#i just assume she's scrubbed her association with him as much as possible

[usersanon]

Please be aware of the user @/saintsugu also known as Ezra.

Past pseudonyms include (but are not limited to: @/aces_high

I never thought that I would have to create a post like this. In my near 12 years on the internet, I never thought I would have to write down the words I am about to type, especially about a fellow fanfic creator, one I used to enjoy before I found out about the type of person he really is. I apologise for the long post, however I want to make sure I am as thorough as possible so I can bring this person to justice.

Before opening the read more/ continuing with this post, please read the trigger warnings. This will deal with heavy topics, ones that make me sick to my stomach. I apologise for all of the censoring in this post as well.

TW: P*DOPHILIA, UNDER*GE, SEXUALIZATION OF EDS AND SH

I would just like to start off by saying how difficult this post is for me to write. I have had to take multiple breaks while typing this out. I have felt disgusted since I first saw the posts on his twitter. Like I need to take a shower and scrub myself clean, however, at the same time I feel like I cannot sit idly by while Ezra still has a platform.

The posts I have seen on his twitter, what he actively endorses is just disgusting and predatory in nature. I have done my best to censor them so as to not continue the spread of such material. As of the time of this post, his twitter is still public.

HIS TWITTER (X) IS CURRENTLY UNDER THE NAME @/ezr_ace

First, I’ll give evidence I have to prove that the twitter account stated above is in fact his. I was wary at first as well, however, I believe this evidence in fact proves that beyond reasonable doubt that the account is his.

The obvious reasoning is as follows: Ezra goes by the pseudonym Ezra currently, and has gone by the pseudonym Ace in the past. Both the twitter account and his tumblr state that he is 21. Both twitter and tumblr themes are the same in nature, featuring manga panels of Suguru edited in the same way.

If you’re familiar with Ezra at all, you would know that they are very close with another user, Flora, also known as @/fyogasm. Previously known as @/pussydrunkfyodor on tumblr. When going through the followers of this twitter account, I noticed someone by the name of Flora following him (one of about 34 followers), with the user @/floratumblr. This account had their tumblr linked in the bio of the profile, and it led straight to Flora’s tumblr. Screen recording is posted below:

UPDATE: since Ezra has been called out, Flora has unfollowed Ezra’s Twitter as well as deleted her account. I can only assume it is to try and dodge the backlash of being associated with him. Here are screenshots proving they are moots/ interacting with each other.

Note: I do not know what this means for the content of Flora’s character. All I can say for certain is that she is close friends with him (to the point they have each others numbers), and that she follows his Twitter. I did not dive deep into her Twitter before she deleted it. But I can say that I do believe she knew the content he was posting about, otherwise she wouldn’t have deleted her Twitter the second he was called out while remaining mutuals with him on tumblr.

UPDATE 1/19/24 1:50 pm: Since creating this post, Flora has reached out and stated that they have broken all contact with Ezra. They state that they are not frequently on twitter, and was completely unaware of the type of content he was posting on the account. They state that the content found on the account has made them feel sick and that they are no longer friends anymore.

Back to the main point, this only adds to the similarities listed above. A close mutual that he has been seen actively talking to on his tumblr also follows him on twitter, endorsing his behavior. This alone was too much for me to ignore. However, one final factor came into play that solidifies that user ezr_ace and user saintsugu are the same Ezra.

He not only posted to his tumblr about hateful anon messages, but also his twitter at the same time. Right after the messages were sent, he tweeted the following, as well as posted the following messages on his tumblr. Screenshots with time stamps posted below:

This for me, confirms that the two accounts are the same. There are simply too many coincidences for me to ignore. I feel that there is no argument about the validity of the accounts, as there are just too many similarities to ignore. Now, I can delve into what the post is really about. The content of the Twitter account.

P*DOPHILLIC ACTIONS AND UNDRE*GE CONTENT.

To put it simply, I was horrified when I first opened the profile to be greeted with Shotacon artwork. Full on artwork of an adult Toji a*saulting a child Gojo. In this artwork, Gojo looks as if he can be no older than 10. Most of the image is censored for obvious reasons, however, part of the screenshot appears in the video above as well. Proving that it cannot have been doctored in any way.

As you can see, the post is tagged with tw sh*ta. For anyone unaware, the definition of Sh*ta is as follows: “Sh*ta is a term used in manga and anime fandoms to indicate sex involving an under*ge boy.” (Fanlore.org) Aka, CP.

It is disgusting to see someone who I once enjoyed, once trusted, interact with literal cp. Drawing or not, the effect of it is still massive. Viewing children (ANYONE UNDER*GE) in a sexual nature is harmful to everyone. It breaches past dark content into something horrible. Something dangerous.

I felt sick seeing someone be as brazen as to repost a picture of a child being a*saulted. To get off on it. It is p*dophilic. That is the only way it can be put.

Further on this, he has written smut of, in his words, “not necessarily under*ge” Suguru in highschool. There is a whole thread on it on his profile, however, I will not be showing it here. The screenshot below describes the nature of the whole post from his own words.

When I first read “not necessarily under*ge”, my first and only question was literally, what the fuck does that mean? Either he is under*ge or not. There is not some fuzzy grey area coating the world between adults and children.

But sure, give him the benefit of the doubt. That does not excuse him liking multiple posts tagged with under*ge content. The most recent being less than an hour ago. Posts censored to the best of my ability below.

These posts all point to the same thing. The disgusting, undeniable truth that this man is attracted to under*ge content. Content depicting minors in sexual scenarios. Content that no member of society should ever consume. He is a p*dophile. For viewing this content of his own accord. For liking it, for reblogging it. For creating it on his own. He is a disgusting person.

FOLLOWING MINORS.

Him interacting with content like that above, consuming it in any capacity at all makes him unsafe to be around. For anyone. Especially minors.

Even though his blog is 18+, even though he preaches that minors should stay away from his blog. He still found himself following a 16 year old. Becoming mutuals with them. The fact this person is 16 is clearly displayed on their blog as well (in their pinned post).

Screenshots shown below. The individual’s user is censored out as, once again, they are a minor and I don’t feel they should have to be wrapped up in this mess.

Once again, Ezra is someone who preaches about minors staying out of adult spaces. Multiple times he has complained on his blog about minors following him and having to block them. You would think he does the same and would be more careful about curating his online spaces, however it he fails to do that.

I don’t believe this can be boiled down to a simple case of missing the age in their bio— this user has their age in their pinned post, as well as their about me. Along with the sexualisation of minors prevalent on his Twitter, it makes me extremely uncomfortable to know that he is following a minor in any capacity. I’m sure it would make anyone.

SEXUALIZING EDS AND SH.

To end the laundry list of posts on his twitter, we have him writing smut glorifying eds, as well as liking posts depicting sh in a sexual light. As always, screenshots are shown below, censored to the best of my ability.

In the post listed above, Suguru is described in a way that is hard to stomach. While it is not nearly as bad as everything else stated above, I feel it is still necessary to include, especially because in this pairing he has often described and implied Suguru to be a minor. There is a line and he has crossed it several times, this is just another example of such. Serving as the cherry on top to further demonstrate his mindset.

Dark content and discussion of these subjects in fiction are not the problem. The disturbing part of this is that Ezra often uses these tropes within his min*r/adult sexual fantasies, and when paired with the sh*ta and under*ge content, leaves a very poor taste in the mouth. It comes across as not only a gross f*tishization, but a gross f*tishization of taking advantage of a minor that way.

A DISCUSSION ON THE LIMITS OF DARK CONTENT.

In this section, I feel that it is important to touch on how dark content plays into all of this. I’d like to expressly state that this is NOT a condemnation of dark content or its consumption.

Dark fiction and dark content are a fine line. It’s a fantastic tool for exploring taboos and emotions or experiences that aren’t often talked about openly. DC creates what is essentially a safe space for exploring things that are not typically done or seen in the real world, with the knowledge that writing or engaging with it does not necessarily mean condoning it. That being said, this callout post is NOT about being anti-dc. Dark content is a literary or artistic tool. Keeping all of this in mind, to actively engage with sh*ta content in which a character is depicted sexually not only as a minor, but as a child, and to be sexually aroused by that image is the definition of p*dophilia. Writing or drawing children and engaging with that content in a sexual capacity is p*dophilia and at the very least, has p*dophilic tendencies. This is not dark content, this is p*dophilia.

It is one thing to write or create dark fiction between adults for the purpose of gratification or exploration of social dynamics and it is entirely another to engage with art of a child engaging in sexual acts with an adult for (seemingly) the intent purpose of sexual gratification. Everyone draws their own line, but it is also important to acknowledge that there are some depictions of taboo subjects that border (if not fully step-into) harmful, p*dophilic content that perpetuates behavior and mental tendencies that truly are dangerous.

To engage with a drawing of a child and a full grown adult in sexual acts for the purpose of sexual gratification is incredibly fucked up. And the fact that minor and adult p*rnography are not just common, but dominating Ezra's twitter page, should be an absolute red flag. It’s okay to acknowledge that dark content is a medium for fiction while also acknowledging that there are some ways of engaging with it that are harmful, especially when it is so glaringly obvious that the content is between a child and an adult (the art I am talking about specifically really is a child. I don’t urge anyone to look at it, but it is gojo depicted as a child of maybe 8 - 10 years old. I’m not using the term child as an umbrella term for minors here).

The problem, stated very plainly, is that the post/s he is engaging with are sexual depictions of a child with the purpose of sexual gratification. That’s the point here. It’s not the dark content, but rather that he is retweeting posts depicting a child of about 8-10 engaged in sexual acts and created for the purpose of sexual gratification.

Once again, this is not a condemnation of dark content. Dark content can be used in so many valuable ways— facing trauma, dealing with taboo subjects, exploring the literary world in a safe and healthy way. As someone who actively consumes dark content, I will be the first to tell you this. However there should always be limits to the types of content produced. Gaining any kind of gratification from looking at a child being a*saulted is disgusting. It is p*dophillic. Especially when he actively engages with minors on his platform.

This is not a conversation of morals— which side is right and wrong. But rather a conversation about the safety of children. This is not a conversation about ageing up as that is not what he is doing. The characters being depicted here are not being aged up, rather are being depicted as minors, or literal children being used for the sexual gratification of adults.

The issue here is a p*dophile. Not dark content. Not anything else.

CONCLUSION.

I’ll be honest, post was extremely hard for me to create. Discovering that someone I once thought was close to me is this kind of person feels disgusting and abhorrent. I honestly wish I never had the displeasure of meeting them in the first place.

Hopefully, by the end of this post you are able to see the kind of person Ezra really is. I could not be silent about this. I knew that the moment all I found all of this out. This post has been very difficult for me to write, but I hope by the end of it some good will come. Some people will be able to avoid interacting with this man.

I believe Ezra needs professional help, and truly hope that he is able to get it some day soon.

Please be careful with who you interact with on the Internet. Adults and minors alike, there are predators everywhere. Please try your best to stay safe in your own online spaces. All of the love in my heart goes out to anyone who has survived child expl*itation. I hope for nothing but the best for you in the future.

Thank you all for taking the time to read this post. I know it is long and triggering for most people. I hope you all have wonderful days and try your best to take care of yourself.

Listed below are some important numbers I would like to bring awareness to before this post is over.

National Child Ab*se Hotline (USA): 1-800-422-4453

National Center for Missing and Exploited Children (USA): 1-800-843-5678

The National Sexual A*sault Hotline (USA): 1-800-656-4673

Childline (UK): 0800-1111

International Child Helpline: 116-111

TLDR: Ezra has a Twitter account where he retweeted artwork of a child gojo being a*saulted by an adult toji. He liked as well as created posts depicting under*ge characters (literally tagged with ‘under*ge’). All while being mutuals with a 16 year old on tumblr.

Tags used to try and spread awareness. I tried to mostly include fandoms that he is in.

UPDATE: lmfao, he has since deleted the retweet of sh*ta gojo after he was called out. Literally proving that it was him.

#jjk x reader #tokyorev x reader #bluelock x reader #jujutsu kaisen #gojo x reader #toji x reader #jjk #gojo satoru #itadori x reader #choso x reader #mahito x reader #megumi x reader #nobara x reader #jjk fanart #nanami x reader #tokyo revengers #mikey x reader #baji x reader #hanma x reader #rin x reader #sae x reader #isagi x reader #tw discourse #saintsugu

[bard-llama]

WiP Wednesday: Rorveth, Isendain, AND Thronebreaker Snippets + Some Headcanons

I couldn’t decide what to do for WiP Wednesday, so uh... have lots of stuff! We’ve got an Iorveth/Roche snippet, an Isengrim/Eldain snippet, a Throne3 (Meve/Reynard/Gascon) snippet AND a little bit about some Thronebreaker headcanons me and @moonlights-ordinance​ came up with today.

Iorveth/Roche:

This is the beginning of an angsty fic wherein Iorveth pines and finds out some unpleasant news. The actual plot of the fic is Iorveth trying to get rid of his feelings, but we’re not there yet.

Iorveth really should’ve known that this day was destined to be hellish the moment that he was jolted from his paperwork daze by the rambunctious shouts of his Scoia’tael outside his office. He sighed, scrubbing his hands down his face, then checking that his bandana covered his scar properly. Only after that did he open the door to see what was sowing chaos amidst his ranks.

No one… actually seemed to notice his presence, which to be frank, was not a problem Iorveth typically struggled with. He was quite good at appearing intimidating and infuriated even when he wasn’t particularly trying. 

But it seemed his elves – and a few of the dwarves – were far too involved in their own gossip to notice him as he walked through the crowd.

“Have you heard–?”

“No way.”

“Guess he loved Temeria so much he married it!” someone chortled.

“Ha! From Cocksucker in Chief to Consort. He must be real good.”

A bout of cackling followed that last remark, and Iorveth had his first premonition that the day was going to suck. But he still didn’t have answers, so he walked straight forward into what would become his own personal hell.

In the center of the crowd, surrounded by countless elves and dwarves, Iorveth was not at all surprised to find his two favorite subordinates – who were rapidly losing that classification. He stepped up next to them, crossing his arms and waiting for them to notice the trouble they were in.

Really, he should have known it would be these two. Rinn, for all that she was nominally well-behaved and quiet, was extremely mischievous, especially when it had the potential to cause minor problems for Iorveth. He would not be surprised if she had planned this. Her companion, Ky, may have been more innocent in that she may not have intended to draw a crowd – but she was absolutely the one spreading the gossip far and wide.

It took a while, but slowly, the chattering grew quieter and quieter as more people took notice of his presence. Finally, Rinn caught sight of him and poked Ky, who was still loudly expounding on something about marriage.

“Something you need to tell me?” Iorveth asked, eyebrow arched high and disapproving scowl firmly in place.

Ky winced, but Rinn looked entirely unrepentant as she signed, the Temerian King made an official announcement today that I caught during my shift.

Iorveth looked at the way more than a few people were biting their lips and avoiding his eye and hummed. “And?”

“Roche is getting married!” Ky burst out as if she physically could not hold it back anymore and Iorveth felt everything freeze.

Married? Vernon Roche!? The erstwhile commander of the Blue Stripes and proud pain in Iorveth’s ass? Who the fuck would he be marrying and why would it be a royal announcement!?

Even though Iorveth himself still felt like he was encased in ice, time seemed to resume for everyone else and chattering rapidly commenced, elves whispering back and forth between themselves and each other.

What was it someone had said earlier? ‘From Cocksucker in Chief to Consort’?

Was… was Vernon marrying King Foltest!?

Rinn must have seen the question on his face, because she nodded and passed over a paper missive.

It felt like moving through molasses to extend his arm and accept the notice that would forever change his life.

The Ancient Royal Line of the Temerian Dynasty Announces the Wedding of

Foltest, King of Temeria, Prince of Sodden, Sovereign of Pontaria and Mahakam, and Senior Protectorate of Brugge and Sodden

and

Vernon Roche, Commander of the Elite Blue Stripes Special Forces Unit, Pacifier of the Mahakaman Foothills, and Right Hand to the King

to take place at the year’s end on the Winter Solstice

Iorveth stared at the announcement, static fizzing through his brain. Vernon. And Foltest. They were getting married!? 

His eye shot up to meet Rinn’s almost imploringly, hoping this was all some big joke. But there was no mischief in her eyes, and her forehead creased with worry as she watched him, clearly wondering what was wrong.

She, at least, appeared to be the only one who had noticed anything amiss in his reaction. The rest of his Scoia’tael were back to loudly gossiping about their enemy’s new status in life.

“Wait, I thought human men couldn’t get pregnant. Isn’t the whole point of a royal marriage to produce an heir?”

“Nah, I’ve heard the whore has a cunt,” someone laughed. “Can you imagine only having one? Sounds lame as fuck. But yeah, supposedly our dearest Commander Roche can make royal babies for King Fuckface.”

Iorveth’s heartbeat stuttered and he inhaled sharply through his nose. He… hadn’t known that. Sure, he’d heard rumors, but the rumors about Vernon were wild and extreme and ranged from his background as a whore to his imaginary sideline in child abduction to his preference for blunt force weapons.

Was this one… true? As he looked back at Rinn for the answer – aside from being the primary spy assigned to Vernon, she also seemed to just inexplicably know things – he could hear the conversation around him moving on.

“Hey, do you think that’s why they’re getting married? Maybe the idiot king knocked up his whore and now he’s gotta marry him!”

“I dunno, did Roche look pregnant at our last fight?”

Rinn nodded the slightest bit and Iorveth brain returned to static. Vernon. Pregnant. That – he hadn’t been aware that that was something he was emotionally invested in, but the storm of feelings racing through his veins proved that he was. He wanted – he wanted to see that, wanted to cause that, wanted to discover what Vernon’s cunt would be like and feel it stretched around him and–

He’d – he’d always assumed that Vernon had a cock, even though he wasn’t quite sure what a human cock looked like. But whenever he’d picture a different future – one where he could choose his own happiness over his cause – it hadn’t mattered that he didn’t know what a human cock looked like. His imagination was more than delighted to fill in whatever he wished, and coming up with different ideas was all that got him through the night at times. 

The idea of Vernon with a cunt was startling. It had never occurred to him before, and now he wondered how he could’ve possibly been so shortsighted. The things that he could do with Vernon’s cunt were limitless and Iorveth’s mind got stuck on that for probably far too long.

He was brought out of his daze by Rinn choking, wide eyes locked on his face. With sudden dread, he understood what she must have seen. What she must have realized.

Iorveth swallowed hard, jerking his head, “give me a proper report.” He turned to head back to his office without looking at her and he wasn’t sure if he was hoping she’d follow or that she wouldn’t.

(the rest under a cut to save your dash)

Isengrim/Eldain:

This is a fluffy bit from a get together fic set post-Reasons of State and we start with Isengrim mourning Dijkstra and Dijkstra’s betrayal.

There was a knock on his door and then Eldain’s voice spoke. “Isengrim? Um. I know you aren’t feeling great, but would you come with me for a bit?’

All of a sudden, then blankness fled under a wave of confusion and curiosity. “What?”

“I – um. I have something for you. But you gotta come with me for a bit. And if you don’t like it, I promise I will not get in the way of your grief, even if that means hiding out in here.” 

Eldain sounded nervous, of all things. Isengrim hadn’t actually known Eldain was capable of feeling nervous.

Why was he nervous?

Isengrim frowned at the door. He wasn’t exactly going to get an answer lying here. And maybe Eldain could keep him from thinking about Sigi and all the pain associated with him for a bit.

It was worth a shot. Besides, he’d come to rather like the other ex-commander quite a bit over the course of working together. Not that they hadn’t worked together before, but there had always been a formality dividing them. Eldain looked up to him, he knew that. Not that Eldain would ever say it, but it was the way Eldain looked at him. A soft regard that one could almost mistake for love, but was truly nothing more than hero worship. He’d seen the same look on the faces of all the young Scoia’tael, but from Eldain, it felt like the thorn of a rose – he hated it, knowing that Eldain would never feel the same, that he was destined to die alone and miserable and a beautiful young musician like Eldain could never be his. But at the same time, he coveted it, coveted Eldain’s regard, because even if it wasn’t what he wanted, it was something. 

He would give anything to have Eldain in his life in any form.

Swallowing hard, Isengrim rubbed his face, then opened the door. 

Eldain was on the other side of the door and his shoulders were slumped in defeat that quickly turned to confusion, one shoulder cocking upwards. 

“What?” Isengrim asked.

“I – no, I just. Thought you’d say no,” Eldain said awkwardly. 

“Does that mean you do want me to go with you somewhere or not?”

“Yeah!” Eldain shook himself, smiling at Isengrim, and it felt as though the sun had emerged from cloud cover, because instead of the nothingness-pain from before, now he felt – too much, really. And some of it hurt, but more of it was pleased to just bask in the rays of Eldain’s smile.

He was only half aware of following Eldain through the house, still a little dazed from the blinding light. But when Eldain came to a stop in front of a closed door, the world seemed to snap back into focus, and he looked to Eldain expectantly.

Eldain fidgeted, feet shuffling. “Um. Like – like I said, if you don’t like it, I won’t force you to stay, but um–” his adam’s apple bobbed and then Eldain opened the door and motioned for Isengrim to enter.

Isengrim took two steps through the doorway and froze. All around him, the room was lit up with dozens of little lights – some up high, some down low, others around his hips. Those ones on the floor guided him towards what looked like a raggedy old blanket draped over the wooden flooring.

“It’s not exactly a starlit picnic,” Eldain shrugged, setting down a basket he hadn’t even noticed Eldain was carrying, “but since we’re laying low, I figured this was as close as we could get.”

“I–” Isengrim was breathless, uncertain of what to say. Awe spread through him as he looked over the dozens of lights, each coming from candles in small lanterns that were hanging from the ceiling all over. He couldn’t think of any words to portray what this meant to him, what it meant that Eldain would go to all this trouble for him. So he was as surprised as Eldain when his mouth said, “isn’t this a fire hazard?”

Eldain rocked back as if he’d been hit, smile abruptly falling from his face.

“No,” Isengrim tried to recover, cursing himself. “I – this is amazing. Is. What I mean. Um. Am trying to say. I – you did this for me!?” If there was disbelief coloring his tone, it was only because he could hardly comprehend the idea of anyone going to so much trouble just to cheer him up.

Eldain’s jaw was clenched, and his expression was a neutral mask that Isengrim hated having put there. Why did he always hurt the people he cared for? Was he truly so tainted that anyone he touched was at risk of infection? Was simply being around him enough to ruin what could be an incredible life for a beautiful young musician like Eldain?

“You don’t have to stay,” Eldain murmured, and Isengrim felt like crying, uncertain whether he wanted to leave and spare Eldain the risk of contamination or if he wanted to stay and bask in this incredible gift that Eldain was giving him.

––

Never before had Eldain wished that Isengrim would leave his presence immediately. But if he stayed much longer, then it was entirely too likely that he would witness Eldain falling apart.

Eldain had always known his silly little crush would never go anywhere . He was even almost fine with that. But he’d thought – he’d thought that Isengrim at least considered him a friend. And yes, this whole production was a little over the top for friendship, but hey, Eldain was an over the top kind of guy.

There was always the possibility Isengrim would hate it. And he’d worried about that and fretted over it, but he hadn’t really expected it to happen. Even if Isengrim was uncomfortable, Eldain would’ve guessed that he’d be polite enough to grin and bear it. Which was far from ideal, but right now, Eldain really wished that he’d done that, because instead it felt like he’d reached into Eldain’s chest and ripped his still-beating heart out, leaving him bleeding and doomed.

“Thank you,” Isengrim said, and Eldain startled. Of all the words he’d expected, those were not even on his radar. 

“What?”

“Thank you. I – you clearly went to a lot of trouble to give me something beautiful. Thank you.” Isengrim said the words easily, and Eldain was confused. That… didn’t sound like Isengrim hated it. “So, what are we eating?”

Eldain’s smile grew slowly, but as Isengrim continued to look expectantly at him, he found that he couldn’t hold it back. He waved Isengrim towards the blanket – one probably as old as the house was, but all the good blankets were in use. “Bread and cheese. Fruit. Some veggies,” he narrated as he pulled the items out of the basket. “Wasn’t sure how much appetite you’d have, so I wanted to keep it light, but if you’re hungry, there’s still some venison in the storeroom.”

Isengrim looked at the objects laid out around them. “I – I don’t know what to say except thank you,” Isengrim said, a smile growing on his face that made Eldain’s heart beat fast. “This is very thoughtful and sweet.”

Eldain flushed, reaching into the basket to pull out the last item. “And, of course, some wine. It’s not exactly high quality, but we’re slumming it tonight anyway.”

The huff of laughter Isengrim let out made it feel like there were wings on his heart, letting it slowly rise. He’d made Isengrim happy. If that was all he ever did in life, he could be content with that.

Throne3 (Meve/Reynard/Gascon):

The porn tags for these 3 are sadly lacking, so... have some porn XD The premise here is that they’ve just escaped the Lyrian capital through the sewers and now they’re all washing off in the first river they came across.

They all knew what the venerable Count Reynard Odo was getting up to with Queen Meve upriver. But while the deserters from the Lyrian army and the Strays seemed content with gossiping about it, Gascon felt compelled to seek out more.

Sneaking past the guards ensuring their queen’s privacy with her boytoy even now was honestly pathetically easy. But then, they were probably used to looking the other way for their queen.

Gascon didn’t really know what he was planning, but he knew that he needed to see Meve in the throes of pleasure. The fierce and enchanting queen was currently being ‘serviced’ by her top aide and everybody knew it.

How could he possibly be expected to resist?

But instead of satisfying him, the view before him only made him crave more, because Meve and Reynard were standing about shin-deep in the water with him wrapped around her, hands stroking over her body as her head rested back against his shoulder.

But moreso than the picture they made, what truly drove Gascon over the edge was hearing Reynard tease his queen.

“So eager, your majesty,” Reynard murmured softly. “Could it be that the company of the ever so honorable Duke of Dogs,” his voice was heavily sarcastic, “has gotten you excited? Are you curious what that infuriatingly charming mouth would feel like against your skin?”

Meve arched as Reynard’s fingers skirted just short of touching her clit. “Reynard,” she growled.

Gascon wasn’t certain when his fingers had slipped inside his trousers, but the touch against his cock had him shuddering, already overwhelmed at the very idea that Meve could be fantasizing about him.

“Have you thought about pushing the arrogant bastard to his knees and showing him his place?” Reynard continued and Gascon bit his lip hard against a moan. “Have you pictured him, lips stretched around your widest strap, eyes tearing up from the effort of it?”

Meve whined softly, reaching up to tug Reynard into a kiss.

Gascon had never seen a filthier kiss in his life, and he stroked himself faster, picturing what he would do if he could join them. She may not have a strap handy to gag him on, but he was sure they could come to a compromise.

“Do you imagine him kneeling before you, begging for you?” Reynard rumbled and Gascon almost missed Meve’s sound over his own. Which meant that Reynard knew he was there when the Count continued, “I’ve no doubt the crass mutt is a marvel with his mouth.

Later, Gascon would claim that he spoke before he could even think about it, proclaiming, “I am.”

In reality, he spent a long moment contemplating how to respond. Getting caught spying on sex typically ended one of two ways: either you got invited to join in or you got beaten to a pulp.

He was fairly hopeful that the first option was more likely than the latter, but he wasn’t sure, and in the seconds of silence that followed his words, his heart pounded in his chest and pulse raced and he felt on the edge of either agony or elation.

“In that case,” Meve’s voice broke the quiet with all the firmness of having made a decision, “come pay homage to your queen, Gascon.”

Even though he’d hoped this was how things would go, he still felt utterly amazed that she had actually said yes. 

He stepped through the buses, trying not to look like he’d been caught with his hand down his pants. “Your Majesty,” he bowed his head with a playful smirk and then sent her a wink just to top it off.

Meve looked every bit the dignified queen as she held out a hand that should have held her signet ring. They had taken that from her when she’d been captured, but Gascon found himself licking his lips, taking her hand and kissing her ring finger as if he were a knight pledging her fealty.

Her gaze was hot on him as he slowly kissed up her arm, and unlike the two of them, he still wore his armor – which meant that he could pretend no one saw the way that his cock twitched when Reynard reached out and knocked his hat off, tangling fingers in his hair and pulling his face down into Meve’s chest.

Obediently, he applied himself to worshipping Meve’s tits, taking Reynard’s lead and only giving her glancing brushes across her nipples, denying her touch.

Meve growled in frustration, grabbing his hips and pulling him into her until the bulge of his cock rubbed over her pelvis. Her cunt greeted the contact with a gush of slick, staining Gascon’s pants and making him pant with arousal. 

“Fuck,” he gasped, grinding into her. She arched with a cry, fingers digging into his ass and Gascon desperately wished that there wasn’t a layer of fabric between his cock and that glorious cunt. But how could he pull away to fix that when his time could be better spent licking and sucking and biting at Meve’s glorious tits? Gods, they were beautiful, plump and sensitive, to the point that nipping at one nipple while squeezing her other tit was enough to make Meve’s body jerk, bucking into his hips as she utterly drenched his pants.

“Fuck,” he whimpered again, then dropped to his knees and buried his face in her cunt.

Thronebreaker Headcanons:

Okay, so as I’ve been getting to know Meve, Reynard, and Gascon and have started writing different plots with them, I’ve decided a few things. There’s going to be 1 universe of fics that falls under the “homophobia exists” universe that I talked about here. However, I know that’s not everyone’s boat and like, sometimes I just wanna write context-less porn, so definitely not all fics will! But I have several ideas already in that ‘verse, especially looking at the chronic pain Reynard has as a result of things.

So, specific to that ‘verse, one headcanon is that Reynard was whipped specifically for being queer and almost died from it. The wounds healed, but not... well, not the greatest. There wasn’t a lotta care taken with it. Which means that his back pains him A LOT and there’s a lotta things that he has to do different. For example, I’ve decided he sits in chairs like Riker does, keeping his back straight so that he doesn’t stretch the scar tissue. His range of motion is also limited in a lot of ways, but he’s found ways to compensate and hide it over the years. (just as an FYI, Riker sits like that, ‘cause Frakes had a back injury and doing that was less painful)

Okay, now WITHOUT the homophobia that led to chronic pain - I’ve decided that each of the Throne3 need to have a niche hobby that occupies them in their limited spare time (developed with much help from @moonlights-ordinance​). Sooooo:

Meve:

Meve likes sewing. She doesn’t like people to know she likes sewing, because it’s closer to a traditionally ‘feminine’ than she usually aims for, but she actually really enjoys it. 

