seem to you an odd thing to do, dancing with a work colleague at a masked ball. I'm not even much of a dancer really. Don't know where the idea came from." His eyes remain fixed ahead for a moment, and then steal sideways, to Crowley, briefly. For a moment Crowley is afraid the gig is up, that Aziraphale has worked it out and that he's going to have some uncomfortable explaining to do. But then he sees something in the heaven-blue eyes, a sort of question, a need for... is it assurance? Permission?

He drops his head to one side, letting the beak of his mask point toward the man in red, still dancing up a storm. Off you go, then.

Aziraphale lights up. "Do you really think so? It's not... silly? Foolish? You don't think he'll laugh?"

Don't push it, Angel, he thinks, but points his beak more sharply toward the dancefloor.

"No, you're right. You're absolutely right. It's Carnevale, after all, no inhibitions, all that business. Thank you my dear fellow!"

Aziraphale bounces off the seat and disappears back into the crowd in a cloud of pink and blue frills and ribbons. As soon as he is gone, Crowley drops his masked face into one gloved hand.

Aziraphale is fairly buzzing with excitement. Here he is, at the edge of the dancefloor, next in line. And there is Crowley, twirling a young woman in a cat mask with his long, strong fingers, scarlet coat swishing behind him. At last, the furiously spinning pair approach the edge of the dancefloor as the music swells to its climax. He dips her on the final, sustained note, then draws her back up, kisses her hand, straightens his cravat and strides toward his next partner.

Which is Aziraphale. Il Putto steps forward, holds out a hand. "Posso avere questa danza?" he asks, and it comes out more sheepish than he intended by half.

"Beninteso," comes the reply and it's... wrong. This warm, rolling bass is not Crowley's. The hand reaching forward to take his is not Crowley's either. The curl of black hair slipping out around one ear and contrasting against the red of the mask is certainly not Crowley's.

Aziraphale stumbles back. "S-sor- ah, scusa," he manages, pulling away from the dancefloor and the stranger and back into the far more comforting press of bodies surrounding it.

Dazed, he makes his way back to where he was last. The plague doctor is still there, holding the same wineglass he was earlier. He welcomes Aziraphale back with a half-nod. For someone whose language Aziraphale hasn't been speaking this entire time, the fellow certainly does a good of job of seeming like he understands. Pretending, perhaps.

"It wasn't him," says Aziraphale quietly, mostly to himself. The plague doctor puts a comforting hand on his back and- Aziraphale tenses. Behind his eyes flash the brown dirt of Mesopotamia, the sands of Judah, the white tiles of Rome, the misty hills of England. A feeling of calm inspired by the soothing drag of black and red scales over soft skin. That touch... it couldn't be. His nerves calm, sensation returns to his muscles. He turns to face his adversary, his counterpart, his... friend.

There is no one there.

#sorry not sorry #don't you just love unsatisfying endings #good omens #a sheep wrote this #very sorry for the lack of readmore I am on mobile #long post

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cami-chats · 4 years

Text

I Always Have You

Fandom: Marvel

Pairings: Bucky Barnes & Tony Stark

Warnings: Mentioned pedophilia (but nothing happens or even comes close)

Summary: From Tony's first day on the earth, he had a soulmate looking after him. Not everyone wanted Bucky to be that close with him, but they manage.

Also on AO3

Bucky was half excited and half scared. Mostly excited because it's not like this was his baby, it was his friend that was having a kid. Which meant he got to have all the fun and none of the headaches. Ply him with candy so Bucky was his favorite, but then he wouldn't have to deal with the kid bouncing off the walls at bedtime. He had it made, and he loved it.

Maria's labor didn't take very long according to people that knew more about birth than him, and when Howard came out to retrieve them, they filed in with quiet steps but eager faces-- Peggy and the Howlies minus a noted few.

Peggy was the first to hold him of course, positively beaming at the scrunched up little face. Bucky was next, and he was careful that his left arm was already perfectly in place when Peggy eased the baby into his arms.

Maria was exhausted but smiling, strands of hair sticking to her face from sweat. "His name's Antonio Edward Stark," she said, pride clear as day in her tone.

"Aw you little thing," Bucky cooed, "they'll probably call you Tony. Do you like that? Tony?" He wiggled a finger in front of his face, then stroked it over a chubby cheek. The he froze as the world... exploded. There was no other word for it. Color didn't seep into his vision like it always belonged there, it was like a knock to the head that landed so hard his vision whited out before blowing back in.

