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mearcatsreturns · 3 years

Note

15 for Abby/Luka

For reasons ;)

Under a cut because it's long.

July 2003

To: Luka Kovac <“[email protected]”>

From: Abby Lockhart <“[email protected]”>

Subject: I’m drowning and praying ghosts are real

Dear Luka,

Something about knowing that I’ll never talk to you again is just unbearable. I’ll never laugh at your malapropisms, look into your beautiful eyes, feel your strong hands holding mine, or make love to you again. There won’t be any more jokes about jam and cheese on toast, or you teasing me for my weak but constant supply of coffee. I’ll never hear your amazing, deranged laughter after you prank someone again. No more of your hugs—which are somehow the best hugs in the world. Because you’re gone.

It’s been three days since we got the call telling us you died thousands of miles from home, whether that’s here in Chicago or in Croatia. I didn’t know your dad’s name, Luka. We needed to call him, and I didn’t know. How did I not know? And now I can’t. I mean, L’Alliance told us his name, but the fact that I’ll never learn pieces of your history, of the wonderful man you are, FROM you...how am I supposed to go on and live my life?

For years, I’ve thought medicine was my great thwarted love. I’ve wanted to be a doctor for so long, and I thought I was bitter about having to let go of that dream. Now I wonder. I let obstacles get in the way of pursuing medicine, and it’s made me...well, it’s part of why I was so unhappy. But that makes me think about how I also let obstacles get in the way of us. I was happy with you, you know, until I let fear and my mother and Carter get in the way. God, I wish I could do that over again. We could have had everything, and if I hadn’t gotten in my own way, I’d be happy. I think maybe I could have made you happy, too.

It’s funny. I knew things with Carter weren’t working, and he implied you were part of it. I said it wasn’t, but then five minutes later, I found out you were—are—dead. And I realized you were the reason, or one of the big ones. As soon as Chuny told me, I knew I loved you and had loved you for years. Yeah. Great timing, isn’t it? I keep thinking that maybe I could have kept you from going if I had known or if I had told you. I didn’t want you to go when I thought you were my very attractive friend and ex that I still was fond of. Knowing that I love you—how do I move past that? Knowing that I lost you, first to my stupidity and then to death?

I just...I miss you, and I don’t when I’ll stop, or how to. Susan caught me crying on my last shift, and I didn’t even know what to say. I feel like I’ve been crying or standing still, brittle and stuck in time, since I heard the news. I can’t, Luka. I know I have to keep on moving, and I thought maybe writing you would help. I know you’ll never see this, never have a chance to respond. But the idea that some fragments of your soul linger and can maybe sense...I don’t know. That I’m writing? What I’m feeling? Jesus, this is crazy.

All my love,

Abby

Abby angrily swipes the tears from her eyes. God, what’s the point of writing this? He’ll never see hsi email or her again. Just...without Luka, how can the world be anything but grim and sad and pointless?

She laughs mirthlessly. Maybe it doesn’t matter. No, she knows it doesn’t. Because Abby knows the futility of it, aches with the meaninglessness, she presses send without another thought.

&&&

Three days after that, a miracle occurs. Luka, the Lazarus of this new millennium, comes back from the dead. He’s never been dead, and maybe, Abby thinks, there’s a God above after all. So many people wish for this exact boon, and she—they, the world—gets it. Some higher power believes this planet is a better place with Luka Kovac in it, and Abby is ecstatic.

Until she remembers the email and that they can’t be unsent.

It’s fine. She’ll be fine. Luka is coming back, apparently with a French nurse. Maybe he’ll just delete it without reading it. Maybe it didn’t go through—how does email work for the dead, and how quickly is all that processed?

Abby shakes her head. It doesn’t matter; Luka is alive and returning to them. She can handle a little awkwardness in the face of the sheer joy of knowing the world is a brighter, kinder place. He’s coming back, and that’s what’s important.

&&&

August 2003

It takes Luka almost a week after returning to Chicago to convince Kerry and the other staff to let him go back to his apartment. Even so, they only agree when Gillian assures them she’ll see to his every need.

Abby winces when she hears that, and it makes something flutter in Luka’s chest. Which probably isn’t good for his malaria, but the hope...that is.

It’s another two days of lying in bed before he has the energy to ask Gillian to bring him his laptop. At this point, it’s been months since he’s checked his email, and Luka grimaces at the undoubtedly horrible state of his inbox. He briefly considers never checking again and just getting a new one, but he knows his father struggled to add him to his contacts once already. To expect it of him again would be absurd.

With a sigh, Luka opens his email. It’s just as bad as he feared. He snorts at the myriad messages about Viagra, Nigerian princes, and Russian brides, deleting them without thought. He saves a couple from his dad. He slowly whittles down his inbox, but he freezes when he gets to one email in particular, sent about a month ago.

It’s from Abby, during the time everyone thought he was dead.

Luka considers calling and asking her if someone hacked her email or is sending spam from her account, but the subject line...it looks real. And Abby’s been odd around him lately, seeming both deliriously happy to see him and awkwardly nervous.

His heart pounds, and he clicks to open it. If this is a spammer, they’re probably about to get whatever they want.

&&&

Abby pours herself another coffee, internally swearing as she prepares for the last two hours of her shift. Deciding to go back to school is great; having to coordinate all the details is less thrilling and leaves her tired and cranky.

Frank ducks his head into the lounge, beady eyes narrowing on her. “Hey, Abby. The Croat is on the phone for you. Line 2. Try to get back out there as fast as you can, Weaver’s yelling at the med students about IVs.”

“Okay, Frank,” Abby says, though she flushes and her palms start to sweat. It’s fine. She can always hide the panic and butterflies in her stomach with sarcasm. It has yet to fail her.

Frank gives her one last suspicious look, then nods and heads back to Admit.

Abby takes a deep breath, then picks up the phone. “Hey, Luka?”

“It’s me. Glad I could reach you. How are you?” He sounds...ugh. So good. And eager and happy, and her heart could leap right out of her chest.

“Doing all right. I just have a couple hours left on this shift, and it hasn’t been too awful today. Only one MVA. How about you? You feeling okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Recovering. Listen, did you want to come over for dinner?”

“Please tell me you’re not trying to cook.”

“What? I’m a good cook, even if you don’t appreciate wonderful, traditional Croatian dishes,” he says with a chuckle.

“Luka, you just got out of the hospital five days ago. You still need to be resting.”

“Abby, don’t worry so much. I was just kidding. I have some sandwiches from Manny’s, and Anna sent me home with lots of matzo ball soup too.”

Abby bites her lip. Of course she wants to go. But the prospect of spending the evening with Gillian cooing over Luka, knowing that she shares a bed with him, is decidedly less appealing. And there’s the email she sent, which Luka hasn’t acknowledged. He might well have deleted it, or he’s giving her a gracious out.

Her conscience twinges as soon as she thinks about bailing, though. Didn’t she promise herself she wouldn’t take life for granted anymore? She’ll go back to med school, she’ll have dinner with Luka when he asks.

“Abby?”

She starts, realizing she needs to respond. “Yeah, sorry. Yeah, I can do that. I can be there an hour after my shift, if that’s okay.”

“Sounds great. Looking forward to seeing you.”

“Me too.” He has no idea how much, even if she wishes she knew for sure that he’d deleted the email.

&&&

Abby rings Luka’s doorbell three and a half hours later. She’d meant to come straight from work, but after a patient vomited on her, she decided to head home, shower, and splurge on a taxi to Luka’s. The poor man is recovering from being deathly ill and doesn’t need County’s fumes making things worse.

There’s the sound of the deadbolt sliding, and Luka answers the door, grinning happily at her. “Good, you made it! Come on in!”

“I did. Sorry it took me longer than expected.” Abby steps into his apartment, looking around. It’s been such a long time since she’s been here, and she notes the subtle changes in the art and decor.

“No worries. I know how it goes.” He places a hand at the small of her back, guiding her inside.

Abby stiffens for a second at how his touch burns even through the layers of her shirt and light jacket, but she relaxes, enjoying the feel while she waits for Gillian to appear and end the fleeting joy.

Luka is unfazed. “Now, of course we can just eat the sandwiches, but if you want to heat up the matzo ball soup, you can. Since you don’t want me standing,” he says with a wink.

Abby smiles back, shaking her head. “Oh, I see how it is. Make the woman who worked all day do more household work when she gets ho—wait, where’s Gillian? Isn’t she supposed to be taking care of you?”

“She’s not here,” he says simply.

Going to the fridge and taking out the containers of soup, Abby places them in the microwave. Is Gillian out for the evening, or is she gone gone? “Shouldn’t you be with her? Or her here with you, whatever.”

Luka is quiet for a long minute, and Abby wonders if he intends to answer. Finally, he breaks the silence. “I asked her to leave.”

Abby’s pulse speeds up. “What? Why?”

Luka takes a deep breath, clearly ready to respond, and—

The microwave dings, and they both jump. Exchanging a sheepish look, they laugh.

“Look, let’s get some food, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

Abby dishes up their soup and sandwiches, preparing trays so they can sit on the couch. Luka turns on the television, and Abby’s heart rate comes back under control. They sit together in companionable silence while they eat and watch Thom and Jai and the rest of the Fab 5 whip some hapless lawyer’s life into order. When they finish their meal, Abby cleans up, taking the trays back to the kitchen.

She heads back to the couch at the opposite end from Luka, not daring to get closer when she really has no idea what’s going on.

Luka clears his throat and mutes the TV. “So, yeah. I asked Gillian to leave.”

“Oh. So, um, did you break up?”

“She was never my girlfriend, really. She has a boyfriend back in Montreal, they just…” Luka shrugs and runs a hand through his hair.

Abby is more lost than ever. “Ah.”

Taking a deep breath, Luka continues, finally looking over at her. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful she helped me get here and took care of me, but we were never serious.”

Something starts to tug at Abby’s heart, squeezing and twisting and kicking to get free. Is it...hope? “Well, I’m glad she got you here safe, but you should have someone staying with you while you recover, Luka. Malaria is dangerous.”

He gives her a look. “I know how dangerous malaria is. I’m getting better. And besides, it wouldn’t have been fair for me to ask her to stay when things are over because I’m in love with someone else.”

Her heart leaps into her throat. “Someone else?” she squeaks.

Luka nods, swallowing. “Yeah. And I have a reason to think she might be in love with me too.” He slides over to her side of the couch, reaching for her hand.

Abby meets his eyes—those beautiful green eyes that are the best color in the world—and squeezes his hand, incapable of words. Does he mean…?

With his other hand, Luka reaches up and cups her cheek, running his thumb along the subtle arch of her cheekbone. “Abby, if you’ve changed your mind since you sent that email, please tell me to shut up.”

That stupid, ridiculous email might be the best thing she’s ever done in her life. She leans into his hand, licking her lips as she shakes her head slightly. “I haven’t changed my mind. I didn’t mean for you to see it and hoped I could learn how to hack computers and delete it but—”

Luka cuts her off. “I would never forgive you if you managed to delete it. You wouldn’t believe how much faster I healed after that.”

Abby leans forward, sliding into Luka’s waiting arms. “Then maybe I’ll write you some more emails.”

“Emails aren’t what I want right now,” Luka says.

Funny, Abby doesn’t either. Then his lips brush hers, and all her worries and fears fade away. She knows she has to tell him about med school and he needs to finish recuperating, but when Luka deepens their kiss and pulls her closer, Abby ceases to think at all.

She has Luka back, and now they have each other again.

#er #nbc er #er ff #luby #luby ff #abby lockhart #luka kovac #<3 #my fanfic

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theimpossiblescheme · 3 years

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“Where have you been?!”--for Goemon and whoever you want!

Goemon could already feel his heart sink a bit when a boy no older than seven answered the door, cracking it open just enough to turn on the porchlight above them. “C-Can I help you, Mister—” he nervously eyed the sword at his side—“Mister Samurai?”

“Yes, can you tell me if… if the lady of the house is home?” He wasn’t exactly sure what the proper form of address was. Calling her by her first name seemed too familiar, but he couldn’t be sure if she’d changed her last name in the… fifteen years? Since he’d last seen her.

(Had it really been fifteen years? How had he let the time fly away from him like that? What could he have possibly been too busy with to come back, even just to say hello?)

The boy nodded and hid a few more inches behind the door, turning his face away. “Mom!” he called, and Goemon’s heart sunk a little bit deeper. “There’s somebody at the door! Says he wants to see you!”

“What is it, Kōhei?” A woman’s voice sounded down the inside hallway, followed by the whisper of socked feet. Then another hand came to nudge open the door, and there was Murasaki. Dressed in worn grass-stained blue jeans and a yellow cardigan, her long hair pinned up out of her face in a loose bun and showing a few strands of grey at her temples. Certainly thinner and more tired-looking than he remembered her, but her face lit up with a brilliant smile as she recognized him.

“Goemon!” She sounded shocked, but delighted at the same time. “What are you doing here?”

Suddenly that sounded like a very good question. But Goemon tried to maintain his composure. “I… I hope I’m not intruding. I thought I might stop by and—and see how you were doing.”

“Okay.” She nodded slightly, as if still registering his presence, before seeming to relax a bit and opening the front door wider. “Yeah, come on in! Kōhei—” she ran a gentle hand through the boy’s hair—“this is Mom’s old friend, Goemon. He’s the one who saved our whole family from the Fuma clan, remember?”

Kōhei ducked behind Murasaki’s pantleg and muttered a quick “hi” before dashing off down the hall. Goemon couldn’t help but give a tiny smile as he slipped off his shoes, discarded his sword, and stepped inside.

“Don’t worry about him, he’s just shy,” Murasaki said as she watched him run off, tucking a few loose strands of hair back into her bun before turning back to Goemon. “So what brings you all the way out here?” The where on earth have you been?! was implied, even if it was a gentle urging rather than a demand, and for a moment Goemon had no idea what excuse he could possibly give. What did one even say after fifteen years?

“I—Lupin and Jigen and I had been travelling for a while, and I had… I had started to miss home. And I figured along the way I would come and visit you… since it’s been so long.” We’ve done so much together, Murasaki, you wouldn’t believe, his thoughts raced wildly. We stole from palaces, we robbed the biggest casino in the world, we saved a princess and uncovered a worldwide conspiracy… and I never even thought to write to you. And it’s been too long for any apology to be good enough. I wish you could have seen it, I know Lupin wanted to invite you along all those years ago, and I know you wanted to see the world. I’m sorry I never took him up on it when I had the chance. “I hope I didn’t come at a bad time,” was what he said instead.

“No, no, it’s okay!” she quickly reassured him. “Actually, you came at a great time—I was just making us a late supper. We’ve been so busy today the time kind of got away from us, but you’re welcome to join us!”

Goemon blinked. Of all the responses she could have given, that was the most optimistic one, but he’d always suspected it was just wishful thinking. Now that he was here… “I’d… I would like that.”

Murasaki gave him another smile, an even brighter one this time, and gestured for him to follow her. He still remembered his way around the Suminawas’ old home surprisingly well, although the large TV in the living room and the power strips with multiple long extension cords running to and from the kitchen threw him for a moment, and he almost sat on someone’s stuffed dog next to the dining room table. While Murasaki busied herself in the kitchen, he glanced around the place through the open dividing screens, taking it all in. It was still the same house, the same woodwork, the same art on the walls and shelves, the same view of the garden outside… but it felt very different now. More energetic in a way, more lived-in.

“That boy, Kōhei… is he yours?” He had to be—she’d clearly named him after her grandfather, who must have passed away years ago. Another pang wrung through Goemon at the thought.

“Mm-hm.” Murasaki rearranged a few pots on the stovetop before getting a new one out for tea and filling it with water. “Kaneto and I adopted him. We’d always wanted kids, but neither of us wanted…” She shrugged demonstratively. “You know.”

Goemon nodded. At least she’d found someone else who understood what she truly wanted in a marriage, even if it might seem like comparatively little. “What does Kaneto do for a living?”

“We both teach! At the high school the next town over—he teaches history, I teach biology.” Setting out two teacups on the counter and leaving the water to boil, she turned back around to face her guest. “And one the weekends he helps me with the garden. That’s what we were doing all day until I sent him out to go run errands for me,” she added with a somewhat embarrassed wave down at her jeans.

Goemon only nodded again. He remembered her telling him, way back when they first met, that she wanted to earn her teaching degree someday, even if she had to put it on hold to care for her family. Now she seemed truly happy with both, and he was happy for her truly—it would be selfish of him to even entertain the slightest bitter thought…

It wasn’t bitterness exactly. More of a heaviness that sat at the bottom of his ribs and the pit of his stomach, even at seeing her current happiness. A feeling he’d always tried so hard to transcend over the years, but it never quite worked.

A photograph hanging nearby caught his attention—a family portrait. Murasaki stood beaming next to a man in a smart, slightly old-fashioned suit with dark brown hair. They were about the same height, which made Goemon chuckle, but the Kaneto in the frame still managed to smile down at his wife like he couldn’t believe his good luck. Next to her stood a much more energetic Kōhei, grinning from ear to ear, and at Kaneto’s side stood a little girl, presumably their daughter, in bright yellow overalls and a fluffy white bow in her ponytail. All four of them looked deliriously happy, and Goemon’s heart suddenly ached so much he could feel his shoulders sinking as the heaviness expanded. He’d missed it. He’d missed all of it. She’d found love again, gotten married for real this time, taken in her own adorable children, built a new life for herself…

And he hadn’t even thought to write to her. She’d never left his thoughts, never for a moment, but thoughts couldn’t be delivered to someone’s home, couldn’t be read as plainly as words on a page. So much time he’d never get back, so many chances gone. He didn’t even feel bitter at the loss—he just felt sad, almost ashamed, that he’d never known, never got a chance to be there when it all happened. It felt odd, almost too simple assigning such a basic word to such a strong emotion, but sometimes the simplest explanations were the best.

“It sounds like I’ve missed quite a lot.”

He hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but a frown line in Murasaki’s forehead deepened as she tended to the tea. “Well… you were gone for a long time.” Her voice was still gentle and nonjudgmental, but the additional weight of her words settled at the pit of his stomach and joined the sour, regretful churn there.

“I know.” It was silly, really… Goemon wasn’t entirely sure what he’d expected. Even years before the whole mess with the Fuma clan, they had both been practically children when they first met. And while she’d been able to stay that way a little longer, joyous and bouncy and carefree even into her twenties, he had to grow up rather quickly. Momochi’s treachery, Jinen’s murder, that terrible cult pursuing Fujiko… and all of this before he and Lupin found each other. Since then he’d met three new friends, watched at least two old ones die, and forced himself to reconsider his place in the world. He could never be the same callow naïve youth he’d started as, and he could never be the same man who’d left that day, promising her he’d return once he’d completed his training… maybe he just didn’t like the reminder.

I’m not going to wait for you, Goemon!

It seemed nothing had. And it was selfish of him to expect otherwise. He’d once though that no matter how much the world changed, he would stay the same… now he realized even that wasn’t true. He was part of the same world as Murasaki, as Lupin and Jigen and Fujiko—time passed the same for all of them, no matter how they tried to fight it.

“I didn’t know it would be so long.” It was no excuse, but more of a musing… no one ever did, did they? And then the next thing they knew, fifteen years had gone by without so much as a by-your-leave.

And Murasaki, kind and forever buoyant soul that she was, still refused to judge him. Or if she was, she never betrayed even a hint of it. “I get it.” She poured the water and tea leaves back into the pot to let them steep a few minutes. “Life goes on, you know? It just… happens, no matter where we are. That’s what Grandpa used to say.” A silence ensued then, not quite entirely comfortable, but still companionable as Goemon pondered her words. They were true enough—if someone had told that callow naïve youth that he’d spend years of training to be an assassin, that he’d throw in his lot (and fall in love) with a pack of thieves, that he’d turn down marriage into another proud and noble family… he definitely would have laughed.

What was the phrase? The best laid plans of mice and men… they all certainly seemed to go awry in his experience.

“But for what it’s worth,” Murasaki ventured, emerging from the kitchen with two fresh cups of tea and pressing one into his hand as she sat across from him, “I am glad you came to visit.”

“… I am, too.” He was here now, at least. And perhaps… for all the time he’d lost, there was still time to make it up. He wasn’t planning on stopping anytime soon. As strangely final was his last goodbye to Lupin and Jigen had felt, he loved them and Fujiko far too much to leave their sides entirely. Besides, a samurai’s lot was to serve until death, or at least until he was no longer useful. Retirement simply wasn’t in the cards for Goemon—he’d made peace with that long ago. But strangely enough, the sentiment didn’t have the same… rigid structure it once had. It was less of a solemn vow, a mast he needed to lash himself to lest he be tempted by some other siren song, and more of a recognition of the way things were. Of where his life had led him and would continue to lead.

It had led him and Murasaki in different directions. With their own respective families, unorthodox as his own was (and he could just imagine the insufferably saccharine look on Lupin’s face if he’d heard Goemon refer to him as such). And they were both happy. Maybe years ago he might have resented that, but now… this also felt like the way things were meant to be. Tea on the table, supper on the stove, sitting across from a loved one. What more could he ask?