On their journey, this comes out when Gascon’s shirt gets ripped and when he complains about it a lot, she just grabs it and mends it. This leads to her spending the evenings mending all the different clothing from the soldiers and the Strays.

I think she learned sewing from her father and he taught it to her in an attempt to get her to just sit still for five fucking minutes!! 

Not directly related to sewing, but because her mother was busy being queen, she was largely raised by her father, who was an Ofieri Marquis (like, 2nd level nobility, under a duke) whose family paid a substantial sum in order to win the match. He was not popular at court and therefore found himself largely shunned by the peerage, but it left him with basically all of his time to devote to his children. (Does... does Meve have sisters?? Queen Kalis supposedly bore several girls???)

Reynard:

Reynard likes to crochet. Specifically, he likes to crochet little plushies. He’s not too picky about what he makes, and whoever is in range when he finishes it will likely end up gifted with an unexpected plushie.

At one point, he finished making a stingray, only for a passing soldier to dub it a Sting-Rey. Thus, Lieutenant Sting Rey was born. The troops listen to Lt. Sting Rey better than they listen to General Odo lmao.

He has a habit of crocheting in the evenings in the mess (maybe with Meve mending nearby) and random soldiers (and Strays) like to sit around his feet so that when he finishes a lil plush, they might get it. And when he starts a new one, he might take requests.

I could say so much more about the plushies he makes for Gascon and Meve, but I guess I’ll save that for a fic. But I gotta share these pics, ‘cause they’re so fucking cute. So: a donkey for Gascon (’cause he’s an ass) and a Lyrian eagle for Meve (’cause it’s Lyrian lol).

Gascon:

Gascon likes dancing! Specifically, he was trained in ballet from a young age (like literally a year old is when you start, apparently) and was trained as a ballerina (meaning he will be lifted/led instead of doing the lifts/leading). By the time he ended up on the streets at 12 (8 in canon, but my guy needs to at least be 20), he was pretty damn good at it - and so he ended up teaching the Strays

The Strays have a ballet troupe that puts on performances for the gang on occasion as like, a bonus to music night or something. Semi-spontaneous and very fun.

Gascon is SCARY flexible (like, to the point that Reynard is a little horrified that the human body can do that) from dance and he definitely uses that to his advantage.

He 100% gets everyone to dress up all fancy and put on makeup and do their hair and shit. After all, they steal all this fancy shit from the nobles - why SHOULDN’T they enjoy it?

And there you have it! Sorry for the super long post, but also... enjoy?

#rorveth #isendain #throne3 #iorveth x roche #isengrim x eldain #meve x reynard x gascon #thronebreaker #the witcher #wip wednesday #fic planning

[azulirawrites]

Favors of A. Blight ch 3

Rating: T

Word Count: 2,927 (2,910 excluding parentheticals)

Contains: Description of Panic attack and associated thoughts, starting in the second paragraph, mention of death

Edric awoke suddenly, with nothing but a sharp intake of breath. He let his eyes remain closed and relaxed his breathing as he strained his ears. Closest to him, he could hear Emira, still asleep, and took comfort in her presence. Then, just beyond Emira, he could hear Amity’s light snoring. He was half-tempted to summon his scroll so he could record it, and finally prove to her that she did indeed snore, but he quickly dismissed the idea. Then, he heard someone he didn’t recognize, mumbling sleepily. He dared to open eyes, and his breath caught in his throat.

(Warning, depiction of a panic attack in the next six paragraphs)

This wasn’t his room. This wasn’t the manor. Judging by the noises from outside, they weren’t even in Bonesborough, or any city, for that matter. His thoughts began to race, imagining any number of scenarios that could be going. He clenched his eyes shut, and tried to will his breathing to calm. But it wouldn’t, and he could feel his breath escaping in bursts. His eyes hurt, even as he squeezed them shut even tighter, and his ears were ringing and his throat hurt because he couldn’t control his breath. He couldn’t breathe, even though he knew he had to be breathing because he could hear it, he could feel it in his throat but it didn’t matter because he couldn’t breathe and he was going to pass out, or possibly-

“Edric,” a voice. He recognized the voice. It was Emira. She was close. He reached out to her and grabbed. He could feel his heart beating rapidly, and he was sure Emira could too. His face flushed; ashamed. Here they were in an unfamiliar building, and he was useless. Just like mother warned him. He was useless and he couldn’t even do anything to protect his sisters and they were gonna- “Edric, breathe!” Emira said.

“I’m trying!” he wanted to yell, but what came out was more of a mangled gasp. Couldn’t she tell he was doing his best! Even though his best wasn’t good enough, he was trying! He felt something warm running down his face.He couldn’t even fake being alright? Emira was still talking, but he couldn’t hear the words, even though she was right there. She was drowned out by his ragged breathing and the ringing in his ears!

Suddenly, there was someone else at his side; he refused to open his eyes, but he could feel their presence there. He gripped Emira tighter. There was a hand on his shoulder. He clenched his fists, and he swung. And a pained grunt broke through the ringing in his ears and his ragged breathing. He chanced to open his eyes, and saw… Luz? They got Luz too? And she was holding her arm over her stomach? He’d hit Luz? He hadn’t meant to. Luz was nice, he didn’t want to hurt her. More tears slipped down his face.

“Edric,” Luz’s voice managed to cut through, and she was looking at him. “Can you see me?” Of course he could see her! He nodded. “Good. What’s something else you can see?” He looked around, and his eyes landed on Emira. He lifted the arm he was grasping. “Good. Can you focus on Emira while I look through my stuff for something?” He nodded, and turned to look more fully towards his twin, seeing the worry in her eyes. He felt the shame rise in his cheeks. She was worried about him because he couldn’t handle himself. What kind of brother was he? He gripped her tighter as he tried again to get his breathing under control.It was still ragged, but it didn’t hurt as much as it had.

Luz returned, and placed something in his hand, “It’s a fidget cube,” Luz explains, and Edric turns his attention to it. It’s… certainly cube shaped, for the most part. He regards it wearily, moving his thumb on a circular pad on one of the faces, noting that it moved with his thumb. “Can you focus on it for me? See what it does?” He nodded, and focused on the cube as best he could, using his thumb and fingers to manipulate the various sides.

(Descriptions relating to panic attack over)

A few moments later, he realized he wasn’t breathing as hard, and his ears weren’t ringing. His throat and eyes still hurt, and there were still a few tears washing down his face, but he could breathe. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Emira and Luz both hugged him, “Edric what was that?” his sister asked, “Are you okay? You’ve never done that before.”

“I don’t know,” he says, even though he wants to tell her that he’s never had something that bad before.

“I think you had a panic attack?” Luz said, and he turned to her. Emira did too, judging by how she suddenly looked between the two, “It’s a thing, in the Human Realm. My mom gets them sometimes. She says having something physical to focus on and work with helps her with them, and sometimes that’s ADHD toys, or a stress ball, and she also has a mantra that helps. But I happened to find that in some of the junk Eda’s been collecting from trash slugs.” With an exaggerated gag, Edric dropped the toy, causing Luz and Emira to laugh. “Don’t worry,” Luz said, “I made sure to scrub it totally clean! I think I might have used more soap on it than on Hooty last month.”

“That just makes me worry about how clean Hooty is,” Emira joked.

“We try, but,” Luz shuddered, and changed the subject, “Anyway, getting some food and drink will also help, Ed.  So let me wake Amity-”

“I’m awake,” the girl in the blanket burrito said, “but somebody,” Edric knew that if Amity were facing them, she’d be glaring at him and Emira,  “trapped me.”

“Right,” Luz said, “I’ll help with that, and then we’ll go see about breakfast.”

Luz was able to unwrap Amity, and managed to keep her from much more than glaring at the twins as they all got ready to head downstairs. A cursory glance in the living room revealed only King, curled up on the couch, and Hooty missing from the door. Edric was curious about that, but noticed Luz shuddered at the hole and turned away. Better not to ask, he assumed.

Instead, Luz led them to the kitchen, where the group discovered Eda tiredly mixing something in a cauldron. “Morning kids,” she greeted with a yawn.

"Morning Eda!" Luz beamed, "Where did Lilith and Hooty go?"

Eda was silent for a moment, mixing her potion, before she responded, "I'm thinking about expanding the Owl House, so I sent Hooty out with Lilith a few hours ago so he could shop around at the construction coven. Because for SOME reason he doesn't trust me to make the expansions any more."

"Expansions? I thought the Owl House was just… like this?" Luz questioned.

"House demons don't usually take to expansions well," Edric commented, "Is Hooty different?"

"I'd need more hands if I was gonna list how Hooty's different," Eda commented, "but you're right that house demons don't usually like expansions. But it's not because they prefer growing naturally or anything. It's because most witches only care for what they want, not what the house demon wants. Design, functionality, floor plans, even what materials are used. That ends up choking the house demon until they decide to just tear down the offending bit."

"That's," Luz commented, "kind of sad."

"Yeah. It's why house demons are a lot less popular now. Most witches don't know anything about compromise. All you have to do is work with and trust your house demon, and they'll be more than happy to let you expand them."

"Most house demons also can't remove themselves from the house without dying?" Edric questioned curiously. Eda gestured towards the living room, the hole in the door clearly visible. "I mean, how is it Hooty can just leave, when most house demons can't?"

"Hooty has experience and I have know-how," Eda commented, "There's a reason they call me the most powerful witch on the Boiling Isles.How come you know so much about house demons anyway?"

Edric felt his face heat up as he mumbled his answer, “I’ve been looking at them for when I get my own place.”

“Huh,” Eda commented, “Didn’t expect that. Well, tell you what, if Hooty ends up meeting a nice shack, I’ll tell you where they leave the egg.” Eda laughed, and Edric cracked a small smile at the offer

(Line Break)

Lilith was tired. Well, that wasn’t exactly true; she and Eda had each whipped up an invigorating potion to make up for the night of lost sleep, so she was more than awake. She was just processing. There was… a lot to process. Hooty seemed to recognize this; he’d draped himself over her shoulders, and seemed to be doing his best to comfort her. She patted his head, and decided to make idle conversation, “What kind of rooms are you thinking about getting, Hootsifer?”

“At least four bedrooms, and a bathroom. And a library! Luz and the angry one like books, and I’ve always wanted to be a smart, sophisticated house! Or I could play up my fun loving nature and get a rec room! Or an indoor pool!”

“Those all sound quite lovely,” she placed her hand on his hand and patted him gently, “but an outdoor pool would attract more bugs, don’t you think?”

Hooty gasped, “You’re so smart Lulu! It would be like a stew and I could drink it whenever!” She laughed, and continued to pet her friend for a while, until they arrived at a shop operated by the Construction Coven.

“What can I do you for?” Asked the burly witch behind the counter.

“Good morning ma’am,” Lilith greeted, “My sister is looking to expand her home. Have you by chance heard of the Owl House?”

“Heard of it?” The witch guffawed, “The place is a legend in the Construction Coven! No one knows who built it, or how they managed to get one of the most violent house demons known to witch kind to cooperate!”

“I’m not that violent!” Hooty complained, causing the witch, who likely hadn’t realized Hooty was more than an accessory, to scream. “I’m a caring and gentle soul!”

“You’re the Owl House house demon?” the witch seemed afraid, and was backing away from them.

“Yep! I’m Hooty! And this,” he took a moment to wrap Lilith in a hug, “is my best friend, Lulu!”

“Pleasure to meet you,” the witch managed to stutter out, “but it's a coven policy we don’t do work on house demons.” The witch let out a nervous laugh, “Sorry about that.”

“Ah, but I thought you guys wanted to know all about me!” Hooty complained, drooping.

“Yes,” Lilith said, hiding a smirk as an idea presented itself, “It really is a shame they’ll never learn the secret to working on house demons. Especially ones that want at least six new rooms, and a pool. It’s a shame to think we’ll have to keep all that knowledge, and money, to ourselves. I imagine all that could put someone in line for coven head.”

“I know you’re playing me,” the witch acknowledged, timidly, “but you’re right.” The witch, reluctantly, began to guide them around the story. They spent, by Lilith’s count, at least two hours in the store, talking about different woods and stones, with a promise that the witch would come by that afternoon to begin the actual project.

In another hour, following a quick stop at one of the new chain-restaurants that had been popping up recently,  they returned to the Owl House, the mid-morning sun shining brightly. “Could you get the door?” Lilith asked, gesturing with her head, as her arms were occupied by a number of sacks, and at least one box. She hoped she had gotten enough food for breakfast. Hooty obliged, opening the door, before grabbing a number of sacks from her with his beak, extending towards the kitchen.

Carefully, she sat down what she still carried, and removed the backpack Hooty resided in, setting it on the floor. She picked up what she still had to carry, and made her way to the kitchen as Hooty returned. She did her best to ignore the sounds behind her, closing the door to the living room once she made it through.

She was greeted by everyone’s faces, as she entered, save Eda who was focused intently on downing her apple blood.’Good morning,” she greeted.

“Yeah yeah, it’s morning. Are we going to eat already?” King responded before anyone else, and Lilith sighed.

“Of course, King,” Lilith said, placing the box on the table and opening it to reveal a large assortment of pastries, most of which had a notable yellow filling.

“Oooh!” called King, “Slitherbeast claws!” as he scampered across the table to grab two of the paw shaped treats.He held them up in either hand, and let out a roar. Lilith noted, as did King judging by his “Weh?” that everyone else at the table blanched. Thankfully, after a moment, Luz let out a small laugh, which seemed to satisfy the young demon.

When King had made his way back to his seat, Emira spoke, “We aren’t normally allowed sweets for breakfast.”

“Since when has that stopped us?” Edric asked, having already absconded with a number of tarts.

“Since it’s being allowed,” she said, looking carefully at Lillith. Edric, for what it was worth, put down the tart he had just been about to bite into, though kept it in front of him.

“Emira’s right,” Amity said, making a quick show of disgust at the words, “Our parents would never allow this.”

“That’s what makes this sweeter,” Edric replied, before Lilith could get a word in. He took a bite, adding, “Besides, it’s thornberry!”

“Doesn’t this strike you as a little odd?” Emira almost pleaded with her brother.

“Yeah,” he answered, “Dad sent us out in the middle of a boiling rain storm, to have us stay overnight, at the house of two of the formerly most wanted-”

“Hey!” Eda attempted to interrupt, though didn’t manage to stop Edric’s speech.

“-individuals in the Boiling Isles, with not so much as a message from Mom since yesterday morning. So yeah, it’s a little odd.” There was a small bite to Edric’s voice, and it was apparently unusual, judging by how both Emira and Amity reacted to it, “So let’s just enjoy some pastries before the other shoe drops. Please.”

“Is Edric right?” Emira asked, turning to Lilith, who weighed her two choices in her mind. Either say yes, and risk freaking out Emira, Amity, and possibly Luz, or saying no, and making it hurt more later.

“Yeah, mostly.” Eda made the decision for her, “Except I’m still topping the wanted charts.” Lilith noted Emira looking to Edric, and then Amity, with concern, before wordlessly grabbing a few pastries for herself. Amity followed her siblings’ lead, and then so did Luz, leaving Eda and Lilith to split the rest, as Lilith took her own seat at the table.

The breakfast passed slowly in the silence, and there was an unmistakable tension in the room. King finished first, and Lilith noted that he was exceptionally quick to leave the room. Luz finished next, followed by Eda, and then Edric, Emira and Amity. Lilith set down her remaining pastry. “There has been some… upsetting news.” When the children all remained silent, even Luz. “Luz, could you go make sure King isn’t getting into anything?”

“No,” Amity refused, quickly grabbing Luz by the arm as she tried to stand, “Please, stay.” Wordlessly, Luz sat back down, gripping Amity’s hand in an attempt to comfort her.

“Very well,” Lilith said, “Right… Last night, your father sent you to us, even though it was a rather brutal rain storm. “ Emira was the first one to nod in acknowledgement, followed by Edric. “And there was a reason for that.”

After a moment of silence, Eda spoke, “Odalia saw that there was going to be an attack at the manor yesterday.” Lilith almost spoke up, but Eda continued after giving the children a second to digest the news, “She didn’t think you guys were gonna get hurt, but she didn’t want to risk it, so she had Alador send you kids somewhere no one would think to look for you.”

“Oh,” the twins managed to chorus, and Lilith noted Amity squeezing Luz’s hand tightly as she tried to keep her expression neutral.

Lilith picked up the silence, “This morning, I passed the manor. The wards had been undone, and… there were already guards and members of the Oracle coven investigating.” It was silent, as the children stared at her with the almost blank looks that Lilith knew meant ‘Please don’t say what you’re going to say.’ But it was too late now. “Your father…. Wasn’t found in the building’s remains.” What went unspoken, but very clearly heard, was that their mother had been.

“Excuse me,” Amity said, her voice barely holding together, before she got up from the table and ran back to the room she and her twins had spent the previous night in. The twins followed suit, leaving only Lilith, Eda, and Luz at the table. After a small eternity, Luz said, “I’m going to go check on them.”

#Favors of A. Blight #owl house #the owl house #toh #fanfic #Alador Blight #Emira Blight #Edric Blight #Amity Blight #Lilith Clawthorne #Eda Clawthorne #Luz Noceda #CW: Panic attack #CW: Death #sorry if the formatting is weird #tumblr is being difficult

[justfandomwritings]

She’s Got A Friend (Bucky Barnes)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 9.9k

Warnings: Fluff, Angst and nongraphic “off page” minor character deaths 

Summary: Happy endings are a matter of perspective. At some point in every story, there will always be some glorious, shining moment of hope, love, redemption, success. No good story is complete without it.

And if you end the story then, if you end it on a high, you can almost forget that anything came after that.

Notes: Hospital AU for @captainscanadian​ 1k follower writing challenge! I have taken the “Hospital” in hospital AU rather liberally to mean a field hospital in WW2. I thought I’d try a bit of a different writing style for this. Let me know what you think.

The condolences came in the mail only a few days after the official notification arrived on her doorstep from the mouth of some general or another.

She didn’t bother to remember the man’s name, and why should she? He wouldn’t remember her brother’s, let alone hers.

It was hard to stem the tide of her anger in the face of a man so visibly faking his sympathy for her pain. It was harder still to unleash her anger on him; she pitied him almost as much as he faked pitying her. It was just before sunset, and she was his sixteenth stop of the day, with a further 5 to go before he got off that night.

She imagined that, at some point, months ago, he had cared. He had sympathized and cried with grieving widows and orphaned children. No doubt, he had written them letters and checked on their wellbeing, asked after their emotions and made sure they were well. No more. He’d grown numb to the pain his presence inflicted, and with it less sympathetic to the plight of those around him.

By the time he reached her door, by the time he said “Ma’am, we have received word that your brother’s plane was shot down over Occupied France last week. His body has been recovered from the wreckage and will be on route home at the earliest possible date,” to her, he didn’t mean the “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this news. Your brother died a hero, and if there is anything I can do to ease your pain, it would be my honor to do so in his memory,” that followed.

The nameless general had never met her brother. He called every soldier a hero when he met their families, whether it was true or not. If they asked him about how their loved one died, or if they began to cry on his shoulder, he had a practiced speech about how their son or brother or husband had died fighting, died bravely, died to save the lives of millions, died to protect them all.

(Y/n) knew all of that because, even though she didn’t remember his name, she remembered his face. They’d met before. It wasn’t the first time he’d knocked on her door. He was the same general who had come to inform her of her father’s tragic end a few months prior. The general hadn’t remembered her father’s name either, nor hers.

She didn’t bother to point out their association to the man. She thanked him for his service and left him standing on her front step as a door closed in his face.

It was easier for both of them that way.

The letter that came from her brother’s commanding officer was more heartfelt, (Y/n) assumed, but she didn’t read it.

“Ms. (Y/n), By now you have no doubt received word of your brother’s tragic end. Selfishly, I am glad that I was not the one who had to inform you. Your brother was a flying ace in my squadron and a good friend. Retrieving his body brought me to tears for far longer than my commanding officers would like me to admit…”

That was as far as she read. Her brother was dead. They had his body. She was numb to everything else, as numb as the general who showed up at her door, as numb as her brother’s corpse in the grave.

She couldn’t feel, couldn’t think, couldn’t speak.

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(Y/n) walked into the hospital the next day and handed in her resignation. She was just the next in a long line.

Dorothy had resigned the week before. Her husband had been killed in North Africa. She could no longer afford to live in New York, not that cost of living was at the front of her mind. She was moving back South with her two children, both under 5 years old, to live with her aging parents.

Vera had gotten married to a hotshot factory owner and resigned to plan her wedding. The rest of the ward had scorned her as she trotted out with her chin held high and a smirk on her face. She’d never done the work because she loved it like the rest of them, and she had no qualms about letting them all know it.

Ruth was on her way out the door in a week. She was following her husband to England where he’d be training pilots at an RAF airfield. Normally, that sort of thing wouldn’t be allowed, wives being stationed with their husbands. Ruth, however, was a pretty good mechanic and often worked on her husbands planes in her free time, and without any children to worry about, the Army was really getting two for the price of one.

Juanita’s departure had no doubt hit the hardest. With so many men dying overseas, crime on the home front had been virtually forgotten. Juanita’s son brought it back to life. Too weak to be enlisted in the army, her son had taken up work at the docks that he never would’ve been physically qualified for if not for all the men being drafted. Three weeks on the job, he was mugged by a group of drunken sailors out for their last night of freedom. He died in the hospital with his mother only a few doors down in a different wing.

The most senior nurse on staff, Juanita used to run the ward, but after her son died in the building, she couldn’t even look at the hospital anymore.

“(Y/n),” Mary sighed and scrubbed the heel of her palm into her eyes to try to wipe away the sleep. “We’re short staffed already.”

There was a begging to her tone, and any other day the pain etched across her face would’ve been enough to convince (Y/n) to stay. Mary was her friend, by some accounts her best friend.

“I know Mary, and I’m sorry. I just can’t stay here anymore. I can’t walk past my brother’s room. I can’t ride down the streets my brother and I used to play in. I can’t go in the shop he used to own. I just can’t.”

Mary swallowed hard; when she spoke the lump in her throat became more apparent with each word. “I understand that you’re in pain, but this hospital…”

“That’s just it,” (Y/n) cut her off, slipping into the seat across the desk from her friend. She’d refused to sit when she first came to see Mary, hoping to be in and out quickly, but not now. “I don’t feel anything, Mary. I can’t look at his room because I know I should be heartbroken. I can’t travel down the street because I know I should be in pain. I can’t go in his shop because I know I should be crying. But I’m not. I don’t feel hurt or worried or upset. I don’t feel anything; I’m just numb.”

“Numb?” Mary furrowed her brow. “You’re leaving because you think you should be in more pain?”

“I’m leaving because I loved my brother, because I should be feeling something, but I’m not. I feel nothing, and that scares me even more.”

“Where will you go?”

“I don’t know yet. Somewhere I will feel something.”

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

Her brother had been Air Force, but her father had been Army.

She couldn’t bring herself to go to one of the Air Force’s recruiting offices. Part of her was worried she would have an emotional breakdown speaking to the men in charge. A larger part of her was worried she would feel nothing at all, a sign she was heading in the wrong direction.

The Army felt safer. She hadn’t been numb to her father’s death. She’d cried and mourned, and though the thought still overwhelmed her with sadness, she knew she would one day move on. About her brother, (Y/n) didn’t know what to think.

“What experience do you have?”

(Y/n) found herself sat in front of some captain or another responsible for organizing the Army Nursing Corps. He looked bored with her; she doubted managing a bunch of women was what he’d had in mind when he joined the war.

“I’ve worked at Wyckoff Heights Hospital on St. Nicholas in Brooklyn for eight years. I have copies of all of my reviews that show exemplary performance and no reprimands on record.”

The man took the stack of papers from her hand and began flipping through them. He stared at each of them for a long time, occasionally giving a ‘hm’ or ‘huh’ to show that he was thinking.

(Y/n) noticed after two pages that he wasn’t actually reading. His eyes weren’t moving from where they looked thoughtfully at the center of the page, and the noises of contemplation came randomly, even on pages that wouldn’t require much consideration.

(Y/n) turned away from the show to glance around the room. To the left was a door to the waiting rooms. Occasionally, when it swung open she could see the rows of shirtless men waiting for their number to be called up for evaluation. There didn’t appear to be many seats open.

She wondered, to herself, how many of them would be accepted, how many of those would make it back alive.

There were family members milling around the hall. A young woman was already weeping near the exit, and she hadn’t even been rejoined by the man she was waiting for. One of the doctors, (Y/n) assumed the portly, greying man was not one of the recruits, was trying his best to comfort her, but he didn’t seem to be having much success.

For the overwhelming number of men waiting to be evaluated and find a place in this war, there were a surprisingly few number of nurses. (Y/n) hadn’t been shown to any waiting room. There was a bench in the half she’d first entered with half a dozen or so women occupying it when she arrived. By the time her name was finally called only two more had come in behind her. The recruiters desk was in a notch in the hallway, not even its own room. The women were forced to state their credentials and make their case with no privacy to his judgments.

At least a dozen of the people milling around, including the old man and young woman by the door, could hear what was being said to her.

The man snapped her file closed with sharp flip of his wrist. “On your application, you’ve marked that you’d like to be assigned to a field hospital. I’m assuming you know nothing about the war. Field Hospitals are on the frontlines, girl.”

“I’m aware.” (Y/n) smoothly replied.

He raised an eyebrow, but none of his other features changed. (Y/n) couldn’t tell if it was condescension or confusion. “Are you now? The nurses in Field Hospitals are shot at almost as much as the soldiers. You think the Germans will spare you because you have a pretty face?”

“I don’t expect to be spared by anyone.”

His grilling was catching eyes from those milling around.

“And why would a girl like you want to find herself on the front lines?”

“I just want this war to end with as little bloodshed as possible. Helping where the men need it most seems like a good start.”

“Excuse me, ma’am.”

German.

(Y/n)’s eyes whipped around, as did many others in the hallway. There was a German here.

“My name is Dr. Erskine,” He proclaimed, more quietly this time, “I may have a job for you.”

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Erskine didn’t try to replace her father.

He offered a guiding hand out of the goodness of his heart. He offered a shoulder to cry on because he could see she hadn’t yet grieved. He offered insight, advice, from the wisdom of his own experience.

Erskine wasn’t trying to replace her father, and yet he did so many things she wished her father was there to do.

He offered her a job because he could see she wanted to find her purpose. He put her up in the barracks because he knew she needed space from her past. He accompanied her on walks at night to keep her nightmares at bay. He filled her waking hours with work when she needed distraction and took the load away when it became too much.

Erskine didn’t try to replace her father. No one could ever replace her father. He was a good substitute though. In times as dark as those, family was what she needed.

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He reminded her of her brother.

That was the first thought that came to (Y/n)’s mind when she met Steve Rogers.

Her brother was younger than her by two years, and as a child he’d always been the smaller of the pair. For most of their childhood, her brother could barely reach her shoulder. Stretching his arms as wide as he could, he’d be lucky if his reach went from (Y/n)’s wrist to wrist. Short and scrawny, he’d not caught up to his sister’s size until he was a teen, but once he’d caught up, there was no looking back.

Steve reminded her of him. The size, for one thing, was an unmistakable similarity, but there was an air to Steve, an air of familiarity that made her feel at home. Every time she looked at him, she saw her baby brother. Not the strong, handsome man he was when he died, but the fearless, young boy she wished he would’ve stayed forever.

She monitored the health of all of Erskine’s candidates in the Strategic Scientific Reserve, but she couldn’t deny she paid special attention to Steve.

They all paid special attention to Steve.

Erskine liked his sense of justice. His conscience oozed out of his every pore. No one had ever argued with Steve and been right about it. They were talking about making a superhero here, and yet there was a very real sense amongst them that Steve already had a superpower: always doing the right thing.

Peggy had an immediate fondness for him. He was determined, beyond belief, and she admired that spark in him that refused to be snuffed out. He knew, in his heart, what he believed, and he was more than willing to die for it. Peggy was too.

Only the Colonel, Chester Phillips, doubted Erskine’s decision. He paid special attention to Steve, but he did so only as a foil. He liked to compare Steve to other men in the camp, men he’d chosen for the project, rather than the one Erskine had brought on. “Brown is stronger,” or  “Donalds is faster,” were common phrases in his office.

In truth, they were all stronger. They were all faster. On paper, any one of them would’ve made a better super soldier than Stever Rogers.

“That’s what Phillps does not understand,” Erskine told her one day while they worked in his lab. “It isn’t about what’s on paper. It’s about what’s in his heart.”

“So it’s going to be Steve?” (Y/n) asked.

Erskine nodded. “Do you agree?”

(Y/n) hesitated. She didn’t want to blindly agree with the accolade simply because he reminded her of her brother. She also didn’t want to naively dismiss it to save him the risk because he reminded her of her brother.

She knew Steve Rogers; she would like to think she knew him well. They were friends. Yet the more she got to know him the more she saw her brother in him. That chest cold that wouldn’t go away when her brother was eight, the fight he lost with a boy who’d made a lewd joke about her skirt, the way he’d adamantly stood up for their father’s memory as a soldier; their kind hearted mother teaching him to temper his words.

She knew Steve Rogers well, and the more she knew him the more she saw him as her brother. The more she saw him as her brother, the more she knew he had to do this. He needed to do this.

“I agree.”

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“Steve, you may as well ask her out. If you’re going to spend this much time ogling her, she at least deserves dinner out of it.”

Steve’s face turned as red as the apple she was chewing, and (Y/n) couldn’t hold in her smirk.

“I-I wasn’t…” Steve glanced over his shoulder, checking that Peggy wasn’t within earshot of (Y/n)’s ribbing.

“It’s all right, Steve. I won’t tell her, but you really should.”

Steve shook his head, definitively turning his back to Peggy. “Please, my entire life girls like that have passed me by.”

(Y/n) rested a hand on Steve’ shoulder. “Your entire life girls who look like that have passed you by, but Peggy isn’t like those girls. If you don’t ask her out, you’ll never give her a chance to prove it.”

