#i don't think i like the gold bits on the blue fabric anymore now that i'm looking at it

[pleiadescrown]

ptarmigan priest for birds of the arctic, which i imagine would be like...very community-based

#scopophobia tw #bird court #fantasy #white #blue #i don't think i like the gold bits on the blue fabric anymore now that i'm looking at it #we'll see if i change that

[funky-fox-fics]

prompt: scar successfully scamming someone in the stupidest way possible

Obviously, the third thing Scar does after--you know--is try to sell Cleo Tilly's ashes.

Well, the first thing he does is change out of his ragged cloak. The Boogeyblooms have wilted entirely, their red hues faded and grayed, and the blue-black fabric is nicked and slashed. He straightens it out, dusts off the ash and dirt and body-bits that mortals typically had, and sighs as Jellie leaps onto the table to roll on it.

The second thing he does is grab a box. He puts a bit of gunpowder in there--you've got to have some weight to the thing, or it won't sell well--and he drops it in his inventory. Jellie meows, rubs against his leg--Scar's back in his Imagineer suit, and it smells crisp and warm and nothing like the musty winds of--you know.

The third thing he does is go to the Shopping District to announce his return from--well, you know.

"Cleo!" Scar chirps as he glimpses her, probably doing some last-minute shopping--when did he pop back in? Come to think of it, how long had the Watchers kept him in their purgatory? He'll need to check. "Cleo, oh my goodness, you have no idea how good it is to see colors again!"

"Oh, hey Scar," they call back--then, they do a double take, jolting and staring him straight in the eyes. "Wait, Scar?"

"In the flesh!" Scar does a mock bow. "Alright, so. What day is it?"

"Scar," Cleo says, eyes narrowing. "Scar, you won--" you know, "--you're not supposed to be here yet, you're sup--"

"The date?" Scar tilts his head expectantly.

"I--" Cleo wrinkles their nose. "You have a Comm too, I suppose, why not check it yourself?"

Scar shifts. "Let's say I forgot it in Scarland," he lies. "What's the date?"

She glances at her Comm, glances back up. "The eighteenth," she says. "A Monday. Is this... why don't you have your Comm, Scar?" She crosses her arms.

"I told you! I left it at Scarland!" Only three days? Feels like it's been much longer. Watchers must have time... shrinkage? Wrinkling? Dilation? Watchers must be able to control time or something. "Anyways, want Tilly's ashes?"

Cleo stares at him. "I don't believe you," she states.

"No, no! I have her ashes!" Scar summons the box with a flick of the wrist and then hands it to them. "See?"

"This isn't--" Cleo shakes the box. "That isn't what I meant, Scar. I meant--"

"For the low, low price of a stack of diamonds, you can get your hands on this priceless artifact!" Scar takes it back and brushes the lid. "Tilly's ashes, tried and true!"

"Scar, I don't want Tilly's ashes." Cleo's gaze flicks between the box and his gaze. "Why would you--I barely knew Tilly before Martyn decided to make it a thing, and why did winning--Grian didn't--how did you lose your Comm when you won--"

"I heard you run a museum!" Scar smiles, a winning grin that he learned from the Vex (not Cub, because Cub is bad at smiling). "And wouldn't Tilly--the vicious dog herself--wouldn't her cremated remains be the ultimate exhibit or something, I don't know how museums work?" Scar tilts the box so light flashes off the intricate gold designs on the chestnut wood.

"That doesn't--Scar, that's not--firstly, I'm not going to buy Tilly's remains, it's not--" you know, "anymore, and secondly, that's not my--stop dodging my questions, Scar."

"Well, that's a shame," Scar says. "They're authentic! I swear! I wouldn't sell you Tilly's fake remains, now would I?"

"You absolutely would," Cleo replies without missing a beat. "Where's your Comm?"

"You have no faith in me," Scar says, and then, "Look, I'll give you a deal--the entire box for 32 diamonds! What a steal!"

Cleo searches him, looks him up and down--she's a little scary, to be honest, her hair still coral snakes and her eyes still golden and sharp. (She's not human anymore, though, which is the scariest thing Scar has ever seen. Cleo's always been a zombie to him, never human, and--)

There's a whizz of rockets overhead, and Scar glances upward just in time to see Tango land with a stumble and a curse.

"Tango!" Scar calls, sidestepping Cleo and approaching the blazeborn. "Tango, good buddy, old pal, want to buy Tilly's ashes?"

Tango whips toward him. His expression resembles a deer in headlights. "Oh, hi Scar," he says, backing away slowly, gaze flicking between Cleo and Scar and the sky. "Hi there. Um. Hi. Yeah, hi."

"That's no way to greet a friend!" Scar takes Tango's hand--cold as ice, spiderwebbed with frost at the tips--and shakes it with a warm grin. "Come on, now, don't you want Tilly's ashes?"

"Not particularly?" Tango presses his back against a wall, and then glances over to Cleo. "Uh, I bet--I bet Cleo would love to buy some! Yep! She definitely would!"

They shake their head. "He's already tried to scam me once--"

"Well, I mean, I'm not gonna buy from someone who literally killed me--oh, hey, we can talk about that!" Tango brightens, steps to the side a little. "Yeah, you did, ah, you did kill me, you know."

"Such is the life of a Hotguy," Scar says with a melodramatic sigh. "It wasn't anything personal! Probably. Might've been. I kill a lot of people."

"No, I mean during--" you know, "when you, uh, you broke the block beneath me--I thought we were cool! I thought we were cool, dude." Tango's tail whips. "So, yeah, actually let's talk about that."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, are you sure you don't want Tilly's remains?" He shakes the box, and the gunpowder shifts and settles within. "Once in a lifetime deal, I tell you! Only a stack of diamonds for these completely authentic remains!"

"I don't want her--that was two seasons ago, Scar, I don't want Pearl's dog's corpse--ashes--whatever. Remains. I want to--why'd you do it, huh?" Tango puts his hands on his hips. "I thought we were good! I thought, hey, maybe we can make up, we can burn down the wool earth, I'm lighting the thing on fire, next thing I know? Dead! It's not even--I thought we were good!"

"You aren't getting this anywhere else, by the way," Scar says. "I got it straight from Martyn, trust me!"

"You might find I don't trust you, actually." Tango sidesteps him and steps into the street. "After that whole--I thought--do you even care? Cleo told me you won, did you win? Was it fun? I bet it was fun." His tone is bitter and sharp. "I bet it was fun, killing everyone, watching everyone die--hey, how far did Gem get?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Scar says. "Tilly's ashes? Come on, I thought you loved gambling! You can--hey, I bet Zedaph doesn't have this in his Hall of Everything thingy!"

"He's not--" Tango stares at the ashes. "How much would it take for you to start talking about--" you know?

"About what?"

You know.

"Sixty-four diamonds." Scar grins and holds out the box. "Here, you can shake it, it's authentic."

From somewhere above him, more rockets. Ah, Cleo must be leaving, Scar thinks, turning around and giving the box to Tango to wave goodbye.

Pearl alights on the street, her elytra flickering back into code as soon as she's on the ground.

The prime customer! Scar thinks, and he snatches back the box from Tango and marches up to Pearl. "Hello, Pearl! Might I interest you in a deal this fine--" He glances up; the weather's cloudy and gray. "This cloudy day?"

"Wait, hold on, wait," Pearl says, eyes clouding. She flicks a glance to Cleo and Tango, pointedly does not look Scar in the eye--must be a Watcher thing--

(There are four of them, standing around a table, solemn, silent. Grian's hands are clasped. Their eyes are closed, but they are watching him, but they are watching him, but they are watching him still.)

--which Scar does not get at all. He's not very good with these kinds of things, these social intricacies, and Hermitcraft kinda erodes all that, what with all these fantastical cryptids that don't really care for strict Vex customs or elaborate catsfolk rituals. They have their own rites, their own rules, their own culture made up of a hundred others, and that one, Scar knows well.

"Don't trust him," Cleo cautions. They've always been intense, and Scar feels like he's being--

(When Grian reaches to take his hand, Scar pulls away, and their fingertips only brush. Even that brief contact hurts. His hand is fire, bright and hot, burning his hand. He hisses, and none of them open their eyes.)

--bored through.

"I don't, I was in Boatem," Pearl says, and she glances back at him. "I know a scammer when I see one."

"No, I mean--it's not just that, I trust we all know Scar's antics by now, but." Cleo looks at Tango, then Scar, then meets Pearl's gaze. "He doesn't remember--"

(They do not speak, but Scar knows that they tell him to forget. He will not remember anything that transpired. They tell him that he is one of them now, and there is no way to change that. Scar thinks that's pretty rude, actually. He should've at least gotten a warning or something.)

you know.

Pearl's eyes widen, and then she stares at Scar. "You mean--" she begins, and then-- "Hold on, Scar, what--"

"Do you want it?" Scar traces the markings on the lid, chilling gold and smooth wood, and inside the gunpowder shifts and settles. "You haven't even heard what it is yet!"

"Scar, I--" Pearl stammers. "Scar, you're--do you really not--"

"It's Tilly's ashes," Scar chirps.

Pearl stiffens, ears pricking, eyes gaining a dangerous glitter. "Tilly's ashes?" she echoes, seemingly forgetting before--

(And Scar protests, in not-quite-words, and pulls away. For the first time, Pearl seems to stir, but nothing comes of it. Grian tells him--there is no way out that does not end in blissful forgetting. And that is when Scar realizes that there is definitely a way out that does not end in forgetting.)

--in favor of inquiring about the thing Scar actually wants her to buy. Like the ashes.

"Yep!" Scar smiles again--Cleo watches from the side as Tango takes off. No time to say goodbye--Pearl's full attention is a thing you don't get very often, and boy is Scar going to take advantage! "True and trusted!"

"How did you--" Pearl takes the offered box, tilts it, listens intently as the gunpowder shifts within. "Martyn wasn't--you're a madman, Scar, you're--"

(Scar's gaze flicks around the not-room, around the winners encircling the table, at the walls that only appear if he glances at them. Something tickles the back of his mind--only material when you look at them. Only material when you look at them. He looks behind--a wall, solid and stone. He closes his eyes and steps backward into thin air.)

"--a madman. How did you even get this?"

"Oh, extortion, bribery, blackmail, that kind of thing, no need to get into the messy details! What matters is it costs a stack of diamonds, and, well! I'm sure you can fork up at least that for your beloved, passed pooch!"

"Don't do it, Pearl, I bet those aren't his real ashes," Cleo snaps. "I mean, it's not my fault if you get cheated, just saying, but I wouldn't do it if I were you."

"Oh, it'll be fine," Pearl says. "I've got lots of diamonds, what's the worst--"

(Behind him, he can hear them--Grian's steady wingbeats, Scott's repeated cries, the pawsteps of Pearl's dogs, Martyn's footsteps. He keeps his eyes screwed shut. There has to be an end. The way Grian had said it--there has to be. He will not take no for an answer.)

"--that can happen? Gem berates me? Besides--" and here her expression softens-- "I trust Scar. Probably a pretty bad thing to do, but... he did win--" you know. "I wouldn't put it past him to nab Tilly's ashes for diamonds. Even if it is a little--lot overpriced. I want Tilly back, Cleo."

"I know," Cleo says. "Fine, go ahead. I don't think I can stop you."

"Good!" Scar says, brightening. "So, let's get this straight--"

(He does not know how long he runs, nor how long he spent in that room, nor how long he spent dead, but suddenly there is grass beneath his feet and sunlight on his face and Jellie meowing in sharp surprise, and when he turns around and cracks open his eyes, there is only a ripple in the air to show he came from anywhere at all.)

"--I get a stack of diamonds, you get Tilly's ashes. No lies, no trickery, no loopholes. Got it?"

Pearl takes only a moment to think, and then she nods, sharp and final. "Deal."

"You're getting scammed," Cleo points out.

"Don't listen to her!" Scar says. "Now, the diamonds?"

"Actually, I think I'd like the ashes first." Pearl tilts her head, and a smile quirks her lips.

For a second, Scar weighs the options--getting the diamonds first and securing the deal, or risking losing his profit--and then decides to trust Pearl. She seems pretty trustworthy today, and if he loses this deal, she'll tell everyone--she's pretty good at that.

He hands her the box, and, wordlessly, she gives him the diamonds.

"So, just one itsy-bitsy note before you open that box and start doing whatever you want with Tilly's cremated remains." Scar readies an ender pearl in close reach, and Pearl glances up from the clasp that she's undoing.

"Hm?"

"I just wanted to say--" Wow, this is hard. Maybe this is a sign of respect in Watcher culture, staring your opponent head-on? There must be some, ah, cultural clash with races like the Vex, where staring at someone means you want to kill them. Scar gulps. Cultural clashes. Definitely. He takes out the ender pearl and rubs his fingers over the glossy surface.

"Say what?" Doubt seeps into Pearl's tone, and she furrows her brow and stares at him--thankfully, she doesn't seem to notice the pearl.

"I just wanted to say..." He inhales, exhales, glances behind him (solid land, good) and throws the ender pearl.

"Those aren't Tilly's ashes."

He's there long enough to see Pearl's expression switch from gleeful delight to stone-cold fury, and she bares her teeth in a snarl, and then the pearl breaks and Scar can hear her howl from a few chunks away.

I guess we're gonna find out how she won Double Life, Scar thinks, pocketing the diamonds and watching in awed terror as Pearl spins on her heel and takes out her axe.

She's terrifying, Scar thinks, and runs.

#this. um this is more angst than i expected but also scar scams pearl out of a stack of diamonds so it technically fits the prompt #also sorry if the writing is subpar i'm tired #hermitblr #hermitcraft #ficlet #russet’s writing #russet responds #pearlescentmoon #zombiecleo #gtwscar #tangotek #hermitfic

[sagadivision]

A knock is heard on the door of the Kagawa residence. Pausing from what she was doing Ayaka stood and walked over to the door. Opening the door reveals the entirety of Death Row Block. Normally the sight of Katsushika Divison would fill many with fear but not Ayaka who was happy to see the people she considered family.

“Happy Birthday Ayaka.” Akihisa murmured.

"Aya-chan~! Happy Birthday~!" Touya loudly cheered giving Ayaka a gentle hug. 

“Happy Birthday short stuff.” Rintaro gently ruffled Ayaka’s hair. 

Letting them enter her house Ayaka noticed that each of them was carrying a gift. 

“Alright considering it's obvious what we're here for let's get to the good shit.” Rintaro teased placing his gift in Ayaka’s hands. “Hope you enjoy it, kid. I have a feeling you didn't have one of these as a kid.” Rintaro’s usual fierce expression softened to something kinder. 

Opening the gift reveals a white teddy bear with a pale gold ribbon around its neck. Ayaka nearly teared up at the sight of the gift. 

“Nearly got kicked out the toy store getting it so you better appreciate it, ya hear.” Rintaro jokingly threatened, giving Ayaka’s hair one last ruffle.

“Oh oh me next Aya-chan~! I hope you like it~!” Touya grinned placing his gift in Ayaka’s hands. 

Opening the gift reveals two gorgeous dresses one pink and one blue. Ayaka let out a gasp at the sight of the gift from the serial killer.

“I still don't know why I could've gone with my original idea.” Touya pouted. 

“Your original idea was a fucking knife from your personal collection Touya.  Do you even know where some of your knives have been?” Rintaro scolded elbowing his teammate. 

“Hisa-chan! Rin-chan is being mean to me again!”

“Oi! You little shit!”

“Touya, Rintaro please do not start a fight in Ayaka’s living room.” Akihisa scolds them. “Now then Ayaka this is my gift I do hope you enjoy it.” The ex-hitman placed his gift in Ayaka’s hands. 

Opening the gift reveals a small wooden music box with pink roses on the lid. Opening it up it began to play a lovely tune and Ayaka even noticed a place to place small bits of jewelry.

“I know your nightmares keep you up at night so I hope this helps,” Akihisa explained giving the young girl a gentle hug. “Now we have a few hours before someone realizes we’re not in Katsushika anymore. I managed to get a reservation at a restaurant here in Saga. So call Megumi and Mizuki and we can all go out to dinner for your birthday.”

To say that Ayaka was happy would be an understatement.

Her literal nuclear family unit was at her door how could she NOT be happy to see them.

“I missed you guys!”

She gave each of them the biggest hug she could muster before leading them inside.

Rintaro really was right about the teddy bear thing. She never did have one growing up! She held this one tightly- like it was going to be taken from her at any moment. She managed to not cry thankfully (but she was about to).

“He’s so soft- I think I’ll call him Mr. Fluffy!”

The four of them failed to notice two heads peaking out from behind the entrance to the kitchen. Mizuki and her partner were too busy fawning over how fucking cute this was to watch.

“These are so pretty!!” Ayaka gently ran her fingers across the fabric of the dresses “I love them thank you!”

It was Akihisa’s gift that made her begin to tear up even more. The beautiful melody was almost hypnotic part of her felt at ease when she heard it. He was right- her nightmares did keep her up quite a bit…and while her body still aches from the memories of her surgeries…today she didn’t hurt as much.

“You guys- thank you so much for the wonderful gifts” she smiled “Im going to go get changed into one of these” she holds up the dresses that Touya gave her.

#hypmic oc #hypnosis mic oc #hypmic #hypnosis microphone #hypmic ocs #saga division #megumi kagawa #ayaka kagawa #mizuki minami #hypnosis mic #death row block

[night-unfurls-its-splendour]

The Critique of Manners Part VI

~Or~

An Attempt at an Objective Review of Emma (2009)... VOLUME TWO

Haha, bitches you didn't think I could wait a whole week did you? Nah, not me. and guys, I added to it--all total, it's 9,023 words now. this half of the review is 5,214. HOW DO I HAVE SO MANY WORDS FOR THIS THING? I'm not gonna split it into a third part, because I don't need to for picture limit purposes, but buckle in.

If you didn't catch it, read part 1 here

Here it is, the stunning conclusion to my Emma Adaptation Review series (but this isn't really the end because I plan on doing some rankings later). In this half of my review of BBC'S Emma (2009) we'll discuss Costumes and all the very specific things that I love about this version, and some things I don't like, and some things I'm here to defend.

Let's dive in!

Costumes

Generally I liked these costumes pretty well. They were designed and facilitated by Rosalind Ebbutt, also known for her work on PBS’s Victoria and Vanity Fair (1998). And her work is, as her filmography would suggest, by turns, great and so-so.

These costumes are definitely in line with the adaptation’s general aesthetic: warm pinks and golds, with mints emeralds and blues to cool it off a little, are the order of the day. I really appreciate that every character has a definite color palette. The tradeoff is that this adaptation is the WORST EVER offender for the Jane Fairfax Blue™ trope.

Daywear

Emma’s daywear is full of warm and muted colors. Salmon and magenta are commonly seen. I love that most of Emma’s daywear consists of sleeveless or short-sleeved gowns with wide-sleeved linen blouses underneath. It’s not a commonly seen aesthetic so it feels light and fresh. My favorite of Emma’s daywear dresses is the pale yellow with purple floral print.

There’s one other in particular that I love.

Emma’s blue, sleeveless dress. I love this because of HOW OBVIOUSLY it’s a reference to this portrait of Charlotte, Princess of Wales. I mean...

I’M NOT IMAGINING THIS, RIGHT? WHY DOES NO ONE TALK ABOUT THIS? This is a REAL dress. They still have this exact gown of Princess Charlotte’s. It’s on display. It’s faded, but it’s the same dress.

Harriet has a fresh and innocent green, white and purple color scheme with healthy doses of peach and pink showing. I particularly like her white and purple floral print dress.

Mrs. Weston’s color palette varies, but leans heavily on tans and purples, which is very flattering, I must say, to Johdi May’s coloring and is really refreshing for Mrs. Weston who seems to get stuck in pinks and yellows a lot. No idea what’s going on with the laced-front dress though? This doesn’t quite read as authentic to me, but I do like that her first dress seems to be an apron-front.

I know I already said that this is the worst Jane Fairfax Blue™ offender, but guys I can’t stress it enough. WE ARE 5/5 ON DAYWEAR HERE. LOOK AT THAT. (Also of note, Jane 5 is one of Gwyneth Paltrow’s dresses from the '96 Emma.)