"Bucky?" Howard was asking from in front of him, clearly no the first time he had said his name.

"Yeah," Bucky said nonsensically, glancing down at Tony for a moment before shoving him into his father's arms. As if that wasn't enough to warn everyone in the room that he wasn't feeling right, he fumbled the door knob when he tried to stumble out into the hallway. He didn't bother trying to find a chair, he just leaned against the wall right next to the room and slid to the floor.

He had a soulmate. Shit. Shit. He'd always thought that if it wasn't Steve it wasn't going to be anyone, and he was fine with that. But now he had a soulmate and he couldn't even begin to know how to handle that. He was going to have to go to a goddamn class to learn what all the colors were. He probably wouldn't have to take the meds that would prevent him from getting headaches the first week because of his healing factor, but that was a pale comfort. He didn't know how to be a soulmate to anyone let alone a baby. He was good with kids when the occasion called for it, but that was a hell of a difference to helping raise one. But maybe he was getting ahead of himself because there was no guarantee that Howard would even let him see Tony again.

Howard was kneeling in front of him now, face concerned and saying his name over and over to try and catch his attention. When Bucky finally met his eyes, he gave a small smile. "It's okay. We're just uh-" he glanced at the closed hospital door- "not going to tell Maria for a while. She'd panic, but it's not like anything's going to happen. Take a couple of breaths and get back in there, okay?"

"You're takin' this better than I am," Bucky noted, doing as instructed and taking several deep breaths.

Howard shrugged, staying where he was on his knees so Bucky didn't feel rushed. "He's not going to have it easy being my son. I feel a lot better knowing that you'll be there to look after him." He clapped Bucky on the shoulder, and it actually made him feel better. He was still freaking out, but he knew that it was temporary.

Bucky spent more time at Stark Mansion than his own home. Howard offered him a room full time, but Bucky turned it down, citing Maria as an excuse. Even so, he ended up spending the night about half the time.

Tony was absolutely adorable, all wide-eyed curiosity and demanding that Bucky explain things to him. It only took a couple years before Tony was asking questions he didn't know the answer to.

"Dad says you knew Captain America," Tony said one day, a Bucky-bear in one hand and an official Captain America action figure in the other.

"Yeah."

Tony tilted his head. "Like the one in the comics?"

"Yep, only I knew him before he got super."

Tony looked at him skeptically, so full of doubt in a way only kids could manage. "He's always been super."

"Really? I thought the comics showed him getting bigger."

"That's not real," Tony said like it was obvious. "Nobody grows that much in one minute, it takes years."

Bucky was the one that had corrected him on that originally, explaining that everyone had to wait years to get big and Tony would too. Evidently Tony had taken that to heart. "That's how it is for you and me, but Steve was... special."

"I thought I was special."

"You're special too," Bucky assured him. "It's just in a different way."

Tony hugged the Bucky-bear tighter, Captain America falling to the side, forgotten. "Different," Tony repeated.

"That's right."

Bucky-bear firmly clutched in one hand, Tony crawled onto the couch and put himself in Bucky's lap. "Was Captain America different too?"

"Yeah kiddo," Bucky said, laying a kiss on top of Tony's messy hair, "he was different too."

"Why do people wear white to get married?" Tony asked. He was lying on his stomach, arms propping up his head while he wrinkled his nose in disgust.

"I dunno," Bucky said. "Purity, I think?"

"Well it's boring. They should wear red. Red's the best color."

Bucky shrugged, and Tony continued to frown. It should have been so innocent. Tony knew that Maria worked with fashion, so if Bucky didn't know why people wore white to weddings, maybe she would. He sought her out a little later, when Bucky had to leave to do some boring adult thing. "Mama?"

"Yes?"

"Why do people wear white to weddings?" he asked. Then, because he wanted someone to agree with him, "Wouldn't red look better?"

Maria froze. "Red?"

Tony nodded, sure that she was about to say 'Yes Antonio, you're right, red would be much better'.

"Who taught you your colors?"

"Bucky." It had been a little game, pointing at candies. When Tony got the color right, he got to eat the candy. Tony was too big for that game now, but he still did it sometimes.

"Bucky," Maria repeated, jaw clenched and something steely in her gaze. Tony didn't know why she looked like that. Bucky was great! He gave hugs anytime Tony wanted them, and he was always warm and squishy. Plus, anytime Tony asked, Bucky would carry him around like he didn't weigh a thing.

