#somewhere in the world helen is mourning

[rain-lavender-rain]

With Love, From Your Soldier - Part 6 - Final

Warnings: None, prepare for some feels. Final part of the series.

Read Part 5 Here

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The last letter was one that Bucky had sent, telling me that he supported me and promising a dance.

I had sent him a letter in reply, but it must have gotten lost in the mail somewhere, and I never got a reply. I only got a letter from Steve with his condolences.

I never made it overseas, and by the time the war was over, I had lost both my best friend, and my lover. Peggy came back to the States and we became friends, our pain being something that brought us closer together.

I never married or had any kids. Instead, I spent my time in a lab with Howard Stark helping him with experiments, projects and so on. I busied myself with that work, and Howards friendship was something I held close to my heart.

A boy, not much older than Bucky would have been when he left was sent with the 84th infantry. The 84th took over 100 German pillboxes and bunkers in the Siegfried line, and was a vital part of the Battle of the Bulge where the boy lost his life in battle. He married right before he shipped out to a wonderful woman named Helen. Helen was also a big part of my life after the war ended. Helen ended up naming her child with the middle name of "James". It was nothing I ever asked for, but Helen always had the biggest heart and her friendship was worth more than gold.

I spent time mourning, and was mostly happy for the rest of my life afterwards, but I'll admit, it was never the same after Bucky passed. When Peggy told me that they had found Steve, I was overjoyed and heartbroken all at the same time. You're still asleep as I write this, but I'm writing this in hope that one day you will wake up.

Know that I never blamed you. Know that the world is different now, and its changed in ways you can't even imagine. I just hope you understand that, you Steve Rogers, were one of the most important people in his life and that he looked up to you in more ways than one. He was proud of you, and so am I.

Bucky still has my heart, always has, and always will. In hopes that you wake up, I have one last request- something that I am only asking for because I know all three of us were connected with a string mending our hearts together. Your friendship always meant so much to both Bucky and I. I feel selfish asking, but consider it my parting wish. Every year on his birthday, I have left red roses on his grave. My only request is that you do the same.

I send all my love Steve, and I hope you keep your heart and your light with you. Use this second chance without regrets. However you decide to live it, know that Bucky and I will always love you and are proud of you.

-Y/N

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Tags for @playboystark <3

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you

[mjrkime]

Candyman and the cycle of Suffering

I've recently re-watched Candyman (1992) and damn, I forgot how unexpectedly "commentary" it feels. Those things that I didn't notice or didn't "get" in my teenage years suddenly flooded my brain.

Potential spoilers ahead.

Disclaimer: I have never seen any of the sequels or seen any interviews. I've read the novel, but all that is said here is solely based on my own interpretations of the movie.

Candyman is a local godlike being that barely has anything to do with the man he was (or, which is more likely, a man that the legend is actually based on) and depends on their herd like a man in the desert depends on water. And people that support and feed (somewhat literally, with sweets) the local legend, depend on it. Situated amidst the dreadful and bland reality of everyday struggles, people often turn to faith, they turn to existing gods or make up their own. But it's not people's fault that Candyman exists. He exists and relishes in the suffering because the suffering is tolerated by the rest of the world around.

When Helen meets the gang leader, she is sure that she got a wonderful ending to her narrative and foolishly assumes that there's nothing else to it. And then the legend takes hold of her, literally, painting her own hands with blood. Personally, I kind of like to lean on two different perspectives here: first, I assume that Candyman is actually real, the supernatural element is real and Helen's final purpose is to fill in his shoes, (somewhat symbolically) transferring the legend from its previous spot to a new one, to cause destruction and misery somewhere else, taking it away with her. The second interpretation is that it was always just Helen. The ominous "It was always you, Helen" made me believe that it could possibly be a concealed mental issue that found its way out the moment when Helen's psyche was challenged by a morbid local legend, a shock from an exposure to a generational suffering of an entire neighborhood and a head trauma. The main point here is that she was right, the Candyman legend was supposed to die along with the gang leader being arrested, but she couldn't let it go. She performs the acts of violence during the moments of absent consciousness, but then she also, quite knowingly, kills a nurse (potentially) and changes into her clothes right in front of a terrified patient... and then scares the hell out of her ex-husband when she finds him at home living with his new girlfriend. She's ostracized and disregarded by her loved ones and filled with an unfathomable rage. The only friend she has left that comes to check on her dies by her hand too, because, to keep the rage going and to let the legend continue, one needs to abolish every possibility for hope and recovery.

What Clive Barker's novels/short stories and any of the media based on them are good at? They're good at showing people exposing and exploring horrific sides of themselves, tragically, often losing the rest along the way.

The ending scene where a mourning Trevor realises what he has lost and that he misses his wife greatly, imagining their kitchen filled with life and colours while his current girlfriend, preoccupied only with the fact that he avoids her, strolls an empty lifeless skeleton of a house.

Candyman doesn't really scare me, but rather fills me with sadness. In the end, nobody is free of suffering. Nobody won, nobody will win. Helen saved the child, yes, but the hellish apocalypse realm of misery will never lose its basis in reality. The claws of darkness depicted in a movie, that came out 30 years ago, are relevant to this day. The true horror is knowing that they'll probably never lose their grip.

#candyman #slashers #candyman 1992 #movie talk

[will-of-the-traders]

I will not be a thing of terror.

As I hold my daughter close to my heart, I decide I will not be a thing of terror.

I dream sometimes that we met before we did. That I saw her take her first steps. That she was not brought to Helen’s Respite all those years ago, one evening, by an aunt tired of caring for her.

I dream, instead, that her mother sought me.

Told me she was with child. That I took it with such glee that we married on the spot, at Adama Landama.

I loved the candlemaker’s daughter. 

It is easy to say I love, it is easy to think it, to enable it, to me.

My love is worship. ‘Tis why Lady Sable deems it unreasonable and unfair as she did when I first spoke of Lady Visarsa, when that old incident came up. She knows it misshapen. She knows it intertwined with my religion and my thoughts on our society.

In her own way, she is right. My love is impossibly universal. Things that move and think are understood as wonders, on my end. Even in sin. It makes crime and acts done against the fellow man even more monstrous: how could one waste such gifts bestowed by Nald himself?

But it is because they move and they think, it is because of that very freedom that action is made reality, whether beneficial or malicious. It is there that the duality of my God is found, and that the unity of man is understood.

There is not a single person I could not love, and I know, very deeply, that this single fact has made me incapable of true hatred.

My capacity to love is universal. But it is not impersonal. This is where Lady Sable is wrong.

Yes, I think she is wrong.

I loved the candlemaker’s daughter. I loved her spirit, the way she kept her hair in braids and brass rings, and I loved her divergent thoughts on the world and our precepts.

After the Calamity, digging graves was all we could do.

People needed faith, more than ever. Brother Eudes was tasked with bringing supplies, at the time. Barely eighteen, frail—we preferred him in Drybone, trading, rather than lifting steles under the sun with the rest of us.

He brought in what we needed and could afford in medicine and candles. Until he came down with a fever. I was sent to town in his stead, then.

I had met the candlemaker’s daughter before, but I had not really seen her.

It only took three suns for me to like her beyond measure. And it wasn’t fair of me to do. Even young, I would say that I was courting when what I was doing was seduction, and even without cruelty, I think I knew it was not quite fair.

I know true love is unmade, then reforged. I know it durable—but I loathed to reduce my feelings to mere infatuation. Want had to be celebratory. True want is an exercise the mind can get to when it is healthy, and without need. I wanted her. I wanted to see her. To talk to her. Or rather, listen to what she had to say.

With hindsight, much like everyone else at the time, I wanted comfort. She spoke as though the moon didn’t split open and fall from the sky. She’d speak of her mother’s apiary, saying bees were resilient things.

She’d mention the weather, inquire after Brother Eudes. Inquire after me.

It was purposeful. And she did it for herself, first and foremost. In eagerness to reconvene with a life that desperately needed mending, wrecked by the Calamity. While we were all too sluggish, too burdened by the logistical aspects of reconstruction and grief, she looked Thal in the eye, and simply refused His presence. 

It was no doubt also done in the folly of mourning. But it made her warmer than the others. So I came to decide I loved her.

The first week, Mother Tamami wondered why our candle supply was so low.

The second week, she understood people were, or might have been staying up far later than they should—to study, or pray, she assumed, so she paid no mind.

It was not until the third week that she understood that the candles were burnt in bulk somewhere during the day, and that it’d force us to go buy more.

I am old enough now to understand that it was childish in nature. It would be the first and last time of my life I ever spent more coin than necessary on something I did not need. But on something I did want.

When Brother Eudes recovered, they preferred me at the lichyard, and him back in Drybone. We never ran out of candles after that.

It is then that I started visiting her without coin, and without excuses. We decided to reconvene with that life that desperately needed mending by loving each other—or rather, have her love me while I worshipped her.

She liked the color of my hair, and I liked her hand running through it.

Two moons later, the capital beckoned, and with it, the burden of Salem, her people. I was kept from Adama; and when I returned to the shoppe, I was made to understand by a relative that my presence was no longer wanted.

At the time, I simply thought I had overstayed my welcome, and that I was acknowledged as insincere, using my chains to the Ossuary as an excuse.

It is much later that I understood I was a thing of terror. Of status, and renown, of mettle, and competency. It is much later that I understood I had been acting like the street urchin I was raised as, but not the man I had become. The man I was perceived as. Someone who could hurt and get away with it, by virtue of the Order. Someone who would not take a child if it were brought to them. So I was not told anything other than to leave, never to return.

It was the first time I had truly felt a shift in the world I had built in my mind and my heart. That there was now a difference between me and the people, enforced by the robes I wore, and the education I was given. That some acts could no longer be innocent, even if I thought them to be.

Thavnair’s star showers reminded me of my place in the world. As caller, and man, as sorcerer, as father. 

On the way home, finally home, I kneel to hold my daughter for bells. We do not leave the doorway. She falls asleep in my arms.

I come to practice freedom and duality as my Gods have shown me. So I decide I will not be a thing of terror, never again, when it is all I am capable of being.

#writing #long post

[clumsyclifford]

mayhaps,,,backseat serenade for a prompt?? (don’t ask me to pick a specific part bc i am Indecisive) also for any pairing but i am partial to malum

OKAY hear me out. i know you said malum and i will happily write this with malum if you want but this song is a muke song to me. and since ive never written muke (!! it is a night for debuts eh) i figured. may as well give it a go. in this low stakes tumblr prompt fic environment. SO here we have it. the closest ill probably ever get to writing smut without writing smut <3

-

Luke’s on his third drink when he sees Michael across the room, and Michael catches his eye. Luke lifts a hand, gesturing for him to come over, which is a bad idea, because he’s drunk, and Michael’s definitely drunk — he’s been drinking whiskey all night; weird choice but there’s no explaining Michael — and Luke and Michael are notoriously lacking in self-control when drunk, but now Michael’s already coming over and it’s too late to take it back.

“Hey hey hey,” Michael slurs as he leans against the bar, crowding already into Luke’s space. His breath smells of whiskey, and Luke wishes that were enough to turn him off it, but it’s very much not. 

“Hey back,” Luke says. “Having fun?”

Michael barks a laugh. “Fuck no. Are you?”

Of course Luke’s not having fun — it’s why he’s sitting at the bar. “No,” he says, trying and failing to refrain from saying what he wants to say next. “But I could be, now.”

Michael smiles. “Worst chat-up line I’ve ever heard in my life,” he says, coming around Luke and using his shoulders to spin him around on the barstool. “Try again.”

“Who said anything about chat-up lines?” Luke blinks up at Michael, wide-eyed and innocent. It’s gotten him before and it’ll work again. Luke wishes he didn’t know that so well, but Michael licks his lips and they’re here again like they’ve been too many times before. 

“Got me there,” Michael breathes, leaning in. Luke leans away instinctively and his back presses into the bar.

“Maybe I just needed a friend,” he says weakly.

“I bet you did,” Michael says, watching him carefully.

It’s no use. They’re caught in the web already. Struggling against it will be in vain, so all that’s left to do is sink deeper and hope that it’ll dissolve by morning.

Luke pushes himself off the seat so swiftly that Michael stumbles backwards. Good, Luke thinks with relish, because Michael loves to push him around and sometimes it’s Luke’s turn. “Your place or mine?”

Michael chews on his lower lip. Luke suddenly finds it hard to breathe. “Yours.”

Luke orders an Uber and they leave the bar to wait for it. The summery nighttime air is warm with just a hint of a breeze, and Michael hangs off him the whole time they wait, pressing butterfly kisses to his jaw with deceptive gentleness.

(Michael’s never gentle with him. It’s why Luke keeps coming back — or at least one of the reasons. Maybe he needs to be reminded that he can take it. If Michael can’t break him, nobody can. And Michael’s awfully good at pushing his limits.)

Luke feels badly for the Uber driver; Michael kisses Luke the moment they slide into the backseat of the car. The radio is on, something loud and angry playing through the speakers. Distantly Luke thinks he’ll definitely leave a generous tip, although presently all he can think about is Michael’s mouth on his, and wishing Michael’s mouth were doing other things, although those things should definitely wait until they’re no longer in the backseat of a car.

“Michael,” he manages, trying for scolding though he’s sure it comes out desperate. Michael pulls back, at least for a moment, hooded eyes gazing into Luke’s own. “Slow down.”

“Slow down?” Michael repeats, sounding deeply unimpressed. “That doesn’t sound like you.”

“We’re in an Uber,” Luke hisses. “We’ll be back at mine in five minutes.”

“Mm,” Michael says. “That’s five too many, if you ask me.”

He presses back into Luke, pushes him into a messy kiss, and Luke tries, really tries to stop the way he melts into it, but it’s fucking impossible. Kissing Michael is his main source of relief, the antidote to all of his pain, and every time they kiss Luke hurts a little less all over. The world is bitter and frequently out to get him, but Michael is a welcome reprieve, someone hungry and immediate to deal with, enough to take Luke’s mind off all the shit he’s trying to ignore about his life and focus just on this.

Five minutes does turn out to feel like an eternity, and Luke doesn’t even wish the driver a goodnight because he’s almost too embarrassed to even acknowledge the ride happened. That concern quickly flies from his mind when Michael essentially manhandles him to the door, and Luke fumbles with the lock just enough to remember that he is, in fact, rather drunk, and so is Michael.

(But what is life for if not making stupid decisions about sleeping with your bandmates slash best friends when you’re wasted?)

Michael all but pushes Luke through the door once it’s open, at which point Luke decides he’s had enough of that, and spins on his heel to pin Michael to the back of the door. Breathing hard, trying not to become completely incoherent from Michael’s disheveled state, he says, “Be fucking patient.”

Michael juts his chin out, so casually defiant that Luke’s heart stutters in his chest. 

(Which is wrong. This isn’t supposed to be a matter of the heart — Luke’s heart should have checked out by now, but it’s still here, watching and waiting for Michael, hungry in a different way. This should be a physical affair, the way it’s been every time before, but Luke can’t help the leaps and bounds in his ribcage, only do his level best to ignore them.)

“Make me,” Michael says, around a delicious smirk.

They’re in Luke’s house, though, and the time for patience is past, and anyway, Luke is probably stronger than Michael but he’d much rather be on the other side of this hold, and they both know it.

The song from the radio still on repeat in Luke’s head, he leans in, and Michael meets him halfway, a battle they fight over and over with no clear victor.

-

Luke wakes up in bed, Michael snoring lightly across his bare chest, sunlight streaming in through the windows, a furious headache behind his eyes. This, at least, is familiar. The unfamiliar piece is the dull thud of Luke’s heartbeat picking up speed as he registers Michael in bed with him.

It’s not as if they haven’t woken up like this before. It’s not like they’ve never shared a fucking bed, notwithstanding whether or not they’d just fucked. Luke feels vulnerable, laid bare; even though it’s impossible for Michael to know what he’s thinking, Luke is nervous that Michael will know.

As if summoned by Luke’s thoughts (an idea that doesn’t put Luke’s nerves at ease), Michael’s eyes flutter open, and he yawns.

“Hi,” he says, looking up through tired eyes at Luke. 

(Luke has learned to reconcile the Michael from last night with the Michael from this morning. They’re not the same person, but then again, neither is Luke.)

“Hi,” Luke says. He closes his eyes. The light is doing absolutely nothing for his hangover. “We should try and remember to close the blinds.”