Mrs. Elton seems, at all times, to be wearing some form of pink, but I think I’m right in saying that the white day dress with the rose patterned bodice under the yellow and pink spencer is one of Jane’s dresses from P&P ’80. Can anyone confirm that? They did sneak in some Mrs. Elton Orange™ though, for Box Hill, and it’s worth noting that Mrs. Elton is the only lady who’s appropriately dressed on that occasion.

Isabella gets some understated day gowns that are very nice and also VERY “Jane Austen” in the sense that I feel like Jane Austen herself might have worn them.

Miss Bates, unfortunately is slapped with brown at just about every turn, but at least her “Nice” day outfit has some subtle leaf patterns, which is refreshing. Also Mrs. Goddard has a slappin’ cap. Love that.

Also, Harriet’s Grecian costume for the painting (upper right hand corner). What can I say, but that I love it. I love that it hints at the neoclassical influences on Regency fashion too. This is my favorite interpretation of the painting too.

Evening Wear

You know what I love about this version? It’s the first version of Emma where her gown for the Crown in Ball isn’t WHITE. I know, I know white was fashionable, but it’s just… it’s nice for not EVERY gown in a ball scene to be plain white friggin muslin and also, it’s not one she’s ever worn before, which is great.

Harriet does have only white evening gowns but that’s okay. My only complaint is that, specifically on her Crown Inn dress and in a lot of her costumes in general, the waistline seems just a little low. Hmm. I really like the pale blue pattern on her first evening dress though.

Mrs. Weston though. Woo. Look at those. She has a dark chartreuse gown with black lace trim that any other version would have put on Mrs. Elton, so you know from the dark tones that she’s a bitch. Not so with Emma '09, and that’s good. And her teal dinner number is a favorite of mine. I never paid much attention to her green and gold ball gown but it has some really beautiful, subtle leaf or maybe peacock feather patterns on it and I love that. My only problem is that there seem to be some fit issues. She’s got muffin top way too often. Her orange evening dress is a bit of a dud though, firstly, because it has long sleeves (which is an evening gown no-no) and the fabric slaps a bit too much of sari fabric for my tastes.

Jane, not only is put in blue with both of her evening gowns (although one is so pale it borders on white), ONE of them is another Emma ’96 repeat and not only that, it’s one of Jane Fairfax’s dresses in that film! Perhaps that’s enough to make it an homage, and I have to say, I think Laura Pyper wore it better.

Miss Bates only has one evening wear ensemble, but at least it’s cream and not brown.

Mrs. Elton’s gowns are surprisingly understated, and yet still seem to be annoyingly fussy and, what’s better? They’re not sickly green. One of them is actually a very pleasant mint.

Outerwear

Outerwear is roundly pretty great here. Emma’s primary choice of color for spencers is emerald/evergreen and one of them is Elizabeth’s Bennet’s from the 1995 P&P (though to be honest, I think Jennifer Ehle filled it out better.) I do love Mrs. Elton’s pink and yellow number with the slashed sleeves. Jane Fairfax’s only spencer is, you guessed it, blue, but her friend Miss Campbell has a rather fun mauve one.

There’s no shortage of pelisses and redingotes either. Harriet can be seen in one borrowed from Elinor Dashwood in the '08 S&S, Mrs. Weston has a rather fabulous purple one which she wears with the most delicious looking hat I’ve ever seen.

Emma has two. The first one is a great magenta number with military braiding (and I think she wears with it one of the brown slouch hats that Kate Beckinsale wore in the same role) and while the other pelisse is brown, they had the sense not to make her wear a hat with it that was also brown. Instead, they gave her a contrasting color. Good on ya, Rosalind!

Speaking of hats, I don't often single them out for commentary, but I want to here because… the hat authenticity is… kinda spotty. Let me show you.

Okay first of all, Emma may be a teenager in this pic on the upper left, but she is not dressed formally enough for her sister’s wedding (which is what’s going on in this scene) but at least her hat is pretty good. You can see the ribbons are on the inside of the hat here, which is as it should be… but she never wears this hat again. At any point in the series. Instead, we next see her in the one on the upper right and ye gads this is atrocious. WHY IS HER HAT NOT PINNED ON? IT’S SLIDING DOWN THE BACK OF HER HEAD. SOMONE FIX IT. PLEASE. But wait, there’s more. This kills me because these bottom two are so similar to the one she wore earlier (the correct one) but crappier looking. Jeez.

This is not a hat. It’s a peanut. You know who doesn’t have this problem? Harriet. She only has one sun hat but at least it’s correct.

I also wanna touch briefly on this ^ costume continuity issue.

WTF is this? She’s in the hall, her ribbon is contoured to the line of her dress; she goes into the drawing room and… it isn’t anymore? Wha happun?

I took more menswear screencaps for this version than any other version. And that’s because the men just have more outfits that are, y’know, different from each other.

Mr. Knightley is as understated as ever, but I wanna highlight the first pic there and why I love it. This is Knightley’s first appearance in the series and it’s the perfect establishing shot that shows the viewer everything they need to know about Emma and Knightley’s relationship and how it has always been. He sort of materializes, out of focus in the background, but Emma immediately knows he’s there. And to accentuate how much Knightley is part of her home and scenery, his clothes (similar shades of pale tan, white and minty green to the wall behind him) almost camouflage him and make him seem at one with the moulding.

He also has a rather lovely blue evening waistcoat that I WISH I could have gotten better shot of (although I do believe it’s also worn by Henry Crawford in the '07 Mansfield Park, so for further reading…)

Mr. Weston finally gets to wear clothes that aren’t all brown! He only has ONE brown outfit. He gets PATTERNED waistcoats, one of them a rather spiffing blue and brown striped number. And he wears TROUSERS! Because he’s a gentleman, and he’s not that old and trousers are worn by fashionable gentlemen in this period!

You know who else gets to wear trousers and at least one fun waistcoat? Mr. Woodhouse. Check out that lovely Sunday Best™ waistcoat. The red striped one. That’s delightful.

John Knightley’s evening wear intrigues me. That’s a double-breasted jacket, and you know I’m not totally sure that’s very authentic for evening-wear of this period, but it is different. Unfortunately he also has a flared top hat and that is definitely not on for this period.

One of my favorite things about this version is that they don’t dress Mr. Elton as a clergyman all the time. Yes, he may be the vicar, but he’s also allowed to dress like a fashionable, handsome young man. So I’m really happy that he gets to flex his fashion muscles here.

And speaking of fashionable young men, FINALLY frank gets to be COLORFUL and his trousers are even tight enough. Both he AND Elton are often seen wearing TWO waistcoats, as I would expect them to, and even though Frank’s a dandy, he knows that flashiness is gauche so his pops of color are bright, but not in your face. His green and red waistcoats are always worn under more muted colors, and I just love it.

The only problems are… what’s with the turned-down waistcoat collars? There’s no precedent for this, in fact I think it’s directly contradictory to the style at the time, and also it makes the cravats look a bit unruly.

A Critique of Manners

A lot has been said about the manners in this adaption. Like, the actual manners, body language and facial expressions, specifically vis-à-vis Romola Garai.

And, oh yeah, there’s a lot to pick at here, but first I’d like to talk about the facial expressions.

I'm mostly gonna be talking out of my ass here, but this is my take, so if anyone can make a better argument against my points, I am listening, because I don't really like talking out of my ass and I like to be informed. That said...

I tend to be lenient on the… exaggerated facial expressions because, something I’ve noticed reading Austen’s works through the last several months is that Austen is very descriptive when it comes to facial expressions and I just find it hard to believe that people in the Regency Era never made exaggerated expressions like this.

I’ve heard a lot about how Garai’s Emma is not dignified or lady-like. But let’s think about the context of Emma Woodhouse – she’s never been in society. She’s only had a governess to teach her, and we know Emma’s always been sort of averse to being told what she can and can’t do. Emma is the highest ranking woman in her social circle (barring Isabella’s occasional presence). Emma doesn’t have to be ladylike. At 21, she’s already her local Lady Catherine. She puts a lot of stock in her position in society but, as Mrs. Elton will be the first to hypocritically point out, she’s very poorly behaved. I'd be very curious to see what would happen if Emma went to London for the season. Probably, she'd be seen, comparatively, as a country bumpkin. Can you imagine how she might get on in a sea of accomplished young ladies? She can barely handle having ONE rival with any kind of grace.

Austen never describes bodily movements of the kind we’re looking at when we watch adaptations, so why not have Emma’s body-language be un-ladylike in the conventional sense of the time? I’m not saying this to excuse the absolutely inexcusable (Frank’s head in her lap, kneeling on the sofa backwards etc.), but while Emma’s mannerisms aren’t exactly ladylike for her time, they’re not overtly masculine either (which was one of my biggest problem with Death Comes to Pemberly for example.)

Yes, there’s an ideal for manners. But we know real people didn’t always follow those ideals. In dancing for example, many dancing guidebooks of the day were full of repeated instructions not to be too loud or rambunctious when dancing. What this tells us is that people were doing just that, and probably quite a bit, too. I think that, while taking societal strictures into account, we shouldn’t totally discount the idea that people in the Regency weren’t really that different from us, and young people especially.

Now I’ve already mentioned some of the inexcusable aspects of interaction in this adaptation and they’re so notorious at this point, I don’t think that I really need to go over them much here. Although I will say: is it ridiculous to have Frank Churchill put his head in Emma’s lap? Yes. Did it make me more viscerally uncomfortable with the situation on Box Hill than any other version? Yes.

I was like, 14 when I watched this the first time. This was an effective way to telegraph to young people like me that Emma is being extremely inappropriate here in a way that no other version really managed to, even when I watched them when I was older and understood the period more. I’m far more acquainted with Regency manners than I was then, but to be honest – if they had been accurate with the manners here, when I was 14 I would not have understood what the big deal was. Is there merit in circumventing historical accuracy in favor of reaching a less-informed but still-interested audience? Yes, I think so. There were three other versions of this, at that point, that did this scene with more or less pristine manners. Not every version has to follow the manners of the time to-the-letter to be good. That’s my feeling on the matter.

There are things that do really bother me though. Like the idea that Harriet Smith doesn’t know how to spoon soup, for instance. As I said in my review for the Miramax version, table manners are pretty basic, there’s no reason Mrs. Goddard wouldn’t have taught Harriet this. It does provide a good moment to show Emma tacitly coaching Harriet and showing the trajectory in which this relationship will go, but personally I don’t think it was necessary—there are plenty of other ways that could be done.

Also: kids at the dinner table? I know this is part of building the familial atmosphere but it really does annoy me, because apart from building the familial atmosphere (which they do very well and frequently in other ways) it really didn’t need to happen, and it doesn’t add anything.

The Heart of Highbury

So, as I’ve hinted at throughout this review, the bread and butter of this adaptation of Emma is emotion. This version goes hard and heavy on showingthe relationships – Emma’s relationships with Mrs. Weston, Mr. Knightley, her father, her sister, her brother-in-law, Miss Bates; Jane’s relationship with Frank; Frank’s relationship with his father; The John Knightleys’ home life – and it illustrates things that can be surmised from just reading the story, but really draws your attention to them in ways that other adaptations just don’t.

It does this from the very beginning with the prologue which explains in detail (not just in quick exposition between characters) how Jane and Frank were separated from their families at young ages. We know now, from psychological study, that being taken away from their primary caretakers during their formative years is one of the most psychologically traumatizing things for a child. This is deeply important context which is explained in detail by the narrator in 2-3 large pages (in my Barnes & Noble anthology) in the book.

In the featurette on the houses, they talk particularly about Hartfield and the Woodhouses being the heart of Highbury and how they particularly wanted it to feel homey because Hartfield is Emma’s house and they wanted the audience to feel why everyone is so drawn to it, and to Emma; to me that is what they did with the whole adaptation in microcosm.

I usually talk a bit about the dancing and I'm going to here as well because this is maybe the most special dance scene in any Austen for me. Of course I'm going to link to Tea with Cassiane as usual because she knows what she's talking about and I don't. But I wanna add some comments. She gives this a pretty low rating in spite of a generally favorable commentary because of two big oopsies, the circle dance formation is one, and the other is I believe, an issue with the style of dance not matching the tune in Emma's dance with Knightley. Throwing out any objective technical analysis though, this is my favorite Ball in any Austen and it all comes down to the cornerstone of this adaptation--emotion.

All of the songs and dances were original compositions and choreography made for this adaptation. So they're not period per se, but the tunes at least are representative of how Regency dance music should sound. These dances are upbeat, and lively and, damn they look like fun. Everyone is excited here and it makes me understand why dancing was such a big thing. Best of all that excitement adds to the emotional charge of the scene. "The Ship's Cook" is the most fast paced dance and I'm glad they made this the dance where Elton snubs Harriet because it really hits for me just what Harriet would be missing out on if Knightley wasn't so fucking aptly named. In all other versions you get the insult, but the dance that's taking place is usually a Baroque walker so it doesn't seem terribly like she's missing out on much. Here, this is like not getting picked for kickball-- not only is it a slight that no one wants you on their team, but you miss out on even playing the game. Harriet looks so lonely, and her feeling of being out of place rolls off of Louise Dylan so forcefully it chokes me up just thinking about it because I've been there, man. I feel this shit. *dabs eyes*. Ahem. So, yes, when Knightley engages her for the dance the excitement the viewer feels is that much more forceful and Harriet's exuberantly starting to jump in when the timing is off and Knightley gently pulling her back, it just hits me in the feels center, guys. (I wanna take a moment to give a shout out to every camp counselor who ever partnered with me for any game at summer camp.) Emma's reaction too, is gold. Her genuine relief at Knightley swooping in is one of those great reminders that Emma is Harriet's friend, and she does care about her.

Finally on the dancing front, I wanna talk about Emma's dance with Knightley and why I prefer it to the one in the 2020 version. I already talked about this a bit in the 2020 review, so I'm gonna try and keep it brief. That shouldn't be too hard, because I'm probably mostly going to repeat a lot of what I've already said about Emma and Knightley in this version as a whole.

The big thing everyone loves about the Crown Inn dance in the 2020 is the yearning, the sexual tension, the quivering touches etc. Don't get me wrong, I LOVE all of those things but... not all the time. Not in everything, and definitely not in Emma. Because Emma, to me, isn't about repressed sexuality or heated tension or seething passion. Emma and Knightley are the opposite of that, to me, really. One of my mutuals put it best, I think: "Emma and Knightley are more suited to stolen glances than hot touches."

In Part 1 I talked about how Knightley is Emma's comfort object. When Emma is out of sorts, Knightley re-centers her. It helps set up, and puts emphasis on, the crisis of the story in the last act--Emma not knowing what she has until [she thinks] she's lost it. Emma and Knightley are Friends to Lovers done as it should be. She is already so comfortable with him she doesn't even realize her own feelings. She just feels right with Knightley and that's what this dance is here to show you--a foreshadowing of matrimonial harmony.

The dance itself, of course, is always up to interpretation, because Austen never describes how it goes, just that Knightley asks Emma to dance and Knightley doesn't dance (barring charitable causes). If you prefer the sexual tension take, if that, to you is an improvement on Austen's story and gives you what you've always felt was missing, I'm glad that there is a version now that gives you what you've been looking for, but for me, I think the 09 approach hits closer their dynamic in the book.

Now do I do think the Emphasis on emotion maybe went a little too earnest in some places in this adaptation? Maybe. Just a little.

In my last review (1972) I went on a rather lengthy tirade about the scene where they turn Emma’s appeals to Harriet to exert herself and move on following Mr. Elton’s marriage into Emma guilting Harriet into thinking she’s a bad friend for being heartbroken and then throwing her into the situation most likely to rub salt in that particular wound.

In this version, while I love the emphasis they put on the stress Emma puts on her own guilt for being the reason for Harriet’s situation in the first place, I think it’s maybe a little too… much.

That’s the only way I can put it. I know I’ve just said that I think there should be a bit more expressiveness in period drama, but this doesn’t quite match the way I read it (Emma’s a bit less desperate in Austen’s prose. Very dedicated to helping Harriet feel better, but just a skosh more composed). I think she’s even crying in this scene.

While we’re here let’s go over to Box Hill ONE. MORE. TIME.

First of all, this is where this screenplay shines, in my opinion. This is the big turning point in the story and as such, should be a touchstone for the judgment of any adaptation. This sequence in the 2009 version is a perfect crystallization of everything I love about this version—namely that this is the version that, to me, most feels like someone read the book thoroughly, paid attention to what Austen was describing and then actually tried to convey it on screen. A lot of other versions sort of feel (to me), like the director glanced at the page and said “here’s what I want to convey in my version”. Insofar as making a piece of art goes, that’s good. Directors are artists as much as painters are and movies are their canvass, but it’s seldom that you find a director who honestly wants to hit as close to the author intent as possible and this Box Hill sequence makes me feel like that’s what Jim O’Hanlon was going for. I have the book open next to me as I write this and it’s shocking to me how minutely the atmosphere described in the book is conveyed here. Most of all, the fact that Emma’s insulting Miss Bates is not the only thing faux pas she makes here. Box Hill as a whole is a disaster, and it’s largely because of Frank.

“When they all sat down it was better; to [Emma’s] taste, a great deal better, for Frank Churchill grew talkative and gay, making her his first object. To amuse her, and to be agreeable in her eyes, seemed to be all that he cared for—and Emma, glad to be enlivened, and not sorry to be flattered, was gay and easy too, and gave him all the friendly encouragement, the admission to be gallant, which she had ever given in the first and most animating period of their acquaintance; but which now, in her own estimation, meant nothing, though in the judgment of most people looking on it must have had such an appearance as no English word but flirtation could very well describe. “Mr. Frank Churchill and Miss Woodhouse flirted excessively.” They were laying themselves open to that very phrase—and to having it sent off in a letter to Maple Grove by one lady, to Ireland by another. Not that Emma was gay and thoughtless from any real felicity; it was rather because she felt less happy than she expected. She laughed because she was disappointed…” --Emma, Chapter 43

Most other versions rush through Frank’s “excessive” flirting with Emma (Right in front of Jane) to get to “Three Things Very Dull Indeed” as fast as possible, and yes that’s the crowning horror of Box Hill, but there’s a very intricate setting here, too, and this version has the time to lay back and let it all unfold in the oppressive discomfort of an English summer day.

Even better than all of that though is Knightley confronting Emma after it all goes down. This treatment is neither plaintive, nor aggressive as it was in ‘96 and ‘97 respectively. I’ve already extolled the virtues of Johnny Flynn’s Box Hill rebuke, but for a change I’m not going to zero in on Miller’s performance which is, at least as good as Flynn’s, but on Romola Garai’s, which I find superior to Anya Taylor Joy’s. Specifically, her reaction once she’s alone.

ATJ in the 2020 version immediately breaks down sobbing and it’s hard for me to feel that she’s sobbing for “anger against herself, mortification, and deep concern” or that there’s much self-reflection going on there. To me it rather just feels like she’s crying because she got shouted at. The theatrics of it, to me, feel childish and self-centered.

I don’t feel that with Garai’s performance.

“She was vexed beyond what could have been expressed—almost beyond what she could conceal. Never had she felt so agitated, mortified, grieved, at any circumstance in her life. She was most forcibly struck . . . How could she have exposed herself to such ill opinion in anyone she valued! And how to suffer him to leave her without saying one word of gratitude, of concurrence, of common kindness!

Time did not compose her…” --Emma, Chapter 43

Of course one can make the case that Emma's reaction should be a bit childish because Emma is an immature character, but that's the thing--I can agree with you anywhere else in this story but this is Emma's maturing moment. This is her turning point as a character. It's where we should see her reactions shift from the same childish denial we're used to seeing when Knightley scolds her, because this is different. It's not the usual brushing off of big brother Knightley, this is a young woman reacting to an esteemed friend pointing out how abhorrently inappropriate she's been and her having to admit that to herself.

I didn't really want to drag comparisons to the 2020 film into this, not on this scale at least, but this just jumped out at me the last time I watched the new film and I have to express it somewhere.