Without answering Tony's question, she left the room, yelling for Howard. Tony waited for her to come back at first, but nothing happened. With a put-upon sigh, Tony went to go look for him. He heard the yelling long before he saw them.

"I want you out of my house!" Maria screamed.

"It's my home, and I say that he'd not going anywhere!" Howard yelled right back.

"Think of our son!"

"That's who I am thinking about!"

Him. They were talking about him. Tony ran to get closer, stopping just outside the doorway so they wouldn't see him.

"You have no idea what he's going to face in the future, wouldn't you like it if he had some protection?"

"He needs protection from him!"

"Maria-" Bucky tried to say, but she cut him off.

"Take your shit and get the hell out of here!"

"No," Howard snapped. "He stays."

There was a tense, long pause. "Fine," Maria spit, and Tony ran back to the parlor so he wouldn't get caught. He had no idea what was going on, but it sounded bad.

Three days later, Maria told him he was going to boarding school, cheery smile on her face and his already packed bag by her feet.

"What?"

"Boarding school, darling. It'll be better for you than staying cooped up in this house with only the occasional visit from your tutors."

"I'm not cooped up," Tony protested even though he knew that she'd already made up her mind and no amount of protests would change that. He couldn't help but try though, especially since what she said was wrong. Bucky brought him out all the time, and Howard taught him things the tutors didn't know. He didn't say any of that aloud, remembering the strange argument he'd heard before.

Maria looked at him in that way adults did when they thought he didn't understand what they were saying. "This will be good for you Antonio. I want you to be happy, and this decision's already been made."

"My name's Tony," he muttered, and Maria's face hardened though she didn't say anything to correct him.

"It's time to go darling, we wouldn't want for you to be late."

"We're leaving right now?"

"That's correct."

"Are Bucky and Dad coming?"

"They're both awfully busy Antonio. It'll just be you, and, and Mister Jarvis. Doesn't that sound like fun?"

No. In fact, it sounded weird and like nothing they'd done before. But when she took his hand and started pulling him towards the door, he didn't try to get away.

When Tony had realized that boarding school had meant never going home and not getting visitors, he'd tried to leave. When he got shipped back, he figured that she couldn't do it again if the school wouldn't take him. So he got himself expelled, but instead of everything going back to normal, Maria found a different one to stick him in. He got kicked out of that one. He tried telling her that he was miserable, the classes too easy and the other students too mean, but nothing worked. For whatever reason, Maria was determined to keep him away.

Before he knew it, he was in college, shoving all the engineering tools he was unwilling to part with in a tiny dorm room that was painted slate grey.

Tony was busy trying to shove boxes under the bed when the door opened. The only part of him that was visible were his calves and feet.

"You must be Stark."

"Yeah that's me!" This thing was stupid heavy. If Bucky'd come to help, it wouldn't have been a problem, but Bucky had looked all awkward and said, "I don't think I should. Call me when you get there though, yeah? Let me know if I can help." It finally shoved into place, and he wiggled out from under the bed. He rolled over and saw his roommate. James Rhodes was plenty handsome, but god at what cost? Tony had no idea a shade of red that horrible existed. He looked nice though, and Tony wasn't going to make Rhodes annoyed with him quicker than usual if he could help it. "Rhodes?"

"Yep." He offered Tony a hand up, and Tony forced himself to take it because he wasn't allowed to be squeamish with his classmates-- Maria had made that pretty clear. "Listen man, I know this is college and all, but you're way underage so don't expect me to get you beer or anything."

Tony snorted. "Yeah don't worry. I'm sure if I want some, I can get it on my own." He almost went back to putting things away, but he wanted to check on this before it became a problem. "Try not to bring too many people to our room, yeah? Who you sleep with is your business, but people have a tendency to 'accidentally' pick up my things when they leave and I'd prefer not to deal with it."

"Shit man. Yeah, you got it."

"Thanks."

"No problem, it's not like I was hooking up with a whole bunch of people anyways." He looked at his side of the room, nodded to himself then said, "Ignore the ten different people helping me move three boxes. My family all insisted they come even though I told them I didn't really need the help."

His entire family was coming? Tony had Howard and Maria for family. Past that, the help he could expect would come from Jarvis of Bucky (of course). But Maria wasn't exactly that kind of mother, so wherever she was was where Jarvis would be. Howard had a trip planned for this entire month, and they'd known about that before they even knew Tony was going to college. Bucky's help had been a given to Tony, all the way until Bucky had given him that look and been entirely uncertain in his own skin. "I'm probably going to clear out if it's all the same to you," Tony said, and Rhodes grinned.

