#don’t remember if that’s the tag i used for hymn before but. yeah.
Note
Hello there!! What OC are you currently working on, and how do they fit into the world they belong in? 👀👀
hys name is Lorelai Lorainne Balor and he is yet another minecraft oc !!!!! tiny dragon lady :3 i posted about hymn on discord lemme go copy paste the stuff hold on
Name: Lorelai Lorraine Balor (u can call hymn any part of hys name and he'll answer, also answers to "raya")
Age: 21
Pronouns/Gender: is a fluid! he/(hymn)/she/it (prefers he/hymn + femme terms)
Sexuality: biromantic lesbian but also aroace idk 👍 - she's down for whatever !
Background: he's an enderdragon who died, then its soul got turned into an allay, then the allay asked to be revived back into a dragon, it wasn't done "correctly" (aka wasn't done in the end with crystals and such) so he was revived into a half-dragon half-allay guy who can traverse between the living plain and the dead one, (pretty cool), and now he's just kinda here!
current ideas floating around for tiny dragon lady:
- he’s a dragon/allay hybrid. maybe this world’s ender dragon, maybe another world’s ender dragon. who knows! he’s here now doin hys thing. chillin
- its right eye is lavender and its left eye is completely white. when using its Allay Powers the eye will glow blue (deep deep sigh. like sans undertale /silly)
- The Allay Powers include:
- Flight (she summons ethereal blue wings that are allay shaped. he does not naturally have wings)
- Seeing and Talking to Spirits
- Glowing (hyr hair turns white and some of hyr scales glow! the scales will glow blue instead of white)
appearance wise. i will draw hymn at some point surely. black scales with some white scales. has a big flower tattoo on hys right side- along the shoulder and back and on the chest and down the arm and up the neck, it’s huge and white and green and pretty cool lookin B)
he’s for a server where we can revive people with totems. pretty cool. he’s also another pirate oc cause yippee pirates !
#lorelai lorainne balor#don’t remember if that’s the tag i used for hymn before but. yeah.#jazz hands
11 notes
·
View notes
Text
Hello from Mordor! Let me show you some anti-war leaflets I’ve painted.
“Motherland is asking to stop” (an allusion to the soviet poster “Motherland is calling”)
“Don’t / please / I want to live / Please / Please”
Yeah… I imagine death so much it feels more like a memory.
Stephen King is right, you know. Putin must be killed before he pushes the button. Looks like no one’s taking him seriously anymore, but remember: that piece of shit ALWAYS chooses the worst option. God, I hope CIA is working with his inner circle….
“Can’t say “war”? / OK / This is not a war / This is terror”.
Banditry, terrorism, genocide. Honestly, they’re gonna regret banning "war".
The other two leaflets are based on my favorite song of the moment, called “This will pass”. It became sort of an anti-Putin hymn, almost as hopeful as it is angry.
"A wet plastic bag on her head, / electric marks on her hand, / my Russia is behind bars, but believe me: / this will pass!"
"All will pass, everything passes sometime / There will be a year, a day, an instant / Yesterday’s dictator will lie alone in the morgue, / now just a dead old man"
[the tag: V. V. Putin]
Leaflets are hardly an efficient tool for changing your opponents’ minds but they are perfect for supporting your allies. There’s a special brand of Kremlin propaganda for those who don’t buy the basic nonsense about nazis in Ukraine or NATO threatening Russia. The message is this: “80% of Russians support Putin and the “special operation”. If you disagree, you are alone. A misfit, an outcast, an oddity”. They keep waving some dubious polls in our faces and plastering cities with ZZZwastikas. And it’s working. I feel like this is Putin’s only success in this whole endeavor. He’s convinced most people in and out of Russia that Russians actually want this war, despite the numerous signs to the contrary (like the violent aggression towards Z-billboards and Z-cars, mysterious fires and derailments all over the country, etc). This narrative is very comfortable for him and hugely demoralizing for us, so fighting it and showing we are everywhere is actually important. Must be encouraging to come out of your building in the morning to the promise of Putin’s impending doom. I hope it helps a little. I’m not brave enough to burn police buses yet. My jokerization is progressing quickly, though, so who knows.
P. S. I’m awful at traditional art, so there’s some massive digital cheating happening here and there. The paper versions I actually pasted in the streets are not that pretty.
19 notes
·
View notes
Text
Rooftop Drinks
WARNING: Fluff, slight angst, smoochy smooch
Pairing: Pedro Pascal x Reader (You)
Wordcount: 1,7K
Note: Not betad, all mistakes are my own.
This is part 2 to the story Night Swim
Masterlist
It was the perfect summer day. The sun was setting behind the tall city buildings, setting the sky on fire and casting long shadows.
With a bottle of your favourite drink in hand, you admired the view from atop your apartment building. Your friend Michael had managed to unlock the door leading up to the roof, allowing you to have a small summer party with your closest friends. The soft hymns from the portable speaker set a relaxing mood. The scent of flowers and warmth made you smile.
“Hey, sorry we’re late.”
Your ears perked up at the familiar voice. You looked over your shoulder and saw Pedro walking through the rooftop door. Your heart fluttered and ached at the same time; it had been six years since you last saw him.
You admitted to yourself he looked just as good as last time, if not better, with a sharper jaw, slightly messy hair and trimmed beard. You had deliberately stayed away from movies you knew he had appeared in, mostly to stop yourself from longing for him, as the ache was too much.
Behind him came an unknown woman. You furrowed your brows at the sight of the young and beautiful woman with long silky-brown hair, pouty lips and shiny blue eyes. She almost clung to Pedro as they stepped onto the roof but threw herself around Sofia with a big bright smile.
“Sofia, it has been forever.” The young lady chimed.
You turned away to gaze back at the view over the city. You felt your heart ache. You didn’t even want to think about it, but you convinced yourself you were happy for him. After all, it had been six years since you last saw each other, even spoken with each other.
“Elle, let me introduce you to the group.” Sofia said. “Over there is Michael, Samantha, Anna and Jonathan, and over there is Y/N.”
You turned around at the sound of your name and quickly nodded at her, mostly out of courtesy. Your eyes were immediately caught by a pair of dark brown orbs staring right at you. You couldn’t hold back the smile stretching out your lips when he had caught your attention.
“Drinks are over there in the cooler.” Sofia added and guided both Elle and Pedro over.
You didn’t know if you should approach them or just stay put. You had missed him. A lot. A lingering pain within you for the past few years. You remember the first time your friends had asked you to join them to the cinema to see Pedro at the big screen, but you had declined, terrified it would be too much for you.
You decided to be the bigger person, you couldn’t continue to ache for a man that clearly wasn’t interested in being more than friends, except now he might not even be interested in that.
You shuffled your way over to your group of friends and sat down next to Anna. She clinked her bottle with yours and you took a sip.
“So tell us, Pedro, how’s New York been treating you?” Samantha asked eagerly.
He rubbed the back of his neck with a breathy chuckle. “Well, with a mix of hard work and luck I seem to have managed to make a somewhat name for myself.”
“I know! You were absolutely amazing in Game of Thrones.” Anna chimed in.
“Yeah dude, Oberyn Fuckin’ Martell.” Michael high fives Pedro with a proud smirk.
“Thanks guys. It’s been quite an adventure.” He admitted and smiled. “I have been missing you though.” His eyes wandered across all of them and stopped at you.
You felt your heart jump at his staring eyes and awkwardly gulped down your drink. A slight blush rose to your cheeks. Why did this man still have such an effect on you?
Sofia placed a deck of UNO cards and two board games on the table. “Let’s play some rounds.” She smiled.
After two hours of drinking, playing games and reminisce over past adventures, you had noticed Elle was clinging more and more onto Pedro. For each touch, giggle and smile, you felt a punch to your guts. You had considered to just leave the party, make up a lie you weren’t feeling well, but a part of you believed it would help you get over him, to see him happy with another woman.
You stood up from your chair and sauntered over to the cooler to grab another drink. Instead of walking back to the table, you walked over to the edge of the rooftop and sat down on the parapet.
“You’re not joining for next round, Y/N?” Anna called from the table.
You turned your head to look at them. “No, I’m out this round.” You reply and turn back your head again. Your eyes slid across the lit streetlights and the small black figures roaming the streets below.
“Hey.” The soft voice tickled your ears and you turned your head to look at Pedro. “This seat taken?” He gestured to the available space on the parapet next to you.
You smiled warmly. “No.”
He sat down next to you with a beer in hand. His eyes stayed on you before he turned to look at the city. “You’ve barely spoken all night, is everything okay?”
You keep your gaze at the tall buildings. “Everything is fine.” You fiddle with the bottle in your hands. “Elle seems like a really nice girl.” You mumbled.
He glanced over at the table before turning back to you. “Yeah, she is.” He replied. “How have you been? We literally haven’t spoken in six years.”
You looked up at him. “I’ve been good.” You lied, feeling that lingering ache in your heart. “And you?”
“I’ve been good, perhaps a bit miserable without you guys, but good. I am sorry I never texted you back, a lot happened and it all drowned away with the acting and then I got a new phone and number and lost all the contacts on my old phone.”
You looked back on the street below. “Don’t apologise, I understand.”
“But I need to apologise, Y/N. I’ve felt terrible the past years, especially the day we were going to meet up for coffee. I tried to call you but didn’t get through for some reason and I never had time to drop by the coffee shop due to me having to leave.”
“Pedro.” You breathed out and looked up at him again. “You don’t need to excuse what happened. I am glad you found success in New York; I am very happy for you.”
The silence lingered between the both of you. Neither sure on how to proceed. It was obvious to Pedro you felt some kind of resentment towards him. He took a sip from his beer and gazed out on the city again.
“Remember the night before I left?” He asked with a smile.
The corners of your lips quirked up at the memory. “Of course I do.”
“Remember I wanted to tell you something?”
“Yeah, I assume you wanted to tell me about New York.”
He turned his head towards you and his dark brown eyes scanned the side of your face. You turned to meet him.
“No.” He breathed out.
“No?”
He chuckled nervously. “I wanted to tell you; that I wanted to kiss you.”
Your jaw lowered at his words. Your heart sped up and you felt your consciousness almost blacked out.
“And I still do.” He admitted and swallowed thickly.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea considering your girlfriend is right over there.”
He furrowed his brows. “Who? Elle?” He sounded surprised. “She’s not my girlfriend, we work together and she is an old friend of Sofia.”
“Oh.” You felt like an idiot. You wanted to bury yourself in a deep black hole, never to return. “I am sorry, I thought…”
Pedro laughed deeply, his laughter vibrating through his chest. “It’s okay, I know she’s very clingy, it’s her way of coping with anxiety. She leans towards people she trusts.” He explained.
You lowered your gaze, feeling like a true idiot.
“But as I said, Y/N…” He placed a warm finger under your chin and lifted it up to meet his eyes. “I still want to kiss you.” While holding your gaze, he slowly leaned forward and stopped a mere inch from your lips. His breath hot breath brushed against your lips.
You leaned forward and lightly claimed his lips. It was soft and gentle, the feeling of longing resonating between you both. His fingers brushed along your jawline to the back of your neck and pulled you closer, deepening the kiss.
Your heart fluttered and a warmth enveloped your body as he parted your lips and begun a slow and erotic dance with your tongue. You lifted your hands and carefully intertwined your fingers in his dark locks.
He placed his other hand on top of your thigh and pulled you closer until your knees bumped. He ended the kiss and sighed out while admiring eyes scanned your features.
“I’ve missed you.” He whispered and tucked a loose hair strand behind your ear.
“I’ve missed you too.”
You smiled at each other. He grabbed your hands and stroked his thumbs across your knuckles. “Y/N, I want this to be something more and I want it to work.” He confessed and held your eyes. “I have wanted this for a long time.”
“Me too.” You admitted and your smile widened. “Let’s give it a try.”
His eyes lit up at your words before leaning forward and capturing your lips once more. One hand slid up to the back of your neck while the other were placed on your hip. He continued the dance between your tongues.
“About time.”
You pulled back and turned to find Jonathan looking at the both of you. Your cheeks burned red.
“I was wondering how long it would take for you to finally get together.” He winked, took a sip from his beer bottle and wandered off to the others.
You looked at Pedro again and chuckled. Jonathan was right, it was about time you finally made it.
(Wanna be added to my tag list for Pedro Pascal and his characters? Let me know.)
(taglist: @lazyunknownwerewolf @rrtxcmt @linnie0119)
#pedro pascal#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal x you#pedro pascal x y/n#reader#writing#fanfic#fanfiction#ao3
152 notes
·
View notes
Text
To Topple A Giant || Chapter Eight
Summary: You had made it your mission to destroy even the smallest evils. When the opportunity arises to finally take down your own family after years of gaining their trust, you reach for it. And so does Steve, the man who represents a symbol of everything you hate.
Pairing(s): Steve Rogers x Reader || Avengers x Reader
Part 8 of 10 ~ Mini-Series
Warnings: This story contains mature themes and discussions such as extreme canon violence, strong language, emotional angst, mentions of Endgame deaths and recoveries, sexual situations, and emotional/physical abuse. This is purely fanfiction.
Warnings in this Chapter: abusive parental relationship; extreme canon violence (gun violence, hand-to-hand, baton use, knives); strong language; mentions of drug smuggling, drugs, and human smuggling; mentions of blood and blood loss; major/minor character death (not the mains, don’t worry!); angst; gunshot wounds; heavy alcohol consumption
Word Count: 14,600+
A/N: Listen... you know damn well I had to put some American Pie lyrics in this. The reader’s and Jackeline’s relationship is not modeled after Nat and Yelena lol it was literally the biggest coincidence.
~
MedBay - The New Compound, 2024, 1:52 pm
“He did what?”
Bruce smiles sheepishly as he lugs Steve’s practically lifeless body onto one of those beige medical beds. Dr. Cho is pacing calmly around the room, getting her instruments cleaned and ready. She tries to ignore the way you’re crowding her, inspecting everything she touches and in turn is going to end up touching Steve.
“He took a bullet for someone.”
“And where is that someone?” you bite. You immediately want to apologize to Bruce for your tone but you’re distracted by the tiny groans of pain coming from the pale super soldier beside you. You have to look away to avoid whimpering yourself, but you can’t exactly make yourself deaf. “Don’t tell me he took a bullet for you.”
Bruce rolls his eyes and steps to the side as Dr. Cho begins cutting away Steve’s pants. “Everyone else is on vacation. He has no one here to take a bullet for besides. It was a shitty liquor store robbery and Steve was, of course, being a hero.”
“Where’s he hit?” you ask, heading over to grab a pair of gloves yourself. No one questions it.
“Femoral artery. Seems like he was plugging his own wound until he could get help.”
Dr. Cho is right. There’s a massive gash in his thigh that’s leaking excessively and the skin surrounding the wound is raised like Steve’s own fingers had plunged so deeply it left an imprint. Not only that, but his hand is covered in his blood. So is Bruce’s, you realize, because he had tried to plug the artery as well.
“How is he not dead yet?” Dr. Cho more mutters to herself than to you guys. Steve’s head is lolling to the side and his lips are an awful shade of white. His eyes are fluttering open and closed… open… closed… and he’s still mumbling random phrases. There’s a rough tug at the bottom of your stomach that pulls and pulls and there’s a weird urge to crawl onto the table to keep Steve warm.
“He needs blood,” you say, even though all parties in the room know that as fact.
Bruce, however, winces. “Sam’s not even in the state right now and I don’t think we have enough time to fly him-”
“Is he Sam’s blood type? What’s his blood type? Why can’t Bucky do it? Bucky’s in Brooklyn, he can be here in five minutes if he runs.”
Bruce starts rummaging through the upper level shelves and freezer cabinets. “Can’t mix the serums. We’ve tried.” He finally finds the blood bags, pulling them all out and spreading them across the clean tables. “It’s - shit - do we not have?”
Dr. Cho is now covered in blood, working as fast as she can to close the wound. “What’s his blood type?”
Bruce repeats it out loud and watches as Dr. Cho’s face falls. “I ran out yesterday. The blood drive isn’t until this weekend. I had a patient come in yesterday, I - I ran out yesterday.”
They seem to be having their own conversation with their eyes and are too focused on each other to see you already stripping your long-sleeve shirt and wrapping that horrible blue rubber band around your upper arm. “Me. Take mine.”
Bruce immediately shakes his head, stuttering as he tries to remove the rubber band. “Nu-uh, I don’t know if you know this but you’re human. I need two bags, three tops. I can’t just take it all from you right now!”
“Then get me some cookies and a juice box. I don’t care how much you have to take to make him speak a coherent sentence. Do me.”
Bruce hesitates but he rushes to the cabinets for the needles, vials, tubes, whatever - “No, do it direct.”
Your words startle the two doctors but they don’t question it. They hook you up and poke the needle in the first vein they find, attaching the tube instead of a single vial and direct it to Steve.
“You sure your blood matches?”
You give Bruce a pointed look as if that isn’t something written on your dog tags or on your weekly personal reports.
In the end, you’re told that you gave him the equivalent of two pints of blood. Not that you were awake for the second anyway but you vaguely remember Steve’s voice ringing in your ears. You’re not awake as he regains consciousness or to witness his very confused glare at seeing you in the bed next to him.
He swears he heard small mumblings… ‘If you die because of some highway robbery, Rogers --- I’m never gonna fucking stop bullying your grave --- haunt it’.... ‘Stay --- with me, please’.... ‘---supposed to apologize first’....
He tests the waters, mumbling a name he only says with annoyance nowadays. But now, it’s gently said. Soft, a whisper that sounds like a fractured hymn.
Present Day, 2025, 12:05 pm
There isn’t a set emotion in the world that seems appropriate. What are people supposed to feel when they’re singled out and chosen to suffer a life of pain? Self-hate? Pity for themselves? Anger? Sadness? Remorse? Nothing?
You really don’t know what you’re feeling. In the middle of rubbing vaseline on your newly acquired cuts and scrapes and bandaging yourself up, biting on a belt as Bucky set your shoulder back in place, and lying with Steve discussing everything and nothing all night after your promise - well, what the hell are you supposed to feel? As inevitable as it was considering he had ordered you shot before, the one feeling you know you feel is betrayed. Because even though Ernesto has proven himself evil time and time again, to his own flesh and blood, there was still a small part in your heart that didn’t think any parent truly wanted to inflict pain on their children. And your heart keeps proving itself wrong again and again.
“You just... jumped out of the car?”
Ramirez’s voice snaps you from your inner thoughts. He was let out of custody this morning. He’s currently filling in anyone who asks about the shipment, about Ernesto’s future plans, about the role he thought he had.
“Against my better judgment, but yeah.”
He chuckles and grins like he’s a kid hearing the best story ever told. “That’s what superheroes do. At least, what I’ve seen in the movies. John Wick, Bond, esos tipos.”
“I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this before, Omar,” there’s a teasing tone, “but I’m a fucking Avenger.”
That makes him laugh louder and in turn pulls one from you. “Ya se, ya se. I’ve known you since you were born. It’s weird hearing stories about you saving the world and jumping from bombed cars.”
“Mm, wait until you hear about that time I went into space and landed on another planet. Or time traveled. Take your pick.”
He’s stunned into silence and after a few more praises, he lets you return to typing out your report. There are plenty of other agents around for him to busy himself with. The base is tiny and not at all what you expected, but it’s secure enough to fit Torres, Sam, Bucky, and about fifteen other agents as they prepare for tonight. The plan you and Steve outlined was simple: attend the wedding, butter everyone up, send Steve away to help Ernesto retrieve and move the shipment, Scott and Sam will infiltrate, Bucky would be on standby to help you fight, and the rest of the team at base will begin arrests and sweeps. If everything goes according to plan, at least.
It’s easy to speak negatively about these things - there really were only two ways this could go.
You finish your report and go to stand, only realizing a minute later walking through the base that Ramirez is following you. You send him a funny look over your shoulder and he returns with a small smile of his own.
“Tengo preguntas!”
You stop and let him catch up. “Hmm?”
“Okay,” he starts, motioning his hands wordlessly until he could form them. “Are you and the Captain actually... juntos? Or just Avenger partners?”
“That’s personal, Omar,” you say with a roll of your eyes. “But I guess? That’s weird discussing with you.”
He nods in agreement. “It’s okay, I was just curious. So, him being mad was just an act? He doesn’t really hurt and threaten you, no?” He’s treading lightly, but you can already see the cartel mind turning. He would order Steve’s execution if he had to, even if he believed it to be morally wrong in some situations.
“Never. It was just an act for Ernesto.”
“Ah, Dios. Thank goodness.”
“Yeah, keep your men in line. It’s fine.”
He chuckles at that. “And the other Avengers?”
“They’re my family, Omar,” you grin wide, waking slower for the old man to keep up. “They would never hurt me.”
“That’s good, but not what I was asking.”
“Oh?”
“What are they like?”
Handing your report to one of the agents at a handful of monitors, you laugh loudly. “Do you want to meet them officially?”
“Aye, I know my daughters would like that...”
You raise an eyebrow.
“But I would like to meet them, too.”
“That’s what I thought. C’mon.”
The rest of the team are all relaxing and discussing the past days events in the lounge area, which is really just a glorified break room. Bucky’s still in his morning sweats same as Scott, Torres is already suited up, and both Sam and Steve are wearing their Avenger gear (minus Sam’s wings and Steve’s battered shield). Steve is the first one to notice you enter and he instantly gets up from his chair to greet you with a kiss on the cheek.
“Gross,” Bucky mumbles.
“You’ve been trying to get me a girl for over ninety years, Buck. And now that I’ve finally got someone who likes me back, you bully me for it?”
“Who’s bullin’? I said the same thing when Agent Carter smooched you in the weapon’s room and you thought you were alone.”
You pat Steve’s shoulder. “Think about it, Rogers. When Bucky settles down with someone, you have free reign.”
Steve pulls a thin smile and glances back at Bucky. “I’ll make them hate you.”
“Love and hate are the same thing, pal. It worked out for you two.”
“Okay, we’re done. Everyone, Omar wanted to formally introduce himself.”
Ramirez gives a shy wave. Torres returns it. It’s kind of hilarious to witness. Here you all are, Avengers and some standing over six feet with one of the most wanted drug lords in the world, and the all mighty drug lord is shy.
“I’m so sorry we got off on the wrong foot.” You notice how when Ramirez speaks to strangers or those he deems good people on his side, his accent is a little thicker. It’s like he wants to speak only in Spanish other than the Spanglish you were all accustomed to. “But it really is an honor to meet you all.”
Scott is the first to stand and shake his hand. “Sorry I pointed my gun at you, man. Habit.”
Ramirez chuckles, “Sorry I broke into your room.”
Steve interjects, “Thank you, though. For telling us what more we’re fighting for.”
Ramirez nods, a solemn look spreading over his face. “The minute I found out, I didn’t know who to tell. I’m lucky you were never truly on his side.”
“And what will you do after all this is over?” Bucky stands. “How do we know we can truly trust you?”
Ramirez sneaks a glance at you and you raise your hands. “Hey, I’ve got the same questions as him.”
Ramirez must know he isn’t getting out of this one because he answers quickly. “Drugs have a market where people choose. I just meet supply and demand protocols. I don’t do the unnecessary violence or blackmail. There is no need to. People will always want drugs.”
There’s a round of agreement throughout the small room. Ramirez continues, “But smuggling humans? There is no choice, nothing moral about it, it’s evil.”
“But people get addicted to drugs. They die from them everyday,” Sam argues.
“I produce and deal what you American’s call weed. Ernesto does the big stuff, as does White. I’m,” he laughs a little. “I’m their weed guy.”
“That is true,” you confirm. You’ve moved and packaged Ramirez’s product before. “Literally just weed.”
Everyone seems deep in thought, like their processing Ramirez’s words and the weight behind them. Ramirez ran with the big boys and was the biggest distributor of marijuana in Mexico and America alike, but he never messed with any other product. Besides producing, selling, and smuggling illegal weed, his only other crimes included conspiring with Ernesto on how to get the product over state lines.
“Okay,” Steve starts. “So how is tonight gonna work? We have to discuss that.”
Ramirez bows his head. “You’ve allowed me safety, you’ve listened to me speak, and you’re saving both my life and my daughter’s. If you must arrest me, then you arrest me.”
“The minute you’re transferred to a prison with less security, Ernesto’s men will get you,” you reason, already shaking your head no.
Ramirez gives a nonchalant shrug, “But you’ll get him and White. That’s all that matters.”
You look over to Steve for some other ideas, but like you he doesn’t have any. No one seems to have any.
Torres matches his shrug and his voice is small as he speaks, almost like his next idea is insane. “We can always put him in the Raft.”
Everyone’s eyes go wide.
“That’s where all the enhanced humans go, no?” Ramirez is stunned. “Do I count?”
“We’ve got no idea,” Steve rubs at his chin, looking at you for confirmation he knows you don’t have. “But it’s an idea.”
The plan is no longer singular. Fury had sent his best field agents for the job, the ones with the best aim, the ones with great strategic planning. Although you and Steve were still in charge, it was no longer just your mission. Your mission was to arrest the big three, big four when including Seda. That was it.
The plan goes like this: half the team will be focused on the venue itself, hidden in the shadows and monitoring the big three as well as your mics, and will aid you in the physical fight and arrests. Some are on the ground while others in the sky. Afterwards, they’ll sweep the estate and collect stolen property or priceless artworks. The other half is split into two, where one of those halves will be spread out for miles to capture anyone that might slip through, like guests who were on the most wanted list or guests that have helped Ernesto in the past. The other part of that half will intercept the shipment (once Steve radios in the location), save the hostages, and shut down the routes.
They instruct Ramirez to call Ernesto and to ask him if there’s a vegetarian menu offered. Ernesto responds with only a muttered groan and in a wild turn of events, asks if Ramirez can call you to make sure you arrive earlier than expected to make sure Jackeline walks down that aisle. He’s completely serious. Not only does Ramirez play along, but Ernesto doesn’t give any indication that he knows about the car bomb. So the team makes a judgement call: this was only Seda’s doing.
Ramirez is then told that the Raft is not an option; both the US and Mexican government want him and the only reason he hasn’t been arrested is because he still has many cards to play. The more he helps, the less time he’ll get.
One thing is known: this is the biggest mission anybody has been on in over two years.
Bucky remembers things in bits and pieces. Sometimes he’ll be minding his own business, enjoying this new world and the countless amenities it offers, and remember exactly where he was on the hottest day of the year in 1936. He remembers the blistering heat, boiling his once pale skin and giving him that beautiful olive he was now known for. He remembers the way his tongue dried almost instantly the moment he stepped outside and how he asked his next door neighbor, Ms. Kranshall, for a cup of water before work. He remembers her massive square glasses and how they nudged the tip of her nose as she nodded sweetly at him. He remembers her high but smoky voice and the way she patted his shoulder as he drank the cup down.
The first time he remembered Natalia was around the same time he remembered Steve. He sees a flash of ember in strands, speed almost matching his, and he sees those panicked green eyes he was once all too familiar with.
She was twelve when he first met her, forced to throw her around like a ragdoll until her ribs were bruised and her spirit broken. He went again and again, and when he wasn’t forced he would teach her how to fight properly and how to shield her most vulnerable areas. Scared as she was, she never showed it in those private moments, and decided to follow his lead in most things. And she learned to be fierce, no matter how hard he hit, and he still remembers the look in her eyes and the pull of her young face as they yanked him away for cryo before he could congratulate her on winning her first fight.
The first time he remembered you was when you leapt onto T’Challa’s back as the chase neared, tackling the young prince become king, and watched with sad eyes as both him and Steve climbed onto the jet for Siberia. He remembers your clumsy punches when you fought him with half his brain and how he kicked you so hard you flew. He also remembers how when you took that kick for Steve, the sound of his wail almost deafened the soldier.
Everytime he remembers something, a memory, no matter how strangled it may arise, the twinge in his chest is good. He’s remembering. He’s James Buchanan Barnes.
He feels that same twinge when a face full of freckles greets him at the entrance, documents raised above her head in a show of selfish glee, and a pep in her step that tells him she remembers him too.
“Sergeant Barnes!” Maribel gives a toothy grin. “Never thought I’d see you again!”
Bucky tilts his chin up and rests the tip of tongue between his incisors. “What? Hydra wasn’t enough for you, you gotta infiltrate the Mexican cartel, too?”
She scoffs playfully, “Other way ‘round.”
He snatches the documents from her hand and leads her inside. “I hope you got something here. Steve put a lotta faith in you.”
“Don’t you trust me?”
“Y/N does. That’s enough for me.”
Rolling her eyes, she snatches the documents back to turn the pages herself. “Follow me. We need to chat in private.”
“Shouldn’t we get-”
“I’d rather you know, and you tell them later. No audience.”
This causes Bucky to tense. He follows her in further and closes the door behind them both.
The left side of her face had less freckles back in 2012, he remembers, and now she’s covered in them.
Bucky remembers things slowly, but he remembers them.
It’s cold outside, air bruising your skin, and there are hundreds of goosebumps now erupting. You joke with yourself that in the end, you’ll most likely have to ask Steve for his jacket and ruin your overall look but hey, you’ll be warm. The wedding doesn’t start until five in the evening and it’s one’oclock right now, and there are white clouds in the sky instead of gray and the songs of some desperate birds searching for their lunch near your ears. It at least drowns out the constant noise of the agents hammering away at each other and preparing for tonight.
It makes your stomach roll: these agents are putting their lives at risk because of you.
You stepped through the discarded papers and tried not to leave your footprint anywhere important. His office was empty, left in a state of purgatory, and his lamp was still on. It’s like he stepped out for a minute.
You picked everything up: pens, computers, books, chairs. Under everything, there was dust.
He really did die.
As much as you wanted to step on his remains and spit on him, you couldn’t. The gash in your heart was still open and bleeding for everyone else and there was no room left for anger. You were indifferent, for lack of a better word. Frustrated?