He did want to at least offer a little more, though—it only seemed fair. “I will probably go back to my family’s old home for a little while, but… if you ever need somebody to help you with the children or in the garden, I’d be more than happy.”

“That sounds wonderful. Oh!” She reached across the table to pat his hand excitedly, a quick succession of feather-light taps. “And you have to meet Mayumi—she would adore you.”

Goemon smiled again, and some of the weight in his chest began to lessen. “I look forward to it.”

#asked and answered #anonymous #lupin iii #The more I've thought about it the more I think of Goemon and Murasaki as... 'Maybe at a different less chaotic time in our lives.'#They eventually end up going different directions but they still think and care about each other regardless. <3 #Her husband and children are named after three of the original Japanese 'Fuma Conspiracy' cast members. :)

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mariocki · 3 years

Text

RIP Daria Nicolodi (19.6.1950 – 26.11.2020)

"I grew up in a house that was like a library or a museum. I feel I refined Dario's taste very much. I went with him to many art exhibitions. [...] I feel I guided Dario to something outside the scope of just cinema, towards art, music, theatre, and other things."

"For me, I did not want to be a star; I just wanted to act well."

A true icon of the silver screen, and one of the most significant figures in Italian genre cinema of the 20th Century. Daria was born in Florence, in 1950, into a talented family of intellectuals and artists: her father was a lawyer, her mother an academic; her maternal grandfather was Alfredo Casella, a composer and conductor who counted Stravinsky, Mahler and Strauss among his friends.

Daria moved to Rome while still a teen, and by 1970 she was beginning to find work on stage and screen. Elio Petri was quick to spot her talent, guiding her through her first theatrical roles, and ultimately casting her as the female lead in La proprietà non è più un furto (Property Is No Longer a Theft, 1973), a highly political satire about wealth and class in modern Italy. The following year, she attended auditions for Profondo Rosso (Deep Red), where she met director Dario Argento. Until this point, she had mostly played attractive blondes and love interests; Argento could see that she was capable of more nuance, and had her cut her long hair and dye it red, adopt a more masculine style of dress, and bring her wry sense of humour to the character of Gianna. In return, Daria adopted some of the director's mannerisms and habits for her character, particularly in her physical movements and hand gestures. The two worked well together, on screen and off; they soon became romantically involved, and in 1975 Daria gave birth to a daughter, Asia Argento (her second, having previously had a child with sculptor Mario Ceroli).

Daria and Dario would remain together for the next ten years. In the process she became not only his partner, but his closest collaborator, and in many ways his muse. Before Asia was born, the two took a holiday in northern Europe, travelling around France, Germany and Switzerland. The trip reminded Daria of her grandmother - another artist, the French pianist Yvonne Müller Loeb Casella - who had a keen interest in the supernatural, and thrilled the young Nicolodi with tales of her time at an academy on the Swiss/German border, where the faculty had all practised black magic. Those stories would form the basic outline of Argento's next film, Suspiria (1977). The couple developed the idea between them, and worked together on the script, incorporating everything from fairy tales to Nicolodi's dreams. In later years, Argento would downplay the contribution made by Daria to the finished script, but her influence - and in turn, the way Suspiria would influence the entire horror genre, and develop Argento's work - is undeniable. Her fight for official recognition - and a screen credit as co-writer - left the actor exhausted.

Daria had also intended to act in the film, but was prevented by injury. She returned for Inferno (1980), the spiritual sequel to Suspiria, and once again contributed behind the cameras: the original concept was Nicolodi's, and she worked on the script with Dario. Unwilling to fight him again, her writing work went uncredited this time. With their professional relationship strained, Nicolodi would only agree to a small supporting role in Argento's next film, Tenebre (Tenebrae, 1982). However, when the American actor who had been cast as the female lead dropped out just before the start of shooting, Daria once again found herself starring in an Argento horror film. The shoot was not a happy one; as Daria bonded with her onscreen love interest, Anthony Franciosa, over a shared passion for theatre, Argento became jealous and difficult. The atmosphere on set deteriorated to such a point that, when directed to give a short, sharp scream for the final shot of the film (her final day of shooting), Daria instead unleashed a long, deafening howl of terror. What she described as her "cathartic release from the whole nightmare" would become one of the most iconic moments in the film.

By the time they were making Phenomena (Creepers, 1985), the relationship between Nicolodi and Argento was beginning to fail. They would separate that year, and although she initially did not express any interest in working for the director again, she was tempted back for Opera (1987) by an elaborate death scene. Outside of her work with Dario, Nicolodi had built up a modest but significant filmography with other big names in Italian genre cinema. For the great Mario Bava, she starred in his final film, Shock (1977); for his son, Lamberto, she took a supporting role in Le foto di Gioia (Delirium, 1987). Michele Soavi, a protégé of her former partner, cast her in La Setta (The Sect, 1991), but mainly she would concentrate on the stage from this point on, describing theatre as her first love. The tragic death of her elder daughter, Anna, in 1994, only kept her further away from the limelight. It was the burgeoning career of younger daughter Asia, both as actor and director, that would tempt her back in front of the cameras.

Although she made comparatively few films, Daria's impact on Italian horror cinema has been huge. What's most fascinating is how deeply individual and unique each of her performances were. It's tempting, in looking at her work with Dario Argento, to perhaps project a potential pattern in her different roles, that aligns with how he may have viewed their relationship. In Profondo Rosso, shot whilst they were still getting to know one another, she is self-contained, confident, attractive and capable. By Inferno, when their relationship was well established and they had a child together, her character is much more vulnerable, an innocent caught up in something terrible and in need of protection. In Tenebre, one of Argento's most accomplished films, she has her weakest part - she was unhappy with the role, which is notably underwritten compared to the characters around her, and in which her main purpose seems to be to react to the events unfolding. As their relationship faltered on the set of Phenomena, she took her ugliest role of all - a dark distortion of obsessive motherhood. Perhaps it might seem like a disservice to her, to make these comparisons, but it is also true that Daria was an incredibly obliging actor - always at pains to give her director (Argento or otherwise) exactly what she thought they needed, whether requested or not. Petri had told her she reminded him of a figure from his past, so she consciously exaggerated those mannerisms to please him; Argento originally struck her as egocentric, so she mirrored his stance and his gestures. A consummate professional, I don't think it's beyond the realm of possibilities that by Phenomena she was channeling their dysfunctional relationship and distorted self images into one of the most intense and disturbing performances of her career.

I would have first seen Daria in Profondo Rosso, more than a decade ago now. It remains one of my favourite films, and her performance in it quite simply one of my favourite performances ever given by an actor. Gianna is such a complete and unique creation, unlike not only any female character in Italian cinema at that point, but quite unlike any character in a horror film. Profondo Rosso is a giallo film, perhaps the finest giallo film - it is a bloody, terrifying slasher film in which horrific violence is visited on the undeserving. And as Gianna, Daria spends the entire film incredibly, almost deliriously happy. She grins, she poses, she spins her cigarellos between her fingers. She teases David Hemmings, pricks at his ego, challenges him to arm wrestling contests. She drives a broken down car, tricks her way into crime scenes, and takes photographs of witnesses even when strictly forbidden to. She is among the most likeable, endearing, and thoroughly real protagonists to ever appear in what is essentially a fantasy film. She is so very human that she grounds what should be a totally absurd concept, and in the process provides exactly what it is that makes that film work so well - and it did work, the film was a huge critical and commercial success, and revitalised Argento's career after an early 70s slump.

There are two cuts of Profondo Rosso, and I know there is a school of thought that the shorter, international cut (which removes much of Nicolodi's work, trimming all the more jovial and character-building scenes) is the superior one - that it makes for a sharper, more suspenseful thriller. I absolutely disagree. To cut the relationship scenes is to take out the heart and soul of the film: Hemmings is the purported lead, but his character is detached, emotionally stunted. The heart of the film is in Nicolodi - in her sharp suits and twinkling eye, in her laughter and her fear - and the only reason the suspense works at all is because the audience has a reason to care, someone to care about. Profondo Rosso was the first time I saw an Italian film not as a garish thrill, but as something much deeper, more profound. It was perhaps the first time I realised that a horror film could also be art. I fell in love with Italian cinema, with gialli, and with Daria Nicolodi.

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breath-of-the-hobbies · 3 years

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BOTW2 - A Return to Darkness

(I’ve never written fan-fic before in my life, but all of these new BOTW theories and art inspired me to write this idea out. Special shout-out to @autumn-sweet-fae for the idea about Link’s ability reset! [x])

The series of caverns beneath Hyrule Castle seemed to be a source of boundless interest and excitement for Zelda, who stopped to document every carving and luminescent gem with the Sheikah slate no matter how small or difficult to reach. Link felt the absence of Revali’s Gale acutely whenever Zelda lamented being unable see the carvings far above their heads, but Revali and all of the other Champions had long since moved on, taking their gifts with them.

The two Hylians, displaced in time, had initially begun exploring the newly uncovered cave system as a way to escape the realities involved in rebuilding a kingdom. Soon enough, though, it became obvious that there were important secrets tucked away beneath the ground, perhaps even older than the Sheikah. Zelda hoped that uncovering these secrets could help in the rebuilding process, and so their short, escapist trips had turned into full-fledged expeditions.

They had recently discovered a steeply descending path near an entrance by the Great Plateau. Although Zelda continued to record her findings as diligently as always, they both felt a strange sense of disquiet as they descended into the darkness. Though they had been seeking answers to their questions for months, this was the first time they were afraid of the response.

When they discovered Ganon’s mummified corpse, things began happening very quickly.

Perhaps it was the presence of all three people of legend in one space that activated the chain of events. Within moments of the Hylians stepping into the final cavern, the earth began to shake and malice oozed from the floor. A glowing turquoise light leapt like lightning from Ganon’s form to Link’s arm, which he had instinctively extended to shield Zelda as stalactites and whole chunks of the ceiling rained down around them.

The shock of the light touching his skin—no, entering his skin—was nothing compared to the acidic burning of malice as the slime piled up on itself and swarmed the glowing arm, as though with a single-minded purpose.

Zelda screamed his name over the thundering of stone, knuckles white on her sword grip. Neither of them had seen anything like this, and neither knew how to combat it. Link stepped backwards, tearing at the ooze and trying to keep it away from his princess, noticing how it seemed to be exclusively targeting him. Afterwards, he would remember that small step with piercing regret. If he had only been closer, if he could have moved a little faster…. The ground collapsed beneath Zelda’s feet. Link lunged forward, desperate, reaching—their fingers brushed, and then she was gone.

Link could barely process anything. The earthquake had stopped. Ganon’s corpse had disappeared into the yawning black mouth that now filled the cavern, the same mouth that had eaten the only person who mattered to him in this world. The malice had somehow shriveled and sunk into his arm along with the strange light, and now a black rot was crawling up towards his shoulder, rendering the whole limb dead. He was unable to handle a glider or climb down into the hungry darkness, and the gnawing, unnatural pain in his arm was enough to drive him to his knees.

Slowly, painfully, and with an involuntary cry of agonized frustration, he tightened a belt around his upper bicep in an attempt to stem the creep of malice and stumbled up the debris-filled path to the surface.

When he finally emerged into the calm summer evening, his horse startled and shied at his approach, registering the scent of his arm as a corrupted enemy. Nearly delirious with pain, fatigue, and fever, Link still managed to soothe it, leaning his face against its neck and pretending that it was sweat running into its fur. He could barely stand to look at Zelda’s beautiful horse, but forced himself to clumsily fasten its lead to his own horse’s saddle.

But where to go? His champion allies were gone. The castle was still largely abandoned, the guardians erratically active and monsters as yet un-eradicated. The closest source of help was days away, and the slate had been with Zelda, so there would be no teleporting.

Purah’s not going to be happy about this. He thought nonsensically, and set his horse’s nose towards Hateno Village.

***

He did his best to cling to the horse’s mane, but as the familiar village appeared in the distance, his sense of relief overpowered the adrenaline that had kept him going for the past several days. Slowly, gently, darkness clouded his vision and he slipped from his mount’s back, falling into the ditch on the far outskirts of Hateno Village. The horses, exhausted themselves, barely registered the change in weight and continued on to the place where they knew that apples and good hay could always be found.

The children of the village, who had frequently begged rides from Link and clung to him on past visits, immediately recognized that something was wrong when they spotted the tired creatures trudging up the cobbled street. They ran to the eccentric scientist up in her tower, and joined Symin, her chief researcher, in a frantic search of the area. The sun was beginning to set when they finally found the unconscious Link. Symin scooped the small hero up in his arms, a knot of fear in his stomach, and carried him to his lady.

***

Link opened his eyes to sunshine streaming through a window, birdsong, the warm scent of hay and machine oil. The agonizing, corrupted, wrong pain in his arm had faded, but in its place was a weak and draining numbness. Remembering Zelda’s fall, he sat up with a gasp, and immediately crumpled, spots swimming in his eyes, heartbeat rushing in his ears. As he panted, head between his drawn-up knees, he heard soft steps as someone came up the ladder to this bedroom.

“I would have thought you’d slept long enough the last time, Linky.” Said Purah dryly, but not unkindly. “You’re really pushing my skills here. I had to research tech that hasn’t been used since the Zonai disappeared.” Link slowly lifted his head to look down at his arm. The rot was still there, shriveled black skin stretched over tendon and bone. Two things were different: there were engraved metal bands that clasped his arm from wrist to bicep, softly buzzing with energy, and there was a Sheikah emblem tattooed on the back of his blackened hand.

Purah remained uncharacteristically quiet, letting Link take in the changes, before starting up again to enthuse about the tech. “I’m going to keep optimizing it, of course. It’s wildly inefficient at the moment but I needed to get something on you or you’d lose the arm. Currently the runes are drawing directly from your energy just to stop the procession of the corruption, but I plan to improve that. As such I think it’s going to take you a while to get your strength back. I saw you lost your slate—“ her voice hardened in sudden anger “—but until you get it back I’ve got plans to add some capabilities to this tech in the meantime.”

Link finally found his voice. “Zelda.” he croaked, his defeated, exhausted gaze rising to meet Purah’s.

Her face softened. “We were worried why she wasn’t with you, why you were in that state. We sent some people to the tunnels, but they haven’t returned.”

The half-hoping, half-pleading look in Link’s eyes disappeared immediately, replaced with stubborn determination as he placed his feet on the floor and rose, legs visibly shaking.

Purah sighed, as though she had expected this. “You’re in no shape to go after her now. Zelda has held her own in this world for longer than you have, and she can handle herself. You, on the other hand, need to build your strength back up or you’ll be knocked over by the first bokoblin you meet. Or the first gust of wind.”

Link ignored her, taking slow and unsteady steps towards the ladder. “Link, your clothes!” She yelled after him in exasperation just as he missed the second rung and disappeared from view. A loud thud and a startled exclamation from Symin rose back up through the hole in the floor. “Hylia, why me?” She asked the air.

***

Link glared at the straw monster in front of him, sweat running into his eyes. It took all his effort to raise the stick in his right arm, the numbness of the limb and unfamiliar weight of the tech making every movement sluggish. He had been hacking at the doll for hours and yet it looked fresher than he did.

Symin watched from the window, sipping a cup of tea. “Should we stop him?” He asked. It was several weeks now since the scrawny hero had picked himself up off the floor and legged it out the door, only to collapse less than halfway down the hill. Since then, he had spent every waking moment making his best attempt at training.

Purah didn’t glance up from her book. “The man just lost everything he cares about for a second time. In many ways he’s worse off than he was when he woke from the century’s sleep. At least that time he had his strength, if not his memory. Let him work things out his own way.” Unspoken between them was the knowledge of reports from central Hyrule that the castle was once again filled with malice and making the ground tremble day and night. Link had not told them the details of his encounter, nor indeed spoken hardly at all, but his grim determination said more than enough.

Only a few days later, the morning after Purah had successfully implanted the first upgrade into Link’s arm, Symin slammed open the door to her tower study, panic and worry twisting his face. “He’s gone! Link’s gone!”

Purah turned to gaze out her window. She didn’t look surprised, but her normally boisterous personality was briefly extinguished. She shook herself and turned back to her notes with renewed vigor. “He’ll be back. Let’s be ready for him.”

Chapter 2

#botw #botw2 #legend of zelda #breath of the wild #link #zelda #purah #symin #botw fic #botw2 fanfic #breath of the wild 2

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soren-bleu-kun · 4 years

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BnHA Fics I’ve Read This Week 1

I read and review a lot of fics, every week. Here is the list from last Friday, to today. Let me know if I should I do this next week.

Bloom in Winter - God linking all the art for this was a bitch in my google document, but worth it. In this uncompleted and seemingly abandoned twelve chapter fic where Midoriya is forced to work with villains with his analytical abilities. The story picks up when he finds out that he’s going to have to infiltrate UA as a General Studies student in order to find a way to help kill his idol, All Might.

The Sun in My Eyes - This is a MomoJirou fic where the two girls meet at a young age and slowly fall in love as they grow up together. A fast read, and really cute.

Trust Fall - This is a cute little fic that I think is supposed to end on a note of a possible relationship between Shinsou and Midoriya. Basically, the 2A addition to the UA Cultural Festival is a cat café, and while chasing one down both Midoriya and the cat he was chasing end up stuck in a tree, and it’s Shinsou to the rescue.

What’s She Got That I Don’t? - This is a one-shot where we see Kirishima tell Bakugou that he has a crush on him. Getting rejected, he expected that. What he didn’t expect was for Bakugou to turn around and ask out Uraraka the very next day. This one-shot was good, but painful at times.

I. Shaky Hands - This is the beginning of rexcorvidae’s incomplete Whumptober Series. I did not review every single piece of this series, but it does kick off with a very good start. Dadzawa to the rescue when he realizes that - with all the damage that Midoriya’s done to them - his problem child can’t use a pen well, or a pair of chopsticks.

[Because this was a series of unconnected stories, I will be putting each one that I reviewed after this]

III. Delirium - Midoriya gets sick out of the blue in the UA dorms, attacks some students in his delirious state, and collapses. The whump is just spectacular and I love any story that features a character that thinks their friends are their enemies

IV. Human Shield - While taking Midoriya out for ice cream, he and Yagi get attacked. His brilliant solution to save his mentor? Jump in front of the bullet and almost die. There is some good Dad Might in this fic.

VII. Isolation - Warning, this fic deals with Suicidal Ideation. Basically, what would happen if Midoriya took Bakugou’s middle school taunting as far as it could have gone. It ends with him standing on a roof, read at your own risk.

XV. Scars - Midoriya has scars from the years of violent bullying that he went through and they don’t go unnoticed by his mentor. On the other side of the coin, Midoriya doesn’t want to tell Yagi who did it because he knows that if the people who tormented him don’t get to slide into being the heroes that they don’t deserve to be, they could be terrible villains. I honestly love this fic, it deserves everything.

XVI. Stitches - This is an AU where Nighteye finds Midoriya at a pretty young age, sees the sort of analytical work that he can do, and has him intern at his office [and holds onto his notebooks for him, since there’s a lot of dangerous information in there, even if Midoriya doesn’t understand that when they first meet]. This story takes place a few years into that internship, when Midoriya collapses at work after the stitches he put in himself after another round of violent assault from his classes gets infected.

XVIII. Muffled Screams - The last fic in this series that I reviewed, and it is a painful one, quite literally for Midoriya. In this story, he has been kidnapped, and he has one job. Don’t scream. Of course, this is difficult as he gets tortured, but he has to, because the villain promises that if he makes a noise, someone he cares about will die. We see this from the live feed that is being broadcast of the torture, with Yamada, Aizawa, and Yagi.

Is it the Thunder in the Distance - This is a good little one-shot featuring Yagi spending the night at the Midoriya household and finding his successor sleeping on the floor right outside of his room. All in all, this is a very good fic and I like it a lot. Note, the actual name of the fic is much longer, but I am not writing the entire thing out again.

If I’m Losing Again, Quiet Me Down - This takes place during the Stain Arc, when Midoriya is sitting in the hospital with Todoroki and Iida. While calling around to make sure that people know that he’s okay, he ends up having a panic attack. There is a soft ending to this one.

I’ll Carry You Home - This was a debut fic for the author on Ao3, and it features Yagi carrying an exhausted Midoriya home after a long day of training. Most adorably, he accidentally calls his mentor “dad,” and when Midoriya wakes up enough to realize what he said there is a lot of apologizing. All in all a cute story.

Growing Like You - This is a short one-shot featuring Midoriya finding out that one of the side affects of his new Quirk is that he’s growing, fast and a lot. Trying to find him something to wear, Yagi ends up stumbling across a box of his old UA clothes, and he gives it to Midoriya.

Feelings of a Fanboy - This is one of those “What if Midoriya had a Quirk” stories, and they are some of my favorite kinds of fanfics out there. In this one, his power is called Emotional Rush. Basically, the more he feels, the stronger and faster he gets. This goes up to right around/before the Stain Arc.

Father’s Day - This is a fic that features Hisashi Midoriya not really being around and Yagi stepping into the paternal role in Midoriya’s life, something that they both seem to need.