Steve chuckled and looked off into the sky. “My friend said something like that to me about this girl, Maria, not long before he left for the front.”

“And did you listen to him?”

“No,” Steve admitted. “He was the one the girls always passed me by for.”

“Well, did he ask them out?” (Y/n) chuckled.

Steve hesitated a second before saying, “Yes.”

“Then that’s why they passed you by. Your friend sounds like he has a good head on his shoulders. You should listen to him.”

Steve gave (Y/n) a fond smile. “You remind me a lot of him. It’s easier, having you here.”

“It’s easier having you here too.”

(Y/n) didn’t know if that was true, but she was starting to think it might be. She was starting to feel something. Steve was helping her remember the good times with her brother, before the Army and the War. Back when they were just two kids in Brooklyn.

She missed him.

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Erskine. Gone.

Would this war take everyone from her?

(Y/n) kneeled in a pool of his blood, his body splayed out in front of her.

She’d dedicated years of her life to Erskine’s work. She’d dedicated time, money, opportunities. She’d dedicated everything she had and more. Gone.

His work was gone. Erskine was gone.

He was her friend, her family; and he was gone.

She summoned a tear, more than one.

They came slowly at first and then spiralled uncontrollably. Sobs racked her body as she gripped at his hand.

Someone tried to help her up, but she didn’t want up.

Vaguely, she recognized Stark’s voice. He was calling out to her.

“(Y/n), he’s gone.”

Yes, she already knew he was gone. What good was all of his genius when he could only state the obvious.

What good was all of her years in a hospital, all of her years of training, if she couldn’t save a life when it mattered, the one life that mattered.

It felt like hearing her father was gone again.

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They were taking Steve too, as if she had anything left to give.

“Phillips would just as soon send me home. I’m just a lab rat to him.” Steve spat the word out in disgust. “That’s all I am, an experiment, Erskine’s experiment. They wanted an army, but they got me.”

“That’s all you are to him.” (Y/n) quietly corrected.

“And what am I to everyone else?” Steve turned on her, his eyes as red as hers were. “What am I to you?”

“His legacy,” she answered immediately.

She’d been thinking about it a lot. Erskine had been dead for two days, and all she’d been thinking about was him and Steve and the little family she’d made for herself at Lehigh. Erskine the father, Steve her brother, Peggy her sister, even Phillips, the grumpy uncle who didn’t want to be in the picture.

What did it all mean?

“You are his legacy. If you were any other soldier you’d be just another experiment, but you’re not. You’re Steve Rogers. Erskine chose you. You carry on his legacy; you carry on his work.”

“And how am I supposed to do that?” Steve asked in a desperate tone. He slumped onto the bench and let his head fall into his hands.

“I don’t know Steve,” (Y/n) sat down next to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “That’s for you to figure out. You don’t have to know now. No one’s expecting you to know now, but when you do piece it together, I’ll be waiting.”

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“Stark says you’re going to have your pick.”

Steve was lying on his back next to (Y/n), tossing a ball in the air and catching it repeatedly with a satisfying thunk as it hit his palm.

A few weeks ago, he wouldn’t have been able to catch it once. He had all of the coordination of a newborn foal and would’ve whacked himself, or her, in the face the first time he tried to throw it.

It reminded her, again, of her brother. After his growth spurt, when he finally caught up to her, passed her, when he got tall and filled out. The girls started to notice him; the guys started to respect him.

“That’s what they tell me.”

“Any Allied hospital in Europe…” Steve stopped tossing the ball and glanced over at her, “Know where you’re going to go?”

(Y/n) didn’t meet his gaze. She kept her eyes on a cloud floating by overhead. “I hadn’t really thought about it,” She confessed. “When I applied, when Erskine took me in, I was planning on going to the frontlines.”

“You don’t have to now.” Steve rolled onto his stomach and watched her expressions carefully. “You could go to the evacuation hospitals or England…”

“Would you?”

“What?”

“Would you go to the frontlines? If they let you?” (Y/n) asked. She already knew the answer, but she needed to ask.

“You know I would,” Steve admitted.

“Then that’s where I’ll go.” She’d joked, when Erskine was still alive, that Steve’s real superpower was always doing the right thing. If he’d go to the front, then that’s where she’d be, waiting for him to find his way.

(Y/n) met Steve’s eye finally. “You said your friend was in the 107th?”

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It was only about a month before (Y/n) was running the field hospital attached to the 107th.

They sent mostly inexperienced girls out to the frontline. Supposedly, it was an easy job. They didn’t have time for complex treatment or procedures, so in theory, it was all triage and wound treatment. They claimed anyone with a little bit of training could handle it.

Early on when the fighting had just begun she imagined there might have been some truth to that claim, but as the war slogged on, it wasn’t so simple anymore. Every soldier had some kind of injury. The Army couldn’t afford to send everyone with more than a bump or bruise back from the frontline to an evacuation hospital. There wasn’t the time, manpower, money.

The field hospitals were overflowing with infected wounds, illness, bullet holes, broken bones, and there weren’t enough experienced nurses to go around. Not only did they lack the know-how, many of the inexperienced nurses were just young woman, some girls even, who didn’t properly know what they’d signed up for. They were shaken by the crack of every bullet, the boom of every grenade, the scream of every dying man.

(Y/n) had a sneaking suspicion that the real reason the Nurses Corps didn’t send out any of their trained nurses was that they want to risk their better nurses dying on the frontlines.

(Y/n) had watched a stray bullet tear through the chest of a young girl named Lydia only a week into her time with the 107th. She’d been reliably told by another nurse that Lydia was the fifth to die so far that year.

The second most experienced girl in (Y/n)’s unit had been a midwife for a few years before she shipped out, not exactly a skill that was necessary in an army full of men, but it came with some transferable knowledge. Her name was Maria, and it only took a few weeks before she was happily handing over the reins.

“They’re bringing in a batch of men from the front,” Maria reported to (Y/n). “Nothing serious, a couple broken bones. They took a fall to avoid a grenade; I’m told.”

(Y/n) motioned for Beverly and Viola at the other end of the tent. “We need to clean down some beds.” (Y/n) turned to Maria, “Did they say how many?”

“Not exactly, but I think it was only a few.”

(Y/n) only had a few beds to spare anyhow. There were a dozen cots set up in the field hospital, and six of them were currently occupied by men waiting for transport to the nearest evacuation hospital back West, another two by men with leg fractures. When she’d arrived, the beds were first come first serve, but (Y/n) had quickly started a process of dismissing anyone who could walk back to their own tents to come in to the hospital for regular checks on whatever ailed them.

“They’ve already reached camp; they’ll be here any moment.”

“If the bones aren’t through skin, then I don’t want them hanging around here. We’ll set them and send them on their way. We haven’t had free beds in a week, and I don’t want to take them up with something trivial.”

“Trivial? Glad to know you care about my leg, nurse.”

The tent flap was being held open by two soldiers, a sergeant and a private, around the girth of a much larger man propped up between them.

(Y/n) ignored the jab, “Get him on the bed.”

The two men helped their friend onto the nearest cot, and (Y/n), Beverly, and Maria quickly descended on him.

(Y/n) was the most experienced one there, but she’d made a point of having Beverly watch every bone she set. When things got busy, she might be needed elsewhere, and it was good to know that Beverly knew her way around things well enough to take a few bones off her plate.

“What happened?”

“Bit of an ambush, ma’am.” She recognized Gabe Jones immediately. She’d treated a broken finger of his on the first day she’d got here, followed by a number of bumps and bruises that probably wouldn’t have required her attention if Gabe weren’t such a flirt. “We had to jump into a ravine. Sergeant, here, did a number on his knee, and I got grazed by a bullet.”

“Maria, will you clean Private Jones’ wound?” (Y/n) began inspected the Sergeant’s knee.

“Of course,” Maria motioned Jones away to another open bed.

The third man took a step back towards the tent flap, but before he could get more than a few paces, he crumbled.

“Barnes!” The sergeant in the bed bolted upright. Beverly held him still, as (Y/n) rushed to his side.

“Are you alright, Sergeant?” (Y/n) slipped her arm around the man’s back and helped him stumble back to the nearest bed.

“I guess I’m not,” The man winced as he slumped back against the metal bed frame. “My side is killing me.”

(Y/n) nodded at the other sergeant, “Relocate his knee, while I do this, Bev. Maria can help when she’s done cleaning Jones’s wound.”

With deft fingers, (Y/n) unhooked the buttons down his uniform to check his complaint.

“I’d normally take you to dinner first, Doll.” These men hadn’t seen a woman in a long time, and usually they acted like it. She’d heard every bad joke in the book from the soldiers around camp and a couple from Jones in the bed next to them, but his tone was far more lighthearted, less learing than the others. He was teasing, trying to lighten the mood of how much pain was written across his face.

“Well, the rations around here aren’t very appealing, so you’ll have to settle for…” She found what she was looking for. A bruise spanning his entire right side. “You carried him back like this?” Her fingers probed gently at the edges of the dark blue stain.

“Someone had to; not like Dugan carries his own weight around here.” He winced as she touched a particularly sensitive spot.

“Broken ribs,” (Y/n) told the other girls over her shoulder, “three from the looks of it. He’s not going anywhere anytime soon.”

“That’s alright, Doll. I’ll just get to see more of your smiling face.”

(Y/n) wasn’t smiling. She hadn’t smiled in quite a while.

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“You’re healing well,” (Y/n) observed Barnes’s side, peeking out of the sheets, a few days later. “Right on schedule. You won’t need to be on the next train to the evacuation hospital.”

“Of course not,” Barnes scoffed, “How could I ever leave your lovely company?”

(Y/n) cocked an eyebrow. “That work on the girls back home?”

“Depends on the girl really,” Barnes confessed. “Most of the time a smile and a dance does the trick, but I like the ones that make me work for it.”

(Y/n) rolled her eyes and went back to inventorying the supplies she’d spread out on the cot next to his.

“Where is home for you, (Y/n)?”

It was the first time he’d called her by her name, also the first time he’d asked her a genuine question. “Brooklyn.”

“Brooklyn!” He exclaimed, “I knew there was a reason I liked you. I’m from Brooklyn myself.”

“Really?” She glanced back at him, pausing cataloging the rolls of gauze. She had to remember to put in for that. They desperately needed more gauze.

“Born and raised,” With a wince, he adjusted pushed himself higher in the bed. “My whole family and my best friend still live there. I’ll go back there too, if I make it out of your care in one piece.”

(Y/n) snorted; she couldn’t help it. Her care? They were in a war, and he wanted to joke that he wouldn’t make it out of her hospital. “I’ll have you know my care is perfectly fine. I served 8 years in ambulatory at Wyckoff.”

Barnes’s brow furrowed. “Can’t say I’ve ever been to Wyckoff, but I was a frequent guest at Beth Moses Hospital.”

“You break ribs running from Nazis often in New York?” She jabbed.

“No, but my friend may as well have. He picked a lot of fights. Didn’t win many, but that never stopped Steve.”

(Y/n)’s head jerked around and she dropped the papers in her hands. “Steve? Steve Rogers?”

“Yeah,” Barnes had her attention now, and she had his, “you know him?”

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“I swear, Bucky, next time you come in here you better be losing an arm. You’re wasting my time with these little scrapes.”

Bucky rose to his feet in front of her.

She came face to chest with his shirtless torso, and her ego absolutely refused to allow her to turn her head away or take a step back. Even as she felt her cheeks coloring from his state of undress, she adamantly met his smirking eyes.

“It’s okay to admit you’d miss me, Doll. Around here, I’m like a little slice of home, a breath of fresh air, a…”

“The smell of maneur wafting out of the stables,” She cut off.

Bucky chuckled and began buttoning back his uniform. “One day, Doll, one day.”

Bucky always said things like that. ‘One day, when we’re both back in Brooklyn’, ‘When I finally get the chance to take you dancing’, ‘Me, you, Steve, and a friend’.

(Y/n) never took any of it to heart. Bucky had popped in and out of the medical tent on many occasions since he’d broken his ribs, and he flirted with all of the girls who treated him. She never let it get to her heart, and she tried not to let it go to her head that his flirtations were infinitely more personal with her. He’d teasingly compliment the other girls’ uniforms, make observations about how nice they looked that day, wink suggestively as he ducked out of the tent. She was the only one he made plans for: Brooklyn, Steve, Coney Island, dinner, dancing.

The thought was nice, but she left it all there, just a thought.

“Don’t be a stranger, Doll,” Bucky called as he made his way to the door. “I’m sick of faking injury just to see you.”

He gave her his signature wink before he turned and left the tent.

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The SSR had moved in. She saw Phillips riding in from a mile away.

She stood side by side with the commanding officers; everyone over the rank of Sergeant filled in a pseudo welcome party for the reinforcements as they rode in.

None of the men could figure out why she was there, at the front, out ranking them. She wasn’t even properly in the Army. She was just a nurse, a field medic, nothing more or less.(Y/n) couldn’t say she was expecting any sort of comraderie from the Colonel. She’d expected a firm handshake, an acknowledgement of their acquaintance, and a swift dismissal back to her duties.

When Colonel Phillips jumped out, the men behind her became painfully aware of who she was, and she became painfully aware how things had changed.

“(Y/n),” Phillips ignored the officers in charge and marched straight for her. “Good, you’re here. I need someone with a head on their shoulders.” He clapped her on the back and led her towards the truck.

From the back, they came filing out, the men she and Erskine had rejected for the supersoldier program. Each of them a hand picked reminder of her lost companion. All of them could’ve been the poster boy for a ‘join the army’ campaign if things had gone a different way.

She had to remind herself that these men were Phillips choosing, that, even if Erskine lived, none of them would have ever been Steve. These were good soldiers, but that didn’t make them good men. There may well have been a few good ones in the bunch, but being strong, being able, didn’t make them so. She preferred the men behind her, the 107th.

“There’s someone else I know you’ll be happy to see.”

It took a moment more of men filing out of the truck bed before Phillips’ surprise came to face her. She felt her heart building up hope, anticipation, excitement.

Peggy. It was Peggy.

She hid her disappointment well as she smiled and hugged the Englishwoman.

She loved Peggy, but she was no Steve.

Where was Steve? It had been so long since she heard news. She was worried.

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“So you’re a hotshot then?”

Bucky had swaggered up to her the moment she stepped outside of the hospital tent.

“You must be if you have the Colonel’s ear. Everyone’s been talking about it. My little Brooklyn in league with the bigwigs.”

“Your?” (Y/n) chose to ignore the rest of the sentence. She stopped midstep and crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t think you’ll find me ‘your’ anything, let alone all of Brooklyn.”

Bucky smiled mischievously and matched her stance. “Of course you’re not mine, but who do you think’s been keeping the rest of these scoundrels off your back?”

“Oh?” Her lips quirked up instictively in response to his smile. She really couldn’t help it. Steve had told her once that Bucky had that affect on women, that they couldn’t help themselves arounf him. “You’re protecting me from the wandering eyes of your fellow soldiers in hopes that someone will kindly cave into your flirtations.”

“No,” Bucky drawled, taking a step closer. “I’m protecting all of our dear nurses from the wandering eyes of my fellow soldiers because you have more important things to do like treat the broken ribs of a cocky sniper trying desperately to keep from crying like a child in front of his men.”

“Well your service is greatly appreciated.” (Y/n) chuckled, turning back to her walk, “If you must know, I’m not a bigwig at all.”

“Really?” Bucky fell into step by her side. “Didn’t look that way to me.”

“My mentor was a bigwig,” She confessed, her smile turning stale on her lips, “I was just in the right place at the right time.”

Bucky looped his arm through hers and dragged her to a stop, rounding her to face him. “That can’t be true.”

“It is.”

“If your mentor was that important, then you must’ve been pretty great to catch their eye.” Bucky gave her an encouraging smile.

She saw it in his eyes then. She hadn’t seen it before, not even when he was making her laugh with his flirting. She could see the kind heart, the trusting nature, all the things she admired about Steve. They were there, just buried deep beneath a layer of bravado and natural charisma.

She finally understood why Steve would be his friend.

“Have you heard of the Strategic Scientific Reserve?” The question slipped her mouth before she could stop it.

“No,” Bucky’s expression furrowed. “Why?”

It was top secret. She really shouldn’t be mentioning it. She’d already lied to him about how she knew Steve. She should just lie about the SSR, forget she said anything. She should…

She didn’t. “It’s a program my mentor and I founded…”

She told him everything. Everything about the SSR, about Steve, about Peggy, about Phillips, about Erskine.

He led her off to the edge of camp, away from stray ears and wandering eyes. He sat with her under a tree.

She told him about signing up for the war, about the general who delivered the news about her brother and before that her father. She told him about her mother leaving. She told him about her childhood.

She couldn’t help it. Once she started, she just couldn’t stop.

She understood why Steve would be his friend. She hadn’t meant to, but she’d inadvertently trusted him with everything.

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“(Y/n),” Maria came running through the tent flap, not even bothering to push it aside as it draped her shoulder. “Come quick. It’s Bucky.”

(Y/n) was in the middle of handing out rations. She dropped the box on the cot in front of her and bolted for the door.

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“What happened?”

She found Peggy first.

“The regiment was ambushed by Schmidt.” Peggy liked to talk as she walked. In that moment, (Y/n) appreciated that about her. “Only a third of them made it back. We’re doing rolls now, but the men in the yard are all that’s left.”

(Y/n) burst into the square field that functioned as the town center of camp.

There were men, dusty, beaten, bloodied men everywhere. Her small staff of nurses would be overwhelmed by the numbers, but that wasn’t what was on her mind now.

“Where is he?” She left the question and Peggy in her wake, running through the clusters of soldiers. Some supported their injured friends, others laid groaning side by side, a few stood in the center, completely fine. They looked the most lost of them all, as if they were asking God why he had chosen to spare them.

Hodge was there, in the center, one of the men surveying the damage around him. He was fine, completely fine.

“Hodge,” She marched up to him with a fury, “Where is Barnes?”

“Barnes? That kid that’s always following you around?”

Hodge had come in with the other Super Soldier Candidates. He hadn’t had the time to learn everyone’s names, not that he ever would have anyway. He was Hodge; Hodge thought he was too good for that sort of thing.

“Where is he?” She demanded again, not intending to repeat herself a third time.

“He was in the flank with his buddies. They’re gone. All of them, gone.”

Hodge had the decency to look sorry that he was giving her the news.

(Y/n) imagined it was the first decent thing he’d done in his life.

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Was she cursed?

She felt like she was. She felt like a ghost walking through life, doomed to haunt everyone she touched.

Her mother left her. Her father was dead. Her brother followed not long after. Erskine died just as she’d come to think of him as family. Steve was forced to tour around the country like some kind of sideshow because of what she’d helped do to him. Lydia was dead almost as soon as (Y/n) arrived. Now, Bucky.

She hadn’t confided in anyone in a long time until she met Bucky. She’d chatted with Lydia, Maria, her fellow nurses, made nice with them. She’d only told Peggy things she was sure the woman had already read in her file; she told Phillips even less. She told Steve bits and pieces, but she tried not to burden his plate more than it already was. She hadn’t needed to tell Erskine anything; the old man could read it for himself in her eyes.

She’d told it all to Bucky.

Whether it was the heat of war, the charm that came to him so effortlessly, that kind smile or those trustworthy eyes, it didn’t matter. She’d told him everything there was to tell, and as quickly as he knew he was gone.

Caring about her. It felt like the kiss of death.

She was a nurse, and her father bled to death on the battlefield. She was a nurse, and her brother died of injuries from a plane crash. She was a nurse, and Erskine died of a gunshot in her arms. She was a nurse. She was supposed to save people; she hadn’t saved them.  And now, she couldn’t save Bucky either.

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Steve. She knew those eyes anywhere. Even behind that stupid mask, she knew it was Steve.

She watched the show with blank eyes and a blanker expression. Steve didn’t look much better.

Back in Brooklyn, (Y/n) had been rather a catch. Boys had taken her out many times, and often times, when they wanted to seem smarter and more cultured than they actually were, they would take her to a show. (Y/n) had watched more plays than she could count, and none of them had been nearly as bad as this.

Steve couldn’t fake excitement if he tried, and he was clearly trying.

(Y/n) didn’t care about the show though, bad acting or not. She cared about Steve, and she cared about what he could do.

“Steve,” She barged into the dressing rooms backstage.

The girls, the dancers, squealed and made to hide or cover themselves, but they quickly regained composure when they saw it was another girl.

“Steve!”

Steve looked up from where he was sat in a corner doodling.

“(Y/n)?” He dropped the paper aside and got to his feet, hesitantly, disbelieving that it could really be her.

“Steve,” (Y/n) threw herself at him, hugging him close. “I’m so sorry, Steve.”

He held her close. “Sorry? What for?”

“Steve, you have to help,” She pulled back and looked him dead in the eye. “It’s Bucky.”

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(Y/n) didn’t join them on the plane. How could she? Every time one buzzed overhead her brother came rushing back to mind.

She still hadn’t buried him; his body was waiting for her back at home. She was going to bury him beside her father, beside an empty plot she’d reserved for herself, just in case something happened on the front.

She wondered, to herself because Bucky was not there to wonder out loud to like last time, if she couldn’t mourn because he had not been laid to rest. She wondered if she needed the confirmation of seeing his body for herself or the resignation of a coffin and a deep grave.

That hadn’t been true of her father. She’d mourned him the moment the general knocked on her door; she’d wept for losing him. Perhaps, she’d been able to weep because she had more to lose. Perhaps, she wept for her father because with her brother alive she still had a reason to feel. Perhaps, she wept for Erskine because, by the time he left her, she’d found other reasons, a new family.

She wondered if she would ever cry for her brother the way she had her father or Erskine. She wondered, if she started crying for him, if she would ever stop.

Maybe she was just full of it.

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“He should’ve radioed by now.”

She was in the hospital tent, pacing nervously in front of the only cot void of soldiers. Peggy and Maria had sat cross-legged on the flimsy mattress and were watching her with anxious expressions.

Howard Stark stood angrily tapping his foot near the bit of canvas at the head of the bed.

He was the only one who seemed to share (Y/n)’s nerves.

How Peggy was holding it together, (Y/n) had no idea. It wasn’t like she didn’t care. A blind man could see how much she cared about Steve. She had a composure to her though.

(Y/n) envied her that; she wasn’t ashamed to admit it. She wished she were as composed.

“That’s no guarantee that anything happened,” Maria’s voice was a calm guiding hand in the storm. She cared about the missing men, about Steve, but no more than every other soldier. She cared deeply for everyone under her care; it was part of her nature. Their absence didn’t sway her.

“No guarantee,” (Y/n) conceded,”but one hell of a coincidence.”

“Well what can we do?” Howard asked. “Ride into Occupied territory and offer our assistance?”

(Y/n) haulted midstep and looked up at Howard.

“No!” He immediately shot out.

“Yes.”

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She packed a bag of all the essentials: bandages, needle and thread, alcohol, small bottles of antibiotics and medicines she could sneak out of the tent.

The bag was heavy, bulky, but it would fit snugly on the back of one of the motorcycles that that night's messenger had left near the edge of camp.

He wasn’t scheduled to make his next delivery run for three days. She had every intention of being back by then. Either she’d be back or dead.

With all hope, and a little help from Maria, she’d be entirely unnoticed until she rode back into camp. Maria had managed well enough on her own before (Y/n) got there. She could handle a few days.

“Do you even know how to ride one of those things?”

(Y/n) froze. She knew the voice, but she didn’t turn. If she didn’t turn, maybe she could pretend he wasn’t there.

Phillips stepped up to her side. “Is this what Erskine would want for you? A suicide mission?”

“It’s not a suicide mission. What Steve did, that was a suicide mission. I’m just trying to help the odds.”

“And how do you plan to do that?”

“He’s trying to free hundreds of your men from a Hydra base where they’re being held prisoner. At best, he succeeded, and they’re headed back this way.”

“Unlikely,” Phillips butted in.

“At worst, he failed.” She continued without acknowledging his interruption. “There are a lot of scenarios in between worst and best that involve your men out there, injured and dying.”

“And you think one nurse is going to help?”

“I’m not going to hurt!”

Phillips snorted, “Is this about that boy?”

“What boy?” (Y/n) turned back to securing her bag to the motorcycle. It was a tell. Phillips wasn’t stupid. He knew that. She knew that.

“The one Rogers is friends with. The one you sent him on this fool’s errand after. I thought it was just because they were friends, but the men told me you two were close.”

(Y/n)’s hands clenched around the strap of her bag.

“Is that why you want to go? You’re chasing after some lowly soldier.”

“I want to help!” (Y/n) spat, turning on Phillips with a vengeance. “Who cares if it’s because I’m feeling guilty or because I care about him! They are my friends, and I want to help them.”

Phillips watched with a cool, calculating eye for a long moment as (Y/n)’s chest heaved with anger. She looked as angry as he’d ever seen her, and he’d seen her angry many times at Lehigh.

She cared about Steve. There was no denying that, but whoever this sergeant was he was something else, something special.

Reluctantly, he sighed out in defeat. “Your bag’s going to go flying off the back if you tie it down like that.” He turned and started knotting the ropes for her.

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She was seven miles out when she heard it. Something big and loud and powerful barrelling down on her.

(Y/n) stopped her motorcycle in the street and went silent, listening.

Tanks.

She rolled the bike off the road, muscling it behind some trees. It was clunky, weighty, and she didn’t have the strength to get it properly hidden back in the woods. Still, she found a patch of dirt flat enough to roll the bike off the road and made due with laying it on its side behind a bush.

Whoever it was was coming closer. She found the thickest tree there was and stood straight and tall behind it, sucking herself in to be as narrow a target as possible.

She could hear shouting now, though she couldn’t make out the voices. There was a melody to their tone even though the words were indistinct. They were singing something.

It went on for a verse or two, judging by the pauses, before whoever they were were finally close enough to make out words.

English words. American accents.

“The Star Spangled Man! With a plan!” Horribly out of tune male voices echoed through the tree tops without a care in the world for who heard.

“Steve!” (Y/n) rushed out of the trees.

They were at the end of the road, making their way around a bend a few hundred yards ahead, but she’d recognize that God awful costume from a mile away. It stood out plain as day against the swath of brown and green forest and the drab, colorless look of the men at his side.

“Steve!” (Y/n) raced for him.

Steve realized who it was almost instantly. “(Y/n)!” He jogged forward and met her halfway.

“I thought you were dead!” She choked out.

“Come on, little Brooklyn, you have to know we’re made of tougher stuff than that.”

(Y/n) pulled away, positively beaming to hear that drawl of her nickname. “Bucky!”

Bucky tipped a nonexistent cap her direction. “At your service, Doll.”

He dropped the hat charade just in time to catch her as she flung her arms around his neck.

“One day, Doll,” He mumbled into her ear.

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Frenchie was in the bottom of the tank with a seriously mangled stint strapped to his arm.

“I did the best I could,” Bucky was hunched over (Y/n) as she treated his fallen companion. “I’ve watched you enough times, you think I’d have it down by now.”

“Maybe if you were actually watching her hands you would have,” Jones jabbed an elbow into Barnes ribs.

“Hey now,” Barnes chuckled. “I watched her hands.”

“Sure you did.” (Y/n) bit back a grin. “The stint isn’t pretty, but neither is the break. This will take a while to heal.”

Jones prattled off in French, alarming (Y/n) to no end.

Bucky knelt down next to her and explained. “Frenchie doesn’t speak English. We make Jones translate to earn his keep. Only way he’s been useful so far.”

“Oh,” (Y/n) went back to the arm in question.

“I promise I was watching your hands,” He murmured to her with his usual heart-stopping smile.

(Y/n) rolled her eyes, “And I promise you were too busy flirting with my staff to notice what my hands were doing.”

“Not your staff, just you.” He corrected her. They both knew that wasn’t technically true. Bucky Barnes was nothing if not a flirt. That didn’t mean he meant it though. They both knew he meant it with her, and they both knew he didn’t mean it with anyone else.

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“Rogers, I’ve been with these guys on the field for months,” Bucky smacked him on the shoulder and pointed to the table in questions. “They’re all utter morons. Of course they’ll say yes.”

Steve gave his friend a worried look but let Bucky’s smile reassure with enough to take the next step. “Wish my luck,” he patted his friend on the back and marched over to the group of men getting drunker by the moment.

Bucky chuckled to himself and circled around to the far side of the bar to order himself a drink and find a quieter table. He wanted a beer, and he wanted as much distance between himself and that piano as possible. It was giving him such a headache. The beer would help with that.

He wasn’t actually sure that was true. He wasn’t a doctor or a nurse to know, but he was going to tell himself it would. Mostly he just wanted the beer. He’d earned it after the last couple months he’d had, after the last year honestly.

He heard the booming voice of Sergeant Dugan over everything else in the bar and couldn’t help a chuckle. They’d all earned a round.

They’d earn a couple more if they said yes, and as Bucky watched them from over the rim of his glass, he knew they would. They were fighters, like Steve, and like Steve, they wouldn’t back down from that.

Bucky kept his eyes on the men as they all considered Steve’s offer. He could tell the moment the words left Steve’s mouth, the moment they all froze at the proposition. He could tell, one by one, as they all agreed, like he knew they would.

It was written on their faces. It was written on Steve’s face.

He tried not to sound too cocky when Steve came back around to him. “See, told you; they’re all idiots.”

“How ‘bout you?” Steve took up the chair next to Bucky.

Bucky didn’t meet his eye. He knew the question was coming, and he already had his answer.

“You ready to follow Captain America into the jaws of death?”

“Hell no,” Bucky sighed with a smile. “That little guy from Brooklyn who was too dumb not to run away from a fight, I’m following him.”

Steve smiled, relief washing over his features as he took the drink in front of him.

“You’re keeping the outfit right?” Bucky couldn’t help but tease.

“You know what,” Steve looked back at the poster, “It’s kinda growing on me.”

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The singing at the front of the room fell quiet, to almost a murmur.

Bucky and Steve turned to the door, to the woman in the vivid red dress.

“Captain,” she greeted with a formal note to her voice.