A paper crumbles outside his office. No one had followed you in - a week after the snap and every single person on earth was still searching for loved ones or running from something - so no, no one else was supposed to be here. Mexico had been hit hard, it’s government shattered, and every cartel was picking up pieces or tearing the world further apart. There was no line anymore.
You twisted around and aimed your gun at the door, immediately lowering it when you saw Natasha raise her hands. She had this embarrassed smile on her face like she knew she had been caught.
“I meant to say hi over your mic. But you turned it off.”
You sighed deeply and dramatically shrugged your shoulders. “Well, I’m here. Guess who’s not.”
Natasha only nods and steps further into the room. She looks over the same things you did. “He’s gone? Good, good riddance.”
“But his death means nothing if trillions of others died also. It’s so fucking typical of him. If he’s going down, he takes everyone else with him.”
“He didn’t take them, Y/N.”
“I want to be happy,” you spit out through clenched teeth. “I want to feel relief. The fucking bastard is finally gone and I can’t even enjoy it properly.”
Natasha takes one more look at the hallway before letting her guard down almost completely. She envelopes you in a hug, squeezing tighter each time your breath hitches. “Hey, listen to me.”
“He’s gone.”
“I know,” Natasha’s voice is low and reminds you of the gentle hum of record static. “He’s gone and he can’t hurt you anymore.”
“But everyone-”
“No,” she pulls away and places both her palms over your neck. “He’s gone. He can’t hurt you anymore.”
It takes a while before you’re nodding along, repeating her words gently.
“You’re more than the pain he inflicted. You’re more than his name or crimes. You’re worth more than his impact ten times over. He can’t hurt you anymore. I know everyone’s gone, and we’re going to fight like hell to bring them back, but in this little moment, this little thread you can pull - pull it all out - he can’t hurt you anymore.”
She’s all muscle and bone and blood and real. What would you do without Natasha?
The grass beneath your bare feet calms you down. It’s tendrils are a little ticklish and there are droplets of silver morning water fog melting as they touch your skin. Focusing on the feeling isn’t enough to get you out of your own head and for a wild second, you think the God of Thunder is going to come up behind you and hold your hand. It’s peaceful out here, but what you wouldn’t give to see him again.
The day before Steve and Carol returned the stones, he had been here. He did as he promised: the second the flood of happiness extinguished like a Christmas candle, he found you settled in the mass of pillows with only instrumental music playing. He left for two cups of tea, sat in silence with you as you both drank, and whispered a strangled ‘I’m sorry’ as if you weren’t meant to hear it. Apologizing for someone who did come back, and you for someone who didn’t.
‘You know I don’t regret what we did. We brought everyone back.’
‘Don’t try and justify your sadness. Not at all, not with me.’ His voice was stern and his eyes serious.
‘I’m sorry he didn’t come back.’
His eyes had closed, as if he was expecting that apology, and he looked out the window where the sun was just barely rising, shining on him and him alone. ‘I’m sorry, too.’
There are footsteps, though. Heavy ones, footsteps that announce his upcoming presence on purpose so as to not startle anymore. Bucky was too generous for his own good.
“Had a visitor.”
You remain silent as Bucky sits next to you, looking up from his spot and expecting you to sit as well. “There’s water on the grass.”
“There’s water in the air in this godforsaken state, now sit down.” A push of laughter escapes your lungs but you follow his instructions anyway.
You sit in silence for a few minutes, admiring the way the pine trees bend slightly with the gusts of wind and how the birds have changed their pitch. You expect Bucky to speak first so you occupy that time by playing with the strands of wet grass.
“In 1997, I was taken out of cryo for a mission.”
You wince on accident. This wasn’t how you expected the conversation to start.
Bucky continues, “There was this man south of the border.” He points south to prove his point. “Hydra wanted to take him out because he was interfering with the drug routes they were monitoring.”
“Hydra controlled drug routes?”
“Hydra had their heads in plenty of places. They didn’t control them, but they did monitor them.”
You shake your head in understanding. “And this man?”
Bucky sighs heavily. His eyes are focused on the gentle yellows behind the trees instead of you. “He was told to take out another man traveling through and out one of these drug routes. He made a different call.”
“Who was your visitor?”
“Maribel.”
“Wha-?” You go to stand but Bucky gently pushes your left shoulder back down. “Why are you telling me this and not her?”
“She wanted me to tell you. And I guess, in turn, you tell Steve and the rest of the team.”
“Bucky,” your voice trembles on accident. “Tell me.”
“The man I was ordered to take out was Maribel’s brother.” He chuckles at your frantic shuffling and pushes you down again. He continues, “Hey, it’s okay. She never knew him and she doesn’t hate me for what I was.”
You don’t really believe him. But his face isn’t telling you otherwise. You're stuck between wanting to dig for more information and giving him a giant bear hug. “Did you… succeed?”
“The soldier ever rarely lost.”
Your face contorts. “Bucky…”
“He disobeyed orders, Hydra didn’t like that since it disrupted the drug routes, and so I was sent to help. Hydra didn’t seem to care about the man he let go, though.” Bucky shrugs and starts playing with the grass behind your hand. “The thing was, Maribel’s brother had been doing this a long time. Ernesto was on Hydra’s radar but in a good way. Maribel’s brother was also given very specific orders from one other person - their mother.”
The story pieces are all discarded haphazardly, pieces that are from different boxes and don’t seem to entangle properly.
“She told him to let the man go. Because this man was an American, and killing an American on Mexican soil was something that was impossible to hide from the claws of the law. So, this American made it back on US soil safely and was never heard from again. Until 1998, when he tried to re-enter Mexico under a false name but with one purpose. To see his newborn baby girl.”
The yellow behind the pine trees fades into orange.
“Are you saying-?”
“Maribel’s mother kept everything your mother left her when she tried to cross the border herself. Your real birth certificate, her real birth certificate, you.”
Bucky looks over finally, sad smile and all. “Maribel thinks, and now I think, that Ernesto isn’t your real father.”
There are so many questions formulating at the base of your skull that you don’t really take the time to absorb the news. “What did she bring you? What was in those papers?”
Bucky seems startled that your reaction wasn’t one of shock. “Like I said, Maribel’s mother kept a lotta things.” He pauses momentarily before speaking again. “Blood results was one of them. Still trying to authenticate them. The American was a doctor, after all.”
“A doctor,” you whisper.
“A doctor. He changed his name but he’s alive. Maribel’s checked.”
“Why would she tell me this now? Why now just hours before the wedding? Isn’t that why you guys didn’t tell me about what was really in the shipment?”
Bucky winces and his expression tells you he’s sorry.
You continue, “Why now? Why does it even matter anymore?”
He inspects you quickly, scanning your features for any signs of discomfort. “You’re okay? I thought this would surprise you more.”
The chuckle you release is dry, kind of harsh. “It actually answers a fuckload of questions. Like, number one, why he fucking hates me.”
His eyebrows scrunch together. “You think he knows?”
“If he doesn’t, then he’s a super fucking asshole instead of just a fucking asshole.”
Bucky pauses again and smiles up at the sky. The clouds are white and extra large today, and he suddenly remembers the taste of that mini popcorn he had bought and shared with his little sister Becca… Becks… while watching Snow White and the Seven Dwarves at the theater. The salt and butter had stuck to Becca’s fingers and she had wiped them on Bucky’s sweater. He remembers scolding her for that but giving her a napkin in between his giggle fit. He feels the same swell in the meat of his heart listening to you. “We don’t deserve you. You’re like the moon. Always there, shaping yourself into what that person needs, crater after crater beat into you and yet, you move the tides.”
The little snort that leaves your nose hurts a little. “That’s pretty damn poetic for this moment of ‘you’re not the father!’”
Bucky bites his lip and smiles toward the yellow and orange hues. “Like the moon.”
The hotel had replaced the door, no questions asked. The reason Sam decided to bust open the door instead of using the very functional key you had given Torres? No one knows. But the poor receptionist was told that you couldn’t possibly change rooms because this was top secret business and you absolutely wanted to slap Scott upside the head for worrying her. So they fixed the bolts and gave you all new keys.
Didn’t matter much anyway since you weren’t sleeping here tonight. You had already packed and made the beds.
You lay your dress and Steve’s dress attire on the respective beds. The dress sent over was a backless red silk, spaghetti strapped and slit on the left side - you’ve wanted to wear it since it arrived when Scott did.
Steve knocked before entering the room. You almost laughed at the gentlemanly aspect of it. “Thought for sure they’d have kept you for another hour at least.”
“I gotta change sometime. That your dress?” Steve shrugs off his uniform and climbs on top of his freshly made bed.
“That’s my dress. Sort of skimpy for a wedding, no?” You hold it up to show him the front and back.
“Does ‘skimpy’ mean bad?”
“Means slutty.”
He gives you this disappointed look, like he’s judging your vocabulary. “I wouldn’t use that word. So no.”
You silently apologize and move the dress over to the end of your bed. Everyone else was also getting ready for tonight. Agents were posing as local police, many infiltrated the wait staff, suits were being double-checked for any malfunctions. There was so much going on, but all was relaxed in your room. Steve smiles at you from his bed, head resting in his palm as he leans up to stare at you. It’s impossible not to blush under his stare, so you move to climb into his bed. You lay down with your feet to his head, the sides of your hips pressing together; just two upside down puzzle pieces. He chuckles and goes to lay on his back, right arm coming up to lay rested on top of your right thigh.
“All this week I thought I wasn’t ready.” You’ve had no more nightmares. “But I am. I’m ready to end this.”
He runs his fingers delicately along your thigh. “I’m ready to help.” He sighs deeply and cranes his neck to try and meet your gaze. “We’ll make sure they get maximum time.”
“You know that’s not our call.”
“Still.”
You rest for another few minutes, gentle touches calming you. His body is so warm, emitting sweet thoughts like the beginning of spring heat, and it’s impossible not to curl up into it. Steve breaks the comfortable silence, “What are you thinking about?”
You suck in a breath and tell him the truth. “That in the matter of like… five days, you and I are basically lovers now.”
“Lovers?”
“Lovers.”
He laughs out loud and goes to sit up. “I intend on taking you out when we get back home.”
Lifting your head, you rest on your elbows and grin at him. “Oh? And where are you planning on taking me?”
He thinks for a second before pressing his lips together and giving up. “I have to ask Peter or Wanda. I have no idea where you go during the day to eat.”
You laugh, “Seriously? I could’ve sworn you tagged along once or twice.”
“Nope. I always refused.”
You frown slightly, “Riiight.” Not wanting to rehash the reasons why, you try to soften any wrong feelings about what that implies. “I’m sure you’ve been, though. I take Bucky places, too. Ask him.”
“Mmm, I have my pride. Can’t have Bucky thinkin’ he knows more about my girl than I do.”
You smile largely now and hope no lipstick rubbed off on your teeth. “Your girl?”
Steve averts his eyes like he’s just now asking for your name and if you’d like to go dancing. There’s a beautiful scarlet glow painting his pale cheeks. “Like I said, I’m taking you out and asking properly.”
“We’ve already surpassed third base. I remember it vividly.”
His smile falls comically and he turns to grab a throw pillow to smack you with it a couple times. “Crude! Crude as always. Goddamn.”
“I’m sorry! Hey, I’m sorry!”
He stops his attack and pulls you into his chest. He warms your back instantly. “So, you’ll let me take you out?”
“I really, really like french fries,” you hum lightly and tilt your head back to lean into his shoulder.
“That narrows it down, thanks.”
You chuckle due to his sarcastic tone. He rubs his hands up and down your arms. An idea formulates while in the warmth of his body. “You know what I really want to do after we finish with this?”
“What’s that?”
You tell him honestly. “Rent a cabin. Spend a Christmas there, maybe. Catch some fuckin’ fish. Experience the snow properly.”
His eyebrows furrow like he’s dissecting such a claim. “I… wasn’t expecting that.”
You shrug, “Sounds cool though, right?”
“Got room for one more?” He looks down to meet your gaze and there’s a glint of hope shimmering in the blue of his eyes.
“Nat… Natasha.”
Natasha took in a sharp exhale as she lifted her head from the desk, left cheek numb and pink. Steve shot her a funny grin and continued shaking her shoulder until she fully opened her eyes. She slaps his hand away with a huff of laughter.
“Come here to do your laundry? You know, there’s only so many times I can help prevent shrinking shirts.”
Steve scoffs, “I used to do laundry by hand. I can figure out a few buttons.”
“You would think.”
Steve rolls his eyes and bumps her shoulder with the palm of hand before speed-walking into the kitchen. “It’s one of those days.” He opens the high cabinets and pulls a few vodka bottles.
Natasha pushes down whatever was starting to eat at her. She calms her deep breaths and rises from her chair. No words needed to be exchanged. She makes her way over to pull two glasses from the same high cabinets.
Steve watches her a little hesitantly, but she has that lopsided smile that pinches through only one cheek and her eyes are the slightest bit swollen from her power nap, and Steve breathes a sigh of relief. She tilts her head to the other side of the kitchen, that lopsided grin gracing her bare feet. Steve fumbles through a few cleaning supplies and some plastic bags before he finds the bottle.
“I hid it after… after Thor had that meltdown a year ago.”
Now, he was second guessing. It was a small bottle, only half left, but half a bottle of Asgardian liquor was enough to knock the God on his knees. For Steve, a few sips would do the same. But he needed it, he needed it, god help him. It’s been four years, he needs it. “Be my designated driver?”
“How about you spend the night? Y/N wanted to start a new show anyway.”
“I’ll be passed the fuck out during the opening credits.”
“But you’ll be here.”
Steve sighs and pops open the bottle. Natasha puts her hand up to stop him from pouring, “Check under that sink again.”
His eyebrows pinch together but he does as instructed. More cleaning products… more cleaning products. He tilts his head to look at the corners and there it was: a small, pink paper airplane taped mid-flight. Steve hunched his shoulders to grab it and crawled out carefully. “You know, you’re not supposed to tell me where you hide them.”
“Well, I felt bad! I’ve found like fifteen of your blue ones and how many do you have of mine?”
“That’s besides the point-”
“Say it. You’ve found six.”
His cheeks turn hot. “I’m not here all the time.”
“Excuses.”
“I leave mine in good spots. You probably got better eyes or something.”
Natasha laughs, loud and from her chest. “Sure. But hey - I’ll promise you somethin’.”
Steve pours the Asgardian liquor into his glass and straight vodka into Natasha’s. “What do you have in mind?”
“You find more than me by the end of this year, and I’ll take that vacation.”
Steve takes his first sip and tries not to pull a hard face. “You’re on. But what if you win?”
Natasha raises her glass and clinks it with his. He wants to apologize for forgetting to toast but her eyes are playful and forgiving. “You come with me. I’m not the only one who needs it.”
“So, I win regardless?”
She takes a sip and pulls a funny face. “Easiest battle, don’t ya think?”
They’re off their right minds twenty minutes into drinking and the common area is chaos. Pillows are thrown, the TV somehow ends up with dozens of fingerprints, and they’ve broken a couple flower pots. The cushions of the couch know Natasha’s bare feet and Steve’s boots; the walls fail to constrict their loud singing; Rhodey has already snuck past them to get himself a snack undetected.
‘And so I cry sometimes when I’m lyin’ in bed, just to get it all out what’s in my head!’
‘Hit the high note, Rogers!’
‘When you do, I will!... I scream from the top of my lungs-’
‘What’s goin’ on? And I say, ‘hey!’ ‘hey!’ I say ‘hey!’ What’s goin’ on?’
Steve’s still clear-headed enough to twirl Natasha around. She’s flexible enough to climb onto his shoulders.
‘I pray every single day - for a revolution!’
She’s starting to slur her words and Steve wonders if that blond streak in her hair was there last week.
‘The story of my life! I take her home,
I drive all night to keep her warm and time,
Is frozen!
The story of my life, I give her hope,
I spend her love until she’s broke inside!
The story of my life.’
She can longer feel her toes but seeing Steve let go makes her so incredibly happy and breaks her heart. I needed this too, she thinks.
‘So, bye-bye, Miss American Pie
Drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry
And them good ol' boys were drinkin' whiskey and rye
Singin', "This'll be the day that I die
This'll be the day that I die!”’
She’s all muscle and bone and blood and real. What would Steve do without Natasha?
“You wanna come?”
“Sure. I’ll cut down the trees for wood. Have a real fireplace.” He’s serious, you realize. Like, really truly serious.
Your heart swells with excitement and some other feeling you can’t quite place. But it’s good, like really good. The sigh you release is full of sweet wonder. “A real Christmas tree.”
Steve tightens his grip around your arms. “December’s right around the corner. Trees should be ready and standing tall.”
It’s almost too much to imagine. You have the sudden urge to talk specifics, to plan out this vacation. A beautiful, rustic cabin with only a coffee maker brought from the outside century, knitted quilts, real snow, Steve’s body heat, Christmas lights… inviting Sam, Scott, Wanda, Peter, and Bucky down for Christmas dinner and presents. A whole sleepover filled with ghost stories, candle burning, board games, Christmas movies. You’re up and tucking your knees under yourself to look down at Steve in an instant. “You’d throw on that checkered shirt, grow out your beard even more, and chop down a few trees for me? With me?”
“There’s nowhere in the world I’d rather be,” Steve says, eyes crinkling. For a second, he’s worried you’ll realize that he’s quoted your letter. But that same moment, you’re giggling with excitement over your future plans.
“Well, we lasted a week here without killing each other. The holidays always hold a few surprises.”
Steve picks up another pillow.
Business is not conducted during the church service. It feels normal, with half the guests attending the service and watching the happy couple exchange vows, while the other half only arrives for the party.
Jackeline’s dress is modern with a mix of vintage - simple, with long sleeves of lace and fabric that isn’t entirely white but with hints of beige; the dress dips lower in the back than it does in the front, and it’s tight near the waist but loose as it drapes down her long legs. Her hair is left loose and her make-up is heavy, and she illuminates under the sun rays that burst through stained cathedral glass. You don’t even pay mind to Ernesto and Seda seated in the aisle in front of you - not when Jackeline looks the way she does.
As the service ends, Steve tells you to wait until most of the guests exit. The priest eyes him warily, inspecting his young face and build and obvious persona. He says nothing, but he places a gentle hand over the cross on his chest as he follows the guests out. Steve stands, and out of respect dips his fingers into the holy water provided near the heavy wooden doors. He signs the father, the son, and the holy ghost and dips his fingers in again to sign the same on you. With a silent thank you and tender wipe to your forehead, you don’t question it. He’s not Catholic, or at least you don’t think, but you know he does it for what’s to come. No matter your beliefs, he just wants something, someone, to protect you. You turn back to the cathedral and grip the door as you bend down to one knee and tip your head.
Everything is grander, that’s for sure. The decorations are tripled; the violet lights are reflecting like diamonds off every marble and glass surface; the chandelier’s are no longer gold sculptures but diamond; the clay flowers hanging from the ceiling yesterday are now a part of the centerpieces, squeezed in with the largest bouquet of roses and violets; the live bands (because of course there are two) are each still setting up as everyone is getting seated; and there are about fifty round tables circling the large dance floor. There’s still a nice view of the lake and the pine trees ahead, and the tarp was abandoned as there was no rain in the forecast. All in all, and there were a thousand other things you could focus on but didn’t have the energy to, everything was beautifully put together.
Jackeline wasn’t lying when she said half of Mexico was attending. Besides family, there were celebrities in attendance, famous musicians who were simply guests and not performing, family of some of the other biggest drug lords from both countries (minus Europe), and a couple politicians who dipped before the new couple even walked through the doors after seeing Steve. But Steve worked his magic like he had yesterday and had everyone eating out of the palm of hand in pure amazement. He even had a famous actress hanging off his shoulder in under three minutes. Walking away to go congratulate Jackeline, Steve doesn’t miss the quick, sarcastic flick of your middle finger aimed in his direction.
“You’d tell me if you needed my help, right?” Jackeline asks after a while, bottom lip dripping champagne. She wipes it gingerly, careful not to smudge her pink lipstick.
“I would if there was anything wrong,” you respond truthfully. She pauses to swallow her sip and squints. She follows your gaze to Steve, whose right arm is being tugged by a girl who looks about twelve with five multi-colored bows trailing down her french braid, and who is also trying hard not to blush at the very attractive actress he can’t seem to get rid of.
“You’re going to stop him, aren’t you?”
You glance to your left, but it isn’t really a question. Jackeline knows. “Yeah.”
She nods and tilts her chin up, eyes still on Steve. “Make him watch as you burn it down.” You know she’s referring to Ernesto. She continues, “Every last bit of it.”
Smiling down at your feet, you raise your glass at nothing in particular. Just to salute the night air and whoever is watching. A few seconds pass as you both watch the guests enjoy the music and appetizers. Jackeline shuffles in her heels but she doesn’t seem to want to leave your side just yet. “You run, you understand?”
She’s only momentarily startled by your words. “Okay.”
“I never meant to leave you here, Jackie. I just had to find a way out first.”
“You found a loophole,” she chuckles, but the next moment she’s serious. “There is no way out.”
“Might not be,” you admit, downing your glass in one shot. “But I know this. He can’t hurt you anymore.”
You don’t exchange more than a few words with Steve before he’s called by Ernesto’s men and motioned toward those massive dry lava rock doors; doors that don’t muffle sound but are strong enough to withstand a bullet wound. You watch him leave with them, and he shoots you a smile over his shoulder to simply look at you. Your eyes swell only slightly, burning the corners and blurring everything. He’s bright and brilliant, walking head first into Hell and shining like the bolts of Zeus.
Steve has faced giants before, from all backgrounds and all worlds. He has blocked their punches, taken near mortal injuries; stared them in the face with every ounce of anger and determination his cells could produce. There was always this whispered voice in his head that warned him of the last day he would pick up that shield. In 1945, the voice was loud and raging as he drove that nosediving plane into the Arctic. Over the last few years, however, the voice had quieted and let Steve ponder his fate himself. Steve swears the voice, or rather his own conscience, is getting tired.
He listens intently, responding only when spoken to, and prays his mic is picking up every bit of this conversation. Ernesto commanded the room as he screamed orders in both English and Spanish. His men fell in line; some as determined as the old man, some quiet, some bothered. Didn’t matter what the orders were. Steve noticed the few who would glance at one another and speak their distaste with their wandering eyes. And when Ernesto would speak directly to Steve, the same men would pinch their lips into a thin line and glare.
The shipment had arrived mid-conversation and as men were sent out to do their jobs, Ernesto kept Steve behind. I need you to stay with me until the shipment is secure and can be moved - you’re my bodyguard, Ernesto had told him, confident and only slightly bending his back in discomfort from the weight of the day. Steve agrees, and hears Bucky mention how they have eyes on the shipment from the sky.
Steve stays by Ernesto’s side even when Ramirez is called in. He’s prepared for a bloodbath, for two big men to cement their graves in this tiny office, but it doesn’t happen. Or at least, it doesn’t happen yet. Ernesto regards Ramirez as an old friend and finally trusts him enough to tell him what the shipment contained. Steve isn’t surprised, however, when Ernesto takes nasty satisfaction at Ramirez’s horrified expression. Because even though Ramirez had already known, the confirmation adds a multitude of terror. Steve can feel his palms sweating.
As expected, Ernesto tells Ramirez that he plans to use his lands for his gain. The safe thing to do would have been to agree, to nod along, and to live in the knowledge that the shipment most likely wouldn’t head out. But Ramirez, for some reason Steve can’t fathom, stands up and says no.
Steve understands now; the odd shaking of your shoulders even when your face was completely blank and emotions calm. He watches the beads of sweat drip from Ernesto’s forehead onto the tip of his nose; he watches the way his chest heaves as his voice becomes louder; he watches until he can’t take anymore and he enlarges the shield with Scott’s tech and tells Ernesto to move away from the other man. Steve understands now - the man really is scary, even if he wants to admit it or not.
“You really are a phenomenal actor.”
Swaying slowly, you try not to step on Seda’s feet as he guides you across the dance floor. The music is calmer than it was five minutes ago, the guests are enjoying dinner and conversing, and Steve had told you fifteen minutes ago that he would be right back. Ernesto had sent you a malicious wink, but you knew better. Steve’s name was written in blue and Ernesto’s real target had to be you.
“Acting with what? Acting that I enjoy this dance? Acting like I respect you?” Your upper lip twitches into a teasing smile. “Or acting like I don’t know it was you who planted that bomb?”
He matches your smile, looking down at you with a glint in his eyes. His grip around your waist tightens. “Acting like you’re really on our side.”
Lowering your voice just a fraction, you lean in, top of your head level with his chin. “I’m on Ernesto’s side. You almost had me and my Captain blown up.”
His left hand is settled on your shoulder and he uses the opportunity to dig his nails in. All around him, his men are watching. “How did you get away?”
You give a dry laugh. “You think that was my first bomb? It was childsplay.”
Seda scoffs, “You speak of this Avenger business like I don’t know who you are. You’re still that scared little girl who hid in her room when alien’s fell from the sky.”
“I may be. But there’s a difference between you and I. I actually stared them in this face and won.”
“The second time, maybe”
Sticks and stones, but goddamn did those words always hurt. Blame goes a long way but you and your team are used to keeping it close to home. “Why do you want me dead?”
His scowl deepens and the wrinkles by his eyes crinkle over each other as he squints down at you. “The Avengers are not secretly on our side. Tony Stark never was but Ernesto loves to tell people otherwise. Same about your Captain. You’ve been playing us for years.”
“What evidence do you even have? For years, we’ve done nothing but clear the roads for you,” you say, shaking your head in disbelief.
He unwraps his arm from around your waist and sets both hands around your upper arms. He’s pressing down as hard as he can but still loose enough not to draw unwanted attention. He breathes a sharp exhale, and the puff of air hits your cheeks. “I don’t know what happened to my men after you got what you deserved. They were good men and just like that, erased.” He smirks. “I know you had something to do with it.”
A guest with bright red hair laughs loudly to your side as she is twirled around by her partner. It’s not as vibrant as you’re used to, but you still imagine that lopsided smile you hadn’t seen in forever. “Does it matter? You know what they did, so why is my hypothetical revenge chastised?”
“Tell me right now that none of your Avenger friends did your dirty work. Tell me your Captain’s hands are clean.”
“I promise you, my Captain is clean.” Seda doesn’t show any signs of believing you. Still, your mouth twitches into a mocking smirk. “But our once mutual friends Tony and Natalia tell another story.”
“Am I supposed to believe that two people who are dead are responsible for this? Ironic,” he grits his teeth.
You repeat, clear and true. “My Captain is clean.”
He fakes a tiny gag but you know he means his disgust. “You turned over so quickly for him. For the heroes who destroyed the world. Pathetic.”
“You really need to stop underestimating me,” you practically order, voice full of warning and annoyance.
Seda continues, “Following orders from a fascist. Following orders from a country that only does harm.”
He turns you around as the dance instructs, a half-hearted waltz that didn’t have a beginning, middle, or end. You take that second to scan your surroundings and weigh your options. “I agree about the country part. But I don’t follow orders from the country, I follow them from my Captain.”
You’re facing him again and in those hellish eyes you see truth. “No, he’s a symbol of everything we hate. Of everything we need to destroy.”
“Touch Steve and I’ll blind you.”
His feet stop mid-step, as do yours. His eyes widen only a little, but it’s all the ammunition he needs. “I knew it.”
It’s barely a whisper, a tickle from a single strand of hair, but you catch it. No longer keeping it a secret, or rather a secret you didn’t care that you let slip, Seda now knows it was all a lie. All this time you had never referred to Steve as anything other than your Captain.
You feel the blunt head of a .22 press against your abdomen as Seda laughs, “You never could get a mission right.”
Twisting his arm and knocking the gun from his loose grip with your wrist was easy. So was catching the gun mid-air and elbowing him in the ribs. Seda falls to the floor in a state of shock, instinctively gripping his chest. You aim the gun at him and like you’ve seen in the movies, place the tip of your heel just below where his belly button would be. He releases a sharp breath and his eyes are challenging, practically begging you to dig deeper and get on with it.
You can hear the screaming and frantic murmuring from the guests surrounding you and the leveling of guns from Seda’s men. But you’re focused on the man trying so hard not to quiver beneath you, his nasty grin spreading wider.
“You’re alone,” he bites. “Your Steve is helping Ernesto right now, no? You’re alone.”
Your grin forms slowly, and you’re counting down the seconds you have until his men start firing, but you lean your upper body down slightly to make sure he hears you. “That’s never been a problem before. Don’t you remember?” You click back the safety as discreetly as possible. “I was trained by the Black Widow herself.”
You quickly raise the gun to shoot the closest of Seda’s men in between his collarbones, effectively starting the bloodshed. You jump out the way in a flash, rolling across the floor and behind a table. Tipping the table over is easy and it seems like a smart idea at first, until you realize the tables are all glass. The tablecloth had covered that detail, which sucks like hell, because now the bullets are shattering through and you’re forced to kick yourself away and run behind the pillars instead. The heels are kicked off at the same time you’re fishing underneath your dress.
A stray bullet hits the pillar’s side making you squeal. It makes you work faster, though.
Once you find the secure nano-tech ‘button’ (as Scott liked to call it), you strip as quickly as you can and slap the button on your bare shoulder. The nano-tech spirals and threads into itself as intricately as frost spreads on a window, shielding you in both metal and kevlar.
When a storm of bullets hits the pillar and cracks the marble, you’re forced to crouch and hope Seda’s .22 and the myriad of weapons you’re now equipped with are enough. Before your thoughts can creep into a ‘last man standing’ mode, a roar of wind sweeps across the estate and between the cracked pillars, causing your loose hair to slap your face and blind you for only a second. Quickly putting your hair up and pulling the metal batons from the back of your suit, you’re met with the best sight - one that was a little late, in your opinion.
“Kind of you to show up!”