Define “Villainy” - This is more or less a crack fic where Tsuyu realizes that literally no one in her class has tried to stop her from straight up attempting to murder Mineta, and they will probably continue to let her because no one in the class actually likes him.

Anything, Anything - This is a fic that I already recommended to someone, and it is so good. This is a fic that features eventual TodoDoriya, where the two of them keep running into each other in the UA Dorms common room whenever they wake up from nightmares.

Those Hardest to Love Need it the Most - This is a Dadzawa fic where Aizawa finds out that Midoriya was extremely mistreated at his middle school and opens up an investigation in hopes of taking the place down for Quirk discrimination.

All the Signs - This is a crack fic for what I consider a bit of a crack ship, Huyumi. Basically, Fuyumi gets pregnant with Hawks’ kid and starts acting a little... bird like. The author, ohmytheon, is fantastic and I have read so much of their stuff.

Come Home - This fic breaks my entire heart. This is a story where Touya and Fuyumi Todoroki are twins, two halves of the same whole. This goes through their childhood together, right up to the end where Fuyumi watches Touya being Dabi on TV and refuses to rat him out. She just wishes that he would come back.

Who Will Protect Them - USJ 2.0, taking place when 1A has become 3A. After getting slammed into a wall and not being able to get back up, Aizawa wonders who’ll protect his class, before realizing that they’re more than keeping their own. He’s proud... and he’ll be even more proud if he survives this.

Darken Your Door - This is a fic that deals with neglect, emotional abuse, and manipulation. While on a run to a corner store with Midoriya, Aizawa gets to meet his students estranged father. It doesn’t take long for him to realize that his student is extremely uncomfortable around his parent. From then on he wraps Hisashi Midoriya in more red tape than he’ll be able to get out from under. No one talks to his students unless his students want to hear from that person.

Mouth Shut (Eyes Down) - A story in which Midoriya does not trust adults because they were the ones that let Bakugou and the rest of his bullies get away with assaulting him. He accidentally admits this to Aizawa after being stabbed when he thought he could “handle” getting stalked.

A Touch of Hope - This is technically a soulmates fic, where you find your soulmate after physical contact. Shinsou was not expecting to find his at UA, nor was he expecting that it would give him an opportunity to join the Hero Course if he can prove himself.

Voiceless - This is a shorter fic, only 1K, and it features Midoriya losing his voice when he gets sick and Shinsou taking care of him. It’s pretty cute.

Creating Music - This is a three chapter fic taking place over two days, the day before and the day of Valentine’s Day. This is a MomoJirou fic that is really cute and sentimental. I love it so much.

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year - In this fic, Midoriya is a dumbass and Shinsou finds his crush stuck to a pole by his tongue. He is not wearing a coat, and he has been stuck like this for a long time.

Hook, Line, and Sinker - This is a great EraserMic fic in a Quirkless AU, where Aizawa thinks that his tinder date it a catfish because there is no way internationally famous singer Hizashi Yamada just matched with him. Note, there is smut in either the second or third chapter.

Ask Me No Questions, I’ll Tell You No Lies - This is a silly little fic where Shinsou and Midoriya share a hotel room. Before you ask, there are two beds. There is a kiss, but that’s about it. A little OOC for Midoriya, but still pretty good.

Shinsou the Local Cryptic - This is a fic where Shinsou becomes an internet meme of his own creating. It’s honestly pretty fun, and I had a good time with this one-shot.

You Anchor Me Back Down - This is a one-shot with some fun art in it. When Todoroki is hit with a random Quirk that causes him to float whenever he’s happy, it’s difficult for him to keep his crush on Midoriya a secret. This takes place during their third year.

Cosmic Confluence - Wonderful Shinsou-Centric fic where he’s a reaper and it’s his job to watch over Izuku Midoriya until he dies. I wish that there was more of this fic that I could read because the idea of this is so interesting.

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lookafterthoselittlesheepforme · 3 years

Link

Merry Christmas and happy holidays! This is my gift to @odyssxus, I hope you enjoy it! It is for the holiday exchange kindly hosted by @theoldguardevents who did a wonderful job, thank you!

It is my first attempt at historical and fluffy with Kaysanova and some found family feels. It is about Nicky attempting to demonstrate his love for Joe through art and it not quite working out in the way he imagined.

A monument to everlasting love

“Nico, oh my heart, it’s beautiful. One of the most captivating works of art I have ever had the privilege of seeing. It takes my breath away.”

“Truly?” Nico asked with a small smile.

They were stood in the drawing room of their beautiful Florentine home. It was the second place that they truly felt was their home, Malta would always be the first. Everything from the blue, white and green patterns painted on the walls to the carefully carved wooden chairs at the dining table was picked or made by them.

The large window behind Yusuf shined on the picture still sitting on its easel. It was the result of a year of Nico’s hard work and frustration. Nico stood slightly behind it off to the side, hands tightly clasped behind his back, standing a little too stiffly for it to be natural.

“Truly.” Yusuf said as he walked forward and held his hand out, Nico instantly walked forward and accepted it, the tension in his body falling away at the merest of his heart’s touch. Yusuf brought the hand up to his mouth kissing the palm before using it to gently turn him towards his own picture.

“I would like to hang it just there, so that it is the first sight I see when I come home weary and need comfort and the last I see to give me strength before I have to leave our paradise. There is only one other sight which could be an improvement.”

“Tajine?” Nico suggested with a playful smile.

“No, I would smell that before I saw it and even that could not compare.”

“The new Botticelli painting?”

“No, no painting of Angels, could compare to the beauty I am referring to.” Yusuf carefully brushed back a strand of Nico’s hair which had fallen forward when he turned around to speak. He let his hand rest there as he continued to speak, “they are beautiful and graceful, I am in awe of them, but nothing in this world,” he moves his hand down slowly, thumb brushing Nico’s cheekbone, “or Jannah,” his hand gently trails down to cup his chin, “not the sun, or stars or moon,” he lightly brushes his thumb over his lower lip, “could ever compare to you, my love, you are the only sight I could not live a day without.”

Nico kisses his thumb before gently bringing their foreheads together. It was a gesture they had developed during their earliest years, there were the barest touches of the hands that neither of them would allow himself to think about for too long, then came the hugs, usually congratulatory, after fighting off bandits or winning a contest, the cuddling at night, was of course simply to share body heat, neither ever truly convinced himself of that in the slightest, but the forehead touch was different. It was necessary but only for comfort, it told each man that the other was truly there, that they were both still alive, still with each other, still connected. It was a confirmation. A silent ‘I love you’ before they ever said it aloud.

“What could I have ever done to deserve you, my love?” Nico asked softly moving a hand to Yusuf’s cheek, stroking the smooth skin above his beard. The other hand resting lightly over his sun’s heart.

“Everything you do, every day, my moon.” Yusuf responded as they both leaned in for a kiss.

“This is new.” Quynh said as she walked into their home. Her and Andromache lived on the floor above them, while the shop that the four of them ran together was below. It was a convenient arrangement. It meant that Andromache and Quynh wandered into Yusuf and Nico’s pantry whenever they were hungry, while wine from Andromache and Quynh’s home mysteriously appeared in Yusuf and Nico’s.

After such a long time together, they had planned to split up for a few years but after four months Andromache and Quynh returned claiming that Florence was simply the most interesting city at the time and Yusuf and Nico claimed that they needed help with their business. None of them had to admit the truth out loud, it was clear to them all.

“Did you paint it?” Andromache added coming to a stop next to Quynh.

“No, Nico painted it for me, as a present.” Yusuf said wistfully.

Quynh opened her mouth before closing it and tilting her head slightly. Hoping that if she examined the painting from a different angle, everything would become clear. It did not.

“What is it?” She asked without preamble.

“He spent months painting this, he’s very proud of it, I am too.”

“That is the reason I am asking you, before he comes home.”

“It is a beautiful piece of art, created with love and care, for me, by the person I love most in this world.”

“You do not know, do you?” Andromache asked, without taking her eyes away from the picture. It was phrased as a question but the three of them all knew the answer.

“I have no notion of what it could possibly depict. I thought perhaps some sort of bird, but that doesn’t explain what this part could be.” He said gesturing to the middle part of the painting, careful not to touch it.

“I think it’s an ear and that part is the head.” Quynh guessed, pointing to the left of Yusuf’s hand.

“Then what could that bit be?”

“A second head? Perhaps there are two animals?”

“It could be you two.” Andromache suggested with a smirk.

“Take that back!” Yusuf said in outrage as Quynh giggled. Andromache only smiled at him in response before walking further into the home. Quynh followed with a shrug at Yusuf. It couldn’t be, he thought as he looked at the painting with a frown, he didn’t pose for it and even if he had, surely the painting could not depict people. Nico was no great artist but, he could paint people better than that. It was a bird, he once again decided as he moved away into the main room, ready to stop his sisters from raiding too much from the pantry, he had haggled for ten minutes for those figs.

Nico trudged upstairs, glad for the working day to be done. He had spent the last twenty minutes arguing with an arrogant minor noble that a piece of velvet was dark blue and not black. He paused after walking through the open doorway.

Yusuf was stood nearby staring at the painting as if it was the most difficult mathematical problem he had ever come across. He sighed as he stepped closer towards it. Nico closed the door quietly.

Yusuf looked at the doorway guiltily.

“You do not know what it is?” Nico asked quietly.

“I er, of course I do.”

“My love,” Nico began as he crossed the room coming to a stop just in front of Yusuf, reaching out to rest his hands on either side of his face softly caressing his skin. Yusuf’s hands instinctively found their way to Nico’s waist before Nico began speaking. “My soul, light of my life, you used to be much better at lying to me.” He says as a little smile graces the corner of his mouth.

“You are not saddened by the possibility of me not, quite, understanding every facet of your vision?” Yusuf asked carefully searching his moon’s eyes, making sure that not even a hint of disappointment was present.

Nico simply smiled wider and leaned in to give him a quick kiss on the lips, soft lips only meeting for a few seconds before moving his face back slightly.

“No. I knew it was terrible, but I made a commitment, I promised you a painting, I had to show you why I had been spending all my time trapped in that awful room without you.”

“You were hardly ‘trapped’. I would have gladly welcomed you back a minute after you went in there, with or without a picture.” Yusuf said unable to keep the obvious fondness from his voice. He had spent too many afternoons hoping that Nico would come out of the little room that he was painting in, before coming to Florence they had spent the vast majority of their lives travelling together and while Yusuf loved sharing a home together, having a space that was unequivocally theirs, a part of him had started to miss the constant closeness of a life of travel.

After four days of barely seeing Nico, Yusuf would have gladly accepted a painting comprised of a single dot of black paint and been so deliriously happy he truly would have believed it to be the greatest piece of art ever created by man because it meant he had his heart back.

“I know, but I wanted to give you something special, something beautiful, similar to the presents that you make for me.”

“You make my whole world beautiful. My moon, you have already given me the most beautiful gifts I could ever recieve, your trust, your body,” his hand lightly moved up Nico’s side coming to rest on his chest. “Your heart, your soul and a true home for my own.”

Nico’s heart skipped a beat. He should be more used to words like these, they were so freely gifted over the last three centuries. They no longer made him incoherent but they never failed to have the same effect on his heart beat.

“Everything is exactly where it belongs,” Nico murmurs placing his hand over the one Yusuf has resting over his heart and stroking it before lifting it to his lips and pressing a reverent kiss to the palm. “Except that ugly painting.” Nico gently disentangled himself from Yusuf as he turned and stepped towards the painting.

Yusuf’s expression changed instantly, the dreamy look in his eye replaced with a look of shock as he launched himself towards the painting standing in front of it protectively.

“No, I love that ug-, this painting.”

Nico laughed as he rolled his eyes and said with exaggerated patience. “Yusuf, you do not know what it is.”

“It is a painting that makes me happy.” He said inching to his left, a slightly better position to protect the painting from.

“What if it depicts something horrible? You would not want such a picture in our home, would you?” Despite them having a disagreement the use of the phrase ‘our home’ created a wonderful warm feeling in their chests.

“You would never make me something horrible, to display in our home, whatever it depicts is beautiful.” Yusuf says triumphantly as Nico side steps to his right and Yusuf mirrors him instinctively.

“My soul, it is awful, it does not match any of the walls or rugs or the other fine art work which we chose together.” Nico says while feigning a step to his left another to his right before actually leaping to his left.

“It should not, it is special.” Yusuf responds as he just manages to block Nico from touching the corner of the painting, by placing his body between them, a cocky grin sliding onto his face as his feet slid to a stop in front of Nico.

“I can do this for centuries.” Yusuf brags. Nico narrows his eyes at him light-heartedly, he looks into his deep brown eyes, they are alight, with determination, ever-present love shining through and a spark of playfulness winking at him. The corners crinkled in mirth. The curve of his soft lips, draws Nico’s eyes, the challenge obvious in his cocky grin. It evokes hundreds of years’ worth of memories, teasingly sparring verbally or physically, always a perfect match for each other, always inevitably ending in a similar way. Nico was helpless to change this pattern, as he felt his heart beat faster, he had no desire to do so.

“As can I,” Nico says with a deliberate look at Yusuf’s lips as he moves closer, stopping agonizingly close to him, almost touching. “I have a proposal,” his breath ghosted along Yusuf’s jaw and he was now whispering into his ear as Yusuf made a questioning little noise. “I take you to our bed-“

“Yes.” Yusuf agreed immediately as he felt Nico grin against his throat. Nico had to place a kiss there before he continued talking.

“And I will give you three guesses, as to what the painting is, if you guess right, it stays exactly where it is, if not I can choose it’s fate.”

“Agreed.” Yusuf replied quickly, as the two hurried to their bedroom.

“And you are sure you cannot convince him to give you one more day to guess?” Quynh asked.

“Yes, he added that part when I was distracted. I have one more day and one more guess.” Yusuf said as he leaned closer to the painting. It still looked like an oddly proportioned bird to him. Despite Nico claiming that ‘some sort of bird’ was a vague guess he had confirmed that it in fact was not. The look on his face when Yusuf had used his second guess of people was enough confirmation that Yusuf was once again mistaken.

He had recruited Quynh and Andromache to help. Quynh had been sitting with him offering suggestions while Andromache had been given the job of distracting Nico and keeping him out of the home. Yusuf had even gotten so desperate that he resorted to asking an artist friend of theirs for his input. Yusuf had never seen Leonardo look so confused. He had guessed dolphins.

He could still not understand how he had come to that conclusion. One of the things that made the painting difficult to understand was that the colours of the things in the middle did not seem to correspond to any living creatures he had ever seen, but he was sure they were animals.

He sighed despite having no idea what they were meant to be he really did love them. Quynh said that they looked quite disturbing but that was probably because they seemed to have sharp teeth, she thought they looked angry, he thought they were just smiling.

“You really do like it?” Quynh asks as she watches him smile at the ugly monsters.

“I do.” He replies wistfully.

“And Nico would not really care if it stays here, it would not embarrass him?”

“No, of course not, I would not want to keep it here if it did, it’s more of a game to him and he thinks that it does not match anything.”

“Then dear brother, I have some advice.”

It was tradition for the immortals to buy new outfits once a year for the biggest festival, it was also a tradition for the couples to surprise each other with their outfits but they still wanted to match. This meant that this year Andromache was picking Nico’s and he was picking hers. All she had left to do was find him a hat. Two hours ago, it had seemed so simple.

“How long are you expected to keep me here for?” Nico asked as Andromache placed another hat on top of his head, this time it was blue with a white feather.

“You shall be the most fortunate man in Florence blessed with my company until sunset.” She said as she tilted the hat again, it was now quite lopsided over Nico’s left eye due to his insolence. He glared at her as best he could.

“I would be a more fortunate man if you did not always agree with him.” He says playfully.

“And you two always say that. I do not have a favourite. Although, Yusuf is delightful to go hat shopping with, that is not why I agree with him this time.” She says replacing the soft blue hat with a slightly larger green one.

“You like that atrocity?” Nico asks, in disbelief.

“It is not terrible. It is not magnificent either but you know I favour the subjects. It does not matter what I think, it was not gifted to me.” She emphasises the last word as she gives up trying to arrange the hat and puts it back.

“Andromache, he does not even know what it is, you are the only one who seems to. He has been staring at it for days and he thinks it is of people!”

Andromache scoffs. “It really is quite clear, if you look at it for a few moments.”

“Exactly, he just does not want to hurt my feelings, it does not matter how many times I tell him that we can take it down, he will not admit how much he dislikes it. That is why I have to do it.”

“Why are you so sure he dislikes it?” Andromache asks as she picks up a yellow hat with a green feather.

“Because I have seen it.” Nico says as he expertly dodges her hands as though she was holding a snake. “No yellow.”

Andromache never one to back away from a challenge makes a few more attempts, joining Nico in laughter as she almost succeeds, lunging forward quickly and almost sending Nico toppling over the side of a nearby cart. They only stop when the stall owner comes over.

She holds her hands up placatingly, both apologise before returning the hat and walking to the next market stall. She picked up the next hat she saw and noticed Nico’s eyes light up, it was a smaller hat, black with a golden pattern of circles stitched around the side and a black feather protruding from the side. It definitely would not have been her first choice for him, it certainly did not bring out his eyes in the way that some of the others had. She smiled as she placed it on his head, this time more carefully and without any resistance from Nico.

“You see brother, when you give someone a gift it does not matter if you like it. You should not be looking at the gift, you should be looking at the person receiving it.”

Yusuf walks impatiently in front of the painting, stopping at each end to study it before taking a few steps back and squinting. Nico leans against the wall behind him, arms crossed, watching patiently. Yusuf turns towards him, opens his mouth and closes it again before turning back to the painting.

“Yusuf, my love just guess.”

“No, I have more time.”

“You do, but it will not change anything.”

An hour passed. Yusuf was struggling to decipher the painting during the daylight, he had no hope of doing it by candle light.

Nico came to his side and wrapped a comforting arm around his shoulder. Yusuf leaned into him and spoke into his shoulder.

“Dolphins?”

He felt Nico laugh as a hand gently stroked through his hair.

“No love.”

Yusuf mumbled something indistinguishable against his chest.

“Pardon?”

Yusuf lifted his head to look Nico directly in the eye as he spoke.

“This is my chair.” He said hesitantly as Nico’s hand immediately stopped moving. Recognition flickered across Nico’s face. Yusuf was glad at least one of them knew what it meant, Quynh had not explained properly.

“Your chair?” Nico attempted to ask lightly. It was too late, Yusuf knew that Nico knew the meaning behind the words.

“Yes, it is and I shall be keeping it, where it is.” Yusuf says confidently.

“If that is your wish.” Nico relents.

“Wait, that is all you have to say?” Yusuf asks, trying to sound less confused than he is.

“Yes, you win.” Nico replies with a pat on the shoulder he is still holding. That was too much. After hundreds of years of being together, Nico had never uttered those two specific words, neither of them had.

“Tell me what ‘the chair’ means.”

“It means our sisters are in trouble, was it Quynh or Andromache or both?”

“Quynh, now that I have told you that, tell me what it means or I will ask her again.”

Nico gave him a sort of appraising look before making a decision and leaning closer to him. His hand began gently stroking Yusuf’s curls again as his body moved closer lightly pressing against Yusuf’s in the most delightfully familiar way, it was full of promise, as was the expression on his face as he began speaking.

“My heart, I have a proposal-“

“No.” Yusuf says quickly disentangling them. He also took a step back for good measure. It took hardly any effort for Nico to distract him, he had to concentrate, if he was within reach, Yusuf knew that his resolve would crumble.

“Tell me, Nico, please.” Nico’s face softened slightly at the last word.

“If that is what you wish. Do you remember making that beautiful wooden chair, the special one, for me? You even carved our names onto two of the legs.” He does remember it well; it still sits in their home. He spent many months crafting it, carving the specific little details of their life into the wood, the loveliest patterns carved into the sides, the moon and the sun on the back and the arms. It was simpler than he expected, the wood was soft, he was able to carve it beautifully.

“Yes, I remember.”

“Well, it broke, the moment I sat on it.”

“What? It did not, I was there. It is over there, working perfectly well.”

“Yes, it did, the arm came off while you were out of the room and I held it there.”

“The first time you sat in it?” Yusuf asks as he rushes over to the chair to inspect it. Nico nods in response.

“When the four of us were having dinner?” He asks as he examines fresh marks on the chair, ones that he knows where not made by him. He receives another nod from Nico.

“My heart, we were sat there for hours.” Yusuf says fondly.

“I remember, it was a long time. The left arm came off first then a leg broke near the end and Quynh and Andromache propped it up with their feet because I asked them to.”

“Is that why it was so hard to make them return to their own home? I thought they just wanted more free food.”

“Yes, they stayed to help.” Nico said with a laugh. “They have helped me repair it every time. They practically rebuilt the whole chair. You worked so hard on making every intricate detail perfect for me, you were so proud of it and I thought if you found out you would want to get rid of the whole thing. I love my chair.”