She was beautiful. Bucky would’ve been blind not to see it, especially in that shade of red. She looked like one of the girls Bucky used to go dancing with, tight dress hugging her curves, matching lipstick and perfectly styled hair. She was a woman on a mission, and he had a sneaking suspicion that mission was a man, specifically a man named Steve Rogers.

Bucky’s eyes wandered over assessingly. She was way out of Steve’s league, or at least the league he used to be in. He hadn’t been out with Steve since this new transformation; he had no idea what Steve’s league even was anymore. He was taller, stronger; he was famous apparently. But he was still an absolute dork, clueless around women.

It was written all over his darting, nervous eyes.

“I see your top squad is prepping for duty,” she observed.

“You don’t like music?” Bucky smiled.

“I might even, when this is all over, go dancing.” Peggy didn’t bother to look in Bucky’s direction for even a moment.

“Then what are we waiting for?” He asked her.

“The right partner,” Her tone was suggestive; her eyes watching Steve expectantly. For the first time in his life, Bucky wasn’t in on the joke.

“0800 Captain,” She said as she whisked herself away.

“I’m invisible,” Bucky turned back to Steve, “I’m turning into you,” he scoffed, “this is a horrible dream.”

Steve smirked as he turned to walk off, “Don’t take it so hard. I hear she has a friend.” Steve motioned over Bucky’s shoulder towards the doorway Peggy had just left.

Steve took up his old seat as Bucky turned away.

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What had possessed her to come here, (Y/n) couldn’t be sure.

She knew what she’d told herself. That Captain America was assembling a team of his own, that his team was leaving for deployment, that she wanted to be on the ship when it did.

She could’ve asked him all of that before he left for the bar, or when he came back. It’s not like he’d be drunk; she knew that couldn’t happen.

Hell, she could’ve asked him the next morning. Steve would’ve made it happen.

But when Peggy told her she was going down to the bar to check on the men, something had possessed her to follow.

Maybe she wanted a drink. Maybe she too wanted to check on the boys. More likely, it was how clearly Peggy’s excuse was a rouse to get dolled up and see Steve, and there (Y/n) was, right by her side getting dolled up too.

Jones had cornered her the moment she’d walked in. Gabe kissed the back of her hand like an old-school gentleman and asked her to dance. She politely declined.

“That’s all right,” Gabe smiled knowingly and pointed in the direction of the room Peggy was leaving. “Sergeant’s right in there.”

(Y/n) followed, anxiously, in Peggy’s retreating footsteps with only an encouraging nod from her friend to bolster her courage.

She’d chosen the purple dress, a more understated shade than Peggy’s red but a far more modern cut. She wasn’t there to grab the attention of the entire bar like Peggy was, but she hoped at least to keep one pair of eyes on her.

Steve spotted her first and immediately smiled. He waved a hand in her direction and retreated back to the tables.

Bucky’s back was to her, but whatever Steve said made him turn.

His face went slack, and a little space opened between his lips, as if his mind had formed words his tongue couldn’t speak.

“Well, now I know what Peggy meant,” He mumbled as she approached him.

“About what?”

“The Right Partner.” Bucky offered her his arm, “Would you like to dance?”

“I’m not very good,” she confessed smoothly.

Bucky smiled. Not his usual cocky grin that swept girls off their feet, or the warm, reassuring smile she’d come to trust. It was gentle, somewhere between kind and loving. “I’ll teach you.”

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Taglist

Forever Taglist:

@maybe-a-fangurl / @libbymouse /  @geeksareunique / @deathbyarabbit​ / @spilltheearlgrey / @ryanbarnesrogers / @bloodorangemoonlight​

Marvel Taglist:

@the-high-queen / @iamverity / @darktownairspeed / @radicalstars​ / @hermione-is-my-queen 

#bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #winter soldier fanfiction #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #avengers fanfiction #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes one shot #avengers one shot

[eueden]

 ⟨ MAUDE APATOW. CIS FEMALE. SHE/HER. ⟩ though the mist might prevent some from seeing it, EDEN KOPPELMAN is actually a descendent of H E S T I A. it’s still a question of whether or not the TWENTY-THREE year old VETERINARY from CAPE TOWN, SOUTH AFRICA has taken after their godly parent completely, but the demigod is still known to be quite THOUGHTFUL & QUIXOTIC.

hi, hello, allô, hola, ciao, ella here again with another character. okay so there’s not much to say about me that most of you don’t already know, i have no life and i’m always lurking even if i never do replies (don’t tell the admins) hgsghssghs anyway, this is eden and in a shocking turn of events i actually have a good idea of who she is and look i even made a graphic, if that’s ain’t dedication then i don’t what it is.

basic information.

NAME: eden atara koppelman

PRONUNCIATION: EE - d uh n

NICKNAME: E?? idk

GENDER: cis female

PLACE OF BIRTH: brisbane, queensland, australia

HOMETOWN: cape town, south africa

DATE OF BIRTH: june 26, 1997

AGE: twenty-three

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: heterosexual so far but secretly curious

MAJOR: veterinary

EXTRACURRICULARS: president of the jewish student association, vice president of the herpetology club, president of the volunteer service, women in leadership member, student government member

SPORTS: captain of the climbing team and co-captain of the track & field team

character inspo.

Jessica Day (New Girl) ✖ ✖ ✖ ✖

Elliott Reid (Scrubs) ✖ ✖ ✖ ✖ ✖ ✖

Amy Santiago (Brooklyn 99) ✖ ✖ ✖ ✖

background.

tw: death, infant death, car accident, fire

Eden was born in Brisbane, Australia. She comes from an animal lover family. Her grandparents are very popular down under because they had an animal TV show à la Steve Irwin. Her dad followed their footsteps and it’s a well-known zoologist who also had some TV shows (think of Bear Grylls).

TW: death, infant death, car accident. Matthias Koppelman (her dad) had been previously married but lost his wife and child in a car accident and after that he isolated himself from the public eye and moved to Namibia. 

At twenty-eight, he felt the need to climb Mount Everest as one does, ya know? But ofc this man hadn’t climbed in years (he had experience but he’d been too sad to climb mountains. I mean he could barely leave bed, let alone climb Everest). That didn’t stop him and he did.

He almost d worded there bc as I said he was not ready but that’s when Hestia queen of fire showed up and warmed him (in a non sexual way bc she’s pure okay) and he was like oh that was a near dead experience and didn’t think much.

After he conquered the Everest with the help of Hestia, he moved back to Australia and oh surprise a few months later he opened his door and voilá a bebé was there with a note that said “you deserve to have a family, love hestia” 

He was shocked like “did i just impregnate a fantasy?”  but then Hestia was kind enough to send another and explain everything.

Anyway, Eden lived in Brisbane for four years before her dad took a job in South Africa. They moved to Cape Town (and her grandparents came with them) and pretty much had a happy life surrounded by animals. 

TW: fire. When she was nine, her dad took her to a game reserve in Limpopo and by some reason a fire started endangering animals and flora. Everyone was panicking bc I mean wouldn’t u? But Eden was attracted to the flames like a pyro (the good kind tho) and since everyone had better things to do than taking care of a child, they left her unsupervised and she delved into the fire.

Ofc nothing happened to her because ✨immunity✨ but guess who showed up again? Hestia!!!! Being a great goddess and mom, she taught Eden how to use her powers so she could absorb the fire and save all the animals and people. 

Everyone was like holy shit a miracle and the firefighters were like “the fuck? we did shit but we gonna take the credit lol”

Eden was like “did that just happen?” and yes, it did but she was like “meh that was imagination” and her dad was like *nervous chuckle* “yeah…” because he didn’t want to tell her the truth since that could put her in danger.

At 13, she had her bat mitzvah and it was all fun and games until fire lady showed up aka Hestia. Her dad and Hestia explained everything and Eden was like: 

Hestia claimed her and off to camp she went. For the next few years she went to camps all over the world as a treat.

She never went on a quest bc she was afraid and also because she couldn’t put herself in danger and risk losing her life bc her dad already had lost a child… so yeah

Her dad remarried when she was seventeen and a year later she welcomed a new baby brother and that’s why she decided to take a gap year to be with her bro and also work with her dad in the reserves.

She moved to Athens when she was nineteen and decided to go into veterinary school. So yes Ella will get her dog one way or another idc what the admins say :chaos:

Ahhhh that’s all folks!!! We did it!

FULL BIO (yes, i completed it this time)

personality.

Eden never loses her sense of curiosity. You could say that she sees life through rose colored glasses as if she lived on the edge of a mirror country where worldly objects come to life, where flora and fauna assume almost human qualities.  

She has the ability to see the good in almost anyone or anything and tends to sympathize with even the most unfriendly person. She often hides the extreme depth of feelings from her, even from herself, until circumstances elicit a passionate response. 

She has a deep sense of idealism that comes from a strong personal sense of right and wrong. She sees the world as a place full of possibilities and potentials and is governed by her intuition. She is quite reserved and is not easily manipulated. 

She is a good listener and considerate, they try to care for and understand others in a deep way. She can be very calm and intuitive with the people around her, being able to search for hidden meanings in the actions and words of others.

Of course, all of life is not rosy and Eden is not exempt from suffering the same disappointments and frustrations that are common to others. She tends to be a perfectionist and often strives for personal ideals that can be exhausting or very difficult to obtain.

She also struggles with time management, always leaving everything to the last minute claiming she “works better under pressure” but the truth is she’s just a procrastinator. 

Very sensible, she cries almost every day either because of a commercial or a sweet story she read on Facebook. It doesn’t matter, if it’s slightly emotional she will shed some tears.

powers.

pyrokinesis: This power first manifested when she was nine years old and she helped to save an animal reserve from the flames with the help of Hestia. Since she was claimed when she was thirteen, she’s learned how to use this power. Now she can summon fire without any problem and put it out just as fast. This is very helpful because she loves baking but she’s a bit clumsy so she often burns herself, but thankfully, she’s immune, so no pain. However, Eden has never been able to create a hot wall of flames nor she has ever asked how to do that, she just hopes she never has to use it.

serenity inducement: Eden avoids conflict at all cost, not only it makes her cry but also makes her very uncomfortable and anxious which is why this was the first power she manifested. She was just a child but from what she remembers it was during a class in preschool that a kid started hitting another one. Eden panicked at such an act of violence she went there and touched the bully’s shoulder which immediately calmed him. Back then she didn’t know it was a power but after finding out about her true identity, many other events like this started to make sense. This is the power she uses the most, also with animals which is why she makes such a good veterinarian because she can calm an animal's nerves.

bond manipulation: She wouldn’t say this is one of her weakest powers but it’s one she didn’t use often growing up because she came from such a stable family that it didn’t seem necessary, however, she sometimes catches herself using it in group projects or at her workplace, you know, to keep things healthy and positive.

ability to summon food: By far the one she uses the least (personally speaking), she likes cooking and baking, so she doesn’t see the point but she does use it to feed stray animals.

headcanons.

Eden speaks fluent English, she has a mixed South African and Australian accent but she can switch. At school, half of her classes were in Afrikaans, so she also speaks it fluently. Greek comes from her demigod side, but she also took some classes back in school upon her father’s request. Growing up in a very Jewish family, her grandparents believed it was pretty important that Eden learned Yiddish and Hebrew, she can read it perfectly but struggles speaking it, especially Yiddish because she also attended Hebrew school. As for French, she learned in high school and she still takes lessons at Eonia but she hates it.

Her father started taking her to a climbing gym when she was five and by the time she was ten she was already climbing 6a routes which is pretty much an intermediate level and very impressive for her age. 

She had her own TV show on Discover Kids titled “Eden’s Wildlife Adventure” in which she explained the importance of different types of animals. The first seasons were shot between Australia and South Africa, but in later seasons she traveled across Africa and South America. The show ran from 2005-2011 (which was when she was claimed).

Dreams of climbing Mount Everest before her 30th birthday.

Her father is a classic rock band and so is she. Her animals have been named after influential musicians. Right now she has a cat named Hendrix, a horse named Cobain, a dog named Mick. Growing up her father took care of a baby lion which they named Little Richard because he was smaller than most lion cubs. Over the years, his father and grandparents have fostered several wild animals while they recover or before they are sent to a reserve. Among the animals they have fostered are elephants, giraffes, zebras, cheetahs, leopards, hippos and more.

While she loves rock, she’s also a sucker for 2000s pop. Please don’t ask her about modern artists because she’s clueless. 

She’s fed up with the Mean Girl jokes, we get it she grew up in Africa and she’s white.

She is a proud Jewish girl and follows many traditions. She does attend the local synagogue during Yom Kippur and Rosh Hashanah. And of course, Hanukkah is her favorite holiday. Her family practices Reform Judaism, so she doesn’t follow a kosher diet.

Eden was raised as a vegan and her whole family is vegan. In the past years, she has been in the process of becoming vegetarian.

Favorites: Anything written by Agatha Christie(book); Say Anything (1989) (movie); Everybody Wants to Rule the World by Tears for Fear (song); 

Again, no one asked me but I will reply: “Ella, does Eden hate Iker?” “Well, thanks for asking. In a shocking turn of events, no she doesn’t. How come you might ask? Well, she doesn’t hate anyone but if she ever did then yes, she would hate him.”

pinterest | wanted connections

#euintro

[raendown]

Last couple days were posted one a sideblog but we’re back to main for day 5 of @narutorarepairweek​. Today’s prompt is arranged marriage.

Pairing: ShinoKarin Word count 3359 Rated: G Summary: The war left them all tired and she was far from the only one who had no other place to go. When offered a second chance Karin takes it. It's not the life she asked for, not the life she wanted, but time marches on and the places we stay have a way of becoming home when we least expect it.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

The After Wife

Karin had never given much thought to her wedding day. Even in the sad year she had spent following Sasuke around and mooning over his every word there had been a voice in the back of her mind that knew it would never happen, never let her fantasies go beyond the now. If she had ever given the occasion any thought she liked to think that this was not what she would have imagined. 

The little girl deep in her heart cried out that she deserved better than a perfunctory informal ceremony alone in the Hokage’s office, no uchikake but the white dust of travel staining her clothing and no attendants but the two council members standing witness. She deserved more than marrying a man she barely knew the name of to secure herself a home in a place that didn’t want her. And yet here she stood while the Godaime Hokage spoke the bare minimum phrases needed to bind her future to another. 

What else was new?

As shitty as the situation was, however, there were several different points which stayed her tongue and stiffened her muscles against the urge to flee. Naruto was the first and biggest reason. The only person who had ever looked at her and truly wanted to know her. He was family, distant and far removed, but a blood relation. She hadn’t known any family since the last of her own gave their life to save another in the depths of Kusagakure. From that day on she had been nothing but an asset, an advantage. Yet Naruto looked at her and saw only the bond he hoped might someday grow between them. The siren call of affection given so freely was embarrassingly difficult to resist after the life she had led.

The second reason that held back the barbs at the edge of her tongue was the idea of rest. Simple and plain, Karin was tired of running. Tired of living her life uncertain of where her steps would take her next and tired of fighting for her right to stay in one place long enough to put down even the weakest of roots. Working for that snake Orochimaru hadn’t been pleasant but it had been the closest thing she could remember to having a place to go back to. Konohagakure had offered her a home and Karin, reluctant and full of pride, wanted so badly to open her hand and accept that offer. Wanted it to be possible more than she was willing to let any of these people know. 

Her third reason was much less optimistic than the other two. Her actions during the fourth shinobi war and in the years leading up to it had branded her a criminal. By all rights she should have been left to rot in the jail of whichever village won the right to punish her first. Instead Naruto had campaigned for her release along with several others on the condition they be rehabilitated. This was far and away the best possible option, the road which led to the least misery in her future. So while she was of the private opinion that whoever decided her rehabilitation should include being married off to a clan head was losing their marbles Karin had decided, after much thought, that resistance could only hurt her now. 

She didn’t really have many expectations for what married life would be like, not having known her husband until they were corralled in to a room together and legally bound, yet Aburame Shino somehow managed to subvert them anyway. Right from the start she was handed surprises as she learned that not only was Shino unperturbed to be married away to a stranger, he had actually volunteered. 

“I find this to be a good solution,” he’d told her. Then he must have seen her naked confusion as he quickly added, “Why? Because my elders had been asking me to find a wife for years now and you need a home. This is a good thing for both of us.”

Karin honestly hadn’t known what to say to that but she was grateful not to deal with someone angry at the very sight of her. His honesty had set the tone for a surprisingly harmonious coexistence. Although they did sleep in the same room Shino easily agreed to separate futons and never once asked more from her than she was willing to give, not even so much as a kiss. They ate their meals together and he complimented her cooking when it was her turn to do so but for the most part they spent their days entirely separate as he went about his business and left Karin to hers.

That wasn’t to say they never spent any time together, although it took the better part of a year for her to even realize that he was doing so. Shino was an unassuming man. Enough so that it was all too easy to underestimate just how subtle and sneaky he could be. It never occurred to her to question the nights he chose to stay in at home, choosing a book and settling in the library where she also spent most of her evenings. She thought little of the absent questions that more often than not drew her in to long conversations before one or both of them yawned their way to bed. Nothing about their situation seemed out of the ordinary until she ran in to Sakura while working at the hospital as part of the mandatory community service that was a condition of being allowed to stay in the village, greeting her one time rival for an undeserving man’s love with a cautious hello. Sakura’s smile for her was surprisingly warm. 

“How’s married life been?” the other woman asked. “I don’t see Shino around much these days. Or anyone, really. I’m so busy here!”

“Life’s fine.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth Karin realized that she meant them and that was enough of a shock that Sakura was able to chatter over her for several minutes, going on about a bunch of people she honestly didn’t care about. Just because they were Shino’s friends didn’t mean they were hers. He was smart enough not to force her to socialize when she didn’t want to – and since she knew the general opinion most people had of her here she really didn’t want to socialize with most of them. 

When Sakura started bemoaning how their busy lives kept her and Naruto apart most days and how they didn’t get to spend much time together Karin rolled her eyes. 

“Seriously? The two of you married for love and I see more of my husband than you do yours?”

The other woman looked at her strangely. “Really? The last I heard of him Shino was screaming busy helping Iruka-sensei overhaul the academy curriculum. Oh but that’s so sweet that he still makes time for you! I’m ashamed to say I never expected he would make such a good husband.” 

“A-ah…”

“Sakura-sensei! Come quick! It’s Yuzuki-san!”

“Oh! I have to run!” Sakura turned on her heel and dashed off towards wherever that voice had called from. “Let’s talk again soon!” 

Karin didn’t even bother to wave. Her head was spinning, hands lifting on muscle memory as she went back to her own work scrubbing floors in a daze. It wasn’t like she ignored Shino when he spoke to her. She listened very carefully. But she’d never realized that he was quite so busy, enough so that he needed to consciously make the time to come and sit with her in the quiet library where sometimes she didn’t even bother to engage his attempts at conversation. 

Community service brought her all over the village doing all sorts of different jobs so there was really no telling what time she would be heading home on any given day. By some kindness of fate it just so happened that she finished today a little before the academy would be letting their students go from final classes. With shame and embarrassment roiling together until she was able to translate them in to indignation, Karin set her feet marching along a path she had only ever walked the one time she was asked to clean out some old classrooms. The closer she got the easier it became to ignore the thousands of chakra signatures around her and focus in on the one she had come to associate with calm and safety without even knowing she was doing so. 

She didn’t really have a plan. Karin had always been a woman of emotion and right now her emotions were telling her to go confront her husband. She would figure out what exactly she was confronting him about when she got there. Or that was her line of thinking until she paused halfway across the grassy yard, catching sight of him through an open window and drifting over like a magnet to a lodestone. 

Despite the utter chaos of children up and moving about the room seemingly without order Shino stood by the front with a contented smile underneath the visor he wore to protect his eyes from bright lights. With both arms in the air he directed his students like a conductor, voice ringing out his instructions with confidence. 

It was a side of him that she had never seen before – or rather that she had never taken the time to see. Shino had taken her in and given her a home, played the part of accommodating husband more perfectly than she could have ever hoped for, and Karin could only think that all she’d given him in return was a few measly conversations whenever she felt like making the effort. Not once had she ever considered whether he might just want to talk after a stressful day. Sure there were other people he could have gone to and she’d assumed all along that’s what he would do but if he chose to seek comfort in her, the wife who was meant to share his life and home? He deserved better than she gave him. He'd certainly given her better in turn.

Whatever energy had brought her marching across the village drained away as she watched her husband at work for the first time. She was almost disappointed when the bell rang and he began to herd the children towards their cubby holes at the back of the room for boots and coats, calling instructions for the night’s homework over the noise. His gaze hadn’t even once strayed towards the window and for a few moments she wondered which exit she would have to meet him at as he left for home. Following his chakra wouldn’t exactly be hard. Then his head turned sideways to look directly at her without warning and Karin was ashamed of the squeak that slipped out between her lips. 

Beetles. She’d forgotten about the beetles, thousands of eyes watching the world on his behalf. 

He tilted his head but without being able to see the eyes behind his visor Karin was left with nothing but the flavor of curiosity in his warm signature, rooted to the spot while he picked his way across the room to stand on the other side of the open window with hands folded behind his back.

“What brings you here?” he asked in his quiet, unassuming voice. 

“I…oh. Should I not have? Do you have work left?” Not having been granted the honor of actually attending the academy in her own home village, she realized suddenly that she had very little idea of what a typical day’s schedule might include for either the students or the teachers. Thankfully Shino looked anything but irritated. It took quite a bit to irritate him, actually, something she had appreciated from the very beginning. 

“Yes I have much left to do. Why? Because the children handed in two different assignments today that require marking.” His head tilted ever so slightly again before going on. “If you would prefer, I can finish such work at home.” 

Karin shifted her weight and looked away, uncomfortable. What right did she have to ask anything of him? Yet still she heard her own voice answering as quietly as she hadn’t heard herself in years. “Yes. I would prefer you to come home. Please.” 

Obviously both of them knew that she had tacked on that last bit as no more than an afterthought. Manners were hardly second nature to her. The last thing she had worried about growing up was learning how to be proper and polite, not when she’d been taught that the way to get something out of life was to be tough and strong, to demand whatever attention and respect she felt she deserved. Life in Konoha hadn’t exactly gained her much respect and the last thing she usually wanted these days was anyone’s attention.

With Shino that was different. Feeling his eyes on her was not a weight she needed to bear up under but a blanket of warmth against the often cold realities that had been her life so far. He was a break against the wind, a mercy, a place to rest. Until that moment staring at him through an open window Karin hadn’t truly understood how much she’d come to think of him as home. Not just that he had given her one but that he, the man, the husband, had become the home she wanted to come back to. It was not a revelation she was prepared to confront. Thankfully he didn’t seem as though he required any explanations at the moment. Even as her thoughts spun and the earth seemed to tilt beneath her feet Shino was nodding and turning to gather the piles of messy assignment papers from his desk, sealing them all in to a single scroll before heading back towards the window.

“May I walk with you?” he asked.

“I…yes?” It seemed a silly question. They were going to the same place, after all. Refusing him would mean walking along the same path anyway but keeping a few paces between them and the very idea of it was ridiculous. 

Still, her answer seemed to please him. The smile that curled his lips this time was the sort of soft contentment he usually wore in the evenings as they whiled away the evening shadows in light conversation. Karin was ashamed to admit that it took until they were halfway home, turning from one deserted pathway down another, that she understood his question. 

“Were you flirting with me!?” she demanded, almost proud that he didn’t so much as flinch at her sudden outburst. Of course she was also immediately infuriated that he didn’t have the decency to blush along with his simple nod.

“I was.”

“Have you done that before!?”

“I have.”

“When!?”

Shino hummed like he was counting the moments she had inexplicably missed. “Often.”

It was almost offensive how calm he remained while she spluttered and choked on her own surprise. The rest of the walk home was stiflingly quiet. A truly staggering amount of thoughts chased each other through her mind but none of them were able to stick for very long before getting chased away by several more. Karin’s emotions were in a right mess when they made it home, confused and muddled and twisted in a way unlike anything she’d ever felt before. Shino led them in to the library and paused next to his usual seat with a serene air. It wasn’t until he reached up to remove the visor shielding his eyes from the outside world that finally words began to tumble over each other past her lips. 

“You flirt with me?” Her tone was a question but she had barely let him nod before she was going on. “I don’t get it. Why? You didn’t want to marry me, you just wanted someone to make your clan elders shut up and leave you alone and I just wanted a–” A home. The word stuck in her throat but he seemed to understand. 

“Does it bother you?” 

“N-no, don’t be stupid. Why would it bother me? It’s just…flirting.” Never in her life had she heard her own voice sound quite so unsteady. 

Shino’s dark, multi-faceted eyes blinked slowly. “Why? Because we are married and I have come to enjoy your company. Because you are my wife and you deserve to be cherished as a wife should be. Because your laughter is hard to earn and all the more precious for it. That is why.” 

“Oh,” Karin breathed. “Oh.”

In the time since she had come to this place she had felt like many things. A pretender, unwanted, unneeded, bored, caged, yet despite all those content was much more frequent as of late. Shino’s quiet words rocked her as for the first time she felt something she hadn’t before, not in all the years she spent clawing and scratching out a place for herself in the cruel uncaring world. She felt like a woman. Desired. Wanted for no reason other than her own merits as a human being. 

“Do it again,” she demanded softly and it made Shino smile. 

“You wish for me to flirt with you?” When she nodded stiffly he echoed the gesture with a serious air. “Very well. Shall I tell you how beautiful I find you? How the scent of you fills our home and eases away all worries of the world outside? Should I tell you that this life we have together is a happy one that I am grateful to have been gifted with?”

“By the kami, I didn’t expect you to lay it on so thick!” Karin covered her face with both hands, mortified to realize her cheeks were warm. 

“Ah, my apologies. I sought only to fulfil my wife’s request.”

It took a minute or two before she had collected herself enough to peek out between her fingers but when she did her gaze was as contemplative as his was amused. The shock that had flavored every emotion since her conversation with Sakura faded enough at last that she was able to think past it to possibilities that she could have never imagined before. 

“Fulfill my request huh?” Slowly letting her arms fall to her sides, Karin took a deep breath and steeled her nerves. “Well then I have an actual request for you. Um…dinner. If- if you’re going to do this backwards and court me after we’re already married then you should at least do it right. Taking me out to dinner would be a good start.” Though her cheeks felt like they had caught fire Karin stubbornly kept her chin up to watch the curl of Shino’s lips, something deeply content settling in the eyes he showed to so few people. How long had he been falling in love without her noticing? 

“Dinner would be my pleasure,” he replied simply. 

It would also be hers, she was startled to realize. This wasn’t the fairy tale most girls dreamed of but Karin wasn’t quite as surprised as she should be finally coming to terms with the fact that perhaps this life wasn’t really so bad. Perhaps her husband wasn’t the only one that she hadn’t noticed getting attached. 

When she pulled her chair over to sit a little closer that night Shino said nothing about it. And when they went to bed and he held out a hand she laid down to sleep on the same futon as her husband for the very first time without saying a word herself. Their marriage might have been arranged but it was odd to think that the relationship between themselves was only theirs to define. Karin couldn’t remember the last time she’d been handed such control over her own future. 

She’d never given much thought to her wedding day but maybe it was time she started thinking about how she wanted to love the rest of her life. If she was allowed her say then it was going to be happy. 