What I see in Garai’s performance is desolation and mortification. That shocked tearfulness of knowing you’ve been justly reproached for wrongdoing, but being too frozen in a pretense of composure to actually cry about it until you’re quite sure that no one will see you. And especially when it’s someone you esteem rebuking you, the horror of them leaving before you can admit that they’re right. There’s so much more depth here, I think, and I can’t even quite express what it makes me feel.

The aspect of time not composing her is another thing that they decided to put stress on in this version. Emma looks fucked up in the following scenes. When she goes to see Miss Bates, she clearly either hasn’t slept or has slept very badly. I feel like this is maybe an anticlimactic conclusion to this section but I’m afraid I’m very close to reaching incoherence, so I’m just gonna leave it here.

My absolute favoritest thing about this version though—something that sets it apart from ALL other versions and even adaptations of other Austen stories—is the inclusion of the post-confession conversation.

This is something of a trope in Austen books but it very rarely finds its way into adaptations: confessions of love are out of the way, the hero and heroine settle into an easy an comfortable conversation, glowing with happiness as they explain and laugh over their actions and misinterpretations of each other’s choices. It happens in Pride and Prejudice, in Persuasion, and yes, in Emma. This is the only Austen adaptation, that I've seen, to include this kind of conversation in any kind of detail. The 1995 Pride and Prejudice alludes to the corresponding scene in it its source material, but the lines pulled from it get tossed into the confession scene itself and then it flies through to get to the obligatory wedding—a side effect of rushing through endings, a convention I’m rather tired of.

Emma (2009) takes its time with this, as with all other aspects of this adaptation. For a version that’s so full of energy, its pacing is extremely laid back and comfortable, without dragging. When you hear the gentle musical swell and Emma and Knightley have their kiss (this whole confession sequence is so sweet and wonderful in its own right), you expect that to be it. But no, we cut to them, the picture of contented happiness, sitting together on a bench overlooking Hartfield’s garden, just talking and enjoying being together, with no teasing, no pretense. If Jane Austen stories emphasize anything, it’s the importance of communication in relationships, and I think that’s maybe why she made it a point in almost every story to show her characters communicating their feelings in words, even after all the conflict has been resolved. This is my favorite scene in the whole series (In case it being my header image didn’t make that obvious.)

This is followed rather promptly by a cut to the next day, with Emma bursting in to Donwell in hysterics about how they can’t be married because she won’t leave her father alone.

This is one of those maybe over-the-top choices that a lot of people don’t like, but guys, it was so funny to me when I was fourteen and it still makes me laugh. It might seem outlandish, but to me it’s just the emphasis on personal relationships and emotion coming through again and it always makes me smile.

Final Thoughts

It’s hard for me to give a proper round up of my feelings for this section because I think I’ve poured just about all of my feelings on each aspect into its dedicated sections.

At the end of the day, the only thing that really disappoints me about this version is the number of missed opportunities there are here. One of my favorite parts of reading Austen is when I run across a line in dialogue or narrative that just… slaps. But they never make it into the adaptations. Emma is full of them and I just wish that Sandy Welch could have taken an opportunity to slip a few of them in.

In summary, I think this is a wonderful, heartfelt adaptation aimed at getting to the emotional heart of a story that often gets caught up in the Mean Girl-ness of its main character than the coming of age story that it is. It's one of my favorite period dramas because it's one of the few that really captures the spirit of the source material as it's always felt to me. There's really only two other period dramas that I esteem on the same level as this, and they're North & South (2004) and Jane Eyre (2011) and it's for the same reasons; because they impact me deeply on an emotional level--which is what art is supposed to do--because of how well it captures the essence of the story that I know and love.

So did I succeed in a more objective review of Emma 2009? I' feel like probably not. But I tried my best. It’s so hard to be objective about something that makes you as happy as this adaptation makes me.

Ribbon Rating: Most Agreeable (83 Ribbons)

Tone: 10

Casting: 9

Acting: 9

Scripting: 7

Pacing: 10

Cinematography: 7

Setting: 9

Costumes: 6

Music: 8

Book Accuracy: 8

#emma 2009 #emma woodhouse #mr. knightley #jane austen #jane austen emma #romola garai #jonny lee miller #period dramas #regency

[downywrites]

if you're willing, i have a prompt i'd like to see you write maybe, if you want!

bench trio focused fic, with lee!tommy and ler!tubbo and ranboo! tommy's just feeling a mixture of bored and sad, and he keeps getting lost in his thoughts, which never turns out well. so he goes to tubbo and ranboo to hang out with them, which they're fine with. but they suggest like, doing something simple, and while tommy would usually be fine with that, it gives him too much time to think.

so he starts harassing tubbo and ranboo, trying to get them to distract him without saying that At All. and one (or both) of them gets fed up with tommy and tickles him a Little Bit to get him to stop. and tommy realizes that like... while he's being tickled, he's not Thinking! and it's always been comforting and nice and everything but he really just wants to stop thinking and lose himself to tickling.

so he keeps provoking, trying to get what he wants. but his friends keep stopping just as he starts to reach the point without thinking, and it's infuriating to tommy. so after they back off like the fifth time, tommy groans loudly, like. visibly frustrated. maybe crying a little. and tubbo and ranboo are worried, because they didn't think they went too far, but he's upset, but they thought he liked gentle tickles, but --

and tommy just forces himself to explain. poorly, because he can't say the t-word, and doesn't want to actually fully ask for it, but he's like "i don't want to think! i don't want to be thinking!!" and tubbo and ranboo are like ;-; and agree to just annihilate him. like "oh, tommy, don't worry... we'll tickle you until you forget your own name~" and decimate him. and tommy just loses himself to the tickly haze and teasing and eventually after a while he taps out, and they cuddle and he feels safe and head foggy and it's. soft.

fhsjjd that's a lot and i'm very sorry, but i am just. feeling so much. these guys make me so soft i am... yes.... fjsjjf your writing is so good thank u for my life!! ~🍄

I simplified this prompt quite a bit, haha. Bird tried their best. Hope you like it. (Bird is very tired. If this doesn’t make sense, please blame the monster energy.)

Bench trio focused fic- tommy is sad-bored and wants a distraction ft clueless!beeduo

Tick. Tock. The sound of Tommy’s clock pierced the silence of his house. The noise of the old redstone contraption chafed at his already waning sanity, making the boy growl lowly under his breath. The soft screeching of the rusty mechanical parts made him feel as if his entire body was on edge, tense like a bowstring pulled taut before a duel. He sighed in frustration, throwing his bedcovers to the side and pulling himself out of the warm bedsheets. He snatched a torch from the outside of his house and walked outside, wobbling a little on his feet from the speed at which he moved. He yawned loudly, searching for his two closest friends through his bleary eyes.

“Tubbo? Ranboo? I’m bored, come on!” He grumbled to himself, walking slowly on the wooden walkways as to not make his head swim anymore. His mind filled with traitorous thoughts again, unintentional consequences of being a big man like him. ‘They’ve probably left you. Tubbo loves Ranboo more than you. They are platonically married. You are an outsider. Outsider. Outsider. Outsider…’ He shook his head, dirty blonde locks flopping from side to side and sticking to his face a little as he did so. ‘I can’t think like this. They like me a lot, I know it! They’re probably working on the mansion-’ ‘Yeah, working on the mansion. Without you. Can’t you see it, Tommy? They’re doing it without you. You’re worthless to them. Worthless.’ “Shut up, shut up!” He clutched at his head. His fingers dug deep into his hair, scraping roughly at his scalp. “Shut the fuck up!”

He sunk to one knee, struggling to ignore the whispers and hisses of ‘liar’ and ‘traitor’ in a familiar, mocking voice. He focused on the sound of the birds chirping in the background. The birdsong sounded lyrical, beautiful. Like the sound of his discs. The discs….Did he remember what they sounded like? What did they sound like? The gap in memory made his head hurt even more. ‘I need to find out what they sound like again, I want to know. I need to get to Big T. He knows.’ He put his hands on the ground, wincing at the feeling of small splinters digging into the palms of his hands. He pushed. He felt the air on his back as he got up, shaky on his feet again.

Swears filled the air as he forced his body to move faster than he normally would on a lazy Sunday. His legs ached. Everything ached. Why did it ache again? He didn’t know. He wanted Tubbo. The feelings of melancholy boredom spread to the whole of the server. The bees buzzed quietly, lazing about on the branches of the trees. The plants swayed as if molasses had covered their leaves, dripping smoothly down onto the dirt and made patterns as the cold winds blew them around. The autumn sky, gold and rose and yellow from the rays of the sun that beamed directly overhead, seemed to be an endless canvas that Tommy could not reach, could not touch with his small, battered hands. He exhaled shakily as he ran, footsteps thudding solidly as old, weather shoes made contact with the wood. He ran through fields and flora, looking for familiar ram horns, for familiar black and white skin with the glimmer of a tarnished crown.

Time went by, and he slowed back down to a jog, searching as well as he could through the dense forests he wandered into. “Tubbo? Big T?” He called through his quiet wheezing. “Where are you guys?” The forest did not answer. The trees closed in on him. He curled up on the floor, pulling his bandana over his eyes a little. The fabric became damp. Soft grass hugged him slightly, clinging on to his damp skin as he shivered. He whimpered, curling in on himself more as a chilling wind howled by his face through the trees. “Ranboo….Tubbo..anyone?” His voice was nothing but a whisper now, barely audible through the rustling of the trees. Trembling violently, he cried softly.

“Tommy? Tommy!”

And there was light. He shot upright, gasping for breath. His hair stayed plastered to his face, mussed up and stringy from sweat. He looked through the tangle to see a familiar concerned face. “Tubbo.” “Big T, you were shaking all around! It was so scary! Are you okay?” He nodded, sighing in relief. He pushed his hair aside, sky blue eyes piercingly bright for someone who just woke up. “What happened?” Tubbo tapped his hoof on the ground nervously. He looked at the floor sheepishly, muttering a little under his breath. A moment passed. “Well, you see...we- um…” The glint of a crown caught Tommy’s eye at the doorway.

“We found you passed out in one of the dark oak forests. We weren’t sure what you were doing, but we didn’t think it was safe to leave you out there.” His breath caught. His voice squeaked a little when he spoke. “O-oh.” Much to his comfort, Ranboo said nothing, deciding to arrange some of the books on the shelf. Tommy scanned the room a little, taking in his surroundings a little more. The room looked empty, for the most parts. Things were scattered throughout the area, save for the bed underneath him, which seemed to be..seemed..to..be… “Is this your guys’s bed?!?”

Tubbo and Ranboo burst into raucous laughter. Tubbo sank to the floor, hiccuping slightly and wagging his little tail a mile a minute. Ranboo held it together a little better, hiding his chuckles behind a half-gloved hand. “Pff..yeah. Want to help me organize these books? We need some help putting them in order. And after this, we may need some help furnishing the place.” Tommy nodded. After all, he did end up intruding on them. It would be rude not to return the favor. He carefully extracted himself from the bed, slipping on his shoes haphazardly in a bid to follow him out the door. He hopped on one foot, cursing, as one of the shoes slipped off, obviously requiring some form of lace tying. Ranboo snorted quietly at the boy’s struggle, tails whisking elegantly in his wake. He stepped carefully down the stairs, avoiding the rougher parts of the unpolished stones and wood. He traced the railings with his hand, claws scraping lightly over the waxy coating. As he turned to look at the carvings and smooth wood, Tommy saw a glint of gold on his pitch-colored horn.

A feeling of slight jealousy twinged gently in his chest. He sneered internally at it, batting at it like a younger sibling. ‘Tubbo had his reasons to marry him. It’s not my business.’ His inner voice said otherwise. It whispered hauntingly into his ear. ‘But it is! Tubbo’s your best friend, is he not? Why did he marry someone else other than you? Did he really like you in the first place? Or was it the discs all-’ He shook his head vehemently. ‘No.’ Ranboo paid him no heed. He was busy, after all. So very busy, cleaning up dust carefully from the corners of the bookshelves further below him. He swiped off a speck of dust off his clothing quickly. “You coming or what?” Tommy nodded, hoping that he saw from their perspective down below. He ran down the stairs quickly, cursing a little when he missed a step or two as he went down. Ranboo watched in amusement, tails sweeping the floor as he waited. All the while, Dream’s voice hissed in his ears. ‘Worthless. Liar. He’s not worth it. Kill him.’

Thankfully for Tommy, he was used to phantoms whispering in his ears. Blatantly ignoring the annoying noise, he glared daggers at the tuxedo-covered back in front of him. ‘How do I get rid of this annoying fuck?’ Ranboo failed to notice his heated gaze. “Help us with these books, will you? Tubbo has been arguing with me about the placement for weeks now.” He kneeled down, coaxing his friend to sit down next to him in the pile of scattered books. Tommy’s mind whirled as he sorted them into differing piles. Tubbo and Ranboo’s voices faded in and out. The only voice he could hear the whole time was Dream. And Dream’s voice said things he really didn’t want to hear. He growled lowly under his breath, hoping that his inner voice would shut itself off.

Tubbo bleated in surprise at the small noise. “Big man, you okay? You haven’t been saying anything.” He poked at his side tentatively with a single finger. He yelped, bolt blue eyes widening in shock at the sudden contact. Tubbo grinned, mischief glimmering deep in his eyes. He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, pulling his fingers close to himself and forming claws with them. “Oh, Tommy~ I think we could make a little more noise together if I messed with you a wee bit..” Ranboo looked at his platonic husband, then back at the blond-haired boy. “What are we-” And there was the click of recognition. Tommy could recognize that lightbulb moment anywhere. “Oh.” His ears drooped a little, some sort of enderman thing Tommy failed to remember how to translate. He flicked his gaze towards his eyes for the smallest of moments, before looking back down sheepishly. “I-uh, sorry, Ranboo.” The words felt foreign in his mouth. His apology tasted like sawdust, like the breath of a life once forgotten.

He turned away, starting to push himself up. “I’ll see myself out.” A hand grabbed at his shoulder, dulled claws digging in slightly and revealing its owner. “You’re feeling bad.” With a crane of his neck, he saw red-green eyes boring into his soul. “We’re going to help with it, alright?” Ranboo’s voice softened with his grip, waiting for the other’s response. His eyelids fluttered shut without his volition, letting him bask in the blessed darkness for a moment. “If you can.” He was gently brought back down to the ground. He felt himself get draped over someone’s lap, someone gently carding their hands through his hair.

As they did, the strap of Dream’s mask wrapped around his throat. It tightened slowly, stealing his breath, his words. His voice grew near, rough and harsh and tasting like rocks in his mouth when he takes a tumble. He choked on air a little. “Please.” Soft, quiet voices wrapped around him. “Can we start, Toms?” A nod. What else can he say? The pain of speaking was too much. Dream’s wheeze filled his thoughts. He was sinking, sinking...the gentle tracing of a shape on his tummy snapped him back to reality. He opened his eyes blearily, giggling softly. “Hehey…”

“Yes, Toms?” And there he was. Tubbo traced the shape on his tum again, ear twitching as his laughter shifted in intensity and pitch. “Does this make it feel better? I know the voices aren’t making this any easier for you.” He scribbled his fingers over his stomach with the care of a nurse, avoiding the myriad axe scars left from battles with a tyrant he could never win against, not without the rest of the server on his side. “It’s okay, Tommy. Let it out.” He giggled freely, hands coming up to the goat hybrid’s wrists before he could stop them. The young president let them be, choosing to move to his sides and spider his fingers gently over the sensitive skin there.

Tommy bucked softly, trying his best not to dislodge his hands. The feeling helped keep him grounded, just barely. He felt like he was floating, but at least this time he wasn’t floating away. He hung there, frozen in time. The voice had stopped, but he still felt its presence. It sat patiently, waiting for him to fill the holes in his heart with his inventory of memories, tnt in hand. He tensed up, feeling even more helpless than before. Tubbo slowed down, confused. “Do you not want-” “I want- I-I need- “ He stumbled over his words like a child. Frustrated, he tried again. His tongue felt heavy, as if he had swallowed cotton. “I need rougher. Not thinking. Please.” His grip tightened on Tubbo’s wrists. He could feel his friend’s heartbeat, a solid, stable drumming like the march of a thousand men. It sang, like a burbling brook. ‘What do I want?’ His mind felt..wrong. “Please.”

Tubbo complied. “Rougher. Alright. Ranboo?” The enderman vwooped quietly. “Yes?”

“Pin his arms. We need him to be immobilized, he’s a bit of a kicker.” Tommy flushed a little at the statement, mouth opening to retort. Tubbo took the moment to dig into his sides, earning a strangled bark of laughter from his throat. “eHAHA! Tuhubbo!” The hybrid merely flicked his ear at his friend’s words. “Yeah, big man? What do you want, hmm?” Ranboo grabbed at his wrists, pinning them together with one smooth grab. His face burned quietly from the way his claws scratched at his palms unintentionally as he shifted his grip. He turned his head away from the duo, giggles bubbling up from his chest at the embarrassing position. “You ready, Tommlee?”

“Shut the fuHUHUCK UHUP! TUHUHUBBS!” Tubbo wasted no time, pinning him down to the floor with his weight and scribbling his nails over his lower ribs. “Isn’t his tickle laugh so cute, Ranni? It’s so mellow when he’s giggling, but it’s so rough when we’re wrecking his shit!” Ranboo snorted over the din, flicking one of his tails ever so slightly over one of his sides in a low-effort attempt to help his husband. “I mean, that seems pretty normal to me. Imagine having a gentle laugh when you’re being absolutely destroyed.” His deadpan voice hid the faintest trace of a smile in its depths.

Looking at the squirming boy in his hands, he put both of his arms in one hand, using the other to claw at his underarm. Much to his surprise, Tommy squealed loudly, shaking his head vigorously at the sensation. “RAHAHANBOHOO!” He bucked wildly, trying his best to escape the almost torturous feeling in his hollows. Tubbo moved from his lower ribs to his upper ribs, poking and prodding each one to find, as he called it, the ‘scream-button’. Ranboo, emboldened by the blonde’s reaction, rubbed his claws gently over his friend’s neck and ears. He swiped his tail over his exposed tummy and hips, making Tommy squeak through his laughter. “Guhuhuhuhuys- EEE! TUHUBBO, NOHAHAHA!”

Tubbo’s tail wagged happily behind him, shaggy and obviously ungroomed from his incessant cleaning duties in the household. “Found it!” He prodded a spot right beside Tommy’s second and third ribs, scratching lightly at the spot right where the rib bone met the sternum. Tommy all but shrieked in Ranboo’s grasp. The enderman folded back his ears as much as he could, grateful that endermen have the ability to muffle the screams of their own kind (and in turn, other rather loud things that go EEEE in the night).

“So, Tommy, you still hearing them voices?” The blonde shook his head. “NohoHO?!? WAHAHAIT, NAHAHA!” “Tickle tickle! Man, Tommy, you look so cute when you laugh!” His laughter echoed through the mansion, filling each corner and crevice with unbounded joy. Finally, Tommy could take it no longer. He tapped on his arm 3 times, making Tubbo and Ranboo freeze.

Ranboo released his hands as quickly as he could, apologizing when Tommy rubbed at his wrists to get rid of the slight burning sensation deep in the muscles. Sitting up slowly, the blonde panted, smile painted almost permanently on his face. His eyes, dazed but somehow still sharp enough to recognize his two best friend’s equally wide smiles, wandered over the couple’s kneeling forms. Tubbo moved closer to his side, bonking his shoulder playfully with his horns. “So, how’s the voices?”

Tommy looked back at him in blurry-eyed confusion. He tilted his head slightly, matted locks succumbing to gravity ever so slightly. “What voices?” Ranboo chuckled lowly on his other side. “That’s my man.” He slung an arm around his shoulder, purring softly. They sat there in comfortable silence. The sound of wind chimes outside and the gentle crackle of the fireplaces all over the place made the blonde’s eyes close by themselves. He sighed, a noise of contentment in a field of green and blue and yellow and red. “I hope I never wake up from this dream.” And he smiled just a little more when he heard a familiar voice answer, “Me too, Big T.”