Yusuf’s face softened. “You can tell me anything, always, but this means you understand why I want to keep my painting.”

“Because you think I will feel rejected if you do not.” Yusuf frowns at this.

“No, because I love my painting. Because the man I love more than life, the one who brings more light into my life than the sun and the stars, the one who is more beautiful than moon and the sea, the man with a heart full of kindness and thoughtfulness which he uses every day to make the world a little brighter, used his beautiful hands,” Yusuf reaches one hand up to hold the one Nico still has wrapped around his shoulders and reaches out with the other to hold Nico’s right hand turning it over and stroking the palm. “To work on a painting, for me, for months, to sit in a little room mixing colours and carefully painting every single stroke, even though it must have nearly driven him mad.”

“It did, I snapped two paintbrushes and none of the colours look the way they should.” Nico muttered with a small smile as they both chuckled and Nico dropped his head forward to lean it against Yusuf’s.

“But you persisted.”

“How could I not? I promised the love of my life.”

“Then it is a monument of your love for me.”

Nico moves his head back slightly so that he can look Yusuf in his beautiful, warm, brown eyes. He knew by looking at him that his love was in this moment utterly guileless, he really did treasure his unsightly gift more than he would a million masterpieces created by the best artists in the world.

“That is why I want it to stay.” Nico says pressing a soft kiss to Yusuf’s forehead.

“Will you tell me what those creatures are?” Yusuf asks softly.

“No, but you have centuries to guess.” Nico says with a grin.

#toggift2020 #the old guard #kaysanova #immortal husbands #fic #joe x nicky

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wrentheworldsatstake · 4 years

Text

Part 1 of 5+1 Stucky learn about the LGBTQ+ Community,

Warnings: Steve has some deeply internal homophobia, and uses some unsavory language to refer to himself+ Steve recalls a murder of a gay neighbor that traumatized him, I essentially projected my religious trauma on him darlings, so it gets angsty.

2k+

1) Steve Rogers was enjoying his countrywide road trip. His favorite things were to visit scenery that he dreamed of seeing with Bucky way back when. His second favorite things were the small shops that reminded him so much of the small businesses back home. It was still hard to buy things, even with Tony funding his trip with more money he’d ever seen, but Steve knew supporting these shops would keep them around, and Steve needed a slice of home.

Steve had motorcycled all the way to Arizona. This is the last stop on his trip, and probably the most painful. Bucky always dreamed of seeing the Grand Canyon, it was one of those dreams that were tossed back and forth if they somehow became millionaires.

Steve remembers that winter that felt colder than the rest. Not much, he was delirious for most of it (according to Bucky after the fact he had his last rites done? Something he has no memory of but to be fair there was a reason he was having his last rites done). That isn’t important, what he remembered was Bucky crying, something he’d never seen before. He remembered Bucky telling him if he made it out of it, they’d see the grand canyon together.

Steve misses Bucky, in ways he knows he shouldn’t. He remembers Robert, the son of the baker that made the good bread. He remembers he was seen kissing a boy, and he remembered Robert ending up dead. Homosexual Killed by Crowd, was in the papers. He remembered that he went to mass with his mother and the sermon that day.The priest called it justice, he called Robert (poor sweet Robert, who snuck his mom a loaf of bread when Steve’s dad died), filthy and depraved, and deserved to be murdered. He remembered the baker at the mass, nodding,crying yes, but nodding. Every time he tried to get bread there from then on it tasted like sawdust.

Steve remembered when the boys (Bucky’s friends really, but when they were mean to him, Bucky chose Steve instead), were talking about Mary. And how her assets were nice and big. They described how attractive she was and Steve didn’t see it. He saw that in Bucky, brave, beautiful Bucky, and that scared him. Made him feel colder than any winter they ran out of kindling.

So there was Steve, staring at the canyon. His heart was shaking in ways that made him worried the serum stopped working. He had a slip of paper, a napkin from a diner with an image of Bucky sketched on it. He held it up so “Bucky” was seeing the canyon.

“Buck, it’s the grand canyon. Buck isn’t it beautiful...”

Steve hoped in heaven Bucky was looking down at him. Steve hoped Bucky was happy up there. Steve hoped that Buck still loved him, even though he ought to know Steve’s proclivities up there. Most of all, Steve hoped that he could make it to heaven, to see Bucky again, even though he was a queer, hoped God made an exception, that maybe if he prayed enough that god could forgive him.

It took a while for Steve to pull himself together. He wasn’t crying- per se, but some tears slipped out. He hiked all the way to a gift shop a couple of miles away from where he-. Well he walked a couple of miles to a gift shop. He had bought gifts for the whole team, except Natasha. Tony and Clint were easy, they both would appreciate a gag gift, so he got Tony a figurine of iron man that made him giggle in the store, with a face painted literally primary color yellow, lopsided eyes, and armor that was pretty much three red blocks stacked on each other. For Clint he got him a bag of birdseed, and he wrote Property of Hawkeye in purple marker on it. (He asked Tony on his phone (after spending twenty minutes reading an operating manual meant for senior citizens) if that’d be funny, and Tony apparently called “dibs” [whatever that meant] on him for a “prank war”).

Thor and Bruce were a little harder, but he got advice from Natasha on what they may like. With Thor he bought food he’d never tried before, so they could try modern cuisine together. With recommendations from Tony, he got Oreos, Twinkies, “Seaweed” (which he had thought was an aquatic plant??), Tater Tots, Doritos, Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, and he did want to try some other things (like sushi? Or pineapple?) but Tony told him it would spoil on the way back. For Bruce, Natasha told him he drank a lot of tea, that it worked with calming him down. So Steve bought tea grown from places he visited. He got some from California called “Golden Feather Tea,” which sounded something Bruce would really like. He also found some from Florida, Alabama, and Georgia.

Everyone had a gift, but Natasha. He wanted to get a gift that Peggy might like, because well… they reminded him of each other. He didn’t want to get anything that may imply he wanted to court her for, so flowers, jewelry, candies, cigarettes (which actually are bad for you? They make asthma worse? Which is pretty disturbing considering how many he smoked when his asthma was bad) or gum. Knowing what he did about Natasha she probably wouldn’t enjoy any of that anyway.

Inside the shop there were a lot of stickers, license plates, and keychains. He also noticed some mid-sized flags he didn’t recognize. Well he recognized one, Natasha had one inside a potted plant. It was pink and orange and white, and he thinks it may be a country flag? He knows those changed some since he got back from the ice. Either way, it seems like a good gift for Natasha he guesses? I mean she already has a tiny one, maybe she’d like another? At least she’d award him for his observational skills.

Going to purchase the flag he noticed a little sign saying 10% of flag purchases will go to some charity called GLAAD. That’s great then! Charities are good. He goes to purchase the flag and put it in the trailer Tony rented for him. He originally decided to go by motorcycle, but when he tried to lug around souvenirs, or sleep in a hotel, he realized he much preferred a mini-house that he drove around than a hotel where his nightmares ended up waking up a baby and it’s parents.

---

Steve was in a good mood. Tony had offered him a room in the tower, which he was worried about originally, but it had so much thought and consideration inside of it he gave the man a bear hug. Tony had a radio on his dresser that Steve remembered having like it once. He had a station on it that played music he remembered throughout his lifetime. There were instructions for each appliance inside of the small kitchen under each appliance. There was “vintage” furniture throughout the apartment, a dresser he remembers his mother dreamed she could have. There were art supplies for him, and a room where he had skyline views and natural light (how Tony knew about his art, he has no idea). Finally he was close to the common room, and could either take the stairs or elevators there, so he was close to the team.

It was an apartment that he dreamed of sharing with Bucky. He could imagine teasing Bucky while he was making the soup for the week. He could imagine giggling and dancing to the radio songs together. He could imagine sharing the bed, holding- no Steve. Steve, that's bad.

---

The entire team was gathered in the common room. Steve had wrapped the gifts inside of newspaper, something he remembered doing with his mom, before kindling got low and they had to use the papers for heat. He handed Tony his first (it was the first one he bought after all). Tony eagerly unwrapped it, flinging paper at Clint, (who balled it up and threw it right back).

“Aww Capsicle ya shouldn’t have,” he said in an exaggerated girlish voice, “Such a gift ought to earn ya a smooch,” which made Steve back up. Did they know, know that he was a homosexual? If they did know, why would they bring it up? These sorts of things were kept shamefully hidden, (unless they were planning to hurt him, but he doesn’t think they will), they weren’t teased or advertised about. Tony stopped when he saw that Steve had backed up, face pale, and somehow the room became more tense.

He handed Clint his gift next. (More like dropped it in his lap, causing an oof to be forced out of Clint). Clint took his newspaper and balled it up and hit Tony, who was just about to tell him not to do that. He held the bag up, and stared at the writing. Natasha who sneaked a peak got a small laugh at the birdseed bag.

“Hey Birdman, do you need that in a feeder form? For when you’re feeling peckish”

Clint stared right into Tony’s eyes, opened the bag, took a handful and ate it.

“No Tony, I have thumbs,” he said after chewing (and grimacing) “so I can eat the birdseed with my hands, I can also do this”

which Clint punctuated with throwing a handful of birdseed at Tony. Natasha rolled her eyes, hoisted up the bag, and said “idiots” almost endearingly? As she put the bag on a shelf by the television.

“Alright then… moving on” Steve said awkwardly. Steve couldn’t really wrap Thor’s gift, so he had it in a plastic bag

“So Thor, uh- we’re both new to the modern era, well you on earth- so I thought that, maybe we can try these foods together? I got a list from Tony and-”

“That would be wondrous shield brother Steven. To try the cuisine of midgard is one of my favorite joys, if they are as any good as those poptarts my friend Darcy introduced me to, we shall have a glorious feast” Thor said, which made Steve sigh in relief, he didn’t want to have made Thor upset (because Thor could crush him with his muscles, his really strong- stop thinking Steve!) Steve gave an awkward smile and moved onto Bruce.

“So Natasha said you enjoyed tea, so I got some from my travels, uh- I hope you like it, if you don’t then I can get you something else-”

“It’s great Steve, thank you,”

Steve sighed in relief, if the team didn’t like him, if they were going to hate him because of his sickness, then how exactly could he lead? He got off on a bad foot in the helicarrier, and things were so different now, and there are now words that were okay back then but, not now, he was being very careful to ensure he didn't offend anybody.

He saved Natasha’s gift for last. He handed it to her kind of sheepishly. Natasha opened it gingerly, and he could see an expression of surprise on her face, before she quickly schooled it to a neutral expression.

“Thank you Steve,” she eventually said.

“Hold it up Natasha! I can’t exactly see it from here,” Tony demanded. Natasha held up her flag, and showed it to the group.

“Wow Cap, you got Itsy Bitsy here a lesbian pride flag, way more progressive than I thought you’d be, I probably owe a bet to someone-” Tony said, sounding pleased.

“A lesbian…? I’m sorry that’s not a term I’m familiar with? I noticed she had a tiny one in a potted plant on her desk, is Natasha from Lebanon, I thought she was Russian? or was that a cover?” Steve said, with an expression of confusion.

“Oh- okay then well…” Tony said. The entire room felt like it dropped several degrees. “Well,” Tony said, “A lesbian is a term for a woman who loves women, the flag identifies them-”

“Oh! I’m so sorry Natasha!” Steve said hurriedly, thinking exactly how the nazis identified it, the whole room tensed, “I didn’t realize I’d give you a modern pink triangle equivalent, I had NO idea, I’m so sorry Natasha-”

“Oh no-” Bruce said “It’s a pride flag, it's something that lesbians like- they use it to show pride, it’s not something that is used to hurt people”

“Wait, So no one will hurt Natasha right? Not that anyone can, but this is a thing in the future, that Natasha won’t be hurt?” Steve said.

“No Steve. There’s laws against that now, you actually get prosecuted if you break them,” Natasha said, “I promise you Steve, I’ll be okay.”

“Wait what about the bible, I remember that it’s a sin under god right?” Steve said frantically, remembering the preacher's sermon, dead Robert, and the threat of hell he feared ever since he discovered he was attracted to Bucky, “I support your lifestyle Natasha, but I can’t, I don’t”

“Captain Steven if I may- there’s a website that goes over it, it’s like an online pamphlet or book, it goes over the bible, it gives evidence that the bible isn’t actually against homosexuality, I’ll pull it up for you tonight if you wish” Jarvis said, difusing all of the tension inside of Steve’s shoulders,

“So I won’t get sent to hell for my proclivities” Steve said, worriedly, trusting his team with something he’d hidden for so long.

“No Steve, it’s okay-” Bruce said, hand on his shoulder, “I promise Steve, there’s nothing wrong with you”

And somehow, that was okay, he was okay, even with Tony interrupting “So I’ve got a chance to tap that ass,” whatever that meant.

#stucky #starker #future-starker #LGBTQ+#Gay Steve Rogers #Lesbian Natasha Romanoff #first fic be nice!

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bitter-sweet-farmgirl · 3 years

Text

Starlit Curses

OC is affected with a blood curse that worsens the closer she is to evil. They confront the Balrog in Moria, and her condition deteriorates rapidly. Aragorn and Legolas try all they know, but nothing is working. It appears that OC will slip away from them, until she thinks of starlight.

Link to original version.