#narutorarepairweek2020 #rae writes #shikarin #shinokarin #shino #karin #sakura #fanfiction

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #313

“i’m your turbo lover  /  tell me there’s no other”

Where are you located at this moment? In my bed. What if you found out your ex was having a child with someone else? If it was Sara, I'm finding out who the fuck I'm flying up there to punch his face in. If it was Jason, I'd either faint or be in the bathroom vomiting. Or both. I can almost promise you at least one or the other while I have an absolute emotional breakdown. I'm not at the point in my recovery where I can hear that and be entirely okay. I'd be happy for any of the others. At what age do you think you'll be ready to have children? Never. When was the last time you couldn't stop laughing? Why? I don't recall. Which of your friends do your parents get along best with? I guess Girt, since he's known my mom the longest of the friends I still have. I don't know about Dad; he barely knows any of my friends seeing as I don't live with him and see him rarely. Is there anyone in your friendship group that your parents don't like? No. Can you recall the last time you were extremely disappointed? I surprisingly can't remember, even though I know it was recent. Who was the last person to un-friend you on Facebook? I don't know, it's not like I go hunting people down if I notice the number has dropped, lol. Do you know why he/she decided to un-friend you? I'm certain it would've been something political. Are there any food wrappings, boxes, containers etc. in your room? No. Do you know anyone who does have cancer? I don't think anyone who currently has it, no. I may know someone via association, but idk. What is the worst medicine you've ever taken? There are two that very strongly stand out: the first one was in middle school, and the second sometime last year. I was put on an antidepressant that made me absolutely love life in the morning, like I would practically prance through school, but come afternoon, I was a fucking demon. Mom took me off that shit so fast. Most recently, my birth control was changed to have more estrogen for some reason I can't recall (maybe it had to do with mood?? idk), and it made me... I'm just gonna say I was a ~mess~. I slammed on breaks with it so fuckin fast. Safe to say I returned to my normal pill. Has your house or where you stayed ever flooded? My childhood home came very close during Hurricane Floyd. Thankfully the water never got actually inside the house, but it was an absolute lake outside. What was the last event or special occasion you participated in? My niece's birthday was actually a couple days ago, so we celebrated at my sister's house. What do you find yourself reminiscing about the most? I'll give you one guess. Do you have a favorite pianist? No. Song you listened to last is...? I have "Turbo Lover" by Judas Priest on right now. What's the last type of cookie you ate? Uhhh I would assume chocolate chip. Do you have your own computer? I have my own laptop, and I'm possibly getting an actual computer come May?? One of my WoW friends knows the hell I've been through with this laptop, and she and her husband are getting new computers then, so she's basically pushed her husband's old one on me, lol. Apparently it works just fine, he just wants something better. I've told her again and again to make some money off of it, but she's pretty much giving me no choice lmao. I appreciate it a whole lot, though. It'd be pretty nice to separate games onto an actual, capable desktop versus making my laptop sound like it's screaming for God's mercy if I boot something up. Describe your computer chair? I don't have one. Well, there's an old one in the extra room I'm going to end up using, but all I know is it's black. I've never paid closer attention to it. Do you sleep with your door open or closed? Open. I feel too isolated with it closed. Are you going to keep your last name when you get married? God no, it's very unlikely. I hate my last name, take it away. Does it bother you when people beg? Why are they begging, and how insistently? It depends. Do you have any weird rings? I have two, but neither I consider weird, at least. Well, I suppose the one with "bitch" carved on the inside would confuse non-Supernatural fans, haha. Are you anything like your siblings? Not really, no. At least, my two immediate sisters. Mom says I'm extremely similar to her eldest daughter though and wishes we'd talk more, but yeah, I just don't have anything to talk about with her. I'm so bad at initiating conversation. When was the last time you shaved your legs? October for when I was doing that witchy photoshoot with a friend. I absolutely hate shaving my legs and pretty much only do if anyone else whose opinion would affect me may see them. What would be the best surprise you could receive right now? Uhhh I guess all the "upgrades" I want to make to Venus' enclosure: a 40g tank and a nice, accurate hygrometer and thermometer, as well as the proper kind of lamp for her. I feel like such a "bad snake mom" still having her in her current terrarium because, while it's perfectly liveable and not dangerous, it's too small for her. It's pretty much always on my mind to some degree nowadays, so just like, dropping the terrarium and extra tools off would be a massive weight off my shoulders. Did you ever skip a grade or get held back a grade? No, but I was able to skip the intro Writing course the last time I was in college; I just started in Writing II. Who took your profile pic? Anywhere where it's a picture of myself, odds are me. I hate getting pictures taken, but if it's gonna happen, it'll be through myself, knowing my "good" angle and such, lol. Have you ever been fishing? Do you know anyone who likes fishing as a hobby? I've been fishing many times, especially as a kid with my dad. There are pleeeenty of people I know who enjoy it. I don't anymore. Do you own any cats? What color are their eyes? Yes; his are a light blue. Is there a rose bush in your garden? What color are its roses? We don't have a garden. When was the last time you spent over $100 in one transaction? What did you buy? Over $100 with my own cash, a plane ticket. My recent tattoo deposit was exactly a hundred. Do you sleep with a stuffed animal? Would you judge a grown adult for doing so? No; Roman would NEVER allow me to cuddle anything else, and I am not even remotely kidding. I couldn't care less if any adult does, though. Would you rather read an erotic novel or watch an erotic film? Ew, neither, but I guess a book would be better just so my eyes weren't forever scarred. What’s your favorite way to make your home smell good? Do you spend a lot of money on making this happen? INCENSE!!!! God, I love incense burners. I don't light it anymore though because Venus' terrarium is also in my room, and it's not good for snakes. What are the main two colors in the room you’re currently in? Did you pick these colors out yourself? Just... white. That's it. Well, my furniture is brown. I didn't pick either. How often do you wake up in the night needing to pee? Usually once, sometimes not at all anymore. I guess my bladder actually grew a pair. If you live in a household with pets, who is responsible for their care - both in terms of finance and the physical tasks involved? As far as the physical care, me. Mom does help me do a full clean of Venus' cage sometimes, though, because I don't trust myself to both keep her around my neck while I scrub the tank, hide, bowl, etc., with a cat that is my absolute shadow. I don't want to be bent over the tub and Roman tries to do something; he's shown very little interest in Venus, but still, I'm one hell of a paranoid snake mom that doesn't want to risk her life. Full cleans only happen like twice a year, so I don't mind too much asking my mother for some help. I should point out that Mom doesn't want to hold her, so we can't reverse roles. Do you have anything hanging from your ceiling apart from lights? Not anymore, no. At my old house and the one before, I had lots of Pyramid Head gift tags hanging, but our landlord doesn't want me to do that here. Would you describe yourself as neat, messy or somewhere in-between? I'm in-between. If you have pets, when was the last time one of them needed to go the vets? Venus had to go to the vet about a year into me having her because she was showing symptoms of an RI in strange breathing episodes, which can be fatal to a snake. Thank God, nature, whatever, that she didn't. There were warning signs, but closer watch over her humidity saved her. Roman, meanwhile, was taken to the vet like a year ago to be neutered. When the pandemic is over, what is one thing you can’t wait to do again? I barely ever left the house beforehand, so... I guess go to the movies. What’s one thing (aside from essentials) that you spend the most money on each month? Has anyone ever told you you’re obsessed or addicted with it? N/A What’s your favourite genre of TV show to watch? What’s your favourite show that’s not from that genre? If I had to pick, uhhh... yeah, idk, due to the whole "not into TV much to begin with" thing. Would you rather be employed or self-employed? Why? Self-employed, though taking care of all business matters yourself is/would suck. I just really want to be my own boss for the sake of photographing whatever I want. IIs your hair naturally curly, straight or somewhere in between? Do you wish it was different? It's straight, but on the wavy side, and I wish it wasn't. Do you ever play online games with your friends? Which one(s)? Just WoW. In the last week, have you had any alcoholic beverages? Which? No. Do you ever wear accessories in your hair? Which ones? No. Do you feel free to post your views on social media? Yep. I honestly don't care who it pisses off. What is your favorite work of historical fiction? Well, I don't really know what you consider truly "historical" in age... That, and I'm bad at dates to begin with. There are lots and lots of older books and movies I adore, though. Old Yeller is one of my favorite books ever, for one. The Boy In The Striped Pajamas makes me sob, too. What cartoon character looks like you? I remember when Hotel Transylvania came out, my ex's mob pointed out how much she thought I looked like the daughter, especially when my hair was dyed black. Do you have hope for the future? Some days I do, some days I don't. Do you believe in yourself? Ehhhh... debatable, idk. Do you have trouble letting go of your past? Oh yes. Were you happy in high school? It's funny, I was very depressed in HS, but due to Jason and friends, it's one of my most cherished time periods. Were you ever a teacher's favorite? I mean it modestly, but I was almost always pretty obviously one of the teachers' favorites. I was a good student. Are you popular? I wasn't. If you won a title in the senior class polls, what was it? I didn't. Have you ever had a medical condition that made you unable to work? My social anxiety is so debilitating that it's made it questionable. It ruined my very short-lived previous jobs. What makes your life worth living? My future goals, family, friends... What is your favorite Bible verse? I don't have one. List five careers you've considered. Paleontologist, vet, game designer, author, and wildlife biologist are all past ones. Do you have any unusual talents? If so, what? No. What do you get compliments on? My hair and my art, mostly. What have people told you you should be? I've heard "a vet" most in my life. What is holding you back? My (mostly social) anxiety and extreme fear of judgment. Do you have anyone purely evil in your life? Hell no, I wouldn't allow that person to stay in my life. Have you ever felt threatened for your life? I've felt scared for it, yes. While riding my bike once, I ran into a guy in my old neighborhood who had a criminal history, including assault, just asking what I was listening to on my iPod. I stopped because I was scared to keep going, and he wound up asking for my Facebook, but guess who didn't accept THAT friend request. List ten positive words that describe you. That's too much thinking, man. List ten negative words that [you feel] describe you. And that's too much negativity to fish in. Are you a good person or a bad person? I mean, I try to be a good one. Have you ever contemplated being a bad person? I've done bad things, but I've certainly never deliberated tried to be an overall bad person. Have you ever resorted to vandalism because you didn't have a voice? No. Have you ever egged someone's house? Wow, no. Do you want to egg someone's house? Also no because I'm a fucking adult. Have you ever seen a piece of graffiti that you are thankful for? What an odd question. I mean, no? Name three people who hurt you and didn't care. I am quite positive Colleen doesn't care about the many times she did considering she's always right. Was your first crush sexual, or no? No, I was just a kid. What would you do if you got pregnant right now? I honestly can't say I know. If I was God forbid raped, I'd probably have an abortion because I psychologically could not handle that without being scarred for life. If it was by my own stupidity, I feel I'd probably have the baby but give it up for adoption. I just can't raise a kid. Do you have a medical condition that you are embarrassed or ashamed to tell people you have? No, I don't think so. What do you get asked the most? Hm. OH, WAIT, THAT'S EASY. I get asked a lot if my lip piercing hurt. Have you ever stood up for someone else who was being bullied? I know I have before, but I don't remember the occasion. What tragic news stories that you've heard has touched you the most? Man, that's a lot to think about. You see news articles on Facebook all the time, and a whole lot of them touch me, so I dunno. What is your favorite thing to order at Taco Bell? I like the cheese quesadillas, and whatever those cinnamon bites are called are really good. I'm still tilted they got rid of the fiesta potatoes, because I adored those. Where do you have cutting scars (if you have any)? I only ever had them on my wrist, but you can't see them anymore. Do you like cotton candy? Not very, but I mean, I can have a bite or two. It's way too sweet to eat a lot of it. What's the best piece of graffiti you've ever seen? I'm unsure, but I've definitely seen beautiful work, especially online. Do you like tattoos? "Like" is a colossal understatement. Do you like piercings? Yep yep yep. Have you ever made someone so mad that they broke something? No. Those are not people I hang around with. Who is the last person you slow-danced with? Slow-danced? I don't think I've done that since Jason.

#survey #surveys #questions #lyrics: ''turbo lover'' by judas priest

[damnitaddie]

In The Streets

“All the street lights, glowing, happen to be Just like moments, passing, in front of me So I hopped in the cab and I paid my fare See I know my destination, but I’m just not there…”

  It’s been so long since I’ve updated this site that I don’t even know what to say, looks like the last time I updated the site was in late March. In that time, I’ve changed jobs, I changed schools, and things are happening.

After leaving AT&T and drifting aimlessly for a while, I got hired at Spectrum. At first, I treated Spectrum like a bullshit job that I didn’t care about. I think it was mostly because of the entry pay. But after a decent raise and then a shift differential, I had found a place that I wanted to stay until I graduated from nursing school. However, they changed my schedule to a point where going to school during the day wasn’t going to be feasible.

At the same time that they announced the scheduling changes for the whole center, I had just completed my healthcare basics coursework, lab time, and clinical rotations. I sat for the written and skills test and earned my CNA, or as Kentucky calls it – State Registered Nurse Aide.

With that in mind, it seemed like a sign that if nursing was my focus and I wanted to be about that life, there was no better time than the present to jump in head first. Don’t talk about it, be about it. So I started applying. I went to an open interview event at Norton Healthcare and sat down with a nurse manager. I went on to have an interview at Audubon Hospital and then another at Norton Hospital. I had also applied at Jewish and Kindred. I accepted an interview at Jewish and was offered the job the next day. I accepted and proceeded to do the onboarding requirements. Before orientation could begin, I got a call back from Norton offering me a job at the downtown hospital. Because it had been my goal to work at Norton, I accepted this job and backed out of the position at Jewish with as much poise and grace as possible.

During this same time period, I ran afoul of the chair of the nursing program at JCTC, after calling out the school on Twitter. An issue had arisen when our teacher allowed people to leave early. Because the course had federal requirements for logged hours, this was a big no-no. On this fateful night, my teacher’s boss walked in at 7:30 pm. I was there, along with two other students, but the other 20 or so students were long gone. So, they forced all of us to make up those hours. Even the three of us who were still there.

It was implied that I had broken the school’s social media policy. However, when I asked what section of the policy, knowing full well that the policy only applied to staff and faculty, they pivoted to possibly not accepting me into the ADN program due to my posts. In my mind, they’d already decided not to accept me, so I told them there were plenty of nursing schools in this town and someone would take my money.

And so, that’s the story of how I ended up at Galen, basically a year further away from graduating than I would have been if I’d just started there from the beginning. But it’s been good. I think it’s a good, albeit expensive, program and the degree carries name recognition for being a quality school.

Since starting at Norton as a PCA — Patient Care Associate — I’ve learned a ton of things and I feel like I’m already ahead of many of my classmates, many of them who are decades younger and have never worked in healthcare. In only a couple months, I know how to do things that they may not learn for months or even years. In January, we’ll begin our clinical rotations for school, doing hands-on work, most likely in long-term care facilities or nursing homes.

At the same time, I’ll be shifting gears at Norton, hanging up my grey scrubs for green, as a Nurse Apprentice, having been accepted into SNAP, which is the Student Nurse Apprenticeship Program. The first federally recognized program of it’s type, it gives me the ability to continue to build my clinical skills, often working nearly at scope along side a registered nurse. Being already familiar with Norton’s Systems, policies, and operating standards, I’m excited to be able to do more hands-on work than I’m legally allowed to do currently. My participation will run parallel to school, wrapping up at graduation time, just in time to take the NCLEX.

School and work has become my personality, largely because I have time for nothing else. I think everyone gets this false impression that because I “only” work 3 days a week that I’ve got so much time, but I’m working 12 hour shifts, from 7pm to 7am, and then often going straight to campus. On days when I don’t work and don’t have school, I often sleep 12-18 hours just trying to get back to baseline.

I say all this as a way of getting to the point, I’ve been missing everything. Family events, my kid’s sporting events, spending time with my girlfriend, and generally being a living breathing human being. If you ask me when we’re going to hang out, I’m likely to reply, “When you show up at the hospital, at Galen, or in my bedroom.”

Beyond all that, nothing else has changed. I wish I could say that I was becoming a better version of myself, less obsessed, more focused on the future than the past, and all that — but I don’t want to lie to you. I’m still carrying all my torches and they’re lit like the beacons of Minas Tirith.

In June, in the gap between Spectrum and Norton, Nicole and I took a trip to Washington D.C. for an event put on by American Nurses Association to lobby legislators on Capitol Hill. I had never been to the district and it was a fairly exciting proposition. There was a certain level of anxiety in it though, as Laurel lives in the area. I didn’t have any intention of seeking her out or really making contact with her, but she remains in my thoughts even now.

Nicole, knowing my feelings and being Nicole, had tried to contact Laurel a couple times. These were ostensibly friendly and Nicole’s way of letting Laurel know I still had feelings for her. I’ll never know what actually happened there, because neither party would share the contents of those interactions, but suffice to say, they were received poorly by Laurel. Never the less, Nicole was adamant that I needed to see her while we were in town. I was vehemently opposed to this idea and we debated it through most of West and Non-West Virginia.

No matter my protests, we ended up at the bar where Laurel spends most of her time that night. Earlier in the day, she had posted on Facebook a sort of open invitation to area trans folk to come out for drinks. As we, at the time, were Facebook friends — I would assume this would apply to me. This ties into the concept of assumptions. And, if we’re being honest, I knew there was a 90% chance she’d not want to see me.

So, there we are, standing on the sidewalk out front. I can actually see Laurel through the windows and I start to hyperventilate, replete with tachycardia. A full fledged anxiety attack. I plead with Nicole to leave, like let’s not do this, this is going to end poorly, etc, etc, etc. She declines.

We end up going into the upstairs portion of the bar and we have a few drinks. With a bit of liquid courage and social lubrication flowing, I send Laurel a message telling her that I’m upstairs, asking if she’d like to come up and say hi. This way I don’t crash her gathering, and she can save face in front of her friends.

So we wait, and we wait, and wait some more. Drinking more and more as we go, having befriended the bartender. A nice guy that had moved from Texas to D.C., a previous EMS technician and Army medic. Nicole and him both had the same role and rank in the military. We chatted about this and that, until finally I had waited long enough and was going to be so bold as to venture downstairs. I’ll never forget what happened next, because in 39 years on this rock, I’ve never seen someone react so poorly to seeing me. Not even the transphobe at AT&T who turned on her heel out of the women’s room having seen me…

At the bottom of the steps, I came around the corner and basically ran right into Laurel. We were maybe three feet apart. The closest we’d been since she drove away from our home in April of 2017. You always hear that trope about the blood running out of someone’s face, but I’d never seen it in reality, until now. Paler than pale. So white she was nearly transparent.

We have just lost cabin pressure.

The whole exchange lasted less than two minutes. Aside from asking me what I was doing there, she really couldn’t seem to get words past her teeth. Which, if you’ve met Laurel, you’d know is a pretty impressive feat. I finally said that I would make it easy and just go.

I spent the rest of the night and the trip in a state wavering between sadness and disbelief. I wasn’t shocked and if anything, I expected worse. I knew that there was nothing there, that the well had run dry long ago, but I still had to lean over the edge and peer into the void. By morning, she had blocked me on every social media platform.

In the afternoon, her bestie was messaging me accusing me of ill intent that I didn’t have. I told her basically that I could put my feelings in a bottle on a shelf, but they never seem to stay there for long. Even now, five months later, I’m still thinking about that fateful night. Running it through my head, replaying the horrible look she gave me. Of course, with Thanksgiving upon us, the memory of my mistakes weigh upon me heavily.

I’m working on erasing you, I just don’t have the proper tools. I get hammered, forget that you exist There’s no way that I’m forgetting this.

You’re the shit and I’m knee-deep in it.

Other than that, everything is great!

In The Streets was originally published on TransVentures

#depression #love #transventures #work

[orionwhispers]

🌻Cherries & Wine🌻; Tommy Shelby Imagine

Falling in love with Thomas Shelby was like standing on the edge of a cliff.

The feeling of being so high you were untouchable, able to see miles of soft amber sky stretched out like sugared caramel. Being with him was like feeling the warmth of the sun on your skin, heating up your insides like a furnace, dizzying your mind. It was as if nothing could dim the light he had awakened in you, from things as simple as his hand brushing against yours to his lips on your neck. His presence made you weak at the knees, wanting to be impossibly close to him, infatuation turning to obsession, but above all it was they way he looked at you, knowing he felt exactly the same.

It was also the knowledge that despite all of this, one push from an unseen force could send you toppling over the edge onto the jagged rocks below. They’d slice through your delicate skin like butter as you hit the ocean, the surf dragging you under, claiming you as its own as you struggled for breath, desperately trying to rise above the salty foam but eventually succumbing to the darkness.

—————-

Your lips were painted cherry red, tanned legs crossed as you sipped honey sweetened tea, your eyes hazily skimmed over lines of your book, occasionally blinking away the fatigue that made the words form into a blur. You were exhausted, having spent the past few days running around Birmingham with Michael, negotiating deals at the races and dealing with other Peaky errands, despite your now sore feet and tired limbs, roaming around the streets with your best friend was exhilarating, even if you longed for a hot bath at the end of the day.

You had been awake for almost twenty four hours, driving from city to city, legs slumped across Michaels as you criticised his driving, earning a playful smack and a sudden brake sending you lurching forward. It had been non stop traveling and listening to men argue about money, your hands still smelt of coins despite your eager scrubbing and you were hoping to not see stacks of forms and messy signatures for a long time.

Now you were back, immediately slinking into your favourite corner of Tommy’s expansive garden for some solace. You were under the shade of the apple tree you and Polly had planted the previous autumn, despite Tom’s rolled eyes and warnings that it wouldn’t grow, it now bore large red fruit and offered generous protection from the summer sun, something you had a habit of teasing Tommy about. It was your favourite spot to relax in, sunk into the garden furniture you had bought, the sun on your legs as you turned the pages of your novel, hidden away from prying eyes but close enough to the house you could still see the edge of the roof and the windows of the highest floor.

As soon as she had seen Michael dropping you off in his car, Mary boiled the kettle and started washing some strawberries, smirking slightly and rolling her eyes at your absence. A few moments later and she brought you out some tea and a platter of sliced fruit and chocolate biscuits, watching with her signature displeased look as you took a sip and savoured the warmth.

“What?” You asked innocently over the china mug as she raised her eyebrows and held up her hands in an ‘I'm not getting involved’ manner. You thanked her with a smile as she strode back to the house, leaving you in peace as she scurried away, not wanting to be caught in the potential crossfire.

The truth was, your little escapade with Michael wasn’t exactly planned. Tommy tried to keep you away from the business as much as possible, liking to essentially keep you under glorified house arrest, giving you small tasks and claiming that they were crucial to the company. It wasn’t that he thought you were incompetent or untrustworthy with the inner workings of Shelby Company Ltd, it was the exact opposite. Even being associated with a Shelby was dangerous, let alone having the most feared leader fall for you, so it was safe to assume your mutual infatuation had secured a target onto your back. You knew the risks, but you were young and hopelessly in love and you weren’t planning on leaving Tommy without a fight. Tommy on the other hand, was well aware of just how much danger you were in by being with him and constantly fought with his subconscious about leaving you, determined not to watch you be taken from his clutches by someone with bad intentions, but he was far too selfish to let you go. His over possessive and protective nature stemmed from what he believed were rational thoughts, the idea of a life without you in it was unfathomable to him, so he resorted to keeping you as close as he possibly could. Secretly though, he liked the fact that you were dependent on him, despite knowing deep down that you were a free spirit, eager to do exactly as you pleased.

So when Michael told you he was headed out of town for a few days to do some business, you jumped at the chance to tag along. You hadn’t spent much time with your best friend in a while and felt guilty for almost abandoning him as you sunk deeper in love with Tommy, spending almost all of your free time attached to the older man, relishing in his attention like a child. Despite the fact you were both now thrust into a world where you had to act like adults, you and Michael had a bond that stemmed from when you were both kids, and could easily spend hours laughing and forgetting the world around you. You also were desperate to pry information out of him about his newest girl, Charlotte, hearing Polly’s contempt for the girl when you met up weekly for tea and a moan about the men that surrounded you both.

Although catching up with Michael was the biggest reason for your departure, a tiny bit of you was using this mini adventure as a way to get Tommy’s attention. It was bratty and childish and stupid but you couldn’t help loving winding him up by disobeying him, especially when he was too distracted by work to give you the attention your spoilt mind needed. It was like a game of cat and mouse, and you loved it, and secretly, you know he did too.

Michael on the other hand, wasn’t too pleased. You were two hours into your journey, sipping on lukewarm tea from the flask you had packed and discussing Isaiah's newest squeeze, when Michael suddenly stopped the car, glaring at you through squinted eyes and sending tea splashing down your lacy lavender dress.

“Oi! You twat!” You dabbed at the spill, desperately trying to stop it from turning into a stain. “I just got this!” You lifted your angry eyes to meet his, but his gaze didn't falter. “What?”

“Tommy’s been at the Eden for the past couple of days with Arthur.”

“So?”

“So, he’s been pretty much unreachable! And you’re telling me, you told him you wanted to join me driving around and sorting out business deals, and he agreed, despite being halfway across the fucking country?”

You pulled a face, pretending to mull it over as you gave a small nod. “Pretty much, yeah.”

He exhaled loudly, rubbing a hand over his eyes in exasperation as you smirked before he leapt over and started smacking your shoulder. “Hey! Hey! Pack it in!” You laughed, squirming away from his mock attack.

“Jesus Christ (Y/N), you are such a dickhead. He has no idea you’ve gone does he?” Watching you shrug playfully he rolled his eyes and placed his head on the wheel, “Fuck sake. You are such a cunt.”

Twenty minutes and several promises of being Michaels slave whenever he wanted in exchange for your lies, you were pulled up outside of a pub in a town you didn’t recognise, stood before the phone and waiting for it connect, twirling your hair impatiently. Luckily for you, Tommy was still out of the office so you got connected to his secretary. You thanked God that it wasn’t Lizzie, because you knew with her distaste for you; she’d be the first to ruin your plans with her jealousy. You explained to the woman your whereabouts, asked her to tell Tommy you were safe and would see him in a few days, you could hear her start stuttering, raring up to argue and not get involved, but you said goodbye and shut down the phone before she could protest.

With the call out of the way, you ran back to the car, smugly holding two thumbs up to Michael who was chain smoking in the front seat. he gave you the finger as he opened the car door, watching as you slid into the leather seats with a shit eating grin, placing your feet on the dashboard and crossing your arms, watching as he clicked his tongue and twisted the keys, hearing the engine cough, mumbling curses under his breath as you drove away.

You were still mulling over the fun you had as you relaxed in the sunlight, despite your aches and tired eyes it felt fun to let loose for once. You ran your bare foot over blades of grass, buttercups tickling your toes as you skimmed over a few lines in your book, you were getting to a particularly interesting part when you felt two large, warm and utterly distinct hands clasp over your eyes.

You tensed at the sudden touch, but immediately relaxed at the callous palms playfully stroking your skin, you giggled and leant back into the touch, trying to remain nonchalant.

“Yes?”

“Guess who.”

The voice was deep and gruff and after all this time it still spent sparks through your skin. You pretended to think, pursing your lips slightly, “Hmm, I’m going to have to say Polly.” He tapped the sides of your face with his thumbs playfully as he leant down, putting his lips to your ear and mumbling raspily,

“Wrong.”

He smelt of mint and cigarettes and you shivered, smirking slightly, “Hi Tommy.”

“Hi Princess.”

His tone was teasing and he kept his hands over your eyes, engulfing you in darkness. The pads of his fingers tickled against your eyelashes and you waited for his next words.

“Surprised to find you ‘ere, thought you’d be off gallivanting with Michael.”

“Eh, I decided to come back. Thought you might miss me too much if I stayed any longer.”

He let out a dark chuckle, beginning to remove his hands before pausing and commanding, “Keep your eyes closed.” You quirked a brow but complied, waiting for your next instructions.

“Got you something.”

You paused, tilting your head in confusion, pulling your lips taut. This wasn’t exactly the reaction you expected. “Why?”

He ignored the question, his rough fingertips sliding along your collarbones teasingly, a moment later and you felt the cool metal of a dainty chain around your throat, pulling tight as he tightened the clasp around your neck.

“You can look now.”

Your fingers grabbed the small jewel hanging from your neck and you gasped audibly as you saw how beautiful it was. Hanging from a silver chain was a beautiful emerald with adjoining diamonds, they reflected off the sun and you could barely form words, Tommy grinned at your reaction taking a seat opposite you as you admired your gift.

“Tommy, I can’t accept this!”

“And why not?”

You sighed exasperatedly, “It’s far too much! It’s beautiful Tom, it really is, but it must have cost a fortune, you can’t keep spoiling me like this.” Your previous game over as you frowned at your boyfriend and his habits of spending far too much on you, you shook your head and reached up to unclasp the chain, but Tommy wound his hands in yours and pulled them away.

“None of that. You’re keeping it and that’s the end of it.”

“But Tommy - ”

He silenced you with a look, and you quit your protesting, watching as he smiled smugly at his win. He reached into his jacket for a cigarette and you smoothed your fingers over the gem, “Thank you. Honestly, it’s beautiful.” You lean over and press your lips against his sweetly at first, but deepen the kiss, opening your mouth and melting into him, you felt him stiffen in surprise at your sudden act of dominance but couldn’t resist falling into you, tangling his fingers in your hair. He pulls back suddenly and smiles as you frown, pleased that he is back in control.

He leant back and lit his smoke, inhaling sharply with dark eyes. “Well, you can wear it next Friday.” At your perplexed expression he grins with the cigarette in between his plump lips, “We’ve got a dinner, everyone’ll be there, and the most beautiful girl needed the most beautiful necklace eye?”

You blush at his words, and he smirks at your reddening cheeks, you can’t help but stare and admire the jewellery feeling undeniably spoilt and thankful at not only the present, but the man who had given it to you. You twiddle it between your fingers until a thought pops into your brain, you tilt your head up and meet his eye line.

“So you’re not mad?”

He pauses, taking a puff of his cigarette, and exhaling into the summer air. The smoke whips around you as he meets your gaze, his ocean eyes are dark but his lips are turned upwards. “Mad? No sweetheart, I’m not mad.” You smile sweetly, pleased that you have gotten away with it, but the bratty side of you utterly confused at his submission at your actions. He clicks his tongue as his stormy pupils widen, “Im furious. I’ve got some work to do, but when I get home later you’ll learn that your actions have consequences. I’m sure you can make it up to me then.”

He gathers his things, not noticing your bewildered expression as he leaves without a goodbye, striding back to the house with his usual swagger, leaving you breathless and expectant, a fiery heat of passion and lust building in your stomach that can only be ignited by him.

———————

The next few days were bliss. Whatever had come up in the business had come to a halt and you were allowed a few slivers of paradise with Tommy. He was still busy, even a tornado couldn’t stop

Thomas Shelby from his job, but those precious mornings and evenings - he was all yours. When the sunlight streamed through the blinds, seeing his bare skin next to you was almost euphoric. It was rare to wake up before him, and tracing his tattoos with your fingernail and feeling him shiver at your touch felt like a secret only you had the privilege to know. It was sleepy kisses and murmured words that made you melt, intertwined limbs and private jokes, the scent of musk and cigarettes, his hands stroking your spine, hair messy and tangled. Tired giggles and breathless moans and grunts as he buried himself inside you, the sunlight painting your limbs.

The evenings were darker. Red lips that matched the cherry wine you drank straight from the bottle, music from the gramophone, feeling dizzy when he twirled you around to the beat. The smell of smoke and sour whisky, dragging you in to whisper into your ear, his hands pulling you impossibly close, claiming you as his. Leather on lace, passionate kisses that tasted like home, fingers tracing all over your skin, the wood of his desk against your body, dark and dominating stares as you fell into one another.

But even at your highest, the happiness so blinding you were almost immune to your surroundings, you didn’t notice the earth chipping away at your feet, eroding until you would inevitably plummet to the ground.

——————-

A soft melody flowed through the grand open hall and you took a swig from your champagne flute, you peered through a wide window, glancing at the beautiful garden outside, thoroughbred horses grazing on the grass, the sun beginning to set. Two fingers grazed along the skin of your bare back and you smiled and leant into the touch almost unconsciously. You felt soft kisses along your collarbone and giggled, he smiled at your ecstasy before taking your small hand in his, offering a look of encouragement before pulling you towards the party,

“You ready?”

“Always.”

The sound of laughter echoed from around you, Isaiah's perfect impression of the toffee nosed people around you making you snort into your hand. You had lost Tommy somewhere in the crowd as he dealt with the hordes of people eager to speak to him, and you had found your way to your friends, drinking sparkling cider and pretending to fit in. You smiled at a smitten looking Michael, one arm slung over Charlotte as he sucked on a cigarette, you wiggled your brows playfully at her lovestruck gaze and he rolled his eyes in retaliation. You could see how nervous she was, and it reminded you of how you had once been when you arrived on the dangerous streets of Birmingham and couldn’t help marvelling at how much being with Tommy had changed you.