“Fucking amen,” Michael grumbles. “I’m blaming you. It’s your house.”

Luke would have remembered if he hadn’t been so distracted by a certain someone, but he’s pretty sure they have an agreement not to really talk about it, so he doesn’t say that. Instead, he says, “I’ll make breakfast if you ask really nicely.”

“Make breakfast or I’ll TP your house,” Michael says, burying his face in Luke’s side. “I know where you live.”

Luke smiles and huffs a laugh. “Try again.”

“Don’t make breakfast,” Michael says. He tilts his head and looks at Luke. “Don’t get up yet. Come on. Go back to sleep. We don’t need to get up.”

Luke stares. This is uncharted territory. Michael’s not supposed to ask him to stay. Michael’s not supposed to ask to stay.

“I have to, um,” Luke starts, still staring at Michael as Michael stares back. There’s a challenge in his expression but also something pleading about it, something vulnerable and on the whole very unlike any version of Michael that Luke knows.

“Close the blinds?” Michael finishes for him, offering him a soft smile.

Luke catches his breath. “Yeah. And then we can go back to sleep.”

Michael flops onto his back, releasing his hold on Luke. Luke feels cold, and quickly slides out of bed and crosses to the windows. Shutting the blinds throws the room into a much dimmer light, and he takes a second to adjust his eyes before ambling back over to his bed and crawling under the sheet.

Michael immediately tucks himself against Luke’s side, fitting so comfortably that Luke can’t believe he’s been sleeping all this time alone. It makes sense, and it feels right, and Luke’s chest feels full to bursting with the fact that Michael hasn’t left. Michael is still here, breaking every rule they’ve written for themselves.

So Luke ducks his head and presses a kiss to Michael’s hair. (Because what’s one more?)

“Mm,” Michael hums contentedly, looking up at Luke. “I’d kiss you if I cared enough to reach you, honest.”

“Could just ask,” Luke says lightly. “I’m very accommodating.”

“Oh, I know.” Michael grins. The rulebook is in tatters; Luke thinks, fuck it, and shuffles down in bed to kiss Michael. Somehow this one, more than all of the other ones they’ve ever had, makes Luke’s stomach churn. Michael tastes of stale whiskey and salt and morning breath, a mixture that should be atrocious but for some reason isn’t.

Michael smiles again when he pulls away, sleepy through half-lidded eyes. “I’m sleeping ‘til this hangover goes away on its own. Hope you didn’t have plans.”

Luke can’t find it in him to come up with any kind of witty retort. “Okay,” he says softly. “Goodnight.”

“‘Night,” Michael answers with a yawn, and within moments he’s back to sleep. 

Luke falls asleep soon after. It’s much easier to fall asleep, he finds, with someone else curled up in bed with him, especially when that someone is Michael. Luke thinks about potential energy and drifts off with a smile.  

#THIS IS WILD MY VERY FIRST MUKE #somewhere in the world helen is mourning #michael clifford #luke hemmings #muke #muke fic #5sos #5sos fic #fic #my fic #THIS IS SO EXCITING #anonymous #ask #answered

[wyn-n-tonic]

Baby, Let The Games Begin -- Part I

Hiiii. Okay, I've decided to jump back into the fanfiction game because sometimes I just can't focus on my own characters and need a respite from them. I am a little bit sickly in love with Dave York and, no, I have not spoken to my therapist about it. Second person isn't typically my writing style and this was definitely an experiment. There will be a few parts to this, I'm not sure how many. 

Word Count: 1,000 Warnings: Talking about death, killing, masturbation (not explicitly), choking (not explicit... yet). If you see anymore that I don't know about, just message me and I'll amend the warning.

Summary: Cat and mouse between two psycopaths.

His diligence is ghostlike. He moves through walls and people and the world blending in. He’s flat and close cropped. Broad but not overwhelming. Confident in his movements but he doesn’t take any room that’s not easily gifted to him.

But he’s gotten… sloppy. He’s been in South America for over a month now and the Spanish that usually gets better with time and immersion is slipping. He’s fucking up in all the small ways that will blow this mission to shit if he doesn’t get it together.

It’s another rainy night somewhere in Ecuador and he’s losing his fucking mind half drunk off sleep deprivation, half off a fifth of whatever brown liquor is stewing in his system tonight.

Yeah… sloppy.

But he’s never had a target like you.

Your pictures are peppered over his walls, papered down from hotel to hotel. He’s chased you through three goddamn countries and he is no closer.

He’s beginning to think you’re in his head. Just a figment of his imagination. If he’s a ghost, you’re a phantom and he is losing his fucking mind. —

You laugh in the darkness as his frustrated grunts come through the thin walls. You take another sip of the same shit he bought only hours ago—expensive—trying to figure out if tonight’s activities are vigorous pushups or if he’s spilling himself again. Thunder rolls and so does he, silence settling over the rooms once more. You wonder which picture it was tonight but you know he’s already got you plastered behind his eyelids.

It’s pissing down in Zamora again tonight and he is losing his fucking mind. But you’re not exactly making it easy for him.

Except… you are.

He’s trying too hard, that’s the problem.

He’s on the right track but, god, he’s stupid. He’s looking for the girl in the pictures, the stone faced widow mourning yet another husband. A man bought your ass. Another one bought your tits. Hell, one offered to buy you new legs when you complained about your height. That’s the woman he was looking for, a multimillionaire who went to yoga every day and fucked her instructor every night. He wasn’t chasing you, he was chasing his imagination. That’s the problem with men, they’re easily manipulated.

And this one? He’s no different. You’ve got him wrapped around your little finger, he just doesn’t know it yet. —

There’s something he’s missing, he knows it. He’s pacing around the room but he knows he needs to carry himself out the door. He thought the presents you were leaving were the answer at first. Propped up in the rental car, he watched his hotel room all day but nobody ever showed. No woman in sight, certainly not the one in the photos.

Either you’re close or he’s losing his grip on reality.

But… No. He’s trying too hard. That’s the fucking problem.

Maybe he just stops giving a shit and it’ll all fall into place. —

He sent his men home two weeks ago.

“Five guys for one woman is excessive, go home and get started on other jobs, I can handle this.” He didn’t give them a choice, he was so confident. That’s when you decided to start fucking with him.

It was little things at first. Moving the pictures around, the furniture. Then it escalated. You cut the drapes in half, that was fun. But one day you were worried about all the alcohol so you snuck in with a different purpose.

You filled his small fridge with empanadas from a local vendor with a note to take care of himself. That wasn’t the first night you heard him cum but it was the first time he came with your name on his lips.

He found your tube of Ruby Woo waiting the next day. It didn’t exactly match the new hair you’d picked up in Medellín but he didn’t know that.

His groans came audible again that night while you packed, a small smile playing across your lips.

Those groans soundtracked your dreams from Cali to Quito as you hoped the two swipes of your credit card were enough for him to come running. —

As you leaf through his belongings once again, you think of the man whose scent you caught in Venezuela. He’s younger than who you usually go for, that’s a given. But in playing this game? In hearing what you already do to him? Well…

He’s a killer. You knew one was coming for you the moment you caught Helen’s eyes at the funeral. Poor, beloved Charles. It’s not that you killed him so much as you made it easier. You’re not a killer, you’re a helper. This man, though?

Those flat black eyes have a body count much higher than yours.

You wonder, as you crawl into his bed, if he’d give you a choice in how you want to go. Quite honestly, you’ve been thinking about those hands around your neck since Caracas. —

He’s pacing again as his voice carries over, the soft sound of fabric being thrown into a suitcase.

“Helen, hi, it’s Dave.” He sounds… tentative.

He lets out a frustrated sigh and the pacing stops, “No, no. I didn’t find her s—“

Silence and then, “It’s been over a month, I can’t keep chasing somebody I’m not sure is even here anymore. I’ll keep alerts up, continue to track her movements but I won’t… I won’t be taking an active effort against this one anymore. She’s too smart.”

He closes the phone with such force that the sound echos, certain he’s broken it. He walks to the middle of the room and his voice comes back but this time it’s for you.

“I know you’re listening. Hell, you might even be able to see me. You win, I’m going home. Enjoy that island.”

#dave york #equalizer 2 #fanfic #dave 'drop it low pick it up slow' york #writing #dave york x reader #pedro pascal

[theeslytherinslut]

RIP Helen McCrory

After a heroic battle with cancer, it’s with a heavy heart the world mourns the loss of an incredible actress, mother, and all around great woman, Helen McCrory. She’s best known for her work in Peaky Blinders as Polly Grey and in Harry Potter as Narcissa Malfoy.

Thank you for your incredible work. You’ve gone entirely too soon, love, but battling cancer is hard work. Rest now; you’ve earned it.

“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do anymore!” —Narcissa Malfoy

“If you attack my son again, I shall ensure that it is the last thing you ever do.”—Narcissa Malfoy

“Is Draco alive? Is he in the castle?” Harry breathed back a yes. “He is dead!”—Narcissa Malfoy

“We live somewhere between life and death, waiting to move on. And in the end, we accept it. We shake hands with the devils and we walk past them.”—Polly Grey

“You can never tell with men. They go for whoever their dicks point at, and there’s no changing their minds.”—Polly Grey

“If I come for you—and I still might yet decide to come for you—I will wear high heels so you can hear my approach on the cobblestones and have time to repent. You listen for my footsteps.”—Polly Grey.

Bye I’m actually sobbing 😭😭😭 she was in my top 5 fave actresses wtf 😭

#helen mccrory #rip helen mccrory #narcissa malfoy #narcissa black #polly grey #aunt polly #harry potter #peaky blinders #Gryffindor #ravenclaw #hufflepuff #slytherin #rip

[ofathcns]

The Courting of Narcissus

Alternately titled “Dionysus, again?!” 

Rated PG-13 for mentions of wink wonk

Ft. Mentions of @dorianxagapetos, @mylesxdelian, @kairosxevander, @elenepetrakis, @penelcpes

There is more to do in Elysium, he realizes. He is not an anomaly for keeping up with his training, but he does take longer than the rest to actually enjoy his afterlife. Sometimes he goes to heroes, other soldiers touched by gods, and he requests a match simply because no one has come to him. He finds the people of Elysium lounging, drinking wine in various stages of undress. More than once he’d stumbled upon poor Achilles and Patroclus, sometimes even joined by who he believes to be the lover of Apollo himself. It’d been the hero who’d slayed Hector who had told him to find a lover or two of his own.

It is not as if courting in Elysium is quite a thing, but there are many of them there without their lovers, Theseus thinks Achilles got rather lucky in that department. His dear Pirithous is still lost to the Underworld and Ariadne…

He tries not to think of her.

Helen was granted Elysium, she is there somewhere and it does cross his mind to perhaps try wooing her now that they are older. In life he’d wanted to marry her simply for the status. She’d been too young when he and Pirithous had gathered her up the first time, she was meant to stay with his mother, have a happy life in Troezen until they were ready to marry. But even as a youth, he’d been more interested in doing whatever would get Pirithous’s attention. And his attention was kept with their adventures, with challenges.

If he were to ever step foot past the threshold of Helen’s door, it’d be to apologize profusely for the folly of a lovestruck boy.

So he set his sights on people he saw decently often. Wrestling with Odysseus got heated, combat felt more...There was a tension there that he couldn’t quite ignore and perhaps Achilles really was onto something.

Of course, being king of Athens, being a hero, he cannot have just anyone as a lover, he needs a challenge, he needs an equal.

And what bigger challenge than someone in love with themselves?

He doesn’t mean for it to happen, but it does.

People forget that Narcissus is a hunter, or perhaps they simply see him and are so taken by his appearance, that they do not think to fear him. But the moment that Theseus first lays eyes on him, he is perhaps a little afraid of him. He’s truly beautiful basking beside a pond, a basket of fruit beside him. It is ridiculous, he has fought many man, he has fought many beast, and yet there’s this apprehension coiled tight in his gut and he finds himself speechless.

Aside from rattling off his titles.

Which don’t seem to impress Narcissus in the slightest.

And so Theseus, ears burning just a little, hurries back to his training grounds and tells Asterius all about it. The beast seems to give just a solemn nod as he recounts the exploit and if he weren’t so embarrassed, he’d have gone to Achilles.

“I am a king, Asterius! And yet I looked at him and I felt like a boy again!” His companion nods again, arms crossed over his chest as Theseus paces the field. It’d been like looking at Pirithous again for the first time, Ariadne even and perhaps Achilles really is onto something, he is absolutely lonely but he refuses to acknowledge such a thing out loud. So instead he sighs and stops in his tracks before the minotaur.

“You will try again.” The beast says in his somber, thoughtful way.

So he does. Not once, not twice, but several times he approaches the most beautiful man he’s ever laid eyes upon without feeling like he is making any progress. Until one day one day Narcissus asks him if he’d like to go hunting and of course, he jumps at the chance to perhaps finally show off a little. It doesn’t quite go well the first time, but it doesn’t go...Terribly. It’s a lot of traipsing through the wood. Some days they don’t see anything, other days it’s a deer, a pheasant, a rabbit in a snare.

They talk on days when it seems they won’t find anything, though often Theseus just finds himself listening. It takes time, he wants to meet all of Narcissus’s stories about his life with tales of his own accomplishments, but he finds the other will not listen to his boasts. If he does, he doesn’t seem all that impressed and at first it is frustrating and then one day, it isn’t. He is a king, he brought democracy to Athens, he doesn’t need to boast, and he finds that he actually likes listening. There’s something about his voice that he finds just as pleasing as his face.

The first time Theseus kisses him, it is to shut him up. They are among the many flowers that surround Narcissus’s home, the ones named after him, and he doesn’t know if he does it because he’s been watching the other man’s lips move or if he wishes to get him to just stop talking.

Achilles and Patroclus had a fair point, he did need someone. But the hunter was often visited by another, and not just any other person, but Dionysus himself. It spoils something for a few days, when he first glimpses the two. Dionysus had stolen Ariadne from him and now he was in the home of the man who he had affection for. He waxes about the matter only to Asterius and when Achilles asks him how the impossible is going, he simply smiles and tells him that not everyone could find their Patroclus.

It isn’t a deterrent for long though, he’s a hero, he’s a king, and there’s many more kisses to be had. They have them, he stops wondering if the other man is simply entertaining him, it does not matter. It does not matter until he is back at home alone or with Asterius gazing out at the water and then Theseus thinks about Phaedra, about Hippolytus, Aegeus even. And when he is done thinking of them, when he is done mourning them for the day, sometimes he thinks of Athens, the kingdom he’d let down.

It never lasts, those moods. He is good at picturing his worries upon the shores and mentally watching the Aegean wash them away. He likes to think it’s both of his father’s telling him not to worry.

He doesn’t worry the first time he has Narcissus. The hunter’s house is full of mirrors, there is not a single room that their reflections aren’t watching them. And watch them they do as muscles ripple and lips collide again and again and again. Time is a funny thing in paradise, he does not know how long they go about such a dance and Theseus does not care. For he has the most beautiful man under him, sometimes over him, and it is hard not to get wrapped up in such a thing in what could be a matter of weeks, months, years even. He has never cared much for aesthetics, it’s a trivial thing, but seeing the two of them together is so pleasing and he thinks Narcissus thinks so, too.

Things change, Patroclus and the Spartan prince Hyacinth that is often with him leave Elysium, leaving Achilles alone. Theseus watches the world with him; they keep an eye on Corinth together or he views it through one of Narcissus’s many mirrors as they lounge amongst the flowers. They banter about it, about the gods, about magic, about how funny mortals dress nowadays and how unfortunate this whole thing must be.

But when his father comes to call upon him, the god of the sea himself, the thought of himself and the hunter, the phantom feeling of him coming undone under his hands, it isn’t enough to get him to stay. Theseus jumps at the chance to do right by Poseidon, but he makes a point to say goodbye to those he’s met in paradise.

First is Odyseuss, the man who is always up for a story, a tale of the sea, or his clever wife. It’s one last sparring match, one last story, and he wonders what the other hero would do in his shoes. If he would seek out his Penelope, if he would continue his adventures. But he does not ask, instead he goes to see Bellerophon, his brother. They talk and they drink and muse about their father, their many siblings. He promises to tell him tales of them if he meets any of them again.

It pains him to leave Achilles when his house is already nearly empty. Theseus still half expects to see Patroclus flanked by Hyacinth, but there is just aristos achaion. Much like Odyseuss, they spare a final time and Theseus promises to return to him, ensuring him that he will do right by Patroclus, even the Spartan prince he’s so fond of. They embrace the way men do, hands clapping at shoulders and he is on his way.