MASTERLIST

OC(s) Used: Anólindë

Word Count: 1,797

Translations at the bottom

~~~~

We stumbled out of the Mines of Moria, glad to be alive, although saddened by the loss of Gandalf.

Frodo had forcibly been carried out, and he was inconsolable on the ground, Sam sitting beside him. Pippin wept on the rocks, his shoulder's shaking violently as Merry tried to console him. There was a definite feel of melancholy in the air, and I leaned against my husband, Legolas as I wiped at the tears streaming down my face.

Stripes of razor sharp pain cut across my legs, and I knew in my soul, time was running out. But Caras Galadhon was so close, perhaps we could make it.

Legolas' arms came around my shuddering form, and he held me close, tucking my head underneath his chin. "It'll be alright, melleth nin. It'll be alright." He whispered gently.

Aragorn soon told us that we were moving on since we had a lot of ground to cover. But Boromir looked up, dumbfounded. "Can't you see they are grieving? Let them rest!" He said, his voice cracking slightly.

"I agree with Aragorn. We must keep moving." I said, pulling away from Legolas, and looking around. Aragorn looked at me in quiet curiosity, his eyebrows rising. Even though Aragorn was the closest friend of my husband, I rarely agreed with him.

Legolas walked around to look at me, his gaze concerned as he stared into my eyes. "Anólindë, what is wrong? Are you alright?" He asked quietly, his finger lifting my chin so I looked at him. My lips parted slightly as I felt my muscles seize and tightened painfully.

Legolas' gaze become more concerned, and he moved to gently grasp my shoulders. "Were you injured?" He asked sternly, but I shook my head. It was mostly truth. I was not injured, just plagued by illness. The others looked on at this whispered exchange they couldn't hear.

Aragorn stood, brown eyes sweeping my body, checking for injuries. I knew that he had extremely sensitive hearing, which was helpful sometimes, but other times it made for not-so-private conversations.

Ignoring him, I looked sadly at Legolas. "No, Melleth nin, the curse." I whispered softly, and his

eyes widened. I could hear Aragorn's almost silent intake of breath as he heard my words. "That is why I wanted to hurry to Lothlorien, Legolas." I continued, and he nodded.

"I understand." He said, turning to see Aragorn standing behind him, worry etched onto his features.

"Aragorn, her condition worsens the closer we are to evil. She wishes to go to Lothlorien." He said, and Aragorn nodded.

"So I heard. If we move quickly we could reach it by nightfall. Do you think you can travel?" Aragorn asked, and I had to think.

"Yes, I feel fine..." I said, then shuddered as I felt the gnawing onset of pain. I doubled over, fingers digging into my burning legs as I gritted my teeth, fighting against the scream welling in my throat.

But it was futile to try and resist; the pain would only spread as time went on.

Gentle hands guided me to lean back on a rock, Legolas kneeling beside me. He gently rubbed his thumbs over the tops of my hands. "You are in no shape to travel." He said, blue eyes worried.

I could vaguely hear Aragorn telling everyone to get comfortable, since we were staying here for the night. Boromir asked why, and Aragorn turned him to the side, speaking in low tones.

Legolas saw my questioning gaze, and he answered my unspoken question. "Aragorn does not wish the hobbits or the dwarf to worry. They will only get in the way." He murmured gently, smiling.

"Lady 'Linde, are you alright?" A small voice piped, causing me to look and see the little curly-haired hobbit standing beside me. I forced a sad smile, gritting my teeth as I felt pain ignite within my chest, beside my heart.

"Pippin! Yes, I'm feeling fine, albeit a bit tired." I said quietly, wishing he would just leave me alone. My body trembled slightly with the force of the pain, and I breathed deeply, closing my eyes as the hobbit meandered away, my head falling sideways onto Legolas' shoulder.

A soft sigh escaped my lips, and I tightened my grasp on Legolas' hand. "It pains me..." I whispered, and Legolas gently kissed my forehead.

"I know, Melamin, just breathe. Aragorn is readying a place for you, just hold on." He murmured, pulling me closer against him. "I do not like to see you in pain, Beautiful one. I wish I could experience it for you." He hummed against my hair.

"Do not wish that. Just be thankful for the time you have with me, for I fear it grows too short." I said softly, making Legolas shake his head.

"No, you will be fine. You will not be the second in our group to be lost to the darkness." He said, prompting a sad smile from me.

"Legolas, you are such an optimist. But some things cannot be changed." I said, making Legolas frown. He started to reply but was interrupted by Aragorn.

"Legolas, bring Anólindë over here." Aragorn called, and I was lifted up in Legolas' strong arms. I could see the hobbits watching curiously, whispering among themselves.

Then Legolas ducked down, entering a makeshift tent Aragorn had produced from blankets. He set me down gently on my bedroll, which was a nice change from the rocky ground. I lay back, breathing heavily as pain washed over me. I could feel my consciousness ebb, the words around me becoming slurred as I hovered at the brink of unconsciousness.

"Aragorn, I do not know what to do in this situation." Legolas whispered, his voice panicked. Aragorn answered, his voice soft and soothing.

"You are an Elf, mellon. Your race is skilled in the art of healing." He said, but Legolas still continued.

"You know more about healing than I." He said, and I felt like the decision was up to me. Raising myself from my stupor, albeit with much difficulty, I sat up slowly, I looking at the pair of them. I meant to sound confident, but the pain from the rapidly spreading neurotoxin caught me off guard.

"Aragorn, please..." I whimpered, clutching at the fabric of my clothes, tears squeezing from my eyes.

Legolas was there in an instant, holding me against his chest, and nuzzling my hair as he soothed me. "You're alright, Mela, just take a deep breath." He murmured.

I could hear Aragorn preparing what little supplies he had on hand, while I attempted to stay conscious. Everything had progressed so quickly. It must have been the great evil within Moria that brought it on.

The curse was brought on by the presence of evil; the touch of it upon my skin. The goodness within me reacted against it like a virus, and each time I was left weaker than before. The Healers had said it was only a matter of time before my body gave up completely.

Aragorn's hands on my knees brought me back to the present. "Anólindë, I know nothing of

Elvish curses, so I will tell you to trust your instincts." He said softly, and I nodded.

"Then shall we proceed with the herbs?" He asked, prompting me to grimace and nod. In short order my trouser legs had been rolled up, and outer tunic removed. I'd insisted on the outer tunic going as I felt so hot. My face was flushed and beaded with sweat, and I didn't want the layer on anymore.

Aragorn lept into action, wrapping my legs with rags to hold off the swelling that came along with the pain and applying a poultice to my reddened skin. The hobbits had become concerned, asking loud questions up until the time Boromir told them to be quiet since I didn't feel well.

But after a time I became deaf to any voices besides mine, Aragorn's and Legolas'. The swelling had stopped, but I had entered the second stage, which was unbearable pain. Legolas was doing his best to be comforting, but I could sense that he was scared. I had never had an episode this bad before.

Soon, their voices ceased to faraway murmurs, rumbling softly. I felt like I was living in a world of my own; a trance. Hearing nothing, just feeling the never-ceasing waves of pain wash over me. Until I emerged, opening my eyes and locking onto Aragorn's dark brown orbs, a startling idea present in my mind.

"Gilith." I said softly, slipping into my native Elvish as I rose from my inner self. Bracing myself as another cramp tightened my muscles, my head fell back onto Legolas' chest as I groaned, tears pricking my eyes at the excruciating feeling.

The next thing I knew, my skin was chilled by a cool night breeze. I understood why no one had thought of starlight as a cure. The darkness held evil, and could easily make my condition worse just by the night air touching my skin. But the stars were also healing. Their rays cleansing.

I lay underneath their softly shining rays, my body quivering with the spasms my malfunctioning nerves created. It seemed like an eternity passed before everything ceased; the pain, Legolas' murmurs, and Aragorn's soft rumble.

I felt, whole. Long-forgotten energy returned to my limbs, and I raised my head, opening weary silver eyes to see Aragorn and Legolas watching me, unsure of the results of my delirious idea.

"I'm healed." I whispered, shocked. I felt like a new person. Legolas' worried face broke into a smile, his body shaking as the tears fell from his eyes.

"Thank the Stars," Aragorn said, his grin just as wide as Legolas' as he nodded to the two of us. "I will leave you in peace." He smiled, and left us be, to rejoice in my new-found life.

I pulled Legolas close, shushing him. "Just let it out, My Love. These are happy tears." I whispered, allowing my own tears to fall. We sat together for awhile, letting everything sink in.

"You should rest, 'Ahna. We must journey tomorrow." Legolas said suddenly, picking me up to return to the tent.

At his words, I felt exhaustion flood me, as if my body had just realized the extent it had performed today, defeating a cave troll, and running from a Balrog. Then on top of that, surviving one of the oldest curses known to Elves.

Finding it impossible to keep my eyes open, I was lulled to sleep before we even reached the tent, the sound of Legolas' gently thumping heart echoing in my ears.

Melleth nin: My love

Melamin: My love

Mela: Love

Gilith: Starlight

#Legolas #aragorn #platonic aragorn #legolas x oc #lotr #the fellowship #blood curse #starlight #elves #lothlorien #the fall of gandalf #fanfic #fanfiction

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shxwmaster · 3 years

Text

@archmage--khadgar sent: retrouvaille - the joy of meeting or finding someone again after a long separation; rediscovery

✧°⋆ 𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐞 ————send in a word for a drabble or starter based on it.

——

(( I don’t know how canon I want to make this just yet BUT I was hit with a specific idea that I had to run with. Shaw doesn’t have many people he can reunite with, let alone feel happy about it, but this is... ONE. ))

...

[ARCHIVE: YEAR 32 — LOG SHW009876]

Shaw owes his life to the Uncrowned. Without them, he’d still be suffering, still be trapped as Stormwind crumbles under the influence of Detheroc wearing his face. Or, more mercifully, he would have died there, starved, infected, weak, pathetic. They’d saved him, saved Stormwind, spared them from an unnecessary war — he loathed that such an intense debt was placed on him.

Some time after his rescue, and after defeating Detheroc in Stormwind, he returned with the Champions and the rogues into the Uncrowned’s hideout. He pledged his loyalty, he thanked them, and he sought to get straight to work.

But he was weakened already from the months of imprisonment, and moreso from a neglected wound in the fight at SI:7 against the dreadlord. Ravenholdt and the others set out to get back to business, and he collapsed.

Infection, he remembers hearing someone say as he was being tended to. He was in and out, barely registering what was happening. Laid to a bed, cold cloth to his head, someone dressing a wound at his side he hadn’t noticed festered with fel. They called a priest from the Netherlight Temple, and he was given a strict order: rest.

Through the fever, he drifted, coming to now and then. How aggravating, to lose such control. Any of these rogues could have their way with him, and he’d be helpless to it, but he hardly has the strength to fuss and fight over it.

He awakes briefly to the sound of a door opening, his head spinning with the effort it takes to lift it to observe. A young woman, short cropped black hair and a stark red bandana toting a tray of tea had entered.

Vanessa.

He drops his head back down to the pillow, letting out a shaky laugh. “ So it seems I’m dying, then. ”

Vanessa gave pause, gaze flicking towards him briefly before continuing, setting the tray at the nightstand beside him. “ So negative. What makes the great Master Shaw say so? ”

His head lulls to the side, facing away from her. There’s an emotion caught in his throat he can’t quite identify. Grief? Fear? Sorrow? Humor? It’s all so tangled, and his limbs are so cold. “ It’s not the first time I’ve been stuck like this. Wounded. At the brink of death. Funny how sickness makes you see things. ”

“ Hmm. And funny how fevers always bring the most dramatic out of the finest soldiers. ”

He’s quiet for a long moment, enough that Vanessa wondered if he’d drifted off. “ I was seventeen. Tried to outrun orcs, fell off a wall, broke my shin. It was rainy and muddy, exposed bone was wrought to infection. I’d almost died — funny things, I saw, battling that fever. I hallucinated the dead. I thought I had saw my mother, but I didn’t remember her face. All so... wrong. ”

His voice lacks the usual restraint he would give it, so loose and strained it was. Delirious — the fever is perhaps worse than she’d anticipated. He rolls his head back to see her, tired green eyes searching hers, his face pallor and sweaty. Unbecoming.

“ I wish you were real. ”

Ah. That’s what this was. Vanessa doesn’t say anything, simply turning away from him to pour the cup of tea. He still has his gaze on her, however conscious he is, and for whatever reason, Vanessa can’t look at him.

“ You think you’re hallucinating. ”

“ I am. I read the field reports. I already know... ” He forces his head up to stare at the ceiling, vision spinning and blurring. “ I... I was never given a chance to say goodbye to you. After the riots, your father and I — we fought, Light, I could not... I had come home one day and you were gone. I wasn’t given a chance. ”

“ You had plenty of chances, Shaw, ” She says harshly, quiet voice spoken through gritted teeth. “ You sent your agents after the Defias. You knew what happened, you knew they were innocent. You could have come with us. ”

“ I am blood-bound to Stormwind, Vanessa. There was no choice for me. ”

“ There’s always a choice. You chose a broken kingdom over us. ”

He closes his eyes tightly, feeling the brunt of the dizziness wash over him. The pain is deserved, he feels. It’d be mercy if the infection killed him. “ I live with my mistakes. They haunt me every day, everything I could have done differently. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t wish I could have done more. Saved him. ” He pauses, and on these last words, his voice breaks. “ Saved you. ”

Vanessa stirs the cup of tea, mostly to avoid looking at him directly and to keep her hands busy. “ How noble, ” She says, retrieving a small, black vial from her belt. Just as practiced, just as planned. “ Those thoughts do much for us now, doesn’t it. ”

“ I prayed, Vanessa. I believe in nothing, not a single higher power but I prayed that you could have had a chance at a different life. After Edwin... — the Saldeans, they could have taken care of you. Given you a different path. You did not need to be confined to your father’s footsteps. ”

Her fingers are on the vial’s cork, ready to pop it open, but a thought stops her. She snaps her head to him, searching his bleary expression with furrowed brows as a realization dawns on her. “ ... You were the bandit that escorted me from the Mines... weren’t you? ”

“ You were just a kid... They orphaned you. Left you with nothing. Left the Brotherhood with nothing. They killed him, and did not bother to see what consequences were left behind. I had to look for you — I had to at least give you a chance. ”

She abandons the vial on the tray, reaching to his bedside to grasp his jaw and force him to look at her. There’s no strength to him; his head is loose with no indication that he can fight back. “ You went all that way — you found me, and you abandoned me at the Saldeans?! ”

The touch almost feels real — this image of Vanessa fills his blurred vision. Those fine angled brows resembled Edwin’s so much, those piercing blue eyes, that charcoal hair — it twists his gut and fills his heart with sorrow. “ They would have given you a normal life. ”

“ Why... Why didn’t you just take me? ”

The pain in her voice makes his eyes sting. Desperately, he had wanted to take her. Edwin was dead, and she was left with nothing — he hadn’t seen her in ten years but he could still raise her, still give her all the opportunities Stormwind had to offer, had the SI:7 induct her and change her life.

But he remembered then, what that connection to Stormwind, to the SI:7 and Assassin’s Guild, what that had all done to him, how loyalty was embedded so deeply in his blood he was forced to abandon love to further the crown — he could not sentence her to that fate. Not to this same fate that killed her father, that doomed her and the Brotherhood, he couldn’t do that to her. She could be normal — no VanCleef, no Shaw, just simple, humble farm girl Saldean. She could have been saved.

She staring down at him, fury and sadness in her eyes that were so familiar. His voice breaks when he answers. “ Would you have forgiven me if I did? ”

She glares at him for a long moment. The bandana conceals the number of times she’d opened her mouth to spit a retort but died in her throat, and eventually, she releases him, his head falling back to the side as she turns away. Forgiveness was not an option for her. This world, this kingdom, this man had taken so much from her. Forgiveness would be concession, surrender, to accept defeat. She had a legacy to uphold, one that couldn’t be won through something as pitiful as forgiveness. No, perhaps she wouldn’t have forgiven him, but it would have been nice to have a home.

The rage is enough to get her back to her plan. She resumes her work, popping open the vial and its viscous liquid. She’d designed it herself — a terrible neurotoxin, engineered just for Shaw. It’d be mistaken for the fel poisoning, stir up his memories and leave him paralyzed and numb, forced to watch his life play back. It’d shut everything in him down in minutes — no master rogue would be able to detect it. Potions, poisons, these were her specialties.

This is what he deserves.

She dumps the vial into the tea, watching the steam fly out as it mixes. Odorless. Beautiful. A work of art. Shaw’s lulling off, utterly disoriented and so far removed from reality she almost feels sorry.

“ I still remember sitting for hours trying to figure out a name... ” He murmurs. “ Kelsa. Variana. Llana. Charlene. Valeria. Maria. Rebecca. Edwin hated all of them. ”

He laughs a little at the fond memory. “ I’m not good at names. That was always Edwin’s strength — and I still remember. He said, no middle names, you get the first one down right or not at all. Which, in hindsight, was solid advice. Vanessa VanCleef — it rolls off the tongue so well. ”

She huffs. “ Better than Hope Saldean. ”

“ Leagues better. My grandmother tried so hard to have you named after her, or my mother. She gave me hell for not letting you take my surname too. Funny how different life could have been. ”

Vanessa frowns, carefully seating herself at the edge of his bed. She hadn’t seen him up close in years — it brings her mixed feelings. The memories she had of him were so, drastically different. Younger, cleaner, and without that stupid damn mustache. But now, he’s aged, wrinkled, greying at the temples and nothing of the energy she remembered him with. It’s weird, really, how it makes her feel.

Shaw’s saying something, so quietly under his breath she has to lean in to catch it.

“ I miss you. Every day, I have missed you, Ness, ” He murmurs, tear-filled eyes holding her gaze. “ I could not bring myself to take you. I prayed, prayed that you’d be better off without either of our legacies, and somehow, somehow things still... I tried. I tried to sabotage those efforts to take down the Defias. I kept the SI:7 out of Westfall, I redirected everyone to the Twilight’s Hammer. I prayed every champion that went into the Deadmines died before they could find you. And still... ”

“ History repeats. ”

“ Doomed to an ugly destiny, aren’t we? ” He laughs bitterly, weakly bringing a hand to cover his pale face. “ When you died... I feel as though a part of me died too. So many years it’s taken me to realize just what I was a part of. How much blood my loyalty spills. What I’ve let it take. ”

“ And now... ” She turns to stare at the cup of tea, her own gaze growing distant. “ Now that same loyalty will kill you too. You loved Stormwind so much, demons took advantage of it. ”

“ There is no love. I don’t think there was ever any love for Stormwind. ” His chin lifts, just slightly. “ Only duty. ”

What a prison.

The concoction on the nightstand would free him from it. Relieve him from his duty, from his loyalty. She’d finally have some semblance of revenge against those who’d wronged the Stonemasons and killed her father. She needs only feed it to him. It’d be so easy too, so, painfully easy. He’s ready to die already, still not even aware that she was real and solid and sitting before him.

It’d be so easy.

So why can’t she do it?

In the end, the truth was, a small part of her had also missed him. Even through the anger and the betrayal, the hurt and the grief, in the end, the only memories she had of him were good. Picking her up as a child, showing her Stormwind, teaching her nifty tricks and getting into minor trouble. How her, Mathias and Edwin would sit on the half-finished towers overlooking Stormwind with a packed lunch and watch the sunset, play for hours until she’d fallen asleep. In the end, all she remembered of him was that he was family at some point. Something she could never have again.

“ Moth. ”

The word almost seems to bring him to life. It grasps his attention, and he looks to her expectantly, still bleary, but alert. How many years had it been since he heard that word?

He watches her, examines her, somehow sharper than before. “ You still remember that name. ”

“ I never forgot it. ”

Tiny Vanessa, still learning her words, had heard everyone call him Mathias, but she tripped on her own pronunciation and called him ‘Moth’. Oh how it stuck — he remembers the name only on the voice of a child, but she’s grown now, she’s older, and he missed all of those years.

“ I came here to kill you, ” Vanessa continues, looking away from him. “ I’ve spent years hating you. Resenting you for everything. You took everything from me. ”

A dawning realization slowly sets in on the feverish Spymaster as he listens. He doesn’t know if he’ll remember this exchange if he heals up and recovers, but there’s a gnawing feeling about this, about this hallucination, about her —

“ You should, ” He says quietly, closing his eyes. “ There is no reason why you shouldn’t. And there is... no one on Azeroth who deserves to end my life than you. ”

“ You’re surrendering? ”

“ Accepting my fate. My consequences. ” His breath picks up, he forces himself to open his eyes and truly see her. Carefully, he reaches out a hand to grasp her wrist, faintly squeezing with what strength he had. “ You’re no hallucination... are you? ”

She stares at the hand for a long moment, contemplating. Then, slowly, she moved to wrap her own around his. “ Don’t trust the word of a mind-addled adventurer. I never died. ”

Hope blooms in his chest, tears spilling from the corners of his eyes. How he had mourned her — but she lives, she’s so young and still the chance to live this life —

It’s all he’s needed to hear. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he’s desperately hoping this isn’t a fever dream, that this is real, that she is alive. He holds her hand, as if she’d disappear if he didn’t.

“ Then I have no qualms with dying. ”

...

The fever breaks a few days later, and Shaw makes his swift recovery. The Champions of the Uncrowned request his aid along the Broken Shore, which he obliges as much as he’s able. There’s still plenty of broken pieces to pick up. Azeroth in turmoil, Stormwind in disarray with the false Shaw planting lies, and on top of it, Anduin ordering him to rest, forcibly taking work away from him to leave him with nothing.

Vanessa had left and taken the poison with her. They never spoke directly again, and for a while, Shaw was almost convinced she wasn’t real once he was fully awake and better.

But Greymane and Ravenholdt informed him otherwise. The Defias were as much intertwined with the Uncrowned as the rest of them.

Vanessa lived.

By the time Shaw had returned safely home, he wept.

#missive: inbox #backlog: writing #declassified: legion #file: v. vancleef #( god i was initially stuck on this cause i was like who the FUCK could he have a happy reunion with )#( and though this isn't like. the Happiest or most Joyful it is about the closest you can get )#( not edited i wrote this all in one sitting cause inspiration hit me like a goddamn truck THANKS FOR SENDING )

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bedbellyandbeyond · 4 years

Photo

A Start

[Art also at End]

Nathan couldn't say he wasn't nervous about the surgery. Of course like any surgery, there was a chance he wouldn't wake up, though it was incredibly slim. But he knew he didn't want to be awake for it; the idea of being awake and not feeling the bottom half of his body terrified him. Knowing Dax was there for him though reassured him. Sydryn explained everything they were going to do during the procedure the day before. They simplified it, made it sound like a walk in the park. Little to fear. He'd be put to sleep. An incision would be made. The twins would be removed and placed in the care of Aoife and Köbi (a new nurse Nathan had been assured was highly skilled in care), and then he'd be sown back up. Dax would be there in scrubs, watching over him and the twins, and should anything go wrong, he'd be there for them.