“Me too.”

#downywrites #dsmp tickle #mcyt tickle #my writing #lee!tommyinnit #ler!ranboo #ler!tubbo #sfw tickling

[myfearless-love]

The Wildest Place You Run (3/?) - Pretty Scary Sometimes

If anyone missed Killian in the previous chapters (because who wouldn't miss him, let's be honest) then I have good news: we are getting more Killian now that most of the flashbacks are done! I enjoyed writing this chapter as we dive deeper into the character's backstories and present happenings! I hope you like it too! Let me know :)

Also, check out the amazing and beautiful art that @thejollyroger-writer made for chapter 3 & 4!! I love how she always captures the essence of the chapters!

Summary:

Vampires, Werewolves, Mages, and Elves. For centuries, they kept their existence a secret, but the constant rebellions against the strict laws of the Guild had led to a terrible tragedy. In an open clash, it became apparent to humans just what kind of monsters lived among them. Emma Swan loses the love of her life in the first battle of the war. A few months later, while still trying to process what happened, a mysterious and terrifying figure worms his way into her life. But the man is hiding far more terrible secrets than he reveals to her, pulling them both into a horrible situation...

Chapter: 3/? - Pretty Scary Sometimes

Fandom: Once Upon a Time

Rating: M

Relationships: Killian Jones/Emma Swan

Read on: FF.net or AO3

Words: ~3k

Previous parts:

Ch 1 II Ch 2

TW for this chapter: Implied miscarriage

.

"Emma! Lock the door behind us! We probably won't be back before morning…"

David's voice snapped her back out of her memories and back into the present, and she stared up at her brother with misty eyes. "What?"

"Lock the door behind us," he repeated, shaking his head slightly in disapproval, and hurried out of the kitchen.

Somewhat dazed, she started walking towards the team of Hunters, but by the time she reached the living room, they were all gone. All except Killian, who was still fumbling with his gun holsters.

Her memories still held her a little captive, she stared wearily at the front door. It had been more than half a year, but she would never forget that night or that horrible half an hour she spent in the morgue…

"It can't be him! It's probably a mistake, Neal certainly isn't…" she shook her head and sobbed hysterically.

If David hadn't been holding her, she would have simply fallen awkwardly to the shiny floor.

"Emma! It pains me too, but if he were alive, he would have come back long ago…"

"No! He's not…" she repeated tirelessly, like a broken record. She couldn't comprehend that she had lost Neal along with the little one…

"Are you sure?" The coroner stared doubtfully at Emma, and there was also a hint of pity and contempt in his gaze.

Of course. To him, he was just a corpse, but to her…

"She won't calm down until then…" David sighed somewhat bitterly and stared at the white-covered body in front of them.

"All right," the coroner shrugged.

He was a short, broad, and severely balding man, with gray hair and several days of white stubble. He reached for the edge of the sheet with his stubby fingers, but before he could pull the fabric aside, a brutally burned hand slid off the autopsy table.

The breath caught in her throat, and she suddenly forgot how to breathe. They were long, thin fingers, just like Neal's. The skin was burned almost black, cartilage showing on the fingers.

"Maybe it was a bad idea..." David whispered, pulling her head to his chest and trying to shield her vision. He tried to soothe her, even though she was no longer sobbing anymore. Her eyes widened in horror, and she gasped for air.

"I think so, too. She's quite neurotic," the doctor grunted.

"Just keep your mouth shut! We didn't ask for your opinion," David snorted.

"Sorry," he muttered in a mocking tone and sauntered off.

He grabbed something from the table and handed Robin a plastic bag containing a sooty, burnt box. "We found this a few feet from the body. Does it look familiar?" The doctor scanned the faces of the Hunters impassively.

"Oh my God…"

"You've got to be kidding me…"

"Shit…"

Emma didn't understand their outburst, she just saw the horror and shock on their faces.

"What's that?" Mary Margaret glanced at the tiny box with watery eyes.

The others, on the other hand, didn't seem to have heard the question at all, staring uncertainly at each other and the box.

"Can we have this?" inquired Robin.

"Of course. We don't need it," replied the doctor.

"How generous," Leo said.

"David, what do you think? Should we give it to her?" Robin stared at her uncertainly.

"What's in it?" Emma asked in a husky voice. "Is it something of Neal's?"

"No. It's yours," Ruby replied gently.

"No, it's not mine," she shook her head. It wasn't at all familiar to her.

"But what's inside is yours," David replied, nodding to Robin, who opened the plastic bag and carefully pulled the box out. "Emma… you probably would've figured it out or guessed, it's better to just rip the band-aid now," he whispered, stroking her hair.

Emma raised her head suspiciously. "What's going on?"

"I'm sure Neal would have been happy to see you wearing it…" he added carefully. "He was going to ask you to marry him that night…"

Robin opened the small box. Inside, her engagement ring remained perfectly intact…

She opened her eyes slowly and raised her hand in front of her face. The ring still glittered on her finger. It was made of white gold, and the most beautiful amber she had ever seen shone upon it. It was terribly painful to realize what a wonderful night it could have been, and instead, it ended with the death of her boyfriend and unborn baby. They could have been a family.

But she wore it, despite the pain it caused when she looked at it. She could still feel him a little close to her. It hurt, but not so much that she couldn't bear it.

"Swan, are you all right?" Killian was already standing on the doorstep, eyeing her anxiously.

"I'm fine," she nodded, but her tone was the slightest bit sharper than she'd intended.

"Apologies." He turned away, but she gently grasped his arm.

"I'm sorry. I'm not mad at you or anything. I didn't mean to take it out on you."

"It's alright, love." His lips twisted into a faint, understanding smile.

His good manners were sometimes in stark contrast to his appearance. His dark, almost black hair, disheveled as always, brushed against his forehead now, in need of a haircut. The thick stubble on his face was peppered here and there with a hint of ginger if the light fell on him at the right angle. His right ear was pierced and adorned with a solid black stone earring. There was no room for new tattoos on his left arm, various drawings of a compass, skull and crossbones, symbols, and plants were inked into his skin, likely to hide the age-old scar that ran from his wrist to his bicep. He also accentuated his eyes with black eyeliner, making his arctic blue eyes stand out as prominently as the North Star in the dark sky.

He wore his signature black outfit - jeans, a shirt that was always missing a few buttons at the top to reveal a generous patch of dark hair, leather jacket, and combat boots.

All in all, he looked like a textbook bad boy, which was why Emma preferred to keep her distance from him.

"You better get going," she remarked as the front door closed behind the others.

"They won't leave without me, anyway. Who would look out for them?" he let out a laugh, attaching a pistol holster to his hip. "Take care, ladies," he nodded to her from the other side of the doorstep, then disappeared into the night after the others.

Emma retreated into the apartment and carefully locked the door, padlocking it as a precaution. No one could say she hadn't heeded their warning.

"Are they gone?" Mary Margaret sank down on the couch.

"Yeah," Emma nodded and plopped down next to her friend.

She closed her eyes, leaned against the headrest, and stared up at the ceiling.

"I wonder what they're trying to accomplish with all this," Mary Margaret shook her head. "Rebellions everywhere, in almost every country. They can't defeat us, so what do they want?"

"I don't care what they want. All the damn beasts need to be wiped out," Emma hissed.

Ever since that night, she hated those monsters even more, and honestly, who could blame her?

Mary Margaret only hummed and nodded, and for a long time, neither of them said a word.

After a few minutes, her friend broke the silence: "Don't you miss it? Our old life?"

"What do you mean?" Emma glanced at her.

"When we went to college and this craziness hadn't started yet," Mary Margaret replied, and Emma raised one of her eyebrows.

"I don't miss it. If there's anything I miss, it's...him. But nothing else."

"Maybe you should take the ring off. It always reminds you of him. It's been over seven months. I know you don't want to hear this, but sooner or later, you're going to have to move on. There's life after Neal."

If it wasn't Mary Margaret sitting in front of her, telling her that, she probably would have slapped her or, at the very least, made her leave. But Mary Margaret was different. Emma knew she wanted the best for her, and she had much better insight into her situation than she did.

"I can't," Emma shook her head. "It would be like...I don't know. It would be like I was denying him or something."

"No," Mary Margaret objected vehemently. "It wouldn't be like that. To be honest, I didn't agree with the others when they gave you that damn ring. It was like twisting the knife that was already in your heart. If it had been up to me, I wouldn't have told you he was going to ask you to marry him. Sooner or later, you may have realized it yourself, though. Would it have been easier for you if there had been no ring?"

"Maybe," she breathed, staring blankly at the opposite wall.

Her gaze soon drifted to her ring. Maybe she really did need to take it off. "I don't know yet… Maybe in time," she replied.

"My advice is not to hesitate too long. It will be easier after that, believe me."

"I hope so," she smiled finally.

She was startled awake by the ringing of her phone. The rays of the full moon broke on the dry branches of the trees in the woods behind the house, and the silvery light painted indelible patterns on her bedspread with the shadows.

She forgot to close the blinds.

Her phone buzzed again and, still a little sleepy, she rolled onto her side in the huge double bed. She pulled aside the dark green canopy and reached for the vibrating device on the nightstand.

She glanced at the caller ID.

Of course.

Only David would call her in the middle of the night.

"What happened? Are you okay?" she immediately straightened up in her bed, holding her breath, waiting for her brother's answer.

"You're about to find out. We'll be home in five minutes. In the meantime, open the door and get the couch ready for Ruby." His voice sounded calm and Emma concluded that they couldn't be in too much trouble.

She ended the call, jumped up from the bed, and yanked open the door to her room. She ran down the hall and hopped down the stairs, taking two steps at a time. When she reached the front door, she took off the padlock, pulled out the deadbolt, unlocked the door, and opened it wide.

She ran back to the couch and tossed all the unnecessary things off of it. A couple of remotes, two blankets, and a few pillows landed on the cherry wood floor. Just as she stood up, she could hear the hurried footsteps of David and the others.

"Let me go! I can walk on my own two feet!" Ruby's voice sounded rather irritated, but her statement was immediately followed by a loud thud.

"I can see that," David hissed angrily, with a slight note of mockery in his tone. "Jones, if you will! She already tried to claw my eyes out…"

David marched into the apartment like an angry boar. He dropped his gun on the coffee table and sank into one of the black leather chairs. Leo and Robin nervously scurried into the living room, followed by Killian with Ruby in his arms.

Ruby stubbornly struggled against Killian, trying to break free of his grip, but he held her tight. It didn't matter that she could easily stand up to two guys, she couldn't outmaneuver Killian.

Killian wisely turned his face away from Ruby's tiny but sharp fingernails and carefully laid her on the couch.

"If any of you dare touch me again, I'll castrate you!" she growled, and then hissed, a grimace on her face immediately following.

"What happened?" Emma crouched down beside the brunette in horror.

"Can we go to your room?" Ruby pleaded desperately.

"No. She's been shot," David replied before getting up from the chair and drifting into the bathroom.

"What? Have you lost your minds? Why didn't you take her to a hospital?" Emma snapped, glaring at Leo and Robin.

"It was a miracle that we were even able to carry her here," Robin shrugged.

"I'll live," Ruby growled, but tears were running quietly down her face from the pain and exertion.

"Only if I take the bullet out and tend to the wound," David nodded.

"Ruby, we have to do this," Emma sat down next to her on the couch and took her hand.

She knew full well that she didn't like to be touched when she was injured. Ruby blinked up at David in alarm, disgust written all over her beautiful face. "Only you, David. No one else…" she moaned in a fading voice.

"All right, so be it. Let me over there, Emma. Take a look at Killian's arm until then."

She got up from the couch, grabbed a bottle of disinfectant and a bandage from the pile of medical supplies scattered on the table, and walked purposefully toward Killian, who stood silently by the banister.

"There's really no need," he shook his head with a forced smile when she reached him. "It's just a scratch, love, really not that serious."

"Not you, too."

"I don't—"

"Show me. I really don't have the patience for that right now, Killian," she interrupted him.

She didn't know what to make of the look he gave her. His impossibly blue eyes reflected annoyance, fear, and confusion all at once, but he soon relented and reluctantly peeled off his black leather jacket. The left sleeve of his shirt was completely soaked with blood.

He rolled up his sleeve. At first, she didn't see a wound under his many tattoos, it was hard for her to notice any damage done to his skin other than the scar that was already there. But as she scanned his arm she soon found a cut that seemed far too tiny for the amount of blood that adorned his clothing and skin. There was barely any blood flowing from it now.

"What the…" her eyes widened as she ran her finger over the wound, but Killian didn't even flinch. Right before her eyes, the cut disappeared under the ship wheel — or helm, as he called it — which wrapped around his bicep. "Killian," she stared at him, dumbfounded.

A mere Mage wouldn't be able to do that, even if he had as much power as Killian.

"There were Elves among my ancestors," he shrugged, his face becoming an imperturbable, grim mask. His gaze seemed petrified, expressionless.

That explained some strange things about Killian, Emma thought. He had an abnormally high physical resilience and was almost as fast as a Vampire or Werewolf. That couldn't be possible through mere magic.

"Oh," she couldn't force a more meaningful answer out of herself. "Why didn't you say that before?"

"I didn't think it was important," he shrugged.

"Sorry, but you don't look like an Elf," Leo shook his head with a grin.

Emma only now noticed that the other Hunters had been standing behind her the whole time.

"That's because I'm not one. Some of my ancestors were. I'm just a freak," his voice sounded strangely bitter and he turned his head away.

Instinctively, she took two steps away. Killian's icy magic flared up without warning, along with his rage.

"Hey, calm down, dude. I didn't mean it like that," Leo raised his hands.

"What's going on?" Mary Margaret reached the bottom of the stairs, still in her pajamas.

"Nothing new. Just a bit of bickering, the usual," Robin grinned.

Only now did Mary Margaret notice David at the other end of the room. A broad smile was on her face as she walked over to where he was still crouched by the couch, finishing patching Ruby up.

Emma turned away as they threw themselves into each other's embrace, kissing as if they hadn't seen each other in days. She glanced back at Killian who was watching her face with a coy expression. His gaze positively shone with panic, almost desperate.

"I… I apologize. I think I'd better go," he murmured, lowering his gaze.

He rolled down his sleeve and picked up his jacket, then stormed out of the apartment without further explanation. Emma stared after him, uncomprehending. She had always known he was kind of a weirdo. But this was unusual, even for Killian.

"What the hell was that?" she turned to Robin, confused.

"He's a little cuckoo in the head. You'd better not get any more friendly with him than you already have," Robin shook his head. "Seriously. He can be pretty scary sometimes. He's pretty weird."

She didn't answer, just stared after Killian thoughtfully. She agreed with Robin that there was something up with him. But she immediately ruled out the possibility that he was suffering from some sort of mental illness.

"You knew about this?" Leo turned to Robin.

"That he was part Elf? No, I would never have guessed that. But now that I think about it, it makes perfect sense. He's done things he wouldn't have been able to do otherwise," Robin replied and goosebumps appeared on Emma's arm.

Maybe Robin was right. She shouldn't get close to him.

#cssns21 #cssns 2021 #captain swan #cs ff #cs fanfic #killian jones #emma swan #killian x emma #captain swan supernatural summer #thejollyroger writer #cs fanfiction #ouat #once upon a time #ouat ff #captain hook #TWPYR #captain swan ff

[justice4harwin]

Light’s Corruption- Chapter V

Pairing: The DarklingxAlina

Summary:With few friends at the Little Palace, Alina must work to win the favour of her fellow grisha and their commander, who makes her feel light headed every time she sees him.

After training in Os Alta for two years, the king grows tired of waiting and demands the Sun Summoner joins a western post near the Fjerdan border along with the rest of The Second Army to test her abilities.

Something happens. Suddenly, Alina wants blood to run down the rivers and those who stand in her and The Darkling’s way will be blinded by her light and swallowed by his shadows.

It won’t be pretty

Rating: 18+

Click here for chapter 4

As usual, tags are in the comments. If you dont wanna be tagged, dont be afraid to let me know. If you wanna be tagged, let me know too. I dont bite...anymore lmao

Chapter 5: Heartrenders

Days went by, and they turned into weeks. The leaves fell off the trees, a crunchy sea of red, orange, yellow and brown, and Alina wanted to pile them all on and throw herself inside.

She'd do it the first chance she got, but for that she had to beat the gardeners before they took the piles and burnt them to depressing ashes.

She talked to Michail some more during they rounds around the lake and had her rematch with Natasha.

She lost. Again. She laughed it off. Again. Natasha said she hadn't been so easy to defeat that second time, to which Alina smiled almost genuinely. Progress.

Baghra refused to see her still, and Alina was too proud to go back to her, so she tried to practice on her own. She'd hide away on the far sides of the gardens where the other grisha rarely went to and try to gain more control. It was a slow process; the temptation to let her power run free and vast was always there and trying to tame that always left her exhausted. She had no trouble falling asleep, yet each day the bags underneath her eyes seemed to deepen, as did her appetite. Alina was pretty sure that summoning should be for the better, but more than once, she had thoroughly considered laying down on the cold grass and take a nap there instead of walking all the way back to the Little Palace.

The General wasn't back yet, and much to Alina's confusion, frustration and shame, she worried. Maybe that too had something to do with the bags underneath her eyes. She tended to dream of him in all kinds of scenarios, each less pleasant than the last. It made her wake up sweaty and choking for air.

More than once, she almost wrote to him, only if just to make sure he was alright. But he had to be. Otherwise, word would've spread quickly…right?

She always talked herself out of it though. His presence was missed, her mind was making up all kind of tricks to make her reach out to him like a pathetic girl begging for attention.

The thought reminded her of Baghra's opinion of her, which only strengthened her resolve to not write to him.

She had had enough of begging, enough of getting scrapes of affection from a man who hadn't even bother to write once; she wouldn't do it again, no matter how much her heart tried to pull her to him.

But then her eyes would drift back to the black, shadow rose that laid on her nightstand, the little bit of gold on its inside long dead, and her heart would race and some form of reassurance would fall gently over her, like a blanket shielding her body.

She'd reach out and take it in her hands. It had no thorns. Her fingers would run through its petals, as soft as those of a real rose, but with something deeper in there. There was something more alive inside that rose than in any flower in all of Ravka; it was deep, powerful, and dark. It scared and alluded to her in the same measure, and she'd stare at it fascinated for an unfathomable long time.

She wondered if The Darkling could feel her caressing his shadows; and how he'd feel about it.

Besides Michail and Natasha, Alina didn’t seem to be progressing very much. They exchanged niceties and some jokes, even paired up during training, but there was not much more to it.

She told herself to be patient. These things took time.

One early afternoon, Genya showed up on her room unannounced. Alina hurried to hide her rose inside her nightstand; she wasn't sure why, but she wanted it to be her little secret.

"The Queen just left Os Alta." the redhead smiled. "As did the king. They'll be gone for two days on a hunting trip."

"A hunting trip?"

"Yes, where they kill animals for the fun of it. Like one of those brutish size competitions men seem to like so much."

Alina snorted.

"So?"

"So…"there was a gleam to her friend's eyes, and the summoner leaned back and frowned slightly, almost scared. "I could sneak you into the Grand Palace and into Her Royal Bitch's wardrobe."

"We'll get in trouble, Gen."

"Oh, please; have some faith in me." she placed her elbows on the desk and her chin atop of her hands, almost looking angelic. "Do you really think I'd get you in trouble?"

"Yes."

"Well, then you're wrong." she straightened up and tugged on Alina's arm. "C'mon; there's so many gowns and habits: she rarely wears them twice. We're not stealing; no one will know."

"How many gowns?" she asked, genuinely curious. She had seen the queen on two official occasions, the first time when she arrived from the camps near Kribirsk, and the second when she was invited to her ridiculous tea parade. Still, she had seen her in passing a few times as she strolled the grounds. A part of Alina felt ashamed of the jealousy she felt upon seeing her beautiful clothes and jewels.

There she was, living in a palace, wearing a kefta and being pampered, yet she dared to want more.

"Hundreds!" the Tailor whispered excitedly. "And they'll look much better on us anyway."