He is half expecting to be met with the sight of the god of wine, and yet it’s just Narcissus and his many mirrors. Somehow, he thinks that makes it worse, makes it harder. He tells him he is leaving, that he is going to Corinth to put a stop to all of the madness there, he thinks. That Poseidon himself had asked him to go.

What feels like the most important part, is that Theseus tells Narcissus he will miss him. With his hand upon his face, he tells him that he will miss him, that he’ll return triumphant. He’s a king, after all, he’s a hero, and he will do what heroes do. It is a fleeting moment, but wasn’t all time in Elysium fleeting? The kiss he gives the other man isn’t. It is perhaps firm and desperate and leaves him wanting. He leaves quickly, not because he doesn’t want to hear what the other man has to say (and he imagines it is a lot), but because Narcissus is perhaps the one who could convince him to stay.

It is just a way to pass the time, their tryst. Narcissus will still have Dionysus, he will still have whoever else comes to call upon him, and he will be just fine ‘living’ amongst his hall of mirrors. But even as Theseus tells himself this, he finds himself already missing the other.

When he goes to say goodbye to Asterius, the beast regards him the same way he always does. “You will return, Theseus.” Is what he tells him in that steady baritone. Not ‘King of Athens’, not ‘Son of Poseidon’, but he calls him by name. For he is his friend, and Theseus responds by embracing him the way men do.

Except as they part, the minotaur presses something into his palm. It’s a narcissus, colored gold, petals soft and familiar. It’s from the hunter’s own garden and something in his chest seizes at the sight of it.

“Do not forget us.” Asterius states, voice perhaps a little far away.

“How could I ever?” He smiles up at the beast, closes his hand carefully around the flower, and then he turns towards the sea. He’d press it when he got to Corinth, he thinks. There it would sit on a mantle and wait for him in a way he wished Narcissus would.

#self para. #narcissus. #patroclus. #penelope. #hyacinth. #helen.

[wkemeup]

Guiding Light (9)

summary: It was supposed to be a simple mission. Get the intel and go home. Until everything goes wrong and you’re taken captive by Hydra and now, Bucky can’t breathe without you. Not until he brings you home. If he even can. pairing: bucky x reader chapter word count: 7k warnings: angst™, cannon violence, PTSD symptoms,  🖤series masterlist // series playlist

The tight grip Bucky’s arm was the only thing keeping his feet on the ground. His mind was a thousand miles away, somewhere up in the clouds because what laid before him couldn’t possibly be real, couldn’t be anything but the darkest corners of his imagination or a fantasy that had been warped twisted and cruel within his nightmares.

It couldn’t actually be you lying at his feet in Natasha’s arms, scars and burns upon your skin and blood seeping through your clothes. It couldn’t be because he’d watched you die. He saw it happen on live television along with the entirety of New York City and he’d seen the bullet pierce through your temple, saw the blood splatter on the wall, and the cold, unforgiving stare of your eyes.

The grip on his arm tightened as he started to feel light-headed and he looked to his right to find Steve watching him, concerned and terrified and filled with a remorse Bucky couldn’t begin to describe himself. Steve’s handprint marked in red on Bucky’s skin and the burn was a relief from the agonizing churning in his stomach.  

Men and women in white coats rushed through the garage at Tony’s demands, urgently nudging Sam aside as they attempted to move you to the stretcher. It took a moment before Natasha was willing to let you go, her arms wrapped so tightly around your barely conscious frame, hands brushing through your hair, trying to wipe the blood from your face. It was Steve that eventually kneeled down beside her, giving her a slight nod, a brush of his hand over her shoulder and a careful whisper in her ear, before she let go.

Bucky watched as they carried you inside on the gurney, shouting orders at one another and hooking every possible machine up to your body as they could manage. Your left arm hung over the edge, limp, and a dread so devastating filled Bucky’s chest because you looked so lifeless and he wasn’t sure if he could handle that again; watching you die for a second time. Even as you disappeared into the building, Tony and Sam on the heels of the paramedics, Bucky couldn’t find the will to move his legs. He was frozen, paralyzed, and he was certain he was dreaming.

It had to be a nightmare, some cruel trick of his mind, because how else could you end up dropped at the driveway of the Avenger’s compound after all that happened?

He started pinching at his arm now that Steve’s grip left him, tugging skin between his fingers until a sharp pain radiated on his right forearm, but he wasn’t waking up. The skin was turning bright red, blood vessels popping and Steve grabbed a hold of his hand, ushering it away.

“You’re awake, Buck,” he said softly, knowing enough to be aware of the small ticks in Bucky’s coping, heathy and not, that he used to keep himself grounded. He looked down and his skin was already purpling. His therapist would frown at that.

“It can’t really be her, can it?” Bucky whispered, voice too broken and shaken for anyone but Steve to hear.

He didn’t respond right away, his left hand squeezing Bucky’s forearm reassuringly as his right curled around Natasha’s shoulders, tugging her into the crook of his chest and Bucky winced as he heard her trying to stifle her cries. Steve let out a heavy sigh, staring out into the garage before he glanced down at the pavement by their feet. Speckles of red discolored the cement below.

“I don’t... I don’t know,” Steve admitted carefully and Bucky swallowed back the bile in his throat.

Bucky looked to the door at the end of the garage. Tony and Sam had followed the med team as they rushed you to the medical wing, leaving Bucky, Steve, and Nat outside. He tried to move a leg forward but found it was too heavy under him.

“Steve,” Bucky choked out, his hands shaking, “if she’s been alive this whole time and I didn’t...”

“Don’t go there,” Steve urged, hand gripping tight on Bucky’s arm, “not yet. Let’s get some answers first, okay?”

Bucky nodded, though it didn’t curb the rush of anxiety in his veins. The very idea that you could have been alive while he did nothing to find you, while he so selfishly caved to the darkest parts of himself to try and forget you was unimaginable.

An unsteady breath left his lungs and he pushed himself forward. Steve and Natasha trailed behind him and he knew if they hadn’t, he might have turned and run. It was what he did best.

The med wing was in chaos when he arrived. Dozens of nurses rushing down the halls as Dr. Cho sprinted past the waiting area and down the double doors, beyond where Bucky could see. He watched as she disappeared down the long hallway, turning into a room you had likely been wheeled into. His hands gripped onto the back of a chair, arm shaking, trying to get a better look he’d never find, until Sam blocked his view.

“Come on, man,” he urged, gesturing to the chair next to Steve, “have a seat, will you? You’re making the rest of us nervous.”

There was a soft laugh in his voice, light-hearted and genuine, and Bucky knew it was Sam’s effort at calming him. He was subtle about it, playing it off as his usual humor and Bucky appreciated it more than he would let on because it gave him a sense of normalcy he so desperately craved. Slowly, Bucky let himself collapse into the chair and found his knees ached from how locked they had been.

He didn’t know how long he spent hunched over on that chair, elbows to knees, hands wringing at one another as he tried to keep his breaths as even as he could manage. Tony was pacing relentlessly down the lobby, talking to himself and jotting a few things down on a notepad every few steps. Sam was standing by a vending machine, arms crossed and tapping his foot either from impatience or to the beat of a song in his head, his expression was too hard to reach which. Steve sat on Bucky’s right, staring straight ahead, still as a statue, while Natasha was curled up on the seat beside him, trying to find rest amongst the tension in the air.

Eventually, the double doors parted and Dr. Cho emerged, discarding light blue gloves in the bin and with a solemn grimace on her face. Bucky jumped to his feet the moment he heard the swing of the doors, panic keeping him on alert and unable to relax for even a second. Steve wasn’t far behind him, shaking Nat from her sleep as they met Dr. Cho halfway. Sam made his way over to the group, swaying on his feet as he stood.

“What’s going on here, Helen?” Tony asked quickly and for that, Bucky was thankful.

Dr. Cho paused, hands in the pockets of her lab coat as she glanced between the nervous Avengers in the room. She let out a heavy sigh and shrugged her shoulders.

“It’s her.”

Bucky stumbled on his feet, grabbing a hold of the exposed beam beside him. His whole world was caving in and he couldn’t separate the relief from the devastation of knowing you’d been victim to Hydra this whole time while he grieved and mourned and threw himself back to the darkness you so tirelessly worked to pull him out of.

“How is that... How is that even possible?” Steve questioned, speaking the words from Bucky’s mouth. He didn’t trust his own voice.

“I’m not sure,” Dr. Cho replied. She glanced back at the doors before turning to face the team. “I’ve run every test I could think of; compared DNA from previous injuries and checked for old scars I personally stitched in the OR. It all matched. It’s Y/n. She’s... alive.”

“But,” Natasha started, her voice quieter than Bucky had ever heard it, “we all saw what happened. No one could have survived a headshot like that.”

A silence fell over the room because she was right, there was no real answer for that. Bucky’s grip on the beam was so tight he could feel the metal warping under his fingers, mailable like putty. Steve scratched at the back of his head, glancing up at Bucky before his eyes trailed across the room to Stark, who gave him a single nod.

“She could have survived if it wasn’t her who got shot,” Steve proposed in a kind of sad revelation, sharing a knowing look with Tony.

“I’ve had my suspicions,” Tony agreed, rubbing his hand down his mouth, “couldn’t find any proof, but something was off with her eyes in that video. There was a fleck of gold in the center of her iris common in certain inhumans. Shapeshifters, mostly.”

Bucky could barely process what was happening. He’d been through more in his life than anyone else could have survived; been tortured at the hands of sadistic men, his memories wiped and destroyed, forced to kill for an organization he never agreed to, and yet, nothing hit him with an overwhelming anguish quite like finding out you were still alive.

It was the very thing he found himself praying for to a God he wasn’t entirely sure he believed in; for this all to be a horrible joke and for you to come walking in through the door with the smile on your face that brought butterflies to his stomach, for you to grab his hand and drag him on whatever adventure you had in store whether it was going into the city to remind him of where he grew up or sitting in your room watching movies and getting popcorn in your bed.

It was what he dreamed of and yet, he couldn’t help but think of every day since the video in Times Sqaure that he wasn’t looking for you, wasn’t actively searching to find you and bring you home. He’d given himself over to the soldier just to find some relief from the grief in his chest that he didn’t even stop to consider it was just another ploy by Hydra to torture him and the team, to make them believe you were dead. He stopped looking for you. He gave up on you. He left you in the hands of the very same people who ripped and tore and destroyed him until he was only a shell of who he used to be.

He let that happen to you.

He felt sick.

Nausea swept up Bucky’s stomach and suddenly he was leaning over a trashcan, heaving the contents of his stomach in dry, angry retches. A hand ran over his back, Steve’s, and he groaned at the horrid taste of bile on his tongue. Sam quickly jogged over and handed him a bottle of water with a tight-lipped smile. Bucky took it gratefully and gurgled the remaining stomach contents from his mouth, spitting it into the can.

“It’s a lot to process, I know,” Dr. Cho continued with a steady hand, “but she’s still under the sedation for now. I imagine she’ll wake in a few hours and she’ll be... confused. Scared, probably. Her physical shape is better than I would have expected but we don’t know what they’ve done to her mind. She should have a familiar face in there.”

All eyes fell on Bucky and he clenched his jaw, feeling unnerved by their stares, the automatic assumption that it would be him that you woke up to. Before today, he might not have ever questioned it, would have stepped up before the idea was even proposed. He’d always been the one sitting at your bedside after missions that landed you in the med wing, holding your hand as you slept and pulling away the moment he realized you were waking. He’d be met with your soft smile, a light grunt, and you’d ask him what happened with a pained laugh. It was where he was supposed to be.

He wasn’t sure anymore.

“I don’t... I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

Steve narrowed his eyes, thrown. He ushered for the rest of the team to back off, giving him the space to talk to Bucky alone. As the team retreated to separate chairs around the waiting room, Steve put his hand on Bucky’s shoulder, rubbing it gently. “What are you talking about, Buck? You know she’s gonna want to see you, don’t you?”

“What if…” Bucky let out an aching sigh, and he could feel the words spilling from his tongue before he could stop them, “what if she doesn’t know me? Or what if she does and she hates me for giving up on her? What if—”

“Don’t do that to yourself,” Steve interrupted, offering Bucky a kind smile. “You won’t know how she’ll react until you go in there. Trust me Buck, no matter what happens, she’ll find her way back. You did.”

Bucky nodded, though it didn’t ease the tension in his chest. He supposed Steve was right. He had been in your place before, been put through torture at the hands of Hydra and believed to be dead while the rest of the world turned on. He’d been at the worst in his life and he still found a way to swim to the surface. It was because of you, because of Steve and this makeshift family that he was able to survive what happened to him. He’d have to find a way to do it for you, too.

“You’ll be here?” Bucky asked nervously, dropping his gaze to the floor quickly from the shame of it. He couldn’t admit he was afraid to be alone with you, afraid that you might revolt at the sight of him, but knowing Steve was out here, acting as his lifeline, made it feel a little less terrifying.

Steve smiled, giving a reassuring nod. “I’m not going anywhere, pal.”

As Bucky took his first steps down the long hallway, he was certain he had fire in his veins. He glanced back at the team as they waited in the lobby, the only eyes on him were Steve’s, giving him gentle encouragement to keep going. He pushed past the double doors and a muffled silence fell over the hall as they closed behind him. All he could hear was the gentle clicking of a heart monitor in the distance.

He passed four rooms on his left, three on his right, all empty before he came up to the one the beeping was coming from. His hands were clenched painfully at his side, unable to take the step to turn the corner into your room because it meant seeing you for the first time in months, truly seeing you. He’d been too in shock, too out of it outside the garage where you were found to really see you, unconvinced that he was even awake.

“She’s still asleep,” Dr. Cho’s voice came from behind him, soft, encouraging. He watched as she paced around to his front, glancing into your room with a gentle smile. “We washed the blood off so she doesn’t look nearly as bad as we would have expected. Looks like she’s been eating okay, hasn’t lost much weight. No significant physical injuries.”

Bucky nodded, feeling a little more at ease, prepared to walk into your room. “Where did the blood come from then?”

Dr. Cho shrugged. “That I’m not sure. It’s not hers though. She may have sustained it in the escape.”

Bucky chewed on the inside of his cheek. He hadn’t even considered that you had escaped. Maybe it was his twisted mind but he instinctively assumed that it was Hydra who left you on their doorstep, as their final blow, to remind the avengers that Hydra held power over them, could manipulate them and rip them from the inside out. He assumed that it was just another reminder that they they’d failed you in the worst possible way, a new layer of torture. It was agonizing enough for it to be.

“Sergeant Barnes,” Dr. Cho called quietly, pulling him from his trance and Bucky met her eye. She pressed out a kind smile. “Y/n is alive. Focus on that.”

“Thank you,” he mumbled sincerely, trying to re-center himself. He watched for a moment as Dr. Cho disappeared down the hall, the soft clicking of her heels on the tile echoing with every step. He waited until he could no longer hear the tapping of her shoes and closed his eyes, taking in a heavy breath before he turned the corner to your room.

As he stepped inside, his hand gripped at the frame of the door, needing something to hold onto as he finally let himself take you in. Covered by the thin cotton sheets of the hospital bed and a light blue t-shirt and sweats the nursing team must have changed you into, you laid on your back, arms resting down at your sides, head dropped just slightly over to the right, chin pressed to chest, eyes closed.

To his right, a pile of your clothes sat folded upon the countertop, black fabric discolored in deep maroon, and he did his best to ignore it as he made his way to the chair at the side of your bed.

It was like a dream and none it felt real. Bucky was sure he’d wake up at any moment and you’d be ripped away from him again, left alone to cold embrace of the dark, by himself in a room that never felt warm enough without you in it. He collapsed into the soft cushioning; an expense Tony had splurged for after the frequency in which the team was getting hurt in the field. Plastic framing wasn’t cutting it anymore.

So, Bucky carefully slid the chair closer to your bed and tried to relax into the pillowy seat, but it was too soft, kept him on edge, and he let his eyes roam your body. There were scars coating your skin, more than he knew to be on your body the last time he’d seen you; scars that had healed and faded with time, but they had been angry once, red and oozing, infected. His eyes trailed up to your collarbone and he was relieved to find the bones weren’t protruding the way they had been in the videos Hydra sent to the media in the months you’d been missing; ones that were confirmed to be you, at least. They’d been starving you at one point and you’d become weak and gaunt because of it. For some reason, they started feeding you again; well eventually, because muscle had started to build again on your bones.