Sam ignores your quip as he flies into three men at once, feet first with his wings extended with the might of a guardian angel. He immediately shields runaway guests who were caught in the middle. He takes the ones on his left, you take the ones on his right.
You let them swing first. They’re fast and pulling their punches and are clearly aiming for the end result of sticking you to the ground. But you’re quicker and deflect the punches. You manage to deliver a solid punch upward to crack the nose of one. As he reaches up as instinct, his ribs are open season.
He falls out cold easily after your batons do their damage and the next man isn’t nearly as fast as the first. He doesn’t move enough to his right to avoid the harsh kick to his sternum. Each ambitious kick to the chest seems to demolish the man’s protective wall he’s trying desperately to keep intact, but once you give your legs a break and switch back to the batons, he doesn’t stand a chance. There are bullets raining across the venue, but Sam is shielding you and deflecting them elsewhere. It allows you the freedom to rip into whoever you think deserves it.
You’ve got two men on your tail and after knocking their weapons from their hands, it seems like a fairer fight. The first doesn’t step back far enough to avoid your roundhouse kick and he falls hard on his ass, gasping for a lick of air. The second is closer, however, and manages to wrap you in a chokehold. Releasing yourself to fall deadweight for only a second, gravity tricks him and you use the momentum to kick up and fly over his shoulders. It’s hard to do without a wall to propel yourself off of. But your abs and thighs are clenched and you don’t quite think you’ll actually end up on this guy’s shoulders but you do. You don’t dwell on that moment of personal pride, though. Tightening your thighs, you use your upper body weight to lean downward and wring his neck. Once he’s down, you sweep your leg around across the floor to trip the other man who was just barely standing back up. With the .22, you fire point blank.
Detaching yourself from the gore has never been much of a challenge. Eyes rolling back and clouding, limbs dangling limp after having just been full of life, bodies thumping against the floor after eating your bullets - you don’t so much as grit your teeth anymore.
Sam is dealing with his own mess closer to where that poor cake is now destroyed, vanilla filling exposed and now two stories instead of four. The other cakes are no better. Sam pulls the trigger once more at someone charging at him and he averts his eyes. Sam, however, clenches his jaw.
“Where’s Seda?” you shout, firing at men who are jumping out from behind tables but giving away their location before they even surprise you.
“Lost him. I think he’s heading over to Steve!”
You look over the room and pray everyone got out safely. There are no civilians lying in their own puddle of blood, no guests begging for help, but you can never know for sure. “We need more hands. Where the hell are Scott and Bucky?”
A storm of bullets starts crashing into the tables and pillars beside you. Trying to duck doesn’t work and you’re grazed in the left arm. Sam tackles you behind the stage, wings extending further and out bending around you.
“I’ve been shot!”
Sam can’t help the laugh that erupts from his throat because of your dramatic tone. “You’ve been grazed. The nano-tech has already rebuilt itself.”
“I don’t care, I hate being shot. It’s not nice. I’ve been hit.”
“Dramatic.”
“Y/N?” a harsh whisper sounds from under the stage tables. Watching your eyes bulge paints a mournful expression on Jackeline’s face. Julian is right beside her, pistol out but not shooting. You wonder if he knows you’re the invader.
“What in the hell are you still doing in here? I told you to run!”
“I’m sorry,” Jackeline squeals as bullets continue firing. “Everyone crowded. I was scared so I just got down.”
“Sam.”
Sam nods, already reading your mind. You had to find Steve; you couldn’t stay here. But there’s bullets still blazing in your direction and you find yourself hopping on your ass slightly each time a bullet connects to the ground beside you. The nano-tech does great in deflecting the lead but it really isn’t an invitation to get shot more times. The graze on your arm is already starting to burn.
“Sam is going to guide you both out of here, alright? Julian, cover her. Sam will cover you.”
There’s a war going on behind Julian’s eyes. His face does a thousand things at once as he hears your orders and the scream of guns combined, but he nods. He grips Jackeline’s waist and pulls her in close, but before they can begin crawling Jackeline turns back to you.
“Mátalo. Okay? Para nosotras dos.” She’s got this fierce determination in her eyes and her accent is as thick as can be.
“Okay.”
Sam relays his location over his mic and who he has behind his wings, but before he can safely guide the married couple down the stage, a new wave of men enter and open fire. Sam’s wings can only take so much, and even though they’re vibranium, his suit is not. Ducking behind the table and reloading your gun, you then lift your head over to view the scene. It’s a mess and you could surely take them down hand-to-hand if you were close enough, but you’re stranded with your batons and seven bullets and a world of automatic machinery pointed at you.
The storm of bullets pauses and every single person looks up to the sky. You thank the Gods for no rain today because the absence of a tarp allows for the quinjet to settle over the chaos and create a much needed distraction. Sam takes his leave, wings still wrapped around your sister, and you do the same. Running from behind the stage with batons lit up and tazed, you knock out the closest men. They fall in a strangle of electricity, vibrating and convulsing as each shock travels through their veins, ultimately paralyzing them for however long it turns out to be. This gains the attention of almost everyone else but before they can train their weapons back toward you, the back of the quinjet opens. There were a few tables still standing and it seemed the super soldier liked them better than the flat floor.
The glass shatters from the impact of Bucky’s weight, glasses of champagne and plates with unfinished meals folding onto the shards. He’s dressed in his tactical gear and a dark navy blue jacket without a trusty sleeve. Even if the arm was covered and his hair was long rather than the short length it was now, the men would certainly know who just fell from the sky. Almost immediately, the men scatter. Bucky takes them down one by one, shot after shot, and decides to use his knives for the ones who don’t run. It’s tricky, but he manages to lodge his knives in the base of the spines of those who later changed their minds.
He catches your eye after you manage to snap the neck of one of the runners. He tilts his head toward the left and watches you run to give Steve the backup he needs.
The mansion seems longer, wider, just generally bigger as you rush through the rooms and halls to get to Steve. The stuffed exotic animals follow your gaze and you can’t ignore them for long. There are men following you and men leaving Ernesto. You duck behind the standing polar bear and wait until the footsteps sound farther. Checking the amount of bullets in your gun, just in case, you finally flick the safety off and run.
There’s really only one thing of importance floating around the padded confines of your skull - get Steve out. Another thing you two had in common: both sacrificial idiots. But there wasn’t any way that you would give up the chance to save his life, as he would yours. Didn’t matter if the man you were protecting him from was your father or not. It hadn’t really settled, hadn’t truly digested, and you didn’t think it ever would. Because for years, this man was your father. He was the only man with that title. He wasn’t fatherly, far from it, but he had the label and that’s what you were going to focus on. It made no difference.
You push the office door open and start stuttering over your words. You want to ask what happened, why there’s so much blood, whose blood it is, but all that comes is a fractured series of what the hell’s? The last syllables push through with necessary force, hardly intelligible, but exhaled at last.
Ernesto is kneeling with his head hanging low and his hands behind his back, defeated. But it isn’t Steve who’s holding a gun to the back of his head - it’s Seda.
No, Steve is in the corner clutching at his right hip and gritting his teeth, a wild look on his face that tells you he too was blindsided. He’s hurt. He’s gasping and wincing at the slightest of movements and it ignites the flame you’ll use to burn this world to the ground. It’s splitting your fucking ribs apart.
“Don’t move!” Seda yells, gun still locked on Ernesto’s head but eyes on you. “Put the gun down.”
“Seda-”
“Put the fucking gun down!”
Biting your tongue, you flip the gun in your hand so it’s facing downward and move to gently place it on the table. Flicking your eyes to where Steve is, you get your answer as to why he’s been so easily shot. His massive body and shield are draped over Ramirez, who is also disarmed and pissed.
The self-righteous idiot, you think, he’s always gotta save the little guy.
“We’re gonna talk about this like the gods we are, yeah?”
Your face pulls awkwardly, “Seda, what is happening?”
“Don’t act like you’ve been on this asshole’s side the entire time now,” Seda bites, shoving the head of the gun harshly into the base of Ernesto’s neck. “Go on, tell him.”
“The shipment was intercepted,” you tell him. But you’re not just telling Seda, no, it’s the first Steve is hearing the good news and it allows him to feel a bit of relief. “You’ve both lost.”
“What have you done?” Ernesto screams, cheeks vibrating and face red with anger. He pays no mind to the gun and dares to glare at you. “Tell me!”
The top of your lip greets a run of tears and snot and it isn’t until then that you realize your hands are shaking mid-air and your throat is closing. “My mission.”
Blood or not, this man had the power to tie your thoughts into knots. He only had this power at precious moments and sadly, this was turning out to be one of them.
Seda bites out a laugh - it’s wet and bloody and scares you half to Hell. “I’m not the only one here who wants to kill you. But I’m going to beat her to it. She brought you back, I can’t have that.”
“No!” You curse inwardly at your involuntary hiccup. “We’re not here to kill you!”
“Oh?” Seda raises the gun at you. “What’s the endgame? Que mas necesitas?”
“I don’t need anything. The shipment is intercepted. The estate is on lockdown. Your routes are down. You’re cornered. It’s over.” You let your shoulders drag just a little. “For both of you.”
Surprisingly, Seda doesn’t pull the trigger when Ernesto charges toward you. He doesn’t pull it when Ernesto wraps his hands around your throat, either.
It’s instinct for you to hold out your hand to stop Steve from doing what he does best. He’s already halfway up and wincing with each push to help you, to rip Ernesto from your capable body, but Seda clicks the gun in his direction. Steve watches the way your arm extends, all five fingers spread in a hopeless plea of ‘don’t you sacrifice yourself for me, don’t you dare’.
“I have done nothing but help you! I put food on the table and clothes on your worthless back! You spent my money!” Ernesto’s eyes are practically bulging and his thumbs are almost crushing your windpipe, but his placement is off. You can still breathe air, no matter how bruising his grip may be. “This is how you treat me? I should have killed you all those years ago. I should have ripped you limb by limb until your cries bled!”
“Please,” you whimper out, hand still extended toward Steve and the other attempting to push Ernesto by the chest.
“Please? Please? Te voy a matar aquí, ahora, porque siempre te lo mereciste!”
You let out a strangled scream and are about to fight back. To save yourself and to end Steve’s suffering of watching you suffer, of watching his newfound hope dwindle right before him, when a gunshot erupts. Everyone screams, ears ringing, and there’s blood splattered all over your cheeks and neck, spots and leaks that trail down into the collar of your bodysuit. A heavy weight lands on you and knocks you back into the shelves. You hold Ernesto’s now limp body as best you can, knees locking painfully. There’s a massive hole where the top of his head should be and for the first time in years, you have to look away to keep from throwing up.
“Dejalo.”
You open and close your mouth but regret it when the taste of copper lands on your tongue. You follow Seda’s order and drop Ernesto to your feet, the thud sending a shiver up every single one of your vertebrae.
“Por qué hiciste eso?” you ask him, voice small. You choke on another hiccup.
“Don’t lie to me and say you weren’t going to do it yourself.”
You look over at Steve. His eyes are just as wide as yours and the same red specks, now turning brown, are tainting the flush pink skin of his beautiful neck.
“No,” you whisper. Steve hears your lost accent returning and it clutches at his heart.
“It was for the best.” Seda marches over to grab Ramirez by the tie, ripping him up from the ground and pointing the gun to his head. Steve lunges forward and Seda fires another bullet into the same hip.
“No!” Your throat is raw, scratched, and Steve hits the floor in another heap of muffled groans. Seda returns the aim on Ramirez.
“Imagine my surprise when I saw this one confronting Ernesto with your Captain. Imagine my fucking surprise when I tried to find all our passports, all our files, and nothing was here! Imagine my surprise when I saw that fucking idiot White being taken away by one of your agents!”
“Seda, please.” You were never much of a negotiator. It was always go in and let the others do the talking. Steve was the talker, he was the negotiator, but he was out of his element. He was always the enemy to Seda. He could never convince him otherwise.
“You’ve given me new purpose,” Seda grins and Ramirez is rather calm in his arms, like he accepts this. “Look at the crime scene. I’m using the gun Ramirez got from your team. My men are still loyal.”
He pauses and smiles with all teeth, blood in between most of them. “You shot Ernesto. You shot your Captain. You shot Omar.”
The frightened look on your face seems to fuel him even more. He continues, “We’ll never stop hunting you.”
“Try it,” Steve manages, standing up again and vaguely registering the flash of light to his right. His shield is no longer there. “You’ll have to kill me to win. You’ll have to kill all of us to win. Me, Y/N, Omar, Sam.” He breathes in deep but smiles. “The Winter Soldier.”
You swear Seda’s face pales but his grip around Ramirez’s waist only tightens. “Easy.”
“It won’t be,” you finally say, voice no longer wavering. There’s no plausible way Seda could win. But one thing is fact: whether they’re Seda’s or Ernesto’s men, they’ll never stop hunting you now. “You lost, Seda.”
All stills but there are shouts and the ring of gunshots still echoing near the lake.
“No,” Seda looks to you and to Ernesto’s body. “I didn’t.”
He aims the gun at you and fires.
Steve’s wail is grease to the fire in your soul and you accept whatever pain might hit. There’s space and then there isn’t. There’s emptiness and then there’s a space being filled by that horrid but lifesaving shield. There’s no one and then there’s Scott, blown up to his regular size with shield in hand and in front of you. The bullet bounces off the shield easily and hits the wall. You’re pushed into motion and in about two seconds, you’ve grabbed your gun again and do not hesitate to fire. The bullet hits Seda in his exposed chest and Ramirez fumbles to get the gun from him. Seda hits the floor and no one else follows.
The shot hits its target perfectly. Seda doesn’t so much as stutter.
“God,” Scott grumbles, eyes trying to focus on anything other than the pools of blood. “Was I late?”
You don’t pay any mind to Scott and rush over to Steve, where he’s barely holding himself up with his hip tilted on the edge of the desk. “Steve? Steve. Did he hit anything important?”
“Besides the fuckin’ meat of my stomach?”
There isn’t a way to see beneath the kevlar, but your fingers have a mind of their own as they try to dig in. “You know what I mean.”
Steve huffs a laugh and gently slaps your fingers away. “No, but motherfuck me Christ, I get shot way too much and it hurts no less.”
“Was the shield not enough? You had to sacrifice your one-hundred year old hips? Are you hit anywhere else?”
“I was caught off guard. What about you? I heard over the mics that you were shot and-”
“Are you two done?” Scott interrupts, clearing his throat awkwardly but half a mind still paying attention to his own mic.
It’s like you’re snapped back to reality. There’s not only Steve but others, alive and dead, and the smell of copper is all too familiar. “Sorry, I’m still in shock. I don’t really know how to proceed from here.”
“Y/N-” Scott tries, but you resume.
“We were supposed to arrest them. Just arrest them.”
“Okay, I think we should get you outta here,” Steve acts like he’s the one guiding you, but his weight is falling. You faintly register a phone ringing in the room but Steve, ever so persistent, is still acting like he is holding you up. He lunges forward with a sharp wince, and your hand immediately goes to his hip.
“Captain.”
Ramirez lowers his phone, call ended, and he wears an expression Steve recognizes immediately. It’s an expression that looks all too similar to Dugan’s when he relayed the news of enemy forces breaching their base. “...How many?”
“They’ve already sent the news to their men in Mexico.”
“Have they shut down the border?”
“It wouldn’t make a difference.”
“They don’t know two of their men are dead, so we can-“
Scott shakes his head, shield still in hand with specks of blood drying on the blue stripe. “They know White was arrested. That’s all they need. They’ll assume the rest, the worst.”
You sigh, “Seda was right.”
Scott literally pouts and he looks like he wants to wrap you in his arms. “No, don’t send yourself there.”
Steve, however, agrees with you. “If they know about White, then they know about Omar. Seda had time to tell his men.”
“Then we make sure he’s arrested and taken to a secure facility. We can keep an eye-” Scott starts, but you shut him down quickly.
“He’s wanted by the US government, not the Avengers. We can only transport him. We can’t guarantee his safety.”
Ramirez gives a small smile. “Mija, voy estar bien. No te preocupes.”
“I don’t know.”
Scott looks between the three of you. He places the shield against the wall near the door. He raises his eyebrows at Steve and looks to his wounds, but Steve waves him off. Reluctantly, Scott nods. “I’m gonna go check on Sam.”
There’s a pool of blood near your boots. You don’t want to know if it’s from the dead or from Steve.
“Doll, what are you thinking?”
He can’t hurt you anymore. “That I need you to go, too.”
Steve forgets about the pain in his hip and focuses solely on you. “What?”
“Go. If there’s one more thing you can do for me and my reckless family, go check on Sam.”
“You know I can’t leave you here alone with him.”
Your voice is steady and calm and it’s scaring Steve. It’s scaring him. “I promised myself that you wouldn’t be hurt by this mission. I stand by it.”
“I promise, Captain, I have no resentment. Whatever she does, I will follow,” Ramirez speaks, and Steve doesn’t even pay him a glance.
“I can’t just go.”
“Steve,” you interlock your fingers behind his neck. “Please. Listen to me.” He looks so confused, a million questions flying through his mind and almost escaping those sweet pink lips. Fierce, you whisper for only him. “He can’t hurt me anymore. He can’t hurt me anymore.”
He relishes the feeling of your soft hands behind his neck. They’re bloody, but yours. His neck is bloody, but you don’t seem to care. “Two minutes.”
“Two minutes,” you confirm.
He pulls from your hold and turns to leave. He picks up the shield. Before he leaves, he grips the doorway and looks over his shoulder, eyebrows pinched and jaw tense. “Two minutes, I swear to Almighty Christ, Y/N. I’m coming back for you.”
You smirk, the dim light from the office lamps creating nothing short of a sparkle in your eyes. “I don’t expect anything less, Rogers.”
Steve hesitates for a moment and then he walks away. Once his footsteps are no longer heard, you turn back to Ramirez. There’s a voice in your head telling you this was a bad idea and that you were an idiot to have your back turned on him for so long, but Ramirez is simply leaning on one of the chairs and grimacing at the bloody scene before him.
“Remember when Ernesto bought you that car when you were thirteen? And then another when your brother crashed it?”
Your nose pinches, “I don’t feel like reminiscing when he’s lying right there.”
“Do you remember what you told me when he bought you that second car? The sports one?”
You sigh. Ramirez was clearly going to continue speaking. “‘No lo quiero. Soy una niña. Get rid of it.’”
“And I did.”
“You did.”
He smiles, and for the first time you notice all the gray hair dusting his head, the most by his temples. There's a limp in his step too but you can’t remember if he had before or after the wedding. “I’ll get rid of this.”
“What?” you blink, unsure if you heard him right.
“I’m already a traitor. If I spin this, you can continue the mission. You can arrest even more of his men. They’ll come after me instead of you.”
It’s what he’s been trained to do. It’s what he’s done since he transported his first shipment. It’s what he’s done time and time again for Ernesto, for Seda, for some of his own careless men. He’s numb to it, just as you were a few days ago, but now you can’t stop thinking about the aftermath. Where would he put their bodies? Would they be buried here or back in Mexico? Would people really care if Ernesto was dead? They didn’t seem to care when he was snapped out of existence. But Ramirez has this sag in his shoulders that tells you he’s already calculating the best way to wrap the bodies and how deep he plans on sending them… or burning them. Burning them was always easier.
“They’ll come after your family. Your daughters.”
He shakes his head, “I’ve ensured their safety. They’re safe.”
Against your better judgement, you tap your mic discreetly and turn it off. “I can’t let you take one for the team.”
He chuckles, “I’m a part of your team? I’m an Avenger?”
You can’t help but laugh with him. It’s not a light moment, but it’s a moment nonetheless. “Sure, Omar. But we don’t trade lives.”
“I had this coming.”
“No, you didn’t. You don’t.” Straining your ears and shutting your eyes, you mumble a quick prayer in hope that this plan of yours worked. You pass Ramirez your own gun and speak low. “Go.”
He’s shocked and he stutters. “Que haces? Que esta pasando?”
“There’s no one on the east side right now. All the guests were moved to the front. It’s clear. But not for long.” Pushing him to the door, you make sure he’s not leaving any bloody footprints behind. He’s clear. “Go.”
“This will kill us both.”
“But it will give us a head start.”
“No puedo hacer eso! No quiero hacer eso.”
“Omar, they’re not going to protect you once you’re charged. I can’t protect you then. So I need you to go.” You reach into your suit and pluck that random Roman coin you had stolen just a few days earlier. It was a token of good luck but you didn’t need it anymore. You avoid looking at the carving for fear that the likeness to Steve will make you change your mind. You place it in Ramirez’s hand and clench his fist shut. “If there’s one thing you can do for my stupid, anti-hero mentality, go.”
“Que hago con esto?”
“No me llamas. But let me find this.”
He looks at you with pity. It’s so much pity and understanding for your situation that you have to look away. “I owe you my life.”
Eyesight now on the wall over his shoulder, you offer him a thin smile. “You wouldn’t be the first.”
He stumbles at first, unsure if this is really happening, and finally passes by. “Y/N.”
You figure it’d be pretty rude not to answer. You turn slowly. He continues, face somber and head shaking with so much pity. “The amount of Hell that’s coming...”
It’s funny, really. You shoot him that famous smile you were known for. It tricks him like it’s supposed to. “I’m already going to Hell for the lives I’ve taken and the crimes I’ve committed. But the journey to my fate has been worth it.”
The estate is being swept as quickly as possible. There are agents dressing wounds, reading rights, snapping photos, on the phone, etc. It’s organized chaos and there’s so much happening but it’s never impossible to catch Steve’s side profile in a crowd. His nose is pinched up and he’s dealing with his wounds himself. No one is even looking at him.
Speed walking to him, you hook your arm in his and turn him around. He’s too tall, and your toes strain as you rise on them, but you wrap your arms around his neck anyway. He returns the gesture and squeezes you as hard as you’re squeezing him. After a few seconds, he whispers quietly.
“Where’d Ramirez go?”
If he saw your eyes, he would know you were lying. You keep your arms in place. “He got away.”
He tries to push you away but fails. “Y/N.”
“He got away,” you repeat. Slowly, regretfully, you pull back. “We should go.”
There’s a horrible crease in between his eyebrows and he knows he’s caught you in a lie, but he also knows that if there was one thing he knew most about you, it was that you were just as stubborn as he was. Quick with wit, always asking to be punched, and stubborn to the point it made strangers worry. So he doesn’t question it, and turns with you in the direction of the jet. “Maribel has the safehouse set up. Montana.”
“You sure you can make it to the jet? Should I get Bucky to come with us?”
The quinjet is empty except for a few supplies, a medical bag, and Friday. There are only two seats and by the way Steve’s bending over to show his true pain, you’d be flying it. Once you land, you can fish out those bullets.
“No one else.” Steve bites. He can’t risk anyone else - hell, he doesn’t even want to risk you. “I’ll protect you.”
You board the jet and watch as the trees sway in rhythm to the movements of everyone doing their job. It’s dark, and you push the fact that you’re so horribly night blind to the back of your skull, and it’s starting to eat away at you that the mission didn’t really go as planned. No one seems to notice yet that you never brought them the two main players they were hoping for. It only makes you close the quinjet faster. You sit Steve down in one of the seats and kneel before him. “And I you.”
If anyone asked, Steve would lie and say he was tearing up because of the bullets piercing his skin in half. To protect and be protected.
“Let’s go.”
~
TAGLIST: @dumb-ass-writer @justab-eautifulmess @supraveng @mycosmicparadise @missnighttigress
#steve rogers x reader#reader x steve rogers#avengers x reader#reader x avengers#Steve Rogers#steve rogers fanfiction#to topple#a giant#by Moni#captainsimagines#mob fanfic#trigger warnings listed#enemies to lovers#friends to enemies to lovers#mini-series#part eight#chapter eight#marvel fanfiction#marvel masterlist
36 notes
·
View notes
Link
Modern Love
tackytiger @tackytigerfic
Chapters: 8/8
Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Characters: Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Lucius Malfoy, Narcissa Black Malfoy, Andromeda Black Tonks, Teddy Lupin
Additional Tags: Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World, Slow Burn, Oblivious Harry Potter, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, idiots to lovers, Politics, Ministry of Magic (Harry Potter), Songfic, Friendship, Found Family, Mentions of Cancer, References to Illness, Chemotherapy, references to canonical child abuse, references to canonical deaths, References to Depression, Drunkenness, Sad Harry Potter, Church Services, Hymns, Atheism, Kissing in Church, Religious Discussion, Light Angst, Boxing & Fisticuffs, Minor Injuries, Blood and Injury, Gay vicar, Original Character(s), Original Character Illness, Magical Theory (Harry Potter), Scars, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, Minor Draco Malfoy/ Sexy Tall Vicar, Draco Kisses Someone Briefly That’s All I Promise, Magic/Muggle Relations, Jealousy, Family Drama
Series: Part 1 of Modern Love
Summary:
Harry Potter, of all people, knows that life isn’t always fair. And no one gets to be happy all of the time. But surely there’s something more—something better—than a rubbish Ministry job, and a lonely old house, and that feeling that everyone out there is doing a better job of living than Harry is.
And it really doesn’t seem fair that Draco Malfoy is back in Harry’s life, all of a sudden, and even though he’s wandless, and living with Muggles, and making his mother cry with his lifestyle choices, he’s happy. So what’s he doing right, that Harry isn’t?
Because things don’t really change, do they? And if Harry can’t be happy, he’ll settle for a good night’s sleep, some posh antiques, and the opportunity to find out what Malfoy has been up to for all these years.
And that’s what starts it all.
Excerpt:
“Do you know,” he says conversationally, “when I was little, my mother used to wash my hair for me.”
“I did not know that,” Harry says gravely. “Though I can’t say I’m surprised. It was always particularly glossy-looking when we were at school.”
The disadvantage of Malfoy being so close, Harry discovers, is that it’s easy for him to find the softest bit of Harry’s tummy to pinch.
“I was actually quite a cosseted child. Spoiled rotten in fact. You may find that astonishing when you consider what a delight I was as a teenager. But my parents were busy people. My father ran the estate, and spent a lot of time in London, of course. So I didn’t see them much in the evenings. The nursery was in its own wing, naturally, and my nanny was very attentive.“
Harry snorts at that, but then thinks about tiny Draco with his face upturned toward Lucius, alight with worship, and feels a bit sad.
"So it was my favourite thing when I was small, having my mother give me a bath. It was always a very special treat. She’d sit on the floor with her sleeves rolled up and the front of her robes would get all wet and foamy from me splashing, but she never minded. And she’d keep spelling the water hot so I could stay in for as long as I wanted.”
Harry can’t imagine it. He vaguely remembers when he was tiny, standing shivering in the Dursleys’ avocado-coloured bath while Petunia sprayed him with tepid water from the shower head, scrubbed him with carbolic soap. And then after a while, she stopped even doing that. Harry used to sneak in and wash when no one noticed, used to pile his clothes in with the rest of the laundry, since he was the one doing it anyway. But he knows that as a child he was probably never all that clean. How did no one ever notice, he wonders, not for the first time. Why did no one care?
“And when I was tired and wanted to get out, she’d turn me around with my back to the edge—” Harry hears the snap of a bottle lid, smells something fresh and sharp, like the crush of sun-hot meadow grass (like Malfoy, he thinks) “—and she’d wash my hair for me.”
Then Malfoy’s hand is on Harry’s hair, and he starts to rub gentle, workmanlike circles from Harry’s crown down to his nape. He pulls his other hand back from around Harry’s body, though he stays close enough that Harry can still feel him against his back, and then he starts to work through Harry’s hair with both hands. His fingers are strong, raising bubbles at Harry’s temples, moving with pure intent through the curls that are flattened and lengthened by water, resting at his nape for a moment, gathering the curls in his fist then releasing them as he lathers, sluices, strokes.
It’s all Harry can do to keep quiet. Having Malfoy touch him like this—having anyone touch him like this—feels like too much. No one has ever laid hands on him like this, with such focus, like he’s the only thing that matters.
And he thinks of Narcissa crying at Andy’s kitchen table all those months ago, and how he had wondered why anyone would want to cry over Malfoy, of all people. How stupid he had been, how stupid and short-sighted, to think that Malfoy was unlovable just because Harry had him all neatly tidied away in his mind, relegated to uselessness by some weird little childhood rivalry.
Malfoy is probably the most lovable person Harry can think of, it turns out—he just hadn’t known it before. And in the end, it was just a case of Malfoy deciding to let Harry love him, that was all. Once Malfoy made that decision, there was nothing Harry could have done.
And now he knows how Narcissa feels, because his eyes are smarting with the sour threat of unshed tears. He wants to cry over arguing with Malfoy, who is one of his best friends and who he’s pretty sure he’d do anything for, and when did that even happen?
Malfoy’s hands are still in Harry’s hair, and the lather is sliding down Harry’s body to puddle at their feet, and he doesn’t think anything has ever felt quite so intimate as the insistent pressure of Malfoy’s fingers on the hidden curves of bone behind Harry’s ears. Malfoy keeps talking.
“She was so gentle with me,” he says. His voice is nearly a whisper, but his mouth is so close to Harry’s ear that every word carries over the water. “She used to say, ‘I’ll take care of you, sweetheart. I’ll take care of you.’”
He tugs his fingers through the lengths of Harry’s hair, lets the water rinse him clean, then lets his hands fall to Harry’s shoulders, his thumbs moving in restless circles over the notches of Harry’s spine.
“I’ll take care of you, sweetheart,” he says again, and it means something different this time—something for the now, rather than an echo of the past—and Harry hadn’t realised how long he’d been waiting to hear that. Usually, taking care of Harry is a duty. And some people hated him for it, and even the people who didn’t ended up getting hurt, dying.
Malfoy says it like it’s easy, like it’s a gift. Like it’s not a chore at all, just a simple pleasure.