Nathan woke the day of the surgery feeling sore and delirious. Dax had stayed with him again that night which is why he was surprised to find himself alone in bed that morning. Not only that, but he didn't recognise his surroundings. It looked like a hospital room. Had he been moved here in preparation for the surgery? The door opened to his right and Sydryn walked in. The dragon approached him slowly. “Nathan, you might be feeling a little lost right now,” Sydryn stated. “That's completely normal.” “Yeah, I mean… You moved me while I was asleep? I thought we were going to do the surgery this afternoon… Was it moved up again?” Sydryn nodded. “You could say that.” “Are we doing it now?” Nathan rubbed his forehead. “I don't know if I'm ready… I was preparing for later…” “Nathan.” Sydryn placed a hand on Nathan's shoulder. “I don’t want to alarm you, but we already did the procedure.” “What?” Nathan looked at Syd. Then he pulled the blankets off of himself revealing his somewhat deflated stomach and the bandages covering his lower abdomen. His head swam and he felt nauseated. “No… No, no… When did you… Why did you…” “We were trying to avoid this, but last night you went into labour as the wolf. You were able to birth the wolf pup on your own, but we had to perform emergency surgery for the bear cub.” “Where are they?” Nathan asked, looking around. “Where...” His eyes finally focused on a bassinet placed beside the bed, a bundle of blankets inside. He sat up quickly and tried to stand, but Sydryn gently held him down. “Calm down, you need to rest…” “I need to see them!” Nathan demanded. “I'll bring her to you, just calm down.” Sydryn went around and lifted the bundle out of the bassinet and carefully handed it to Nathan. Nathan brought the little one to his chest, looking down at a little sleeping face. A big black nose poked out and the entire face was covered in fur. “A wolf pup?” Nathan looked to the window. “In the middle of the day?” “Yes. We're not sure what triggers their transformation, but it's not the moon like you,” Sydryn stated. “But I can assure you they have a human form.” “…You said ‘her’ earlier,” Nathan said. “I did.” “I have a daughter?” “You do. And a son.” “My son?” Nathan looked into the bassinet to confirm he wasn't just making up it's emptiness. “Where's my son?” “We had complications with the bear cub because of the nature of his birth,” Sydryn said. “But he's going to be alright.” “I didn’t ask what happened, I asked where he is,” Nathan said. “Where is he?” “Dax is with him,” Sydryn said. “My assistant Köbi is running some tests.” “I need to see him,” Nathan stated, looking down at his daughter. “I need Dax to bring him to me.” “When the tests are over, you'll be reunited. I promise,” Sydryn said. “I need both of my children together. I need to see them both. I…” His voice trembled. “Doctor, please…” Sydryn sighed. “I'll check on them… Just please rest. Don’t exert yourself. Your stitching had to be done up in a way to allow some stretch and shrink because you’re still in your wolf cycle, so I really can’t have you tearing it.” “Please, just get Dax. Bring my baby,” Nathan said, tearing up. “Alright, I'll go. Just breathe. Spend a moment with your daughter. Maybe name her, I don’t know…” Syd walked out. Nathan held the pup to his chest. She was little but not as little as he expected a wolf pup to be but then again, he was much larger than a normal wolf in his wolf form so it made sense that she’d also be bigger. As he was pondering this over though, she stirred and over the course of a quick stretch, became human. His breath caught in his throat as he looked down at his daughter. She was lighter than him, but still very much his flesh and blood. Her eyes blinked open, and they were such a gentle dark blue. She got those straight from Kent and it made him burst into tears. A moment or two later, the door opened again. Sydryn was holding it open and Dax walked in, another bundle in his arms. “Nathan? Mon dieu, are you okay?” he asked, going over to the bed and leaning over to give him a kiss on the forehead. “I can’t believe—” “Dax, my son,” Nathan interrupted, sniffling up his tears. “Put him in my arms. I need to see him.” “Right, yes.” Dax lowered the second bundle into Nathan’s arms and helped him hold both at the same time. The second child was in a human form as well, and a little tuft of red hair sprouted from the top of his head. He looked much more like Kent than his sister, though he had dark brown eyes like Nathan. A whole new wave of tears flooded Nathan's eyes. He couldn't believe it. In a few short months he'd suddenly become a father to two gorgeous children and all he could do was cry about it. He didn't know what to feel; he was happy, he was terrified, he was heartbroken, he was hopeful… It was all too much. He just cried. Dax sat down on the edge of the bed and wrapped his arm around Nathan's shoulder. “…They're okay now, Nathan. You did a good job.” Sydryn grabbed a box of tissues and handed it to Dax before stepping out. Dax used them to wipe Nathan's face gently. “The children are beautiful,” Dax went on. “They look just like you. Have you decided on the names?” Nathan nodded slowly and sniffled. “Grace…and Gabriel.” “The Gs then, hm?” Dax said. “I like it.” “Oh god…” Nathan looked at Dax. “Am I one of those parents? I didn't mean for it to be the same letter… I just like those names… And Grace was my grandmother’s…” “No, they're lovely names,” Dax said. “There's much worse and they're twins after all.” Sydryn came back and pulled up a chair beside Nathan’s bed. “Nathan, you’re going to have to stay here with us likely until the end of this wolf cycle, if not longer. We need to keep a close eye on you and the twins for a while, and with your permission, we’d like to run some non-invasive tests. You’re all seemingly healthy so you shouldn’t be worried, but I must remind you that this entire situation is unique and I can only help as best I can with your co-operation.” Nathan nodded again. “Yeah, okay… I’m just happy they’re okay…” Sydryn smiled. “Yes, you’ve been brave through this. And I do believe the best has been done for you, though I recognise my mistake in not moving the C-section up even sooner. We should’ve had it done likely right after we met on Friday, but I wanted to allow you the to weekend to organise.” Nathan shook his head. “It’s okay… They’re okay…” “If you’ll let me, I’d like to examine your stitches,” Sydryn stated. “Do you want me to step out?” Dax asked. “No. Hold the twins,” Nathan insisted, handing them to him. “How long can you stay?” “As long as you need me to,” Dax promised. “I have all day, all night.” “Who’s covering your class?” Nathan asked. “Principal Liu, actually.” “Oh god…” Nathan sighed. “When everything’s settled, I gotta take her and Pierce out for dinner or something…” Dax nodded. “Yeah, they work really hard…” He went to sit down with the twins while Sydryn did their examination of Nathan’s stitches. After they were sure things were still properly holding, they changed his dressings and moved on to a full check up, making sure Nathan was recovering properly. Grace started crying before Syd was done, and before Dax could try and console her, her brother was riled up as well. Sydryn figured they were probably hungry, so they said they’d get formula for them to feed them with since Nathan hadn’t planned on nursing, but in the moment, he threw that away and insisted on trying so the doctor showed him how. Around the time they’d settled down, Camilo and Korsgaard came by to check in and congratulate him. When the school day ended much later, Nari and the other teachers came by to see the twins as well. Nathan had time to nap before then, so he’d calmed down a lot and was very happy that they came to visit him. He was still a bit overwhelmed by the early arrival of his children, but there was also this great sense of relief now that his pregnancy was over. Of course, he couldn’t help thinking of Kent every time he looked at them, but having friends around and Dax by his side kept his mind of it, and he was able to let himself be glad that he’d made this family.

#lore #Nathan #Sydryn #Dax #werewolf #mpreg #mpreg birth

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thedeevirus · 4 years

Note

Could we get some fluffy asking out/first date nygmobblepot? If you don't mind, that is! (P.S. I just wanted to tell you how stunning your writing is! You're one of my favourite authors, and I always read your fics when I need something to cheer me up!)

Thank you so much 🤗 I’m so glad they cheer you up!

I hope you enjoy!

“Ed and Oz are caught out in the rain fresh from their first encounter with Batman and take shelter in a rundown bar...”

*****

Oswald strode past the grumpy looking bartender without a second glance. Ed followed after carefully stowing the purloined umbrella in a waiting stand. Even without the sudden rainstorm, Oswald had chosen a good place for them to lay low. The Narrows bar was empty.

‘Aren’t you worried about him blabbing?’ Ed asked Oswald jerking a thumb over his shoulder.

‘I pay his salary so no’, Oswald replied.

Ed narrowed his eyes as what he had assumed had been a stain on the wall turned out to be a very much alive cockroach. It scurried away behind one of the faded booths lining the wall.

‘This seems more downmarket than your usual business ventures’, Ed observed.

‘That’s the idea’.

Oswald smiled craftily as he picked up the phone despite the large ‘out of order’ sign on the cracked wall.

‘Emperor’, he said.

He hung up and the wall to Ed’s left began to shift.

Ed, recognising the mechanism, realised the bar had once been one of Gotham’s many speakeasys.

Oswald entered the new doorway first and Ed followed. He noticed the impeccable whiteness of the walls and the blue lights set into elegant sconces. As the panel slid back into place behind them, they were greeted by a well kempt man in a tuxedo.

‘Welcome to the Iceberg Lounge, table for-oh my God! Mr Cobblepot!’

‘Hello Jay’.

‘I didn’t expect you to get here so soon!’

‘Ed, this is Jay. Former embezzler for a major corporation, now manager of the Iceberg Lounge 2.0’.

‘A pleasure’, Jay said, inclining his head, ‘Right this way Mr Cobblepot. Mr Nygma’.

‘You know who I am?’ Ed asked.

‘Of course!’ Jay said brightly, ‘Everyone in Gotham knows The Riddler’.

Jay led them down a narrow flight of stairs and through a set of double doors. Ed marvelled at the scene.

Pale blue lighting illuminated the large ballroom like space, making the pale walls seem to shimmer. A dance floor in the central of the room reflected the crystal chandelier above it making the numerous dancers seem as if they were spinning in a sea of stars. A live band with a conductor at the podium on a raised stage was playing a waltz that was just audible above the pleasant sound of dozens of happy customers’ voices.

‘I met Jay in Blackgate’, Oswald explained as they walked, ‘He came up for early release and I offered him a job when he got out. Couldn’t let such a great head for numbers go to waste’.

Ed passed a friendly looking waitress and noted the tear drop tattoo under her eye as she delivered complex and colourful looking cocktails to a table of sharply suited businessmen.

‘Are all the staff ex jail birds?’ Ed asked.

‘You want to field that one Jay?’ Oswald asked with just a hint of self satisfaction.

Jay responded immediately.

‘The Iceberg Lounge prides itself on it’s inclusive employment policy and offering some of the most vulnerable in society a second chance at an honest living. Here is your private booth and I will be back with your drinks ASAP. Whiskey for Mr Cobblepot and a grasshopper for you Mr Nygma? On the house of course’.

‘Yes thank you Jay’, Oswald said.

As Jay left, Oswald spread his arms wide, lounging back comfortably on the plush seating. Ed gave an obliging and honest round of applause.

‘He’s well trained’, he commented.

‘And well warned about not slipping back into old habits. All of them are. This place isn’t just for anyone off the street and I expect high standards of service’.

Jay, as if on cue, reappeared. He placed their drinks down and left with a smile. Ed smiles at the umbrellas in each one and the crisp white napkins emblazoned with an Art Deco inspired logo of an iceberg.

‘Quite the nest egg Oswald. Cheers’.

‘Cheers’, Oswald responded as they clinked their glasses together.

‘I like this place much better as a customer than as a centrepiece’, Ed said appreciatively.

Oswald suddenly choked on his drink. Ed grabbed his monocle before it could hit the ground and hastily rubbed Oswald’s back.

‘I’m kidding! I’m kidding! Well not about liking this place but about the centrepiece part! Are you okay?’

Oswald managed a strangled laugh between coughing.

‘Just not sure I can handle any more surprises tonight’, he said, clearing his throat.

Ed began cleaning the monocle. He risked a glance at Oswald’s reddened complexion and noted the false eye. It was of high quality but the colour did not quite match the other eye. No matter how hard he tried, Ed couldn’t seem to help looking at it instead of Oswald’s whole face.

‘You’re always there when I’m in trouble’, Ed said, swallowing hard,

‘You came to get me tonight even though Gordon could use that as an excuse to lock you up again’.

‘I did try to kill Gordon earlier’, Oswald said, gratefully nodding as he took the monocle back, ‘Safe to say that ship has sailed regardless’.

‘I didn’t get the chance to thank you earlier, with us being ‘tied up’ and all, so “thank you”’.

‘That’s what friends are for’.

‘Oswald, would you…’

He trailed off. Oswald didn’t want any more surprises. But would what Ed have to say be a surprise? Surely Oswald knew how he felt? But, even if he did, would he feel the same way? Just because he had confessed feelings for Ed once didn’t mean the situation hadn’t changed. That had been a lifetime ago. Looking at their surroundings, Oswald had met so many other people, put plans in place and Ed had just...stood still.

‘Ed? Are you okay?’

Ed rubbed the back of his neck, heart pounding at the concern on Oswald’s face. He had to be honest with him. He had to tell him.

‘God, it was so much easier to ask this when you weren’t right in front of me you know?’

Oswald’s brow furrowed at Ed’s shaky chuckle.

‘Not...really?’

Ed placed a hand on Oswald’s. He squeezed gently. He didn’t know which of them he was trying to reassure more. Their eyes met and Ed saw his fear reflected in the glass eye. He made his decision. He would not hesitate. Not ever again.

‘Oswald, would you be interested in becoming more than friends?’

At first he wasn’t sure Oswald had understood the question. Had it been too fast? Had he been too quiet? But as the emotion flooded into Oswald’s face, Ed realised the lack of reaction had been simple shock.

Oswald’s jaw dropped. He could feel the joyous laugh bubbling up in his throat. Could see the words forming in his mind as they struggled to form the most positive answer he could give. But then the delirious happiness was shattered by a memory. Ed looking at him in his old mansion with horror and disgust. Backing away. Leaving. All because of Oswald’s answer to that same question. It was an old wound but the ache suddenly stole Oswald’s breath away.

Ed watched Oswald take a long drink. Their hands remained where they were on the table.

After a few overlong seconds, Oswald sighed heavily and Ed realised he had been holding his own breath.

‘Please don’t ask me that’, Oswald said, eyes fixed on the ice in his glass, ‘Not that way’.

Ed forced a smile into his face even as he felt his teeth clench behind his lips. He patted Oswald’s hand in what he hoped was an offhanded manner.

‘I’ve got it wrong haven’t I?’ His voice sounded strange to his ears. As if it was coming from a dark pit. ‘First time for everything right? I’m sorry. It’s fine. We can just pretend-‘

He trailed off. Oswald was still holding his hand.

‘I’m done pretending’, Oswald said, ‘Just the last time you asked me that question it wasn’t…what I thought it was’.

Ed’s eyes widened as he remembered.

‘Oh my God. I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to-‘

Oswald looked at him and Ed stopped talking. God, Oswald was beautiful when he smiled.

‘Is it what I think it is this time?’ Oswald asked gently.

Oswald’s breath hitched as Ed suddenly pulled him into a hug. His heart hammered as he hesitantly wrapped his own arms around Ed. He prayed Ed couldn’t feel him shaking.

‘Why did you feel you had to pretend?’ Ed whispered.

Oswald sniffed hard, Ed’s breath warm in his ear, the soothing tone so familiar and too long absent. He had forgotten what gentleness felt like.

‘I just didn’t want to...ruin things again’, Oswald said, ‘Not when I finally have you again! Not now there’s a chance we can make up for lost time’.

‘From now on you don’t ever have to pretend’.

‘Neither do you’.

They gradually pulled back and looked at each other. Nothing had changed between them in ten years but suddenly everything had changed in a matter of moments. It was overwhelming. Exciting.

‘Can I kiss you?’ Oswald asked, ‘Is-is that allowed on a first date? If you’re okay with this being our first date?’

Ed raised a humorous eyebrow.

‘Since when has The Penguin, King of Gotham, been concerned about being allowed to do anything?’

Oswald downed the rest of his drink and shrugged self consciously.

‘Since I just remembered I’ve never actually been on a date’.

‘You’re off to a good start buying me a drink’.

‘And I’ve never kissed anyone before’.

Ed raised Oswald’s chin. His thumb tip traced the contours of Oswald’s lips and he was rewarded with the sight of a pink tongue chasing the sensation.

‘I’m sure you’ll figure it out’, Ed said and closed his eyes.

He sensed Oswald slowly drawing near and lowered his head to compensate for the height difference. He could hear Oswald’s breathing, feel the warmth of his breath on his cheek, smell the tang of the alcohol-

There was a sudden clinking noise and Ed flinched, eyes flicking open to meet Oswald’s own surprised blink.

‘Maybe take off the monocle first?’ Ed advised with a smile.

#edward nygma #oswald cobblepot #nygmobblepot #nygmobblepot fanfic #reply to asks #gotham #gotham fanfic

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lurafita · 5 years

Text

Rich!Tony/Artist!Peter, part 1

This was given to me as a prompt in my asks. Here is the original prompt: click me

So this is a no powers au. Tony is in his thirties, while Peter is in his twenties.

This wasn’t supposed to have more than one parts, but, as always, I got lost in descriptions and stuff, and I want to try to not post too long texts on tumblr.

Sadly, nothing really happens here. I mean it, this is the boring part. I will try to get the next part out real soon.

The Art of Science and the Science of Art

The thing is, it's not enough to just be rich and famous. There is a certain song and dance that forces itself into your life and before you know it, you move your legs and swing your hips to it's rhythm.

You don't serve your business partner a glass of a 'good' wine.

You serve them a glass of an 'expensive' wine.

The richer and more important the person opposite you, the more expensive the bottle of wine, even if that person can't really tell what it is specifically, that makes this one bottle more valuable than the cheap one at the liquore store.

Your suit is bespoke, there isn't even a question about that. And it better be from a prestigious tailor.

You can wear comfortable clothes, if they are from the likes of Dolce and Gabbana, or Hermes.

Your cologne? Killian will do in a pinch, but it is better to have a little flacon of Tom Ford or Creed in your bathroom cabinet.

If the watch on your wrist costs anything less than 30,000 dollars, you might as well leave it at home.

Tony has been born into this world of luxury and thrived in it. He knows how to hum this song and dance this dance. And over the years, he has become rich and famous and successful enough to allow himself some leeway. Despite the various scandals of his youth, and the eccentricities of his more mature years, Anthony Edward Stark is still a true pioneer in his field, admired and envied by his peers and competitors, as well as the most sought after bachelor for years now.

If anyone specially invited to a high society event arrives thirty minutes late and in less than stellar clothes, they will become the laughing stock of the circle. If Tony Stark is three hours late and dressed in an untucked shirt and jeans, he is congratulated for his confidence and boldness.

If anyone else is caught having one affair after the other, their social standing will plummet. If Tony Stark is in the news with another man or woman on his arm every other week, his companies stock value is either unaffected, or will rise even more because of it.

It is the rich and famous that get to see the first performance of a high grossing musical, or opera. It is the rich and famous who are invited to theaters for a first viewing of a new play.

The audience for a fashion show of a high profile designer is mostly comprised of those that can afford the price tags. If you aren't invited to a red carpet event? Well, then you simply aren't worth the invitation. If you are invited but then fail to show? You just committed social suicide. If you are Tony Stark, however, those rules are out of the window. Because Tony Stark has to cater to no one.

So unlike pretty much anyone else, Tony could get away with not visiting the grand opening of the very first art exhibit of a new, but already incredibly popular, young artist. And if it weren't for his very persistent personal assistant and good friend, Pepper Potts, he would have.

“Would you stop scowling already? I'm making you attend an exciting art show, not a firing squad. Jesus. Has it ever occurred to you that you might just enjoy yourself?”

The question earned two raised eyebrows and a scoff.

“Okay, first, there is nothing exciting about art. Period. It's just a bunch of lines and paint on a canvas, or your run of the mill sculpture, depicting someone long dead, and usually nude. And don't get me wrong, because I am without a doubt a great admirer of the naked human body, but that doesn't mean I feel in any way drawn to or aroused by a block of cold clay. No matter how much detail is put into making the nipples look like they just puckered up, or how smooth the curves happen to be. And second, if you were actually taking me to a firing squad, that at least would be exciting. Guns I know. Guns I understand. Art is just... there.”

Pepper gave him a very unimpressed look, from where she was sitting opposite of him in one of the company's spacious town cars.

“Please keep comments like that to yourself when we get there. Consider it an early birthday gift to me.”

“...Wasn't your birthday last week? I'm pretty sure I sent you a cake.”

“My birthday is in two months. But yes, you did send me a cake. A strawberry cake.”

“Which you love.”

“Which I'm allergic to.”

“Oh...Well, at least I remembered that strawberries held significance to you. I feel like I should be getting points for that.”

A moment of awkward silence spread between them, in which the redhead treated her boss with the most cynical stare in existence, before Tony threw his hands up in the air.

“Fine, fine. I promise to walk around a boring room and look at boring paintings on boring walls and talk to boring people and keep all of my very true, but possibly degrading comments about the unimportance of art to myself. Happy?”

“Delirious.”

She even smiled as she said it. Then she slipped her hand in her ridiculously small designer purse (honestly, why even bother with these things if you can't fit anything practical in them? Like your phone. Or a screwdriver.), and pulled out a folded flyer.

“Here, that's the theme of tonight's exhibition. While the artist is pretty new to the scene, he has already made some noise in the community. Many think he is going to be the Van Gogh of this century.”

Tony accepted the flyer, but rolled his eyes.

“Van Gogh... isn't that the one who cut off his ear? That kind of comparison doesn't exactly ignite a whole lot of trust in me, concerning the next sure-to-be-a-waste-of-my-time hour of my life. I'm not exactly squeamish, but I'm really not into gore.”

He unfolded the piece of paper and read the caption with an almost sneer.

'The Art of Science and the Science of Art'

Great. So the artist was one of those pretentious 'art is everything and everything is art' snobs. He was not looking forward to meeting... what was the guys name, anyway? He scanned the paper quickly and found the name at the bottom, underneath a short introduction text to the kind of display that awaits the guests.

Peter Parker.

_________________________________________________________

See? I told you this was the boring part. Well, hope you liked it anyway. As always, anyone who comments will automatically be put on the tagging list. If you don’t want to be tagged, but still with to comment, just write ‘no tag’, at the end.

Now, remember to have fun and enjoy what you love, and ignore any nay-sayers. Life can be short, don’t bother yourself with toxic people.

#starker #au #fic #prompt #rich!tony #no powers au #artist!peter #peter parker #tony stark #op lurafita

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stonylovessteve · 5 years

Text

Creator Reveals 2019

We’ve reached the end of the exchange and that means it’s time to reveal the creators of all our works.

Thank you for putting so much love and effort into Stony Loves Steve 2019, you really made it a great experience. We hope everyone loved it as much as we did!

Giftees, be sure to leave a comment and kudos on your gift if you haven’t already. All our creators worked hard to make this event a success, so show them some love.

You can now post your work publicly outside of the exchange. Tag it as #stonylovessteve2019 on tumblr and we’ll reblog you. @ us @stonylovessteve on twitter and we’ll retweet you.

Below the cut is the final list of all the works produced for the exchange and the creators.

Ride With the Moon in the Dead of Night by iam93percentstardust for Wikketkrikket (MCU AU, 11,464 Words)

The wards protecting the Upper New York pack are failing. When the pack alpha, Nick Fury, calls for aid, only one person answers: the vampire Howard Stark, promising the aid of his son. In return, he asks that his son be accepted into the pack. Fury promises that his strongest alpha will be given to Stark's son in marriage. Neither Steve nor Tony are initially pleased about this turn of events but they find themselves quickly falling in love. But not everyone is happy to allow a vampire into the pack and there is a traitor lurking in their midst.

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You've Always Been My Home by Shamen610 for softestlesbian (MCU, 4,370 words)

And that was just so like Tony wasn't it? For him to still be the one to help Steve find a home, despite being gone.

Gone.

God, he couldn't even stomach the thought of it being true.

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Clementine by Wikketkrikket for nasa (1872, 8,297 words)