"Don't want to deal with them? Smart move. See you around."

Missing out on the family interactions was definitely a bonus, but mostly Tony needed to find a phone so he could call Bucky. It was easy to find a phone, and he didn't have to wait for anyone else to be done, because everyone else on campus was busy moving. He dialed the number for the Mansion, assuming that's where Bucky was.

"Stark residence."

"Hi Mrs. Jarvis, it's Tony. Can you put Bucky on?"

"Mister Barnes is not here," she said, and Tony waited for her to elaborate but nothing was forthcoming.

"Uh, okay. Thanks."

"Of course sir," she said, then hung up.

Well. Maybe he'd be at his apartment, though only Bucky and god knew why he bothered to keep it. He tapped the receiver down then dialed the much less familiar number for Bucky's apartment. It didn't make it to two full rings before he answered. "Barnes."

"Hey Bucky."

"Tony," Bucky said, noticeably happier. "How was moving in?"

"Would've been better if you were here."

"Yeah, I'm sorry. Maria sorta hates me though, so I would've just gotten in her and Jarvis's way."

"Their way?" Tony asked. "They didn't come."

"...what? Then who helped you move in?"

"No one."

"Fuck Tony, I'm so sorry, I would've come to help you if I'd known. Maria told me-" Bucky blew out an angry breath "-or I guess she implied that she'd be there to help you so I wouldn't have to show up. I'm sorry I wasn't there. I know it doesn't do you a whole lot of good now, but next time something like this happens, you can call me before you start and I'll come help you."

"I will."

"I'm so sorry," he said again. "You shouldn't have had to do that alone."

"It's okay," he said, though he was still a little hurt; he just wanted Bucky to be happy again. "What are you doing at your old apartment? I'm surprised you spend the money to keep the lease running when you spend all your time at the Mansion."

Bucky made a noncommittal noise. "Without you or Howard there, there's not much point in me staying, y'know?"

"It's your home too."

"I'm happy you think that kiddo, but technically I'm only visiting. And again, without you there, there's not much point."

Normally, Tony would have been comforted by the reminder that Bucky liked him, but something in the phrasing was off. Was Bucky a babysitter? Is that... why he always spent so much time with Tony? He didn't want to believe it, but it was a familiar pattern in Tony's life. Teachers, tutors, and friends, they'd all been bought for him before. What was a babysitter in the face of that? All the fond smiles Tony remembered, all the times he'd thought that Bucky was rescuing him from boredom, bought and paid for. Tony swallowed around the lump in his throat. "I should probably get back to unpacking."

"Yeah of course. Did you want me to come down and help you finish? Not as good as being there from the start, but better than nothing."

Tony thought about saying no and pushing him away. But the truth was that even if Bucky's time was paid for, Tony liked him, and he wasn't willing to give that up. "I'd love that. If you have the time."

"I always have the time for you. I'll get there as soon as I can, and don't bother trying to finish before I arrive. Sit around and work on that AI of yours or something, yeah?"

"Yeah." He thought about saying something else, something about how much he appreciated him. He settled on, "Thanks Bucky."

"Anything for you kiddo. See you soon."

"Hey sugar patch, can you hand me the screwdriver?"

"Which one?"

"The red-handled one."

"Uhh, right. And which one is that for us normal people?"

Tony looked up from his project frowning. "It's that one," he said, pointing to the one on Rhodey's left. "Do you not... know your colors?" It seemed ludicrous to him, but he didn't have a better guess.

Rhodey handed it over with a snort. "Man, I can't even see my colors, let alone tell them apart. When did you meet your soulmate?"

"My who?"

"Soulmate," Rhodey repeated. Now they both looked confused, and that was never a good place to be.

"Am I supposed to know what that means?"

"I mean, I thought you would, but I guess not. You're... you and- you have a soul, right?"

"Okay," Tony said slowly. It was the same tone he used when Rhodey was explaining why he thought Han could use the Force.

"So, the idea is that there's at least one person out there with a soul that complements yours."

"That's nice. What does this have to do with me?"

"When you touch them, you can see colors. It's how you recognize them from everybody else."

Tony blinked. "Seriously? You're not messing with me or anything, this is real."

"Yeah it's real."

"It sounds like romanticized bullshit."