It wasn’t just nerves though, you could tell. Her quick glances around the room and her drawled out laughter signalled that she was high on snow, and that meant Michael was too. You hated this new habit of his, although you knew it was in fashion to snort the substance and dance until your feet bled, it made you uneasy to see your friends completely out of sync with their own body. When it had become all the rage to sniff the white powder, you had been secretly intrigued and even Michael had encouraged you to try it, telling you it would help loosen you up. Somehow Tommy had sensed your curiosity, and one night had even pulled you aside and basically forbidden you from ever touching the stuff. You had scoffed and protested, telling him it was nothing more than minor curiosity and that he had no business ordering you around like a child, he had raised a brow in humour but the warning was still there. Secretly though, you knew that his overbearing protectiveness came from his desire to keep you safe, and as infuriating as it was sometimes, you were grateful that he cared about you.

Isaiah's twinkling laugh brought you from your own mind, and looking around the ballroom you raised a brow at how filled it had become, it wasn’t unusual for people who were craving a good time to sneak into the parties, so you smiled politely at all the faces that passed. You frowned as your eyes flitted around the bodies, searching for the perfect mess of hair and distinctive blue eyes but you couldn’t place him anywhere. You frown, inwardly pouting at missing the lingering feelings of his hands on your skin, his presence alone enough to make you giddy. Before you could open your mouth to find his whereabouts, you felt a palm on your arm, spinning you around.

“Y/N! So good to see you, my love!”

It took you a second to recover from the initial disappointment that the man before you wasn’t Tommy, but instead a mildly recognisable face you had met through the business.

“Oh hello! What a nice surprise…” Your eyes darted to Michael who was mouthing a name over the rim of his glass, you struggled to comprehend what he was saying until he frustratedly enunciated the letters. “Steven!”

The older man gave a crooked grin, smiling at your enthusiasm and at the familiarity of his name and face you continued to speak, “How are the wife and kids? I hear you’ve just had twins! How lovely!” You turned slightly to the side, avoiding the bemused mocking faces of your friends.

“Oh yes! Little Bella and Daisy,” you smiled at the adoration in his eyes as he spoke of his children, but it quickly dwindled as he gripped your upper arms and pulled you away, “I must say you look beautiful! I was hoping to steal you away for a quick dance,” He pretended to glance around the room, “As long as Tommy doesn’t keep me away.” You raised a brow, but he intertwined his hand with yours leading you to the middle of the floor, “I was hoping to have a word with you about my new horse, Aslan, maybe you could put a good word in for Tommy for me, eh?”

Tommy was trying his best to keep one eye on you at all times, but that was easier said than done. Midway through a conversation with a Mayor or a Lady he would catch a glimpse of tan skin peeking beneath the lavender of your dizzying short dress, one that he was sure you were wearing to piss him off. He would follow the curve of your smile as you spoke to those around you, watching through his peripheral vision as you glided across the floor, capturing the gazes of everyone in a mile radius as far as he was concerned. As soon as felt sure he had located you, comfortable enough to ease into the conversation around him without his eyes locked not you, the band would pick up and you would be lost into the crowd again, dancing and spinning wildly to the music, twirling in the arms of another man just to grab his attention, downing flutes of bubbling champagne like they were water. The shining colour of your hair, voice of honey and of course the reflective light of your emerald necklace were like a lighthouse luring him to you, despite his distance, even the light you emitted in the background was enough to calm the stormy sea in his mind.

You were out of breath, tipsy, and dizzy from the noise and the heat, but even that couldn’t dim your sparkle. You grinned as you spoke to Jessica, a jazz singer from London, enamoured about her tales of the vibrant city. It was somewhere high on your wish list of travels and you had mentioned that to Tommy, but he quickly shut down your hopes, telling you it was far too dangerous at the moment. You had pouted and pleaded to no avail, but you were certain you had a few tricks up your sleeve to leave him squirming until he complied.

Two hands tugging at the fabric of your dress dragged you from your thoughts and you spun round ready to give the culprit a mouthful until you were met with the angelic face of Katie, John’s eldest daughter.

“Hiya sweets!” You grinned at the young girl, giving Jessica a quick smile as you turned your back to her, giving the child your full attention. You and Katie had grown very close in the time you had been in Birmingham, with her admiring you as if you are an older sister. You often babysat John and Esme’s kids to give them a night off, and once the younger ones were tucked up in bed you and Katie would sit by the roaring fire, painting her nails peach as you spoke of tales from the country.

“I’m bored. Will you dance with me?” You rolled your eyes at her pout but couldn’t resist taking her hand in yours. It was beyond rare that children got invited to a party like this, but Katie’s violin teacher had made a generous donation to one of the Shelby charities and in thanks, Katie had persuaded her father to let her give a small performance at the gathering.

You glanced quickly around the large room, taking in the chandeliers and oak floors, the shimmering golds and crimson reds, scanning over the faces for any familiarity or warning of some kind. You came up with nothing, just smiling faces and the chime of the music floating through the air, you pulled the girl close and grinned, twirling her around like a china doll.

“Come on, then.”

You spun on your heel, tendrils of curled hair flying around your shoulders as you danced to the vibrant music that filled the room. Your happiness was infectious, smiling faces and tapping feet all around you as the musicians picked up to try and match your euphoria. Katie giggled as you both twisted in unison, your necklace reflecting light the colour of glistening champagne and sea foam against the walls as you moved. You laughed at Michael who was attempting to keep up with an enthusiastic and drunken Charlotte across the hall, your dress swaying across your bare skin as you moved, showing tantalising slivers of flesh. The room was buzzing, even the most stern looking businessmen were tapping their feet to the beat. The music was deafening, and as the song reached its climax the drummer pounded on his set sending shockwaves through the walls, you glided and twirled to the thumps, anticipating the next thundering clash, until the song started to slow, and the final blow wasn’t the pound of a drum,

It was a gunshot.

The sound rippled through the room with such vigour that it made the paintings on the walls tremble, the bang was deafening and the panic in the room made you feel completely disorientated as you tried to gather your surroundings. The voices around you became a murmur and you couldn’t understand why, instinctively covering Katie's body with your one to give her some kind of protection, not understanding the look of horror gracing her angelic features. Everything was a blur and you were struggling to breathe, your head pounding and body shaking, it had only been a few seconds but it felt like hours. You tried to open your mouth to say something, anything, but choked on air like it was toxic fumes, unable to make any sound apart from a few strangled moans. You coughed and spluttered, feeling a wetness on your skin you glanced down, letting out a  gasp at the crimson blood splattering your palm.

The shock made you stumble back on your heels, you heard screams and shouts, out of the corner of your eye you could see fighting figures and your heart hammered at the sight of Michael running towards you, face contorted in rage. Two warm hands gripped your arms and stopped you from sliding onto the oak floor, mumbling desperate words of comfort as you sank down further, your body unable to control itself. The voice was as familiar and soothing as a summers day but you couldn’t comprehend anything other than the scarlet blood seeping through the fabric of your dress, and the sharp and painful wound of a bullet lodged inside your body, your mind growing darker and darker until all you could see was darkness.

——————-

When you were 7, you and Michael, (then Henry) used to play on the wall that separated your houses. it was over 6 feet tall, with thick stone and covered in blackberry brambles and low swung branches from the fields behind. Almost every day you would meet on top of the slabs, sharing jam sandwiches and daring the other to take a treacherous jump from the top to the grass below. One afternoon when the air was thick with pollen and honey, both of you still in your school clothes, hands sticky with ink - you were playing pirates atop of the wall. You had been captured by Michael, and forced to walk the plank. Your toes were pressed over the edge, a branch Michael had turned into a sword poking into your spine.

“You stole my treasure.”

“Henry -”

“Aye, young lassie, any last words before I send you into the stormy seas? Look down at all the sharks and the..”

‘Henry.”

“What?”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Prepare to walk the plank!”

As he jabbed you a final time with his makeshift sword, you extended a leg to plummet to the depths below as you had done countless times before, but this time, something went wrong. You still weren't entirely sure what happened, but Michael told you your foot got caught and twisted at the top, making your body spasm and you fall head first, smashing your delicate skull across the stone and landing on your neck at the bottom, a tangled heap of flesh and hair and blood.

You didn't wake up for 3 days.

When you finally did, feeling as battered and bruised as a peach, your head swollen to almost twice its normal size, the first thing you wondered was what was for breakfast. It wasn’t until you saw a distraught Michael, both of your weeping mothers consoling the boy, that you realised you hadn’t just been asleep for a mere eight hours. Poor Michael was convinced he had killed you, and even the local doctor wasn’t sure if you’d come round, warning your parents to expect the worst and say what might be their finals goodbyes as you lay in your childhood bed like a china doll.

But you did eventually wake, and after embracing those closest to you, relishing in their undivided overbearing attention for the next few weeks and relentlessly teasing Michael, everyone was surprised when you never brought the accident up again. The doctor thought it was shock from the trauma, the way you simply bounced back to normal as if you hadn’t sustained life threatening injuries, playing in the woods and doing cartwheels across the grass with a suddenly overprotective Michael. All that remained from that day was a newfound fear of heights, dizzy spells and headaches when you read or played too long and a scar that ran from the nape of your neck to the middle of your skull, only visible if you knew what you were looking for, other than that, you seemed perfectly normal.

The truth was though, deep down behind the jokes and the teasing and the false bravado, you were terrified. Because whenever you thought of the three days you were unconscious, when the doctor was convinced your heart must have stopped, you saw nothing. The mere thought shook you to the core, settling in your bones like fog and from then on you vowed to live everyday as if it was your last,because you were unconvinced you would ever get a second chance to do anything again.You were still sensible though, a black cloud followed you from then on, stopping you from doing anything too reckless, knowing that even a childhood game could end in disaster.

But then you met Tommy.

You had never ever felt anything like it, and you knew you never would again, so you pushed any qualms you had about being with him to the back of your mind, locking them in an iron tight safe. He was beautiful and terrifying, dominating and gentle, soft lipped with hands that were covered in blood, but to you he was perfect. That night when you first kissed under the stars had cemented the fact that you were utterly cast under his spell, and you didn’t care one bit. You knew he was broken though, like shards of glass that could easily cut through your skin like the edge of a knife but you ignored the warning signs. The death and gore, darkness and smoke, violence and lies, you would take it in a heartbeat for the weight of his hips against yours, late night whispers and kisses and the knowledge that you were his, entirely.

So you accepted your fate on top of the cliff. The long nights, extravagant parties, swollen lips and summer love, all of it distracted you from reality. The knife pressed into your spine, just waiting for that one perfect moment to tear into your flesh, pushing you over the edge.

———————

The room was dim, you could see the soft eerie glow from yellow candle flames casting shadows around the walls. It felt as if there was a weight on your chest, sitting on your ribs and slowly crushing them like a boulder. You felt a chill swallow your body whole and unwillingly fell deeper into the abundance of blankets and pillows surrounding you, you frowned as you came into contact with them, expecting comforting familiar smells but instead you felt empty and wrong. Your fingers clenched at the mattress with as much strength your body could muster, attempting to mimic the the repetitive nights of bliss you had felt in this very spot, but it felt foreign to the touch, no longer sending shock waves through your body. You head was pounding like a steam train approaching a platform, your whole body juddering and aching and you buried your head into the pillow to escape the uncontrollable migraine.

Nothing.

Not silk or smoke, bitter whisky and strawberry wine, deep aftershave or sweet perfume, it smelt clinical. Like sickness and damp cloth, sweat and rubbing alcohol, completely unfamiliar.

You blinked again, bile rising in your throat as you tried to rise up, using your hands for support as you gazed around the room, brows furrowed in confusion and pain. Deep burgundy walls, classic paintings and basic furnishings, a guest room, one of many in Tommy’s mansion. You couldn’t even place which one it was, he had dozens and you had never spent a night in a single one, always nestled next to him in the bed you shared; both of you fitting as perfect as puzzle pieces.

You felt sick and confused and swung your body out from under the covers, you toppled over uncontrollably and fell forward, smacking your body against something metal. It clattered to the ground and you winced at the noise, watching scissors and needles, bloody gauze and bottles of strong medicine roll and crash across the hardwood floor. As if on cue your collarbone began to ache and you rested a hand across your heart, gasping as you felt the rough thread of stitches and the beginnings of a scab forming over dried blood and exposed flesh. Your legs started to give out at the pain of your sudden touch and you struggled to place the bed behind you, desperate for support before you fell to the ground. Just as you placed a hand on the bed frame the door rattled noisily and suddenly swung open, revealing a panicked and flustered Michael, with half his shirt untucked.

He ran towards you, slipping over a stray needle and cursing as it rolled under his foot, gripping his strong arms under yours as he held you upright. “Christ Almighty (Y/N) I’ve barely left your side for almost a week and the second I go to take a piss you decide it’s a great time to go exploring! You sure do pick your fuckin’ moments, eh?”

His voice was teasing and so familiar it made you relax and take a breath, your bloodshot eyes running over your best friend lovingly, grateful to have him beside you. You tried to speak but your throat was so dry it felt raw, opening your mouth made your lips tear slightly and the cold air hitting your teeth made you shudder.

“God, you’re a mess aren't you? Sit down OK? Sit!” He lowered you onto the bed gently, hands tucking you in and running over your body as if you might fade away from his touch. “Jesus I was so worried about you. Always the attention seeker, I swear.”

He was joking but his voice was weak and crackled and frayed with every syllable. His hands were frantic, moving up and down your limps repetitively, messing with the stray covers and fluffing pillows like a distressed Pol would when he was ill. You lifted a hand and rested it against his cheek, softly but sternly - another thing you had learnt from Polly, he rested into your touch and sighed as if releasing his frustration through the air.

“I was so fucking worried, sitting there every day, not knowing if you would wake up. It’s been hell, absolute fucking hell.”

You nodded, not even able to think how unbearable the situation would be if the roles were reversed. In fact, when you were a child and Michael came down with chickenpox, despite both your parents strong warnings you snuck into his room every night and slept next to him, filling him in on the gossip that had happened that school day. A few says later when you sprouted matching red bumps and relentless itchy skin, Michael chose to stay with you rather than go back to school, sitting with you and telling you stories, because thats just the way you two were. Best friends.

You sat upright in bed and Michael rolled his eyes as you unfurled his masterpiece, already trying to push you back down but you tried to speak in protest. Incoherent raspy words fell from your sore mouth and Michael reached to the bedside table and filled a glass with water, pressing into your lips and watching as you drank greedily. It was as soft and nourishing as honey and you drank so desperately it fell down your chin, as Michael reached for a rag you stopped him, forcing him to look at you as you started to speak.

“Why am I in a guest room?”

Your words surprised the both of you, and Michael paused, rubbing a hand over his eyes exasperatedly, thinking of something to say. Your heart felt heavy and you reached for him, confused and desperate, the hole in your collarbone not nearly as painful as the thoughts in your mind.

“Michael? What the hell is going on? Where is everybody? I know I’ve been shot but -”

“Yeah, you were. You were fucking shot.” You flinched at his tone, it was snappy and dark and made you curl into yourself, you opened your mouth to protest but he cut you off with a wave of his hand. “You nearly fucking died (Y/N)! It barely missed your heart, and Tommy - Jesus! You have no idea what he’s..”

“Michael. Go fetch the nurse.” The words made both of your heads snap up, despite the fierceness and intensity of the voice, immediate butterflies began to stew in your stomach, blood running hot from your internal adoration towards it. You couldn't see him but his presence was enough to fill up the whole room, as comforting as the flames from a fire and as intoxicating as the black smoke it would discharge into the air.

“Tommy,” Michael began, talking through his teeth with a frustration you couldn't decipher.

“Now.”

Michael paused, sighed and grabbed your face in his palms, kissing the heat of your forehead gently and murmured “I’ll be right back.” You nodded against him and watched as he stood up, made his way to the door and glanced momentarily at the silhouette in the frame, both of them talking without saying anything, an unspoken truce settled with just a look.

The figure approached and you smiled gently as his face became visible through the flickering candlelight, “Tommy.” You breathed, sitting upright, already feeling the flush rising back into your cheeks. You reached out for him, desperate for his touch and comforting words, anything that would help you feel less feeble and weak as you were confined to the bed. Despite the horror you had been through none of it mattered to you at all, you were alive and those you loved were safe, that was all you cared about.

But he stayed back. Your hand fell limp across the mattress, fingers unfurled, waiting for his to intertwine with yours.

“Tommy?” You repeated, trying to catch his attention, but he wasn’t even looking at you. His blue eyes resting on a spot beside your bed, desperately trying not to look at your face, because he knew if he saw the ashen taint of your skin, the colour drained from your perfect pink lips and the hopeless enchantment in your eyes that he once could have drowned in, he would break.

“The nurse is coming, if you need anything, ask her.”

With that he left you lying dejected on the plush bed as he turned and walked out of the room as if addressing a stranger, his words so cool and detached they shot through you. It was as if he didn’t know you, as if you hadn’t spent the past year together, as if you meant nothing to him. The pain from your torn collarbone was almost unbearable, but it was no match for the one that was currently tearing apart your heart.

The next few days you were so grateful for the amount of morphine coursing through your veins, not only did it numb your physical wounds but it numbed everything else, distracting you from your own twisted thoughts and making everything more bearable. You received plenty of visitors, Michael stayed practically attached to your hip, conducting Shelby business from the comfort of the armchair in the corner. Polly brought tea and biscuits and sat with you, holding your hand like a mother as the nurse changed your bandages and pulled out the stitches. John, Esme and the kids bustled in one evening, the children clambering over the bed as gently as their tiny bodies could muster, eager to inspect your battle wounds and you nearly broke down yourself as you comforted a crying Katie who insisted it was all her fault.

“Fucking Shelby men, bring more trouble than they’re worth, the lot of them.” Esme said, clutching your hand as Polly pulled the children downstairs for some privacy.

“Oi, you know you’d be lost without us.” John teased his wife, cradling the youngest in his arms, she scoffed and he smiled, turning solemn as he faced you. “This one’s tough as nails, see. She’ll be back on er’ feet in no time.”

Slowly but surely your body regained some strength, enough to sit up in bed and play tedious games of cards with Michael, Isaiah and Finn. Arthur bought you bottles of rum from the Garrison that he swore worked better than ‘whatever shit the nurses are pumping you with.’ Everyone did their best to distract you, Ada lending you her favourite novels, Michael filling you in on everything you had missed and even the nurses would give you something to help you sleep easier. But the one you really missed, the one you wanted next to you more than anything, never came.

Every morning, when you finally awoke, drowsy and heavily drugged, sick to your stomach from medicine and the pain residing in your chest, you looked around eagerly hoping to find that one familiar face sat across from you. Shirt sleeves rolled up, cigarette dangling from his lips and messy hair curly and loose as he slept, curled up in an armchair, only this relaxed around you, but every morning your heart sank down into the pit of your stomach at the empty space in the room. His abandonment hurt like a dagger, all you wanted was him and not understanding why he wasn’t there for you made you delirious with heartbreak. Nobody would let you see him, every time you brought him up you were shot down, the subject changed immediately, everyone sharing hidden glances and secrets that were tearing you apart. You wanted to know his reasoning, desperate to understand why this man you were so deeply in love with could just drop you, unable to even look at you, leave you in agony in the top floor of his home, couldn’t even bring himself to visit you.

“Miss, your collarbone shattered in 4 places, the doctor had to perform intensive surgery. Please rest. Sit back down. Now, Miss.”

“(Y/N), please. You can’t get up, you might tear your stitches, the nurses know best alright?”

The voices repeated like a mantra in your head, nobody letting you up, your own body fighting against you as you tried to leave your quarantined room. Eventually on the fourth day, stuck amongst the bouquets you had been sent and bowls on untouched soup and saltine crackers you  broke down. The tears came fast and hard, sliding down your cheeks like salty fat raindrops, you heaved and moaned in pain and agony, Michael was at your side in an instant but you pushed him off with everything your fragile body could muster, feeling deeply betrayed by him.

“Why won’t he come see me? Michael? Why is everyone ignoring me?”

“(Y/N),” He gripped your arms as gently as he could, attempting to push you back down but you resisted angrily.

“No! Fuck you Michael, you’re supposed to be my best friend, and you won’t tell me shit! After everything you…”

You yelped, clutching your chest and gasping, your tear filled eyes meeting Michaels, his own brimming with water, blue iris’ filled with emotion. He scrambled over to you, holding his hands over yours as your stitches tore, blood pooling under your joined fingertips and dotting onto the mattress in pools of sickly crimson.

“Fucking nurse! Nurse! Help her!”

——————-

On what you assumed was the eighth day you woke up, alone again. It was dark outside, pitch black, shadows creeping into the room and dancing along the floorboards. You were drowsy, had been slipping out of consciousness for the past few days and you instinctively moved a hand to your wound, it throbbed painfully but you ignored it, it felt dull compared to everything else. You paused as you slowly sat upright, straining to listen for any movement but there was none, just a tawny owl hooting outside and the sound of the wood burner cackling and its flames rising. You were frustrated and bored and exhausted from oversleeping and as you reached for one of Ada’s dog eared novels you heard the sound of movement from the lower floors and your ears pricked forward like a gun dogs’.

There was only one person who would still be awake in the dead of night, with ink smudged hands and smoke tainted lips, head furrowed as he worked tirelessly. Once upon a time you could have distracted him from his chores, persuading him to come back to bed with tired eyes and pouty lips like a siren seducing a sailor, you’d lay with him as the moon blinked and the stars twinkled, stroking his hair until he finally closed his eyes and succumbed to sleep. But not anymore. Maybe you were just unhinged from your ordeal and deranged from your confinement but you swung your legs out of bed wildly, getting to your feet as clumsily as you could manage and wrapping a house coat around your shivering flustered body as you waddled towards the door with as much coordination as a new born foal, but you didn’t care, you needed the truth.

You felt like you were a child again, sneaking out of bed and wandering the halls in search of a midnight snack of milk and your mothers homemade cookies, desperate not to be caught by anyone as you rummaged around the kitchen like a ravenous mouse. Your legs were as stiff as boards and you almost toppled over a few times but you made it to the top of the stairs, resting a hand on the banister for support. You were overcome with the familiarity of everything around you, remembering all the emotions and passion you had felt in this house, as if it was as alive as you were. Hands on skin and laughs that sounded like diamonds, ripped dresses and whispered words, legs around his waist and his mouth on your neck, heartbeats in sync and the pulse of your blood whenever you touched, all of it running through your mind like you were sat watching it on the big screen at the pictures.

Had none of it felt the same to him? Were you just a stupid, easy fuck? A little girl dopey in love with an older man, only to have him snickering behind your back as he mingled with more mature, beautiful and sophisticated women, giving him things you never could? Did he look back at your time together and cringe, gloat at how easy it was for you to slip into his bed? Was the bullet entering your chest a sign for him, that he had played you for too long?And now he was left to pick up the pieces? Embarrassment and distress pricked at your neck like a hot flush but you blinked away your feelings, taking a bumbling step forward and cascading down the stairs.

You reached the arch of his office doorway, feeling the cold brass handle under your enclosed fist, you took a shaky breath and twisted it, pushing it open and stepping into the low lit room, hidden in the shadows like you belonged there. He was by the window, face half illuminated by the moon and his oil lamp, tapping on his typewriter with vigour, the orange tip of a used cigarette glowing in the ashtray.

“Is she up?”

You didn’t say anything, sucked on your lower lip and waited for his eyes to trawl away from his work but after a few seconds you answered meekly, “Yeah, I am.”

His eyes shot up like bullets leaving the barrel of a gun as he looked at you, making your gut twist. You hated him for leaving you, ignoring you, making you question everything, but he still looked beautiful, so stunningly gorgeous that it made you want to hit him, the way that after everything he had put you through, he still made you gasp for air.

He blinked slowly, like a stray tom cat, wiping away any hints before you could try and read them. Falling into business mode as if assessing a stranger, not someone he had once sat up all night with, sharing stories about his mother.

“Go back to bed.”

You paused, bewildered and offended at his words, and you stared him down as intimidatingly as you could muster.

“(Y/N)” He repeated, his tone bored and slow as if he was speaking to a child. “Go back to bed.”

“Fuck you.”

He blinked again, removed his hands from the typewriter and placed them calmly by his sides but you could see the subtle twitch in his knuckles as he watched you, as calculated as ever. He didn’t say anything, just stared at you, baiting you almost and to your inner annoyance you couldn't help but rise to it, furious and wanting to make him talk.

“So thats it huh? You’re ignoring me?” You couldn’t help the hysteria in your voice, the desperation dripping off your words and you bit your tongue to keep yourself from completely losing your cool.

“I’m not ignoring you, I just don’t have time for this. Go back to bed, OK? In the morning we can..” He reached for the golden bell atop a pile of papers, the one that as soon as he shook it, it’s chime would send the nurses and maids into the room without hesitation; all of them fussing and pulling you back to bed.

“You ring that bell Thomas Shelby and I swear to God I’ll go fucking ballistic.”

“Ok, alright, alright.”

A moment passed of tense silence, you willed him with your mind to say something, anything, but he never did. He just sat, as still and calm as ever, acting completely unbothered by your presence. It stung like a thousand needles all over your body, his discontent and hostility towards you making hot bile rise inside your stomach, you had never felt pain like it, suddenly becoming nothing towards the person who meant the most to you, it was unbearable.

You bit back a sour laugh and shook your head, exhaling loudly. Tears pricked at the corner of his eyes and you let them, too exhausted to fight them back.

“Fine. I’ll be out of your hair soon enough, I’ve asked Mary to get me a train ticket, I’ll ask Michael to drive me tomorrow.”

His hand tensed slightly, knuckles turning paler under the soft light.

“You’re leaving.” It was a statement, not a question.

“There’s nothing for me here. Not anymore.”

Again, nothing. You couldn’t even be bothered to wait for a reaction, not when it left you standing there like another one of his pathetic ex lovers, waiting for the feared gangster to confess his undying love for you. You had to accept it, he had played you, toyed with you and your heart, all you could do now was take your remaining dignity and leave.

“I hope one day you find what you’re looking for Tommy,” You turned to the door, salty tears brimming in your eyes, sliding fat and wet down your cheeks. “And I hope you treat her better than you treated me.” You must have twisted too soon, desperate to stop looking at him and the gash on your chest tore slightly and you could feel the bandages moisten under your house coat. You cursed lightly, raising a hand to your wound and the other to steady yourself, waiting for the pain to subside.

You heard movement behind you, but blocked it out as you concentrated on not tearing your stitches again. Two hands tightly gripped your elbows holding you steady as your knees started to buckle from the pain, you refused to relax however, ignoring the stinging in your chest to push the hands away from you violently, hating the familiar feeling on your skin.

“Don’t you dare touch me!”

“You’re in pain.” You resisted and squirmed against him but he held you tight, inspecting you with deep stormy eyes, you watched them darken as they took in the bruises along your collarbone, his thumbs stroking the exposed skin cautiously. Feeling self conscious and vulnerable, you tugged the fabric tighter around yourself, pulling away and trying to straighten up.

“It’s fine.”

“Let me help, let me call the nurse.”

Your mouth fell agape, and you scoffed angrily, “No offence, but I’d rather bleed out than stay here any longer.”

“Don’t fucking say that to me.” He snapped, his jaw clenched tightly, fingers coiling around your arms, “How could you say something like that, eh?”

You stared at him, confused and annoyed, resting the urge to deck him for being so damn unpredictable. You were glad to finally get a reaction out of him, wanting to make him feel something, feel the same pain that settled under your skin like thistles. Your pride couldn’t take another beating, but you were inches apart now, his breath hot in your face, his skin burning yours and you couldn’t resist looking into those fucking ocean eyes. You wanted to scream at him, ask him why he had used you, yell and hit him, whine and cry like a child, spew venom from your mouth and make your words pierce him like a dagger, but you were under his spell and you fell back into a meek little girl, your voice soft and weak and laced with tears as you simply asked,

“Did you ever love me?”

His face was one of pure shock, his features as still and carved as marble, eyes wide and pupils large, darting over your face rapidly. His breath was shaky, blue veins in his neck pulsing and protruding under his face, patches of heat spreading to his cheeks.

“Did I ever mean anything to you? Or was it - was I, just another achievement you?” You were angry now, finally feeling more in control, your lips almost pressed against his, hot to the touch as you mustered up another courage to make him squirm under your words, he was twice your size but you wanted to bring him to his knees, you wanted the truth. ‘Another trophy for Thomas Shelby OB - fucking - E to display? Another notch in your bedpost?”

He pulled himself away from you, shaking his head, curls bouncing with every step he took, running a palm over his eyes. He was trembling slightly, his shadow bouncing in the moonlight, as tall and dark as he was.

“Did it make you feel powerful? Knowing you could have any woman, knowing they would fall head over heels for you? But why me, Tommy, why me? Was it my age, so young and innocent and stupid? Stupid enough to end up in bed with you?”

“Don’t.”

“Why didn’t you stop it? Why let it go on for over a year? Make me look like the pathetic ditzy girl, fawning over the older man?” A sick thought rose inside you, “Oh God, did everyone know?” You held a hand to your mouth, “Arthur, John, Polly?…. Michael? Oh My God!” You felt sick.

“Don’t.”

Tears were steaming now and you stumbled over your words as you choked on your uncontrollable emotion. “How could you? How could you let me fall for you? Trust you? Sleep with you? Love you? And - and - secretly just be stringing me along?”

“I said fucking DON’T.” His hand slammed so suddenly on the desk that it sent slips of paper onto the floor, his glass of whisky shook and trembled and the sound echoed so much like a gunshot it almost made you cower out of reflex. He turned to face you, half hidden by the dim glow of the moon but the feelings radiation off him like burning embers took up more than enough space. he took a step forward, closing the distance between you both. “Do you really believe that?”

“You aren’t giving me any reasons not to.”

He stared at you and you faltered under his intense gaze, resisting the urge to tear your eyes away. You could hear the clock tick meticulously in the background, every second passing feel like an eternity. He shook his head, turned towards his desk and grasped the glass of whisky between his fingers, shooting the copper liquid back until it was empty.

“You should leave. Go back to the country.”

“Ok. If that’s what you really want, then that’s what I’ll do.”

His back was towards you but you could see the subtle tilt of his head, a nod of approval or dismissal you couldn’t be quite sure. He wanted you to leave, that you knew, but you couldn’t let him win that easily. Everything in your gut was screaming to just let him go, but you were still stupidly clinging on to that last little bit of hope, you needed the truth, needed to hear it from his mouth. The same mouth that had been on your neck, your skin, your lips, you needed to hear him say the words that would tear you apart. You needed to be sure.