Then, with bated breath, Bucky caught sight of your face; the face that calmed him, that soothed him just by walking into a room, and if he tried hard enough he could pretend you were sleeping, like this was just some mission gone wrong and you’d wake up soon with that sweet smile and a laugh that made his stomach weak and ask him what happened.

But he didn’t live in fantasies. He didn’t trust his reality to be anything but cold and cruel.

He could still see the faded outline of the scar on your cheekbone that had been present in one of the first videos. Without thinking, his right hand reached out and brushed a thumb across the faded scar, feather light movements, and your nose scrunched softly at the touch. Bucky pulled back instantly, flinching away like he’d burned you.

Clenching at his jaw, he slumped back into the seat, unable to tear his eyes away from you. Your eyes were still closed, still under the effects of the sedation, and Bucky sighed of relief. He knew there would be a time soon when you woke up, when you saw him sitting next to you, and he wasn’t prepared for that just yet.

He leaned forward, gathering your hand in his and he choked back a sob he hadn’t realized he had been on the verge of. He brushed his eyes with his wrist, pressing his lips carefully to your knuckles, an intimate gesture he only dared to do when you were asleep, when you couldn’t see how much he loved you, how much he had fallen for you, the feelings only growing the longer he knew you until they consumed him with a brightness he never thought he’d be privileged to again.

Hand pressed tightly in his own, Bucky leaned against the bed, his forehead against the edge of the cot. His eyes were heavy, his body tired and aching, and he wondered if he just closed his eyes for a minute, maybe then, he’d be ready when you woke up.

If he just closed his eyes for a minute...

--

This wasn’t Bucky’s first mission, not even with the Avengers. He’d been on reconnaissance ops with Sam, undercover at a dingy money laundering poker tournament in the basement of a Chinese takeout joint with Barton, halfway around the world fighting organized crime with Steve. He knew his place in the field, felt more secure there than almost anywhere else.

But this was his first mission with you.

You winked at him from your seat in the quinjet as it landed in an open field on the outskirts of Vienna, unfastening the buckles on your seatbelt and jumping up to gather your weapons from the wall. Bucky watched as you bounced with every step, excited almost, and he couldn’t suppress the smile on his face as you lit up the moment you caught sight of him staring at you. Bucky chuckled under his breath, trying to rid himself of the nerves, and removed his own restraints.

He’d been officially instated as an Avenger only six months prior and he still managed to feel like he fit perfectly in place by your side. You handed him his rifle and a handgun he strapped to his jacket without having to ask. You just knew.

Steve and Natasha had already taken off for the east wing of the building while Sam and Tony flew overhead to check for infrared and anything out of the usual. You and Bucky had been assigned to the west wing, tasked with downloading intelligence straight from the personal computer of the arms’ dealer you were ambushing. It was your specialty after all and Bucky was essentially the hired gunmen to watch your back. He didn’t mind. The idea of keeping an eye on you was one that helped ease the nerves in his stomach being in the field with you. This way, he didn’t have to trust anyone but himself to keep you safe.

“You know,” you said as you disembarked from the quinjet, shutting the hatch behind you and waiting patiently for Bucky to follow, “maybe when we’re done here, you’ll let me take you to that record store I was telling you about. Old man like you might like having a record player, huh?”

Bucky pressed his lips to a tight smile. “I think the Splatifly playlist is just fine, doll.”

“Spotify,” you corrected cheekily as you kicked in the door to the first floor. You took out a guard as he passed by with little hesitation, turning back to him with a grin. “Records just have a different sound, Buck, or did you forget?”

Bucky laughed, following close behind as you made your way down the hall, weapons raised. “You find a way to put that playlist of yours on a record for me and I’ll get a record player.”

“Buck,” you whined playfully and he took out a guy who turned the corner before you could spot him, “I can suggest albums for you too, you know. There’s a lot more music out there than that one playlist. Besides, I made it months ago at this point.”

“I don’t mind.”

Bucky shrugged, pushing past you to grab the door, giving you a quick signal before he yanked it open and you stepped through, taking out three men on sight while Bucky took out the remaining two. Bodies fell to the ground and you turned back to him with a pout.

“You must be bored of it by now. It’s outdated,” you continued, a hand perched on your hip and Bucky wondered if he ever saw anything as endearing and perfect as you. Holding a Glock in one hand, dressed in black Kevlar, with a grin as wide as your cheeks on your face; sweet and deadly, soft and lethal. He was more taken with you than he dared to admit.

“Yeah, well, so am I, sweetheart,” Bucky chuckled as he shoved a body aside with his foot to clear a path for you to the computers. You followed behind him, grabbing a hold of his shoulder as you stumbled and brushed it off with a laugh and a flush in your cheeks.

You pulled the flash drive from your pocket. “I’m going to extract the intel. You want to double check the hallway?”

“You think I missed someone?” he teased, nudging you in the shoulder and the giggle that left your lips was the sweetest sound he ever heard.

“Course not,” you replied with a grin, “but I can't work with you hovering over my shoulder.”

“Naturally,” he agreed sarcastically, shaking his head as he stepped back to give you the space you needed. He watched from a careful distance as you kicked aside the rolling chair and typed away at the keyboard. Green lettering on black screen. Code he couldn’t begin to understand.

With one final check back to make sure you were clear, Bucky stepped out into the hallway. It was quiet, not a soul in sight. He straightened his back and pressed a finger to the com in his ear.

“Should be out soon,” he said into the mic, “Y/n’s abstracting the intel now.”

“Good work,” Steve’s voice replied, grainy and a little out of breath, “get out when you can. There’s more of their guys our way than we anticipated and – oomf!”

“You good?”

“Fine,” Steve grunted out. “Just finish up there so we can get out of this place, okay?”

Bucky laughed, turning to head back into the room. As he stepped inside, he saw the movement of the guard on the floor too late. You were at the computer, turning to face him with a smile on your face and the flash drive in your hand because you finished just in time, but the reflective edge of a knife caught your attention and there wasn’t enough time for you to pick up your gun or react before it was plunged into your stomach. You fell to your knees and something carnal and rabid tore through Bucky.

He rushed forward, yanking the guard away from you and firing the rest of his clip into the man’s chest before he kicked the body a good twenty feet away for measure. You were on the ground, legs too weak to hold you up, hands clutching at the blood gushing from your stomach.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Bucky cursed rapidly under his breath as his hands hovered over you, too afraid to even lay a hand on your body, terrified he might make it worse.

“That’s not good, huh?” you mumbled, words slurring, and Bucky looked up to your face in horror to find blood dripping from your lips.

He wanted to scream, wanted to give into the shaking in his hands and the fear paralyzing him, but he knew you wouldn’t make it if he did. The very idea made him sick to his stomach. So, in haste, he gathered you into his arms and held you tight against his chest, as he lifted you into the air.

“I need a med evac,” Bucky said into the coms, his voice unsteady, rushed.

“What’s going on?” Sam replied and Bucky couldn’t find the words to respond.

“Y/n’s hurt,” Bucky gasped out, his grip on you so tight he was sure he’d leave bruising behind, “I need— fuck! — I need a way out of here, now!”

“Head to the northwest exit,” Sam instructed, voice stern and calm, everything Bucky couldn’t be. “I’ll meet you there.”

Bucky nodded and he pushed his way out into the hallway, relieved to find it empty. He turned down a corridor and ran as fast as he could manage.

“Buck,” you gurgled, eyes falling heavy as you curled up against his chest.

“No! No, don’t you do that!” Bucky shouted, shaking you until you opened your eyes again. “You need to stay awake, you hear me? Don’t you dare close your eyes!”

You nodded sleepily, lulling your head against his shoulder. Panic lived in his veins and he was struggling to breath; not from the exertion but from the fear of losing you, of this being it. He couldn’t fathom it. He needed more time with you. Tears started to blur his vision no matter how hard he tried to keep them at bay.

When he looked down at you, you were watching him, struggling to keep your eyes open.

“That’s right. Stay with me, sweetheart,” Bucky pleaded, “I’ve got you.”

He spotted the exit at the end of the hallway, the door opening on the other side and light seeping in. The end of the tunnel. He was so close, just feet away, and he glanced down at you to tell you just that, but your lids were falling shut, your head slumping against his shoulder, arm falling flatly by your side.

“Y/n! Wake up!” he shouted, desperate now as he reached the end of the hall. Sam stood on the other end of the door. Bucky shook you, but it did no use. “Come on!”

“Barnes, give her to me,” Sam requested urgently and Bucky only held you tighter against his chest. He knew Sam could get you to the help you needed, help Bucky wasn’t able to provide himself, and it took every ounce of strength he could manage before he passed you over. The weight of your body left his arms feeling cold and empty.

Sam didn’t waste any time as he took off into the air. He was reporting to Steve what was going on, where he was taking you, but Bucky could hardly focus. He was covered in your blood.

Sam managed to get you to the cradle on the quinjet and stabilized you while the rest of the team sprinted back. Bucky couldn’t take his eyes away from the machine the entire flight home; had Sam explain how it worked about twenty different times because he was terrified you were going to bleed out before they even got you home.

But by some miracle, you’d made it. Mostly. Dr. Cho had stitched up the wound and the fixed any damage beneath the surface, hanging a blood bag to replace what you’d lost. Your hand was clenched between his, pressed to his forehead as he leaned against the cot.

The moment he heard a groan pass your lips; eyes shot up at you to find you wincing as you came to. He released your hand before you could notice his hold on to. You laid eyes on him and relief seemed to pour through you and a smile grazed your face.

“Hey Buck,” you whispered, voice hoarse, and he nearly laughed through the lump in his throat. He grinned, reaching forward and brushing a hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear. You were warm under his touch and the smile that followed was enough to ease any pain he’d felt since you’d been hurt.

“Hey sweetheart.”

--

A soft rustle of a groan and Bucky snapped awake, jumping up from his position leaning against the bed, creases of the sheets on his cheek, as wide eyes locked upon you. A broken whimper cried from your throat as you scrunched your shoulders, head darting to the other side of the pillow. Your hand clenched in his, legs squirming under the sheets.

“Y/n?” Bucky called as gently as his could, caressing your hand and trying to ease the tension from your locked fist. Bucky leaned forward, using the cool side of his left hand to touch over your forehead, brushing away the beads of sweat that had formed while he slept. You were warm under the sensors of his metal plates and he gritted his teeth, looking to the hallway to see if Dr. Cho was nearby.

He wondered briefly if he should leave for just a moment, to find someone better than him who could help ease you through whatever was happening in your head, but the idea of stepping away, even for a second, was too painful.

You groaned, the soft ache of a tremor in your voice and Bucky watched with his heart in his throat as your eyes slowly fluttered open. You swallowed, breaths incredibly shallow as you looked around the room, staring straight ahead, your entire body stiff as a board. You didn’t seem to even notice his hand still wrapped tightly around yours.

He licked at his hips, unsure of what to say or how to shake you from whatever trance you were in, so he spoke a name that was familiar to you, one that he reserved only for you, hoping it might bring you back down from the clouds.

“Sweetheart?”

In sharp movements, you sprung up suddenly from the bed and Bucky dropped your hand in the shock of it. Before he could quite react, you’d thrown yourself off the far side of the cot, stumbling over to the counter, your grip on the surface barely able to keep you on your feet. You were struggling to stand, legs wobbling under you from the sedation, and your breaths were coming in fast, too fast, and he was sure you were on the verge of a panic attack.

“Hey, hey, hold on now,” Bucky urged, trying his best to stay calm as your hand slid over the counter, knocking various items to the ground in haste before you grabbed a tight hold of a pair of scissors. You spun around to face him, breaths panting, arms shaking, hair erratic, and you held out the sharp end of the scissors at him. Bucky threw his arms in the air defensively.

“Sweetheart, look at me,” he begged, taking a careful step towards you only for you to jump back. He bit on his lip, pushing aside the awful pain in his stomach to watch you retreat from him in fear. You’d never done that before, not even when he’d been triggered into the soldier. He took a step back, away from you to give you space.

“Y/n, it’s me. It’s Bucky.”

You didn’t react, staring at him like he was something in your dreams.

“You’re safe,” he pleaded, a little desperate now, eyeing the scissors in your hand and wondering how fast he’d need to dive before you threw them at him. “You’re home. The whole teams been waiting for you to wake up.”

Your eyes darted around the room, like you were trying to catch your bearings, trying to recognize a familiar space, one you’d been in dozens of times before. Bucky took the risk of moving a step in your direction while you were distracted by the soft whites and greys of the med bay and you didn’t flinch on his approach. A steady breath in and he moved closer until he stood within your reach.

“I need you to give me the scissors, okay? No is going to hurt you,” Bucky said, his voice low and raspy from the lump burning in the back of his throat. He tried to still the shaking in his hand as he noticed tears welling in your eyes, glassy and red. “I’m not going to hurt you. Please, sweetheart. You know me. You’re safe here.”

His hand ghosted over yours, your grip weakening on the scissors as you stared straight ahead to his chest, unable to meet his eye. You were shaking, hands trembling, and Bucky was terrified.

“Y/n, please look at me.” He could barely hear his own voice as a tear slid down the side of your face, your jaw clenching so tightly muscles twitched through your cheek.

Slowly, your eyes trailed up his chest, until eventually you met his eye, filled with tears and bated breaths. You stared at him, eyes darting over his features like you were trying to convince yourself he was real, that this wasn’t a dream or a sick, twisted nightmare. Lips parting as if to speak, trembling as you struggled to find words, but eventually, in a raspy, broken sound, you choked out his name.

“Bucky?”

He closed his eyes for only a moment. The relief of your voice, even as shattered and numbed as it was, flooded through his body in warmth and solace and heaven. He nodded; his face wet with tears as a sob cracked through you, deafening and puncturing his heart through his chest. The scissors dropped from your quivering hand and the clash of metal against tile filled the room.

You threw yourself at him, arms crushing around his body as you dug your face into the crook of his neck, squeezing and pulling and unable to get as close as you needed even with your body flush against his.

Bucky didn’t know how to react, too stunned and feeling like he could wake up at any moment, but he wrapped his arms around your waist, tugging you as tight against him as he could manage. As you brushed tears against his neck and your back shook with sobs, Bucky kissed at your hair, trying to soothe you in the ways you knew so well to care for him, but he was never any good at this, not like you were. But he loved you and you were alive and in his arms, so he poured every ounce of his relief into his embrace.

“I’m here, sweetheart, you’re okay,” he whispered against your hair, trying to carefully guide you back to the bed when he felt your legs unsteady under you. You only gripped him tighter, like you were afraid he might leave, and it sent an awful pang to his chest. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here, love. I’m here.”

“I don’t--” you gasped against him, your breath warm against his neck and you didn’t dare pull away, “I don’t understand. I don’t-- I don’t know how I got here.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “You don’t remember?”

You shook your head, your grip on him only growing tighter, like you were grounding yourself against him, tethering yourself to the Earth through his body to remind you of what was real. Wrapped so tightly around him, it hurt a little against his ribs, made it a bit harder to breathe, but Bucky would have scarified a lot more than his breath and mild discomfort to ease even an ounce of your pain.

“I-- I don’t know. I don’t-- there’s gaps,” you stuttered out, pulling away from him just enough for Bucky to see the hesitancy in your features, the confusion, and the fear. “I don’t know... I don’t...”

“It’s alright, doll, it’s okay,” Bucky cooed softly as he helped you back to the bed. You were getting lightheaded, delirious to the point of panic, your eyes falling heavy, and he needed to get you to rest before you hurt yourself.

With a steady hand, he eased you back onto the bed, sitting on the edge of the cot because you wouldn’t let his hand out of your grip and he had no intention of taking it from you. The more contact against you, the calmer you seemed. He kept his thigh pressed against yours, his hand intertwined in your own, metal digits running soothingly over your arm.

“We’ll figure it out,” Bucky promised gently, pushing out a soft smile for you. You nodded slowly, curling up in the bed and letting your lids close, too exhausted to keep them open any longer. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I'll find some answers for you.”

A soft groan vibrated through your chest in acknowledgement.

“Try and get some sleep,” he requested quietly, resting his feet on the chair beside the bed and settling in on the edge of the bed, “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

It only took a few seconds before your heart rate settled down, the soft beeps of the monitor hanging above you pulsing at even, steady intervals, until your breaths became longer, calmer, and you’d fallen asleep, pulled back under the sedation in your bloodstream.