"Some people think that, but it's still true. Until you meet a very specific person, you won't see colors. It's not perfect obviously, since some people are blind and some have the medical condition of color blindness, but it's legit."

"But I've been able to see colors my entire life. There was never a chance to meet anyone."

"You probably met them really young. I don't think there's actually ever been anyone born with them."

Tony started to say that well, he must be the exception because Bucky definitely would have told him. Then he froze. Bucky. "Are soulmates- um, romantic?"

"Most people think so."

"But you don't?"

Rhodey shrugged. "My older sister has a soulmate, and she swears up and down that she'll never love him that way even though she loves him more than anybody else in the world. Maybe that'll change, or maybe they'll keep being best friends the way they are now. Nobody really knows but them, y'know? Everybody's different."

"I see." Bucky... if by some chance he wasn't Tony's soulmate, he'd definitely know who was. "I'm gonna make a call."

"I'll clear out," Rhodey said getting to his feet and stretching. "I've been craving a meatball sub for hours."

"Okay," Tony said, even thought they both knew Rhodey was only leaving to give him privacy. "Thanks man."

Rhodey pat him on the shoulder as he left, and for a brief moment, Tony stared at the phone without moving. What was he hoping to hear? That Bucky was his soulmate and maybe the obligation he felt had nothing do with Howard or money, but was solely because he cared about Tony? That was exactly what he wanted to hear actually, but what then? If that was true, Bucky would've been keeping it a secret this whole time. Even if it wasn't Bucky, he had to know, and he still hadn't told Tony a damn thing. He picked up the receiver and dialed the number for Bucky's apartment since that where he spent all his time these days.

"Barnes," he answered, like after all this time he was still expecting a military call.

"Hi Bucky."

"Hey Tony," Bucky said, smile evident in his voice. "How's it going?"

"Who's my soulmate?" he blurted. He expected a pause, some sort of stalling, but there was nothing. Bucky answered immediately.

"Me. Unless you've got some big news for me," he joked.

Tony couldn't often say that he'd been struck dumb since most of the time when he was quiet it was by choice. But right now he wanted to ask how the hell Bucky could say that so casually, but he couldn't force the words out.

"Tony?" he asked, sounding worried. "You okay?"

His throat worked, and he choked out, "No one told me."

"No one told you what? Tony? Are you okay?"

"Soulmates. I didn't- no one told me."

"...oh." It was amazing that one little word, more of a sound than anything else, could hold so much emotion. "I thought you knew."

"I didn't even know that soulmates existed. Rhodey mentioned it and I sounded fucking stupid. Are people really born not seeing colors?"

"Yeah. Shit, it never even occurred to one me that you wouldn't know. Of course you wouldn't, we all just assumed that you'd know, somehow."

"Maria," Tony said suddenly. "This is why she hates you, right?" She thinks you're going to take advantage or some shit."

"Basically. And Tony, I would never-"

"I know. Fuck's sake, you're better to me than I am."

"I wouldn't go that far," Bucky said, but it was a blatant lie.

Tony felt numb. He'd felt numb (and more than a little disbelieving) when the police told him that his parents had died in a car crash. He'd felt numb when Obadiah clapped him on the shoulder and said that he'd take care of things until Tony was ready. He'd felt numb as they made the funeral arrangements and Bucky had to leave the room to cry because he didn't want anyone to see him like that. He'd felt numb through the wake, with old friends and business partners huddled together in the grass as reporters took pictures and filmed from the sidelines.

He didn't know how long feeling numb would last, but he guessed another week. He wasn't expecting it to hit when they got back to the mansion after the funeral. It's not like he saw something that reminded him, but he realized that Howard was never coming back; he wasn't on a trip, he was just gone.

Bucky already had an arm around his shoulders, so it was easy to turn and smush his face against Bucky's chest as he cried. Tony didn't say anything, and Bucky didn't say anything. He simply held him, like a warm shield between Tony and the rest of the world.

It was probably the first time Tony truly understood that Bucky was his soulmate, not just a friend who had always been there for him. In the midst of a tragedy, snot clogging his nose and cheeks sticky with tears, he felt true comfort. It didn't fix anything, and in the moment it didn't even make him feel better. But he clung to Bucky that much harder, and in return, Bucky squeezed him tighter.

"I've got you," Bucky said when the tears tapered off. He pressed a kiss to the top of Tony's head. "I've got you."

#fanfic #bucky barnes #tony stark #marvel #soulmates #platonic soulmates #my writing

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