“Just tell me straight. Tell me the truth and I’ll go upstairs and pack right away, I’ll ring Mike and get him to drive me to the station and be gone before the sun rises. I’ll be gone for good, Tommy, you’ll never see me again, but you owe me the truth - just tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“That you don’t love me.”

Silence.

“Because you’re telling me everything else, but you won’t just say the one thing I need to hear?”

“Why does it matter, eh?” His voice was soft like wisps of smoke, tired and exasperated, polluting the air.

You walked forward, hand pressed over the gash on your chest. “Because I’m asking you. Don’t you think you owe me this?”

“You really think it would change anything?”

You grabbed his shoulder, forcing him to turn and face you, despite the height difference you made him lock eyes with you. “Just say it.” In your nineteen years of life you had never been forceful or dominating, always gentle and kind hearted, maybe even a slight pushover, but you refused to back down now. All the concealed anger and sadness was bubbling to the surface, rising through your skin like red hot steam.

“Tell me I mean nothing to you, that you never loved me, and I’ll leave. I’ll get on that train and go back to the country. I’ll stay at home and bake pies and grow flowers, I’ll meet a nice country boy - that’s what you want right?” His jaw began to clench at your words, and you continued, spewing sentences faster and faster, your hands clasping at the sides of his beautiful face, refusing to let him look away.

“He’ll court me and we’ll go on boring dates and then we’ll kiss and get married and I’ll have his babies..” His fingers clasped around yours, attempting to pull you off him but you remained in place, watching as the fearless gangster started to crumble underneath you, his resolve breaking, “I’ll be a good little housewife and a good little mother and everything will be just fine, and I’ll never see you again, never again.” You rested your forehead against his as he began to melt under your touch like butter, the feeling was euphoric but you were too consumed with sadness to notice, you locked eyes with him, your lips ghosting over the flesh of his own. “Just say it Tommy, say it and I’ll go.”

“You know that I can’t.” His voice was so quiet you almost didn’t hear him, as silent as the night sky outside.

“You’re a coward.” You whispered, eyes filled with tears.

He pulled away, face contorted again, unable to look at you. “Maybe I am! But maybe that’s better than being fucking selfish.”

“What?”

“You think I didn’t know the danger I was putting you in? You think I didn't realise what could happen to you because I kept you around? You don’t think everyone tried to stop me? Told me how fucking greedy I was, to choose my own desire over what could happen to you?” He rants harshly, expressing himself through sudden darting hand movements and sharp words.

“Since when did you care what anybody thought?” You ask incredulously.

“Since it nearly fucking killed you!”

The anger in his voice was unlike anything you had ever heard, making your heart tighten like you had heard he stream of a wounded animal. He was shaking with rage, his hands trembling and fingers clenching, making you take a sudden step back, not scared of him, just completely moved by his sudden display of emotion.

“You know what it was like? Seeing you lying there, covered in your own blood, not knowing if you would ever wake up? Knowing that you were there because of me?” He pauses, faced flushed, eyes boring into yours, “It was torture. Watching the bullet go inside you, feeling you go unconscious in my own fucking arms, wishing that it was me instead. Knowing that it should have been me.”

“It shouldn’t have been you Tommy. He aimed at me. Shot at me. Not you. You don’t always have to be the hero.”

“He shot you to get to me. He knew that you dying would be more painful for me than my own death.”

You didn’t know what to say to that.

“He was right. I’ve never felt pain like it.”

You stayed silent momentarily, mulling over what he had said. You wondered what would have happened if the roles were reversed, if Tommy had been shot instead of you. You couldn’t even imagine how distraught you would be seeing him in pain; motionless and limp, lifeless to the touch. You were certain you would blame yourself, most likely unable to eat or sleep until you knew he was awake and safe. You would detest every evil moment you had to wait not knowing if he would ever wake up, but you would never leave him the way he left you.

“So that’s why you moved me into the guest room? You didn’t want to look at me?”

“If you’d had died in our bed, I’d have never been able to go back there.”

Our bed. Two words, but the meaning in them tightened around your neck like a noose. You were sick of feeling hopeless and lost, like being thrown out to sea, but you hung onto these words like a life raft.

“Why didn’t you come see me? Why did you just leave me alone in that room.” You asked, desperate for some kind of explanation.

“You weren’t alone, you had Michael and the nurses.”

“You know that’s not the same.”

“You want the truth eh? That’s what you’re so desperate for? I didn’t deserve to be there, to be in the same room as you. It was my fault you were shot, and I wanted to see you so badly, so fucking badly, but I couldn’t, I didn’t deserve to. I tried to the first day, but seeing you like that.. it… it was better if I wasn’t there.”

“It wasn’t your fault Tommy.” You begin gently, moving forward, as angry as you are at him you need to make him understand you and stop blaming himself for things that could never be changed. You slowly run your hand up his arm, his shoulder and then his neck, as cautiously as taming a wild stallion.

“Yes it fucking was! I put a target on your back that very first day I laid eyes on you. I knew what you would be in for, I knew that you could end up in a coffin at the end of the year, hell, the end of the week! But I was so fucking selfish, so god damn selfish that I couldn’t let you go.” His hands suddenly entangle themselves in your hair, pulling you impossibly closer with every tug of the stands in-between his calloused fingertips. His lips ghosted over yours, nose touching the bridge of your own, “If I was a good man, a better man, I would have let you go, would have made you leave, but I’m not, I needed you with me.”

You let yourself be pulled into him, softening to his touch and melting into his palms. His lips brush against the top of your head, despite both of your conflicting feelings about the situation, it was impossible to keep you separated, you were like magnets, destined to be as close as possible.

“You’re like a fucking drug to me, and you know it, don’t you?”

You rest your head on his thick chest, listening to his slowing heartbeat and breathing in his scent. The world feels like its moving with you both, tilting on its axis so that the two of you will stay in this spot, conjoined under the moonlight like a knotted rope.

“Why didn’t you just tell me all this?” You ask shaking your head, “Why leave me upstairs thinking the worst?”

He shrugs, “Better for you to be safe and hate me than love me and be in danger.”

You roll your eyes, “That’s flawed logic, Tommy, and you know it.”

“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave. You should leave.” He repeats the words like a bible verse, convincing himself more than you as he releases the words into the air. He struggles against you, slipping back into his no-nonsense, forceful, ‘head of the company’ role. As if you are one of the younger blinders he can manipulate with just a stern tone.

“You don’t get to decide that. I made the choice to stay with you just as much as you. I knew who you were Tommy, I knew what you’d done, and it didn’t change a thing.”

“It’ll never be safe for you, and I don’t know what I’ll do if I come close to losing you again.” His words are so delicate that they sound almost alien coming from him, but his honesty and tender truth makes weak. You push yourself off him gently, determined to make him see things your way, let him know you aren’t weak, you’re strong.

“I don’t care about being safe. If I wanted to be safe I’d be back in the country, but I want to be with you. The Russian’s can try and shoot me again, the cops could throw me in jail, Alfie could set his bloody massive dogs on me and none of it would be your fault, this is my decision. My choice, not yours.”

“Don’t joke about that.” He murmurs and you roll your eyes, crashing your head back into his chest playfully, sighing and smirking, knowing you’ll repeat all of his gentle words to Polly and Esme in a few days, listening as they joke and gasp at the exposed side of him you tell them about.

“You drive me bloody crazy Tommy Shelby.” You whisper into his shirt, still bitter about the past few days and the way he’s handled it, but slowing realising his point of view, however bizarre it may seem. He was Thomas Shelby after all, understanding him was like trying to read an instruction manual in a foreign language, but you were slowly getting there, at least you hoped you were.

“I love you.”

He kisses the top of your forehead as he says the words and you can feel the ghost of a smirk on his lips. You both stayed like that for a moment, relishing in the warmth and comfort of the other person. You almost on your tiptoes as you sunk into the man you adored, burying your head into his scent of smoke and cedar wood, the heat from within him warming you like a fire. It was blissful, drops of summer rain began to hit the windows as he stroked your hair and you could barely feel the ache in your collarbone as you were joined against him.

You knew without a doubt there would be more bad days. More guns and gore, lies and deceit and loved ones being snatched from your grip like grains of sand. The future was unpredictable and wild, monsters were lurking in the shadows, ready to drag you down to the depths with them, but this was your decision, you chose this, you wanted this. You were back at the height of the cliff, feet almost over the edge, but it was OK, because you had your lover beside you, hands intertwined with yours, ready to face everything together.

You were so caught up in your own thoughts you barely heard him raise his voice to just above a whisper, like the flame of a candle attempting to illuminating a pitch black room. His words were buried in your tangle of messy hair, but you just managed to catch them, and they jolted you to attention.

“Marry me.”

#Tommy Shelby #tommy shelby oneshot #tommy shelby imagine #thomas shelby imagine #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders oneshot

[wahbegan]

Doctor Sleep Trailer

Yeah i’m doing one of these i guess i keep looking for one on youtube that actually gets everything and i can’t find one and it’s pissing me off so under a read more as per usual because these can get wordy

So first thing’s first Dan and Abra’s psychic link appears to be visualized via chalk writings appearing on the wall which is pretty inspired better than like echoey voice-over in their head kind of thing. Also at one point it looks like they have a conversation where it cuts back and forth between them in different locations a la Rey and Kylo in The Last Jedi but the trailer also might just be cut like that

Oh yeah Dan’s got scrubs too so it looks like they’re keeping his whole “works in a hospice and psychically helps people die” thing intact i mean i...i woooould fucking hope they do since it’s what the title of the damn book is based on but anyway it’s nice to see some kind of confirmation

So this movie, according to all sources, is attempting to really toe the line, kind of walking a tightrope between being faithful to King’s story while retaining enough visual callbacks to the Kubrick film that people will associate it with that universe, and i think the MURDER written on the wall is step one of that. But more on that a bit later

So the blonde girl on the beach we know from cast listings i thought it was weird because she seemed too old to be The True Knot’s prey and Rose the Hat seemed to be breathing steam onto her and none of the other members were partaking so i thought it was weird BUT yeah i checked the cast listing and the blonde actor is actually playing Snakebite Andi, so what we’re seeing on the beach here is i assume her induction into The True Knot.

Speaking of which, The True Knot members i know we’re seeing based on cast listings and pausing the trailer over and over again are, from left to right on the beach: Apron Annie (she’s the one in the blue and red in the woods as well), Unknown, Crow Daddy, Grampa Flick, Silent Sarey, Barry just Barry according to the cast listing lmao probably a good call, and another Unknown. It seems those are the only seven well plus Rose and Snakebite so i guess those are the nine we’re getting, cause the same seven are seen in the background of the woods, just in a different order (Unknown, Sarey, Crow, Flick, Annie, Unknown, Barry)

That scene of them getting a little girl by the water while she picks flowers I assume is a Frankenstein reference btw and looks real creepy i like it. Seems to be before Snakebite Andi’s induction into the group

Okay so yeah they clearly re-shot bits from The Shining and Dan has ghosts that survived in lockboxes in his head and has The Overlook as a safe place but this doesn’t seem like any of that, it just seems like pure flashback

This kid getting in the van in the cornfields I believe is “the baseball boy”, who we get a....just lovely, lovely scene of The True Knot feeding on him it’s fucking grotesque

Couple quick shots, I’m not sure what he’s digging for, but he’s probably trying to find something in the remains of The Overlook, i don’t know. It could be a mindscape, actually, oooohhh maybe he’s unearthing his mental lockboxes shut up it could be

Number one, this is a very Mike Flanagan ghost Dan is looking at in this shot number two i think it....might supposed to be his mom? Wendy? I DON’T KNOW DON’T JUMP DOWN MY THROAT. Wait hold on maybe it’s not a ghost at all maybe it’s you know that thing where he sees flies on someone before they die there is a maggot on her....i think it’s a ghost though. And possibly his mom.

Yeah that looks like Rose the Hat’s hand tryna do some shady shit to Abra i like how they’re visualizing the psychic fuckery in this movie it’s really an important thing to nail and I feel like they’re doing it well

Other shots i don’t have much to say about yeah the twins, looks like somebody from The True Knot going to drug that girl in the woods (Violet McGraw from THoHH, by the way!) Except I just checked again and none of them are dressed like that so it must be a different scene, uhh oh Abra using The Shining on her dad for some reason, probably to show him something, Rose is pissed i REALLY hope they have her go full pinprick eyes massive weird jaw but given Mike Flanagan’s penchant for having people unhinge their jaws in a spooky way i’m sure they will

Okay THIS part i do have something to say about when Dan slides towards the wall, you can’t really see if you pause cause it’s always blurry, but if you read around him and below MURDER it says BASEBALL BOY so here’s the tightrope i was talking about earlier i think instead of DANDANDAN THEY’RE KILLING THE BASEBALL BOY the message he’s gonna get from Abra is gonna be MURDER BASEBALL BOY and then he’s gonna slide into like witnessing The True Knot torturing him to death and feeding off of him. Very cool visualization, keeps the essence of the scene intact, has that nice MURDER reflecting REDRUM in the mirror callback, so fans of the Kubrick movie will be happy. I think it’s a good compromise. Although THEY’RE KILLING THE BASEBALL BOY definitely has a creepier ring to it than just MURDER BASEBALL BOY but i nitpick

Given that The Overlook’s no longer standing, this has gotta be a mental projection Dan’s in, and i mean he does has a safe place in his mind based on The Overlook, but i don’t know why it’d be all dirty and have the hacked up door and REDRUM if it was that. If you want my guess, they wanted a scene like this in here for not only a bit of fan service but also to visualize...Mike Flanagan with Oculus and The Haunting of Hill House both has indicated that he has a keen interest in repeating cycles of mental illness in families, which is a heavy theme in this book. I mean Dan struggling with anger and alcoholism and not being Jack is y’know like most of the point of the book, and I think as well as just shameless fanservice, him seeing the old hotel room and putting his face through the hole his father hacked in the door is supposed to be a visual representation of the cycle and how he’s trying to break it

Anyway that’s about all i got but it should be enough you greedy fucks

#Doctor Sleep

[missnmikaelson-main]

Consequences Part 13

Summary: What do you do when your old frenemy threatens to cut off your army at the source? Obviously you abscond with the doppelganger in the dead of night, but every action has consequences. Pairing: Klaus x Elena Word Count: 2214

Warnings: NSFW (18+ only)

“This is completely unnecessary,” Elena moved to stand from the hospital bed. “Klaus,” she sighed.

He cocked an eyebrow and held her shoulders. His eyes flickered with an emotion Elena had caught glimpses of over the past few months.

“Lay down, love.”

It was the plea in his eyes and the set of his full lips that made her listen. She slid back in the bed and placed her hands over her stomach.

“I’m fine, you know?” She blinked tiredly. “You did give me blood.”

“I still want a thorough exam,” Klaus covered her small hand with his and kissed her hair. “Magic is not something to mess with, Elena, and Kaleb said that particular object was meant to be used in the first three months.” His thumb stroked the back of her hand. “I’ll feel better after you’ve been checked out.”

“I thought you had some witches to kill,” Elena nodded and laid her head against his shoulder; it was much more comfortable than the thin hospital pillow.

“You’re more important,” he murmured. “The witches that kidnapped you will keep, and Rebekah should be stringing up the one that did this as we speak.”

Elena fell silent as the fuzzy memory began to clear. She hadn’t quite registered the words at the time, but now they were sinking in.

“She said you killed her,” she kept her voice low, “and that she’s been possessing witches for over two hundred years.”

“I don’t recall killing any witches two hundred years ago,” he smoothed her damp hair from her forehead, “I can count the number of witches over the years. What was her name, love?”

Elena wracked her mind. She knew she’d said it, but it took a minute to bring the memory to the surface; she had been rather preoccupied with the needle at the time.

“Celeste?” She tipped her head back to look at him.

“That’s a pretty name,” the curtain was drawn back to reveal a young woman in light grey scrubs. “Are you thinking about that for the baby?”

“I think I’m going to go ahead and veto that one,” Klaus’ eyes flashed when he gave the doctor a charming smile.

“Too many bad memories associated with it,” Elena agreed quietly.

“Alright then,” she flipped on a machine, “I’m Dr. Wilde,” she lifted the intake chart, “and you’re Elena?” She smiled when Elena nodded. “What brings you in tonight, Elena?”

“I umm,” Elena bit her lip. Truthfully she felt fine now; a little tired but she could chalk that up to a wild day. She felt fine. “I had a little cramping earlier.”

“I wouldn’t have called it little, sweetheart,” Klaus squeezed her hand. He could still see her curled over her stomach in agony. “It was also combined with a fever.”

“Well,” Dr. Wilde checked Elena’s temperature, “the fever appears to have broken, so that’s good. How about the cramping?” She examined Elena’s stomach and tapped her and there. “Does it hurt when I do this?”

“No,” Elena shook her head, “I feel fine really; the cramps stopped, but,” she looked sideways at Klaus.

“I get it,” Dr. Wilde squirted some gel on Elena’s stomach. “My husband totally freaked out whenever I got the slightest ache; that was with my first and second baby. How long have you two been married?”

“Oh,” Elena shivered under the gel and blushed, “we’re not married.”

“She’s an exceptionally stubborn woman, doctor,” Klaus smirked at the crimson stain on her cheeks, “and won’t let me make an honest woman of her.” He chuckled when she swatted at his chest.

“Could we just get on with the ultrasound?” Elena glared at him. “I’d like to know the baby is fine and then go home and sleep.”

“Sure,” Dr. Wilde waved the wand over Elena’s stomach. “Everything looks fine,” she nodded. “The baby is about ten inches long, weighs about a pound. Do you want to see her?”

“Her?” Klaus blinked. “It’s a girl?” He remembered the side comment made by the witch earlier.

“I’m sorry,” Dr. Wilde cleared her throat, “did you not want to know that?”

“It’s a girl?” Elena felt a tear spill down her cheek. “We’re having a girl?”

“Yes,” the doctor nodded, “and she’s perfectly healthy. As long as your bloodwork comes back clear you’re free to go.”

Elena wiped away the gel and lowered her shirt over the bump. The doctor left them to get the test results.

“See,” Elena smiled weakly, “I told you I was fine.” Her smile fell when she saw the look in his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

Klaus tore his eyes from the frozen image of their daughter’s profile and met her gaze. What could he say? He spoke countless languages and yet he couldn’t think of a single word that came close to describing his emotions in that moment.

“I’m just,” he stared into her dark eyes, “relieved.”

“I got that,” Elena smiled. “You’re not gonna get all over-protective now are you?” She teased. “I mean really… what are the odds of something like this happening again?”

“I’ve been alive over a thousand years, Elena,” he cupped her cheek. “I’ve got more enemies than I could possibly count; this could easily happen again. I don’t want you out alone anymore.”

“Klaus,” Elena wrapped her fingers around his wrist, “I can’t stay inside all the time either; that would drive me crazy.”

++++

Elena held the car door closed when he tried to open it. She didn’t remember driving there, so she could only assume that Finn or Rebekah – most likely Rebekah – had brought the SUV to the hospital.

“If you’ve got some kind of plan to turn me into Rapunzel,” Elena tilted her head, “I am not getting in the car.”

“I’m not going to lock you away, Elena,” he sighed, “you and I both know that would never work out. I just want you safe, love.” His hand flattened over her stomach. “I want you both safe, and I don’t want those witches trying anything again.”

He knew they would try again. He didn’t know the full extent of what they had wanted from Davina but he had all but invited them to attack when he offered the girl his protection earlier that night.

“My heart has not failed me once in a thousand years,” he lifted her hand to his chest where the organ beat steadily, “and I felt it stop tonight. I saw you lying on the ground and it faltered in my chest.” He met her dark eyes. “I could have sworn the world was ending; I never want to feel that way again, Elena, so please promise me you won’t go anywhere alone.”

Elena saw that emotion flicker through his eyes again and heard Celeste’s words echo in her memory; she wasn’t sure how she hadn’t seen it before. He had flown her halfway around the world and kept her away when she’d asked. He had let her remain in contact with her brother. He had completely lost it when he’d seen her in the cemetery.

“Okay,” she nodded, “but you’d better come up with some kind of solution because I’m not staying in the house for the rest of my life, and neither is the baby.”

“That’s no life for anyone,” he agreed, “We’ll figure something out, sweetheart. We’ll figure something out.”

Elena closed her eyes and inhaled slowly. She shivered when he threaded his fingers through her long hair and brushed his lips over her brow in a lingering kiss.

“Will you get in the car now?” He pulled away and met her eyes. Her hand slid over his collar to the side of his neck and he blinked.

“In a minute,” she breathed. Her eyes flickered over his face once before arching her neck and meeting his lips.

A soft moan vibrated through her throat when his hands pulled her impossibly close. Heat curled at the base of her spine under the sensual swipes of his fingers. She thought he had a truly wicked tongue if he could make such a slow and gentle kiss this arousing.

She inhaled and tilted her head so his lips could reach every inch of her neck. Her fingers groped blindly for the handle. A gasp fell from her lips when he took over and her back collided with the soft leather seat. She heard the gentle click of the door before he hovered over her and kissed her again.

She laughed and struggled for breath when his hand stole under her top.

“Would you care to tell me what’s so funny, love?” He stilled his wandering fingers beneath her bra and cocked an eyebrow.

“Nothing,” she shook her head, “just… an hour ago you wouldn’t let me get out of the hospital bed and now you’re hovering over me in the back of the car.”

“An hour ago I was worried sick about you,” he sat back on his knee and pulled her with him, “and now you’ve been granted a clean bill of health.”

She stopped him before he could open the door. She bit her lower lip and found herself immensely grateful for the Lincoln’s tinted windows. She saw his eyes darken when she tore off her sweater and ripped her top over her head.

Slowly, she rose up on her knees and slid her leggings down over her thighs. She got them to her knees before Klaus took her hands.

He wrapped one of her arms around his neck and lowered the other to the bulge that had formed in his pants. One of his hands grasped the back of her neck and kissed her soundly; his tongue delved into her mouth. His right hand kneaded her full breast through her bra and slid down beneath the band of her panties.

She moaned and rocked against his hand. She mentally corrected herself: his tongue was sinful, his fingers were wicked; they knew just how to manipulate her body in order to draw her into a state of delirium. Her walls fluttered around his dexterous fingers.

She saw the trepidation in his eyes. She couldn’t blame him for that look; the last time they’d been in this position she’d left him wanting.

Her pussy clamped down on his retreating fingers. She fisted the lapels of his black jacket and pushed until his arms were free before working his shirt over his head. Her knees weakened; she hadn’t seen him like this since Greece and the sight of his defined abdomen made her quiver with a fresh wave of desire.

Elena gasped when he pressed her back, tore her soaked underwear and leggings down her legs and knelt between her thighs. She reached between them and unfastened his belt. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes when she found him bare beneath his jeans and pumped him slowly and felt her head spin in the warm car.

He dragged his cock through her wet folds and was about to push forward when she placed a hand on his chest.

“Elena,” his eyes flickered over her face, “are you going to push me away, love?”

“No,” she shook her head, “just back.” She bit her lip and raised her brow. “My back is starting to ache.”

“That is easily remedied,” he smirked and sat back.

Elena exhaled when she was pulled to straddle his hips and sank down on his cock. Her hands explored his chest while his guided her movements. Her head fell back when he tore off her bra and drew her nipple between his teeth. She should have been angry, but sex with Klaus wouldn’t be sex with Klaus without at least one torn article of clothing.

Pressure built low in her abdomen. She flushed as his upward thrusts shifted from slow and shallow to fast and deep.

She grasped the handle by her head and held on when her body dissolved in pleasure. She rode out the high of her orgasm and opened her eyes when wind rushed around her body.

Her left hand curled around the edge of the backseat. Her right hand grasped the headrest.

“K-Klaus…” she moaned and rocked back when he thrust into her slowly. “Faster… please…” It had been too long. The suddenly gentle roll of his hips was maddening.

“I thought you’d like slow and steady,” his hot breath fanned over her neck.

“I’m a big fan of slow and steady,” she turned her head and tried to catch his mouth in a kiss; she huffed when he pulled away. “I’m a bigger fan of slow and steady when I’m in a bed. This,” she thrust back, “is not slow and steady and you know it; this is deliberate teasing.”

“You’ve been teasing me for months,” his thumb gently flicked her clit.

Elena tightened her muscles around his thick cock and heard him growl. It was quite possibly the sexiest sound she’d ever heard.

“Tease me later,” she grunted, “when we’re not in the car where anybody could find us.”

“A little compulsion can fix that problem, love,” he nipped at her throat.

“Or we could avoid that all together,” Elena bit her lip. She was surprised when it took very little persuasion to get him to increase his pace.

Tag List: @rissyrapp20

#Klaulena #klaus mikaelson #elena gilbert #consequences #fanfic

[rovingconvict]

Part One

(Storyline with @HeartOfRegret from 9/25/14 to 9/7/15)