Bucky clenched at his jaw, trying to keep himself from giving into the sob slowly etching his way through his back, but it broke through him anyway. The relief of you being so close, the pain of knowing you’d been alive all this time, was too much for his body to handle and it flooded out of him in tears and gasps for breath and muffled cried as he tried to stay silent.

After he was able to calm himself again and the tears dried, he leaned forward and gingerly ran his fingers over the long faded scar on your cheekbone; the same one he saw the day the first video aired on the news. It was thick and raised under his fingers, still discolored and angry.

As he watched the careful rise and fall of your chest, the gentle vibrations of your breaths, Bucky found the questions surging in the back of his mind didn’t matter as much, not right now. Not as he held your hand in his, warm to the touch, and you lying so close to him. Nothing else mattered because you were here, you were alive, and he wasn’t going to let you go for anything.

Not again.

----

reunion!!! I know it’s been a long time coming and there’s a thousand unanswered questions, but stick around and I promise I’ll answer them before the fic is over :) 

your comment and feedback mean everything so tell me what you’re thinking!

tags 🏥 @musiclover1263 / @pies-wands-and-more / @buckygrantbarnes / @mywinterwolf / @breatheeagainnnn / @jewelofwinter / @panic-naran / @fairislesheets / @kaliforniacoastalteens / @captain-hammer-of-asgard / @daydreamsquad / @deanssweetheart / @maybesomedaytho / @montypythonsholysnail / @saharzek / @jillybeaner13 / @chubby-dumplin / @searchingforbucky / @alohafromhell1 / @tabalugax / @shesalatesh / @whyamidoingthistomyselfhelp / @aliensbecameourstyle / @bucksgoat / @serpensortiaaa / @trash-rats-unite / @hungry-pasta / @nervosaa / @lbuck121/ @get0verit / @obama-mia / @imsoft-barnes / @this-broken-band-girl / @michelehansel / @itz-kira / @forever157 / @grey-water-colors / @sebastianstan-posts / @sarcastic-and-cool / @no-clue-whats-happenin / @capsgrl / @happyeyesandsunshine / @slithredn / @13sunken-ships13 / @thefandomplace / @wxstedhexrt /  @jennmurawski13 / @galaxkay / @moonlessnight14 / @kittybritty7 / @sweetheartbarnes / @pancakefancake

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #marvel #bucky barnes x female reader #guiding light

[overheardatthecontinental]

Talk Chapter 19

AO3 LINK

 It was over, but not done.

 There were still so many things to do before John could drop everything and go home to Helen.

 He starts by calling Nick.

 “H-hello?” Jesus, the boy really was afraid of him.

 Ironic, John thinks, considering he owes this kid more than he can ever hope to repay for allowing Helen to contact him during her imprisonment. And then looking out for her at the cost of his job, possibly his life if DeLuca had found out.

 “It’s done.” He says, “DeLuca’s going to be picked up by Adjudication. Are you able to stay until someone gets there to pick up Isabella?”

 “Yeah, yeah. Of course. The, uh, the bounty’s dropped then?”

 He exhales and, fuck, it feels so good.

 The bounty is dropped. The contract is closed. And while he doesn’t think either of them will ever be truly safe, no one is coming after her anymore.

 “Yes.”

 “Good. That’s, that’s good.” Nick sounds relieved, too. The younger man pauses for a moment and then tentatively asks, “Would you do me a favor, Mister Wick, sir? She told me if I ever wanted to talk… I just was wondering if you could ask her to call me. When she’s back and settled and shi—stuff. Stuff.”

 And, god, Helen was just      that    good. And it had started as manipulation, he knew. A way to save herself when he wasn’t there to do the job but there was no doubt in John’s mind that Helen would meet with Nick every week, for as long as he needed.

 “Yeah, kid. I’ll pass it along.”

 “Thank you.”

 John pauses, thoughtfully. “When Isabella’s been picked up, head over to the Continental. Ask for Winston. New York is always busy. I know they’re looking to hire another Sommelier. It’ll pay more than Syndicate; I can guarantee that. I’ll put in a good word for you.”

 “Really?”

 “Really.”

 He shakes his head, in disbelief of himself. He knew Helen was his reason, but John couldn’t quite pinpoint the moment he had gone utterly and completely      soft    .

 Maybe she’d have some insight to that, he thinks, smiling to himself.

 And, because he doesn’t want the knowledge that he has gone soft to spread, he adds, “Don’t fuck it up” and ends the call.

 After all, he isn’t done in the Underworld.

 For starters, the contract had been dropped but that didn’t mean the memo had gotten out. And that needed to happen before he brought Helen back home. The last thing he wanted was to bring her back only to have some kid target her because they ignored the notice.

 The hotel buzzes as John walks through the front door.

 He ignores it, as he always does, approaching the front desk. There’s a small queue that has gathered in front of Charon, but the Concierge waves him up.

 “The Manager is expecting you. He is in his office.”

 John nods his thanks and turns towards the hall where he’ll find Winston, only to run into Verdugo.

 The other assassin looks him over, regarding him with vague interest. He’s carrying a weapons bag, slung over a shoulder. A duffle bag resides in his other hand.

 He’s leaving, John realizes. Verdugo was a drifter.

 The only thing that had kept him in New York was the possibility of a substantial bounty that has since been removed.

 Verdugo breaks the silence first, “I’ll admit, when I heard you were trying to get the bounty removed, I didn’t think you could do it.”

 John raises a brow.

 Because what the hell is he supposed to say to that?

     Oh, no worries. Totally get it. You wouldn’t have wasted both our time if you had only realized sooner that you couldn’t kill my love?  

 “It was just business.”

 Now that, John thinks, is something he’s grown very tired of hearing.

 The Underworld, for better or worse—and right now, John Wick was very much leaning towards      worse    , was all about money and advancement. Status.

 The values he has been exposed to, he realizes, had been very self-serving. No wonder so many narcissists and hedonists thrived in the Underworld.

  And John had survived because he was so self-reliant. He had thrived in a world where favors are currency by being willing to help others and avoiding asking for any help in return. It made him rich, in more than just money. The pile of markers in his collection is unparalleled.

 But he still went home alone. To an empty house. In an empty life, where escapism had been his only fulfillment.

 Drifting.

 In control but, somehow, still empty.

 Until Helen had forced her way into his head, laying claim to his heart.

 And suddenly everything that had once seemed so complicated and out of reach was within his grasp.

 In that moment, he pities Verdugo.

 A man, so much like him in so many ways. A drifter. Free of roots and obligation. Making a name for himself by virtue of skill and competency. But hollow like a tin soldier.

 Verdugo will move on to the next contract. The name Helen Kingston will be replaced with another unfortunate soul, who John is certain will not be as lucky.

 And he’ll make his money and build his legacy.

 And he’ll go home alone. To an empty house. In an empty life.

 John wants to kill him along with anyone else who had hurt or threatened Helen’s life, but it occurs to him that might be a mercy. And maybe Verdugo doesn’t deserve mercy but John didn’t deserve mercy, either. But it had found him.

 Still, he feels the need to say, “If I ever see you anywhere near her…”

 “You won’t.” Verdugo assures him, “Be seeing you.”

 “No.” John says, “You won’t.”

 He leaves Verdugo standing in the hall as he makes his way to Winston’s office.

 The old man doesn’t even look up as John walks in. “It would appear that you had a busy day.” He says as he practically collapses into one of the leather chairs.

 “Busy week.” John amends, “I think I finally understand the phrase      thank god it’s Friday    .”

 Winston smirks, rising to his feet, “Drink?”

 He shakes his head, “No, thank you. I’ve had enough today, while playing politics. Did you happen to hear from Sofia?”

 “Yes,” Winston says, pouring himself brandy, “I already sent someone to collect Mateo. And Isabella. She said you got a confession from the former.”

 “Lorenzo plans to force the counsel to convene on Monday, here in the city.”

 “He wants justice meted out swiftly.”

 “That makes two of us.” John agrees with a nod. “I want this done and in the past.”

 “Understandably. You managed the impossible this week.”

 “Didn’t think I could do it?” John asks, thinking of his conversation with Verdugo and the time that had been wasted pursuing Helen Kingston.

 “On the contrary,” Winston says, taking the seat next to him, “You made me a great deal of money.”

 John arches a brow.

 “You successfully removing the bounty was the long odds over at Dex’s. Fifty to one.”

 And, fuck, but that makes him laugh. He didn’t realize how much he needed that after the stress of the day, “How much did you put down?”

 “Five grand.” Winston looks at him strangely and it occurs to John that he’s probably never laughed in front of Winston before.

 “Well-played.” He says, shaking his head in amusement. While he never intends to tell Helen of the betting odds placed on when she would die and by whose hand, he can’t help but think that she’d get a kick out of it. Either that, or she’d be pissed she never got a chance to get in on the action.

 Yeah. That sounds right.

 “I know the rumor mill will have heard that the contract was dropped,” John says, “but is it possible to get Administration to send out a mass message? To confirm it, and make sure anybody working solo is notified?”

 “I’ll see to it myself.”

 John nods gratefully. That would make him feel much better about taking her back to the city. Although he’s already mentally preparing himself for the wave of anxiety that will surely hit the moment, he leaves her alone to go back to work. He tables that particular worry for now.

 “I have another favor to ask.”

 Winston rolls his eyes, “Indeed?”

 “Nick Russo. Ex-Syndicate. He burnt some bridges today to help keep Helen safe. I’d appreciate it if you considered him for the second Sommelier position you were considering opening up.”

 The old man hums, “I’ll meet with him.”

 “Thank you.”

 And just like that, two things are checked off his list.

 Winston was good like that. As Manager, it was his job to be accommodating and helpful and ensure everyone was getting the best services that could be offered to those serving the High Table. But it was also more than that.

 For decades, Winston had been a mentor to him.

 After being introduced by Charon, Winston had immediately taken to the young, reckless assassin. He’d seen something that others had brushed to the side.

 And John had been skeptical. Untrusting.

 But Winston had been relentless. He offered sound advice that John found hard to ignore. Slowly, John had found himself utilizing the Manager. After moving back to New York, it became clear that Winston knew the city and its inhabitants better than anyone.

 Somewhere along the line, John had begun to trust him.

 Winston had tried to line John up for Management but had accepted his decision when John, respectfully, denied interest in such a path. While Winston mourned John’s lack of ambition, he continued to serve as a mentor.

 Arguably, the closest thing John had ever had to a father-figure.

 John doesn’t doubt, for a moment, his decision to retire. He will miss very little about the Underworld. But Winston would be counted amongst them.

 And while John doesn’t particularly want to have this conversation, he owes it to Winston to be the one to tell him.

 “I’ve decided to retire.”

 Winston’s head turns sharply, “Pardon?”

 John sits up straighter in the chair, “I’m retiring. As soon as everything has been taken care of, I’m leaving the Underworld.”

 “Jonathan, you have obligations.” Winston says, shaking his head, “You can’t just      retire    .”

 “Lorenzo is freeing me of my contractual obligations. I intend to reach out to Viggo to make arrangements as well.”

 “Lorenzo D’Antonio is letting you walk away?” The surprise is evident in his voice.

 John nods.

 “Miraculous in itself, but you cannot expect Viggo to do the same.”

 “I won’t take no for an answer.” John says softly, “One way or another, I’m getting out. And I’ve made up my mind about this. It won’t be changed.”

 He leaves no room for argument. Bittersweet as it may be, there is nothing that can change his mind anymore. Even if Helen didn’t want him, he would have left to keep her safe. His enemies wouldn’t have used her against him if he was no longer a problem.

 But Helen did want him. She loved him, beyond all reason.

 “Whatever will you do?”

 John feels his lips twitch. Aside from keeping house and devoting the majority of his time to ensuring Helen’s happiness—that she never regrets choosing him, he really isn’t sure. He knew he didn’t have it in him, nor did he have the credentials or the qualifications, to work in the real world. At least, for most occupations.

 And, truthfully, he was tired of the constant work.

 Hating his life and coming home to an empty house, John had filled his life with work. Work until the point of distraction. Which meant extra jobs, far beyond working for money. He worked to kill people and time, respectively.

 Decades of working seven days a week, every day of the year.

 He’s looking forward to the break.

 Maybe he’d pick up a hobby. He’d continue to bind books through the coldness of the winter. Maybe he’d even start to sell them or volunteer with a library to fix old tomes.

  Maybe, come springtime, he’d actually open the pool in his backyard which had been closed and unused since he first moved in.

 He planned to cook for her. Maybe he’d get into that. Learn to make things from scratch. To bake.

 The possibilities were endless.

 “I don’t know.” He answers honestly and he’s… surprisingly okay with that. The uncertainty would usually throw him for a loop, but John finds himself completely and unexpectedly happy not knowing. It was freeing.

 “Are you—”

 “Yes.” John interrupts before Winston can say      sure    . “More sure, more certain than I have ever been about anything in my life.”

 Winston nods, slowly. He doesn’t understand, John knows. The old man probably won’t ever understand why John was giving up the wealth, the prestige, the permanent get-out-of-jail-free card that existed for the members of the Underworld.

 “When?” He asks.

 “As soon as possible. I plan on testifying Monday. I’ll meet with Viggo after and inform him of my intentions.”

 “It will not be easy.”

 “I don’t expect it to be. But it won’t matter. Whatever Viggo demands, I’ll do it.”

 And he would. Nothing would stop him.

 They sit in silence as Winston seems to digest it all. It’s odd, he thinks. He knows Winston disapproves, just as he had when John had first told him about Helen. But Winston knows that John doesn’t give a fuck about approval. No one’s opinion influenced him, save Helen’s.

 He missed her.

 It had only been hours since he had last held her in his arms, and he missed her.

 Was this what it was to be in love? To crave the presence of another in any and every form? To hold them in your mind’s eye even when you are away?

 How did people stand it, living like this?

 And yet, John acknowledges, he would not give it up for the world.

 “I find myself at a loss for words.” Winston says after minutes of silence. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. You were ready to burn New York to the ground to find her. Ready to declare war on the High Table to get her back.” The old man shakes his head, “And you seem certain. I know your mind will not be changed. But I feel the need to ask you, once more, Jonathan: is she really worth it?”

 John thinks of her smile.

 The kindness in her eyes.

 The warmth of her touch.

 Her quick wit. Her inquisitive nature. The way she just accepted things as they were. The way she shut him down when he was starting to bullshit himself. The books he had mentioned in passing on her bedside table as she made the effort no one else had to understand him.

 John nods, “She really is.”

 ……….

 He parks the car and John feels another wave of relief wash over him. The fact that it’s over, that Helen is safe keeps hitting him again and again. And now, he’s within feet of her.

 John slips out of the car, admiring for the first time since they moved to the Vermont safehouse how bright the stars were when there were no lights around.

 The front door opens and Marcus steps out, his bag in his hand.

 “I take it everything went well?”

 John nods. “You leaving?”

 Marcus nods back, closing the door behind him. “After everything, I figured you two could probably use some time alone.”

 He’s grateful for Marcus’ reasoning. While John had no intention of kicking Marcus out, he’s right. The only thing John wants to do is wrap Helen up in his arms and never let her go.

 “Thank you.” He says, “For everything. I’ll never be able to re—”

 “Don’t.” Marcus shakes his head. “I was happy to do it. More for her sake than for yours. You’re still kind of a dick but… she makes you almost tolerable.”

 John huffs out a laugh, “Who would have thought.”

 “That the only person capable of taking you down was a therapist who can barely form a sentence fragment without coffee?” Marcus exhales in disbelief. “Mind-boggling. Call me when you two get back to the city.”

 “Will do.” John promises as Marcus throws his duffle into the trunk of his car as he makes his way up the short stairs and into the cottage.

 John slips off his suit jacket, hanging it by the door. He undoes the buttons on his vest, one by one, as he walks down the hall towards the living room. He tugs that off, too, draping it over the couch.

 She’s not in the living room or the kitchen. He continues down the hall towards their bedroom. The door is open and, sure enough, Helen is in bed. Her back leans against the headboard, a book is open in her hand.

 John leans against the door, undoing the top two buttons of his shirt.

 Before him is a sight he could spend an eternity gazing in wonder at. Her glasses have slipped down the bridge of her nose as she reads. He watches as she reaches for her bookmark without looking up, turning the page as she inserts it.