She gave in a little to temptation. They would just try them on and leave them again. No one would know, and maybe she'd be satisfied then.

"Alright, alright. But we better not get caught."

"Don't worry, we won't."

They left the bedroom and ran down the stairs, Genya holding onto the blue sleeve of her friend as she rambled about all the different fabrics and patterns and accessories while Alina tried to keep up with her, listening to every word while watching her step. The last thing she needed was to trip down the stairs.

That'd be a sad way to go for her.

"You'll love it. I promise!" Genya turned to give her a smile, but Alina's eyes drifted to the looming figure appearing in her line of vision.

The Darkling walked into the Little Palace accompanied by Ivan, Fedyor and a third heartrender.

It was a woman, a little bit older than Alina probably, but only for a few years. She was tall, with long, brown hair cascading down her back. Her kefta, which hugged her rounded figure nicely, gave her away as a fellow heartrender.

The Darkling noticed them approaching. Alina tried to search something in his eyes, anything that gave away any sort of emotion that could cause in him to see her again, but she saw nothing but his usual coolness.

The Summoner and the Tailor came to a stop and bowed.

"Moi Soverennyi." they bowed respectfully.

"Miss Starkov, Miss Safin; it has been some time." he looked from one to the other. "May I inquire as to your present activities?"

"Nothing we're not supposed to do." Alina spat out, earning herself a dainty elbow to the ribs.

General Kirigan rose an eyebrow.

"I see. See to it that it stays that way."

"Of course, sir." spoke Genya, serious all of a sudden.

The man turned and contemplated the strange woman for a moment, then gestured at Alina with a gloved hand.

"This is Alina Starkov, our Sun Summoner." he looked at her, those pools of grey catching her breath. "Miss Starkov, may I introduce you to Nina Zenik. She is one of my best agents and has just recently returned from an assignment in Shu Han."

The woman's green eyes settled on Alina, taking her in. Something glittered in there.

"So, she is real after all."

"Would I lie to you?" was The Darkling's reply.

"You forgot to mention how pretty she is." Nina ignored him, taking a long, stealth step towards her and catching a tendril of Alina's dark hair in her fingers.

"Um, it's a pleasure to meet you." The Sun Summoner managed to say, nervous under the woman scrutiny.

"Oh, a pleasure indeed, sun bean." Nina smiled, amusement shining in her eyes as Alina's face heated up. "I can't wait to make your acquaintance."

Before Alina could even think of an answer -for the woman's pretty eyes were too distracting- The Darkling cleared his throat.

"Not for some time, I am afraid." he said. Alina finally turned her gaze to him. There was something dark and intense in the way he was staring at Nina's back, his jaw tense. "Miss Starkov has quite the busy schedule."

Alina felt Genya tensing beside her. Nina's eyes slid momentarily, as if she could see The Darkling behind her, and nodded, winking at her before receding.

"Certainly. I can only imagine." she turned a charming smile on him. "Should we discuss my mission in private?"

"Of course." he answered almost, almost too quickly. He made a gesture for her to go in first.

"See you around, sun bean."

Alina choked on her own saliva as she struggled to say her farewell.

Ivan left with them without even glancing in their direction; Fedyor was kind enough to give them each a courteous smile.

Genya was giggling like an idiot.

"Shut up."

Now she was laughing. 

During their training one day, Alina decided to pair up with her. Many grisha gave her a myriad of odd looks, and for a moment, Alina feared she might be about to face another Zoya.

Nina seemed to not to notice them and beckoned her forward.

People seemed to like Nina, Alina observed. The woman had charm and wit; the Sun Summoner really had to try to not get jealous of those traits. She reminded herself that Nina had been at the Little Palace for years, not one season and a half.

They circled each other, taking their measures.

Alina didn't want to be the one to strike first. That always had seemed to go wrong thus far, so she waited.

The heartrender went to the left, so Alina turned, only to be tricked as she received a blow on her right. She winced and stood back, more alert. She didn't want to make a ridicule again.

"You're small and skinny." the heartrender whispered. Alina arched an eyebrow. "I'm bigger and stronger, so your best option is to tire me out."

"I'm not exactly the fastest person."

Nina threw a punch and, luckily, Alina blocked it successfully.

She shook her head.

"Speed and resistance don't need to go hand in hand."

Alina didn't dare to look around to see if anyone else could hear them. She hoped not. Botkin would most certainly disapprove of his students giving each other advice on how to defeat them.

So, with Nina's words in mind, Alina did her best to block and recede. She tried, mostly unsuccessfully, to punch and kick, and received a wince and an "ouch" as Nina rubbed her calf.

The Summoner could feel everyone still watching, Marie and Nadia cheering her on; Sergei and Michail more reserved since she was fighting a fellow red sporter.

Then, Alina caught a glimpse. It was a second, and before she even knew it, she was taking a chance.

Nina was placing her foot down, twisting it as if to test it, and the next she was laying on her back, Alina having all but hurled herself at the woman, grabbing her middle section with all her strength and pushing.

They landed on the ground, and in the disbelief, the Summoner almost forgot to fully immobilize her opponent the way Botkin had taught her.

"You know," Nina gasped, the breath having abandoned her lungs. "There's better ways to get on top of me, sun bean, but if you like it rough-"

Alina blushed in embarrassment, both for having potentially hurt her and for the path those words were leading to.

"Are you alright?" she interrupted hurriedly. "Did I hurt you?"

Nina tried to laugh and cried instead.

"Shit, sun bean. You do have some strength in that tiny body after all."

"Alright!" Botkin clapped his hands twice, coming over toward them. "The little girl wins again, …finally."

Alina was almost offended. At least Marie and Nadia were cheering, as were some others Etherealki. She noticed Sergei and Michail exchanging some coins and scowled.

"Healer." she called, and one hurried to Nina's side.

"It's just a broken rib." the woman said, setting herself to work.

Nina raised an eyebrow.

"Well, I'm impressed, sun bean. I didn't actually think you'd win."

Alina found a new hiding spot where to practice her summoning. It was a most secluded corner, surrounded by old trees, an unkept stone bench and a dirty sculpture of a woman.

She really wanted to be offended.

With eyes wide, she forgot all about her practice, raced and jumped in, laughing childishly to herself.

She looked up and took in the warmth of the sun with pleasure, her face basking in it as her hands ran through leaves and sticks. It was actually a little uncomfortable, but fun.

She almost wished she could sink in and stay there forever, with the sun warming her body and the crunchy leaves all around her.

There was a big pile of leaves.

"Did you fall?"

A shadow took the light from her face, and she found The Darkling standing over her, looking down with something akin to curiosity.

"No. I just jumped."

"Into a pile of dirt?"

"It's not dirt. Besides, it's fun!" she extended a hand. "Wanna try?"

He huffed. Her cheeks heated up. She should've known better.

He took her hand and pulled her up, the mere contact making everything about him feel more intense as usual.

She held onto him.

"How did you find me?"

"You are my Sun Summoner; did you really think I would let you wander about the palace grounds unguarded?"

"Do you have me followed?" she had never noticed.

"For your safety."

"I thought this was the safest place in all of Ravka."

"I am not taking any chances with you, Alina." he replied, eyes guarded, face soft.

"Well, I've never noticed them."

"It means they are doing a good job. I would not want you to live scared, looking over your shoulder all the time."

"I might as well start now that I know."

He opened his mouth and then closed it, thumb rubbing the back of her hand. Alina wondered if he noticed what he was doing.

"You are right." he stepped closer, pulling a leaf off her hair. "But you need not fear, especially while I am on the palace grounds."

"Because not even the dumbest drüskelle would dare to cross paths with you?"

"Nor would the boldest noble."

Alina frowned. The nobles of Os Alta?

She nodded slowly.

"I have scared you." he stated, studying her face. "I apologize."

"No, no." she let go of his hand. "You just made me wearier."

"That is just how life at court is." he offered, not unkindly. "This is not just an army sometimes, especially for you and I."

Alina looked at him, questioning.

"There is no one else like us, Alina." he said, approaching her once more. The calmness, the facts were gone, replaced by a fire she wanted to step into. The vehemence in his voice made her shiver and want to take refuge in his cloak. "There never will be."

She thought about it. What exactly did he mean by that?

He reached out again and plucked another leaf from her hair, then took her face in his hands. She tilted her head up, desperate for a look into those eyes.

Her heart drummed on her ribcage, wanting to break free.

"I-" words failed her as he studied her face, like she was something unique he wanted to memorize.

His thumb ran over her lips, and she exhaled heavily at the feel.

"I forgot what I came here to tell you." he whispered in confidence, his eyes on her parted lips.

"I don't care."

One of his hands left her face and wrapped around her waist, pressing her against his hard chest. Alina almost gasped, hands coming up to rest on his shoulders. He pressed his forehead against hers and closed his eyes, hiding the conflict she had briefly witnessed there.

Alina made a choice.

She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his.

He reciprocated immediately, holding her tighter and pushing his tongue inside her mouth, demanding a dominance she was more than willing to give him.

She had been kissed, but never like this. It was a first kiss that felt like the last; its intensity so beautifully crushing and chaotic. It was like he was a missing part of her, long searched for and finally found. It was like she was the most precious, addictive treasure, something to be cherished and corrupted at the same time.

Alina was willing to let him do as he wanted with her.

Her hands pulled at his hair, earning a growl. Their eyes met briefly, the desire in them fighting to see whose was grander, before kissing again.

It was like he wanted to pull her closer still, the barrier of clothes too much. Something told Alina that the lack of them wouldn't satisfy either of them anyways.

He kissed her jaw, travelling his way up to her earlobe.

"You make me weak." he whispered harshly, only to proceed to ravish the parts of her neck that were exposed.

"You make me strong." she answered, craning her neck to give him better access.

Growling, he gave her ass a hard squeeze and pushed her back against a tree. She could feel the tug and crunches of the leaves as he buried his hands in her hair but didn't care.

She wanted more.

And more.

She drew his lips back to hers. He reached for the belt which held her kefta closed.

"Sir!"

The next thing Alina knew was that she was standing against a tree, her back aching and her body cold, yet her face hot.

She looked at The Darkling, who seemed almost unperturbed as he smoothly fixed his hair and clothes, standing at a respectable distance from her.

Ivan appeared, seeming to be in a hurry.

Alina narrowed her eyes at him. As if she didn't dislike him enough already, the little shit.

"Moi Soverennyi, you are needed in the king's counsel immediately."

"Tell that grump I shall be there shortly."

Ivan bowed and left, not even acknowledging Alina's presence.

The Darkling cleared his throat. She turned her dark gaze on him, cheeks burning against the cold air, lips probably bruised.

What had just happened?

She wasn't sure, but she wanted to do it again. The Darkling, on the other hand, remained stoic as he stared into her eyes, as if nothing had occurred between them.

"I understand that you have been training on your own;" he said, as if he were talking to any other grisha, ever polite and smooth, voice reassuring yet commanding." I shall speak to Baghra so you may return to your lessons."

"But I don't wann-"

With him gone, the early winter sun felt cold.

"Miss Starkov." he bowed to her respectfully and marched away, disappearing from view within seconds.

Click here for chapter 6

#shadow and bone fanfic #shadow and bone #Alina starkov #the darkling #aleksander morozova #darkling x alina #alina x aleksander #alina x darkling #genya safin #nina zenik #fedyor kaminsky #fanfic

[ghoulishhusband]

I just realized I can actually talk here. Like this is my account fuck u

Fucking uhhhhhh, hi ig lemme ramble abt my God ocs yea?

Ignore this part if you don't wanna hear (likely) unedited rambles lol it doesn't matter

CW: neglect/abuse, assholery/narcissism, manipulation, tread lightly!

read the under cut owo

Also don't steal my art I'll fucking?? Fight you????

So

I have three main gods that I wanna talk abt especially bc they've been on my mind lately.. Less get it, side notes are in (parentheses) and are bolded cause I have perception issues whoo I don't want it to jumble together is my point lol

First up is my asshole,

Giodine

they/them (preferred)

god/godself (i like pronouns that fit my characters, so I'm giving a bunch away for one night only at--)

ID : Giodine is colored with gold-ish yellow skin and ginger hair. Their eyes are a muted purple and they have tiny eyebrows. Their lips are a muted brown and are full looking, their nose is sharp and points down. They have wings for ears and is wearing a blazer with a long-sleeved, collared shirt underneath it. The background is beige with a yellow square and a dark purple square partially encompassing it. It is signed GH (for ghoulish husband), Spork, 21.

(lemme know if that helps at all! I'm sure I can do better so lemme know!)

If they look weird here it's bc I accidentally made their face too long but believe it or not this is in fact just a doodle Ik I'm so fuckin talented babes.

Anyways, they're basically the first God to ever exist on my version of earth (though even that is fickle rn, world-building is hard unless I hyper-focus on it, and haha Guess What I Haven't Been Thinking About) and they're very egotistical and selfish. As I'll probably yap about later is how they're manipulative as well, especially to another God I'll mention, and very neglectful to the other... other one.

Their partner(professionally), or fiend as they call him, is sam who for the first few eons was, unsurprisingly, absolutely terrible to him. A few tender moments are few and far in between in what could only be described as a completely rancid relationship. I'll describe giodine's side and in sam's lil ramble, I'll describe his :]

I have to explain this because it's a big part of the lore and how they can't work together, even when one of them is very much near The Void (technical death for gods) BUT basically, with Sam, giodine created purgatory. The issue here is that they basically seduced sam into doing it. Well, even if they hadn't, sam was in lesbians(happy pride month lmao) with giodine and would've done it anyway. But the ISSUE is that with the creation of purgatory came complications. See, my gods have to take time to develop into their power, and considering giodine was first and sam was around 666th.. you see the issue. Sam wasn't into his complete power yet and thus lost a giant part of it that went into purg.

See, giodine saw no problem with this (until much later, they do get a VERY SLOW BURN redemption arc cause this ain't even the worst of it), they got what they were aching for out of them and thusly had no need for..sam. They laid him in the spot where she was made (fwi it isn't inherently sexual, it can be, but literally, they just merged together-- taking bits and pieces of each other (which sam did not have enough of) and earth and light yadda, yadda I'll post the story I wrote for that later if I'm up to it) and left him there in the grass.

Again, they saw no problem with that, the deed was done, they didn't care anymore. A common issue in their qualms, sam and Giodine. They did find an issue in Sam finding an issue in the lack of aftercare, which resorted to any message going to or coming from sam going straight to his assistant and going back through them for a couple of thousand years. They found that infuriating-- how could he not face them over something so small! and for years?! it was ridiculous. After forcing a face-to-face meeting, a heated proclaim of hurt from sam, and a bitter agreement to meet up every now and again, they got what they wanted from him. Again. It was a business after all, there was no point in making it harder than it needed to be. 

Giodine doesn't necessarily like boundaries and tends to overstep sam's frequently. They also don't like his reaction to his boundaries being long jumped over, which thusly ends up in disgruntled messages being sent back and forth between them and his assistant for a month or three. It slowly gets through to them, but they tend to say some stupid shit and if they want sam to stay, they have to try and avoid mentioning how "overly sensitive" he is to something that happened eons ago.

(quick mention, there isn't like. time. here. so in all honesty, giodine probably counted earth days instead of Heaven 'days' to get that) Soon into their arrangements to meet, they seem to get on at least tolerable terms, obviously, a few meetings where neither of them feels like going apeshit and taking proper shapeless (or in sams case, he's got a newfound form for ANGER OO just for giodine 🤗) forms isn't going to fix a grudge that has yet to be apologized for by the way. But it's a start to a very long process down the road. Tolerance.

Giodine as an entity is very fickle and rude and demanding. They tend to have a short temper that no one else is allowed to have or comment on-- They were the first therefore they were the most important!

This is very obviously an issue. But it's mostly directed to purgatory. Almost all of their seething rage is pointed towards the poor entity, she's barely been alive yet and they already seem to hate her for things she doesn't know how to do. Honestly, I don't think Purg will ever fully forgive them for the unnecessary abuse of her character, but just as Sam and Giodine get on better terms, they had barely just begun fixing the hole in their relationship. As of now, Sam/Giodine don't have any minor plot points with purgatory other than the major one so I don't have a lot to say about their relationship right now. Maybe one day.

I'd go into details, seriously, but I just wanna ramble about their relationships with each other and their impact on each other's existence. Hope you don't mind a few secrets 😉

But, now, it's time for a new God, one I think most people take a liking to...

Sam (Samuel)

He/him

ID: Sam is surrounded by clouds in the light blue, fading to a darker blue sky and the yellow sun. His horns are a darker beige, which is being highlighted by the sun shining down on him, he also has pointed ears. His skin is red which is very prominent in the sun. His eyes are completely yellow, his hair, beard and mustache are also black. He has an orange scar crawling up to his Adams apple. His wings are a darker grey which is also being highlighted by the sun. His nails are painted black and his hand is holding up the black fabric barely covering his shoulders. Around the painting is a gold and red shaded frame with swirls complimenting each side and a crystal at the bottom of it. It is lightly signed GH, for ghoulish husband.

Sam, Sam, Samuel.

If you don't realize right away, Sam is basically Satan, he's the ruler of hell

Like how giodine was the first to appear on earth, as mentioned before sam was 666th for funnie reasons. Sam was made from bugs, dried blood, and sunlight which sounds pretty gross, but he's far from it. He's a silly, yet neat, guy. He wears Hawaiian shirts and khakis (not around giodine lmao) for cryin' out loud! how bad of a person can he be? Apparently to giodine (for a while obviously) he was the most retched entity to exist. This very much hurt him considering the amount of fake care they showed him before. With a mixture of confusing feelings (which wasn't supposed to be a thing but Univerce went "lmao you'll be fine" and left... short explanation, Univerce is the Universe and is the entity who simply builds these planets and gods that'll appear there and leave them to their own devices, xyr not extremely important in this story. Nor would they care.) and feeling used, he decided that no he wasn't going to take that.

If there is one thing Sam knows how to do is to self preserve himself, even if that means getting passive-aggressive notes sent to him every once in a while. While this period, Sam was surprisingly the least productive (unfortunately giodine knew this and eventually mentioned it in one of their meetings which made him hide away cause like hell giodine was going to be critical of /him/) but he managed. It wasn't terrible, but unfortunately, Sam being able to talk it out with someone who does practically the same work as he does and gets newer, more helpful ideas was better in the long run.

Unsurprisingly, Sam was the first to initiate the healing of his and giodine's relationship but it wasn't reciprocated. Who would've figured, aye? Giodine kept pushing it back onto him and ignoring any progress that could've been made before. Which was frustrating.

The painting above was 'painted' by giodine, which is sorta where their relationship gets somewhat on an understanding of each other. Giodine gets to take a deep long look into who Sam is and tries to express it but it never fit him, it makes them realize that they never really-- truly got to know him. And all it does for Sam is make him even more confused about his place in giodine’s mind. He figured it's another fluke to get him to do something, so he ends up distancing himself when they start actually reciprocating his friendship advancements.

Suddenly, like a flash, Sam was forced to stay with giodine which is where the majority. I'll explain.

Sam...isn't actually the ruler of hell. Anymore, anyways depending on the timeline. His and purgatory's relationship has always been complicated, she always avoided him, and when they talked she always seemed scared of him. So in the end, they've never been close. Distant. Sam always wanted to talk to her, he made her, but if she didn't want to talk to him he wouldn't force it. But imagine his surprise as Purg singlehandedly took over hell in a hazed frenzy.

And not only that, had a personal vendetta against him!

Well, that would be the only explanation to Sam considering how he ended up broken and barely 'alive' at the hands of her. Horns broken and in tatters, pain and almost obliterated it felt like a hate crime. He didn't know what to do when he made it to the office, Purgatory was creating chaos outside his door and barely being able to breathe he felt like it was the end. So he called giodine. 