Harry lets his head fall back onto Malfoy’s shoulder, so Malfoy’s face fits snug in the curve of Harry’s throat, and Malfoy’s arms drop down to fit around Harry’s waist again. Harry isn’t sure how long they stay there, but the water starts to run cool, and the creaking pipes make a resentful thumping sound when Harry fiddles with the dial to turn the heat up.
“When I came into the shower,” Malfoy murmurs, “I was going to kiss you.”
And Harry’s blood does that dizzying swoop that sometimes happens around Malfoy, only this time it all rushes straight to his wet naked cock, and he’s hard and getting harder at just the thought of a kiss, and he wonders distantly if instead of being mad about Malfoy, he’s just going a bit mad in general. It’s been a while since he’s been with anyone, after all. And it’s been even longer than that again since he’s been with someone he likes so much.
“Only I thought…” Malfoy’s low, amused voice is a torture device this close to his ear. “I thought if I kissed you, we would probably end up fucking, Which… you know. It might not be such a bad thing, to get it out of our systems. Right? And it would probably be really good.”
“Thanks,” Harry says distantly, absurdly.
“For you Potter, because it would be sex with me, please keep up. But then I got in here with you and I ended up talking about my fucking mother to you, telling you things I’ve never told anyone, and I could feel you getting all tense and weird about how those arsehole Muggles of yours never took care of you, let alone that prick Dumbledore who at least was supposed to be one of the good guys.”
He sighs again, moves his face away from where he’s still nuzzling Harry’s neck, and hooks his chin over Harry’s shoulder. His arms tighten around Harry’s middle.
“And I remembered that sex is easy. It’s so fucking easy, and because it would be good, it might feel like the right thing to do. But we’ve worked so hard at this, haven’t we? Yeah, I know it’s a horror to have to talk about it, but fuck it. We’re friends now, but it took so long to get here. Have you ever had to work so hard at something before?“
“Well. I mean, I did have to kill Voldemort when I was seventeen?”
“I’m including that, and I’m including your opening waltz at the Yule Ball because that was a study in despair for all concerned, including those of us who had to sit through it. Look, we took a while to get here, is what I’m saying. It probably felt like a terrible idea most of the time we were doing it. God, remember that first time at Fand’s? The first time my friends found out about you? Weasley’s birthday party? But then I didn’t even notice when the you part of it all started being something easy. And if we kiss, we have to figure the whole thing out again. So now I don’t know what to do. Because…” —the ghost of a hot breath against Harry’s ear, and the shivery feeling of Malfoy’s mouth moving close enough to touch Harry’s skin— “… I would really like to kiss you now, and I don’t know how to feel about that.”
( •ॢ◡-ॢ)-♡*✲ﾟ*｡⋆♡ོ
#Modern Love#tackytiger#Drarry#Drarry Fic Rec#Fic Rec#Drarry squad#Drarry Fanfiction#Harry Potter#Draco Malfoy#Post war#Enemies to friends to lovers#idiots to lovers#Draco in the muggle world#Hp fanfiction#Carey's bookmark fic recs#Carey's personal bookmarks#Such a fantastic fic#definitely read this one!#Long post#CW spoilers#Just a little bit of spoilers#It's Drarry so ya know they're gonna be together lol
49 notes
·
View notes
Text
Bedroom Hymns Part II
Pairing: Loki x Fem!Reader
Content/Warnings: Mentions of sex, second hand embarrassment, enemies-friends-lovers, swearing
If you wanna be on the tag list, please inbox me as I think most people on my old one probably don’t wanna be now I’ve been gone that long 😂🙈
Word Count: 1520
“Good morning Y/N.”
You steeled yourself to look up and meet his eyes, cheeks burning furiously as you met his eyes they held something you couldn’t quite place.
“Ah brother!” Thor boomed as you kept eye contact with Loki, “I was beginning to think you were off causing more mischief.”
Pulling his gaze away he stepped around you, leaving you standing frozen in the doorway. “I was sleeping.” You watched him as he pottered around the kitchen as if nothing had happened, placing bread in the toaster and pouring himself a cup of steaming coffee...you weren’t sure what you were expecting.
“Must have been some sleep, you’re usually an early riser.” Thor probed as Loki leant easily against the opposite counter.
“Oh it was.” He smirked into his coffee cup, his eyes flicking briefly over to yours as he took a sip.
With burning cheeks you wanted to say something, anything, in that moment. You realised that the issue with that however, would be that it would allude to your friends what you did, or rather who you did last night.
“Y/N shall I show you that dress I was telling you about?” Confused, you made to tell Jane that she hadn’t told you about a dress, grabbing your arm and walking away you followed after Jane until you reached her room.
“You slept with Loki?!” She shouted as your eyes widened and cheeks grew hot as you stuttered. “What? No. Loki? Psh.” Laughing a little you turned around and rearranged her sofa cushions.
You could feel her eyes on your back, “You did!” She gasped, “You slept with Loki!”
Face crumpling you spun around and clamped a hand over her mouth, “Shhhh! Shh!”
You moved your hand away as a smug grin worked its way onto her face. “Say it any louder and the whole bloody compound will hear you.” You muttered as you sank onto the sofa. Pulling your hair through your hands you sighed at your friend, “Go on.” You gestured.
“How was it? Did you enjoy it? Are you two a thing now then? How many times?” You watched as her face and arms became more and more animated as the questions continued. “How did you -”
“Okay!” You cut her off squeezing your eyes shut, “Okay.” Taking a deep breath in you shrugged. “I can’t really remember -”
“Bullshit!” Jane laughed as she sat on the coffee table opposite you.
“Fine!” You flopped backwards on the sofa and covered your face with your hands, “Fine! I can remember most of it and it was probably hands down the best sex I’ve had to date, happy?” Sitting up and rubbing your face you smiled, “Great talk Jane, do me a favour and don’t mention this to lover boy?”
Standing up and moving to the door she tugged you back, shoving you back onto the sofa. “Oh no, you’re not getting away that easily.”
Silence filled the room as you both sat lost in your own thoughts.
“Did you wrap it?” Eyes trained on the ceiling you were caught off guard. “What?”
“Did you wrap it?” She repeated as your mind whirled. Did you? You couldn’t remember. You didn’t see one this morning and there wasn’t a wrapper on the bedside table. How did he -
“Shit.” You mumbled, the memory of Loki definitely not pulling out played back in your head. “Shit!” You shouted sitting bolt upright searching the sofa for your phone.
“Y/N it’s fine I’m sure,”
Grabbing your phone you shouted a quick sorry to Jane as you ran out, one destination in mind. Running back to your room you stripped off and pulled on last nights jeans and a sweater before grabbing your purse and racing out the door.
Out the door and straight into Loki. Again.
“Shit Loki!” He looked down at you as you picked up your fallen purse.
“We've got to stop meeting like this.” He joked, was that nerves in his voice? “I’m sure the last time I saw those jeans they were on my bedroom floor.”
Straightening up you nodded along before walking away. “Hey,” he called, jogging quickly to catch up with you. “hey, wait.” Grabbing your wrist he pulled you to a stop, a questioning look on his face. “Am I so bad that you can’t even talk -”
“I-need-to-get-the-morning-after-pill.” Cutting him off embarrassed you watched his face morph into more confusion. Please don’t make me explain this Loki.
“I don’t follow, what’s the morning after pill?” Ignoring the way his eyebrows quirked inwards a little as he spoke, you frowned.
With a hammering heart you shrugged him off and walked away, “Use your imagination Loki.”
He was quick at your heels down the corridor as you took a right. “Will you just stop and -” You took a left, “Y/N for the love of -”
“Hey!” You squealed, feeling arms wrap around your waist as he picked you up. He dropped you in an alcove, once again with your back against the wall and him caging you in. “Will you please just explain.”
Groaning as you dragged your hands over your face for the 10th time that morning you looked up at him, ignoring your shaky voice. “It’s birth control.” He stared blankly. “To stop me from getting pregnant? After we did the two man tango?” His face seemed to drop as it sunk in. “There we go, now he realises what I mean.”
He squeezed his eyes shut. “Can you just not joke for just one minute -”
“Oh trust me, I’m so beyond joking right now.”
You stayed there for a beat or two, neither of you speaking or moving. You watched as he seemed to be fighting with himself on what to say, you always assumed that Loki would have been skilled with the ladies. A smooth talker through and through since he always seems to have an answer for everything, but now, stood here in an alcove in pyjamas, the Silvertongue was stuck for words.
You put an awkward hand on his arm, pulling is attention back to you. “I need to go to the pharmacy now.”
Nodding mutely, he stepped aside as you walked away.
“Y/N?” He called as you went to turn the corner. “I’m sorry.”
Frowning, you walked away.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Having to explain to the old man in the pharmacy that you needed the morning after pill was the most mortifying experience to date.
He’d started off by saying how much you looked like his granddaughter, how much of a good girl she is and how much of a good girl you must be because you’re so alike.
‘It’s that angelic face of yours’
He didn’t think you were so angelic when you asked for the morning after pill.
After questions about nearly everything save for the positions you two did, you finally managed to take that bloody pill.
“$55 for this,” You mumbled to yourself in your car as you looked at the tiny pill between your fingers. Popping it in your mouth and taking a drink of water, you swallowed quickly before chucking the bottle on your passenger seat.
Message from Jane: ‘Did you take it yet?’
“Thank God, yes.” You spoke out loud, typing away as another message came through.
‘We need to talk. Properly.’
You know you needed to. There was no point in avoiding it forever, it wouldn’t be too awkward right? You had already seen him after all. And it’s not like you’d been caught by him this morning when you were butt ass naked.
Almost all of your memories from the previous night had come back by this point, the hangover had worn off with the help of some painkillers and berocca. You leant against the steering wheel as the memories played out over and over.
“You know, you’re not so bad when you're not faking it.” You giggled, leaning back against the island. “Faking it?” He laughed from opposite you, his arms folded over his chest.
Placing your cocktail down behind you, you nodded. “Yeah you faker, with the whole ‘I’m better than all of you’ act you do. Like you don’t ever want to get close to anyone.”
“Oh? I never want to get close to anyone?”
Licking your lips you couldn’t help but notice how nice Loki looked in a white shirt. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows which exposed his toned arms, something you’d never noticed before. “Nah, otherwise you’d let someone in. Even if it was just Thor.”
Loki pushed away from the counter and stalked closer slowly, his eyes fixed on the ground. “And what if I wanted someone other than Thor?” Placing his hands either side of your hips, you watched as his eyes raked up your body, the strong smell of his Asgardian mead falling from his lips.
“Oh?” You breathed, your vision swimming as you tilted your head upwards.
“Oh.” He replied, closing the gap as your lips met.
Throwing your phone next to your bottle, you ignored the text and began driving home, your vision swimming once again.
#loki imagine#loki x reader#loki laufeyson#loki x oc#loki drabble#thor ragnarok imagine#thor ragnarok#loki laufeyson x you#loki laufeyson imagine#slow burn#friends to lovers#loki multi chap#multi chapter#multichapter
153 notes
·
View notes
Text
Hellenic Polytheism 101: Pillars of Hellenic Polytheism
What follow is a transcript of all 7 episodes of my podcast Hellenic Polytheism 101, where I discussed the pillars of Hellenic Polytheism. There are more episodes to follow, but I figured it would be nice to have a place where all 7 of the episodes discussing the pillars were together. The series started on August 23rd and ended on Nov 1st, released on a bi-weekly basis at 8 am every Sunday. In total, it’s 12 pages long, so I’m placing it under a Read More because it is very, very long. In each episode, there is a list of resources, and each one is linked for you in the original post (just click the tag transcripts under this post, and it’ll take you to the transcripts for every podcast episode) to do your own follow up research. I hope that people will find this useful.
Pillars of Hellenic Polytheism: Technically, the pillars were never actually a “thing”. Unlike then 10 commandments, the pillars were never taught as a set of rules that everyone knew by the name “Pillars of Hellenic Polytheism”, or any variation thereof. What modern day practitioners of Hellenic Polytheism call “The Pillars” were essentially religious and cultural practices that were taught by family and friends via every day practices. The pillars were an essential part of the culture of Ancient Greece, taught to them the same way customs like tipping, saying “bless you” at sneezing, and the now-common practice of wearing a mask everywhere are taught to us today. In recreating Hellenic Polytheism for the modern age, the Pillars grew out of a need for a set of guidelines to help us recreate a very old religion.
KHARIS
Welcome to today’s episode of Hellenic Polytheism 101, where we will be discussing the Pillar of Hellenic Polytheism, Kharis. Kharis is the reciprocity inherent in Hellenic Polytheism, a devotional act for the Theoi with hope a return favor in kind. It is also so much more than a transactional behavior. Its not bribery, its not a quid pro quo. At the same time, it is not the Christian act of praise worship.
One of the most common actions as a Hellenic polytheist is devotional acts. Whether it be offerings, prayers, hymns, or the increasingly common Devotional Actions (like beauty routines for Aphrodite, studying for Athena, singing for Apollo, housecleaning for Hestia, etc); we worship by engaging in acts of devotion. Oftentimes, that act of devotion is also accompanied by a request. This act of devotion is not a bribe. This is an offering, and a plea. The deity in question can respond or not, it won’t change the fact that we made the offering and it shouldn’t affect how we give in the future. We give without the expectation of getting something in return, as an act of worship and of thanks for everyday blessings. We give to just give, and a lot of the times, the deity or deities in question will respond. We then give in thanks, and then they give to us. We give in thanks, they give to us and so continues the circle of praise and of blessing. This circle of reciprocity is Kharis.
And yeah, I completely understand how confusing that would be, so let’s try using some more relatable examples. I know not everyone will be able to relate to these examples, so there will be a few of them, and hopefully one of them will resonate enough that the concept of Kharis will become less confusing.
The first example I will use is of a couple. Let’s call them Kate and Ashley. They are very much in love. Kate is out grocery shopping and next to the checkout line is a display of flower bouquets. One of them has roses and lilies, Ashley’s two favorite flowers. So Kate grabs that bouquet and places it in a vase on the table for Ashley to see when she gets home. Kate isn’t getting the flowers for a birthday, or anniversary, or holiday. These aren’t apology flowers. These aren’t get well soon flowers. They’re the best kind of flowers. These are “Just Because I Love You” flowers. That night at dinner, Kate asks Ashley to take the trash can to the curb before bed and Ashley does so. The flowers weren’t payment for the favor of taking the trash to the curb. The flowers and the request may have come at the same time, but one wasn’t required for the other. The next morning, Kate makes Ashley breakfast in bed and Ashley starts Kate’s car so it’s warmed up and defrosted before Kate goes to work. Both are acts of love that aren’t reliant on each other. Now, say this cycle continues constantly. They do each other favors, they get each other small tokens, for the rest of their relationship. No one but the most cynical would say that they have a transactional relationship. Their tokens aren’t required for favors, and their favors aren’t required for tokens. Their actions are out of devotion to each other. That’s an example of how Kharis works.
Another example, this time between family members. My sister, my mom, and I have lived together for a lot of our lives. As adults, we have lived together for the last 5 years. My mom has a tendency to not eat, and there have been times when I’ve sent her a pizza while she’s at work, because I know then that she will eat. The food is an act of love, a way to show I care. When she responds in kind by cooking dinner for the house the next day, it is not a payment for the pizza. It’s a continuation of the circle. When I was off work for 3 weeks, I cleaned the whole house, reorganized their closets to be easier to navigate, and cleaned out the cabinets and cupboards. Its another way I show I care. My sister usually watches the kids all summer long, and my mom and I will get her flowers, as a way to say thank you. Every day of our lives as a family, we show love by doing favors for each other and getting things for each other. The favors are not a payment for the things and the things are not a payment for the favors.
Hopefully that explains what Kharis is a little better, so we can go a little deeper into what it means as a worshipper, as someone who calls themselves a Hellenic Polytheist.
Now, remember how I said that the pillars weren’t exactly a thing, and instead were a modern invention to assist those who weren’t raised in Ancient Greece with learning the customs and cultural behaviors that were common knowledge in Ancient Greece? Let’s keep that in mind. On a historical note, Kharis required something real. Having faith and good thoughts was not a part of the reciprocal circle that is Kharis. It required something real, and in Ancient Greece that did not mean devotional acts like making playlists. It meant something solid, offerings, like libations, food, incense, coins, seashells, and other solid, real items. If you have an altar, think about what you leave on it. On mine, I’ve got an incense holder, coins left at the foot of the statue of Hermes, corn from the field next to us, a nature ball with acorns and leaves and flowers in it, devotional drawings, fortunes from fortune cookies also at the foot of Hermes’ statue, dried roses and lilies in an empty wine bottle, seashells, pins, a book of myths, and a plate and cup where bread, oil, seeds, fruit, wine, and other food offerings can be left. Some of these are permanent, some of them get removed as they go bad. When I light incense and pray, when I leave food, when I leave seashells or coins or fortunes, I’m engaging in my part of the reciprocal circle that is Kharis. That means, historically, offering something real that goes above and beyond simple faith.
Now, not everyone can do that. Not everyone has the ability to have an altar, and not everyone can afford to burn incense everyday, and not everyone has the time to bake bread everyday. Now, that doesn’t mean that someone who lacks those abilities, or doesn’t have that time can’t engage in the reciprocal relationship that is Kharis. Remember, a huge part of practicing Hellenic Polytheism is bringing ancient worship into the modern world. Devotional acts are something real. You can offer a devotional act to the Theoi as your part of the Kharis. I’ve seen some stunning works of art created in devotion to the Theoi. I’ve heard songs wrote in devotion. I’ve read some deeply moving poetry. And I’ve seen prayers, prayers written with such devotion and love that they could bring you tears. Those actions are fully capable of being classified as part of the circle that is Kharis.
Kharis is not just actions, its a relationship. Much like how Xenia was a way of life ingrained into the culture of Ancient Greece, so too was Kharis. All the rites and rituals, sacrifices, prayers, hymns, offerings, everything that was offered to the Theoi; it came from the understanding that a relationship had to be built and maintained. You couldn’t just say your prayers and call it a day, you lived with the Theoi, and dealt with them every single day. Everyday, you had the opportunity to build the relationship, and the expectation that you would was built into society. Indeed, the concept of Kharis was so built into society that offerings and sacrifices were a part of their stories. Examples can be seen in many myths, plays, and epic poems from them. The reciprocal nature of Kharis is shown in the Illiad, the Odyssey, and the writings of Aristotle.
I’ve learned that Kharis can be hard to understand, especially when you’ve grown up in a society where the love of a deity is just…..constantly there. Kharis is the idea that the love of our deities is not unconditional, and our love for them need not be unconditional as well. We don’t have that relationship with our gods that is bondless. We build a relationship with them, and they build one back. That, to me, is one of the appeals of Hellenic Polytheism. The relationship is a reciprocal one built up over time, using something that is definable, real, an offering that you can hold and see. So, we give, they give, we give, they give, until you’ve built a solid foundation for a solid relationship. That relationship, built out of Kharis, is what makes the worship we engage in so beautiful.
Thanks for listening to today’s discussion of Kharis. For today’s episode, I relied on the Illiad, the Odyssey, Kharis: Hellenic Polytheism Explored by Sarah Kate Istra Winter, The emotions of the Ancient Greeks: Studies in Aristotle and Classical Literature by David Konstan, and the Center for Hellenic Studies. You can always find a transcript of this and other episodes on my tumblr blog at goddessdoeswitchery.tumblr.com, as well as a link to the sources I used. Feel free to ask any questions, and don’t forget to tune in on September 6th, when we will be discussing Arete.
ARETE
Welcome to today’s episode of Hellenic Polytheism 101, where I will be discussing the pillar of Hellenic polytheism, Arete. For first time listeners, I want to mention that technically, the pillars were never actually a “thing”. Unlike then 10 commandments, the pillars were never taught as a set of rules that everyone knew by the name “Pillars of Hellenic Polytheism”, or any variation thereof. What modern day practitioners of Hellenic Polytheism call “The Pillars” were essentially religious and cultural practices that were taught by family and friends via every day life. The pillars were an essential part of the culture of Ancient Greece, taught to them the same way customs like tipping, saying “bless you” at sneezing, and the now-common practice of wearing a mask everywhere are taught to us today. In recreating Hellenic Polytheism for the modern age, the Pillars grew out of a need for a set of guidelines to help us recreate a very old religion. Now, on to Arete.
Arete is excellence. It’s living up to your fullest potential. It’s being the best you. Arete means doing your best to become your best and to live your best life. Arete’s end goal is a life fulfilled, and happy. Arete in Homer’s works is usually associated with the person who uses everything at their disposal to do the best work, the person who is most effective at achieving what they set out to achieve. Homer applies arete to Penelope as she fulfills her role as wife. Odysseus has arete when he uses his intelligence. In the Illiad, Achilles has arete by being the best warrior. In the Tenets of Solon, Arete is achieved by being honorable, honest, intelligent, and humble. He advised the following: Consider your honor, as a gentleman, of more weight than an oath; never speak falsely; pay attention to matters of importance; be not hasty in making friends and do not cast off those whom you have made; rule, after you have first learnt to submit to rule; advise not what is most agreeable, but what is best; make reason your guide; do not associate with the wicked; honor the gods; and respect your parents.
Arete is simply being the best version of you. One of the hardest things about Hellenic polytheism is taking those ancient concepts and applying them to the world we have now, one that doesn’t call for heroes like Achilles, and one where we can’t always take the time to better ourselves because work and life can get in the way. It is important to understand that arete doesn’t always mean being number one and winning whatever contest is at hand. One thing that should be understood is that a person can be their best, give it everything they’ve got, and still lose. There will be people who are objectively better at doing what you do than you are. Someone will get a higher grade. Someone else will get the role or solo or part you’re trying out for sometimes. Someone else can have a better idea than you. Someone else will write better, or draw better, or be better than you in whatever you are trying to achieve.
The first step of applying the concept of arete to our everyday lives is to accept that your best and the best of someone else are very different things. You are you and you can only do your own best. Now that does mean that you have to apply yourself. Doing the barest minimum to get by is not a way to achieve arete. Arete means taking control of, and responsibility for, your own life. It means challenging yourself everyday to become better than you are.
Take a moment and think about things you’ve always wanted to do. A language you wanted to learn. A hobby you wanted to pick up. A project that you’ve put to the side. Something you’ve always wanted to learn about. Arete means taking the time to do that. If you have a goal, arete means doing the work to reach it. Then it means creating another goal. Plato said that arete is the ideal form of a thing, something that you are always trying to achieve. You achieve arete by always trying to reach for it, always trying to be better. This means that you won’t always be at the top of your game. You will stumble. You will fail. You will make mistakes. Arete doesn’t mean you will never be wrong, you will never fail, and you will always be perfect. It is not expected of us to be perfect all the time. What is expected is that we will try. When we fail, we learn from that failure and try again.
Now, if you’re anything like me, you’ve probably got a busy life. Between work and taking care of a household, I rarely get time to do anything for me. It is hard to take that time that I want to use to watch Netflix, or pop on a movie, or scroll online doing nothing of any real substance and put it towards something that is actual work. But I try. I read, every day. I do research for this podcast and my own growth. I do the laundry. I clean the house. I spend time with my kids, as a parent, teaching them and guiding them and playing with them. I write. I exercise. I plan and cook meals that are good for us and aren’t the easiest options. I pray. I always strive to be better at work. I’ve given my boss ideas that we’ve implemented nationwide that have made our division look good. I reach for arete every day, by understanding that it is something that I must always strive for. By always striving for it, I hope to achieve it.
One of the things that made this episode a little bit more difficult to write than the previous ones is that arete is subjective. Xenia is a set of rules. Kharis is a reciprocal circle. But arete isn’t something that can simply be memorized and put into practice as we come across situations that could use it, like xenia is. Arete is not something built into our everyday worship, the way Kharis is. Arete is something that has to be strived for every day. It is something that is work. It takes focus. It takes energy. It takes commitment. Only you can know if you’re doing your best and so no one else can come up to you and say “You haven’t achieved arete, you’ve broken the rules, you need to do better next time.” It is up to you and you alone to strive for arete. No one can coach you one it. No one can teach it to you. So, this episode will be a lot shorter than the others, because I can’t teach you arete. I can only explain what it is, explain how it has been seen historically, and let you do he work from there. Now it’s time for you to do the work. Good luck.
Thank you for listening to today’s episode of Hellenic Polytheism 101, where we discussed Arete, one of the pillars of Hellenic polytheism. Today, I relied on the Odyssey, the Illiad, the Center for Hellenic Studies, Plato’s Allegory of the Cave, Baring the Aegis, wikipedia’s page on Arete, and The Greek Way by Edith Hamilton. A transcript of this episode and all others can be found on my tumblr, goddessdoeswitchery.tumblr.com under the tag “transcripts”. There you will also find links to the sources used today to more research on your own. You can always ask me any questions there as well. Tune in on September 20th for the next episode, which will be about the next pillar of Hellenic polytheism, Sophia.
SOPHIA
Hello, and welcome to today’s episode of Hellenic Polytheism 101, where we will be discussing one of the pillars of Hellenic Polytheism: Sophia. Sophia is wisdom, cleverness, and skill. The concept has changed and has grown over time to be more applied to wisdom and the pursuit of wisdom, especially by Plato. It might be easier to recognize Sophia in the way it was applied to Socrates and Plato and Pythagoras, as part of the term “philosophia” or, philosophy, the love of wisdom. Now, remember how I’ve said in my other podcasts about the Pillars of Hellenic polytheism being more of a way of life than a literal set of rules? Here’s another part where that really comes through. In Greek culture, wisdom and the pursuit of it were incredibly important, so much so that it was the Ancient Greeks that were considered to be the founders of philosophy; and since Greek culture and Greek religion were so intertwined with each other, we are left asking, how can we, as modern day Hellenic polytheists, apply the concept of Sophia to our everyday lives?
One thing we can be sure of is that a person doesn’t need to be a world class philosopher like Plato to be a Hellenic polytheist. What we should be aiming for is the ever-present pursuit of wisdom. We should always be trying to learn, everyday. It doesn’t have to be a huge undertaking. Read a book. Watch a documentary. Read a scholarly article. Listen to a podcast. And if you come across something you don’t quite understand, research it. One of the best ways to pursue wisdom is to fight ignorance. There will be many times in your life when you are faced with something you don’t have any experience with, something you know nothing about. Living with the pillar Sophia means taking the time to learn and battling your own ignorance. In today’s world, I know how hard that can be. You can’t do a google search without their predictive algorithm doing some serious confirmation bias. Living with Sophia means taking the time, in pursuit of wisdom, to do it right.
Now, I love learning. I’m one of those people who, if given an unlimited supply of money and an eternity, I would be a student forever. But Sophia doesn’t necessarily mean learning in a classroom environment. Think about your last week. Did you come across new information? Did you read an online article that broadened your world view? Did you learn something new? Did you gain a deeper understanding of something you thought you already understood? Did you discover something that mostly everyone you knew was aware of, even something as simple as the fact that if you roll up the deodorant, you can take the plastic cover off without having to struggle with it? If so, outstanding! You battled ignorance in some small way this week.
Battling ignorance and pursuing wisdom also means battling the ignorance of others. If you’re hearing and listening to this, or reading the transcript, then it means that you’ve entered the online world in some way. That means you’ve also come across ignorant people, who seemed perfectly gleeful to remain that way. It also means you’ve come across people who were ignorant, simply because they didn’t know any better, and they needed someone to point the way. Anecdotal story break time: I’ve got a cousin who is a senior in high school. She plays a lot of different instruments and she’s very, very good. She has practiced, a lot, and has put some serious work into it. I’ve also got an uncle who is on his 4th or 5th black belt. He has put some serious effort and a couple decades worth of time into varying forms of Martial Arts. My sister’s friend is an artist, and an incredible one. She has more followers on her Instagram and tumblr and devian art pages than I care to count, and she’s graduating college as a graphic designer with job offers from some very big names. All 3 of these people are outstanding in their field. Now, to get to the why I brought them up: All 3 of them have told me, in some way, that once they reached a certain point in their skill level, the best way to get better was to start teaching. As they taught others, their own skill increased. I believe the same applies to everyone. So, one of the ways you can apply Sophia to your life is to teach those who don’t know any better. You will come across people who are resistant to fixing their ignorance but more often than not, people are willing to learn. That means you can take the time to teach them.
Sophia also means cleverness and skill. In fact Homer applies to the term with the meaning “skillful in handicraft and in arts” towards both Athena and Hephaestus. Now, I would never suggest that we, as Hellenic polytheists, can be as skillful the Theoi in any way. We should all know why that’s a bad idea. However, we can become skilled in our own handicrafts and arts. That is another way to practice Sophia. Now, I know not all of us have something we can reasonably point to and say “That’s an art”. There are artists and musicians and weavers and seamstresses and poets among us, to be sure. But we also have writers. We have readers. We have spellcrafters. We have engineers. We have software coders. We have jewelers. We have homemakers. Sophia means cleverness and skill. That means there are many, many ways you can apply it to your daily life. Everyone has something they can do with skill. Sophia means practicing that skill and utilizing it.
To me, Sophia is one of the easiest pillars of Hellenic polytheism to bring into my every day life. Pursuing wisdom, battling ignorance, practicing a skill, these are all things that we are doing every day. And Sophia is as simple as that. Thank you for listening to today’s episode of Hellenic Polytheism, where we discussed the pillar Sophia. Today, I relied on the notes from one of my college courses, Intro to Philosophy, and the Homeric Hymns. As always, you can find links to the, well, one source that is linkable this time around, on my tumblr page at goddessdoeswitchery.tumblr.com, where I am also always free for discussions and questions. Coming on October 4th, the next pillar Sophrosune. I look forward to seeing you all then.