 Without a glance, she smiles, “Hi honey, how was your day?” She asks as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. He loves her for it. For making him feel some semblance of normality amidst the bullshit and the chaos.

 John swallows even as his lips twitch in amusement. “Oh, you know. Bitch of a commute. Faked a powerful man’s death. Tried my hand at politics. Not a fan. Then I took down a mafia boss.”

 She sets her book aside before removing her glasses. Helen scans him up and down, assessing for injuries.

 His heart swells with love and adoration. It consumes him and makes it almost difficult to breathe. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do with all these emotions flowing through him.

 And, like she can sense he’s overwhelmed, Helen stands up. She crosses the room, her dark eyes gazing into him.

 He wonders if she can see his soul. And if she can, will she change her mind about him? Will she realize how truly terrible, how awful he is?

 But as he looks into those brown eyes, all he sees reflected back is love.

 She loves him, he thinks, even though he doesn’t deserve it. He was a despicable human being. One who had dragged her into the depths of Hell. Even still, she never wavered.

 Helen was stronger than he ever hoped to be.

 And she loved him. Despite everything.

 It staggers him.

 Helen reaches him and he cannot help but fall to his knees before her. His arms wrap around her middle, seemingly of their own accord, and he buries his face against her stomach. John’s breath escapes him in a shudder as her arms come up around him, holding him.

 She strokes his hair and he can barely hold back a sob.

 “I love you, John.”

 And, fuck it all, the dam breaks.

 He’d lost her, this week.

 Someone had taken her, stolen her from her bed. Had      hurt    her to get to him. Had put a bounty on her head for the sole purpose of manipulating him, simultaneously activating agents to find her and kill his beloved.

 Verdugo, who promised to make it quick.

 Kate, who would have obliterated Helen until there was nothing left.

 The kids in the alley, looking to make a name for themselves, would have killed her.

 Along with the hundreds of others who had searched for her, even idly.

 He had spent a week feeling out of control, out of his depth. Unsure of how to save her, hating himself for putting her into that position. Terrified that one wrong move could lead to her death.

 “I’m sorry.” He chokes out, aware that his tears are soaking into her shirt.

 She steps back, only to drop to her knees, too. Her arms wrap around him in a tight hug as he rests his head at the crook of her neck. A hand comes up to cradle his head.

 “You have      nothing     to be sorry for.” She assures him.

 He swallows, heavily. He’s not sure when he last cried but it had to have been decades.

 “It’s my fault…”

 The arm around his back tightens and she turns her face to his head.

 “I’m so sorry I didn’t… didn’t protect you better… and---”

 “Hey,” the hand on his head moves to his cheek and she leans back to look at him. Her thumb strokes a tear, “You didn’t know. You had no reason to suspect that I would be targeted. But you know what?” Her fingers massage his neck, “I’m glad I was.”

 He tilts his head in disbelief.

 “If DeLuca hadn’t have taken me,” she says softly, “I would have seen you for an hour this week. And an hour next. And the week after that. And that would be it. I would have loved you from afar because that’s all I could do.

 “But now,” she runs her fingers down his face, “I can hold you. And kiss you. And love you. And that is more than worth the price of spending a couple uncomfortable days locked in a basement and a couple more hidden away from the world.”

 John shakes his head, because she is unreal sometimes. “You deserve so much be—”

 “      We    don’t get to decide what we deserve, John. That’s never been up to us.” She echoes what she had told him that day in her office. Hours before she had been taken. “But we do get some say in how we’re going to live.”

 John finds himself swallowing, his breath hitching as he tries to breathe in. “And how are we going to live?”

 “Well,” Helen says with a soft smile, “We’re going to start by hiding away for the rest of the weekend. And you’re going to make good on your promise to fuck me on your tongue until I can’t scream anymore.”

 He can’t help but chuckle at how serious she sounds but      fuck    . Yeah, he’s definitely doing that.

 “And then, we’re going to go home. And instead of picking my lock to sneak inside and watch me sleep, you’re going to fall asleep next to me. And instead of leaving before daylight, you’re going to wake up with me. Every day.

 “We’ll take weekend trips to Vermont, every now and then. I’ll make you go antiquing with me.” He laughs at that. Helen smiles back, continuing, “And I’ll make you take me to that other house you’ve got in Maine.”

 “It’s on a lake.” He tells her, thinking she might like that. He’ll buy a boat. Or a few, unsure if she’d prefer a motorboat or something like a kayak. Whatever she decides, she’ll have. She’ll never want for anything so long as he is breathing.

 Helen moves so that she is high on her knees. Her hands reach to cup either side of his face and she leans in to press her lips to his forehead.

 “We’re going to have a really good life.” She promises and fuck, he believes her. “And we’re going to be so fucking happy.”

 She kisses her way down his face, slowly. Tenderly.

 Her lips reach his. How, he thinks, can a kiss be so gentle? So different than anything he’s ever experienced.

 It was glorious when she kissed him passionately. It drove him wild when her teeth nipped at his lips or her tongue greedily sucked at his own.

 But she’s being so soft that it might very well break him again.

 She didn’t look at him and see the Boogeyman. Even knowing who he was, she didn’t let it influence her opinion of him.

 He felt human in her arms, in her eyes.

 He loves her for it. Among the plethora of reasons that he loved and adored her.

 John wraps his arms under her thighs, rising to his feet, and pulling her up with ease.

 She kisses the corner of his mouth as he carries her over to the bed. “I love you,” she whispers as he lays her down.

 They both undress, taking their time.

 The initial desperation has faded and while John is certain it will come back again, he is more than content to take it slow.

 When they are both naked, John revels in the warmth of her skin. He kisses his way around her body, allowing his hands the time to memorize every curve, dip, and swell of her body. And she lets him, like she knows how badly he needs this.

 And she probably does, he thinks. She’s always been in his head.

 Helen’s hand reaches the top of his head, stroking back his hair as he kisses every inch of skin he can reach from his place atop of her.

 His open-mouth grazes across her collarbone and John soaks in the way her hand tightens in his hair, her sharp intake of breath as his teeth scrape against her skin. He wonders what other sounds he can coax from her body… He’ll spend forever finding out.

 John kisses her lips again. How addictive that feeling, that taste has become.

 One hand tilts her head, allowing him to deepen the kiss while his other stretches down her perfect body, dipping between her thighs. He cups her core, feeling the warmth radiating from within her. He dips a finger between her folds. She’s soaking and it’s all for      him    .

 He kisses her harder, feeling his lips bruise as he gently circles his clit with his finger.

 She moans into his mouth and he swallows it down.

     I love you    , he thinks, and has to remind himself that he can say that now. He doesn’t have to keep it bottled in. He wonders how long it will take until he can say it without hesitation. Until it spills as easily from his lips as it comes to echo in his mind.

 “I love you, Hels.” He tells her, kissing down her jaw.

 “John!” She cries out as he continues to toy with her sensitive clit. He reaches down, coating his fingers in her slick heat before pressing them into her opening. His thumb takes over rolling over the sensitive bundles of nerves.

 Helen whimpers, her nails digging into his back. He nips at her throat with his teeth. She’s marked him well enough. Now it’s his turn.

 He wants to claim her. To leave his mark all over her so that anyone who sees her will have no doubt that she is taken. One day, he swears to himself that he’ll put a ring on her finger, but until then, he’ll be content with this.

 More than content.

 He sucks at her neck and plays with her clit until she is a moaning, writhing mess. Before she can reach her release, however, he removes his fingers from her pussy and brings them to his lips.

 Helen shudders as she watches him suck her essence from his fingers.

 His own cock twitches at the taste.

 When he is done, she grabs his hair and yanks him back for a kiss. She sucks on his tongue, tasting herself and he’s never been harder in his life.

 ..

 John takes his heavy cock in hand and brings it to her entrance. He pushes inside slowly, inch by inch. Letting himself focus on every sensation. The way her pussy yields to him, clenching around him. The way her stomach tightens and her breath stutters. Her grip around him.

 He closes his eyes as he finds himself completely buried inside of her. His hips cannot go any further.

 The hitch in her breath delights him. John draws back out, reveling in the soft changes in her breath, before he drives back in. Helen cries out and he kisses her neck. Her pussy tightens around him at the sensation.

 He’s never needed anyone the way he needs her.

 He knows he never will again.

 This woman is everything to him. She is it for him. And he’ll love her with every fiber, every atom of his being until he dies. And then beyond.

 “Fuck, baby!” She cranes her neck, giving him more access.

 He makes a mental note of how much she loves the attention he’s paying to her throat. He nips and she arches her back, crying out yet again. Clenching around him, again.

 John rolls his hips, careful to ensure steady pressure to her clit.

 Because it’s about her. It’s always been about her.

 He lifts his head, turning her head back to him so he can kiss her yet again. Languidly drowning in her as he takes his time fucking her, bringing her to the edge yet again.

 Helen swears, her nails biting into him. Her hips meet his, grinding against him as she moans. His thrusts increase in speed and John feels Helen’s entire body seem to tighten.

 And all at once, she breaks around him, crying out as a wave of pleasure slams into her. The way her pussy throbs around him is enough to make him lose his resolve and he soon finds himself spilling inside of her with a loud groan.

 His eyes lose their focus as his head drops down to the pillow, nestling in the crook of her neck as he breathes heavily. The rush of immediate pleasure leaves him but he is left feeling glorious as he lies on top of her body, still buried inside of her, still feeling the aftershocks of her own orgasm milking him.

 With an exhale, he raises his head to look back at her. Her beautiful eyes gazing at him.

 Helen reaches up. She pushes back the hair which had fallen into his face before wrapping her hand around to the back of his head, guiding his forehead to rest on hers.

 “I love you, John.”

 “I love you, too.” He says, swallowing back the emotions that overwhelm him.

 And he’s never going to let her forget it. She will never have the opportunity to forget or doubt that he loves her. That she is his everything.

 What she said earlier was true: they were going to be so fucking happy.

 And he was going to do this right.

 John kisses her cheek, “How about I buy you dinner?”

 Helen smiles back, “After all this, you better.”

......

One more chapter of this installment to come

thanks to @meetmeinthematinee​ for reviewing and editing <3

#john wick talk #john wick #john wick fanfiction #john x helen wick #helen wick #john wick prequel #overheard at the continental #the Matrix has queue #john wick fanfic #john wiction

[rustbeltjessie]

one art

(Elizabeth Bishop, from “One Art”)

The heart works hard at the apprenticeship of a diligent hand learning to pull wet porcelain into a thinness of wall just prior to what’s brittle. We talked of remedies last week on the phone—can you swim the bay, I ask, take in the cats, put up the Japanese shades, trace your life in pins? The loss of love will try it all.

(Katie Ford, from “Remedies for Sorrow”)

Perhaps the hardest thing about losing a lover is to watch the year repeat its days.

(Anne Carson, from “The Glass Essay”)

(Jeanette Winterson, from Written On the Body)

You don’t understand when I say gone I mean it doesn’t exist anymore

There are many things that were once there

my hands, your mouth, etc.

I have lost all the pictures, the arcade tickets, but I remember a motel room, a broken window, a girl’s name, her hand on my hand

Those things don’t exist anymore, either

(John Findura, “I Never Thought I’d See What I Saw Today”)

(Rebecca Solnit, from A Field Guide to Getting Lost)

There is a time in life when you expect the world to be always full of new things. And then comes a day when you realize that is not how it will be at all. You see that life will become a thing made of holes. Absences. Losses. Things that were there and are no longer.

(Helen Macdonald, from H is for Hawk)

Lost opportunities, lost possibilities, feelings we can never get back again. That’s part of what it means to be alive.

(Haruki Murakami, from Kafka On The Shore)

Finding is losing something else. I think about, perhaps even mourn, what I lost to find this

(Richard Brautigan, “Finding is Losing Something Else”)

it has run away like a horse or a dog, dead or lost or unforgiving.

(Charles Bukowski, from “Sway With Me”)

(Thomas Wolfe, from Look Homeward, Angel)

I’m learning geography is about loss

(Paul Guest, from “Airport Letter 2”)

(Elizabeth Bishop, from “One Art”)

Beauty comes from loss.

(Gregory Orr, from Concerning the Book That Is the Body of the Beloved)

Mostly it is loss which teaches us about the worth of things.

(Arthur Schopenhauer, from Parerga and Paralipomena)

Everything gets lost        & only some things get found. Somewhere in between is the only love we know.

(Nate Pritts, from “Life Event”)

(Rebecca Solnit, from A Field Guide to Getting Lost)

the melancholic is one who incorporates a lost object of desire into her ego, so that she never fully experiences the loss, since the loved one, even in absence, becomes merged with the self.

(Lauren Berlant, from Desire / Love)

I looked as heartbroken as I felt, all ready to take on the night, fill up on my loss, use it to fill up those decaying parts of me that still believe in true fucking love.

(Kat Case, from Maximum Rock’n’Roll #250)

How to orchestrate loss as a way to expedite nostalgia.

(Jessica Baran, from “Long Story Short”)

(Rachel Eddin, from “What I Did On My Summer Vacation”)

& there is the sadness of losing & the sadness of never having & the sadness of having to lose

(Jane Rohrer, from “Only Together & Only Always”)

(Maggie Nelson, from Bluets)

It makes me weep to feel the history of your flesh beneath my hands in a time of so much loss. It makes me weep to feel the movement of your flesh beneath my palms as you twist and turn over to one side to create a series of gestures to reach up around my neck to draw me nearer. All these memories will be lost in time like tears in the rain.

(David Wojnarowicz, from “When I Put My Hands On Your Body”)

(Bruce Springsteen, from “Valentine’s Day”)

If I lose you...then I not only mourn the loss, but I become inscrutable to myself. Who “am” I, without you? When we lose some of these ties by which we are constituted, we do not know who we are or what to do. On one level, I think I have lost “you” only to discover that  “I” have gone missing as well.

(Judith Butler, from “Violence, Mourning, Politics”)

...when we mourn our losses we also mourn, for better or for worse, ourselves. As we were. As we are no longer. As we will one day not be at all.

(Joan Didion, from The Year of Magical Thinking)

(Jack Kerouac, from Visions of Cody)

Acceptance. I finally reach it. But something is wrong. Grief is a circular staircase. I have lost you.