Purgatory

She/her

ID: Purgatory is surrounded by flowers that are dark grey and white. The light fades down into a dark green. The light shines down on top of her straight, white hair that has yellow flowers tucked into it.  Her skin is a dark brown and has a orange-ish yellow scar on her shoulder trailing up to her neck. Her skin is also highlighted by the sun. In one of her eyes, her sclera is black with an orangey, glowing iris. As for the other eye it it has a white sclera and the same, glowing orange iris. She has wings for ears, one dark grey and one white along with beige horns. She has a white fabric covering her chest. The frame is gold with white accents, but also has vines and moss crawling up the side. 

(may have goofed a bit and forgot to color the sclera of her other eye white but ignore that pls)

Purgatory was made by Sam and Giodine, but to her it felt like a mistake. Why make someone that you’re going to be terrible to, she believed. Giodine seemed to hate her and eventually made her section almost obsolete because she simply wasn’t able to keep up with the backlog that she wasn’t taught to deal with. Not only that, she didn’t have any help with any of it, it was almost like she was expected to just do it on her own. Until Death came along to help, but that’s not what we’re going to be talking about right now. 

And also, Purgatory is Purgatory yadda, yadda, I wont insult your intelligence.

Giodine’s thought process (other than wanting to be Real Close to Sam and once that thought filtered out, promptly ignored it) was that all the extras that don’t fit in either category of their thought of good and evil they’d go to her. (doesn’t matter cause in Sam's system it filters through ‘levels of assholery’ and depending on how bad you are you either just vibe in the upper city under rule of capitalism and possibly many under paying jobs or being actually tortured for his amusement if you’re just evil. Morally grey. Anyway, it could work p well in heaven if giodine wasn’t such a damn stickler.) But in the end, every day, less and less people ended up in purgatory, leaving her with barely any people and more verbal abuse from giodine who ‘HAS to take them or they would be more dead than they already are’. You see the pain she has to go through, right? 

~Idea section, this is probably not canon anyways so dont take it serious~ 

My thought is that another oc (BA, you may have heard of him idk) takes over simply because Purg took multiple hims from alternative timelines (which isn’t allowed but what’re they gonna do, undead a dead clown? multiple times from multiple timelines???)) because she adored him and they figured ‘well we gotta redo purgatory may as well do it like this’ and make him a demi-dead-god. i think thats a cool idea right? anyhoo

~Idea section over uwu~

Purgatory overall is a fairly timid character, she doesn’t like conflict, is easily overwhelmed, and generally keeps to herself. She doesn’t see the point in being in any drama if she’s just going to be yelled at and scolded even if it’s not about her. The only way i could describe her taking over hell is this: 

She was tired. She was angry and after feeling like nothing was in control or in her hands, she snapped. Why doesn’t she get anything or get to be ‘all powerful’ but they do? She knew if she took on Giodine she’d likely get thrown to the void, but sam? He felt fair game. Considering her fear of both of these gods, she planned and got her courage up to take him over. She had considered negotiations but in the end, she ended up going into a haze and ruining everything in sight. She was more powerful than she thought and once she started, she didn't stop until Death restrained her and Sam was already in pieces at God’s doorstep. 

The aftermath was fuzzy for her and for everyone really. Godine was planning a take back hell while actually worrying for sam, sam was planning for a retirement, and she was being consoled while trying to get in contact with sam to apologize. Giodine wouldn’t dare let her talk to him, until she just showed up in their office. She didn’t have a problem with Sam, honest, she just was going to take shit over, but it got out of control. 

Spoiler, Sam took her apology and they actually became.. somewhat closer after reaching an understanding. 

I wanna say that giodine took them being okay and sam retiring as good as sam did about purg running hell, but they didn’t. Giodine and purgatory actually barely got along in the first place, and only begun ‘working’ on their bitterness toward each other because they both had sam to encourage it. I can’t say for certain if they’ll get better, as theyre both undying and have time, but I’ll just say for now its uncertain. 

Also, Death is Purgatory’s girlfriend after all of that lmao.

And.. yeah, i hope this makes sense and that you like my drawings and ramblings about my lil story in my head, i guess this is my way to develop it without just keeping it to myself cause god forbid i keep things to myself hshsh. If you made it to the end, thank you for taking the time to read and attempting to process everything, and even if you didnt read and just looked to look at my art thank you to!!

I may post some art over on @ghoulishhusbandart cause.. it was my art account before i completely forgot about it but i might reboot it! But if you wan art NEOWWW follow me on insta (ik cringe lmaoo) by the same name as this account @ghoulishhusband​ or just click that insta link! also ignore the fact that giodine is the only one without a portrait, maybe I’ll replace it the next time i draw but im graduating on monday and my dad’s coming TOMORROW?? so i won’t have too much time to do it... but i hope you like my art anyways :]

ok!! ty!! ily!!

#ghoulishrambles #ghoulishsporkocs #man this is weird lmaoooooo #THE CUT DIDNT CUT IM SORRY #Man I should've edited this before ppl could see it I'm so sorry if it's a mess shshhs #I keep adding tags bc I have more to say but I wanna pin this but I don't wanna remove that Palestine post just for my ramble so #I'll just reblog it every once in a while

[umimop-tryout]

Fandom: Akatsuki no Yona

Characters: DDHHB

Pairings: HakYona, and a hint of Jae-Ha's crush on them both =)

Genres: general DDHHB mess of friendship, humor and parody.

Warnings: un-beta ed, possible OOC, first finished attempt of longer fic in English, possible mistakes.

Length: 1127 words.

Prompt:

"But! You... You, my beloved little brother... I entrust...prmham" — with that legendary warrior of the White Dragon hit the wooden table with his beautiful face and went right back to fussy sleep.

Shin-Ah next to him nodded in agreement, firmly and seriously. Zeno, performing some kind of weird dance for two other lone customers, who were brave enough to stay and watch, cheered loudly.

Yun facepalmed.

"And that's why I said you shouldn't teach Kija, how to drink 'properly'..." — he turned to Jae-Ha, the only one, who looked at least relatively worth any reasoning right now. Ryokuryuu just grinned smugly, not bothered the slightest by the boy's words.

Yun huffed in annoyance. Fine, he will have a whole day to tell some sense into these Rare Beasts tomorrow. As for now...

"The owner of this place gave us twenty minutes to get out! Don't you dare to make things anymore difficult for us... We are returning to the camp, and now!" — the young genius ordered.

"To think you all had a nerve to get drunk like this outside of the camp... What a pain..." — he sighed then, watching closely quite unsteady Ryokuryuu, who raised to gather his problematic brothers.

Zeno, forced to stop his performance, loudly protested in most childish voice he could master. And knowing the old man couldn't even get drunk for real...

"Diet," — Yun deadpanned, causing Ouryuu to drop some of his act and to help very serious, but overall quiet Seiryuu to get up. And as Shin-Ah stood, a bit wobbly, Ao, hidden somewhere in her best friend's clothes, fell out and landed on her head with a trademark 'pukyuu', which, despite everything, sounded complitely content and...drunk. Wait, did those guys really..? No way!Yun suddenly felt very wise, tired and old.

"Honestly, — he shook his head in disbelief. — I'd rather just left you all here without second thought, if not for Yona being worried about you, ungrateful Rare Beasts!" Dragons (except Kija, who was fast asleep, leaning on Jae-Ha's shoulder) tried their best to look guilty with very little success.

"Speaking of which... — as realization hit him, Yun turned his attention away from this useless family and rushed towards Yona in horror. — Stop it!"

Red-haired princess, stubbornly bitting her lower lip, grunting and huffing, dragged a huge figure, whose hand was hung lifelessly over her shoulder.

For one dreadful moment Yun thought, it was Hak's corpse, but when he got closer to the pair, it become obvious, — the 'corpse' was giggling: drunkly, happily and very quietly.

Pretty genius boy sighed loudly in relief and unclenched the fabric of his tunic right over the heart.

"Even you, Thunder Beast... And now..." — he helplessly shook his head again.

"You can't really blame him, Yun-kun, — Jae-Ha pointed out, watching the couple fondly. His smug grin didn't weaver the slightest even now, when the impromptu party was over. — Yona-chan said 'Yes'!"

"And I said 'No'! — Yun blushed slightly from the anger (or otherwise). — To all this mess! And did anyone listen to me, like, at all?"

"I'm not going to make a hungover medicine for you in the morning" — he proceed to grumble, as Zeno and Jae-Ha grunted from the laughter in unison.

"But you will anyway, — Ryokuryuu, whose sense of danger was obviously as drunk as the rest of him, noted. — You are, after all, our beloved mo...most caring younger brother, I mean," — he quickly corrected himself under the deathly glare.

"That's enough! — annoyed "mother boy" all but roared. — To home, beasts!".

That (finally) worked. Zeno bounced to collect Ao from the floor, helped Shin-Ah to steady himself a little better, and they headed off first. Jae-Ha, who obviously didn't want to leave "the younger ones" all by themselves for too long, quickly become (more) serious and extended his free hand towards the princess, securing his hold on sleeping Kija's form with the other one.

"Yona dear, you can hand Hak to me, — he said. — Don't worry, I will take a good care of your beloved..." — he winked.

"Jae-Ha!!!" — the girl blushed promptly and nearly droped the young man she was holding.

"You can't really complain, — Jae-Ha loudly whispered, as he quickly leaned over her to take Hak. — Oof, can you help me with Kija-kun, please?" And, after Yona and Yun hurried to steady a clueless White Dragon, who was snoring quietly, and Ryokuryuu regained his balance enough not to drop the both younger men every next moment, he added sweetly, heading towards the exit: "You said 'Yes', remember?".

"And she is going to regret it soon, if he will drink this much," — Yun pointed out, as the girl was fighting the urge to scold the Green Dragon. She couldn't really argue with what he was saying, it was just...

"Will you...really?"— Hak's voice, sounding almost sober, suddenly asked. Yona and Yun, who still helped to support Kija, both nearly jumped and looked up. Hak was gazing Yona intently, his blue eyes cloudy and cheeks slightly blushing. Jae-Ha, much to Yun disapproval, just smirked really wide at that.

"W-what?"— Yona stuttered a bit, surprised.

"Regret?" — the question sounded all too serious for Thunder Beast's current state.

"N-no... never," — the girl's response was quiet, but her gaze hold the same seriousness, as his voice.

Hak stared at her for a second more, and then fainted on Jae-Ha's shoulder. Yun could practically see all the teasing ideas forming in the Ryokuryuu's mind right now.

"Are you finished? — the boy asked tiredly. — Time's up".

And so, the group headed off to reunite with Shin-Ah and Zeno, who were, thankfully, waiting for them nearby. Yun could hear the Gold Dragon's voice, calmly telling the other some story, and could swear to gods, he catched a name "Hiryuu" being mentioned. Granted, Zeno rarely ever brag about the past, unless something provoked him. Probably, the old man really managed to get himself drunk this time around. All the more hangover medicine to prepare until the noon...What a bother is to deal these problematic beasts! And by the way...

"You got really strong, you know," — he smiled to Yona. — To hold Tunder Beast all this time until Jae-Ha gathered his wits... That was really impressive".

"Thanks, Yun!" — the princess replied happily, watching the three men they helped to support. — Hak is pretty heavy, but I finally did it!".

"I really hope, that was the last time you had to do it this way..." — Yun sighed, inhaling the fresh air of the summer night. They would be really lucky to get to the camp until the dawn...

#akatsuki no yona #akayona #umi fanfic #umi prompt fill #akatsuki no yona fanfic #ddhhb #hak×yona #humor #my first attempt

[sohaveyoubeento-blog]

V is for Vietnamese & Vintage

Us three ladies had always played it pretty safe by way of our lunch dates. Not to say the local deli isn't absolutely kick ass - it's very tasty and very enjoyable every time we go, but in much the same way as I struggle to go to the same country more than once on my holidays (excluding India, you can never have enough India) I couldn't help but think that life's a bit too short to sit in the same eatery every time we meet for lunch, given that the whole day is ours, and within reason, travel is no issue.

The three of us decided that we would try different cuisines every week, and with the girls (Laura and Dani) living in the quieter, leafier suburbs of Otley and Burley in Wharfedale, with me (Alex) living in what I frequently describe as the bronx, 5 minutes from central Leeds but gloriously populated by some of the best food joints in the country (confirmed) they usually end up meeting at mine and then we go into town to try somewhere a bit off the beaten track. Invariably, being three mums of young children, we eat at the speed of rabid dogs and end up having a bit of time to go explore some local weird shop or two, never anything mainstream like a department store. Oh no. We like vintage shops. You know the type, they smell like damp and the inside of your nan's wardrobe, and we prance around pretending to overlook the fact that we are just in a well laid out, slightly more selective charity shop without the undertone of giving. Usually there's some blue haired student with a headscarf and a faint stench of Bobby Orange pawing through piles of shirts and jumpers that are deemed as retro, when they've actually some of them originated in C&A - we remember that place the first time round,depressingly. The whole vintage scene is a bit ironic and try hard and a bit sad at times, but the one thing that it does offer is the piece you are often looking at, generally is one of one only in the store. The same goes for charity shops, generally. We like stuff that can't be bought in bulk.

Dani owns Deluxe Blooms, and is a luxury faux florist, and very good at it too. Laura is a nail technician and spray tanning afficionado, and the owner of Maibella Nails and Tanning. I own a salon called Lexa Hair, and the three of us work together frequently. The ridiculous thing is though, that work is going really well for us, and while in the past we may have dug around in charity shops for a bargain simply to be economical, now it has begun more of a habit. And you know what they say, old habits die hard. We don't have to eat streetfood on picnic tables anymore, and we can shop anywhere we want, but at least just for me, I don't like extravagance and I'm not impressed by labels or price tags. I like pieces that are unique,with a story behind them. My two accomplices sort of get dragged in to it I think, but they seem on board with most of it. I hope.

And street food is the best food on earth, everyone knows that.

We kicked things off with a visit to a fairly new (maybe a year old I think) Vietnamese place on North Lane in Headingley named VietBaker. Inside it's very wooden looking, quite industrial and urban, stained wood everywhere and dark red leather chairs. It smells like the rice cooker that's chugging away in the corner, mixed with plenty of garlic and of course, the fresh baguettes that are stacked up in a glass cabinet above the front desk.

We opted for a sharing platter for £9, and from the menu us Yorkshire ruffians requested spring rolls (the deep fried ones, not the fresh, healthy ones obviously), prawn toast, and 'rustic chips'.

This was skin on chips with salt and pepper (well cooked and so tasty) and the prawn toast was understandably made of baguette slices. It made for a much heavier slab of prawn toast and therefore an even more unhealthy treat but man alive, was it good. The spring rolls were pork, prawn and the usual crispy vegetables inside. Not floppy or soggy, totally crispy and served with a really light and watery sweet chilli dip that's more sweet than chilli. It was all very lovely.

I've personally eaten from here a number of times and I think the Vietnamese have got it absolutely nailed when they make sandwich. Or a Ban Mih. Laura and I opted for one each, chicken for her and pork for me. Dani went for something off the new part of the menu, the fusion section, which even featured a take on beef bourgignon, Vietnamese style. She tried the Shanghai pork belly, served with rice. Her whole bowl was piled high, and we're not talking a polite, peanuts size bowl. More like a ‘free ceramic crunchy nut cereal box’ bowl, with the with tokens on the back of the pack, that you’d send off as a kid. It was huge. The second bowl was just plain rice, which worked really well as the pork alone was…. alot. It was sticky and tangy and rich and all those other wanky words that just mean amazing. I'm trying so hard to limit the wankiness. I like writing and eating, combining the two is hard work though. Bear with me. The slow cooked pork made me feel a bit gutted I went for a sandwich until I got stuck in.

Vietnam was a former French colony, and much like their neighbour Cambodia, found their local best offerings being bastardised to accomodate the 'local palate'. The nice version is that the baguette was the French's gift to the Vietnamese, although I imagine it was more a case of 'put your lovely meal in my baguette for me or you're in deep shit.'

I've never been to Vietnam but having visited Cambodge a few summers back, I remember being astounded at the gorgeous, light, dairy free Asian cuisine that had been shoved in a crusty, warm baguette. Whoever's story was true, it's the absolute bollocks.

They cut this freshly baked baguette open and spread it with patè on one side and on the other mayonnaise (already weird but hang in there) - add a ton of crispy green leaves, cucumber, pickles, coriander and fresh chilies, and add some meat into what little room is left. Enough meat to give you meat sweats. It. Is. Superb.

The pork was very finely sliced, dark and sticky again (here she goes) and you can bang on a fried egg, too, if you're an absolute wrong un. No thanks.

Laura had the chicken which was a milder flavour but none the less tasty and flavoursome. I noticed Laura pulling bits off her sandwich and delicately chewing away at them, while I picked it up and ate it like I'd been sleeping in the dark arches for the last month. I even had to be asked to wipe my face. Sorry, not sorry. No messing with a Ban Mih. Especially not this one.

The bill was a very respectable £11 a head, and they threw in a free set of spring rolls for us, which was a nice unexpected surprise. The place had a steady flow of traffic, and although wasn't packed, I've been on an evening and I think it's safe to assume that's the bulk of their trade. It was fantastic food, very reasonable and highly recommended. Great staff and great location. We'll be back!

Afterwards we drove for about 3 days to find a parking spot anywhere near Hyde Park, so we could check out the newly (ish) renovated (OK sign replaced and possibly ownership changed) Vintage something or other in Hyde Park.

I forget the name, and if I'm brutally honest I can see why. It's alright, but it used to be alot better. The last time I went in there was alot of very old apothecary style wooden drawer units, some weird taxidermy, and unusual pictures in frames that would look incredible in the lounge. This time there was quite a bit of formica, and some hideously orange stained TV units that I guess in some context would be deemed as cool again.

The music collection seemed to be where the most effort had been made. The clothing was actually quite 'quirky' in the sense that you wouldn't actually wear alot of it, there was a whole department that seemed to have been handed over by the owner of the late knob head Jimmy Saville, shell suit after shell suit in every colour of the rainbow, in that non breathable fabric you'd get a two man tent in. Hideous. Still, there are some absolute finds in there. I would encourage people to bear in mind that these shops have a high stock turnaround and in their uniqueness, and ability to replace items based on sales, any vintage shop can be a complete bag of shite one week and a total gold mine the next. Its the luck of the drawer, I love that about them. That and the fact that we call them vintage shops. The three of us refer to them as shit shops, but potato patato.

I find it depressing that as I mentioned before, alot of the 'retro' stuff is just normal stuff we, in our 30s, encountered in our youth. There was a 'vintage phone' that was £15 and I'm pretty sure my gran has it now. It's literally a BT £10 phone still in argos, but clearly it had lived with a heavy smoker, adding to the aged facade.

Some of it was very authentic, some of it was broken crap, but the general feel of the place is a good one. There is more 70s stuff than anything else which is quite cool, but like I say, stock changes very frequently. Dani bought an oversized T shirt with a University football team logo emblazoned across it, and to be honest I would have too. There was a vast array of university related large varsity based sweaters, some unnecessarily cut in half width ways (why?!!!! Serves no purpose now, you fools) and that's the kind of thing I would have liked to look at. But as I was in charge of a one year old who was bombing around the floor, doubling as a human sweeping brush and coming back with more dust on him than the inside of the V6 after the attic stairs have been tackled, I gave it up as a bad job and put my bank card back away. No spending for mum today. Gutted.

The shop is pretty fabulous, on the whole. They do know how to charge when it comes to furniture, but the clothing is far more reasonable. It's not all one off pieces, a couple of items make an appearance a few times and that kind of ruins it for me, I start picturing some huge factory in China making hideously outdated clothing and leaving them in a damp garage for a few years, chucking a bit of tea down them and wearing the cuffs and collars down, before exporting the newly knackered pieces to us dumbasses in our 'quirky vintage shops'. Who knows. It's well laid out, and pretty cool, and although not my favourite, I imagine the next time I go it'll be a whole different experience. Swings and roundabouts with these places. It was an interesting look, and if Parker hadn't been doing his best ferret impression I would have definitely bought a jumper. Well worth a look.

Until next week!

Laura, Dani and Alex X

VietBaker, Headingley

https://www.thevietbaker.co.uk

Vintage Boutique, Hyde Park

https://vintageboutique.com

[wonderlandmind4]

Delicate Stages Chp 50

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x OFC Ana Rios

Summary: Bucky Barnes agrees to participate in Deprogramming Sessions. What he gets is not anything like he expected.