SOPHROSUNE
Hello and welcome to today’s episode of Hellenic Polytheism 101, where we will be moving onto to the next pillar of Hellenic Polytheism: Sophrosyne, which is, essentially, moderation, prudence, self-control, self-discipline, or temperance based upon thorough self-examination. Since we are coming up on a holiday season in the US, this seems like the perfect time to focus on Sophrosyne, and to remember it’s opposite, hubris, and how to avoid it. It is also important to remember that even in Ancient Greece, it was well understood that Sophrosyne could be taken too far, something we also understand still today.
“Earth shaker, you would not consider me sophrosyne if I were to fight with you for the sake of wretched mortals” Apollo says this to Poseidon in the Illiad, as Homer brings us a look at what Sophrosyne would mean to the same deity who brings us the Delphic Maxims, such as know know thyself, know by learning, exercise prudence, praise virtue, nothing in excess, know who is the judge, keep secret what should be kept secret, take sensible risks, be well behaved, be self disciplined, be sensible. This is not the only example in Homer’s work of Sophrosyne. In fact, there are a really a lot of them. I would definitely suggest you read both of them and look closely for examples of sophrosyne. Homer was very sensitive to the need for Sophrosyne in society and in an individual. On an individual level, sophrosyne prevented people form getting into serious trouble, both with themselves and on a religious level. After all, someone exercising sophrosyne would be very unlikely to become a spider after being cursed by Athena, right? On a modern level, someone exercising sophrosyne is less likely to face personal problems as well. You won’t wind up drinking to excess and getting into a car accident. You won’t find yourself challenging someone better than you to a fight. You won’t find yourself taking on more tasks than you can manage. You won’t find yourself spending more money than you can spare on things you don’t need. By exercising sophrosyne you can avoid a lot of trouble. On a societal level, we should try to exercise that same self control and temperance. After all, there is no reason for any country to spend more than 56 countries combined on defense spending. There is no reason for a city to cut taxes and not invest in repairing roads or assisting those who need it the most. There is no reason for a group of friends to go out in the middle of a pandemic to a bar just to have a good time. We can bring the ideals of sophrosyne to our own lives and encourage others to do the same, through voting and talking to others and being an example.
When we do not practice sophrosyne, we tend to fall victim to hubris. For someone who has spent any sort of time practicing Hellenic polytheism, we should all know exactly how bad hubris is. We’ve all probably seen it or heard it online. Recently, there was a lot of talk of witches online cursing the moon, specifically aimed at making Artemis or Apollo angry. Now, in the end, it was revealed to be some big hoax, a lie they told to make other witches start saying things about how they could tell someone had hexed the moon because their own spells weren’t as effective. Then the original hexers could say “Ha! We told you witch craft and the gods weren’t real, see? These guys said they noticed a change but we didn’t do anything, so clearly they must be faking!” The whole ordeal was a perfect example of what could happen if people fell victim to hubris, and many more sensible folks online pointed out that it was hubris, believing anyone could have an affect on a deity by cursing the moon. We’ve all seen other examples of hubris. Hellenic polytheists who say that Artemis would never let a man worship her, or a straight woman, or a woman who has had sex with a man. People who gatekeep, projecting their personal bigotry onto the Theoi. We’ve all come across. Hopefully, most have us have rolled our eyes and ignored it.
Even in mythology, hubris is painted to be among the worst things a person can be. Niobe lost her sons and daughters to Artemis and Apollo after she bragged to Leto that she was better than Leto for having more children. Arachne, turned into a spider for daring to compare herself to Athena. Antigone’s father, who lost his son and his wife for believing that his life was higher than the law of the gods. Oedipus refuses to accept his own fate and wound up falling victim to it because of his hubris. Ajax, believing he was entitled to the armor of Achilles and being driven mad and eventually killing himself. Icarus, flying to close to the sun, too prideful to listen to his father’s warnings. Orestes taking it upon himself to avenge his father by killing his mother and being driven mad. Greek stories are teeming with examples of people who have fallen victim to hubris. In many of these stories, sophrosyne is pointed to as a virtue to aspire to strictly to avoid it’s opposite, hubris.
And yet, we can also take sophrosyne too far. For example, in the Bacchae, Pentheus holds himself as a champion of sophrosyne, as fails to understand that by being overly self-controlled and self-discplined and holding himself up as the model of sophrosyne, he ignores the moderation and temperance part. He tried to force everyone listen to him, to oppose the Bacchic rites, and, in the end, his obsession with only a part of sophrosyne causes his own death. The Ancient Greeks understood that there was such a thing as being too controlled. There was such a thing as a fatal exaggeration of one side of the many-sided virtue of sophrosyne. Thus one of the biggest keys to sophrosyne is moderation. Nothing in excess says one of the Delphic Maxims, not even self-control and self-discipline.
As we go through this holiday there a lot of ways you can apply sophrosyne to your life. One of the dangers of the holidays is becoming over-extended. For example, I have a large family. Like…..over 100 people kind of large. So large that we could probably fill a high school basketball stadium kind of large. It’s also got a lot of different branches. Mom’s side, which has dad and mom in separate houses. My ex-stepdad, whose family we still see. My dad and his family. My dad’s ex wife and her daughter and her kids, who I’m also close to. My girlfriend. My kids’ dad and his family. I always joke that we’ve got our own little 12 days of Christmas skit between grandpa jones, grandpa long, Uncle Cody, Uncle Andrew, my dad, his ex wife’s house, my girlfriend, the kids’ dad, his family, and we’ve still got to squeeze out time for our own holiday celebration too. Factor in the fact that, like most customer service based companies in the US, my job doesn’t allow us to take more than half of Christmas Eve and all of Christmas day off. Sure, we’ve got the Sunday before and after when I’m off as well, but that’s barely 3 days for 4 states and 10 places to visit. Factor in the budget for all those places and all those gifts, not to mention the drama that comes around when we decide where we’re having Thanksgiving at and you can understand why I bring up being overextended as a danger of the holiday season. Now, maybe that isn’t a problem for you. Maybe you become over extended by volunteering to work too many hours to help your more Christian friends have time off. Maybe you offer to do too much during Thanksgiving and wind up having to wake up at 5 am to get started on a meal that you can’t believe you promised to cook. Maybe during Halloween, you spend too much time focused on parties or trick-or-treating and realize that you would have had a much better time sitting at home, watching Halloweentown with a bowl of candy and some friends. Either way, we all tend to push ourselves too hard, especially once the holidays roll around and we start wanting to do everything so we can get every experience. We need to remember sophrosyne during this time. Exercise self-control and stay home when it’s something you want to do. Exercise self-discipline and avoid getting gifts when you can’t afford it, there is no shame in saying “Look, finances are strapped and I can’t manage more than X”. Exercise moderation and remember that you can’t actually do everything. Be prudent and accept the reality of whatever situation you are facing. Practice sophrosyne.
Thank you for listening to today’s episode of Hellenic Polytheism 101 where we discussed another one of the Pillars of Hellenic polytheism, Sophrosyne. Today, I relied on the Odyssey, The Illiad, Sophrosyne: Self Knowledge and Self-Restraint in Greek Literature by Helen North, A Period of Opposition to Sophrosyne In Greek Thought also by Helen North, Mythology of the Greeks by George Grote, and the Wikipedia entry for Sophrosyne. Remember, all links to the resources I used can be found on my tumblr at goddessdoeswitchery.tumblr.com, along with a transcript of today’s episode under the tag “Transcripts”. I look forward to speaking with you all again on October 18th, where we will be discussing Eusebia.
EUSEBIA
Hello and welcome to today’s episode of Hellenic Polytheism 101, where we will be discussing, Eusebia, or reverence and duty towards the gods. Now, keep in mind that Eusebia was so revered, so vital to the worship and religion of the ancient greeks that she became a personified spirit, who was married to Nomos, the Law, and had a child, Dike. This already sets aside this particular pillar from the others. As a being, Eusebia was the personified spirit of piety, loyalty, duty and filial respect. However, we are not yet at the point for deities or personifications, so mostly all of today will be focused on talking about what Eusebia is as a concept and how we can practice it as a modern worshipper. Now, so far we’ve talked a lot about our relationships with the many deities we worship. We’ve talked about offerings and Kharis, we’ve talked about the humility we should approach them with, and we’ve talked about the respect we should bring with us whenever we approach them. All of that goes into Eusebia.
Eusebia is about reverence towards the Theoi. That reverence is where, I’ve noticed, a lot of modern worshippers tend to falter. There is nothing wrong with making a joke about some of the Theoi. I don’t know if all of you have heard the one about Hermes being the only god to pay his worshippers for their worship. It’s fun to joke about that. I always like using Hermes as an example of a deity that a lot of worshippers are fairly causal with. He is, in my experience, one of the most easy going deities. He’s the type of god that puts a train on every track between your home and work on the only morning you’re running late for the last 6 months, just to get a message to you. He’s a prankster, a jokester….and still deserves the same degree of reverence as every other deity. Just because you can laugh with him doesn’t mean he is not revered by you. After all, he is also the shepherd of the dead, the one who guides their souls. He is the god of travel, of languages, of luck, of communication, and like 1000 other things.
It is not reverent to attempt to speak for the Theoi. It is not reverent to make up bullshit facts about a specific goddess to say that she would be on your side of an online discourse. It is not reverent to leave a deity out of your worship because you don’t like how one interpretation of one of the myths portray the deity. It is not reverent to drag the Theoi down to the level of an online personality. They are gods and goddesses and they deserve to revered as such. By virtue of what they are, they deserve the worship, offerings, and the rituals that we engage in. Impiety was frowned upon by the ancient greeks and should continue to be frowned upon today. It has never been acceptable to treat the Theoi like accessories, to be tried on and discarded whenever you don’t have enough time to engage with them. You find time, you make time, in whatever you can. And it doesn’t have to be a big thing. A prayer. A lit candle. Some incense. A quick offering. The Theoi deserve worship.
But, just like with some of the other pillars, the people of ancient Greece knew that there was such a thing as being too pious. There were people who spent too much time praying, too much time fearing the Theoi, and were constantly sure they had something to offend the Theoi and so spent even more time praying and offering and attending to the temples. This excessive fear, or deisidaimonia, was a sign of taking Eusebia too far. It was understood that a person should be mindful of the Theoi, and take an appropriate amount of time and give the appropriate offerings. This also included attending and participating in the appropriate rituals and festivals.
Eusebia also means understanding why we do the things we do. Why do we give these particular offerings? Why are offerings for Chthonic and Ouranic deities different? What are the reasons behind certain rituals? What are the reasons behind traditional offerings? Eusebia means understanding these things, having the answers to these questions and not just blindly following a traditional path. It’s important to understand the reason why. And so, Eusebia means taking the time to research your beliefs. If you have questions, put in the work to answer them. This can also definitely include asking others. We are a community. So, if you have questions, reach out. Ask people, “Why are coins such a common offering to Hermes?” Find a book in the library about the life of people of ancient Greece. Put in the effort to research and create your own calendar with your own rituals and holidays. Take the time to understand why, to research your deities and understand what they might ask of you, and why they would ask it. All too often, I’ve seen popular bloggers and popular authors in the community asked the same question a 100 times because the idea of taking the time to do your own research is apparently distasteful to some people.
It is important to remember, as a part of Eusebia, that the Theoi are not room mates or friends or accessories. They are deities. They are gods and goddesses and titans and by virtue of what they are, they deserve our devotion. I’ve always seen Hellenic polytheism as a simpler path than Christianity. We do not have a single, omniscient, all powerful god that offers a set of rules that must be followed or else we will suffer for all eternity. That’s not how Hellenic polytheism works. We worship our gods in our own way, at our own pace. Hellenic polytheism is a very personable religion. Everything about it, from hymns to holidays to rituals to altars to offerings, everything is unique to each individual practitioner. But, on the flip side, that means that we don’t have a holy book to draw from. That means that we don’t have a set of authority figures we have to listen to. We are responsible for our own piety. We are responsible for our own worship. We are responsible for our own research. We are responsible for our own devoutness. We are responsible for ourselves.
And that’s what Eusebia is, that’s why it is gets set up as a pillar of Hellenic polytheism. It is a vital component of our religious practice, to take the time to not only worship, but to know how and why we worship the way we do. It is necessary to show the Theoi the respect they are due, by virtue of their very being. It is necessary to speak about them with reverence, to be loyal, to not use them as talking points or spell ingredients. It is necessary to take the time, to do the research, to understand the whys, to understand the rituals we take part in when we light incense and offer up a prayer and use an epithet and recite a Homeric hymn. This isn’t a religion where we can just go through the motions. We have to put the proper amount of reverence into our actions. We have to be devout, and loyal, and have a healthy amount of respect and fear towards these beings who we worship and who take the time to guide us on our way. It is necessary to be humble, to understand that what we are doing is worshipping the Theoi. I don’t know about anyone else, but when I pray, when I let incense or a candle or wrap my hands around a set of prayer beads, when I take that time…..I’ve never felt so at peace. That feeling, that love and devotion and serenity…..that’s the feeling of Eusebia. Next time you get to that point, when you feel that, take the time to focus on that feeling and harness it. Meditate on it. That’s what you should draw on when you think of Eusebia and how to interact with the Theoi, those beings that we worship as Hellenic polytheists.
Thank you for listening to today’s episode of Hellenic Polytheism 101, where we discussed Eusebia. For my sources today, I used the book Greek Religion by Walter Burkett, found on the Internet Archive. I also used The Greek Way by Edith Hamilton. I used Baring the Aegis’ and Elanion’s posting on Eusebia as well. Remember, you can find links to the sources, as well as a transcript of today’s episode, on my tumblr at goddessdoeswitchery.tumblr.com. You can also always reach me there as well with any questions. Don’t forget to tune in to the next episode, on November 1st, which will be the last one discussing the pillars the Hellenic polytheism. I will be discussing the final pillar, hagneia. I look forward to seeing you all then!
HAGNEIA
Hello and welcome to today’s episode of Hellenic polytheism 101 where we will be discussing the final pillar, Hangeia. Now, anyone who is able to look at this word might note it bears a striking similarity to the word “hygienic” and then, you would be on to something. Hagneia is more of a ritual purity, an avoidance of miasma and cleansing oneself before you go before the Theoi, before you engage in rituals. Now, does this mean you can’t shoot off a quick prayer before you wash your hands while gardening? No, of course not, thus the “ritual” part of the “ritual purity”. Now, there is actually a lot of disagreement regarding miasma and cleansing in the Hellenic polytheism community. There are those that claim that for the most part, the average person won’t be contaminated with miasma throughout the course of an average life. There are those that believe that we collect miasma throughout the course of our everyday life. There are those that believe that we must fully cleanse ourselves before an offering. There are those that believe that a simple washing of the hands will suffice. There are those that believe the cleansing must be done with khernips, or lustral water. There are those that believe the cleansing can be done with any clean water. And there are those believe any variation of those beliefs combined. Remember one of the best part of Hellenic polytheism is that it is so personable. Therefore, most of this is going to be looking at it from how I work. As always, I urge you to do your own research on the matter.
Now, the first thing to keep in mind is that Hagneia was used to mostly mean ritually pure, spiritually pure, and was understood to mean whether or not someone was fit to approach the gods. There were things you could come into contact with that would create a buildup of miasma and it was best to avoid those things when you could. However, you can’t always do so. Some of those things are death in the family, giving birth, illness (not chronic illness, but like the flu), are all examples of something that can be considered miasmic. The real question we face today is how to cleanse that miasma? Most of the time, the biggest cure for miasma was time. There was a period of time you had to wait to no longer be considered miasmic after having given birth, or after losing a loved one. You were supposed to wait until after an illness has passed. And, you were supposed to cleanse yourself. Mostly that meant washing up, getting physically clean. For today, that means wash your hands, wash your face, take a shower or a bath (especially if you’d been sick, take a shower and change into clean clothes). So that part is really simple.
Now, historically, there was also another thing that rendered you miasmic. It very likely won’t apply to anyone hearing this or reading the transcript, but it is an issue that is covered in pretty much every source I read regarding miasma and Hagneia so I am going to mention it as well. Murdering someone was very much a cause of miasma. There were very special midnight rituals one was supposed to engage in in order to cleanse oneself of the miasma caused by murder. I would say that in today’s society that if you commit murder, you’re likely to get caught and so won’t have much use of said ritual, but that’s statistically unlikely so I’m just gonna say, don’t commit murder and you won’t have to worry about what that midnight ritual is. Mostly I just figured the fact that it’s mentioned so often is an interesting historical side note.
Time to move on the things that are more likely to affect you, such as how to practice Hagneia as a modern worshipper. While I would love it if the average Hellenic polytheist could go to a temple and worship with others on a regular basis, the fact is that most of us worship and prayer and do rituals on our own, or with a very tight knit group in a personal, private space. I myself am mostly a solitary practitioner. Sure, I have my mom and my sister and my kids, and I have a community of people online; but in my daily practice, it’s me, by myself doing the offering and praying and general worshipping. That’s probably true of most of you all as well. So how does a mostly solitary practitioner who isn’t going attending a ritual hosted by or attended by a large amount of people deal with the community based concepts like miasma and Hagneia? Well, in my case it means that I tend to put holiday rituals and offerings on hold when I would be considered miasmic. It means that when a close family member died, I prayed at the funeral for her safe passage and otherwise avoided rituals for a month. It means that when I gave birth to my kids, rituals and offerings were on hold for 10 days, which was about how long it took for me to even be in the mindset to get back to daily worship and prayers. It means that when I am sick, I wait until I am recovered to engage in practice and worship. When I got the flu a few years back, (three times that year, which is what I get for not getting the flu shot, I’m telling you, I’ll never miss it again and if you haven’t yet gotten your flu shot this year, please do) I stayed in bed and rested until I was better. I may have said a few informal prayers, like something along the lines of “please let this stop, I feel like I’m dying here”, but I waited until I was well. I then cleaned my bed and my room and myself and my clothes and changed my toothbrush and brushed my teeth with the clean toothbrush and got clean again before I went back to a regular worship schedule. So, for about 5 weeks that winter, I didn’t do very much in the way or practicing. And that’s okay. That’s what practicing Hagneia and avoiding bringing miasma to the Theoi is.
So, as a modern worshipper, the best way to practice Hagneia is to stay clean. Cleanse yourself of miasma as you come across it, make sure that you are fit to approach the Theoi before you do so. It’s a very simple pillar to follow because for the most, most of us already do. The next time you feel guilty about not being able to worship because you’re sick, or have a death in the family, or a newborn at home, remember that the break you’re taking is required, and important. It’ll be okay. The Theoi will understand.
Thank you for listening to today’s episode of Hellenic Polytheism 101. This is the last one that will be spent discussing the Pillars of Hellenic Polytheism. Remember, you can always find a transcript of the podcast on my blog at goddessdoeswitchery.tumblr.com, as well as a link to the sources I used today, which were: Inner Purity and Pollution by Andrej Petrov; Shame and Purity in Euripides' Hippolytus by Charles Segal; Shame in Ancient Greece by David Konstan, The Pillars of Hellenismos and What is and Is Not Miasmic by BaringTheAegis; and finally, A Beginner’s Guide to Hellenismos by Timothy Jay Alexander. You can also always ask me any questions at any time there as well. Finally, I will also have on there a complete transcript of all 7 episodes about the Pillars in a single post as well. Right now, we’re looking at 12 pages, and 8637 words, so it’ll be a very long post, set under a read more. The post will contain links to all the sources used for these last 7 episodes as well, so please fell free to check it out and continue your own research. For the next episode, I’m going to be discussing the Delphic maxims. There are 147 of them, so don’t worry, I’m not about to go fully in depth with each one the way I did the pillars. It’ll be just a simple discussion on the maxims themselves. I look forward to seeing you all then on Nov 15th!
#transcripts#transcript#hellenic polytheism 101#pillars of hellenic polytheism#sophia#hagneia#kharis#arete#sophrosyne#eusebia#xenia
25 notes
·
View notes
Text
Con Amore: Part 9
Bulletproof Melody Sequel
Description: Con Amore– A directive to a musician to perform a selected passage of a composition tenderly, with affectionate emotion, or in a loving manner; an instruction to the player of an instrument meaning ‘with love’ or ‘lovingly’. Three years with all seven of your loves, three years of relative peace. But now everything is threatened as darkness surges from the horizon.
Originally Posted: 09/04/2019
Tags: Superheroes, Ot7
Fluff/Angst: 1,766 words
A/N: I still don’t have internet, not that anyone cares. Also, this hallway at school smells like cigarette smoke and it’s giving me a headache.
“You’re sure she would have left you a sign?” Yoongi asked, looking around scrupulously.
“Positive, she…” You trailed off as a strange glint off of the burnt organ pipes caught your eyes. You smiled slowly, picking your way through the rubble to the organ. “Clever.”
“Um?”
“She fixed a point of light on the organ. Play the right combination and the light refraction changes—”
“Which lets her know that you found it because it would be something only you could figure out.” Yoongi came over as well, looking back at the entrance. “But that will definitely attract attention.”
“It’ll be a hymn, make us invisible and people out there will think that the place is haunted by those who were killed in the fire.” You sat down and cracked and stretched your fingers. You ran through a list of hymns, trying to figure out the best possible one.
“Should I find a hymnal?”
“Mmnnnno. I think I know what it is, I just have to remember how it starts.”
“How do you know hymns?” He asked.
You glanced up at him. “Hymns are actually one of the few things that were completely safe for me to sing. And my mom trained my music in an abandoned church. Now, let me think.”
He sat beside you quietly, facing outwards, covering your back. “So, they’re actually religious?”
“Some of them, most of them.”
“I just sort of assumed from the way you talked about it that it wasn’t, or that they worshiped their abilities or the elements.”
“They believe what they think is true. Not everyone believes the same, but they found a balance. A respect for everyone, and space for each belief. It was built to safeguard supers originally, built by some missionaries. Right before World War I. Then they were hiding Jews, and helping those who lost everything to the war.”
“That’s kind of surprising.”
“Not when you consider that, historically, hospitals and orphanages were usually run by churches. Don’t mistake a few for the whole. It’s the same with any group or organization. There are extremists in every interest group, from boy-bands to religions to sports. If you focus on the bad, that is all you will see because that’s all you’re choosing to see.” You settled on a likely hymn.
“You’re getting more philosophical with pregnancy.”
“Too much time to think. Besides, I can hear it in your voice when you’re uncomfortable with something. Does religion scare you?” You asked, turning your head to look at him.
He turned a bit pink under your attention, as usual, huffing and stammering as he tried to come up with an answer.
“Relax, Wilo. You don’t have to worry about me being religious. I’ve never hidden what I believe from all of you. Nothing has changed.”
“So, you’re not worried about polygamy?” He finally asked.
“Oh, I was. Sometimes I still am. Let’s just not point it out to the world, eh?” You started playing the hymn that you thought Nadya would have calculated for, watching the point of light carefully, and calculating the needed vibration to alter the light enough for her to know it was you and not some other bozo.
“Not exactly eerie,” He commented, speaking into your ear to be heard.
“Will be every time someone out there hears it,” You replied, suppressing a laugh. It was terrible and sort of thrilling too. You hummed along with the song, then finished it out when you noticed that the light was gone.
“We’ve got guests,” He whispered as you finished with a flourish. “They can’t see us.”
“Oh, should I give them a show?”
“Might as well,” He whispered, smiling a little in amusement. He was filming with his phone.
You started playing a slower song, playing it as beautifully as you could. There was a certain sort of beauty in the way the organ played despite the fire that had raged through days before, and though it was hardly the time to be feeling at peace or having fun, you were so happy in this moment. You could forget that everyone you cared about was in danger because of people who wanted to kill supers. You could push aside the fact that they would be in danger while you were hiding.
Like a coward.
Your voice faltered as you realized you were completely singing along. You trailed off.
Someone else was singing along before you could stop playing, and Yoongi was helping you play the song, playing an accompaniment to your accompaniment.
You kept playing, but you weren’t enjoying it anymore.
Finally the song was over.
“Time to go,” He whispered, and the two of you snuck into another room while people stared in a daze at the organ. He kept hold of your hand, not saying anything, but seeming to know you weren’t okay. “Now what?”
“We…” You took a deep breath, looking away in frustration as you choked up. “We look for the next sign.”
“You okay?” He asked after a moment, squeezing your hand.
“Yeah, just…fine. I’m fine.”
“Do you need a snack or some water?”
“No, I need to find Nadya and make sure they’re all okay, then make sure your plans for fighting the Oasis Initiative is sound, and then I need to go hide.”
He didn’t say anything while you looked around for anything, but when you glanced back he looked angry.
“What?”
He met your gaze, making a face you had never wanted to see him regard you with. One of equal parts anger and disgust.
You dropped his hand, stepping away from him.
He looked confused on top of all of that. “What?”
“I asked first,” You replied quietly.
He looked down at your hand, taking it again. “I hate the timing of everything. I hate that they came now. We wanted a baby so bad, and now that we’re getting one, we can’t even do normal things like go to a doctor or talk about planning a nursery. You shouldn’t be away from us. You shouldn’t have to worry about if we’ll all make it out of this alive on top of worrying about the baby. I hate them so much for taking away from our happiness. I can understand being against the villains having these powers that can hurt people, but they’re against every super. Even those of us that do good. And their methods are too cruel, even for mass murderers.”
“Everyone has a reason,” You whispered, looking towards a window.
“I just wish…I don’t know…” He ran out of words, scowling at the ground.
“I wish my mom was here. I wish I could talk to her about everything. But even remembering her is painful. I still have nightmares about my father killing all of you. I want to hate my uncle so much for ruining my memories of my father, for tainting my life with such sorrow and pain. But I can’t hate him. I can’t even hate the Conservatory, or the Oasis Initiative. Maybe there’s something wrong with me. Because I should. I should hate them.”
“What happened at the Conservatory? I know that you were trapped there, but there seems to be so much more that you know and won’t speak of.”
“And good luck getting her to,” Nadya cut in.
You flinched in surprise.
Yoongi was immediately ready to fight, but once you placed a hand on his arm he slowly relaxed.
“Nightingale, Sowilo. Apologies for showing up in the middle of such an important conversation. I haven’t much time. We’re hidden safely for now, but they were after some of our acolytes. Huening Kai is safe with you still?”
“As is Taehyun and Yeonjun,” You confirmed.
She nodded. “Good. Keep them as far away from all of this as possible. I’m almost certain that they were after those three. Just as they are after you, not in your hero form, but as a human. They think you have something that they need to further their operations. But they’re also looking for Hummingbird.”
“What? Why?” You frowned.
“Because, rumor has it she’s the daughter of Sentry, who apparently took something very important from them, and has his powers.”
You ran through a mental list of anything remotely dangerous that your father had collected, but nothing popped out at you. “I’ll check my records, but I don’t recall anything specific.”
“We’re positioned to aid the Conservatory when needed, but we should discuss what happens with the conservatory after.”
You shook your head. “Nothing can happen.”
“Not if you aren’t there, but if you were to come after—”
“I’ll consider it, but for now, we just need to forget about it. Your Acolytes will be at the safe house with me, we’ll all protect each other and keep a low profile. Anything else?”
“Does she know?”
Yoongi looked particularly confused at that.
You pursed your lips.
“She doesn’t. I see. She will find out. Are you prepared for when she does? The repercussions?”
“I am prepared.”
“Then I suggest you make sure at least one other knows before it all occurs. I will be watching for the time for my people to attack. Oh, your friend, the strange metupal, he says you would know him as Papillon.” She was shimmering out of existence. “And he’s safe. He thanks you for saving the children.”
You dipped your head.
“One week.” She disappeared.
“One week?” Yoongi asked, then gave you a bewildered look. “And what was all of that about?
“It’s a long story, and it’s probably how long we have until the Oasis initiative attacks. She does work with time supers.”
“And the school? Who is the she you were both talking about?”
“Wilo, you asked me what the Conservatory did that makes me want to hate it so much. She is involved. I can’t explain now. Not here. Can you…?”
“Yeah, Raid should ready.” He wrapped an arm around you for light travel. “But you should explain it to us. So we know exactly what we’re against. Laguz won’t even talk about his time there, avoids it like the plague. We know it’s nothing good. But we won’t know how bad it is unless you tell us.”
You tucked your head into the crook of his neck. “I’ll tell someone, but I can’t tell all of you. Not yet. Not until we no longer have to work with them.”
He grunted, but didn’t argue further, turning both of you into light and transporting to where Taehyung was waiting with the supplies he was sent to get.
~~~~~
Part 8. Part 10.
Masterlist. ~ Series Masterpost.
#poly!bts#bts ot7#ot7 x reader#bts x reader#pregnant!reader#bts fic#kim seokjin#min yoongi#Jung HoSeok#kim namjoon#park jimin#kim taehyung#jeon jungkook#Superhero!AU#superhero!reader#Superhero!Jimin#Superhero!Taehyung#superhero!hoseok#superhero!seokjin#superhero!namjoon#superhero!yoongi#Superhero!Jungkook#bulletproofmelody updates#bulletproofmelodysuperherobtsfic#BulletproofMelodyFic#con amore sequel fic#con amore fic#con amore chats
45 notes
·
View notes
Text
Bound by Circumstance ― Chapter 20: The Guests of Honor
PAIRING: Nik Ryder x trans*M!MC (Taylor Hunter)
RATING: Mature
⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽
⥼ Bound by Circumstance ⥽
Taylor Hunter (MC) has made it good for himself in New Orleans; turns out moving to a new city fresh out of college to reinvent yourself isn’t as hard as people make it out to be. Things only start to get confusing when he finds himself the target of a malevolent wraith. Good thing someone’s looking out for him though — because without Nighthunter Nik Ryder as his bodyguard he definitely won’t survive long in the twisting darkness of the supernatural underworld he’s tripped into.
Bound by Circumstance and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the book Nightbound and the rest of the Bloodbound series. Find out more [HERE].
Note: Circumstance only loosely follows the events and plotline of Nightbound, and features a separate antagonist, different character motivations, and further worldbuilding.
*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Circumstance/series tag list!
⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽
Locals, tourists, and travelers around the world over take to the streets of New Orleans for the biggest celebration of the year. The Council comes together at the Beau-Keyes House for their annual Mardi Gras party.
[READ IT ON AO3]
March 5th. Mardi Gras.
Behind him Nik announces himself with a loud and pointed cough. Taylor doesn’t acknowledge it but he enters anyway, keeps his distance.
Kristin’s vitals beep softly on the monitors beside the bed. Both fill the space between them and somehow make it that much wider.
“Don’t go sayin’ goodbyes.” Advice from a man who sounds like he’s said far too many — or maybe too few.
But he appreciates the gesture anyway. “I’m not. Actually I was just promising to make it up to her; missing Mardi Gras I mean.”
“I swear some people treat this party like a whole damn religion.”
Taylor throws a little grin back Nik’s way.
“We’ve been planning this for years. When she wakes up she’s gonna be so mad she missed it.”
When there’s no answer he fully turns and catches the look on Nik’s face; the sharp cuts of him softer, the crinkles in his eyes smoothed away.
There are people wait their whole lives for someone to look at them like that. Walls down and gates open and any other locked barrier metaphor he can think of. Honest and unguarded and…
And the sheer fact that it doesn’t vanish the moment Nik realizes he’s been caught means a lot of things that neither of them can talk about right now because it’ll feel too much like the goodbyes they just agreed not to say.
“What?” he asks; doesn’t miss the tiniest spark in the man’s eyes at how breathless he sounds. “What?”
“You realize you said ‘when?’”
Yeah, he did.
“Sorry, I —” shaking his head, Taylor stands, “— are they all finished up downstairs?”
“They’re finishin’ the papers now, but yeah they wanted me to get ya.”
“Probably shouldn’t keep them waiting then.”
“Yeah, prob’ly.”
He said he wasn’t going to say goodbye so he doesn’t — not out loud. Hopefully that thing about coma patients hearing the world around them applies for sensations, too, because squeezing her hand before they take off is the next best thing.
It doesn’t come as a surprise that Vera and Tonya are already in an argument when they arrive.
Even without the powers her Curse granted her, Lady Smoke smooths out a fresh pair of gloves along her upper arm. Must be wearing a spare of Vera’s since they probably didn’t plan on matching.
“I will not be looked down upon, Vera.”
“You’re takin’ it too seriously. Dr. Ramsey barely let you sign yourself out and that’s sayin’ something. Just stay in the damn chair Momma!”
Maybe at her full strength Tonya could have fought off the one-handed grip her daughter uses to keep her seated in the hospital wheelchair, but she certainly can’t looking like she’s a hop and a skip from unconsciousness.
But she’s a fighter. She tries.
Vera throws them a pleading look on approach. Probably why Ryder doesn’t shy away from hard heavy pats to the shoulder of the most powerful mobster in the city.
Former most powerful? He doesn’t know anymore — is sure that same uncertainty is the reason Momma Reimonenq is so adamant to leave on her own two feet.
But Ryder wants to savor it for just a little longer. “We all signed and ready to get movin’? Heard from Kathy on the way down — they’re almost there.”
Vera nods. Literally goes over Tonya’s head with the conclusion that ignoring her is better for everyone.
“The car is pullin’ around,” and with a twinge of worry in her brow, “anybody heard from Cal?”
No answer is an answer. She worries her bottom lip between her teeth.
“We should’a went with him, swung by the hospital after.”
If Tonya takes offense to sounding less important than the werewolf she doesn’t say it. She does fall quiet, though.
“He’s a big wolf, he’ll be fine.”
Getting a firm grasp on the handles of the chair Ryder swings Tonya around — with no lack of glee at her shouted protest — and starts pushing her out to the hospital curb.
But Taylor shares the same concern. Doesn’t write Vera off as she tucks herself against his side while they follow behind.
“He’s not wrong, but Cal isn’t alone, remember?”
She snorts. “Nothin’ against him personally but I don’t think sendin’ Cadence counts. I dunno if you noticed, Tay, but the wolves and vampires don’t exactly get along.”
“Really? I had no idea.”
“Don’t you gimme that lip. What if we just made it worse on him?”
And he feels for her, he does. Knows her concern is coming from a place of care and, if Taylor’s reading the vibes she’s putting out right, empathy for an ‘odd one out’ like herself.
So he reminds her, “You came here for your mom and lived to tell the tale. Don’t sell Cal so short.”
“Yeah… I guess.”
“We need Kristof for this to work.”
“An’ I know that! Just wonderin’ if it wouldn’t’ve been easier to tackle demons who weren’t our own.”
“Hey,” he wipes away a nonexistent tear in mock-offense, “speak for yourself. I gave mine the cliffnotes of Shakespeare.”
They’re both pretty sure the hospital wheelchairs aren’t things to be rented out, but neither of them have the guts to argue with Nik as he gives a shout of frustrated victory at maneuvering the folded frame into the trunk of their ride.
He slams the lid closed with more force than necessary; muttering to himself as they pile into the sleek black SUV.
“Here’s the address.” Ryder grunts, offers the driver a scrap of paper once part of Cade’s notes. The man doesn’t take it without shooting Lady Smoke query for approval first.
Her focus is ardent on something—maybe nothing, maybe anything but the indignity she feels—out the window but with the barest nod the engine rumbles to life, begins the agonizing process of navigating through the police-issued barricades for the forthcoming parade.
If this works, holy shit.
If it doesn’t…
He takes Nik’s hand in his and squeezes tight.
You’d think after living there for a few centuries the supernatural community — the immortal lives of the fair folk specifically — would have had some kind of effect on the culture of New Orleans.
On the contrary; the vibrant blend of ancestry that made the Big Easy so prominent had come out stronger, taken what was apparently a rather somber tradition-bred people and made them savor the beauty of a life that was not guaranteed to be forever.
Which helps give a little bit of contextual understanding to just how amazing the Beauregard-Keyes House looks?
In the entryway he catches glimpse of more than a few fae, the same citizens of Lamrian he saw carrying candle-lanterns and humming a solemn hymn of mourning mere days ago, flitting this way and that for final touches.
Lights without flame or fuel dance in soft orbs across the ceilings; colliding into one another with bright flashes of the traditional Mardi Gras purple, gold, and green. Beads hang on decorated furniture and lay spread out on tables for the taking.
There’s an entire wall of face masks ahead; ranging from just the eyes to full-on faces painted by delicate and skilled hands. No two masks are exactly the same, so bursting with personality they’re practically alive.
They pass a doorway where a young fae waves their hands exuberantly only for bright violet ivy to grow and flourish around the molding; still sparkling of morning dew that shouldn’t be there for hours let alone indoors.
If they weren’t setting an elaborate trap for a skeletal hellspawn by literally handing it everyone it wants to kill on a decorative golden platter it would be the kind of party to bring up every time someone mentions a good time.
Taylor catches a familiar laugh off to the right of the front parlor and, after a tug to Ryder’s arm and a jerk of the head, leaves him and Vera to finish explaining the machinations of said elaborate plan to Lady Smoke. Delves further and through a doorway that dusts golden glitter like falling snow. Before he can brush it off his shoulders it fades into nothing, because apparently even elves know glitter is an infectious disease.
Garrus is accustomed to working his magic at a larger bar top and it shows — doesn’t mean the magical mixologist isn’t working some serious moves on the antique bar hosting a freshly-stocked wall of selections behind him.
Ivy continues to laugh unabashedly at Krom and now Taylor can see why. His stony face lips and eyes squeezed shut and puckered up in some form of resistance.
And if that wasn’t a silly enough sight on its own the flurry of tiny fizzing dragonflies that erupt from his tusked maw when he burps definitely is.
They lift up into the air as little bubbles, popping and crackling like the top of a freshly poured cola. Collide with one another in midair to make miniature fireworks that leaves Krom staring in in horror and Ivy clapping exuberantly with cheers of “Encore, encore~!” while Garrus bows.
“Thank you, thank you,” and more sincerely to Krom, “Your never-ending patience is something I will never be worthy of, darling.”
Krom who gulps down a nearby glass of water, voice wavering. “I’m happy to—to try things out. Just nothing that flies out of me next time, please?”
“I’ll try, but I make no promises.”
And they all know what that’s code for. Of course he promises. He cares too much about the softest Stone Troll to do anything else. But points for keeping up the bravado.
Taylor doesn’t get the chance to speak before he catches Katherine’s eye where she sits with a tumbler of something honey-colored and smelling strongly of the last vestiges of a bonfire at dawn. The huntress downs her liquor like a shot and slides off her stool.
“Ryder?”
He nods to the doorway through which he’d come and gets a passing pat on the back as his only thanks. Better than nothing.
By the time he takes up her place Garrus already has a replacement soda with a speared cherry resting on the rim sliding his way.
And Taylor’s happy to take the offer; only he stops just shy of bubbling carbonation touching his lips.
“What’s wrong with it?”
“Excusez-moi?” Garrus clasps a pale hand to his chest. “Are you implying I’ve somehow tampered with your beverage, sir?”
“Obviously.”
The elven man wilts dramatically and with a number of expressive hand gestures. Braces himself first against the bar then the shelves behind him while lamenting over the pain of accusation like his neck is on the line.
He’s just the usual Garrus, silly with a touch of sass. And judging by some of the looks his kindred throw in their direction they ought to try and be a bit more serious given the circumstances but no—no they won’t.
Everyone could use a genuine laugh right now. Garrus is doing more for them all than he knows.
The soft “ah-hem” of a cleared throat drags Taylor’s focus off and aside — where a familiar wave of gossamer hair lingers inside a doorway.
He may not be in a wheelchair or sport stitches or wrappings but Elric is still recovering from the attack at the theatre. Each step a little less graceful and fluid, his eyes alight only because he’s looking at Taylor.
Krom stops Garrus mid-word with an outstretched hand.
The fae lord reaches out a touch that Taylor doesn’t shy away from. The hairs on his arms stand up but that’s only because Elric exudes an aura of power even when weakened.
“May I borrow my son, Garrus?”
And though there’s considerably less mirth in the bartender’s voice when he answers— “that’s something you should be asking him” —it isn’t the same cold dismissal as before.
Elric clearly means to, but Taylor nods before he can.
The only place they can find to be alone is a closed-off office space. Deemed not worth the decoration the doors are drawn closed but remain unlocked.
A wave of Elric’s hand brings a pale pink fire whispering to life in the hearth across the room. Fills the room with a warmth Taylor can’t quite put his finger on and casts both their faces in undulating shadows.
“Thanks for pulling this off so quickly,” Taylor goes first only because he’s had it on the brain ever since the end of their call. “Guess some stereotypes aren’t just myth huh?”
“Pardon?”
“Elves and parties.”
“I do not understand.”
A sigh. Of course he doesn’t. “Nevermind — just… thanks.”
He reaches out a hand for Elric to grasp, or shake, or whatever odd greeting the fae may have he’s yet to learn.
And Elric accepts — goes one step further. Before Taylor knows what’s happening he’s in a crushing embrace, can feel the man’s sharp features on the top of his head with arms pinned at his sides.
Hugging has never been his forte. Purely a body dysphoria thing — he can’t not be conscious of the way his body feels against another.
Then he feels the way Elric is shaking like a leaf. Just this once, then.
When they part pale hands cup his cheeks. A critical eye surveying him for the smallest cut or remnants of a bruise. The relief when he finds nothing flows from Elric in waves.
“Had I the strength left to conjure a glamour I would not have abandoned you.”
Oh, he hadn’t even thought about it. “You got flattened by a giant heap of metal for me. I’d hardly call that abandonment.”
“Even with the creature gone, I should have stayed.”
“I’m glad you didn’t,” and when the man recoils, “it gave you a chance to recover. To get all this going.”
He gestures to the decorated house beyond.
Elric quickly accepts that his guilt doesn’t need an excuse; good, too, because they don’t have a lot of time to spend on heart-to-hearts.
“You have dedicated yourself to this plan, then.”
It catches Taylor by surprise. “If you mean this is what we’re going with? Then yes. We all agreed it’s worth the risk.”
Well, not all. Not Tonya — she had no choice. Not Isadora or Kristof or even Elric. But Isadora had come.
Elric was here, in front of him. And he’s giving his son a look of scrutiny that feels a little too judgmental for their current predicament.
“Something has changed about you.”
“I mean, I could use a shower.”
“Not about you,” like that’s not what he just said, “but about you. A change clings to your soul.
“It says…” his eyes widen with realization, “you truly believe this can work?”
He’s not questioning Taylor’s resolve. That he somehow knows unspoken. But it makes sense… up until now (and really still, only with a little more coffee and a lot more planning) he’s been Mister Negativity, Mister Ready-to-Die.
Why wouldn’t he be? No clue, no hope, no faith — no power. And not much is situationally different, yet still.
He chooses his words carefully. “I think we have a better chance this time around.”
“Time to plan, perhaps. Yet these same numbers you gather here could do nothing to it before. Unless you’ve found the creature’s weakness.”
“Jeez, Dad, can you just trust me on this?”
The words come out of him at an unnatural angle. The way they feel habitual but definitely aren’t — that first time you fuck up and call a teacher ‘Mom’ in kindergarten.
They’ve got the same dumb look on their face, haven’t they?
Catching scaffolding with his back isn’t enough to suddenly make Taylor want to look into every other weekend and major holidays with the man but it’s certainly not nothing.
Nor is his exclamation, not kind or pleading by any means but filled with frustration sometimes only a parent can bring bursting forth.
He steps out of arms’ reach just in case.
Because Elric looks like he’s about to start weeping.
“I do. And I am sorry for not… for conveying that improperly.”
“Apology accepted.”
But the deed is done; their dynamic forever changed. For some reason the first thing Taylor thinks of is Elric taking him to sit in the nosebleeds at a football game — in full Lamrian splendor but with a Saints hat covering his ears.
And the only protest his dumb brain can come up with? That he hates football. Like nothing else is wrong with that mental image.
Focus, Taylor, focus.
“We know things now that we didn’t before. We’ll be expecting an attack this time.”
“You are certain it will come?”
“I’d stake my life on it.” Poor choice of words.
“You will do no such thing.” His expression going dark, Elric’s jaw clenches firm. “I do not regret my attempts to stay out of this battle for my people, or those to try and keep you safe by whatever means kept you from the fight.
“But I watched my son turn his back on me — a braver soul than I and in so few years. For the past I will do whatever can be done in the present.”
“Yeah yeah, heard it all before.”
But it isn’t dismissal for dismissal’s sake — says that enough in the long look they exchange.
In Lamrian he remembers with clarity; had seen standing before him a coward.
And that may very well have been true. But Taylor isn’t the only one who has a change about him, clinging to him like a thin film.
He’s trying. And that’s all any of them can do.
You know who’s not so keen on trying?
Three guesses. Go on.
“Go over it just one more time for me.”
“There’s nothing more to add, Ryder.”
“I mean I ain’t questionin’ your memory but…”
“For once I’m inclined to agree. But that’s really all there was to it.”
Beside them Cal adjusts the thawing T-Bone higher on his face. “Speak for yourself.”
Taylor snatches a peek of the swollen, purpled eye beneath it and cringes. “Are you sure there’s nothing Ivy can do?”
“Nah,” the wolf’s sigh is a little too heavy, “was my damn fault for thinkin’ I could call an Alpha’s honor into question anyway. I jus’ got caught up thinkin’ about the stakes, and seein’ Donny, and all that energy he was puttin’ out…”
Vera shushes him, manages to get a more sanitary solution to the wounds with small dabs of antibacterial paste. “This — men don’t do this, Cal. Animals do this.” And even with only one good eye the look he gives her says it all. “You know what I mean.”
“There’re some things that just gotta be settled with the wolf.”
Cadence makes a conscious effort to keep his pat to Cal’s back on the gentler side but the man still winces, sore. “Well I had every confidence in you. It was rather fascinating to watch, actually.”
“Wait wait —” all eyes on the vampire who blinks owlish; innocent, and Taylor can’t believe what he’s hearing; “— you just stood and watched?”
And though the blond splutters a number of protests, the group’s collective sympathy is lacking.
“The same man who broke a Minotaur’s spine in six diff’rent places for that same pack of wolves.”
Only maybe because he’s a vampire his face can’t blush red — no, no he’s seen it. So why then does Cadence go pale all the way to the lips?
“That was a… unique situation.”
“Relax, guys, there was nothin’ he could’a done anyway.” There’s an unspoken irony in Cal being the one to call off the dogs, but it works.
But it’s not like their group vampire hasn’t been strange from the beginning. Taylor’s still not convinced it wasn’t someone else, like an evil double, who threatened his way into Persephone’s cage to fight on Donny’s behalf. He certainly can’t imagine the man in front of him doing it — plaid sweater aside.
When Taylor catches Cade catching him stare he fumbles, doesn’t really have an excuse but thankfully doesn’t need one. Not when the entire House can hear Kristof shouting somewhere unseen, something about “Who do I gotta see about gettin’ a six pack around here?!”
By process of eliminating who Kristof wouldn’t immediately attack it’s Vera who sighs and pushes onward. Taylor would go himself but he hangs back instead — gently grabs for Cal’s arm and attention.
So much of their plan rests on every single person the Coven Elders are targeting being in one place tonight. They can’t risk Kristof leaving in a wild stampede.
But he never meant for this — for every grunted effort as Cal’s body actually puts conscious effort into healing in time.
Because it isn’t a matter of if Reimonenq the Wraith will come — but when.
“I know that look Taylor, you’re overthinkin’,” the smile Cal gives him isn’t betrayed by his pain — or maybe just stronger than it, “I knew what I was doin’ and I’d do it again if need be.”
“You mean for that to be reassuring but it’s not reassuring Cal, it’s not.”
“We all played our part.”
“Yeah, but we all didn’t have a dick of a guy play Whack-a-Mole with our faces.”
Cal throws his head back and laughs until it physically hurts. He insists he’ll be fine after a few drinks and some rest. Taylor just hopes they can afford to give him that time.
When they finally move to join the others he offers his shoulder for the wolf to prop himself up on. The pride in his eyes says no but the arm that seeps lava-like warmth through Taylor’s clothes acts otherwise.
“I wasn’t so keen on the beating,” Cal mumbles just before they reach the garden doors, “but I’d take a lot worse to go back there for longer.”
He doesn’t need to ask why. They both know. “Donny holding up okay?”
“He’s a Lowell — he’ll be just fine.”
He will be, though, that’s the implication and it makes his heart sink.
Remember what The Fate said. He’s alive — that matters.
There’s only one ward this time — the point already proven that it’s more for decoration than any real use. But trying to keep something out is the exact opposite of the point.
The noise from the hustle and bustle of the French Quarter fills in in lieu of music. Gives a boisterous abandon to the air where otherwise it hangs like a noose around their precariously balancing necks.
It’s a party worthy of dozens; crowds of people from all walks of life — Pack or gang or family it didn’t matter with the celebration at hand. Or it would if there were more than the bare essentials; than Taylor and the rest, those left making up the Council that aren’t actively trying to kill them all or, in the Mayor’s case, woefully oblivious.
Then Ryder is at his side, flask in familiar hand. He tries—and fails—to cover up when he reaches for Taylor like holding on to any part of him will get them through this unscathed.
Mostly because in the process of faking a yawn he just swallows a mouthful of liquor.
“You look like you’re overthinkin’ this.”
Of course he is. Aren’t they all? “Actually, I was just admiring how much they were able to get done. This place looks like an actual celebration.”
Because it doesn’t matter how many attendees the party is worthy of. All that matters is the one they need to show up.
Nik’s eyes sweep the garden with a satisfied nod. “Definitely the most gussied-up trap I’ve ever taken part in. You’ve got a real eye for this, Rook.”
“Does that mean if I decide to go into the oddly specific party-slash-hellspawn-trap planning business you’ll join me?”
“There’s prob’ly better money in it.”
“That’s what I’m saying.”
They laugh. They lock eyes.
They both know it would be the perfect moment if absolutely everything about it was different.
Taylor inhales to keep from smelling the whiskey on his breath as Nik leans forward — places a firm kiss right at his hairline.
Okay… maybe not everything needs to be different.
“Last chance to veto the plan.”
He murmurs it into the sweat and dirt on the man’s skin; knows that with all they’ve rushed to put together in the final hours of the final days he can’t possibly smell any better.
It takes Nik a pause to respond; to keep his tone steady and certain and rock-solid. One of them has to be.
“Do you want me to?”
“Only if you have a better one.”
And they both know this plan is it. The last chance, the only thing they have left up their collective sleeves. If it doesn’t work…
If it doesn’t work then at least Taylor knows he did his best, and that his last moments were ones like this.
“We could always make a run for it,” but before he can pull back, before he can tell Nik it isn’t a funny joke, he’s held closer; almost painfully so, “jus’ you an’ me on the open road. Doubt they’d come after us once we’re clear of here… An’ yeah, means we could never come back but I ain’t exactly Mister ‘Community Ties.’”
“You’d really leave our friends behind?”
“Fine, they can come too.”
“Are we all piled on top of your motorcycle in this scenario?”
“Nah… maybe a trailer or somethin’. I know a couple of lifers who live at RV outposts off the beaten path.”
It isn’t the idea of leaving New Orleans—the Council—the whole shadow community to their fates that’s the appeal. The appeal is a happier time; a better way. Even if it’s rough and a little uncomfortable and quickly pushing aside thoughts of Wolfman Cal and an RV that never doesn’t smell like wet dog… it would be their life. One they carved for themselves.
No intervention (or lack thereof) from higher powers to speak of.
“All right—you’ve convinced me. Let’s scram.” Taylor teases. Neither of them moves an inch.
Not even when they start to squeeze one another so hard it hurts.
“Should leave before anyone notices.”
“Probably.”
The two men part. Because he’s not meant to notice the single wet streak down Nik’s cheek, he doesn’t.
Calloused fingertips tickle the barely-there hair on his chin; coax Taylor to lift his head where he catches the last light in the Nighthunter’s eyes before a single bottle rocket goes off behind him and showers his dark head in a halo.
“This is a good plan, Rook. I’ve got a good feeling about it.”
“That’s because you’re not used to having a plan.”
“You… well you ain’t wrong.”
Eventually the fireworks begin to go off near the Mississippi — sparkling showers a brighter white than the moon itself, dazzling configurations in spirals and spheres and one memorable golden fleur de lis — and there’s a shift to the air within the garden walls.
It’s nearly midnight.
It’s time.
“Is everyone gathered?” asks Elric of his son, suddenly at his side — joining him in looking to the sky to admire human handiwork.
He knows the answer but quadruple-checks anyway. His heart picks up a few beats with every familiar face taken in.
Bring everyone together. Draw the Elders out of hiding.
Kristof. Elric. Isadora. The Coven’s final obstacles.
Do whatever it takes to force their hands; to bring the bloodwraith Derek Reimonenq down on them like a final reckoning.
Cadence. Tonya. The bloodwraith’s personal vendetta.
And hope this works.
Just there, behind Vera’s forced smile under the glowing apples of light on a garden tree — a face half-hidden in shadow. A young man, probably around Taylor’s age; burdened with the knowledge of how this will end and only able to stand witness.
He looks away from The Fate and finds a little bit of that hope he needs so desperately in the way Elric looks at him with pride.
“Take it down.”
This time Lord Elric takes the duty on his own shoulders rather than those of his subjects. Raises his hands high to the dark sky and begins to unravel the threads of his strongest wards.
Fresh night air prickles gooseflesh down his arms. They are coming.
Then the earth is warm beneath his shoes. The smell of fresh blossoms and fae-ripened fruits replaced with the embers of an all-consuming inferno.
They’re here.
Across the garden Taylor and Elder Daniels lock eyes and are held, bound, by something more than magic. Something that permeates the material world around them and isn’t easily defined.
But if he had to pick he would only need one word: conviction.
He thrusts his soda can out at her in toast. Gathers up all of his voice and shouts with a face-splitting grin.
“Laissez les bon temps rouler!”
#nightbound#choices nb#playchoices#choices fanfiction#nik ryder#nik ryder x mc#cal lowell#katherine nightbound#vera reimonenq#nightbound mc#mc: taylor hunter#oc: cadence smith#oblv: bound by circumstance#oblv: new chapter#; my fics
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
Philes’ Xmas Advent Calendar Prompt Day 25: Christmas Day
🎄 Merry Christmas!!!🎄
The very last advent prompt story is finally here. It is the first and only multichapter I’ve drafted for a series on AO3. Thank you to all who traveled through this journey of various degrees of angst (there were only 5 stories?) to the early msr fluff. Special thanks to @only-txf-fanart for the Advent Calendar Prompts. My writing muse came back in time to participate.
🎁 For those of you who haven't read the series, it can be found here. 🎁
❤️For those who just want to read the subtle romance that blossomed from this advent calendar series, read in this order: I’m Offering You The World, Last Minute, The RomCom Gift, and Christmas Offering. ❤️
Tagging @today-in-fic @txf-prompt-box
Christmas Offering
Chapter 1. Movie Missed
Scully feels warm and cozy as she sinks deeper into the couch. She hears Mulder calling her from a distance, strands of hair being swept away from her face with a gossamer touch. She hums in defiance, wraps the afghan blanket more securely around her.
“That won’t do.” She hears Mulder chuckle. She furrows her eyebrows and manages to crack open her eyes making out a blurry image of Mulder kneeling on the ground, his chin resting on the crook of his right elbow upon the couch, facing her at eye-level. He smiles softly.
“Hey there, Scully. The movie just ended.”
“What?” She asks confused, disoriented as she sits up, her hair plastered on the left side of her face. Pouting a little, still groggy from sleep, she remembers what happened. “I missed the movie?” Mulder nods and gets up off the ground to run his fingers along her left cheek and loosen the strands of hair stuck to her face. She thinks she felt a featherlight kiss on her left temple.
“Come on. Go freshen up. I’ll have coffee ready for you before you head out.”
“Mmkay,” she mumbles and untangles herself from the blanket. A few minutes later, she re-emerges from the bathroom looking somewhat awake and decent, her hair looking more windswept than bedhead. She can smell the pot of coffee brewing in the kitchen as she sits down on the couch to put on her boots. Mulder reappears in the living room, and hands Scully the travel mug he just gifted her a couple hours ago filled with coffee. She offers her thanks as he walks her to the door. She turns around.
“Mulder, are you sure you don’t want to come to my mom’s? You’re always welcomed.” He shakes his head.
“Nah, I’m good, Scully. I won’t be the best company considering how tired I feel.”
“Well, what are you going to do the rest of the day?”
“Once you leave, I intend to fully pass out since I hadn’t slept yet. I’ll be okay, Scully.” She frowns a little, looking up at him from behind her shoulder as she opens the door. Mulder leans against the door frame as she exits. “I kept you long enough away from your family. I need to be nice and share.” Scully gives him a small smile.
“Merry Christmas, Mulder.”
“Merry Christmas, Scully.”
Chapter 2. Scully Christmas Gathering
Scully arrives at her mom’s home on time with 15 minutes to spare despite the fresh snowfall. She gulps down the last of the coffee in her travel mug before stepping out into the cold, and retrieves the large shopping bags containing the presents in the trunk and backseat of her car. Just when she reaches the front door, it suddenly opens revealing a man standing nearly six feet with ruddy brown hair and dark green eyes clad in a burgundy plaid shirt and jeans.
“Charlie?!” Scully exclaimed surprised and excited to see her little brother. She drops the bags and gives him a huge hug. He laughs.
“Hey, Sis.”
“That’s it?! A ‘hey, sis’ after years of not hearing from you, and you decide to show up on Christmas Day?!” She playfully punches him in the arm.
“Hey, now! You get photos of my whereabouts. They’re a small fortune, you know.” Scully rolls her eyes at him, though she’s not the least bit irritated by his remark. Her free-spirited brother found his true calling as a freelance photographer right after college, landing assignments every so often from travel guide magazine publishers.
“Those don’t count. You’re not even in them.”
“Yeah, but I took them.”
“I still can’t believe you’re here.”
“I know. Mom’s pissed at me right now for not telling her I’m in town. She’s upset that I won’t have any presents to unwrap. Come on, let me help you out.” Charlie reaches for the bags and brings them inside as Scully follows him to the tree. The house smells like holiday spices from the mulled spiced cider their mom prepared in the kitchen the night before. The living room looked picturesque with a roaring fireplace, complete with hung stockings and a fully decorated tree with all the ornaments handmade and collected over the years. She notices Melissa’s stocking with her favorite horse sleigh ornament hanging on the mantle. Scully smiles a small bittersweet smile as she heads over to the tree to place the gifts underneath. She sees a light flash from the corner of her eye.
“Charlie, really?” She turns to him only to be greeted with another flash of light.
“I’m creating memories, Dana. Just go about doing what you’re doing and pretend I’m not here.” She scoffs.
“Don’t worry, Dana. I’ll be turning off the flash once daylight breaks.” Scully hears footsteps coming down the stairs and sees their mom in cozy, festive flannel pajamas and a fluffy robe. Their mom smiles at the two of them beside the tree.
“I see you two are catching up. I’ll make some coffee. I already woke up Bill and Tara. They’re getting Matthew ready. The King’s Mass is held at 9 this morning. That should give us more than enough time to unwrap presents and get ready.” Their mom looked at them amused by their dubious expressions. Both Scully siblings seemed to have forgotten about the Christmas Day mass they hated attending as children. Bill hosted Christmas last year, and Scully’s previous holiday seasons had been overshadowed with life-altering events. Their mom shakes her head smiling as she heads to the kitchen.
“Shit! Crap! Sorry for cussing on Baby Jesus’ birthday. I totally forgot all about The King’s Mass. This is probably why I subconsciously avoided visiting during Christmas season,” Charlie murmured to Scully, “I guess I’ll have to don on some khakis.” He glances over at Scully, “and you look like you’re a government agent. Shouldn’t you dress in something more festive?” Scully shrugs.