(Linda Pastan, from “The Five Stages of Grief”)

(Elizabeth Bishop, from “One Art”)

#one art #quote collection #quotations #text #poetry #loss #grief #mourning #the art of losing isn't hard to master #elizabeth bishop #katie ford #anne carson #jeanette winterson #john findura #rebecca solnit #helen macdonald #haruki murakami #richard brautigan #charles bukowski #Thomas Wolfe #paul guest #gregory orr #arthur schopenhauer #nate pritts #lauren berlant #kat case #jessica baran #rachel eddin #jane rohrer #maggie nelson

[shy-magpie]

RQG 151

Moving the patreon names a good idea but changes to structure take up more brain space than they should. I hope they keep the reminder they moved it as a substitute, at least for a while. The rest of the structure is the same and I can feel my shoulders coming away from my ears as the theme plays. I choose to interpret that as Alex saying his players being fine is his highest priority. Borb Under the sea bed🎵. 1)its great when I barely start a thought before a player says the same thing 2) we will get our musical one way or the other 3)I know they're from an improv background but it never ceases to delight how joyfully they support each other's unexpected bits. 4) Alex seems like he gets a kick out of playing up his annoyance at the musical idea more than actually being frustrated it keeps coming up. I thought so but nice to confirm. Bless this cast, it wouldn't have been a huge deal if they let Alex's description stand but its so nice they not only corrected it, they did so without hesitation and Alex seemed to appreciate the help in getting to better phrasing rather than take it as an accusation. Not that I thought he would but feeling grateful for RQ not falling into behavior I see elsewhere. Also hearing everyone chiming in; with Bryn being the one to name check the trope instead of it being on Helen to always take the lead is nice to hear. "he was very encountered" Have I mentioned lately that I love literally everything about this show? Even when he thinks he knows exactly what the party is going to do and certainly knows what he is guiding them towards Alex checks instead of putting anyone in the position of having to derail. Cel! I wonder if cis people get anywhere near my joy in Cel having that kind of control over their body. I mean its just objectively cool even without the gender aspect so I hope they at least enjoy that much. I need cancan art. Did Alex know how delighted Lydia would be with the image of being popped out like a cork before he said it? Coo coo ca chu, thank you Ben Zolf remains 200% done and doesn't bother checking the door Ben don't! 92 HP, well that would be comforting if it wasn't Zolf. Like I don't think it's actually a death wish/that he is suicidal but well, see not checking the door. He is far too comfortable with the idea of being hurt. Alex:Chill sea dude Ben: sounds of objection Lydia: chill environment neutral dude Still love Alex's set design. A person! Bryn sounds alarmed about implications of the walk ways. Cel can shield themselves. Yes Hamid can armor himself! Also casts fly on himself & Azu. Thank you Ben/Zolf. This show does get deep into moral quandaries sometimes but unless these guys are as drugged as the Kobolds they objectively need to die. The dice love us Altruism run Darn it Alex, are you hinting they are drugged against their will? Azu feels tapping their shoulder then killing them is better even if they don't have a prayer of defending themselves. Oh I see Helen has our back and is checking for mind control before we do Kobolds 2: the guilt continues. Well yes they are surprised Bryn sounds so pleased as goes through exactly how many ways the odds are in Hamid's favor. Then he rolls 6,6,5,5 on D6s for 26 damage so no kill like over kill. Watsonian explanation: emotion is at least partially fueling Hamid's magic especially anything fire/desolation aligned, and there is no way he isn't overflowing with emotion after the last few hours. Zolf is happy to let Azu handle the last one and uses his action to ask if Cel knows what (something, the equipment in this room?) does. Cel determines its a notification board for the cell cavern. So these guys were directly aware and involved with the mistreatment of the Kobolds. I officially am dropping the last tiny part of me that cared if they were drugged/otherwise forced into the work. If they were cognisant enough to read that and still did it then its time to find Zolf's old bucket. Glad the table is having fun! I wonder what the face Alex pulled looked like.  Raw terror? The equivalent of a neon sign reading "I'm screwed"? I shouldn't have implied Alex would leave the listeners out, this is a wonderful description. Helen is more thorough than I am. There you go, time to die. Oh episode name drop. That's my Zolf, killing who needs killing doesn't mean we ignore collateral damage. And Cel just invented the departures board. Zolf: not worth destroying? Cel: If you'd enjoy it Priorities Heading towards the shore I like how Alex sounds pleased they broke his dungeon Vital info for visualizing this. Poor Azu is trying to swim while Hamid & Cel are zooming elegantly and Zolf is walking because boots or no he is ungainly. Hamid enjoying flying & Azu being adorable even under the circumstances is endearing. Correction Cel is walking Lockers & propaganda posters I can't put it in words but there is a connection being made between how little these mooks care about messing up shared spaces & the rest of the mundane evil that led to them being bucket worthy. Thank you all for the taking water breathing potions I'm not sure how I feel about Alex giving us stuff for free Oh Dear! Are the mooks heading to the village? Zolf is reassuring Never over the little touches Alex has to make the world feel more real like the water proof flares Oh Cel dear, 1)you don't know that, you don't need mourn your village while they yet may live 2)what kind of trauma have they been through? "Again"? Lydia gets a quick dig in about the party not being allowed to sleep. Cel shifts into a creature who can see. ~Break~ Nevermind just enlarge person Somewhere Babs is begging for a simple answer. I don't think we got a simple answer Hamid is reassuring Cel. Something both relateable and possibly a bad sign that "don't worry they have been spending all their time preparing to kill us, so they can't be attacking your people" is legitimately both the line Hamid took and probably the most effective possible. The others help too. I love how they openly care, reassuring Cel without telling them to repress or that they are wrong to experience the emotions in the first place. Lights and colors flashing in the water. The dice seem to be favoring Bryn today. There's a fight up ahead. They all run to the fight, Cel leaves them in the dust. Hamid flies after Cel since he couldn't catch up on foot The dice do know I promise I will appreciate the set design on relisten,  but for the love of god who is fighting who? Mooks vs who? Humans Yes! Alex hasn't quite gotten there but the cast sound convinced its Barnes & Carter. Ah is Wilde with them? Did Wilde tear his hair out worrying then send back up the second Zolf was overdue? Bleeping Carter Barnes sounds like he is having fun Carter is throwing knives at people. Odd knife & dagger are basically synonyms but not getting Sasha feels 2 vs 8 Ben points out Carter stole Sasha's gimmick Ok warming to Carter will take a minute but I already like Barnes Natural 1 on bomb throwing. Thank you Alex for not being a "death by nat 1 is funny" GM Alex keeps forgetting what a bad bum Cel is. Giblet heavy day Moving quickly past possible misgendering of Cel. Best way to handle that I think, no distracting corrections but Lydia doesn't let it stand. Thank you for being safe Hamid! Hamid protects Barnes. Love the extra extra pew. Finger guns! Alex is 3rd person level stressed Cel gets out the crossbow and punctuates their correction on pronouns. I love this podcast. I really, really, love this podcast and stuff like that shows they love their listeners back. Cel: Pronouns. Are. They. Them Helen: the dice say they/them rights Not sure if dead but 13 damage against one misgendering mook Hamid continues to shoot very well in support rather than endangering himself needlessly. Azu, spotting Carter: You! You? Accidently restarted the episode when I unpaused and now my phone is acting up, and is doing strange things when I try to fast forward to where I was. The annoyance at the above is cancelled out by hearing "Pronouns. Are. They/Them" 4 times Zolf: great seeing you again I love Barnes Alex the fandom appreciates this description Ah Zolf got Barnes into the Campbell books And they attempt to flee badly Carter finally rolls decently but not impressively Cel shoots one in the neck they're still moving Hamid mutters in draconic:  this is for the Kobolds Thank you Bryn Barnes successfully seduced <Azu> Helen I love that the trained mathematician is the one who participates in dice superstition Ben! Huh patreon names still make my brain happy. Wonder if it's something deep about community or I just got pavloved by it being before RQG & TMA for so long

#RQG spoilers #Rusty Quill Gaming #live blog thingy #RQG season 4 #RQG 151 #long post

[i-rove-rock-n-roll]

My Wips (and their progress)

Not in any particular order. This is also not all of them, just the ones I’m working on currently or plan to work on in the near future

Icarus--3rd draft, almost complete, currently standing at 68,490 words!

Icarus survived the fall and a bruised body isn’t going to stop him from getting back to his father. Unfortunately, he is whisked all the way to Libya and into a completely different bout of family drama, involving two brothers and a case of human sacrifice. Meanwhile, Minos, the king Icarus and his father escaped from, is hot on finding Daedalus, who is torn between mourning and denial, refusing to give up searching for his son. The ultimate question is ‘who finds who first?’

links here! (though I’ll probably add more in the future!)

Ariadne-- sequel to Icarus, follows Ariadne as she learns how to fully enjoy life and finds love with a deity named Dionysus. not even close to being done, standing around 8,000 words. Everything you love about Greek theater and drama all rolled into one. Also has a bunch of angry gods in it.

Helen--a retelling of the life of Helen and the Iliad from the point of view of a true daughter of Zeus and queen of Sparta. Helen is really tired of getting kidnapped, people. That’s all I’m gonna say.. A sequel (of sorts) to the previous two. Just started.

Medea--love and heartbreak of Medea, famous for both her use of magic and her relationship with a guy named Jason. And the fact that Theseus is apparently her stepson. And for being ruthless and killing her children (which lots of Greek characters did, I mean, hello Agamemnon, what’s up Tantalus) so her story is gonna have tons of drama. 

Set somewhere before and after Icarus and Ariadne, this is the fourth in my mythology series and has literally one line done.

Cain--about 3,000 words

Cain has wandered the earth since his brother’s death. He has lived among the homeless, walked across continents and sailed across seas. He hasn’t had a home for hundreds--thousands-- of years. Then he walks into St. Mary’s church and meets Father Turrell, a sarcastic priest that lives on coffee, chili, and musicals. Father Turrell offers Cain a job, and despite his better judgement, Cain accepts. What follows is mayhem, and Cain’s safe haven, like all his others, is ruined. But now he has Father Turrell stubbornly refusing to let Cain leave without him. So they begin to wander...and trouble follows. 

Redemption Day, about 15,000 words

When Gram Niesler returned home from prison, the last thing he expected was to be blamed for was arson. Especially considering the Donaldson’s house burned down before he’d even returned to town. Thankfully things straighten out, but Gram is soon hit with the truth that his cousin Nicki, who he still remembers as having skipped rope and painted his face with glitter, is the one behind the fire. Stranger still is her reasoning. Vengeance for her girlfriend’s death is one thing, but with literal angels and devils whispering in her ear, Gram is both trying to keep Nicki out of trouble, and tasked with helping her create a trial Armageddon. 

Reincarnation Series (No real Title yet)-- Follows the reincarnations of various deities in the modern world. Kicking things off are the duo Hunahpu and Xbalanque aka the Mayan Hero Twins! 

They always knew their dad was out of the picture, being a famous soccer player, but it’s when the twins go to find him that things get real weird, real fast. Confronted with magician half siblings and a snarky old grandmother, the twins have to wonder when their father will be home to see them. The answer, of course, is that they have to go find him. (That’s basically what I got so far both for a synopsis and a plot)

Wards and Wolfsbane (Tentative Title but idk what else to call it)  (K, so this one is also probably going to be a series as well, the first book focused on the relationship between two wolf born siblings who meet a witch. They are all just learning their history, of this wide world full of monsters and magic. Will also have vamps and other assorted magical folk hiding out) Just started the world-building, it’s Urban fantasy.

Witches and Werewolves have been at war for centuries, only made worse by the history of hunters and burnings. Each side has cause, has killers. 

Has children. 

These children are the ones that wish to change things, to form an alliance. Because they see a danger that their forbears do not. 

There is something else behind the curtain. And it’s coming very soon. 

Aztlán--my first spanish (well right now it’s spanglish) wip!

This follows a close circle of people during either the Mexican-American War or the Revolutionary war of Mexico (I haven’t decided if I’m doing two separate wips for each yet) It has plots, spies, explosions, grief, mourning, betrayal, funerals, weddings gone wrong, etc. Here’s a sneak peek in español 

Down We Fall--about 15-16,000

A story of weddings and political chess that begins with the bride stabbing the groom. The prince and the princess had been promised to each other as children, had grown up together as best friends, had told each other everything. 

But saying I love you was out of the question. 

In the realm of politics, both their kingdoms are struggling. Between infighting for current ruling authority and anarchy caused by the citizens, the pressure is put on. Something has to give. The prince and princess are not yet king and queen after all. The King is dead so who rules the chessboard? 

Please note! If you guys want me to talk more about certain wips or characters or just post snippets of whichever one of your choosing you prefer, please don’t hesitate to ask! And if you feel like chatting about these wips, writing in general, or even just talking about the weather, my messages are always open!

tagging my usual peeps! (add/remove, lemme know!)

@couchwriting@wallpatterns@luckydragonnerd@tokyoghoulua@xanthus-the-headless-stand-user@mkaiww@pheita@ashesconstellation@ashes-of-chironides@splotch-of-spice@the-real-rg@thecadmiuminkwell@ahotpeaceofshit@writingmyselfintoanearlygrave@talesofhemlock@aquaroseas@demonfairyprincess@softdramahoe @lifeofroos@panhasablog @candybunnieholic @superlock-on-pc @alwolfesblog

#my writing #my wips #violetvineyard

[mariemarvelbear]

Carina

Avengers x Reader

Warning: Angst.So much Angst.Slow burn angst.Abuse.Mention of rape.Brainwashed.ANGST.Blood.Torture.Swearing.Kidnapping.

Part 21

“You need to be honest with me Steve.”

“I’m not lying Buck.”

 “You’re not telling the truth either.”

“I just took some time off Buck. I needed fresh air.”

 “Then where did you get intel on ‘Iana?” Steve stayed silent, his mouth shut as Bucky stood in-front of him, waiting for an answer-an honest one. “See? You’re lying to me.”

“Just trust me on this one, okay Buck?”

“The last time I trusted you, you left me.” Bucky scoffed, quickly leaving the room. 

 “You can’t blame him Steve.”

 “Tony.”

 “Captain.” Tony mumbled, his stuffy demeanor gone. “No one knew where you went Steve. Not even me.”

“We were constantly fighting Tony. We were a mess. The team needed the break, so we can start all over again.”

Tony snickered, clicking his tounge as he licked his lips wet. “Start all over again? You mean, repeat that agonizing cycle regarding Eviana’s death?” Steve shut his eyes closed “She’s not dead, Tony.”

 “How are you so sure? You’re not giving us information Steve.”

 “You need to have faith Tony.”

 “I lost that a long time ago Steve! So stop the fucking act! Tell me where the fuck is Eve!Where did you get that intel?!”

“From me.” Tony flinched, Steve quickly removing Tony’s hands from his collar as the both watch Thor safely land. “She’s alive Stark.”As the thunder stopped, Thor quickly placed his hammer down. “You should all pack now, We must leave in an instant.”

  “Who are you?”

“It’s me,Eve.”

“Who’s Eve?”

“You are.”

“I’m not Eve. I’m Carina.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m a Queen.Queen of- “

Wanda’s eyes shot wide open, her breathing rapid and her face wet from the tears. A smile spread into her face, quickly a laugh followed, her red wisp getting evident as she zoomed out of her and Vision’s room. She knew, she was convinced that somewhere in your mind, somewhere that they had to figure out how to reach, the real you were still in there and fighting to come back out.

 “Omygod!S-She’s....”

 “Wanda?”

“Steve! She’s alive. Oh my-“Wanda gasped, tears flowing from her eyes as Pietro calmed her down,   “Piet!I saw her!She looked so beautiful, but different. But it’s her Piet.I’m sure of it.” Wanda jested, for a long period of time-Wanda smiled genuinely, warming the heart of Pietro that he swore he might cry just by seeing Wanda’s warm smile. As Wanda continue murmuring about her wonderful vision, Natasha was in a same state back in the other room- a room adjacent to where Thor, Steve and a confused Tony stayed. Natasha held your file firmly in her hands, looking at the cover as if the answer to her question could be found in the fibers of the paper.  How is Tony going to react to this?  It could go well, or it could go really, really badly.  He wasn’t exactly a man likely to do things halfway, and this was sure to get quite the reaction.

 “She’s alive?” The redhead stood in the door frame, her hands dirty from the dust of the folder- as if it was kept away, not allowing it to see any light- as if it held the dirtiest and scariest secret among all. Words left her, as her mind roared-giving her thousands of questions as time passed by, tears started to pour-her rage overpowering the hope she’s supposed to feel.Natasha didn’t even notice it, but as she blinked- she was already downstairs, in front of the entire team listening to Wanda’s story of her visions.

And as if she was stuck underwater, everything was slow and warbled- and with a shaky finger, she pointed directly onto Fury’s face. The director came in, right after the entire team enter the building as Helen called for help, afraid for another Civil war action. “Do you have nothing to say?” Natasha demanded, not letting the tears fall-but it was easy for her. The whole group stopped what they were doing, Clint quickly looking at Natasha- his eyes going wide as he saw how badly angry his partner was. “Nat, What’s wrong?” Clint carefully asked, “What did he do?” Sam whispered.

 “What’s going on Natasha?” Wanda muttered, her focus now onto the scene in front of her. Closing her eyes, Wanda looked over at Fury’s eyes, a red wisp flowing onto her fingers as sh tried reading the director’s mind.

“Romanoff.” Fury sighed, his eyes quickly noticing the confidential file in her hands. “Where did you get that?”

 “I left it there.” Another foreign voice boomed in the compound. “For a group of assassins and superheroes, I’d never thought you’d find it this long.”

 “Agent Hill.” Fury acknowledged “You look different.” Fury blantly said, staring at the agent’s new coloured hair- blonde.

 “And you?You’re still a jerk.”

 “You knew? Is-Is this why you left Maria?” Natasha cried out, she remembered trying to contact the agent, for months. Wanting to check in. It was only the five of them girls that stayed together, And with Eviana gone and Wanda, still angry at her; It was only the agent that she could talk to. Though she and Helen would chat, the doctor was still busy- and even with the entire team gone; The both of them seldom talked. After all, Helen believed what the others believed in-that you weren’t gone, but it was Tony that hired her; so how can she leave?

 “Indeed. I work for justice, Fury. You should know that by now. So, seeing you do this terrible deed, I just couldn’t do it. I can’t stomach seeing the entire team to be heart broken and lifeless just because you thought it would be the best.”