Warnings: Language. Blood. Aftermath. Hospitals. Trauma. Some fluff, some angst. I’m sorry.

Words: 8k+ @justreadingfics @nerdyandproud9

A scorching hot sensation pulls Bucky back from the darkness of his mind. His eyes snap open. An excruciating amount of pain ignites his left side, so horrible, he dazedly wonders if it's truly happening. He grits his teeth, slowly turning his head to peer at his left arm.

A flash of bright crimson against pure white snow stabs through his mind as he stares at nothing. His entire arm is gone; just a broken, shredded stump of what remains. The frays glow orange and red, radiating through every nerve, down to his bones. He wants to rip it off, wants to claw away the rest of his shoulder but he can't. It's stuck, burning and attached to his body. His chest hurts. His stomach churns dangerously. A thought abruptly occurs to him.

Ana. Where is Ana?

Once Bucky swallows the bile rising up his throat, he slowly shifts from his back to his right side. He squints, a brilliant light stands next to him, in the form of Ana. Gold light. Bright. Powerful. Glowing. She’s glowing. Every inch of her skin emits golden bluish rays. It burns brighter in her hands, a solid beam of energy shooting from her palms. 

Heated air surrounds them, sizzles and crackles, snapping vigorously. Bucky blinks away his blurry vision, inhales slowly through his nose, exhales through his mouth. He tries to regain his senses, other than feeling agony radiating from his shoulder.

Through the bars of the railing from the platform, he spots the place where Erik Woods once stood, encased in the same light coming from Ana. Woods is now on the ground, motionless, appears lifeless. With an abrupt realization, Bucky knows what is happening. Ana is draining Erik's life force from his body; she doesn’t seem to realizes what she’s doing. Her body is stiff, her muscles rigid, her face set with in goal in mind. Her eyes glitter gold. There’s no end in sight.

The illuminating glow is fading away from the bottom of her ankles, slowly crawling up her legs. Bucky immediately guesses what the diminishing light entails, and he can’t - it can’t be- he can’t lose Ana. He can’t allow her to finish killing Woods- draining his life- and he can’t allow her to do it by accidentally killing herself. Bucky reaches out, his arm shaking violently from his own trauma. 

The closest part of her he can touch is her calf, his fingers gently grazing over her jeans. He can’t hold his arm up anymore, though it was enough to cease all power, the light cut off. Ana sways for a split second before she crumples to the ground like a puppet cut from strings.

Terror seizes Bucky’s heart. Ana’s skin is stark white, her eyes closed. She isn’t moving. Doesn’t even looks like she’s breathing. Two thick streams of blood escape from her nose, running down her face, the side of her cheek. No. No, no no no, this can’t be happening. She can’t be-

With one more ounce of strength, ignoring every single inch of him on fire, Bucky lifts his hand. His fingers caress her pale lips, trembling against her split lip. Ana cracks her eyes open, just two narrow slits, staring nearly lifeless at him.

"Stay with me.” He pleads desperately as his voice breaks.

Her eyes fall shut.

No. No! This can’t be real. This can’t be happening. The brightest thing in his dark world, the love of his life, can not be taken away from him. His hand is slowly being covered in her blood as he continues to trace her face, trying to wipe away the blood. Her skin is ice cold. He moves his fingers to her neck, dark bruises in the shape of fingers mar her delicate skin. Bucky doesn't feel a pulse. He doesn’t hear her heartbeat.

He doesn't realize he is screaming until something heavy grips his shoulder.

"Barnes! Bucky! Let me take her! I have to take her!"

Suddenly Ana is being lifted into red metallic arms before it takes off. Bucky follows the jets with his watery eyes, finally putting it together. Iron Man is flying Ana up to the jet. It's enough motivation to push himself up, just as someone else lands next to him. He doesn't pay any attention to them, just attempts to stand on unsteady feet, ignoring the waves of nausea crashing over him. It's not from physical pain.

"Shit, man. Let's get you up there."

The familiar voice makes Bucky finally look at the person. Sam holds his arm out, raising his eyebrows expectantly. Bucky relents gratefully, tightly grabs onto Sam's forearm. Then they're shooting up into the air, it only taking several seconds to reach the jet. Once inside, Bucky stumbles to where Agent Hill points at. He ignores every warning, every person trying to hold him back as he makes his way to the medical table where Ana lays.

Two medical personal surround her, quickly working to help. Bucky barely makes it to Ana's side, his fingers brushing over her cold knuckles, before his world goes black once more.

***

Silence stretches on for days. 

The days are long, the nights longer. Tension fills the muted air, heavy, cold. Hovers over the floor, between spaces, attaches to the ceiling, lingers in windows like droplets of despair. On the final day of absolute silence, it begins to break. The wind weaves between the trees of the forest; it isn't the only sound that shatters the quiet. The dry leaves on the ground rustle. The second hand in a clock ticks. The nervous tapping spells out a rhythm. The soft thud of a rubber sole against tile. The soft beeps of a machine echo hauntingly through a room. The shuffle of movement in the distance. A hiss of fabric. A faint inhale. A low exhale.

Something begins to feel heavy, weighed down. Something begins to itch; sticky, crawling sensations. Something akin to ice begins to settle. Something like the rush of waves begin to gain clarity. Something begins to feel soft, repeated slow movements. Something flutters against a surface.

Lashes stick together. Eyes slowly open. Bright light nearly burns the retinas. A reflexive wince. A dry lump is swallowed. Stiff fingers twitch against cotton. Dull aches throb from different places. A deep inhale causes bones to protest. Pain erupts from a lower source, muscles spasm trying to accommodate injury. A tongue appears to wet dry lips.

Ana fully opens her eyes. She stares at lights that are too bright on the ceiling. Her eyes shift around what she can see of her surroundings. It isn't much, she doesn't think she can move her body yet. Everything hurts. Everything aches. A deep exhaustion is laced within her bone marrow and Ana thinks maybe she could just close her eyes and sleep forever. She doesn't, because she's utterly confused.

The last thing she can remember, when she racks through her muddled brain, is a being shielded by something. Something that protected her from a direct hit of...what? A direct hit of what? Who stopped whatever it was? Who protected her by putting their own life in harms way? Was it their own life they risked, or did Ana make that up in her mind? She can't recall.

She allows her eyes to flutter shut again, attempting to recall what had happened. She remembers light. Bright, bluish gold light. She sees a flash of sliver, gleaming as it thrust in front of her. She sees a chaotic whirl of colors. She sees the black of the ground her face was pressed to. She sees someone stagger as they try to right themselves. She sees what the flash of silver was, suddenly gone, seared with glowing embers. She sees agony on a stunned face. She sees Bucky fall to the ground.

Bucky. It was all Bucky.

A sharp gasp of air coincides with her eyes opening. She forces herself to look to her right, the space is empty. She slowly turns her head to the left. There, with his head pillowed on his arm, is Bucky. There's a slight furrow to his brow, as if he is deciphering whether he heard her gasp or not. He picks his head up a little, eyelids blinking slowly like he just woke up. It takes a moment, but clarity brightens his blue eyes.

"Oh my god." He breathes, relief sagging his body. "Ana."

He has dark bags under his eyes. His skin looks pale, clammy. His red lips are raw and bitten, trembling just slightly. His hair is messy, strands sticking out oddly. It's as if he kept pulling at the roots from stress. He looks every bit of beautiful as Ana always thought he did.

"Hi…Snowflake." Ana murmurs, voice raspy, her lips twitching with a smile.

Bucky chuckles wetly through his nose. "Hi, doll face."

He dips down to press a gentle kiss to her left shoulder. She hadn't noticed her arm is in a sling. When she looks back up from the sling, Bucky has his face pressed into the bed. Ana wants to move her hands, but her left is currently confined and when she picks up her right hand, something tugs at her skin. She doesn't have to look to know it's an IV needle. She ignores it, because Bucky is shaking. She startles with realization; his arm is missing.

"I'm so happy you're awake." He mutters into the bed. His voice is raw yet thick with tears.

Screw it. Ana moves her hand across her body to gently run her fingers through his hair. When he peaks up at her, his eyes are wet and bloodshot, several tears escaping. Ana’s heart clenches.

"Bucky."

He shakes his head, taking hold of her hand, minding the IV. "I honestly thought...I couldn't bring myself to believe...you're awake." He presses his trembling lips against her knuckles.

"I'm alright." She promises gently. "I'm right here."

"I almost lost you." He whispers, his voice cracking on the last word. His fingers tremble in her hand.

Ana gently squeezes his hand before she moves hers up to wipe away another tear that's falling down his scruffy cheek. "What about you? Your arm-"

"Don't worry about me, Ana." Bucky picks his head up, a small disbelieving smile on his lips. "How are you feeling?"

 She inhales slowly. "Sore. Exhausted." Her throat is so dry and itchy.

"Are you in a lot of pain, love? The nurse was just in here, but I can call her again."

The concern etched on his face makes Ana want to lie to him. Or at least half lie. She's in a whole bunch of pain now that she's fully aware. She's still trying to ignore the sharp stinging pain in her knee, doesn't even want to move her leg because she's afraid she might scream. It hurts to breath, a dull pounding isolated to a spot on her stomach. Her left shoulder aches, and she knows enough that she had been shot; twice.

"It's tolerable." She evades.

Bucky stares at her for a beat, then he leans over to hit the call button. Ana fixates on the little black sleeve cap covering the stump of his left shoulder. If she asks about it, she knows he'll lie just as well. However, Ana saw it. She saw the excruciating pain Bucky was in before he passed out.

"What happened, Bucky?" Ana asks instead. She's still a little fuzzy on the details.

Bucky shifts his chair closer, leans over to softly kiss her temple. "What do you remember?"

"You jumped in front of me. You idiot." She sighs fondly.

"I will be an idiot everyday if it meant protecting you."

"And sappy." Her heart swells as she says it.

"Because I love you." He leans over again, this time pressing his lips tenderly against hers. It makes her heart flutter and for a moment she forgets any pain. "So much, Ana."

An onslaught of emotions abruptly crashes over her. Ana doesn't know if it's the drugs or the look in Bucky's incredible blue eyes, but she begins to cry. It starts off with one tear after the other, slipping from the corners of her eyes, sliding down her temples. Bucky frowns, eyebrows knitting together with concern. He lifts his fingers, keeping his touch delicate as he brushes her bruised skin. He wipes away the tears with his thumb, and the tender, loving touch rips a sob from her throat.

"Annie," He breathes, his tone absolutely heart wrenching.

It breaks her. Ana sobs. Every inch of her body hurts. Her stomach and shoulder throb from bullet wounds, one of which she can't even remember. It feels like hot needles are stabbing into her knee, something wrapped tight around it. Her lip and cheek ache, her neck feels tender. 

Her throat is parched, either from lack of liquid or the hand crushing against her windpipe twice. She has no idea how long she has been lying in this bed, but she does realize how close she was to losing her own life. To losing Bucky.

Bucky makes soothing, hushing sounds, pressing his forehead against her temple. She attempts to calm her breathing because every heaving sob shakes her body, and pulls at the hole in her stomach. Her mind is jumbled with fragmented imagines, ones she can't piece together quiet yet, but the last thing she clearly remembers is Bucky. Just inches of his metal arm remained, glowing bright orange and red, the smell of singed metal filling her nose. It was terrifying, watching him drop to the floor and not moving, not getting up.

She may have just scolded him for protecting her, but in reality, he saved her life, and it cost him his arm, and nearly his own life. Bucky has been protecting her from the moment he came into her life. Ana couldn't even protect him from Hydra, she couldn’t protect him against the trigger words. They almost dragged him back, all because they were after her.

"Ana, baby. It's okay. You're okay." Bucky coos softly, still wiping at her tears. "You're with me, you're safe now. I swear it.”

She shakes her head. "I-I'm so s-sorry."

"Hey now, pretty, none of that. None of this was your fault. Shhh, it's okay, sweetheart."

The door opens during that moment, a nurse calmly entering the room. Ana tries to regain control over herself, her cries reaching a level of hyperventilation.

"Breathe, Annie, breathe. I've got you, you're safe." Bucky coaches, his voice incredibly soft. “I have you, my love. You’re safe with me. Just breathe.”

Following his soothing voice, his instructions, Ana starts to copy his own breathing patterns. She begins noting the details of his face, like she hasn't already memorized every little inch. From the little freckle on his forehead, to his dark stormy blue eyes, streaked with red lines. His lips are a dark pink, slightly cracked from being chewed on. His beard has grown a tad thicker, though the warmth of his skin is lacking, worn; he looks every bit of his true age. His brown hair falls by the corners of his eyes, hiding the spot where the crinkles appear when he smiles. He's not smiling now. Ana wishes to sear Bucky’s face into her memory forever.

Something begins to trickle into her veins, and she briefly thinks it's Erik Woods injecting her once more. In a surge of panic, she looks over at the nurse, just finishing up twisting the IV caps back on. The monitor next to her picks up speed in time with her racing heart, the beeping growing frantic. The nurse smiles gently at her, lightly tapping the plastic bag.

"It's just morphine." She kindly informs. Her eyes then shift to Bucky. "I just upped her dose, it should work a little faster this round."

Ana turns to Bucky, who is already gazing at her.

"You're in a lot of pain, baby?" He questions, probably already knows the answer.

She's too tired to lie, so she dips her head a fraction. She wants to stay awake though, doesn't want to miss another second sleeping. She mumbles this much to Bucky, his thumb never ceasing swiping over her cheek.

"I'll be right here when you wake up, Ana. I promise." He whispers, leaning forward to kiss her forehead.

Her eyes flutter, the drug beginning to take over her system. Ana swallows, attempting to lift her hand but it’s too heavy. She's still so confused. She doesn't know what happened after Bucky protected her, she doesn't know how she got to this strange hospital. She doesn't know if anyone else is alright, or if someone has captured Woods.

All she knows is that Bucky is next to her, seemingly healthy and uninjured despite his missing arm. He's sitting right next to her, touching her, whispering sweet words of love, smiling and kissing her softly. The last thing Ana sees before her heavy lids close, is Bucky's blue eyes, shinning with relief.

***

The next time Ana wakes up, she hears Bucky's low drawl, rough and crackling like he hasn't touched water in days. He's speaking to someone, so Ana opens her eyes, turning her head towards his voice. Her heart swells, tears blur her vision and she's just so frustrated because she's been in a hospital before, healing from life threatening cuts. She's been in pain before, but for some reason, this time feels different.

"Pep." Ana exhales.

Pepper whirls around, immediately pulling up a chair to sit next to the bed. "Oh, Buggy!”

God, Pepper sounds like she hasn't stopped crying. Her eyes are swollen, just like Bucky's were, and her usual kept hair, is frizzy, out of place from her low ponytail. She gently grabs her right hand, squeezing her fingers.

"I'll give you two sometime." Bucky offers, grabbing his jacket and swinging it over his shoulder to cover his left side.

"No, stay." Ana pleads, attempting to sit up. At least, she thinks she tries. Pepper places her hand on her uninjured shoulder.

"Hey, hey, sweetheart," Bucky gently reprimands. He moves closer to place a kiss on her hair. "I'll be right back, promise. Don't move too much, you'll tear your stitches. I'm just going to find some coffee that doesn't taste like shit."

His comment makes her chuckle, but the movement of her stomach hurts. Pain stabs through her body, so Ana just opts to smile. She nods as he trails his fingers down her jaw. He kisses her head once more, then exits the room, softly closing the door behind him.

"You know," Pepper starts, her voice soft and fond. "That man is completely gone for you."

"It's mutual." Ana says, wincing as she shifts. Something is cool on the back of her hand and when she looks, a shiny diamond gleams back at her. "Pepper...is that a ring?"

She smiles shyly, then shakes her head. "I'll tell you about that later. How are you feeling? I mean, I know you aren't feeling good at all, and what happened sucks. I was worried sick, I-"

Her cousin cuts herself off, but Ana wouldn't mind her rambling on. She just wants to hear her comforting voice. The voice of one of the few family members she has left, and one of the only members she's close to. Pepper is crying, and Ana quickly figures there's going to be a lot of tears shed, if they haven't been already.

"I'm sorry." She apologizes to Pepper. "I don't know how this happened. I didn't mean to-"

"Oh, honey, don't blame yourself." Pepper begins rubbing soothing strokes up and down her arm.

"Tell me please, Pep. When did he ask you?"

"A week and a half ago."

"A week and-" Ana shakes her head, ridding the rest of the fogginess from the drugs away. She must've heard wrong. "What?"

Pepper's eyes shift to the screen displaying her vitals, then back to Ana. "You've been here for ten days, Ana."

Ana breathes in slowly through her nose, trying to process that information. Ten days. She's been lying unconscious in a hospital for ten days. "What happened?"

"I tried calling you the moment after Tony asked. You didn't answer. I called three times, that's when Tony got an alert from FRIDAY, said you and Bucky were taken."

Before Pepper can continue, there's a soft knock on the door as it opens. Tony's face pops through the small gap, checking before he comes in. He's wearing a Black Sabbath shirt that is wrinkled in certain spots, and worn out jeans. Judging by their appearances, no one looks like they've slept well, if at all.

"If you could refrain from that ever happening again, I'd appreciate it." Tony quips, pulling another chair around to sit in.

"I'll try to schedule my next kidnapping around your convince." She banters back, smiling and ignoring the ache in her lip. "Want to fill in the rest for me?"

Tony gently pats her forearm, then he gives her a rundown of what happened. He informs her after she activated FRIDAY, the AI sent a signal to the bracelet that embedded the mini tracker into her wrist. FRIDAY then sent a distress call out to Tony and the rest of the team. Steve had arrived first, finding Max Cullbury and Jared Sharp. Apparently, Agent Sharp figured out something was wrong when Max wasn't in the Lab. Both men were the first to get there trying to stop it. All according to Agent Cullbury. Agent Sharp was shot, and remains in critical condition.

Ana doesn't know how to process that last part, conflicted is one word that comes to mind. Her brother's ex boyfriend, who has hated her and blamed her for years, tried coming to -not only hers but Bucky's- rescue and was shot in the process. She has to sit up at this point, so Pepper carefully presses the button that raises the top half of the bed. With the help of Tony, Ana slowly and carefully adjusts herself, minding the gunshot wound in her stomach, and keeping her right leg as steady as she can.

Tony continues to recap the events several days ago. Nick Fury had called for every single person working within the facility to be interrogated and screened once again. They apprehended anyone who seem even remotely suspicious, which ended up being eleven other people. Wanda had offered her services in retaliation of her anger and fear for her friends, she had no qualms about tapping into Hydra agents minds. Security protocol has changed as well, and Tony lets a tiny bit of his own guilt slip in there.

"Tony." Ana stops him before he can continue. Her own guilt and Bucky's is enough to fill the Atlantic ocean, she doesn't need anyone else feeling the same way. "Your defense bracelet is what saved us in the end. If it weren't for that, for the tracker, we might still be there."

Tony clears his throat as Pepper lays a comforting hand on his arm. "Right. Good on it then."

He doesn't fool Ana. She notices the bags under his eyes, spots the tick he does with his mouth when he has been incredibly worried about someone. He doesn't make eye contact with her for the next 30 seconds, focusing on picking a thread from the blanket laid over her.

"Sorry about your knee, by the way. I should've-"

"Seriously, Stark. Stop it. You wouldn’t have guessed that would happen ."

Finally, Tony meets her gaze. "Erik Woods is in critical condition."

Ana swallows thickly, her knee throbbing, abruptly aware of every single bullet hole, cut and bruise on her body. She grips the blanket, bundling the fabric in her fists. . 

"He's in a high security facility being watch around the clock with armed guards. He is no longer a threat." Then, Tony smirks. "Rogers and Wilson had to stop Barnes from tracking him down and ripping out his throat. Or, I'm sorry, that's my phrase. I believe his was “rip every single bone from his body for hurting my girl”. I almost allowed him to do it."