Travis: The minute hand of the clock rested just shy of the "3." Almost a quarter or an hour past the meeting time I had set less than a week ago.This was unlike my associate, both of us realizing the importance of being prompt, how that affected the level of safety surrounding the operation. Just as my hand traveled to the inside pocket of my leather jacket, the bell sounded. Someone had entered or exited through the front door. But instead of the a balding Hispanic man, a thin waif of a women flitted through the doorway. It made me wonder when the last time she'd had a meal, or worse yet, what substance was she on that had emaciated her body to that state. The thought left my head just as quickly as it entered, returning my hand to my side while I stepped out towards the parking lot. My favorite vehicle of choice was safe in the storage unit over a hundred miles away. Today I had an old Chevy, the navy paint chipped in several spots. As I inserted the key into the driver's side door, a faint voice interrupted my thoughts. I didn't have to turn around to figure out who had broken the silence. "Um, Mister. Do you have a light?" A cigarette danced between pale lips while petite hands roamed over her pockets. Normally, I chose to smoke alone, but this location seemed safe enough to linger for a few minutes longer. What the hell, right? With a flick of my thumb, a flame appeared, stringy locks hiding the woman's face while she leaned forward until the cigarette made contact. A few puffs, and the end burnt bright orange. I followed suit, blowing the smoke past her shoulder. "Are you headed towards Albequerque by chance?" Her vocabulary surprised me, the creak of my door a sort of answer, reaching inside to unlock the other doors of the vehicle. A large tote bag slung over a narrow shoulder, the woman tottered towards the passenger door, entering without a word. Once inside, the engine revved to life, right hand stretched across the back of the front seat, a brief backward glance before heading towards the highway. only the sound of gravel crunching beneath the tires accompanying us. Layla: After bumping into Travis and landing myself a free ride to Albuquerque, I knew I could make the little cash I had stowed in my bag last a bit longer, though I would at least offer Travis some gas money since he'd kept me from buying a bus ticket. I was running low on smokes, but I knew I'd at least make it the duration of the trip. My gaze drifted from the road to Travis and back again, aimlessly babbling about the interview I was trying to make it for. I didn't really know if Travis was paying any attention, but I couldn't handle the silence much longer. I'd been in a woman's shelter for the last nine months, when I finally got the call about work in Albuquerque. After finishing the cigarette off, I flicked the butt out the window and shifted in the seat so I could face Travis a bit more. "You travel much? It's been a while since I have gone anywhere, but I sure am looking forward to a new life. What do you do for a living, anyways?" Travis: As Layla and I sat in silence, my left hand on the wheel, I silently hoped the cigarette between her lips would stave off any sort of conversation between us. When I heard her take a quick inhale of breath, I cursed silently, knowing I was wrong. Layla began to babble beside me, something about a deadline and getting to Albuquerque before the weekend. I figured if I gave the proper affirmative gesture and replies, I could keep things brief and get back to the quiet drive. With a polite smile, I nodded at Layla, noticing that despite her undernourished state and lack of make-up, she was still a striking woman. And this made me very curious, wanting to know more about Layla even if it meant her talking the whole way there. A worried look flashed for a second across my face at Layla's questions, but when I quickly glanced over, there was nothing but my usual calm demeanor. "You figured me out." I even mustered a grin while I continued. "I happen to travel a lot for work My job title is sort of vague. I am sort of a salesman and advertising agent all rolled into one. Pretty much the middle man for my boss. I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name. I'm Travis, and either that or Trav is fine." Layla: "Re.." I shook my head, remembering I could actually give Travis my name now that I was no longer in the shelter. "Layla. Nice to meet you, Travis." I gave a slight nod, taking in what Travis had said he did for a living. I had my right arm propped up against the door and lightly bit down on my thumb as I looked out the window. My thoughts drifting for a few moments. Travis: For some reason, the personal turn the conversation had taken made things a little uncomfortable. Reaching for the stereo, I pressed on the nob, slowly raising the volume. It was on some god awful top forties pop station, and I skipped through quite a few stations until I found something tolerant. "Is this station fine, Layla? It doesn't really matter as long as it's not that crap had kids are listening to nowadays." After Layla's nod, her hand fumbling with the buttons, I thought I heard a sound from her stomach. To the right, there was a sign displaying a number or restaurants at the next exit. Hoping she wouldn't notice my last-minute decision to pull off of the highway, I announced our break.* Getting a little hungry." Stopping at the gas station first, I leaned towards Layla, my hand on the door handle. "Pick a place for us to eat while I fill the tank, okay?" Stepping outside, I threw an occasional glance her direction, hoping a good meal shared between us would help get rid of the awkward silence that had formed. **************************************************************************************************************************** The ongoing travels with Layla had taken somewhat of a routine, dull though it was. Every evening, after a uneventful meal, I would take my turn behind the wheel, sometimes driving until dawn, only stopping for a quick bathroom break or a refill of gas, only the trusty cigarette between my lips and the low hum of the stereo to keep me company while Layla slept. Once the sun came up, it was usually her decision whether to stop for a real breakfast or to grab some quick snacks at the gas station. Then Layla would assume her place behind the wheel, reclining the passenger seat as far as it would go, dark shades masking the daylight. I never had any problems sleeping during the day. It was always the night time that troubled me. At our next stop, I cranked the seat back, taking a moment to gather my bearings. According to my phone, we were less than two hundred miles to our destination of Albuquerque. While scrolling through today's weather, a text flashed across the screen of my phone. The coded message translated to a warning, no details added to described what was the reason or why. Dammit, I would have to explain to Layla why we were having to bypass her intended stop just as we were nearing the city. So much for a peaceful drive for today. We would see if my communication skills with the opposite sex had improved any. It was too late. Apparently, Layla had noticed my reaction to the text flashing across the screen of my phone. "Just an unexpected turn of events, Layla." My lips pressed together in a thin line, the rest of my features void of emotion as well. Layla: With the miles that lay ahead, Travis and I had come up with a pretty good system. Mainly, I drove during the day and he drove at night. It meant Travis and I had little to no conversations. That wasn't necessarily a bad thing though. He seemed like a pretty conservative man. It was now my turn to drive and with Travis in the passenger seat, I had settled behind the wheel and started to pull out when I glanced over to discover Travis had an unsettling look on his face. Usually, he went right into sleep mode and left me to it. Curiosity getting the better of me, I glance at Travis and raise a brow. "Everything okay?" Travis: "I'm afraid we may have a change of plans." I watched Layla closely, scanning her face for the anger that would surely surface. Unless she would realize that I had been accommodating when it came to allowing her to come along for the ride, agreeing to take her to the destination of her choice. The smallest bit of tension begin to appear on my face, a deep crease forming between my brows. Layla: My gaze shifted from Travis back to the road and I lightly chewed on my bottom lip in thought. Something had to be off for him to not want to go on to our destination. I figured Travis would probably be ready to kick my skinny ass to the curb, so this kind of threw me for a loop. Lightly strumming my fingers against the wheel, I finally resorted to asking why. I wasn't exactly sure as to what I would do now. I had a job waiting for me. A clean start and way to escape my dark past. Briefly glancing over at Travis again, before I turn my attention back to the road and mumble just loud enough to be heard. "How come?" Travis: Wishing there was a place to pull over, I scrubbed my hands over my face after I flicked the cigarette butt outside through the window. "Layla, I know we haven't known each other long, but I have some bad news." Her expression hadn't changed much but the look in her eyes encouraged me to continue. "There's been a... an outbreak of some sort in Albuquerque. No one can enter or even leave the city. It's pretty bad, over a hundred deaths already." Just listening to myself speak, I knew Layla probably didn't believe me. Hell, I couldn't believe it myself. Layla: Over the years I'd mastered the art of being expressionless. I guess abuse does that to someone. How could Travis possibly know about something like an outbreak? There was more to Travis than he gave off. Though I already figured that much out. Taking a few moments to really process what exactly Travis had just told me before I actually find a way to respond. "How do you know? Is it spreading or contained? Where do we need to go to be safe, Travis?" My teeth sank into my bottom lip in order to silence myself and keep from overwhelming Travis with my questions as well as letting my thoughts cease from spinning. Travis: In the distance, a trail of dust swirled above the dirt road. Normally, in a town of this size, no one would pay attention to something as routine as a car traveling by. Only in this case, Layla and I had assumed we were the only living souls in this ghost town. After making progress to Albuquerque, Layla's choice of destination, I had received a warning to avoid the city due to a outbreak. No details had followed other than the hundreds of deaths that had resulted. I had to hand it to Layla for following my lead despite the change in plans. And true enough, my source had been reliable, a news story during the early stages of the outbreak had confirmed Albuquerque as one of the first cities with fatalities. Over the past few months, Layla and I had settled into a small town less than a hundred miles from the city. We had made a simple existence from the limited belongings stowed in my car, supplemented by brief visits to nearby towns for food and other necessities, avoiding the city entirely. Now as Layla and I continued to watch the dust travel closer to where we hid, I took a brief glance at Layla. She had already been thin when we had first met, and I had to keep myself from staring too long at the way her collar bones stuck out. We needed to find more food, especially for Layla's sake. And since there was an indication that we were not alone, maybe we would luck out and find some substantial food in the vehicle gradually approaching us. Layla: Somehow in the chaos of everything that was going on, Layla and I had managed to find a safe haven. There were days that went by with us having hardly anything to eat, but I had grown accustomed to hardly eating when I had been in the women's shelter before bumping into Travis. Somehow we'd managed to find more, though I wasn't sure how long it would last and the look of concern that would briefly dance across Travis' features when he looked at me, was enough of a sign for me to know that I was looking like I was feeling. It had been a while since we'd seen any others, so when the cloud of dust appeared it gave me hope. Watching the vehicle steadily moving closer to Travis and I was much like a hunter watching his prey. I tried to not show it but fear had risen to the surface. The fear of these approaching people overthrowing Travis and myself. Or worse. Travis: Standing on the side of the pick-up truck, the place farthest from Layla's view, I couldn't stop staring at my hands. They were stained with blood. What had I been thinking? Sure, it wasn't like I was innocent of taking a man's life, but I thought... No, I wanted to become a different man... for Layla's sake. Something about her presence in my life had softened some of the edges the hard life I'd lived had formed. There was a noise from the direction where I'd told Layla to wait. Shit, I had better clean up this mess before Layla got impatient and rushed over to me. Stooping down to grab the heels of the stranger, I panted a little from the effort of dragging the body away into the woods, leaving him there while I returned to the truck to find something that would suffice as a shovel. As I reentered the woods, I heard Layla call out in concern,yelling back out to her to assure her it would only be a little while longer. The ice scraper was a crude digging tool, but thankfully it did the job. A quick visit to a nearby creek to wash away the evidence, and I was back at Layla's side. I wasn't ready to acquaint Layla with this side of me and did my best to hide the worry plaguing me at the back of my mind, instead choosing to point out the positives: transportation and supplies we had finally acquired, including some canned food. Layla: I couldn't decide which one of us seemed more on edge as the truck approached. Travis had this look in his eyes when he told me to wait for his return. I couldn't even say anything to Travis, instead I just nodded with my nervousness increasing. I watched as long as I could before Travis disappeared from my sight and I kept myself hidden. I'd pressed my back against the shelter we had been utilizing, closing my eyes while I softly counted the seconds. The longer I waited for Travis, the more my anxiety seemed to grow. Becoming impatient, I hesitantly started towards the direction Travis was, calling out as I grew closer. When I heard Travis' voice, relief washed over me and I paused where I was before I continued to the opposite side of the truck. When my gaze landed on Travis, I raised a brow slightly and mumbled.} Everything okay, Trav? Where'd they go? **************************************************************************************************************************** Travis: Sitting up, leaning against the cold, cement wall, I watched as Layla stirred in her sleep. The sun had just come up, and a tiny sliver of sunlight drew a bright line just below her eyes. My gaze followed the path of light where it crept in from the ratty blinds covering the lone window in the basement where we had stopped for the night. As Layla turned onto her side, I replayed the last few days that had passed. Somehow I had convinced her to believe the story I had concocted about the driver of the pick-up truck who laid buried in the dirt outside of the last home we had. Her eyes had held the same worried look I had seen last night. I knew she was not some young, naïve girl who was quick to believe any story thrown her way. What bothered me was the undeniable trust she had for me. I could see her brain working every time I told her a lie, the inner conflict of her gut versus her belief that she could take anything I told her as fact. While Layla slept on, I began to realize that I had not only fallen in love with her, despite my best efforts not to do so, but I had also somehow gained her admiration and trust, something I had never seen in any woman, and perhaps her heart? The thought sent a sharp pang to the pit of my stomach. With every other woman I had encountered, it had always been fear that had kept their respect. There had never been any signs of love, and hell if I knew what to do with it. Most of my concentration had been focused on how to ensure Layla's survival and mine. Stretching out on top of the sleeping bag beside hers, I rolled onto my side, daring to extend my hand towards her face, absent of any worry as she slept peacefully. I realized I would do anything for her, maybe even change from the miserable wretch of a man I had been when we met into a man worthy of her love and of her trust. But that would mean treating Layla as an equal and letting her into my messy mind and into the darkest reaches of my heart. If I did that, would I still see the admiration in her eyes? Or would I find the cold rejection I deserved. Similar thoughts plagued my mind until I finally drifted to sleep, having sat up the entire night watching Layla sleep. Layla: Each day that passed us by had me needing Travis more. I had the worst luck when it came to men. Some would say that I should have known when I was younger that I'd wind up a victim of abuse. The first day I met Travis was my first day out of the women's shelter, but Travis didn't know that, and somehow I wasn't afraid of him. I didn't fear that he would hurt me. In fact, with Travis, I felt the exact opposite. I knew that with everything that was going on around us, he was holding back some truths. Yet, at the end of each day, Travis was who I wanted and needed beside me. Not that we'd openly admitted any kind of feelings for one another, but I was almost certain that in the midst of all the chaos that seemed to swirl around us, Travis knew I had let myself fall. In the beginning it wasn't that. In fact, Travis was just my ride to where I was going. My ticket out of town. Through his tough exterior I see more though. Sleep had easily come with the knowledge that Travis was sitting there beside me. It was probably the only time that I felt myself fully relax. I knew from previous nights that Travis didn't sleep much, but it was always a relief to wake up and see Travis still there. It was because of him that I'd stayed alive this long. I shift in my sleep, but refuse to wake up. If Travis was ready to get up, then he'd let me know, otherwise I was taking advantage of our tiny haven. The basement wasn't much, but it was a place to keep us warm and out of sight. **************************************************************************************************************************** Travis: It was the strangest thing, listening to music as Layla and I drove the pickup truck further west. Within days we would reach the coast. As the CD continued, the lyrics seemed to express what I had been feeling for the majority of my life. I turned towards Layla with a shy smile, replaying the words in my head: "For so long I have been an island where no one could ever reach these shores." The smile I got in return hit me in the gut, and I couldn't help my grin. ust a few days ago, I had dared to rest my hand over Layla's in the basement where we had last stayed. She had looked so achingly beautiful in the morning light, suddenly finding myself seated where I was close enough to touch her. When she woke, Layla's eyes had a dreamy, far off look before they focused onto mine. Taking a moment to register the warmth of my rough palm curved over the soft skin delicately stretched out over her hand. Her brows wrinkled them lifted as if to ask a question. Unable to find my voice, I had simply nodded, venturing my hand up the length of her arm until it rested on Layla's shoulder. The silenced continued for a few minutes until she shifted closer, slender arms reaching for my torso, drawing my form closer until my body melded against hers, a position that seemed so natural, as if we had always been together that way. No words spoken, no kisses exchanged, but it had meant the world to me... to know Layla was more than just another survivor who had been thrown my way, that she chose to be with me because she cared for me as I cared for her. And now as Layla hummed along to the music, loose strands of hair framing her face, I could almost feel my heart expanding in my chest. In this moment, I forgot about the deadly virus that had wiped out the majority of the world's population. All that mattered was the living, breathing angel at my side. Keeping a hand on the wheel, I leaned towards Layla until my lips found their mark on her cheek, murmuring happily after placing my kiss. "I always want to be like this, Layla." Layla: At some point in all the chaos and the downfall of humanity, Travis and I found each other. We'd found love. Sure it wasn't the fairytale ending that most girls dream of, but that wasn't me. I never wanted the fairytale. I wanted real. I dreamed of a raw kind of passion, that despite Travis' teetering on that thin line between keeping our feelings to ourselves and pouring our hearts out, for far too long. The point was that hard exterior, I found in him. It was as though one look changed us. Maybe we'd both been despite everything Travis and I had found one another. Matters of the heart are a mystery, but sometimes things fall into place. A look. Touch of the hand. A sweet gesture. Somewhere along the way, those little things started to mean so much more. Travis looks at me as though I'm an angel that somehow saved him, but what Travis doesn't realize is that he is my savior. He is my hero and my reason to fight for another day. I don't know what tomorrow brings, but I know I won't face it alone...

[eternalstereksecretsanta]

Diplomacy (is the Art of Telling People to Go to Hell in Such a Way that They Ask for Directions)

@bibliophile246 | AO3 | I hope you enjoy! Happy Holidays~

Rated M - for sex; some vague descriptions of werewolf torture and bruises

The initiation of a new round of wolves is not something Derek is looking forward to; the Accord is just a nuisance to him, especially since his family is still fractured from the fire. When he runs into the trainee Emissary, however, Derek starts to enjoy Pack diplomacy.

Maybe a little too much.

“Five?”

“Yes, Derek. Five,” Talia says, tilting her head minutely. Her hair slides over her shoulder in a dark curtain, but it does nothing to hide her sharp gaze.

Nothing can hide his mother’s piercing Alpha eyes.

“Isn’t that…a bit much.” He can’t even pose it as a question; he’s too busy being put off by the idea. Not one, but five new wolves. Five new teenagers- kids- to train and incorporate into the Pack. Five new members, none of them family. None of them blood. It makes his skin itch.

“You’re a bit much,” Cora mutters, snatching his uneaten sandwich from his hand. He doesn’t even have the energy to snarl or get it back. Talia rolls her eyes at the exchange.

“Derek, the Accord is meant to create trust. You know this. There’s a reason we work with the Argents, now. With an Emissary.”

“Deaton doesn’t like to be called an Emissary,” Derek reminds her, crossing his arms. Intuitively, he knows he shouldn’t be arguing with his Alpha. Still, he’s not just a wolf; he’s a son. And he argues with his mother, probably more than she appreciates.

“Well, that’s what he is,” Talia murmurs, turning on her heel to walk past him.

Caius is at the foot of the stairs when they enter the living room. His hand, outstretched, is dangling a silver necklace. Talia smiles indulgently, turning to let her husband carefully drape it around her neck. Derek almost feels uncomfortable watching them; the way his father’s hands linger carefully and pull his mother’s hair aside somehow intimate. He doesn’t want to give in, however, so he waits. Talia casts him a long-suffering look when he remains. Caius just leans against the banister, a smile playing across his lips.

“How can we trust them? Five of them, all teenagers, with no ties to us or our world-,”

“Do you really want to argue about that?”

His heart sticks in his throat. He’d been expecting the hit, but hoping against it. It’s been years since he was that child, so easily enticed and poisoned by Kate. Healing had been a long time in the works, but it had come. Except sometimes, they slip back into old wounds. Like this.

Caius steps from the banister, something cautious in his manner. He’s not like Derek or Talia, which is probably why they both rely on them so much. Why Derek feels like he can talk to his father more.

“Dear,” the man says carefully, leaning close to his wife. “This isn’t the argument we should be having.”

Talia sighs, visibly unwinding the smallest amount. Derek wishes he could do the same. I’ll never understand the language he can speak with her. How it works.

“Derek,” Talia says calmly, “They’ve been vetted by both Deaton and Chris. They’re good kids. This isn’t a question of being worthy. And Pack is not just blood. It goes beyond that.”

“I understand that they’ve been accepted by the others,” Derek tries, “but we’re different. They’re not wolves-,”

“No. Which makes them the perfect judges,” Talia says, an eyebrow arched. “Derek, what would you do if your younger sister were human?”

“What-,” Derek starts, before cutting himself off. What does that have to do with anything? “What do you mean, what would I do?”

“Would you treat her any differently?”

“Of course not. I’d be more careful when sparring, but-,”

“There’s a reason Packs have human members. Why some have Druids and Witches in their number. We’re stronger the more diverse we are. The more accepting,” Talia emphasizes, both eyebrows now arched at him like they’re judging him the way she is.

He knows the argument is over. It was won before it began, of course, but he had wanted to try. To voice his worry and discomfort. He doesn’t like the idea of five strangers coming into his home or onto his land. It sets him on edge. He watches his parents shrug on their jackets, preparing for the evening. It’s the first of their meetings with the new members. They will talk with the candidates, ensure that they agree with the choices, and then there will be a Pack introduction. After that, the dates will be set and the new wolves will be welcomed into the fold.

It’s a process, which he’s thankful for. He finds part of him hoping that one or two will drop out- not right or accepted by the Alpha. He isn’t fond of the change he can see looming on the horizon.

Derek waits for the end of the night, pretending to read one of Peter’s books on the couch, and wonders what his parents will think of the five teenagers. If any of them are worthy of being part of the Hale pack.

If they’ll make the same mistakes he did.

----

“This just proves my reservations about all of…this,” Noah says, waving a hand over the kitchen.

The disaster zone, as it were.

Stiles chews on his lip, studiously avoiding direct eye contact with his father. It reeks of rosemary- which is not a bad thing- but there is also dirt and dust all around the room, surfaces smeared in essential oil and glass scattered on the floor.

“Can we agree that this probably would have happened anyway?”

“…yeah. You’re right. Maybe you should just not.”

“Not- what? Live?” Stiles sputters, fluttering his arms and nearly falling over. Again. His father scrubs a hand over his face.

“Why don’t I leave you to clean this up. I’m assuming dinner isn’t ready.”

The second half of his statement is hopeful. Stiles shoots a glare at his father, halfway in the act of reaching for a broom.

“You’re not getting burgers,” Stiles jabs a finger at him. “Whatever you get, bring it home so I can-,”

Noah is already halfway out the door, hurriedly making a beeline for his car.

“-see what you’re eating!” Stiles yells, slumping against the counter in defeat when the door shuts. He’s fairly certain his father will take his food to the station to ‘do paperwork’. Or hide a double-stacked burger.

Stiles surveys the kitchen. He’d been trying to set up some vials for his personal stores, following the simple directions from Deaton. Just an easy setup. He had, of course, made some mistakes- one of which was sneezing and dropping a spice jar. He’d also knocked over the oil and made a bigger mess trying to quickly sop it up. He wishes, not for the first time, that he had somewhere to work his magic.

The doorbell rings and Stiles sighs, trying to pick his way across the floor without treading the mess into the hall. He yells at the closed door as he goes.

“Did you forget your keys again? Dad, the next time, I might not-,”

He opens the door to a crooked grin.

“Scott? Weren’t you-,”

“I was. We’re done,” Scott says quickly, almost breathless. He makes his way inside before visibly recoiling from the smell in the kitchen, confused. “What’s-,”

“I was making some stuff for Deaton. Well, for me,” Stiles corrects, waving a hand dismissively. He shoves a chair towards Scott, watching his friend sit backwards in it as Stiles begins to clean the kitchen. “How’d it go?”

“Great, I think,” Scott says earnestly, hopeful. “They were really nice. Kind of scary- Talia, I mean, the Alpha- but nice. Caius was pretty quiet. They had a lot of questions for us.”

“Like what? I mean- what you can tell me, that is,” Stiles adds, “I know it’s technically super-secret.”

“Stiles, you’re training as an Emissary,” Scott reminds him, “I don’t think it matters if I tell you.”

“Yeah, I’m training,” Stiles repeats, sweeping a hand over the mess. “But okay. What did they ask, then?”

“Just a lot about our families,” Scott muses, “which makes sense, I guess. History. But yeah- they asked about our families and whether we would tell them. Whether we thought it was fair to them. Why we wanted the bite in the first place…”

“That’s pretty heavy,” Stiles muses, sweeping the last bits of glass from the floor. “But it makes sense. They need to know you understand how serious it is.”

“Yeah. I mean- we’re technically two years from legal adulthood but I guess it’s safer at a younger age?”

“Kind of,” Stiles agrees, “I mean, according to Deaton’s stuff, it’s possible that the younger you are, the better it works. But there’s debate over whether that was like, just bad health associated with the dark ages and being old or-,”

“Stiles.”

“All right,” Stiles smirks, “No boring Emissary stuff. Anyway- how did the others do?”

“…I’m not sure,” Scott admits, looking a little worried. He’s cut out for Pack life, Stiles thinks. Always worrying about everyone else. “Erica seemed okay. Boyd…I can never tell. Isaac was…quieter. I’m not sure if that’s bad or if he was serious. And Jackson-,”

“Jackson will be fine,” Stiles snorts, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. Not just because the guy is with Lydia but because he knows. Jackson’s cut out to be a werewolf. He’s already overly physical and charismatic; he’ll be unstoppable. It might force him to learn limits, though, which will turn out fantastically for everyone else in the world.

“Well, I guess we’ll know next Friday.”

“That soon?”

“Yeah. That’s when they told me the meeting is at the Hale house. We’ll meet the Pack and then they’ll let us know who’s been accepted.”

“…cool,” Stiles manages, head swirling. One week from today, my best friend could be a werewolf. It’s a lot to wrap his head around. Not that he hasn’t had time to think about it- he’s had time since Freshman year. Since Scott had first brought it up.

He’d been shocked. Stiles had just been finding out for himself what his father knew- what he’d suspected- that something supernatural was in Beacon Hills. It had taken years of doubt and piecing together the Sheriff’s work for Stiles to come up with the truth. Just as he had, though, Scott had started dating Allison Argent and inadvertently found out. Scott and Stiles had both coped together, dealing with the revelation of werewolves existing, and they’d both gone two ways about it. Stiles had started training with Deaton- after the ordeal of trying to convince his father- and Scott had decided to pursue candidacy.

Candidacy. Such a normal word for something so bizarre. It was the Accord, Deaton had told Stiles. The old-fashioned name for a treaty between Hunter and Werewolf, mediated by an Emissary. Every ten years, submissions of candidacy for new Pack members would be reviewed. At least one would be accepted. It was meant to encourage cooperation and openness. The new Pack members could choose, technically, to become wolves or train as a Hunter, Witch, or Druid. Packs come in all shapes and sizes, Deaton had told Stiles, although it’s most common to only have wolves.

“If I get in…maybe I can ask if you can come,” Scott offers, looking hopeful.

“I don’t think so,” Stiles says, smiling lopsidedly. “It’s a protected rite. It wouldn’t be right. Anyway, you’ll be with the others. And your new Pack. They’ll know how to take care of you.”

“…maybe I want you there,” Scott says, tucking his chin onto his crossed arms.

It makes Stiles warm to hear the words. It somehow reminds him we’re best friends, nothing will change. Even though everything will.

“I know,” Stiles smiles, trying to ease the tension, “but look what I did to the kitchen. Maybe we should just plan for dinner after, huh?”

Scott laughs, the worry evaporating, and Stiles knows he’s done his job. For now.

Can I still do it once he’s turned?

-----

He’s not pouting.

“Bring me back some pie when you’re done sulking!” Laura yells as he walks out the door. He slams it just a little.

His parents had loved the kids, apparently. Talia had not stopped going on about Scott, who was apparently ‘an absolute sweetheart’. Caius was already planning trust exercises for Isaac, who was- according to the man- the most vulnerable and valuable of all of them, in terms of Pack. The names flooded in conversation- Erica, the only young woman who already has Talia’s respect and Boyd, the quiet one whose strength goes beyond the physical. By the end of it, Derek’s hope for a narrowing of candidacy had evaporated.

He’s not sure how to feel about it, so he decides to take the chance to go to Deaton under the premise of picking up items for the ceremony. The ceremony, which is two weeks away, but suddenly so guaranteed. Derek escapes to his car and drives to the clinic, not sure when the last time he visited was.

Maybe I can get more from Deaton, he thinks. More about these strangers that might be part of my Pack so soon.

He can tell that there’s someone else in the clinic. He can only get a fleeting scent through the protective barrier and animals- honey, some bitter medicine, and the alarming scent of smoke. He’s not sure how to feel about someone who carries the lingering scent of fire.

“Derek? May I help you?” Deaton appears out of nowhere, almost unnoticed as Derek concentrates on the other scent.

“Is someone here?” Derek murmurs, eyes sliding towards the back room. Deaton walks towards the back, a large paper bag in his arms. Something in the man’s expression shifts from questioning to sly. Derek doesn’t half trust it.

“Not a citizen,” Deaton says, vaguely amused. Derek feels his mouth flatten into a line at the term. It’s a clumsy reference to the…normal people of Beacon Hills.

“I can always come back-,”

“No, go on in. I’ll be back in a moment,” the man says, splitting away to walk towards another room. Derek hesitates, one foot on the side of the door.

“Go in.”

He does not jump at the repeated command.

“Excuse me,” Derek says, opening the door as he speaks, and there’s a loud whack followed by a cry and the beginnings of a curse.

Oh, fuck.

The guy he just hit in the face with the door is bent over, only the top of his head visible, dark hair sticking up in a million different directions. Derek can feel his heart racing, panic in his throat. He can just imagine who he’s hit- some foreign Emissary, some Witch consultant, someone no doubt important and he’s just clocked them with a damn door.

“Sorry,” Derek says quickly, swallowing his dread, trying to come up with a passable apology. He doesn’t even know where to begin.

“Ugh- dude, what the hell, did the door do something to you-,” the guy says, sounding pained. He turns to walk towards the sink, the tap turned quickly as a hand reaches for paper towels. Derek can smell blood. He feels a wave of nausea hit him, accompanied by dread.

“I didn’t expect- what were you doing behind the door?” The accusation slips out and Derek is mortified. Someone give me a shovel.

“What was I- I wasn’t behind it, first of all,” the guy says, clearly aggravated, “I was going to open the door before you decided to open my face.”

“I didn’t…look, tilt your head back,” Derek sighs, reaching to pull the guy’s chin back, and that’s when it happens.

He’s not sure what possessed him to touch the stranger but the moment he does he feels a small spark, like static. It burns his fingertips even as he marvels at how soft the skin is beneath his fingers. Derek can hardly keep up with the touch before he sees eyes so light brown they’re almost golden, sharp and clear, gazing back at him with a strength and defiance he’s only ever really seen in an Alpha. It makes him drop his hand immediately, no matter how compelling he finds the touch.

I’m fucked. Not only is the stranger young- probably seventeen at most- but he’s also kind of beautiful. Okay, maybe really beautiful.

“Thanks, asshole, I just swallowed my own blood,” the guy sighs, mopping at the last trickle of bright red below his nose. His eyes are still sharp and suspicious.

“I…”

“What happened?” Deaton asks, his tone long-suffering as he enters the room. “Stiles-,”

Stiles.

“It wasn’t me,” Stiles says sharply. He immediately seems to reel himself back, exhaling through his mouth. “This fool-,”

“You mean Derek,” Deaton says, raising both eyebrows.

Stiles- whoever he is- suddenly freezes. His mouth tightens into a line, tension drawing on his shoulders. The change is almost immediate. It’s as if he’s drawing behind some sort of wall, protecting himself. Derek feels both hurt and confused by it- I’m not some dangerous animal- but he reminds himself he did just hit Stiles with a door.

“Derek Hale,” Stiles says, eyes sliding grudgingly just left of Derek’s face. Derek finds that he misses the fierce gaze and he almost wants to guide Stiles’ gaze back towards him, maybe with a careful hand… “You’re not supposed to tilt your head back for a nosebleed.”

And with that gem, Stiles bows curtly and exits the room.

Derek is left watching the space left behind, somehow missing an inexplicable warmth that isn’t there. It takes him a full minute to realize Deaton is watching him, waiting, an eyebrow arched in silent judgement. Derek is getting tired of eyebrow judgment.

“Who was-,”

“Let’s not,” Deaton says drily, passing Derek a paper bag. “That’s what you’ll need.”

Derek can tell he isn’t going to get anything more out of Deaton about Stiles. He’s not sure why the man is being tight-lipped. He’s also not sure what to think about the fact that some strange teenager has captured his attention. What were those sparks I felt? He can’t come up with a way to bring it back up, so he switches topics, hoping it will help him get answer.

“…you’ve met the candidates?”

“Yes. That’s part of my job.” Derek doesn’t miss the sarcasm, thinly veiled. Emissaries.

“What did you think of them?”

“Clearly good things, since I forwarded them for candidacy,” Deaton says mildly. He seems to recognize Derek’s annoyance, though, and finally pities him. “They are good kids- and they’re all missing something. They could benefit more than anyone from the bite.”

“They’re missing something?”

“Did you listen to the rest of what I said?”

“How can they be perfect if they’re missing something?”

“Erica has seizures,” Deaton says evenly. The words hit Derek as hard as he suspects the door hit Stiles. Now I feel like an ass. He thinks that was Deaton’s intention. “She lives her life not knowing what she’ll be doing when one comes. Not knowing when it will happen or if anyone will be around to help. If anyone will care.”

“…I didn’t-,”

“You don’t know,” Deaton says smoothly, “And you need to understand that. There are things, Derek, that you do not know you do not know. I’d think you, of all people, would understand that trusting your Alpha is important. That there’s a reason the Hunters and I join the process. We rely on each other. We see each other’s blind spots.”

It’s probably the most-needed you know better he’s ever received. It’s the first in a long time, too. He can remember quite clearly the last time he heard anything like this. It was much more serious and a little too late.

“It’s a lot of new members,” Derek says quietly, hoping he can communicate what he means. I just barely started feeling safe with my family, again. Feeling safe for them.

“It’s time,” Deaton says mildly. The meaning carries.

The conversation is over, much like it was with Talia. Derek turns away, opening the door, and then he sees Stiles leaning against the wall across from the door. He feels conflicted at once- angry at being overheard, embarrassed at seeming somehow incompetent or rude, sorry for hurting the obviously-human young man.

“…you heard,” Derek says. It’s not a question. Stiles seems to recognize that, a vaguely irritated look crossing his face before disappearing.

“Yeah, I heard Deaton spouting Colors of the Wind lines at you,” Stiles says drily. Derek almost chokes.

Without his head obscured or tilted away, Derek can tell a few things about Stiles. He’s young. A teenager. His nose is slightly upturned; his skin is pale but dotted with dark moles, the contrast like a negative of stars in the sky. His eyes are just as liquid and unfaltering as before, chin tilted slightly in a way that seems to suggest he’ll put up a fight when needed.

Everything about him is unfortunately attractive and Derek isn’t sure how to handle it.

“Disney?” the word somehow comes out with the mixed exasperation and helplessness Derek is feeling.

“We’re not at Star Wars level yet,” Stiles winks.

He winks and Derek wants to die. He manages to stay upright, though, and he studiously glares at the wall while Stiles sidesteps him and goes back into the clinic room, the door clicking shut behind him.

Somehow, Derek is in his car before he realizes he’s blushing. He glares daggers at the clinic as if it’ll spit Stiles out so he can…what? Stop. He’s a kid and you don’t even know him.

But you want to, a small voice says, and Derek throws the car in reverse while turning up the volume on his radio. He’s got five teenagers to worry about. He doesn’t need another, even if they have beautiful eyes and a perpetually-curling mouth.

(read the rest on AO3)

#eternalstereksecretsanta17 #esss17 #sterek #fic #submission