From the prompt: 'The people of Timely have started getting suspicious about how much time their Sheriff is spending at their Blacksmith's house'

Ever since he was injured and his arm badly damaged in the incident with Fisk, Steve has been staying with Tony. He helps Tony stay off the drink and keep his ribbon, and Tony helps him tie his shoelaces. They're in love, but they aren't breaking any laws. Steve is very careful about that.

Except people are starting to talk anyway, and when a new Deputy arrives in town with suspicion in his eyes things get riskier than ever.

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i'd like it if you stayed (and i like you) by KingOfBiohazards for Lunatical (MCU AU, 2,958 words)

Steve gets a knight assigned to be his bodyguard. He's not happy about it (at first).

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the start of something brilliant by S_Hylor for fictionforlife (Noir, 4,382 words)

After so many years of adventuring, and then assisting in the war effort, Tony Stark didn’t think there was much left that he hadn’t seen already. That is, until on a reconnaissance mission with James Rhodes, he comes across an injured American soldier, left behind on a battlefield.

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the lion and his wolf by nasa for iam93percentstardust (MCU AU, 2,241 words)

Steve didn't have much when he came to King's Landing - his mother, his best friend, and a few copper coins to his name - but slowly, over the years, it's all been stripped away. Now, he has only one thing left: Tony Stark, heir to the North and lover to Steve.

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Handheld by talesofsuspense for SilverInStars (MCU, 4,072 words)

When Steve starts stopping for lunch at Shawarma Palace he isn't expecting Tony to show up and to keep showing up. And he definitely isn't expecting a guide to the 21st century.

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Another Chance at Another Life by heroineaddict for 13bella (MCU, 6,867 words)

Steve returns the Infinity Stones to their rightful place, and then makes a detour to fix one of his biggest regrets.

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Won't You Be My Neighbor [Art] by Cachette for sadieb798 (AU, art)

A peaceful evening!

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If I’m Ruining You Right Now, Please Forgive Me by Mizzy for Jaylee (616, 17k Words)

Tony’s definitely up to something, Steve’s sure about that. But when he follows Tony down into the unused leg of their new unconventional home, Steve isn’t expecting to discover the lengths Tony will go to try to make him happy.

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Beautiful by LegendsofSnark for thegreytigress (MCU, 1k words)

Tony loves Steve, no matter what

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Of You, Me, and Us by ShippersList for starkboi (MCU, 1.1k words)

They are just photos. Snaps of his life, something he started taking after the Battle of New York. Nothing fancy, nothing staged, just… quick slices of life he wanted to document, to remember things by, to help getting some flavor to the sharp memories embedded in his mind.

Some are blurry, some are ruined by time (or, more often, coffee stains), some are just of the same subject; from the time when he wanted to document the way the vines grow on that one, particular corner of the park.

Others might say most of them are worthless, but they aren’t. Not to Steve.

And some pictures mean more than the rest. Especially to Steve.

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Worth the Wait by FreyaS for Royal_Chandler (MCU, 13k words)

When Steve woke up in the future, he met his soulmate and learned he’d lost everything else.

Tony was familiar with loss but he never expected to gain a soulmate in Steve Rogers, the man his family had spent generations searching for.

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Be Still My Little Heart by Lunatical for BeenAsleepFor70Years (AU, 4.1k words)

A beautiful boy was asleep in the flower, his hair the color of gold and his skin as pure as the lily from which he’d been born. And when he opened his eyes, they were as clear as the sky, and twice as beautiful. And he could not have been bigger than a thumb, from the tips of his golden hair to the bottom of his perfect feet, and Sarah loved him more than anything else in the world.

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[email protected] by FestiveFerret for Lacrimula_Falsa (MCU, 7.3k words)

Between digital watches, ATMs, emails, and microwaves, Steve is exhausted by the future. Tony is only trying to help, and Steve appreciates it, but sometimes, he just needs a break from all the tech in the tower.

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Tony Stark’s Guide to Getting A Date (And Steve Roger’s Guide to Getting Through a Thick Skull) by a_salty_alto for morcabre (AA, 1.3k words)

In which Steve turns out to be a bit smoother than expected.

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Everybody Loves Steve (But Tony Loved Him First, Dammit) by ashes0909 for HogwartstoAlexandria (MCU AU, 4.4k words)

“So, what? I’m just supposed to get used to you being a bit taller, a bit bulkier, and that guy I met freshman year, what? He’s gone forever now?”

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Superfamily [Art] by Hayluhalo for Squishy_TRex (MCU AU, art)

Prompt fill for “adopting kids” for the Stony Loves Steve 2019 event!

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Heart’s Second Chance [Art] by fictionforlife for BuckytheDucky (MCU AU, art)

Based on one of BuckytheDucky’s prompts:

Steve is the rightful heir to a decent-sized kingdom, neighbouring the Stark realm. When talks arise of the kingdoms going to war, Steve’s mother tells him he must marry Prince Tony in order to prevent the war from coming to fruition; both grudgingly agree, and it’s definitely not love at first sight, fighting behind closed doors all the time even tho they pretend they’re deliriously in love in front of others. Then tragedy strikes, and Steve has to decide whether to help Tony get revenge for his kingdom against Obadiah Stane, the Starks’ most trusted advisor, or convince Tony that he’s no longer allowed to get involved in his old kingdom’s affairs. Through it all, he starts learning more about who Tony really is and maybe even falling in love.

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Three Challenges by Neverever for Katie_Kat (MCU AU, 6,6k words)

King Steve is offered a marriage alliance with the mysterious Prince Tony which will help his small country greatly. Except that there is a twist. There always is.

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Be My Sunshine, My Only Sunshine by Nixie_DeAngel for Neverever (MCU AU, 1,8k words)

Letting out an overly tired, but still fond, sigh, Steve closes his charms tome and caps his inkwell before pushing it back towards the center of the table and places his quill next to it. “Okay, Tony, you have exactly twenty minutes before I really do need to get back to studying. Why do you need me to be your pretend boyfriend?”

Or, even as wizards Tony and Steve still can only find there way to each other through the muggle trope of fake dating while fighting their real feelings.

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a date with disaster (or, the time steve essentially whored himself out on national tv to pay his rent) by quellthefire for Serinah (MCU AU, 3,6k words)

Steve’s been having a hard time finding freelance work, so Bucky signs him up for a reality dating show to earn some extra cash. Little does Steve know that this is going to be the worst date he could possibly imagine, on purpose.

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To have and to hold by daisybelle for LegendsofSnark (MCU, 1.4k words)

Written for the prompt: Parents!Stony: Steve has somehow gotten sick and Tony is freaking out because Steve always takes care of him and Peter. Cue Peter and Tony frantically trying to do everything in their power to get Steve better. And Steve smiling at his little family.

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You’re Always Worth It by Nixie_DeAngel for Hayluhalo (EMH, 1.6k words)

Tony sees it in the way Steve’s shoulders grow tenser, the way his answers become shorter and snappier. Sees it in the way his eyes grow colder and harder. He sees it in the extra hours put in to training and working out, the way Steve goes through combat bots and reinforced punching bags.

Or, Tony takes Steve on a mini vacation and helps his partner unwind.

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when you’re gone by talktothesky for ishipallthings (MCU, 25.6k words)

Steve’s had to get used to many things in the 21st century but falling in love with Tony Stark might be the weirdest one yet.

Especially because the man’s dead.

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The shadow of men by Bill_Longbow for silversoul_snow (MCU AU, 6.8k words)

When Steve sinks his teeth into bringing Tony Stark to justice he shouldn’t be surprised the mob boss takes a mutual interest. He ìs suprised the mobster does this by kidnapping him, but the most confusing thing is that Steve doesn’t really mind…

In a world where soulmates are only rumours and myths, what chance do a cop and a crook have together?

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time doesn’t love you anymore (like i love you) by armoredsoftie for jayjayverse (MCU, 3.1k words)

Steve returned the Stones to their respective places, and it’s time to go back home. But after an accident with the time traveling bracelet, he’s stuck in 1993, where he tries to find the help of a young Tony Stark. After a few drinks in the most popular gay bar in town, things might take a different direction.

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Breakfast [Art] by SpanglesandSass (Fidella) for SirSapling (Ultimates, Art)

For the prompt:

1. Stressed out Steve gets pampered

If anyone needed a lazy day and breakfast in bed, it’s probably Steve.

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On the Road We Find the Journey Home by navaan for Missy_dee811 (Marvel 616, 5.7k words)

In the Aftermath of Secret Empire, Steve goes on his Road Trip to find out who Captain America can be after Hyda!Cap put fear into the hearts’ of the people who used to cheer for him. His thoughts trail back to Tony.

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For A Good Time Call by BeenAsleepFor70Years for mariana_oconnor (Avengers Assemble, 8.7k words)

Steve explores his sexuality by trying out a phone sex service. He may just leave the situation crushing on the guy at the other end of the phone. He already had feelings for his teammate Iron Man, now a new crush gets thrown into the mix. What ever shall he do?

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And I Owe It All To You by starkboi for muchmoremajestic (MCU AU, 2.8k words)

Steve volunteers to participate in a dance marathon for charity. He’s got a final project looming over his head and needs a break from reality, it’s there that he gets playfully competitive with a certain snarky brown haired boy from MIT.

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The Ring of Fire or The One Where Steve is Young and Confused by Serinah for One and Five Nines (Obani) (MCU AU, 15.9k words)

What you read on the tin. Steve is 19 and has only had one girlfriend. He doesn’t like men, never has, so why the hell does Professor Stark make him feel this way?

A story with a ridiculous amount of anger, internalized homophobia, sexual exploration, self-discovery and pining. In short: it’s about how student Steve tries, fails and then tries again to understand what going on with him while dealing with his crush on a professor.

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An Old Friend by Katie_Kat for Evanna_Adams (MCU, 1.2k words)

Steve is packing up and getting ready to move from the Tower to the new compound when Peter finds something interesting hiding in the closet.

For the Stony Loves Steve 2019 Fic Exchange.

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certain as the sun by ohmyloki for ShippersList (MCU, 3.8k words)

Steve doesn’t know how to dance. Tony says he doesn’t dance. Natasha wonders what’s the point of living in a mansion if no one is ever going to use the ballroom?

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Don’t Ask by dirigibleplumbing for SpellWolf (Avengers Academy, 3.6k words)

Steve has a secret.

Steve also plays a lot of truth or dare.

Tony notices that Steve always picks “dare,” and starts daring him to pick “truth” instead.

What will Tony think if he finds out what Steve’s hiding?

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Silicone Rings by kenshincha for picturecat (The Avengers - All Media Types, 1.1k words)

Steve contemplates their long engagement.

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Almost Perfect [Art] by One and Five Nines (Obani) for farawatt (MCU, Art)

A powerful enemy invades from an alternate reality, but the only thing he really seems interested in is Steve Rogers

EXTREMELY DISTURBING CONTENT, MIND THE TAGS

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In Your Shadow by magicasen for talesofsuspense (Marvel 616, 2.9k words)

Tony thinks the mansion might be haunted. Steve’s not so sure about that.

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A Beautiful Thing by thegraytigress for FestiveFerret (MCU, 62.5k words)

Steve charges into a crashed alien ship to save survivors, and he comes out with a newfound power: telepathy. The fact that he can read minds isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, though. It’s pretty amusing to the team, really annoying to Steve, and generally not as cool as it sounds. It especially sucks that it’s driven a wedge between him and Tony, not that Steve can figure out why. Still, all in all, it’s something he can try to live with.

Until he can’t.

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Stuck by Neverever for PjCole (MCU AU, 2.9k words)

Hairstylist Tony Stark itches to cut Steve’s messy hair. But Steve has other issues on his mind.

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Loving You 3000 by athletiger for armoredsoftie (MCU AU, 1.5k words)

He stared. On his chest, above his palpitating heart, was the number 3000. Steve’s fingers lifted, unbidden, and he brushed over the numbers, which only stared back at him.

His chest constricted, then swelled.

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Previously Thought to be Impossible by Impala_Chick for navaan (MCU, 2.8k words)

In 1970, SHIELD HQ was working on a powerful aphrodisiac prototype. Tony Stark from 2023 happens to cut open the wrong box at the wrong time, and Steve Rogers from 2023 doesn’t know how to feel about it.

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A Coincidence called Fate. by SilverinStars for kenshincha (MCU AU, 2.7k words)

The first time Potts met Stevens, the man had come limping into the infirmary. His face was pale, but he held himself upright.

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Moments in Time by Squishy_TRex for talktothesky (MCU, 3k words)

A shared life, over the years.

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Does the sun shine (during lock down)? by HogwartstoAlexandria for Nixie_DeAngel (MCU, 9.6k words)

The last thing Tony expects when he wakes up that day is the very thing he finds in Pepper’s office, or rather, the very person.

Old flames do they ever really die down? Maybe not, but does Tony have the luxury to find out when he has to think about Peter’s well-being first and foremost?

Or when Pepper is worried, makes a decision, and Tony’s life spins on its axis, once again.

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[art fill] on read by Priestly for KingOfBiohazards (MCU, Art)

Texting Tony Stark is sometimes easier than talking to him face to face. Mini-comic!

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good old-fashioned lover boy by nanasekei for Cachette (MCU, 7k words)

Tony is thrilled about his new relationship with Steve. He’s on cloud nine, in fact. It’s so amazing he can believe it’s real. He just wishes they could… Uh. Touch a little. Just a little

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Here’s Looking at You by mariana_oconnor for SpanglesandSass (MCU, 12.6k words)

Captain America’s disapproving stare watched over most of Tony’s childhood. It only makes sense that when Steve Rogers walks into Tony’s life, that he return the favour and stare right back. But what he sees when Steve doesn’t know he’s watching doesn’t match up with what he thinks he knows, and he comes to realise that maybe the man under the cowl isn’t quite as untouchable as he thought.

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Write and Draw by SpellWolf for Shamen610 (MCU, 2.7k words)

games night and plotting ends with two idiots finally getting together

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Loose Ends by muchmoremajestic for riodesal (MCU, 8.9k words)

Steve Rogers was found in late 2007 after being on ice for over sixty years. In trying to find closure with his past, a few months later he comes across Tony - at the moment a charismatic billionaire responsible for the world’s most lucrative weapons manufacturing company while the country is at war fighting terrorist cells in Afghanistan. When Steve reaches out to Tony to get closure on his friendship with Tony’s father Howard, how will Tony react? Can Steve find the closure that he’s looking for?

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running into the sun by kiden for ohmyloki (MCU, 8.2k words)

There are other people Steve could ask. Sam or Nat. Even Clint would make more sense. It’s not that they aren’t friends - they are, they’re good friends, hard won, fought for, worked on - it’s just weird. They can live together and fight together, but Tony’s not so sure a few weeks with just the two of them in a car is a good idea. It’s definitely not a smart idea. “Can you repeat that, please?” or: tony and steve go on a nice, soft road trip that brings them closer together.

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Vienna Waits For You by Evanna_Adams for quellthefire (MCU, 13.4k words)

Steve Rogers was desperate. Not in the general sense of the word but the deadline for his college art project seemed to be looming and damnit, he should have been done already. But it had taken a bit of Barton and Wilson madness to leave his final project in pieces. Natasha, Bucky and the guilt-ridden duo had tried to help him, but the project was lost to him. They had even tried to offer their own college acquired expertise to help. Of course, he had to refuse.

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posing up a storm by picturecat for Mizzy (MCU, 5.2k words)

“I have an idea. Can we just pretend the day ended with that really badass Superfriends pose we did?”

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Letters To My Lover by Missy_dee811 for XtaticPearl (MCU, 3.5 words)

*Avengers: Endgame spoilers* On the day of the funeral, Steve hears a phone ringing that shouldn’t be. No one had that number. No one except Tony.

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Taking a chance by DepressingGreenie for Bill Longbow (MCU, 746 words/art)

Steve likes the Science Professor who lives across the hall.

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Yes to heaven by jayjayverse for magicasen (616, 1.1k words/art)

All started with a clear change of smell, it was subtle, slow in a way that if Janet had not told him he would not have noticed, but after that he just could not help noticing every little sign.

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Eleven Years by One and Five Nines (Obani) for Impala Chick (MCU, 2.2k words)

*ENDGAME SPOILERS* After the final battle, Steve comes around to Tony’s house. He’s not sure how things stand with Tony, but at least Morgan likes him.

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Frostbite by FestiveFerret for DepressingGreenie (MCU, 5.4k words)

They’ve found where Steve is being kept - he has to be in this building - but JARVIS can’t find a heat signature, and Tony knows what that means.

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[art fill] second chances by Priestly for kiden (MCU, art)

“Regret is corrosive. And I hate it.”

“Me too.”

Together, Steve and Tony can save half of all life on Earth. And if they’re lucky enough, maybe they can even save their relationship. Art fill!

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We’re Going Off Script by ishipallthings for FreyaS (MCU, 5.2k words)

“Or, maybe you just need practice?” Steve blinks at Tony’s question, confused. Maybe Tony needs more sleep than he thought. He’ll have to check with JARVIS.

“Practice - at dating?”

(Steve needs help in the dating department. Tony is happy to help out, because he’s a very good friend. That’s definitely the only reason.)

———————————–

One Throw of the Dice by Wikketkrikket for dirigibleplumbing (616/Ults/3490/1872, 5.7k words)

Steve shrugged, pulling on his shirt. ‘It’s not like it’s Jane or no-one. Everyone gets more than one throw of the dice, Tony.’

He only realised his mistake when Tony didn’t say anything, turning away too quickly when Steve turned to look at him. It didn’t take too much thought to connect the dots. Tony did think you only got one throw of the dice. Tony thought he, Steve, was that one. The One.

In which they realise Tony loves Steve more than Steve loves him. But it’s kind of hard to work through it when the Skrulls interfere, and scatter your sense of self to the multiverse.

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Hands Out In The Dark by XtaticPearl for ashes0909 (MCU, 44.4k words)

When Thanos died the first time, it was anybody’s guess that the end of the journey had been reached. Sometimes though, a bad end becomes the opening to an unexpected but good beginning, and a tired Steve Rogers learns that in the five years it takes for him to get back to a battlefield. The years after that, well that was a story he hadn’t considered until life gave him the chance to try. What he ended up writing, whom he wrote it with, and why it all ended on a bench in New York - there were stories even a Time Stone hadn’t expected.

sun in an empty room by farawatt for nanasekei (MCU/Ults/616, 2.3k words)

Melancholy is dangerous.

It’s funny how you forgive the past to try and revive it.

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A Long Road To Share by SirSapling for daisybelle (Ults, art)

After 50 years in the ice and a couple exhausting years leading the Ultimates, Steve realises he isn’t quite sure he knows anything about the new modern America he’s supposed to represent. Luckily, Tony has an idea how to show him.

———————————–

Dare I Say Forever by royal_chandler for herioneaddict (MCU, 4.2k words)

Naive and young, Steve had thought about it. He’d allowed himself to dream of post-war, matching gold bands and a white picket fence penning in a rambunctious pair of children.

However, there’s no such thing as post-war.

#stonylovessteve2019 #Steve Rogers #stony #steve/tony #stevetony

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searchingwardrobes · 5 years

Text

Blackbird

Happy birthday, @shireness-says! I have so enjoyed all of our chats during the cssns about our love for the Brothers Jones, Frozen Jewel, and Captain Cobra. You write all of those so well, but I tried to give you some quality Captain Cobra for your birthday nonetheless along with a fic that sums up your love of art and books. I hope you like it and that your day has been awesome! It is of course, based on the Beatles song “Blackbird” which I think both Killian and Emma could relate to.

Summary: Magical Mystery Books is your stereotypical quirky bookstore. Killian Jones, however, is not your typical quirky bookstore owner. Neither are the dark yet beautiful pieces of art that hang over the cash register.

Rating: G

Words: 2,600 and some change

Also on Ao3

Tagging: @snowbellewells @kmomof4 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @jennjenn615 @bethacaciakay @teamhook @kday426 @thislassishooked @snidgetsafan @delirious-latenight-laughs @winterbaby89 @ultraluckycatnd @vvbooklady1256 @let-it-raines @distant-rose

Henry was the one who found it; the quirky bookstore called Magical Mystery Books. It was one of those eclectic places with every genre imaginable from out of print gothic hardbacks to bestselling paperbacks to edgy graphic novels. Just like one would expect, it was crowded with volumes from floor to ceiling. Yet contrary to stereotype, it wasn’t messy. The place was not only immaculately clean but organized by genre and carefully alphabetized.

Yet exactly according to stereotype there was also the store owner and his one faithful employee who could find what you were looking for even with a vague description. However, defying stereotype, said store owner was not an eccentric old lady with a cat. Oh no, he was far from that.

Okay, Emma Swan had to admit, maybe slightly eccentric. But he was male and definitely not old. Neither was he a bookish looking fellow with a tweed coat and an awkward stammer. Though he did occasionally whip out a pair of black framed reading glasses.

No, Killian Jones did not look like a book store owner with his leather motorcycle jacket, his pierced ear, and his distractedly tight jeans. The kids loved to come to the book store for the great YA selection and vintage comics. The adults came to ogle the store’s owner. Or perhaps his lone employee Belle with her high heels, fashionable skirts, and perfect, wavy auburn hair.

Emma, however, came for her son. Henry swore that no other store had a better fantasy or sci fi collection, and once Henry had exhausted all of those, Mr. Jones gladly supplied him with more obscure recommendations. Both Jones and Belle adored Henry, a rare ten-year-old who stood in rapt fascination at their collection of original illustrations by Maurice Sendak and E.H. Shepherd which were under glass in the children’s section with a sign that read “not for sale.” They had once belonged to Belle’s mother, a dedicated bibliophile herself. Henry even soaked up stories Belle told about how her mother risked death in a house fire to save the illustrations.

“That boy will be a writer someday,” Killian commented to Emma as he rang up her purchases one afternoon.

The boy in question was poring over an Avengers comic protected by plastic circa 1969. She hoped he had noticed how many digits were on that price tag.