“I packed an overnight bag, but I didn’t account for Mass this morning. I’ll be fine. I’m sure Tara or Mom bought me a nice scarf or something this year for me to throw on.”
Within the next couple of hours, the Scully family festivities went underway filled with chatter, coffee, spiced cider, cinnamon buns, and Christmas music playing in the background. Matthew is the main star as he wobbly walks to his Nana, allows Auntie Dana to hold him, and pats the shiny boxes that keep coming his way. Charlie stays in the background taking photographs. The adults exchange presents, with mostly Tara and their mom oohing and ahhing over presents they unwrap. Scully merely grins and offers her thanks until she opens a box from Tara that housed a royal blue blouse tunic with a scoop neckline. She gasps in amazement; she hears a click and shutter from Charlie’s camera.
“Looks like you have your festive outfit,” he says. Scully admits to her family that she plans to wear the tunic for mass as her family breaks out in laughter. She excuses herself to quickly change.
As Bill, Tara, and their mom get ready for mass, Scully tidies up the living room while Charlie entertains Matthew. “So what’s up with Fox? Why doesn’t he join us?” Scully looks at Charlie in surprise.
“He goes by Mulder and he doesn’t celebrate Christmas.” Charlie hums.
“I’ve been taking photos this whole morning, Dana. You’re here, but you’re not here. It shows.”
“I just have a lot on my mind.” Charlie shakes his head as he lets Matthew study his camera.
“No, you have this far-off look in your eyes. A restlessness about you. I recognize that look anywhere.”
“What are you trying to say, Charlie?” He purses his lips and shrugs, their conversation ending as they hear the rest of the family returning downstairs.
Bill rented an SUV that could transport all of them to the church, but Charlie insists that they take two cars.
“I wanna catch up with Dana!” Charlie announces as he runs to the passenger side door.
“Really, Charlie? I’m tired of driving,” Scully whines, but she walks to the driver’s side and unlocks her car.
Chapter 3. The King’s Mass
The Kings’ Mass at St. Mary’s Church was full of generational families much like the Scully clan. Their mom waved at many of the churchgoing ladies, offering well wishes and season’s greetings as she led them to her usual pew. Tara, Matthew, and Bill sat in the row first, followed by their mom, Scully, then Charlie. The service started with the usual procession of the pew boys, then the priest, Father Bennett, and the deacons. They had a larger than usual choir having some of the Sunday School children participating in today’s service. Just when the priest welcomed everyone to the church and encouraged all to greet their fellow brothers and sisters, Charlie turns to Scully and says, “I think you should head back home after service.”
“What?” she hissed through a fake grin as she waves at a family two pews ahead.
“You heard me, Sis. Just go.” Scully gives him a look as she sits down waiting to listen to the choir sing before the liturgy. Charlie pesters her again when they stand up to recite the hymns from the church bulletin. He causes enough commotion for their mom to give them a pointed look. Scully glances at her apologetically.
“You two are worse than Matthew,” she whispers leaning back for the two to see Matthew passed out in Bill’s arms. They sit back down again for the sermon after a deacon recited Isaiah 9:6 where Father Bennett spoke in detail of the miraculous birth of their Lord and Savior, symbolizing hope and love to mankind, but not without the struggles and sacrifice that Joseph and Mary had to endure to travel to Bethlehem.
“...so let us be reminded of His enduring love for us as we celebrate his arrival with loved ones. To not forget the road traveled for all of us to be here in this room. Let us honor his arrival with a giving spirit, full of compassion and empathy towards our fellow man,” Father Bennett concluded, “Now, as we begin communion, let us feel His loving spirit surround us.”
“Now’s your chance, Dana,” Charlie says as the pew rows were systematically dispersing to line up for communion, “Just make a break for it. You heard what Father Bennett said ‘celebrate with loved ones.’”
“I am celebrating with loved ones!” she responds a little too loudly as they stand at the ready for the church volunteer to beckon them to get in line.
“Mom, can you talk some sense into Dana, please?” Charlie says turning around giving their mom a knowing look, “I know you saw what I saw this morning. You can’t deny it.” She sighs in resignation, lips pressed together.
“Dana, I’m glad we got to spend time with you this morning, but Charlie’s right-- a part of you isn’t with us, it’s someplace else.” She gives Scully a fierce hug. “We’ll see you later this week. Charlie is staying for a couple more days before he flies out to the Netherlands. Now, go. You have some matters to attend to.” Scully’s eyes turn glassy as she manages not to cry. She smiles against her mom’s shoulder and gives her a quick peck on the cheek. She mouths and waves goodbye to Bill and Tara who each had a curious expression on their faces. Charlie gives her a quick hug and waves goodbye to her as he stands aside to let her out of the pew. She can hear Bill asking their mom where she’s going, and her mom answering that she has to attend to matters of love. Scully walks out of the church with one destination in mind.
Chapter 4. Give vs. Offer
It seems that no one left Hegal Place as Scully had to park a block away nearby a liquor store. She quickly runs into the store and purchases some items for the day. The afternoon weather is nippy, but tolerable with a heavy coat she had placed in the back of her car as she briskly walks on the sidewalk, being careful not to slip. She doesn’t know whether Mulder is at his place or not; it didn’t occur to her to give him a call during her trip. The early snowfall that morning had covered all the parked cars, making it difficult to identify which car is his. She finally arrives at his building, promptly taking off the heavy coat from the extreme temperature change. She knows her hair looks unkempt again from the weather as she takes the elevator up to the fourth floor. She can’t decide whether her heart was rapidly beating from the brisk walk or the notion that Mulder might not be home. Scully raps on the door sharply, causing the “2” in “42” to be slightly askew. To her relief, she hears muffled footsteps behind the door. The door cracks open revealing a disheveled Mulder dressed in sweatpants and a white t-shirt. He braces himself against the door frame with his right forearm as he rubs his eyes. His left hand still on the doorknob.
“Scully? What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be with your family?” he asks in a gravelly voice, eyes squinting from the hallway light. She realizes she must have woken him up from his sleep. His eyes come into focus, and she can see him take in her appearance. “Is this how you usually dress at family gatherings? Maybe I should accompany you next time you go.” She feels a blush forming on her cheeks.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about the movie this entire morning,” she says, averting her gaze away from Mulder’s form, staring down at her boots. “It’s been bothering me, how Sandra Bullock’s character is in love with what looks like a huge asshole.” She looks up at him slightly flustered, “And Mulder! Even if I had watched ‘While You Were Sleeping’, I wouldn’t have caught on with the line you misquoted. The character’s mom gave her dad the world, which by the way is not a snow globe but a regular globe. So, I can only deduce that the actual line is ‘I give you the world’ not ‘I offer you the world.’” Mulder looks amused.
“To be fair, Scully, I only watched the movie once on cable. I thought I got the gist of the phrase, especially when paired with the snow globe I grabbed at Grand Rapids to show you. It appears much later in the movie by the way.”
“But ‘give,’ and ‘offer’ are two very different words, Mulder,” she continues, “Their meaning is completely different in context. ‘I give’ means that there are no strings attached to this phrase, no conditions set in place, while ‘I offer’ allows the other party a chance to accept or decline the option.” Scully knows she’s rambling, but she can’t stop herself. She holds up the plastic bag in her hands.
“For instance, I’m offering you this bag full of items I purchased at the corner liquor store. It contains components to make delicious hot chocolate—you still owe me hot chocolate, Mulder--”
“Of all the things to begrudge me for, it’s hot chocolate?”
“Hot chocolate, milk, whipped cream, chocolate sprinkles, marshmallows, and peppermint sticks. And since it’s around lunch time, I even purchased some gourmet frozen dinners because I know the state of your fridge and pantry, Mulder. A man can’t suffice on sunflower seeds alone.” Mulder’s grinning at this point. He unbraces himself from the door frame and reaches for the bag, but Scully holds it away from him.
“Mulder, this is an offer. Offers usually come with conditions from the party presenting it.”
“State your conditions then, Scully.” He drawls as he leans against the door frame crossing his arms.
“I want you to be the one to prepare hot chocolate for the both of us. I also want to finish watching the movie. I want to see how Sandra Bullock’s character goes from thinking she’s in love with an asshole to falling in love with Bill Pullman’s character.”
“Well, what are you waiting for?” Mulder’s eyes shone brightly as he stared at her intently. Her eyes slightly widened at his question. He straightens himself up and fully opens the door. He motions with his head as he says, “Get in here, Scully.”
She exhales a breath as she crosses the threshold. Mulder murmurs, “I was thinking about you all morning too” as he closes the door behind her.
61 notes
·
View notes
Text
Distance Part 2
Sorry it has been a while! Hope everyone had a great holiday season. More Parker fluff - the conclusion and make up to part 1. I won’t post now before New Year so I hope everyone has a lovely start to 2019 :) Characters are choices and not mine
Parker X Mc
Tags: @mind-reader1 @mistersinclaire @krish58100
Words: 1,781 Rating: T
“So, you’re just not getting dressed. Ever?”
Elliot clucks at me whilst rummaging for his second favourite shirt. Apparently, it’s my fault that the one with the blue has shrunk even though he definitely pressed the ‘on’ button for that load of laundry. I roll my eyes as he throws piles of similar looking t-shirts onto the bed; all crumpled and wrinkled from not being unpacked when I’d told him to. Although, I suppose, in my current state, I can’t judge him too much. I smooth out my grey joggers, a size too big now thanks to my lack of appetite over the last month, and scrape my hair up again still damp from the shower.
“I am wearing clothes thus dressed.” I give his shoulder a shove out of the way and open the bottom drawer of his dresser. Quickly, I throw the black shirt at him.
“How did you-”
Because you look for things with your eyes closed. That had been mom’s favourite thing to say to Elliot when he lost his shoes, or his bag, or his everything. “I have my ways.” He screws up his nose as he throws it over his t-shirt. “You are going to be late.”
Panic floods his wide eyes as he looks at the clock. “Shit.”
“Elliot!” I snap.
“You curse all the time. I heard you calling the tv an asshole yesterday for not having Real Housewives of Beverly Hills on at scheduled timing.” As if that’s an argument. I’m a grown woman. I glare at him, unwavering and it doesn’t take long for him to break the eye contact. “Fine. Some of us are more equal than others.” He mutters.
“Don’t George Orwell me. When you’re eighteen curse all you like. Now get going Scooter.”
Grabbing his hat, he rolls his eyes and sticks out his tongue. “Fine. But – why don’t you go and-” I cut him off with another glare. I don’t want to go anywhere. “I’ll be home before dark.”
Meeting Robbie hadn’t been the first thing I’d have liked him to do, not after the whole scenario in his basement but, I suppose, he made Elliot happy and at least one of us should have that opportunity. I grab a bagel because bread is my friend. I’d be singing from a different hymn sheet when I couldn’t fit in my dress for Imogen’s creepy initiation ceremony I’d, for some reason, agreed to partake in.
The door goes as I’m about to take my first bite of starchy goodness. Scooter. Probably forgotten to make a snarky comment about something else or perhaps he’s short a few dollars. “Just so you know, I’m not giving you a ride. It’s your fault you’re late.” I call into the kitchen with my mouthful of processed starch.
“Yeah it is kind of my fault.” I almost choke, caught somewhere between panic and the realisation that this had to have been some kind of twisted dream. There is no way Parker Shaw is here; not after our last conversation. After we’d both silently reached the conclusion that we were quietly hoping for different outcomes to this already bad situation. I look up. He’s here. His hair still a mess, face creased, and eyes rimmed in red from tiredness. He shrugs. “Elliot told me to come in. I was going to knock but then-”
I shoot up from the couch, my plate clattering to the floor. “No, no it’s fine. I just wasn’t expecting -”
I look like shit. I look worse than shit. My joggers have a hole in the knee. My shirt is Care Bears. I’m not even wearing a bra. Wonderful. Way to win him back.
With a little smile, he cups my jaw with his hand and for a moment I think he’s going to kiss me. God, I want him o kiss me. His thumb gently runs over the skin and he chuckles gently. “You have a little-” Crumbs. I have a face covered in crumbs.
“Oh. Sorry. I was having-” I don’t even know what meal I’m meant to be eating right now. Three in the afternoon so perhaps a late afternoon snack?
“No.” Parker states firmly. “I mean no. I’m sorry Harper. I’m sorry for the other night.”
Since it happened, since he’d left that night, I’ve played out in my head what I wanted. There are times he apologises and promises he’ll never leave and there are times I’ve sought him out, in my brave imaginary state, to let him know how valid his pain is. None of them included me covered in half-eaten bagel. None of them happened in this living room with M.A.S.H reruns in the background. But, I don’t care. I’m just glad he’s here, and with him, my shred of sanity.
I motion for him to sit.
“Parker, you have nothing to apologise for. You were right. I have no right to assume that-”
“Yes, you do. You have every right. You have every conceivable right to question this considering what you’ve lost.” He sighs, and his hands grip his knees. “I don’t want Arthur to be guilty. I don’t want Abe to be either but if he is, I’ll be ok. I think.”
No, he won’t.
How did we get here?
I can’t stand seeing him like this. His eyes are shiny when he looks at me and I wipe my face, my own tears starting to burn again. But, he looks so hurt and broken. A man who’s resigned himself to the misery that is to come. I don’t even know what I want now other than for all this to go away. For me and Elliot to be fine and for me and Parker to be fine and everyone living happily ever after with songs and talking animals – preferably ones that don’t have several heads.
I squash onto the arm chair where he’s sitting. I don’t have much space but, I don’t need much space. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I rest my head on his shoulder. The second his arms go around my waist, tight and firm, I kiss his cheek.
“I don’t want you to lose things either.”
Slowly, he leans back in the chair and I rest on him. “I know you don’t. It was stupid of me to even think that.”
“You’re not stupid.” I growl at him. I need him to stop saying that; to stop believing it. “This is a stupid situation. This whole thing is stupid. We are not. We’re doing our best with what information we have and-”
His lips press against mine, slowly but decisively. When he pulls away, my heart beat is thundering in my ears. “I’m sorry.” Oh god. Does he regret it? Is he apologising for our near-death making out session? Couldn’t he stand to even look at me now? Sickness gnaws at my stomach. “I shouldn’t have left. We promised that when it got bad, we’d not do that, and I broke that promise.”
I’d not even thought about that. I run my fingers through his hair and shuffle to sit on his thigh. “Nobody broke anything. We’re talking. You, Parker Shaw, are a man of your word.”
The smile on his face makes me feel lighter than I have in days.
“I am indeed a man of my word.” He rubs his hand over his stubble and winks. “I just want you to know something. This whole thing is terrible – worse than that – it’s shit. Just utter bullshit. I hate that you’ve lost your family. I hate that this town is a mess. I hate all these lies and secrets. I especially hate ghosts and zombies.” Parker grabs my hand and wraps his fingers in mine. “But one thing I could never hate, is you Harper. You are the only thing making some sense to me and I want you to know, whatever happens, that I truly believe that.”
For the first time, maybe even since I got here, genuine warmth spreads in my chest.
Softly, he presses a kiss to my forehead and I let my eyes close. Thank god. Thank god he’s back.
“I know. You’re important to me too.”
The laugh he releases is warm and makes my spine tingle. “You know, I might even treat you to a romantic dinner when we put all this behind us.”
“I quite enjoyed the cramped supply closet whilst being chased by murderous crazy people.” His head shakes at me and I press my lips to the corner of his mouth. “Fine, I suppose I can let you wine and dine me.”
Even though it had been days, I’d missed this. Like I said, my only shred of normality. The only time I don’t have to be on or responsible.
“I quite enjoyed the supply closet too. In fact, I seem to remember something about carrying it on when sound wasn’t an issue?” His eyebrows raise. I had said that, hadn’t I? “You, Harper Vance, are a woman of your word.” I swat him in the arm.
“One make out session and you’re a regular Don Juan but, you are in fact correct. I have an empty house and a promise to make good on.” As Parker’s mouth brushes against the skin on my neck, my spine shudders. Bliss. Probably more bliss than I deserve. “I mean it is improper to get to third base without at least popcorn and terrible movie -”
When he laughs, his breath tickles my flesh. “I swear, I will keep this between us. Your reputation is safe with me.”
I doubt that.
Slowly, his mouth moves to mine and I lose myself in it; safe and warm and everything.
“Shit! God, my eyes!”
We both fall out the chair, trying to untangle our limbs faster than a human possibly could. As Elliot and Robbie stand above us wide-eyed and pale, I glare at Parker. Didn’t even lock the door; a cop, that didn’t lock the door.
“Elliot! Hi Robbie – Parker and I were-”
“This is most gross thing I have ever seen.” As Elliot speaks, Robbie bites back a smirk. “And please, spare me the ‘he stopped breathing and I was giving him mouth-to-mouth’ yarn; it didn’t work when I caught you with Brendan Gibson and it won’t work now.” With a snort and a head shake, Elliot hops up the stairs leaving Robbie awkwardly shrugging in our direction.
Silence befalls us as we sit on the floor; my ass bone probably bruised from the landing.
Parker, despite the redness on his face, is the first to laugh. “So, Brendan Gib-”
“Don’t you dare Parker. Don’t you dare.”
#playchoices#choices ilb#pixelberry#it lives beneath#elliot vance#parker shaw#harper vance#ilb parker#robbie sutcliffe#it lives 2
27 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Deputy’s Eden
Characters: Deputy!Reader, People from Hope County
Word Count: 1,435
Warnings: Mention of Torture/Violence
Summary: The Deputy is more neutral in this fight than everyone thought.
Tagging: @99shadowcat99 @xmisswolfx
A/N: This story was inspired by a post that @99shadowcat99 made! Here’s the link so ya’ll can check it out! :))
Oh! And there’s a bit of back and forth with flashbacks, hope it's not too confusing! :)
Hope ya’ll Enjoy! :D
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
You come bursting out of the Resistance outpost with one unconscious woman in your arms and several others, men and women, following behind. Gunfire comes showering towards you all, but you just call for the people to jump into your truck. You hand the woman off to a man in the backseat and you get in the driver’s side before taking off down the road with a truck full of people.
“How could you Deputy!” Your radio screams.
You only shake your head and switch the radio off the frequency.
You had just re-liberated another outpost from the Resistance. You’ve been doing this for a few weeks now, saving people from the Resistance’s strongholds. Why you ask? Well, it's not a pretty story.
After several weeks of fighting the cult and helping the Resistance you began to realize that they too weren’t as innocent as they seemed. You found out that they were kidnapping cultists and torturing them. Using horrible methods to get information. They even admitted to doing it out of spite or cruel fun. They were no better than the cult at this point! Both of them were just killing or torturing anyone who wasn’t their own.
You can’t help but scoff. You never did have any real loyalty to the Resistance anyways.
Sure, you had a few friends among them, but a full blown pledge? No, not then and definitely not now.
So you began capturing both cult outposts as well as Resistance ones that partook in torture. Pretty soon you had a whole gaggle of rescuees from your expeditions across the county.
At first you figured the rescued cult members would go back to attacking you as well, but they didn’t. They all just looked lost and scared, so you brought them to an unoccupied outpost that you had claimed as your own.
As you drive down the road, a quiet voice speaks to you from the backseat.
“Are you really the merciful Deputy that everyone speaks of?” The injured woman you had carried earlier asks.
You never know how to answer that question, “I suppose so.”
“Thank you. Thank you so much for saving us. We thought we were going to die.”
“I won’t let that happen.” You reply as you see your complex coming up in the distance.
During the early days of rescuing Peggies, it was a bit like having a bunch of ducklings. They wandered around your compound and followed you. They were trying to figure out what was going to happen. Eventually you had to try to shoo them away.
“Go on, go do something.” You said, motioning them away.
“But what are we supposed to do?”
“I don’t know. Your religion stuff I guess.”
“You’d let us practice?”
“As long as you promise not to kidnap, harm, or murder anyone, you’re free to do as you please.”
Everyone looked around at each other and nodded.
“We promise. Thank you, Deputy!”
They all ran off and began chattering to each other about plans. They decided at that moment that they would set up a little community. They began fixing up houses and buildings in the area. They even helped you fix up a house for yourself. It was kind of nice to have people help you and each other. It really took a lot off your shoulders. It was refreshing.
As you pull into your outpost, men and women alike come rushing towards the truck. They open the back and help out the people like it was routine. They lead the injured to a small building labelled “Medics” and the others are brought to a series of picnic tables filled with food and pitchers of water. They bring the new arrivals clothing and introduce themselves.
A woman comes up to you, “Welcome back, Deputy. Are you in need of any assistance? I can bring you some bandages.”
“No, I’m alright. How is everyone doing here?”
“We’re doing just fine, Deputy. The cooks are preparing tonight’s feast.”
“Oh yeah, that’s tonight isn’t it?”
“Yes! How could you forget? It marks your great successes that you’ve brought to Hope County!”
“You’re all too kind.”
“Well you deserve it, Y/N. You’ve done so much for us all.”
Well, it wasn’t a lie. You have done a lot. And what started out as a simple rescue mission transformed into a huge community-building project that just kept growing.
At first there were only twelve of you, but that number grew fast. On top of the people you brought from your crusades across the county, others came on their own accord. Some were ex-Resistance, others were exiled from Eden’s Gate. Your community was becoming a ragtag group of misfits and honestly you wouldn’t have it any other way.
You all worked together. Houses were built or repaired, vegetable gardens and even some flowers were grown. (Of course, you opted for non hallucinogenic flowers.)
Life here was becoming pretty good in those regards.
During the early days, you remember sitting on the porch of your house when a few of your ex-Peggie followers come up to you. They looked so anxious and afraid. They looked at you with pleading eyes as they spoke.
“Deputy, We appreciate you for saving us, but...we’re still afraid. What are we going to do when the Collapse comes?”
You took a look around as you thought of what to do. Hmm....
Your eyes suddenly landed on the surrounding forest and an idea popped into your mind.
“I think there might be an old bunker nearby. It needs some fixing up, but I think it could work.”
You watch as their eyes light up.
“That will work! We can fix it! Bless you, Deputy!”
“Good evening, Deputy!”
“Hello, Y/N!”
“Welcome back, Deputy!”
People always love to greet you as you walk through the complex. They all move about, doing various activities and tasks. Some are tending to gardens and preparing food while others build or sew. Everything was functioning like a real community and the entire place was a grand display of joy. Children run through the fields of flowers, playing and laughing amongst themselves. Men and women talk and smile. Everyone was so peaceful and happy.
Despite all the violent happening around the county, you all managed to keep a mutual agreement within the complex. The only time this compound was threatening was when a group of true Peggies or Resistance members tried to attack you. They didn’t hesitate to fight back or treat your wounds. And you did the same for them.
The ex-Peggies even changed their title. They became Eden’s Protectors. They restored an old church that was in the center of the area. They broke open the boarded windows and cleaned out all the dust and grim. It looked like a regular old church after it was painted a crisp white. It was kind of home-y in a way.
After it was fully restored, the newly formed Eden’s Protectors started holding church services and celebrations. They created a new collection of scripture and hymns. They even dedicated a song to you, “Praise be to the Deputy.” It was a little strange at first, but eventually it grew on you. You appreciated their thoughtfulness.
A few times you even humored them and came to some of their morning services.
You remembered leaving your house and people greeting you and wishing you a good morning.
“Praise be to you, Deputy!” People would call as you pass.
You often reminded them that you were just a normal person like anyone else, but they hardly listened. They told you that you had saved them and that you showed them true happiness. They told you that you were special to them. You were speechless to say the least.
And now tonight, they were holding a feast in honor of you and the new members of community. You help out as much as you can and soon enough everything is in place. Tables are moved together and large tablecloths lay out across them all.
Everyone takes a seat and begins to eat and talk. They greet the new members and welcome them. They tell them all about life in the complex. You watch as shy gazes turn into happy confident ones. They begin to relax and enjoy themselves.
It was strange in a way, seeing so many different people working together and being friends and families. You never would have thought you’d end up here, end up with a little following of you own.
It’s a strange life, but it was Home. It was your paradise, your Eden.
#my writing#request-ish?#deputy#rook#rook!reader#deputy!reader#fc5#fc5 fanfic#fc5 fanfiction#far cry 5#far cry 5 fanfic#far cry 5 fanfiction#reader-insert#deputy fanfiction#neutral deputy#non-resistance deputy#cult leader?deputy#no pairing#what else do I tag this as??
101 notes
·
View notes
Text
Ser Agatha
I don’t even know where to put this or what to call it...I’ve already basically written this woman’s entire life story and I can’t stop. I don’t really have any OCs, but I feel like I’ve adopted her now. I needed a not-terrible Templar to put into my DA2 endgame rewrite to talk some sense into Cullen and she was like, the only Templar in Kirkwall left alive (because I never did her quest, because I’m not a Templar-sympathizer!) who wasn’t a complete piece of shit. I think she deserves better than some of the super disturbing non-con and rape stuff she’s tagged in on AO3, so this is going to be another part of my quickly spiralling-out-of-control endgame AU and did I mention I love her? (Rough WIP intro to her backstory below the pic, which is from https://dragonage.fandom.com/wiki/Agatha...)
“You and Aveline are far better at all of this than I ever was. And you have Bethany’s help, and the Provisional Viscount’s, too. Kirkwall will not miss me. Nor I it, if I’m being truthful.”
“Ser Cullen -- ”
“You know I’m right! At least in this...”
“That may be so, but I will miss you, my friend.” She smiled warmly, a rare thing from her, he knew. Then she cleared her throat and grasped his forearm, nodding. “Don’t forget about what happened here when you’re all high and mighty serving the Divine.”
“I could never…”
“Well, actually, try to forget the really ugly parts that might keep you up at night. But remember the hope that followed that awful night, and all the good work we’ve done since. What’s that silly old hymn that the Left Hand is always humming?”
“The Dawn Will Come?”
Cullen could hear the haunting tune in his head. An old prayer, older than the Chant of Light, probably. One that had gotten him through some of his darkest times, too.
“Yeah, that. Always seems more like a threat as it reverberates from the back of her throat, but the message is a good one, I think, anyway. Blah blah blah...there’s always hope.”
Those words, that emphasis -- she hadn’t meant to, but she was repeating someone else’s words. She winced. It had been years, but it still stung.
“Orsino used to say that to the mages when they were...troubled, didn’t he?”
He used to say it to me, too. Even whispered it into my ear once like a precious secret just between the two of us. Too bad it hadn’t been enough for him...
“Hmm? Oh, I don’t remember.” She waved her hand dismissively. It was hardly convincing, but this was Cullen. She hoped he wouldn’t press her on it.
It had been almost three years since their showdown with Meredith, and she still couldn’t bear to think about what had happened to Orsino. Even though she knew better, she just had to believe that there was no way the Abomination they’d found in the Gallows Prison that night had been him. Because if it had been him, she could only imagine how broken his spirit had become, and then she couldn’t help but wonder…
No. These were thoughts that had no place in her life. It was a tightly-scheduled thing. Because it had to be. No room for uncertainty or regret. Or anything that could jeopardize the taut, calibrated routine she’d spent the past decade refining. To protect her. Her precious Wilo. No matter the cost. No matter the long hours at the Gallows, followed by the anxious ride across the Harbor that only seemed to take longer and longer now that her daughter’s magic had begun to manifest. The hurried, but not-too-hurried steps to her apartment in Lowtown, and the way she’d learned to unbuckle and unfasten her Templar armor as she walked so as to not lose a single moment more with her to the Order, if she could help it.
It was all worth it for the relief that washed over Agatha as soon as she’d closed the door on the fucked-up world behind her to find her little girl at home with her Nana, impatiently waiting as armor and all the Templar baggage fell to the ground so she could embrace her mother and fill her in on all the events of her mercifully-uneventful days. This whole beautiful world of hers kept hidden and safe inside what appeared to be, from the outside, just another filthy hovel.
Cullen nodded. “I know you two were close.”
You have no idea.
Or did he? No. There was no way he could’ve known. Orsino himself had never even known.
“What happened with the First Enchanter in the end was...regrettable. No, that’s an understatement. I’m sorry, Agatha. That we didn’t get there sooner. Without you, I don’t know that I could have even -- ”
“Yes, well,” she sighed.
She did not have time to dwell on old heartbreak and regrets and guilt and what ifs. Cullen could, and probably would, especially as he suffered the worst effects of lyrium withdrawal in the coming months. But for Agatha, who’d secretly weaned herself off of the stuff when she was pregnant, there was still too much work to be done convincing certain segments of the population that all mages didn’t need to be locked away before she could trust the world with her most precious secret. And there were always new groups of fanatics on all sides to deal with.
“I will try to carry it with me. The hope, that is. I feel like, even with the progress we’ve made here, we will still need it in the days to come. The war rages on in Ferelden. It’s rather odd how things feel more settled here, of all places, isn’t it?” he laughed.
“Aye.”
Ser Agatha needed to get home. Wilo’s magic had become harder for her to control at night. She was almost nine. Agatha had known this was coming, having recognized the girl’s magical abilities from a young age because of her Templar training. Nana, who had looked after her since her birth, had never voiced any concern about the occasional crackling bolt of lightning the girl might produce, having lived comfortably with other apostates throughout her life. But she didn’t want to press their luck, didn’t want to leave it to the old elf woman to have to deal with this tumultuous time anymore than she had to. And there was a part of Agatha, the quiet rebellious streak that she usually managed to keep restrained by honor and duty, that wanted to see what her baby girl was capable of. What she’d inherited from her father.
#dragon age 2#ser agatha#cullen#orsino#wilona casimira (OC)#my writing#templar critical#Lost and Found DA2 endgame canon divergence#disaster Templars
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
Anything Can Be -- Part Two
<< PART ONE
PART THREE >>
Summary: Barry doesn't know much beyond the space station he calls home. After all, he doesn't have to travel worlds to help innocent people as a Chief Inspector on Central Space Station. But he's put to the test when a Green Lantern, the stuff of myths and legends, shows up one night insisting he didn't kill the Blue Lantern bleeding out beside him. And as if that wasn't hard enough, they have only a few weeks to solve the case -- before the Guardians of the Universe come take Hal Jordan away.