Ana's heart skips a beat at my girl, and she has to bite her lip to keep from reacting. Until she winces at the still healing cut on her lip. Both Pepper and Tony roll their eyes are her reaction, but deep down, she can't figure out if she's glad Bucky was stopped, or if she's disappointed. It raises her next question.

"Why is Woods in critical condition?" She inquires knowingly.

Tony takes a few moments to answer, placing his hand over Pepper's. "Because you are incredibly powerful. And for same reason you were." He informs gravely. "After Barnes went down, you drained Woods' energy. He shot you in retaliation, but it didn't stop you, Ana. You kept going, until Bucky somehow stopped you. It drained your own in return. I thought-"

He clears his throat, shifting in his seat. "I flew you to the jet. You weren't breathing by the time I got up there. It was only for a few moments. Luckily the team of medics we brought with us were able to get you breathing...started your heart again."

"You were in the ICU for nine days, Ana. In a coma for three of those." Pepper whispers, a single tear falling from her left eye.

Ana just blinks at them. She didn’t know her heart had stopped beating. "Fuck."

They both nod. Tony reaches out and hooks his index finger over Ana's pinkie. "Thought you were gone there for a moment, kid."

She doesn't even react to his nickname. She can barely react at all. It's so much to take in. She nearly killed Erik Woods by draining his life energy and in return...almost killed herself? Jared and Max came to their rescue and couldn't stop it and now Jared in the one fighting for his life. Bucky's arm was blasted off because he protected Ana, jumped in front of her risking his own damn life for hers. She nearly died protecting Bucky. She did die; if only for a minute or two. Pepper pulls her out of her reeling thoughts.

"Bucky was going insane," She tells her. "I lied to the staff, said that he's your fiancé and gave him my family pass. He hasn't left your side until now."

Ana is indescribably speechless. From remembering Bucky being triggered, to watching him sacrifice himself, to her waking up in the hospital. She's suddenly so, so tired, her eyelids growing heavy. She will swear it's the drugs and her own exhaustion, and not the fact that all information may has led her to passing out. She doesn't fight it off, just lets it come and take over her body, being pulled into unconsciousness yet again.

When Ana wakes up the third time, she's surrounded by people, but her eyes frantically seek out Bucky. He's there, standing back and in the far corner. A light chatter is fills the room, voices reserved until Ana shifts, alerting everyone that she's awake. She lifts her hand, accidentally ripping someone else's grip from hers, and reaches towards Bucky.

He grins softly, because he has probably been watching her the entire time, and pushes himself off the wall. The person holding her hand before, Wanda, she finally acknowledges, scoots back to make room for him to sit on the bed. When he does, Ana places her hand on his jaw and Bucky turns his head to kiss her palm. It makes her heart flutter.

"You look exhausted." She tells him softly, stroking her thumb over his scruffy cheek.

"I'm fine, baby." He reassures her, pushing her hair behind her ear. "Do you need anything? Water? The nurse? Are you hungry? You must be hungry. I smuggled in a jar of Nutella. I would've brought pizza but I'm not sure-"

"Bucky, darling." Ana coos, tugging his face closer. "I love you." She presses a chaste kiss to his lips.

"I love you." He breathes against her mouth.

When they break apart, she finds Bucky's right hand, interlocking their fingers together, then surveys the room. Steve is sitting next to her bed, smiling down at his hands. Natasha is stands behind him, arms crossed and a slight look of concern on her face. Clint is next to her, resting his arm on her shoulder. He smirks and nods, then goes back to chatting with Sam, who looks even more concerned before giving his attention back to Clint.

Wanda appears as if she hasn't slept for days, and she might even give Bucky a run for his record. She's holding a paper cup of something that doesn't smell like coffee, she lifts it with a shaky hand. Ana is abruptly overwhelmed with everyone surrounding her, and she is grateful for the friends she has. Extremely grateful for the man holding her hand, lifting her knuckles to his lips.

***

They keep Ana in the hospital for another two days, double checking her wounds and vitals. The doctor just wants to make sure she feels comfortable enough to go home, and gives her instructions on what to do if she feels off in anyway. Her stitches are clean, no sign of infection, and her arm only had to stay in the sling for another three days. He does tell her that she can't lift, or workout or do anything strenuous for eight weeks, and to keep to the strict diet until her abdomen heals.

They also discuss the option of another knee surgery. Since the doctors had to perform one to remove the Stark rods, and that alone will leave Ana in a wheelchair until her shoulder is healed enough to use crutches. She has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from screaming in anger. She's just so fucking mad this happened, and on several occasions, wishes death upon Woods.

When Ana finally goes home, she snuggles up to Bucky the best she can, in the less painful way she can. She sleeps, and sleeps, and sleeps, until Bucky has to wake her up a few times. The first time is so she can take her medications. The second is so she can eat, even if she isn't that hungry. The third is to make sure she's doing okay.

"Bucky, babe, please let me sleep, for the love of everything holy." She grumbles petulant, pressing her face into his neck.

"Just making sure you're real, Annie." He whispers, voice breaking.

Ana opens her eyes. She understands it, she does. Because sometimes she'll wake up on her own, has to make sure Bucky is breathing, alive and next to her. She often thinks about how both of their worst nightmares had come true, or nearly came true. To make sure they're both real and in front of each other, they press their palms over each other’s hearts.

Bucky will tap his thumb twice against her collarbone, then he'll press his face into the joint of her jaw. He'll inhale, says she smells a little like the hospital still and can't wait for her to smell like flowers in the rain again. He'll drag his nose behind her ear and tells her-

"Can't wait for you to smell like me, too."

Then he'll press the lightest kiss against her pulse racing in her neck. He'll trail his hand down her body, dipping over her curves, tracing his fingers over tattoos and the scars on her back, then her wrist. Finally, he says-

"Doll face."

Ana will grab a strand of his long hair and tug, harshly so she can see his fake expression of pain. It's one her ways of knowing he's just as real. She'll trace his strong jawline, feeling the texture of his soft facial hair beneath her fingertips. She traces over his pouty red lips, down his neck, also kissing his pulse point, and places her hand over the stump of metal. Then she'll kiss the middle of his chest, feeling his heart pickup.

"Winter Flurry."

He rarely leaves her side, though she has no problem with that. Even when the others filter in and out of her room, Bucky stays by her side, unless he goes to get them food or drinks or to the bathroom. Ana finds out just how worried and scared everyone was when she begins to sense their energies again. It isn't bad, just something she can feel, like a faint breeze along her skin. It's when they leave at the end of the night, that Bucky confesses something.

"You know," He begins, the pads of his fingers gently scratching her scalp. "I honestly thought I lost you, that he took you from me. I was so fucking terrified, Ana. I didn't know what to do with myself."

"I thought I lost you too." She admits, gripping his shirt. "When he shot your arm off, I was so scared. Bucky, I thought...I thought he hit your chest, because you just..." She doesn't finish.

They remain silent, just holding onto each other, hurt, broken and bruised, but alive and together.

***

The soft moments only last a week. Something has been weighing on Bucky's mind, she can tell.

After six days, Ana feels like she can use her arm again, so she pretends to kick the wheelchair away as she sits on the bed of the medical ward. Janice is checking her vitals, after she cried in relief. Tony is there, currently fitting a highly advanced orthotic piece to her leg. The specially designed knee brace begin at her mid thigh, straps over and under her knee, and ends around her calf.

"You're sure you don't want another surgery?" He questions, making last second adjustments to the lateral and medial stabilizers.

"I'm sure. Knee surgery in intensive, and I've had enough fill of pain for one month, thank you." Ana lifts her eyes from Tony's working hands. She spots Bucky with his jacket on, talking with Sharon and Steve, both of whom are holding hands. "Is there anything you can do for his arm?"

"I offered." Tony answers her, leaning back. "He refused every offer.”

She gets it, she understands. Bucky doesn't want anything to do with a robotic arm. He doesn't have to say it, but Ana understands.

Bucky voices his thoughts after that.

*

"Bucky. No. Please, don't do this." Physical pain isn't enough. Bucky has to go and voice his idea of what he wants to do. It's breaking Ana's heart.

"I'm so sorry, love." Bucky coos sorrowfully, "but I can't risk Hydra finding you. I can't allow something like that to ever happen to you again, and if they get wind of what Erik Woods was trying to do...they'll use us against each other and I can’t. I can't risk that, Ana."

"But you came out of it." She sniffs miserably, tears falling from her eyes. Deep down, Ana knows he's right.

Bucky wipes her tears away, but his own betray him. "I'm guessing they have another chair. If there's even the slightest possibility it can be used, and I'm still triggered, they will send me after you. When Woods tried, it was barely on before you stopped it, but I was still confused. You called out to me before he finished the phrase, Annie, and it helped. Everything that you have done helped me find my way back to you. Unfortunately it didn't stop me from attacking, from trying to follow those commands."

"You protected me, you broke out of it and you shot him. Not me."

"It's too risky."

Ana scoots away from him to the furthest corner of her bed, accidently disturbing Ezra. He just blinks in annoyance, then moves closer to Bucky, because that fickle cat would take his side on this.

"Are you angry?" Bucky asks her, his tone suddenly controlled.

"Yes. No." She sighs, falling backwards. Which tends to be a mistake and jars her gun wounds. "Ow."

Bucky leans over her face, his expression torn.

"I want to be mad, I really would love to just yell and get angry-"

"The doctor told you no strenuous activities, that includes throwing things at me. As much as I love it."

Ana tugs his hair. "You know that meant no sex as well, right?"

"Would you really have sex with me right now, as angry as you are, even though you're trying you hardest to hide it?"

She narrows her eyes at him because he knows her so well. "Where are you thinking of going?"

He smiles dejectedly. "You know I won't be able to tell you, darling."

*

They continue to bicker about it for another day, until Steve backs up his best friend. He makes Ana see and understand the logic behind it. Tells her it's all for her safety and Bucky's mental stability because he nearly tore Erik Woods apart. She very nearly voices that she wouldn't have minded that, and Ana herself had fleeting dark thoughts of killing Hydra agents as well. She ends up finally relenting with Bucky's plan. It doesn't mean she's happy about it.

"Steve." Ana speaks airily. "You see that bowl of plums over there?"

"Goddamnit." Bucky mutters.

"Yes." Steve smirks, already getting up from the couch and heading towards the kitchen.

"Please throw at least five of them at him, would you. It's an important part of my healing process."

To his credit, Bucky doesn't even block the fruit as it pelts him all in the chest. He just sighs exasperatingly, grabs one of the plums and bites into it. Then he offers the fruit to Ana.

“I love you but that doesn’t mean I’m not pissed as hell,” She reminds him.

Bucky’s answer is wrapping his arm around her shoulders, kissing the top of her head. Ana still melts into to him.

***

“You’re absolutely sure about this?”

“I told you, I just don't think I can trust my own mind yet. It almost worked. I could’ve hurt her. I could’ve killed her.”

Ana scoffs, rolling her eyes. She probably isn’t meant to hear either of them as she leans against Sam's car, but she does, and she’s fed up, angry, and upset. She tried to keep her anger over the plan at bay, but she can't because it's real and it's happening right now. She is extremely upset, because she's still in a little pain, and her knee throbs in the brace, and her heart is about to shatter. She pushes herself off the car and limps right over to Steve and Bucky.

“But you didn’t!” She reminds Bucky fiercely. “In fact, Woods almost killed me himself.”

“That doesn’t make it better.” Bucky counters, reaching for her hand. "What if I shot you instead?"

Ana pulls it back quickly. “This is fucking bullshit!"

“I’ll give you two some time.” Steve flinches, then hurries away towards the small car.

“Annie-“

“No. No. Don’t. I-“

Bucky cups her jaw, bring her forward and kisses her. He keeps his lips firm, moving against hers and Ana feels her anger melt away, along with her spine. She kisses him back, tangling her fingers in his hair, and resting her other hand on the metal base of the stump. She pulls back to press her forehead against his.

“I’m so sorry I failed you.” She murmurs, tears burning her eyes. That's her confession, the true reason she's upset. “I failed you.”

“Hey,” Bucky leans back, trying to make eye contact, she doesn’t look. “Ana, you didn’t- look at me, darling. You did not fail me. Not at all."

She shakes her head, a single tear betraying her and falling down her cheek. “It didn’t work. Deprogramming, it didn't-”

“Yes, yes it did. Everything you have done, worked. I was only able to save you because you helped me take control of my mind. I was only able to fight through it because of you.”

“Not completely, isn't that the problem here? That’s where-“

“You did not fail me. Please, please don’t blame yourself for this. I'm doing this for security. I have to take every precaution."

Ana pulls him back down by his neck, kissing him twice. “How long?” She whimpers against his mouth.

“I’m not sure,” Bucky frowns when he pulls back. “Until I can find a way to fix everything inside my head. I was still somewhat triggered. I can’t take any more chances with hurting you, and any enemy of ours will know we’re each other’s weaknesses and strength. I can’t risk someone else using that against you again.”

He kisses her forehead. “Promise me something, Ana. Don’t wait for me.”

“No.” Ana refuses firmly. “I will wait for you and there’s nothing you can do about it. There’s no one else I want. Idiot.”

He chuckles despite himself. “I had to try.”

She scoffs, tugging his hair. Ana rests her head on his chest, fighting back the urge to sob. Bucky hugs her tightly with his arm, and even though he only has one at the moment, it’s the strongest hug she’s ever had. There’s a short honk to their side, signaling they have to get going soon. Bucky lifts his arm, but Ana doesn’t see what he does; more than likely he flicked them off. She pulls back when he gazes at her. She brushes his hair back, tracing her fingers along his jaw. She taps her index finger on his lips.

“Come back to me.” She quietly requests.

His eyes soften, crinkling at the corners with a private grin. “Don’t blame yourself.”

“I’ll make you a deal.” Ana bargains.

“Over the Nutella?”

She pokes his dimpled chin. “You come back to me, and I promise I won’t blame myself.”

“That sounds like a good deal.”

Bucky leans down to kiss her again, deep and slow, keeping his hand firmly against her cheek. Ana allows him to kiss her like that, as if it’s just the two of them, even though Steve and Sam are probably witnessing this. Her heart pounds painfully in her chest and when she places her hand against Bucky’s, his heart beat matches.

“I love you,” He murmurs against her lips, brushing their noses together. “Very much. Don’t ever forget that.”

“You don’t forget how much I love you either.” Ana whispers. “And I do. Love you.”

“I have to go now.” Bucky tells her, frowning with wet eyes. A tear escapes his left eye.

Ana wipes it away. “I know.”

She meets him halfway for their last kiss, this one filled with love, a little bit of pain, but with a sense of hope. His energy wraps around her one last time, a rueful comfort and goodbye all at once. His tongue slides against hers and Ana is going to miss the way his tongue curls in her mouth and makes her knees weak. They kiss like that for several moments before it slows down, turning into short, but sweet pecks. Bucky kisses her once, twice and on the third kiss, he pulls away, nearly taking Ana with him.

She watches as Bucky heads toward the waiting car and opens the door. He looks back at her and smirks, though it’s not up to par of his usual one. He leans into the car then back out, suddenly tossing something to her. It flips through the air before Ana catches it with both hands. It’s a small jar of Nutella, causing her to laugh, ending with her lips trembling.

Bucky waves his hand, giving her one last smile, then gets into the car. The door closes, and just like that, Steve is pulling away, driving Bucky right out of her life. Ana follows, taking one, two, three, four, steps and breaking into a slight jog, ignoring the pain in her knee, stopping once the car is far enough away and out of sight. She tries to swallow the sob caught in her throat, pulling herself together as she walks back towards Sam in the other car.

He doesn’t say anything once she gets seated and buckled. Ana stares down at the small jar of hazelnut chocolate spread, tears filling her eyes. It’s going to be a long, painful road of waiting, and she doesn’t remember how she was living before Bucky came into her life. A few tears escape, landing on her hands.

“I’m turning the music up on this road trip, I hope you don’t mind.” Sam informs, and the music growing louder by the second.

Ana smiles because she knows exactly what he’s doing. She nods and looks out the window as he starts driving, a sob finally escaping her mouth. She cries hard for a few minutes, just watching the scenery go by with blurred vision. Sam reaches out once, offering a comforting squeeze to her arm. Finally, after several songs play, Ana wipes her tears away for now. Then, she decides to change the music. 

“We’re listening to something else.” She tells Sam, then switches out the CD from Earth, Wind, and Fire to Queen.

“Did you just-“ Sam begins indignantly, glancing over at her.

“Pay attention, Wilson. You’re driving.” Ana only knows he allows her to change the music because her focus is on him now, instead of the broken heart in her chest.

She knows this is what Bucky wanted, she understands all the logic behind it. The capture and events had plagued Bucky's mind every night and even though she slept next to him, he couldn't seem to do the same; Ana felt it eating away at him. She knows Bucky wants to heal completely and fully, and he refuses to take anymore of Ana's own energy, despite how powerful she had proven herself to be. 

Ana understands. All she wants is the absolute best for Bucky, and if finding an alternative option is the way to erase the triggers completely, then so be it. She will wait from him to come back to her, however long it takes.

***

"Stevie, please. I need this." Bucky is now begging. It took nearly two hours but he finally broke.

"Fine." Steve gives in, gripping the steering wheel so hard it dents a little. "But only because of what he did to the both of you. I was fucking terrified and pissed as hell Buck, I hope you know that."

"I know, pal. I know." Bucky says solemnly. "Then you understand."

"I do."

Steve pulls up to a heavily secured building. They both get out, getting checked and scanned, and handed IDs. It's really only because of Steve that they're even allowed to enter the building. Two guards lead the way, down hallways, into elevators, and finally to the floor and room they want. Steve nods at the guards and they leave, then he sets his hard gaze on Bucky.

"You got two minutes before they come back and I come get you." He tells him.

Bucky nods curtly, then he presses the key card he was given earlier to the lock pad on the door. He pushes it open, quickly closing it behind him. The sight of Erik Woods lying on a bed, hooked up to wires and a machine will never be satisfying enough. 

Bucky walks over to the bed, the sound of soft beeping and echoes of the oxygen machine fill the small room. Bucky leans over, anger boiling in his blood, staring at the man that nearly killed Ana. Recognition flickers in his green eyes.

"You took her." Bucky snarls lowly, unadulterated hate coloring his tone. "You touched her. You broke her. You made her bleed. You almost took my girl from me. For that, I am going to make you suffer."

His eyes flick towards the machines, and he sees a little switch for the life support pump. Revenge is nearly there, sitting deliciously sweet on his tongue. He reaches over, hooking his finger over the little lever. He looks back down at Erik Woods, fear gleam in his eyes.

"This is me, Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, The Winter Soldier, turning off your oxygen."

He flicks the switch down. The machine begins to beep, gets louder and faster. Erik's chest stops rising and falling. Then Bucky waits another two seconds before speaking.

"Are you in pain? Does it hurt horribly? Good." He hisses menacingly. "I want you to feel every inch of it. I want you to suffer. I want you to struggle, to feel the air leaving your lungs, feel it burning as your face turns red. That's what you did to her. That's what you put her through. This is what you deserve for Hydra harming her family. This is what you deserve for touching her.”

It would be so easy for Bucky to just walk away and let him be. To let Woods leave this world in agony, gasping for his last few breaths of air. Bucky grits his teeth, swallowing every vengeful thought.

"This is Ana." Bucky continues quietly. "Turning it back on." He switches the support back on. 

He leans over again, making sure he can see him. Erik's eyes are responsive. 

"Killing you is too easy. What's worse, is having you watch all your hard work come undone. You failed, Woods. That's worse than your death. Ana is alive. I'm alive. You failed, and you get to live knowing that fact for the next few weeks of your life. Because you will die in your failure.”

Then, Bucky leaves. He walks right out and away from the room. The man lying in pain, lying broken in the bed, no longer matters. What does matter, is finding a way to fix everything inside him, to rid the brainwashing wired in him. As much as it shatters his heart to do so, as much as it hurts him, he's doing it all for Ana. He will find some way to fix this.

Bucky will come back to his girl.

*******************************************************Previous   Epilogue

#bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x ofc #Bucky Barnes #delicate stages #my fic #fanfiction