“He certainly has enough notebooks full of stories to publish one day.” Emma couldn’t help the mom brag. She certainly hadn’t expected to luck out with a kid like Henry the day she held that pregnancy test in her trembling hand at nineteen.

“Aye, he’s told me. I said I’d like to read them, but he wouldn’t hear of it.”

“Don’t take it personally,” Emma assured Killian, “he won’t let me read them either.”

“Someday perhaps.”

Emma took the bag of paperbacks that hung from Killian’s prosthetic. She had never asked how he lost his left hand; she honestly didn’t know how one went about broaching such subjects. Henry didn’t know either, though Belle had alluded to some sort of accident when Killian was in the navy.

She thanked him, but before she turned to go, she noticed something new hanging above the register. It was mixed media art; a painting combined with some sort of collage technique. It was a dark painting with an outline of a bird done in such muted grays it almost blended into the background. Yet the collage technique gave the bird texture and a sense of movement. A quote was woven through the dark background: “Blackbird singing in the dead of night.”

“Beatles?” Emma asked, gesturing over his shoulder.

He smiled at her, but not the cocky one he gave to flirtatious customers. This one was more

genuine. “Know that song?”

Emma smiled in return. “My favorite Beatles song, actually.”

“Mine too.”

Emma shuffled her feet, something about his smile making prickles of nerves skitter across the back of her neck. “Well, I guess I see why you liked the painting then. And it makes the bookstore name make more sense. Then again you are British . . . “

She trailed off when she realized she was rambling.

“Ah, and all British people must like the Beatles.”

“Well, no, I mean – I didn’t mean -”

He laughed and waved his hand to dismiss her discomfort. “No offense taken, love.”

Face burning, Emma grabbed Henry and left as quickly as she could. It was easier when he focused all his attention on her son.

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

Henry had gotten to that age when he was suddenly harder to buy for. Most kids his age wanted electronics, and while she had saved up for a video game system last Christmas, most stuff was out of her price range. Thank God her kid liked books.

Of course, figuring out what he would like and what he hadn’t already read wasn’t easy. Hence why she was at Magical Mystery Books while Henry was at school. It wasn’t until she turned down an aisle to find Killian Jones with his ass literally in her face that it occurred to her she’d never been here without her son as a buffer. Jones was atop a rolling ladder shelving books on the top shelf, hence why his ass was at eye level. She noticed a bit of his abs as his shirt hitched up, and she averted her gaze as her cheeks burned. What was her problem? It wasn’t as if she’d never seen a man’s . . . er, assets before.

Emma took a few steps back before clearing her throat to announce her presence. When he turned and saw her, he gave her that same grin again. The one that made his laugh lines crinkle and his cheeks dimple. The one that made her skin buzz like a live wire.

“Emma! It’s nice to see you here at this time of day. Let me guess, you’re looking for a gift for your lad.”

Emma arched her brows. “How’d you know that?”

He shrugged as he turned and headed down the sci fi aisle. “Well, time of day, plus Henry mentioned he had a birthday coming up.” He stopped, ran his fingertip along the bindings before him, then pulled out a slender volume.

“A Wrinkle in Time?” Emma asked incredulously.

Killian nodded. “He said he’d never read it because it’s a ‘girl’s book’.”

Emma had to giggle at his eye roll and air quotes.

“I told him he’d miss out on way too many books with that narrow mindset.”

Emma’s brow wrinkled, unsure. “But the movie sucked.”

Killian staggered backwards, his hand to his heart. “Swan please, my heart can’t take it.”

Emma shook her head, laughing fully now. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re melodramatic?”

“Constantly,’ he told her with a wink.

Killian rang up A Wrinkle in Time along with another selection he said Henry had been eyeing last time he was there. It was something from the late 50s called Have Space Suit – Will Travel and had a cover that looked awfully sci-fi theater kitschy to Emma, but she decided to trust Killian’s suggestions. After all, when it came to this fantasy and sci-fi stuff, Emma was completely lost.

Emma paused once again when taking her bag. A new painting was above the cash register, in the same mixed media genre as the previous one. It was still mostly dark and featured a textured bird, yet this time there was a tiny ray of bright colors in the top right corner. The bird’s wings were outstretched this time, one of them bent and crooked. This time the words “Take these broken wings and learn to fly” seemed to stretch towards the light. It took Emma’s breath away. Without tearing her eyes away from it, she spoke to Killian.

“It’s . . . sad, but beautiful.”

“Aye,” he told her softly as he gave her the receipt, “some of the most breathtaking things are a little sad. Wouldn’t you say?”

She looked away from the painting and into his sparkling blue eyes, and she had the strangest feeling they were talking about two different things.

As she took the receipt, her eyes were drawn to his prosthetic and she realized – the bird’s left wing was the one that was broken.

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

Emma was tucked into a leather wingback chair in the romance section of Magical Mystery Books (something Killian had already teased her about, to which she had retorted that it was either this or force her hips into the bright yellow Curious George chair in the children’s section) answering one last email for work. She could hear Killian and Henry having a heated debate in the YA lit section.

“- but there should be hope after a writer puts you through all that pain!”

“But dystopian lit is about commenting on social ills, is it not? Her whole point was the senselessness of war,” Killian retorted.

Emma shook her head and smiled as she hit send on her email.

“But saving Prim was supposed to be the whole point!”

Emma frowned. Henry had taken the ending of that trilogy way too hard. So hard it had worried her a little. She kicked herself now for letting him read them; he was probably too young.

“And thus the senseless part.” Killian always interacted with Henry with the utmost respect, never talking down to him.

“I still threw that third book against the wall,” she heard Henry mutter.

Killian laughed heartily. “Aye, I confess I did too. And not just over Prim.”

“Finn?”

“God yes, that pissed me off.”

She heard both of them grumbling in agreement at Suzanne Collin’s plot choices, and a huge smile broke out on her face. She pushed herself off the chair and headed towards them. Henry was perched on a stool, a notebook in his lap as he scribbled with a pencil. Killian was next to him shelving books from a cart.

“Hey, Mom! This book report on Mockingjay is going to be so good thanks to Killian.” Henry shot him a glance. “Even though we sort of disagree a little.”

“On the contrary,” Killian countered, ruffling her son’s hair. If it made her ovaries quiver, that was only because she’d been a single mom for ten years. Ten long years. “I happen to agree wholeheartedly. I was just trying to help you see another point of view.”

“Ready kid?” Emma asked as her son stuffed his notebook into his backpack.

“Yeah, Mom.”

Emma frowned as she watched Killian make his way behind the counter. “I’m sorry we just came here to bug you for homework help. We didn’t even buy anything.”

Killian leaned his arms on the counter, and Emma couldn’t take her eyes off how his muscles filled out his button-down shirt. He’d rolled his sleeves up, revealing the dark hair on his arms as well as where his left arm met his prosthetic hand. Emma wondered if it ever made him self-conscious. She hoped it didn’t, at least not around them.

“Anything for my best customers,” he told them, winking at Emma.

Her eyes flickered nervously away from his, and that was when she saw the newest painting. “All your life you were merely waiting for this moment to be free” it said this time. The work, part painting and part collage, was still dark like the other two, but the light in the right corner was bigger. But the most striking part was that the blackbird was no longer alone, there was now a white bird in the painting as well, and the collage work on it was breathtaking, as if it really had feathers.

“It’s a swan.”

Emma’s gaze swung to meet Killian’s. His eyes were searching her face intently, and suddenly the breath left her lungs. Without another word, she grabbed Henry by the arm and hurried them both from the bookstore.

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

Emma hadn’t realized how often they had been going to the bookstore until she suddenly could no longer face its owner. Three weeks had passed, and Henry was now almost daily asking to go to Magical Mystery Books the second she picked him up from school. And every single time, she gave him a flimsy excuse not to.

“What did Killian do?” Henry finally demanded.

“What in the world are you talking about kid?”

Henry rolled his eyes. “Please, Mom. That has to be it. Did he try to kiss you or something?”

Emma almost collided with the car in front of her. “Why the hell would you ask that?”

Henry shrugged. “Because he likes you.”

Emma had no idea what to say as she gripped the steering wheel tighter.

“I wouldn’t mind you know,” Henry finally said. “If you dated him, I mean.”

Emma blinked in shock at her son.

“When did you get so smart?”

He grinned in a way that he definitely picked up from Killian. “When I started hanging out at a bookstore.”

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

Emma marched into Magical Mystery Books the next morning and headed right to the front counter. Killian was there doing something at the register, and his eyes widened in surprise when he saw her. Whether that was because he hadn’t seen her in over three weeks or because she looked like a woman on some kind of mission, she wasn’t sure.

She crossed her arms over her chest as she scrutinized the painting over his shoulder. The dark background in this one was now littered with stars, the blackbird swooping down through them, straining towards a white swan that floated on a pond with a glittering reflection of the stars upon their surface. Her (she assumed it was a female swan, anyway) neck was bent away from the blackbird. “Into the light of the cold dark night” it said.

“Did you paint those?”

She saw Killian’s adam’s apple bob as if he wasn’t sure if she was asking or beginning an interrogation, but he lifted his gaze to meet hers anyway.

“Aye.”

She nodded. “Okay then.”

He yelped when she yanked him over the counter towards her, and his eyes were still opened when she crashed her lips into his. Soon, however, he was kissing her back, his hand threading her hair, his tongue seeking entrance. She gave it to him, her own hands releasing his shirt front to find their way into his hair. It was hungry and frantic, with teeth clashing and lips bruising. She started to pull back, only to dive in for more again. She was half tempted to scramble over the counter, his kiss so intoxicating it made her want every part of him. Finally, they were both panting, foreheads pressed together.

“That - “ he gasped.

“Would have been a lot better without this stupid counter between us.”

He laughed as he traced her jaw, but then his blue eyes went a shade darker with lust. “Then get over here,” he growled.

In his next painting, the blackbird was floating in the water, the swan’s neck bent over his.

Blackbird fly into the light of the dark black night.

#cs ff #cs modern au #killian as a bookstore owner #killian as an artist #captain cobra #fandom birthday playlist #for shireness-says

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vagrantblvrd · 5 years

Text

I don’t remember where I heard/saw this? But Geoff knowing how to sew/making his own clothes = Geoff the tailor AU. (With a side of Battle Buddies.)

Because reasons.

Also because reasons, Ramwood.

But like.

Ryan coming into Geoff’s shop for a fitting because his BFF Jeremy is getting married.

Jeremy’s deliriously, sickeningly happy with his husband to be. Ryan’s all jokingly grumpy mcgrump about it because could they please, please, please not talk about how ~perfect your man is and how his eyes are like jewels, or sparkling orbs or whatever nonsense you’re spewing today?

We’re meant to be killing a Very Bad Man, Jeremy. Please focus.

But really, he’s just as happy for Jeremy and has totally ~secretly vetted Jeremy’s husband to be even though they work with him and he’s got top security clearance and it’s really Ryan being an overprotective dork. (I don’t know who Jeremy’s husband to be is in this - Gavin? Michael? Some other lucky/unlucky bastard. Possibly both, who knows.)

Someone gives Jeremy the card to Geoff’s little shop, tells him he’ll get a great discount for Jeremy and his groomsmen if they say the card giver sent them.

Jeremy was originally mean to go along wit Ryan to his fitting, but there was a last minute schedule change.

Which, fine, okay.

Plans change.

Ryan can do this!

He’s a highly skilled special ops/sekrit agent man!

Being fitted for a tux has got to be way easier than sneaking into another country to quietly (well, the mission briefing said quietly, reality turned out to far different) assassinate a druglord-turned-dictator, right?

...Maybe.

But then, okay.

Then he goes in and the shop is nothing like he was expecting.

Something along the lines of what you’d see in movies and on television, right? All classy decor and fancy as hell. Understated everything and the kind of place rich people love to go because Classy. (Kind of place his parents dragged him to as a kid for all kind of things and he wanted Jeremy along for moral support because ugh, memories.)

This place?

Nice decor, sure.

It’s just.

It’s not stuffy. (Not stuffy or pretentious like the places his parents dragged him to as a kid and it’s just an overall pleasant surprise.)

There’s music playing quietly, some band he’s never head of which isn’t a surprise, really. But! He gets the feeling even Jeremy would be hard-pressed to name them.

Potted plants and the lighting is just right to set him at ease. Not glaringly bright like a box store or too dark like certain stores in the mall. Framed posters on the wall - they seem classy enough at first glance, right? Tasteful frames and lovely artwork and all that.

But as he hits the little silver bell on the counter to alert the shop owner he’s there, he gets curious. Takes a closer look and laughs in surprise because the one behind the counter is a goddamned movie poster.

One of those vintage style ones for some classic movie, and the others around the shop are for other movies and bands and the like.

Little splashes of color and personality are dotted around the shop too, have him wondering what the hell kind of place this is, and then the shop owner walks out of the back.

Kind of looks like a crazy you’d run into the street, except for the nice suit and shoes and so on. (Maybe the hair is just some fancy hairstyle Ryan’s not cool enough to get. That whole deliberately messy look some people go wild over.)

The guy looks mildly annoyed not to see someone - Ryan’s wandered away from the counter, half-hidden by display mannequins as he examines the framed art hanging up. (And it is art, no matter what people like his parents would have to say about the subject matter.)

“Uh, hi?” Ryan says, sheepish about getting distracted as he goes over to where the shop owner is standing. “I had an appointment for a fitting today at two?”

The guy cocks his head as he gives Ryan this slow once-over.

“Haywood?” he asks, deep in thought.

Ryan nods, they do the whole handshake bit.

“For the Dooley wedding, yes.” A pause, as Ryan gets his brain into proper working order because the shop owner has the most vivid blue eyes. “Jack recommended your shop?”

At the mention of Jack’s name the shop owner’s lips twitch into this smirk.

“HE did, did he?” he asks, and something about it comes off as ominous.

“...Yes?” Ryan answers, not really sure what he’s in for here, and also wishing Jeremy was there.

As backup.

Against a tailor.

There’s a long pause, the shop owner regarding Ryan like he’s sizing him up, and then he laughs. Goes from suspicious to friendly and welcoming in the blink of an eye, smile on his face that looks like it could spell trouble if Ryan’s not careful. (Jeremy’s always saying he isn’t, so…)

“Well, any friend of Jack’s is a friend of mine,” the shop owner says.

That’s...okay. Good to know???

The guy introduces himself as Geoff, and leads Ryan to the back to the fitting area and they go about things as you do in a tailor’s shop. (I don’t know what goes on in one personally, but I imagine dark magics must be involved somehow???)

Anyway.

There’s idle chitchat that relaxes Ryan, has him not so uptight at being at a tailor’s on his own.

But that’s kind of worse in a way, because he’s noticing how the wild jumble of Geoff’s hair works for him, not to mention the beard.

Also, okay.

The tattoos are interesting, and Ryan keeps finding his attention drawn to the ones on Geoff’s hands.

Just.

Literally cannot stop himself from looking, feels himself blushing when Geoff catches him at it. This wry twist to his lips as he spins some story about ~youthful indiscretions and rebellion and whatever else about how he got them.

This pause, tension to his shoulders, set of his jaw that wasn’t there before.

“What about you? Have any tattoos?”

Ryan blinks, not sure what’s caused the guarded tone in Geoff’s voice.

“Uh, one,” he admits, a bit sheepishly.

He’s never really been someone who wanted tattoos of his own, but then he got partnered with Jeremy, and Ryan’s kind of an idiot.

(The two of them celebrating the fact that they somehow (miraculously!!1!) survived a particularly dangerous mission and Jeremy more than a little drunk when he came up with the idea of matching tattoos.

Sketched out a design for the “Battle Buddies” on a bar napkin and shoved it at Ryan who was impressed in spite of himself. A little messy because Jeremy and drunk and bar napkin?

But the basic design was something he could maybe live with as a tattoo.

Told Jeremy to wait until he wasn’t halfway to blackout drunk to pith the idea again, and thought that would be the last of it, you know. Idea lost to murky fog of alcohol and whatnot, but then Jeremy comes to him a week later, presents one of his sketchbooks with a proper drawing this time. Clean lines and bold design and Jeremy wheedling, so you know.

Tattoo.)

Geoff looks surprised at that admission, so Ryan tells him the whole story and Geoff’s laughing by the end of it because actually getting the damn thing was An Ordeal.

“Hey, c’mon,” Ryan says, something light in his chest at Geoff’s laugh – goddamn sunshine - and oh, oh, he’s headed for trouble here. “It’s not that awful, okay.”

But it kind of is, because assholes looking for revenge on the Battle Buddies from a previous mission and a good portion of the city in chaos and having to find a new tattoo artist. (Jeremy’s favorite guy being apologetic about it, but seriously Jeremy. There’s only so many times his insurance will cover the cost for repairs when it suddenly explodes, think of his premiums.)

Geoff loses that tight, pinched look to his face and this time when he catches Ryan staring at his hands he just waggles his eyebrows and makes terrible joke and it’s okay.

(Geoff also totally laughs when he catches a glimpse of Ryan’s tattoo at some point, and Ryan is like “Hey, now,” with this dumb little smile.)

And like.

Of course Ryan has to go back a few more time for additional fittings and Geoff is always delighted to see him.

Worries a bit when Ryan comes in looking like shit after a mission – all bruised and battered, even if he’s cleaned up. (“You should have seen the other guy, Geoff.”)

(Jeremy finally freeing up time to offer to go along with Ryan for one of them and Ryan telling him it’s not necessary and Jeremy being confused until he spots the tell-tale signs of Ryan with a big ol’ crush,and then it’s gentle teasing because it’s freaking adorable is what it is.)

And then!

Some situation in which baddies track the Battle Buddies down to their personal lives and Ryan terrified for Geoff, right? (They’re not a Thing, but the baddies know he’s been going to Geoff’s shop a lot – look, fittings, okay. Rough business. Or something, Whatever.)

Rushes to get there after fighting off some baddies who got to him at his place, and find -

“Uh...”

Geoff, standing over a body with a gun and this hard-eyed look to him.

Not the sassy, snarky motherfucker Ryan’s totally head over heels for who makes dumb jokes and gives Ryan this look until he laughs at him. This guy who listens to punk rock music and mocks Ryan for being a complete dork. Someone with an amazing laugh and just makes Ryan indescribably happy being around.

“Hey, give me a hand, there’s another one in the back.”

Ryan just ??? as he follows Geoff – glances down to look at the very dead baddie and is even more ??? - because what is going on???

Finds Geoff trying to move another very dead baddie because apparently there’s a hidden trap door or whatever that leads down to what looks like a bunker of some sort? Weapons locker and body armor and what the fuck is going on???

Geoff catching the dumbfounded look on Ryan’s face and sighing.

“Didn’t Jack tell you? We used to work together.”

Jack, as in the guy who basically runs the agency he and Jeremy work for. Quiet and competent and all these rumors about his old partner before the guy retired. Some bullshit about getting into a fight with Burnie over something and quitting over it.

(Rumors say there was more to it, conspiracies and Jack’s old partner working behind the scenes with Burnie and his people to expose it and deciding he'd had enough of the life when it as all over and done with even though Burnie offered to reinstate him and so on.

Just...didn’t like the lies and shit that went with it, and started up some little business of his own somewhere.

Kept in contact with Jack and Burnie, sent them tacky postcards when he went on vacation or Christmas Ryan would see in their offices every so often. Had a barbecue every one in a while for the old guard, that kind of thing.)

Ryan staring at Geoff as he gears up, clearly knows what he’s about as he does. Quick and efficient and Ryan finds himself staring at the tattoos on Geoff’s hands again, right.

Only this time there are guns and ammunition and knives in them instead of the tape measure or pins or the battered little notebook and pen he likes to use to mark down measurements.

(Ryan is a little embarrassed at how hot he finds it all, okay.)

Geoff catches him looking – of course he does – and the smirk he gives Ryan is all sharp and knowing and oh, fucking hell, has Ryan really been that obvious?

“Hey, you want to, I don’t know. Grab a fucking coffee or something when this is over?” Geoff asks, this slight edge of nervousness to his words that jolts Ryan out of mindlessly staring at him.

“I...uh,” Ryan is totally not panicking, no. “Yeah, sure?”

Winces at the way Geoff’s smile fades because Ryan is a disaster, but then there’s a crashing noise upstairs and more baddies to deal with.

Geoff scowling and muttering about just getting the place remodeled as he storms up the ladder, Ryan hurrying after him and oh what the fuck has he gotten himself into now???

Shenanigans as they fight off the baddies and meet up with Jeremy to figure things out and awkward flirting.

And then!

When everything’s over and done with, and Ryan and Geoff are in medical waiting to have their flesh wounds and the like treated -

“I - “ Ryan clears his throat when Geoff look up at him, ache in his chest at the slump to Geoff’s shoulders.

Because awkward flirting, sure, but also Ryan processing Things.

“There’s this place downtown that has great coffee,” he offers, sure Geoff’s going to turn him down. “If you want to go there sometime. With me. On a date.”

(Just to be clear, you know. Ryan would absolutely die if there was a misunderstanding now.)

Geoff blinks at him, and it’s got this sad panda effect with the soot smudges on his face and bits of dried mud and blood.

“What?”

(Okay, yes, there were a few explosions here and there and they may have been a wee bit too close to them. Temporary deafness and the like.)

Ryan laughs and tries again. Rips off a bit of the paper on the examining table-thing and writes it down before balling it up and throwing it to Geoff. (His knee’s a little messed up, makes it hard to walk. Because reasons.)

Geoff sputter and shooting him a glare before he opens the crumples paper ball up and then he just...stares at it for a long, long moment.

Nothing giving away what he’s thinking and Ryan dying inside because his knee, okay. Makes it real fucking hard for him to run away to find a corner to die of embarrassment in if he got things wrong? (Really, unbelievably wrong?)

And then Geoff looks up, crooked little grin/smirk on his face.

“You’re lucky you’re pretty,” he says, and then because he has to know Ryan has no idea what that even means in relation to anything. “Yes, you idiot. I’d love to get coffee. With you. As a date.”

Ryan blushing like a moron as Geoff laughs at him, and that’s about the time the doctor gets there and yells at Ryan for being an idiot and Geoff, Geoff, you should fucking know better you asshole.

Jack laughs at Ryan for forever about falling in love with Geoff, because oh, Ryan, you poor bastard. (But also Shovel Talks him, so there’s that.)

Jeremy laughs himself sick when he realizes why Ryan insisted he could handle his fitting appointments on his own, but thanks, buddy! (There are, of course, dirty jokes about it always.)

Geoff is just amazed at how dumb Ryan is, because oh my God, man. Seriously? (Look. Ryan’s smart, but also real dumb.)

Also, they do get that coffee and Geoff is Ryan’s date to Jeremy’s wedding.

...And then a few years down the road when Ryan and Geoff decide they might as well fuckin’ get married they go on a Quest to find a suitable tailor. (Geoff insists he shouldn’t have to do it because it’s his own fucking wedding, what the hell are you on about, Ryan?)

#ramwood #ragehappy #battle buddies #tailor au #idek #¯\_(ツ)_/¯#technically not a fic #vagrant fic

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