When Barry gets to J Deck, he finds that most people have already left their stations. It’s time for the day’s switch, as people clock out early and their replacements clock in late. It’s disorienting to see people getting started on their work when Barry is just about ready to retire for the night. Even still he sometimes forgets that there’s an entire second life to the space station he’s never encountered.
“Hey, Patty,” he says, beelining for her desk, grateful to see that she hasn’t left yet. She’s ruffling through one of her drawers, no doubt trying to locate some file she buried there last week. Patty is more unorganized than he is, and that’s saying a lot.
“Hey,” she says, glancing up briefly to smile at him. “Mr. Nightlight is in interrogation room nine. Albert just finished getting a DNA sample.” She returns to her work. Barry shuts his mouth, as she’d already answered the question he was about to ask. It makes him feel awkward, now that he’s walked all the way up to her desk but no longer has anything to say. He tries a different tactic.
“Would you believe me if I told you I just wanted to see if you were free tomorrow?”
She pauses only to send him the most straight look, her short blonde hair swinging slightly in front of her face.
“No?”
“No.” She’s right, but guilt twists in his gut, and he’s about to protest until she smiles and says, “You’re a workaholic, Bar. But so am I.”
He matches her smile hesitantly. “We really should catch up sometime, though,” he says.
“Convince chief to give us a damn break and I’ll happily take you up on that. I’ve been meaning to show you this sad excuse for a cooking show that I’m streaming from Galafro. Can’t understand a word of it, but I’m pretty sure what they call food was never meant to be consumed.” She gives him a shark’s grin as he backpedals away from her.
“Sounds gross,” he says with a wrinkle of his nose.
“That’s the point!” she calls after him as he turns the corner.
The interrogation rooms are a series of nine rooms set up in a half-circle on the police station’s perimeter. Each room is remarkably soundproof but only separated by one wall, making it quick work to pass them all to room nine at the very end.
When he enters, the Green Lantern stares him down. It’s almost unnerving, to be on the other end of that stare. He’s seen suspects in a wide range of emotions, from desperate to pissed, when they sit in this room. Intensity tends to come along with those. But it’s never intensity like this, of the eager and quiet kind. Barry nods at him. “Hi,” he says lamely.
“You’re a CSI,” the Green Lantern says immediately. “What are you doing here? Someone already took a piece of my hair.”
“My name is Barry Allen. I’m the Chief Inspector of this station, and I just want to ask you a few questions.”
“I didn’t do it,” the Green Lantern insists immediately. “I--”
“Okay.”
That stops the Green Lantern in his tracks. But instead of looking relieved, he seems to grow even more suspicious. “If you know that, then why am I still here?”
“You’re a cop, right? Or something like it, anyway.” He holds the Lantern’s eyes as he slowly pulls out a chair and sits down across from him. He sets his messenger bag on the table and pulls his tablet out from the smallest compartment.
“That’s not an answer.”
“You’re our only suspect. If you don’t want to remain our only suspect, I suggest you cooperate and answer my questions.”
He doesn’t say anything. Barry flips his notepad open to a blank page. “Let’s start with the basics. What’s your name?”
“...Guy Gardner. G-U-Y. G-A-R-D-N-E-R.”
Barry spells it out on the top of his notes. “Okay, Mr. Gardner. Why don’t you tell me how you know Miss…?”
“Sister Sercy.”
“Right.”
“She’s a--” Abruptly, Gardner stops and declares: “Wait. I want a lawyer.”
Barry frowns at him. “Are you trying to sue someone?”
“What? No,” Gardner says, frustrated. “But I have the right to an attorney.”
“No you don’t,” Barry says, carefully. “Who told you that?”
Gardner takes a moment to curse under his breath. “No one. Nevermind. Okay, so. I know Sercy because she’s the fourth or something Blue Lantern, and I--”
His pencil stops, and he just barely refrains from snapping his head up to look at Gardner. “Blue Lantern?” he says, as neutrally as possible, but he doesn’t think he quite succeeds.
“Yeah,” Gardner says, unfazed.
“Explain.”
Gardner frowns. “You people know about Green Lanterns and the color yellow, but you’ve never heard of a Blue Lantern?”
Rumors. He’s heard rumors, starting maybe just two years ago, about new Lanterns flying through the cosmos. No one knew where they came from. No one knew what they could do. Once, there was a whisper of a Red Lantern. He heard it while in the middle of a crowd, so quiet he’d thought he’d imagined it, of destruction and devastation wrought on a planet stranded on the fringes of Lantern inhabited space.
When there’s no response forthcoming, Gardner says, “Hope,” like that answers every question he’s ever had. Before he can ask another, the Lantern continues: “Sercy was a priestess, I think, on… wherever she came from. Brother Hymn found her and brought her to Elpis, and I met her when I went to see that little blue troll for a thing. There aren’t a lot of Blue Lanterns, and they’re help like no other against the Reds and Yellows, so when we team up they all tag along. I guess you could call us coworkers.”
Barry occupies himself by writing on his notepad, because the alternative would be staring blankly at Gardner. What is this, a Lantern rainbow? “It doesn’t seem like you were very close, then,” he comments when he’s done.
“Uh, no, not really. We ran into each other here.”
“Start from the beginning.”
“Right. Well, I was on my way to Oa, and like I said, I ran into her in this star system. Our paths intersected, I think she was heading back to Elpis. We decided to rest up here so we could catch up a little. She wasn’t in a hurry and I was procrastinating, so we got rooms and went to the lounge. We were both on the figurative road for a while. Space travel, even with a ring as fast as ours, still takes super long, and there isn’t a habitable planet for light years after this stop.”
He brings his hands up, goes to grip his hair with his fingers and remembers that they’re in a yellow sheath. He stiffly lowers them back down to the table.
“But I couldn’t sleep yet, and I went to go see if maybe her sleep schedule was just as fucked as mine, and I just… I found her. Like… that. Dead. Outside her own cabin… Fuck.” He crosses his arms on the table and drops his forehead onto where they meet. Despite the position, his next words are still clear. “I’m used to shit like this. She was too. This line of work, it’s dangerous. And I’ve always been in this line of work, even before becoming a space cop. But we let our guard down in times of peace. Even I do. War is different. You go to war expecting to die, because if you end up living, then you get to actually celebrate something that isn’t your buddy’s funeral. But in peace…” He scoffs. It’s a full-body effort. “Peace. All Will Be Well my ass, SaintWalker.”
“I want you to explain to me what exactly you did next, step by step. If you thought a thought, I want to know what it was. If you stepped an inch to the right, I want to know when. Begin when you’re ready,” he instructs softly, after a moment of respectful silence. Gardner takes a few more seconds just to breathe before lifting his head.
“I walked up the hall. The direction you came from. I saw her laying on the ground, and… I knew she was dead. I couldn’t see the blood on the ground at first, though. She was too far away. So I walked over to her and it was just… everywhere. I wanted to check if maybe there was a chance at saving her, so I asked the ring to scan for signs of life, and it came back negative. So I turned her back over and tried to take the knife out. She… I couldn’t leave her like that. A Blue Lantern, killed by a fucking knife. That’s just… It’s wrong.”
“Have either of you been here before?”
“I have. This is the perfect place for a quick stop between far space and Oa. But I don’t know about Sercy. Blue Lanterns are notorious for never leaving Elpis. They’re like monks. They don’t like to travel, just live in peace and harmony by themselves. She seemed to know her way around, though.”
“Do you know who might dislike her? Something she mentioned, maybe?”
Gardner shakes his head. “No. She’s a private person. Blue Lanterns in general are relentless optimists. They don’t like to complain or talk about the bad things that have happened.”
“Did she ever tell you where her cabin was?”
“Yeah. How else would I have found her?”
“And where did she tell you this information?”
“Uh, one of the lounges on G Deck. One of the exterior-facing ones. I could see Docking Port 23 from the window.
“When was this?”
“A few hours ago.”
“Can you tell me anything that stood out to you in that room? Or even just the specific room number?”
“It… might have been L36. Uh…” Barry waits as the Green Lantern thinks. “The barista. He had this long black hair, tied it back in this weird triple bun type deal. Didn’t know what hot chocolate was. He knew Sercy by name, and we were at the bar when she told me. The lounge was pretty crowded, there were people all around us. I don’t remember.” He takes a deep breath. “I’m so stupid. I’m always supposed to be on alert. Kilowog is gonna kick my ass,” he says bitterly.
Barry finishes writing down his notes, then leans back in his chair with a sigh. The day’s grind is catching up to him, and he can feel the heaviness start to settle in his lower back. This kind of work is aging him way faster than he wants to be aging. But his mind is reeling, and he can’t seem to muster up the usual desire to get out of the station and relax on his bed. There’s no mystery as to why. “Who’s Kilowog?” he asks curiously, carefully.
“My drill sergeant,” Gardner says. “A tough-as-nails hardass. Always preaching that I need to keep my eyes peeled for anything. Imagine how good I’d be if I actually listened to him?”
There are many other questions he wants to ask, but there’s a line he needs to draw for the sake of professionalism that prevents him from asking. “Did she talk to anyone else at the lounge?”
“No.”
“Was she expecting to meet up with anyone? Did she talk about knowing anyone at the station?”
“No. Just the barista.”
“Where did you go after the lounge?”
“We went our separate ways after the lounge. I went back to my room because I was beat, she went… to the market, I think.”
“You said you couldn’t sleep.”
“What?”
Barry narrows his eyes. “You told me you couldn’t sleep, and that’s why you sought her out. Now you’re saying you went to bed early because you were tired.”
Gardner pauses, like he’s either trying to remember saying that or he wasn’t expecting Barry to notice, but Barry didn’t get this job by being unobservant. “I have a hard time sleeping sometimes,” he says awkwardly.
Barry doesn’t answer, preferring instead to look on in silence for a while after. Gardner must understand what he’s doing, though, because he doesn’t even fidget.
“Did she say what she was going to get from the market?”
“No.”
“So you have no idea why she was going?”
“I just said that.”
“Do you know the barista’s name?”
“No.”
“What time were you there?”
“I don’t know. A few hours ago.”
Barry nods curtly, takes a final glance at his notes, then flips the booklet closed.
“Am I free to go?” Gardner asks, but it’s in a resigned monotone. Barry wonders why he even bothered asking if he knew the answer was going to be no.
“Officer Kin will be through in a moment to show you to your cell. Thank you for your cooperation,” he says, and gets briskly up from his seat. He’s almost out the door when he turns around and takes a last look. The green glow of Gardner’s mask casts a sickly light on his pale cheeks. He looks small sitting there. Nothing like an intergalactic hero. “Mr. Gardner,” he says, and it takes a moment for Gardner to glance up. “If you didn’t do this, I will do everything in my power to help you and bring the real killer to justice.”
Gardner sighs. “Look. You seem like a good guy. I don’t know how the justice system here works, but if it’s anything like where I come from then I just I don’t have that kind of time.”
He must think that Barry is just going to leave after that, because he doesn’t continue. “What do you mean?” he prompts.
“When a Lantern dies, their ring comes off and typically finds a new host. Sometimes it goes back to their central power battery, or wherever the guardian of it dictates. I’m going to take a wild guess and say that no one in this station has spontaneously turned blue and started flying yet?”
Barry shakes his head.
“Then it’s probably on its way to Elpis, directly or through a new Lantern on a nearby planet. When it gets there and the rest of the corps learns that their Lantern is dead, they’ll discover where the ring came from and they’ll come find who’s responsible. I didn’t kill her, Barry. But they won’t wait for your justice system to figure out who the real killer is. Especially not once they tell the little blue trolls on Oa about it. I’d say I have maybe two weeks, if that.”
“I can’t do anything about that. Investigations take time. I’m sure we can negotiate with the… Blue Lanterns when they get here.”
“Blue Lanterns, maybe. But good luck trying to negotiate anything with the Guardians.”
“I’m sure they’ll be reasonable.”
Gardner scoffs, but says nothing more.
Barry has nothing to add to that, so he takes his leave. He shuts the heavy door behind him and stares for a moment, overwhelmed, at the far wall. He looks to his left, where Officer Kin on guard duty isn’t even trying to hide his curiosity. “How fast can you pull up the security footage of all that?” Barry asks. “I think I need to listen to it a few million more times.”
#halbarry#preslash#fanfic#comicroute#wip#green lantern#the flash#barry allen#hal jordan#space au#space station au#murder mystery#sci fi#chapter 1#part 2
23 notes
·
View notes
Text
Hwaet
I’m having some thoughts this morning. I was having them yesterday, too, but I ranted to husband and felt better for a hot minute. I no longer feel better.
I feel like a lot of people have forgotten what it’s like to be a beginner, to be just starting out. I’ve only been doing this polytheism thing for around 2,5 months so I’m still very much a beginner and I’m aware of that so I am by no means claiming to be an expert. I’m also autistic and have been told I have no empathy /// I have empathy for the wrong things, so I may be entirely off the mark here because I do not know how to human.
So here’s the thing. Because I am just starting out, I can very much remember what it feels like to be looking for information for the first time. I’m in Germany and we’re still in lockdown here. I don’t belong to the local university so I can’t use their library right now, and I don’t know if the city library is open. Even if it were, I’d rather not because I’m an at risk person and I don’t feel like dying of plague. I could go to my university library, but that would require me to take a day trip to another city, and even for university members there are restrictions for how long we can be there etc, etc, etc and I still don’t want to come down with plague.
So what do I do? I say, hey, I bet there’s a tag on tumblr. I bet I can scroll and see if there’s someone who doesn’t seem like an idiot who posts information about Greek paganism. I figure blogs like this must exist because I’m a historical linguist and I follow a few academically inclined linguistics blogs, so why wouldn’t there be academically inclined blogs about other topics.
I got absolutely inundated with posts that terrified me. I saw post after post about how deity work wasn’t for beginners. I saw posts saying that only certain deities were okay for beginners. I saw posts saying you had to ask a deity’s permission to worship them, and if they told you no, you weren’t allowed to (they’re deities??? They literally want to be worshipped?????). You have to do an introduction. You don’t have to do an introduction. You need to be very formal at first to avoid offense. You don’t need to worry about offending the gods, they know you’re a beginner. Unless you purposely blaspheme, you can’t offend the gods, you’re a mortal.
How do you ask a deity’s permission? How do you know which deities are okay for beginners? How do I know if a deity has given me permission to worship them? What’s an introduction? How do I do it correctly? You need an altar. You don’t need an altar. You need to build a relationship with the deity. I am autistic I literally cannot build relationships with humans how do I do that with a deity. How do I avoid offending this immortal being who I already revere because they are a literal deity and I am a mortal??? I need details, please.
Do your research.
So I do some research. I find some decently academic blogs with resources and free PDFs and I am foaming at the mouth because I am a grad student and free information yessssss. I scroll through these academic blogs and see what sorts of people they reblog from, betting that they’ll know a few other academic blogs. I am correct. I get lucky and see that someone has posted about introductions. I find some other posts about introductions. Some are lacking details. Some have details, and it seems easy. Some are very elaborate rituals and I realize hey, I need to research what all of these terms are that I don’t know, and figure out how to do the things that are listed because this is written using technical terms and I am a historical linguist, so this is very much not my department and I do not know what they are talking about. Also when you say ‘recite a hymn’ do you mean I actually have to memorize and recite it, or can I just read it out.
I need to research.
Yes, fine. I have got multiple books on my laptop, thousands of pages of information. But how do I know what’s important? Do I have to do months and months of research before I can worship, because it seems like I need to do an introduction which I need to have a good foundation of research in order to do correctly to avoid offending this being whom I really want to adore, then wait on the deity to give me permission to worship them after doing this ritual, and I am a burnt-out autist who needs to throw themself at the feet of a deity now I need them now. I came to Dionysos while in a pretty rough patch after trying to drink myself to death. I spiritually crawled to him on my hands and knees, tears quite literally running down my face, begging to worship him. The Dyllan Owlglass who had just puked their guts out on the bathroom floor, whose husband had to call an ambulance to try to help them, was not in any state of mind to do any sort of research for weeks. I wasn’t anti-academic. I needed a deity who didn’t hate me, to give me spiritual solace, and I needed that deity in that second and not a second later because that quite literally may have been the death of me and I couldn’t research the right way to do it.
If there is one thing I cannot stand it is being called intellectually lazy. Grad school and all. I’ve almost finished my current term paper, after which I have one more, my research module, then my master’s thesis. I know how to research. I’ve got over a decade of experience. But the thing is, when you’re just starting out in a topic, there’s a lot of information. It can be difficult to know what’s important and what isn’t.
Let me put it this way. I’m getting my MA in historical linguistics after having gotten my BA majoring in German (with a focus on linguistics) with a minor in linguistics and a second minor in TESOL. I have been working with linguistics for over a decade. I am bilingual in English and German, and have studied in some capacity at some point Old High German, Middle High German, Old English, Old Norse, Old Persian, Latin, Lithuanian, Icelandic, French, Spanish, Italian, and Scottish Gaelic. When I first started learning Latin my husband, who took Latin in school, made a game of giving me a Latin word which I would then translate to German then English by doing sound changes in my head. I defy someone who has no knowledge of Latin or linguistics or language change to figure out that stare means ‘to stand’ without a dictionary. Want to know why German is Like That? Have a seat. I hope you have time. Want to know why your brain did that weird thing with language just then? Let me get you a cup of tea, I have an answer or two for you and will likely go on a tangent about language acquisition. Do you have a moment to talk about invisible pronouns. You say you like epic poetry; if you have a minute I can give you a detailed explanation of how language change influenced language and caused the death of particular metrical forms that were used in Old English epics like Beowulf and are no longer extant today.
I say all that to say this: I know my topic, at least a little, after dealing with it for as long as I have, and because I’m in it so much, if I don’t know the answer, I likely know someone who does.
But if an 18 year old came up to me interested in linguistics and was like, hey, you know these things, I heard there was a language from which German and Greek and Italian all came from, I want to know how we got to this point, can you help me get started, I wouldn’t fucking hand this kid the copy of Urheimat der Indogermanen I have sitting on my shelf and say here, do some research, because they don’t even fucking know what phonological notation is yet. How, in the names of all the gods, would I expect a beginner to process that? Yeah, it seems easy to me. It was an easy read. Okay some of it was difficult because it has essays in there written in the late 1800s and that stuff is dense. But otherwise, pretty easy read, but I’ve also had literal years of experience. I wouldn’t even hand the kid a copy of Martinet to explain language change. I wouldn’t even give them a copy of Introduction to Historical Linguistics, at least not only, not at first. They need an introduction to linguistics and, because I have literally been doing this for a decade, I would know which chapters are important for a beginner. Here’s an intro linguistics book. I’d start with these chapters; you can read these if you want to but it’s not necessary for your particular question; this one is dry but it’ll help you get the basis you need to build things on later. Then here’s an introduction to historical linguistics. These chapters in particular will be interesting to you, but read these chapters here first because it gives you an overview of the method for how we got to the information in those chapters. If you find a topic that strikes your fancy and you want to know more, hit me up, I may have a book or two I can point you at. If you see a book in the rec’d reading, I may have it as well, and if not, I may know where to get you a copy if you can’t find one.
And you know what? I’d do the same thing for someone who had gotten a BA in some other subject. Yes, they know how to research, but they still don’t know this topic as well as I do. I may not hold their hand, but I’d still point out which chapters are the most relevant for their particular question to get them started and they can find related information from there. And I wouldn’t expect the 18yo or the person with a BA to understand terms that are particular to linguistics. Why, for the love of everything holy, would I expect them to know what a frequentative derivational morpheme is when no one who isn’t in morphology has any reason to know what that is. Yes that is a real thing. Yes I can explain it to you if you really want me to. Sometimes it’s difficult when you’ve been in a topic for a long time because you forget that things which seem basic and normal to you are not basic and normal knowledge for people who aren’t in the topic.
Now I’ve done okay on my own. I know how to research. One has to know how to research if one is going to get their MA, at least I would hope. It’s overwhelming at first because there’s a lot of information, but because I kind of know what I’m looking for, and since I do have quite a bit of experience in doing academic things, I wasn’t as lost as I could have been. There are still some things I’m lost on, but the Theoi are good and they know I’m just a mortal. Seeing that other people did the same sort of thing as me, just starting their worship and learning as they went, was really helpful to me. Seeing examples of other people’s practice is also helpful to me -- it gives me things to think about, things to consider, and helps me draw relations. I’ve listened to some good podcasts that have given me ideas on other starting topics.
But I know not everyone has years of experience being an academic. I wouldn’t get angry at a baby linguist for not knowing things, for needing quite a bit of help. I remember what it was like to be a baby linguist, too. To start you need to know the basics, but it’s hard to know what’s basic when you’re just starting. I have no doubt that some people are lazy. I have no doubt that some people just want others to do the work for them, or just want to complain. I had a guy like that in a syntax class in my undergrad; I had to turn him in for plagiarism because fuck that guy and I got harrassed by him for a semester until he dropped out.
But that was just one guy in years and years of academia. So I feel like there are less baby hellenics on here complaining because they don’t want to research as much as there are baby hellenics on here bonding over the fact that damn this is hard, there’s a lot, it can be overwhelming, and when there’s so much information it can be difficult knowing where to start and when you know “enough” especially when you see as many posts as I have claiming you can’t worship a deity without doing your research, but not specifying at which point you have done research enough to be allowed to worship.
1 note
·
View note
Note
Hi hi! I just read an answer of yours where you said you have a theory about Sansa being an empath. I'd love to know more about it but couldn't find anything here. Did you write something about that? If so, could you please send me a link for it?? Bye, and thank you so much, I love your blog! :)
Anon asks: What’s this theory about Sansa being an empath? I never heard about it before.
First, thank you @twiseei for those kind words! :)
Ok, the Sansa as an empath theory. I’ve written about it before, but not actually here on Tumblr that I can recall. It’s not a popular idea, by any means, but there are others I’ve discussed this theory with in the past.
First, Sansa as an empath is something I use as way to engage with the text. It’s not a theory that I would argue strongly for or tag as meta because it’s closer to crack. I believe the fandom term is tin foil, yeah? So, I listed it specifically as my theory because of it. It’s one of those things that makes the books more enjoyable for me. Honestly, I rate this as more believable than Howland Reed is the High Septon but really far down the list when compared to something else, like Aegon is a Blackfyre.
The idea of Sansa as an empath first came to me sometime after aFfC was published, don’t remember exactly when. It was the result of exploring magic as part of Sansa’s story line. Specifically, the idea that Lady is still a presence for Sansa even though the wolf physically died in the first book.
Jon says this in the very first chapter:
Your children were meant to have these pups, my lord.“
Then we get this is in Eddard IV (bold emphasis mine):
Bran’s wolf had saved the boy’s life, he thought dully. What was it that Jon had said when they found the pups in the snow? Your children were meant to have these pups, my lord. And he had killed Sansa’s, and for what? Was it guilt he was feeling? Or fear? If the gods had sent these wolves, what folly had he done?
If the wolves were sent by the gods and the Starklings were meant to have them, then it is possible that Lady’s death alone is not enough to sever the link between Sansa and her wolf? If the link is still there, then that leads to wondering how this link is shown.
Now, we see Sansa’s siblings all have wolf dreams throughout the story, even if they don’t realize that’s what they are. It would make sense that Sansa does not because of Lady’s death. But, there are two incidents that always made me wonder:
Tyrion dressed himself in darkness, listening to his wife’s soft breathing from the bed they shared. She dreams, he thought, when Sansa murmured something softly—a name, perhaps, though it was too faint to say—and turned onto her side.
-Tyrion VII, SoS
We don’t know if it is a name or who’s name it could be at that point. But, it’s possible we are told later:
That night Sansa scarcely slept at all, but tossed and turned just as she had aboard the Merling King. She dreamt of Joffrey dying, but as he clawed at his throat and the blood ran down across his fingers she saw with horror that it was her brother Robb. And she dreamed of her wedding night too, of Tyrion’s eyes devouring her as she undressed. Only then he was bigger than Tyrion had any right to be, and when he climbed into the bed his face was scarred only on one side. "I’ll have a song from you,” he rasped, and Sansa woke and found the old blind dog beside her once again. “I wish that you were Lady,” she said.
-Sansa VI, SoS (bold emphasis mine)
She has a restless night, full of dreams and many names appear in that description. Yet, upon waking, it is Lady’s name Sansa refers too. This led to the idea that Sansa may not have wolf dreams in the same way as her siblings, but she still has dreams.
So, if Lady is still with Sansa, how would it be displayed? After all, she’s not up north with Jon and Bran, surrounded by the old gods. She’s not with Arya at magic assassin school. Sansa is in KL and the Vale, interacting with Cersei, LF, Joffrey, and other real winners. Her story features politics, diplomacy, and court intrigue. Her mantra is “courtesy is a lady’s armor.” Superficially, it appears magic plays no role in her story at all. Yet, the old gods sent her a wolf and Lady is still with Sansa, at least in her dreams. There is some magic, even if it isn’t to the same degree as the other Starks.
If magic, and a connection to Lady, is part of Sansa’s story, I wondered what it would look like. Her courtesy, and how to wield it, is a skill that grows in the story. We first see her wielding it in GoT when she meets both Renly and Barristan. Later, it comes out in a more polished manner in her Winds gift chapter. Sansa puts a lot of effort in thinking on what to say, how to present herself, what to wear, and so on. She studies people and tries to determine their thoughts and motivations.
Despite this, there are times when it appears almost instinctual for her. There are other exmples, but I’ll limit this to only a few. First, there is this interaction with Tyrion:
“I would sooner return to my own bed.” A lie came to her suddenly, but it seemed so right that she blurted it out at once. “This tower was where my father’s men were slain. Their ghosts would give me terrible dreams, and I would see their blood wherever I looked."Tyrion Lannister studied her face. "I am no stranger to nightmares, Sansa.
-Sansa III, aCoK
Her motivations have nothing to do with nightmares, but a desire to continue seeing Dontos. The lie came to her suddenly and she blurted it out. It’s different than the lie we see earlier in the book, when she struggles to save Dontos. It comes easier to her and it turns out to be the perfect thing for her to say. Tyrion believes her. Later in the same book, she sings to the Hound:
Her throat was dry and tight with fear, and every song she had ever known had fled from her mind. Please don’t kill me, she wanted to scream, please don’t. She could feel him twisting the point, pushing it into her throat, and she almost closed her eyes again, but then she remembered. It was not the song of Florian and Jonquil, but it was a song. Her voice sounded small and thin and tremulous in her ears.
- Sansa VII, aCoK
It’s very similar to her earlier interaction with Tyrion. She remembered, it came to her, she says it because it feels right. As it turns out, the Mother’s Hymn was exactly the song to give, the influence on the Hound is still being felt when we later meet him as the gravedigger.
Finally, we have this observation by Tyrion:
Without his father beside him holding him up, he would surely have collapsed. Yet when Sansa praised his valor and said how good it was to see him getting strong again, both Lancel and Ser Kevan beamed.
- Tyrion VIII, SoS
That passage takes place during the PW when Tyrion and Sansa are in the yard. Here, Tyrion explicitly describes them performing the necessary courtesies which Sansa does with Ser Gyles and a few others. However, her compliment leaves Lancel and Ser Kevan beaming. Not pleased or thankful, but beaming. If we take into account what happens to the two of them further in the story, Sansa’s compliment is an incredibly powerful thing. Kevan is broken up over what happened to his son, to a degree that Sansa would have no way of knowing about. Somehow, she stumbled upon the perfect thing to say. And she did it effortlessly.
Now, Sansa lies a lot. Like a lot. She lies about her love of Joffrey and loyalty to the IT, which no one believes. She lies about going to the godswood. She lies to SR because some lies are kindly meant. She lies to LF because she knows what he wants to hear, lies and Arbor gold. She lies to the Lords Declarant., thinking how her tears would help. She plans what to say and how to behave all through the books.
Yet, every once in a while, something will spill from her lips, without thought or plans, and each time, they turn out to be the exact perfect thing to say. In the first example, she did it to make sure her escape plans continue. In the second, she did it with a knife to her throat while the Hound is suffering a very obvious break.
Sansa, as a character, is strongly associated with empathy, probably more than any other in the books. She helps Lancel, tries to comfort Lollys when crossing the drawbridge, talks to the women during the Blackwater, understands the Hounds’s fear of fire, and so many other examples I could go on for hours.
But, she doesn’t have a wolf to ride with into battle or protect from an assassin. She doesn’t have a wolf to tell her of the free folk close by. But, that doesn’t mean Lady isn’t still protecting her in some way, even if she is physically gone.
So, what if Lady is that instinctual part of Sansa, the unexplained? If Sansa was meant to have her, maybe she still does in some way.
Also, other traits of an empath that Sansa displays: knowing things without explanation, feeling the emotions of others, knowing when someone is lying (she’s getting much better at this), looking out for the helpless (Dontos and Lollys), creativity (singing and dancing, needlework), daydreaming (think of her love of songs and stories).
Basically, this theory is taking certain traits of Sansa, specifically her natural empathy, which is only growing stronger, and trying to connect it to Lady.
Like I said, this is something I consider closer to crack, the textual evidence is weak. It is not something I would present as an argument when discussing Sansa’s character. However, I do believe there is something to the idea of Lady still being with Sansa, even if we don’t (and never will) understand what that something is. After all, the gods sent her the wolf, Sansa was meant to have her. If Lady is a part of Sansa, then that part is already in Winterfell, waiting for her to return home. And I am absolutely convinced, that connection, whatever it is, is not so easily broken.
150 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
sasorisantlers
Sasorisantlers
australiansoap11-blog
Austalian Natural Soap
plattajordenubg-blog
extrem Bibliskt-bokstavlig teologi