“It was the right call. You were all sulking, crying and mourning! I had to do something.”

 “So, you lied?” Sam scoffed.

 “I had to! For the world!For the nation! For the people.” Fury shouted, as Tony, Steve and Thor sauntered their way down. “I know you’re all angry. I knew this day would come, But I had to do it. The people needed you all, and they still do.”

“But we need her.” Tony mumbled, a tear escaping down his reddened cheeks. He would never give up now that he knew that you were alive and somewhere out there.    

“Help me!Ah!”

“What, what are you doing?!”

“I’m not Carina!”

“You’re not a king. You’re a monster!”

“And she needs us. Now.” Wanda cried out, her hands quickly getting a hold of her throbbing head. “We’re gonna save you, sister.”

 “Who are you?”

 “I’m-”

 “Wanda?Is that you?”

#marvel #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #marvel x reader #avengers fanfiction #The avengers fanfiction #Avengers #Steve Rogers #Bucky Barnes #Iron Man #tony stark #avengers fanfiction angst #fanfiction #angst #captain marvel

[callunavulgari]

Scrapbook 2019 | Pt. I

Normal font - meh, it was okay | Italicized titles - enjoyed quite a bit | bold titles - love | titles with an asterisk* - all time favorites | (bracketed titles) - re-watches/re-reads | strikethough - dislike

Goals are: read one hundred books this year, finish five video games, write something novel-length and write something original. These last two goals CAN be combined.

MOVIES

January

(Kingsman: The Golden Circle)

Pitch Perfect 3

February

(Big Hero 6)

March

Geostorm

Captain Marvel

(Thor Ragnarok)

(Avengers: Infinity War)

(Pocahontas)

Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom

Venom

April

(Brave)

(Flipper)

(Spirited Away)

(Breakfast at Tiffany’s)

How To Train Your Dragon 3

Crazy Rich Asians

Matilda

The Death Cure

The Mummy (2017)

(Monster’s University)

Avengers: Endgame

May

Detective Pikachu

Bohemian Rhapsody

The Rim of the World

June

(Zombieland)

Rocketman

The Secret Life of Pets 2

Spiderman: Into the Spiderverse

July

Spiderman: Far From Home

Truth or Dare

(Coraline)

BOOKS

January

Ender’s Game | Orson Scott Card [Fin]

The Poppy War | R.F. Kuang [Fin]

Turtles All The Way Down | John Green [Fin]

Challenger Deep | Neal Shusterman [Fin]

The Bear and the Nightingale | Katherine Arden [Fin] 

Shards of Honor | Lois Mcmaster Bujold [Fin]

(Throne of Jade | Naomi Novak) [Fin]

The Wicked King | Holly Black [Fin]

Vengeful | V.E. Schwab

Elantris | Brandon Sanderson

February

Vengeful | V.E. Schwab [Fin]

Elantris | Brandon Sanderson [Fin]

(Black Powder War | Naomi Novak) [Fin]

(The Amulet of Samarkand | Jonathon Stroud) [Fin]

Once Upon a River | Diane Setterfield

(The Golem’s Eye | Jonathon Stroud) [Fin]

(Ptolemy’s Gate | Jonathon Stroud) [Fin]

The Screaming Staircase | Jonathon Stroud

March

Once Upon a River | Diane Setterfield [Fin]

The Screaming Staircase | Jonathon Stroud [Fin]

The Girl In the Tower | Katherine Arden [Fin]

The Whispering Skull | Jonathon Stroud

(Empire of Ivory | Naomi Novak) [Fin]

The Two Towers | J.R.R Tolkien

Winter of the Witch | Katherine Arden

Saga, Vol 1 | Brian Vaughn

Saga, Vol 2 | Brian Vaughn

Saga, Vol 3 | Brian Vaughn

Saga, Vol 4 | Brian Vaughn

Saga, Vol 5 | Brian Vaughn

Saga, Vol 6 | Brian Vaughn

April

The Whispering Skull | Jonathon Stroud [Fin]

The Slow Regard of Silent Things | Patrick Rothfuss [Fin]

The Two Towers | J.R.R Tolkien [Fin]

Winter of the Witch | Katherine Arden [Fin]

Forest of a Thousand Lanterns | Julie Dao [Fin]

King of Scars | Leigh Bardugo [Fin]

The Hollow Boy | Jonathon Stroud [Fin]

Mistborn | Brandon Sanderson [Fin]

The Well of Ascension | Brandon Sanderson [Fin]

The Creeping Shadow | Jonathon Stroud [Fin]

The Empty Grave | Jonathon Stroud [Fin]

May

Hero of Ages | Brandon Sanderson [Fin]

Everything I Never Told You | Celeste Ng [Fin]

The Kiss Quotient | Helen Hoang [Fin]

The Two Towers | J.R.R. Tolkien [Fin]

The Near Witch | Victoria Schwab [Fin]

The Trials of Apollo | Rick Riordan [Fin]

Alloy of Law | Brandon Sanderson [Fin]

The Gentlemen’s Guide to Vice and Virtue | Mackenzi Lee [Fin]

Shadows of Self | Brandon Sanderson

The Dark Prophecy | Rick Riordan

Sabriel | Garth Nix [Fin]

June

Shadows of Self | Brandon Sanderson [Fin]

The Dark Prophecy | Rick Riordan [Fin]

(Victory of Eagles | Naomi Novak) [Fin]

Warbreaker | Brandon Sanderson [Fin]

(Tongues of Serpents | Naomi Novak) [Fin]

The Bands of Mourning | Brandon Sanderson [Fin]

What If It’s Us | Becky Albertalli & Adam Silvera [Fin]

A Court of Thorns and Roses | Sarah J. Maas [Fin]

Carmilla | Kim Turrisi [Fin]

The Alchemist | Paulo Coelho 

The Eye of the World | Robert Jordan

The Hundred-Foot Journey | Richard C. Morais 

Three Dark Crowns | Kendare Blake

Mistborn: The Secret History | Brandon Sanderson [Fin]

The Eleventh Metal | Brandon Sanderson [Fin]

July

The Alchemist | Paulo Coelho [Fin]

The Eye of the World | Robert Jordan

The Hundred-Foot Journey | Richard C. Morais [Fin]

Three Dark Crowns | Kendare Blake [Fin]

Saga Vol. 8 | Brian Vaughn [Fin]

Saga Vol. 9 | Brian Vaughn [Fin]

Codename Villanelle | Luke Jennings [Fin]

Borne | Jeff Vandermeer [Fin]

Crucible of Gold | Naomi Novak [Fin]

The Time Traveler’s Wife | Audrey Niffenegger [Fin]

The Lady’s Guide to Petticoats and Piracy | Mackenzi Lee [Fin]

The Wise and the Wicked |  Rebecca Podos [Fins]

Sweetbitter | Stephanie Danler [Fin]

Blood of Tyrants | Naomi Novak [Fin]

PODCASTS

January

Adventure Zone Ep 1

EOS 10 s4 1-4

February

EOS 10 s4 4-7

March

The Penumbra Podcast

April

Adventure Zone Ep 2

May

Welcome to Night Vale Eps 30-54

The Bright Sessions -Bonus Eps-

June

Welcome to Night Vale Eps 54-59

The Penumbra Podcast (Second Citadel eps + last two Juno)

July

Welcome to Night Vale Eps 60-

The Magnus Archive Eps 1-11

TV SHOWS BY SEASON

January

Voltron s8

The Flash

Black Mirror: Bandersnatch

February

Happy

The Umbrella Academy

The Flash

Black Mirror

Russian Doll

March 

The 90s

The 2000s

(Sailor Moon)

Maniac

The Dragon Prince

(Inuyasha)

American Gods

April

American Gods s2

Voltron s8

World’s Weirdest Homes

Game of Thrones s8

Brooklyn 99

The Bold Type

Cupcake Wars

May

Schitt’s Creek s1-3

Game of Thrones s8

June

Schitt’s Creek s4

Good Omens

The Terror

Chernobyl

Black Mirror s4

July

Rick & Morty s3

Stranger Things s3

Schitt’s Creek s4

VIDEO GAMES

January

Pokemon Go?

(Kingdom Hearts: DDD, 54 hrs) [Fin]

Pokemon Let’s Go Eevee

Detroit: Become Human [Fin]

Kingdom Hearts 3 - Monstropolis, 20 hrs

Life is Strange, Episode 2, 4 hrs

February

Kingdom Hearts 3, 56 hrs [Fin]

Pokemon Go

Life is Strange, Episode 5, 20 hrs [Fin]

Life is Strange -Before the Storm- Episode 1 complete, 5 hrs

God of War (3 hrs)

March 

God of War (35 hrs) [Fin]

Assassin’s Creed: Odyssey (40 hrs)

April

Assassin’s Creed: Odyssey (43 hrs)

(Final Fantasy XIII)

Portal 2 [Fin]

Final Fantasy 15 - Episodes Prompto, Ignis, Gladio, and Ardyn [Fin]

May

Assassin’s Creed: Odyssey (70 hrs)

Life Is Strange -Before the Storm- Episode 2 complete, 15 hours

June

Assassin’s Creed: Odyssey (120 hrs) [Fin]

Rime (1 hr)

Final Fantasy XII: Zodiac Age (1 hr)

Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess HD (2 hrs)

July

Rime (25 hrs) [Fin]

Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess HD (35 hrs)

Witcher 3 DLC: Hearts of Stone [Fin]

Witcher 3 DLC: Blood and Wine (10 hrs)

DELIGHTFUL FIC

January

What Dreams May Come by Lenore | Crimson Peake | Edith/Thomas | 5k |  Ghosts are real, and there are things that tie them to this world. Sometimes it's because they want to linger, and sometimes it's because they are trapped. Sometimes ghosts need the help of the living before they can be truly free.

and prove your body wrong by paperclipbitch | The Defenders | Matt Murdock/Jessica Jones | 1k | Neither of them can read minds, but they both fake it for their day jobs.

these roads will take you into your own country by notbecauseofvictories | American Gods | Shadow/Laura, Gen | 5k | Here’s a joke for you: a Muslim, a zombie, and a leprechaun walk into a bar in Misery, Indiana. No one stares, because no one in the puckered, shitty asshole of Misery, Indiana gives a fuck. The Colts are playing.“Fucking new gods,” the leprechaun mutters, hunching his shoulders almost up to his ears. “Gridiron and Pepsi commercials.”

Small Step For Man by Toft [archived by yuletide_archivist] | Greek Myth | Artemis/Apollo | 4k | "It's all right, sister," Apollo whispers, and his arm is warm around her shoulder. She forgets, he is her twin, he is her other half; he knows her almost as well as she knows herself. "We're still the same."

learning curve by Yuu_chi | Detroit | Hank/Connor | 15k | “While sexual activity is not my default purpose, I do possess the capability,” Connor says without so much as batting an eye, unaware that he’s completely shattered Hank’s world view in one single sentence.

machine learning by kriegersan | Detroit | Hank/Connor | 31k | “This kinda shit doesn’t go away overnight. It’s only been a few months, Connor. We’re only just starting to know what this is gonna look like.” Lt. Anderson throws back his beer.“You think I don’t know that?” He sounds defensive. He tempers his voice. “I’m simply processing.”

eighteen wheels on an uphill climb by blackeyedblonde | Detroit | Hank/Connor | 73k | Hank is going to die. He’s going to die right here in Kentucky, 53 years old, halfway to broke, and tragically sober. Survived only by a nine-year-old St. Bernard and the 31-year-old twink who delivered the fatal blow.

Fuck pride (pride only hurts, it never helps) by ImogenGotDrunk | Detroit | Nines/Gavin | 40k | What Gavin cannot deal with is Connor’s replica; two inches taller, blue-eyed, and with a mouth that Gavin doesn’t know whether to punch or take between his teeth. The RK900 model has been assigned as his partner for the foreseeable future.

linguistics, semantics by pseudoanalytics | DBH | Hankcon | 49k | "So, what? Cyberlife gave you a preference for ugly, old, washed-up bastards?" Connor intentionally allows himself to appear unamused. "Absolutely not." He waits for Hank to look at him again before delivering his punchline. "I believe I developed that for myself."

Skin Deep by bughnrahk | DBH | Hankcon | 50k | Hank is 53 years old. He's never had a soul mark, doesn't have a soul mate. And he's fine with that. He cheated the system once and it cost him everything he had. Never again.When August 2038 rolls around and the number '313 248 317 - 51' appears on his arm in perfect Cyberlife Sans font, exactly where a soul mark should be, Hank wants nothing to do with it.

Watch Me, Watch You by elefseus (oscillos) | DBH | Hank/Connor | 82k | WIP | "How do you go about living when everything you've ever known changes? Can you?"

the most formidable lies by fshep | DBH | Connor/Gavin | 15k | WIP | Gavin is given an ultimatum: agree to give his mother’s coworker’s son a chance, or introduce his family to his new boyfriend, Connor, who isn’t his boyfriend at all.

February

and we'll figure it out by consumptive_sphinx | Temeraire | Lawrence/Tharkay | 1.5k | Everyone is born with their soulmate's name written on their skin, somewhere. Laurence has two names. Neither of them are in a script he can read.

Propriety and Fate by esama | Temeraire | Lawrence/Tharkay | 3.5k | It isn't as if one can go and talk about such things

Watercast by Fishwrites | Voltron | Keith/Lance | 205k WIP, Chapter 15 | Shiro has been a Galra prisoner for over a year; with his flight feathers clipped and unable to fly. Desperate to escape, he jumps overboard while being transported to the capitol on a Galran ship. Lance is a merman who saves him from drowning. Keith thinks Shiro is about to become mermaid dinner. Hunk just wants Lance to stop going to the surface all the time, dammit!

Afterlife by jaegermighty | Haunting of Hill House | Gen, Luke-centric | 6k |  Leigh and Steve name their daughter Eleanore, with an 'e' on the end which is more old-fashioned, they say. Eleanore Olivia Crain. Lots of dead people in that name; Luke's not a fan. Not that anyone asked his opinion.

in memoriam by oxymoronic | Bartimaeus | Gen | 1.5k | Kitty Jones has but a little strength left in her body, and she has decided on this lazy summer's night to spend it on the question which has plagued her for half a century.

March 

Second Chances by rootbeer | Teen Wolf | Sterek | 2k | "A lot of times the ‘markings’ were common, simple things you said to strangers all the time. 'Excuse me'; 'thank you'; 'hello'. Some got extremely romantic things like 'it’s you isn’t it? I’ve been waiting for you' or 'Wow you’re really pretty'. And they were always the first words their soulmate would ever say to them.Of course, having 'You are the fucking worst kind of person in the world' tattooed down your side, didn’t bode well.

have your cake and eat it too by keskasi | Naruto | Naruto/Sasuke | 7k | “What’s it like to give a blowjob?” Naruto asks.

Timing it Right by DragonBandit | The Bright Sessions | Mark/Damien | 14k | Damien's gold rises at Whitney. Mark tries to make things right.

April

and maybe you'll find a way to keep me a floating when i can't by LazyBaker | Stranger Things | 3k | Billie’s tough. Nothing but sharp edges with sharper teeth. She’s all bark and all bite.

A thousand by Ever-so-reylo (Ever_So_Reylo) | Star Wars | Reylo | 3k |  “I’m going to kill you, now.” The problem is—really, the crux of all of Rey’s problems at the moment—he actually thinks he means it.

He Who Is Made Of Iron by MayContainBlueberries | The Queen’s Thief | Gen, Costis centric | Tea reminds Costis of his childhood.

May

for my wild by vixleonard | GOT | Arya/Gendry | Set post 8x04, Arya tries to find out who Arya Stark is now.

Almost Cool by blacktofade | Buzzfeed Unsolved | Shane/Ryan | 30k | While filming the Yuma Territorial Prison episode, Shane gets bitten by what he thinks is a bat. Spoiler alert: it's not.

Two Worlds Collided by blacktofade | Buzzfeed Unsolved | Shane/Ryan | 10k | There's a new guy at work and Ryan belatedly realizes they've actually already met once before.

Keeping Out the Cold by blacktofade | Buzzfeed Unsolved | Ryan/Shane | After a strange ghostly encounter, Ryan and Shane begin sharing visions via a telepathic bond. AKA: the In Your Eyes AU that no one asked for.

Bringing Things Together by blacktofade | Buzzfeed Unsolved | 7k | “Look,” Shane says over the phone. “Mistakes were made.”

Pride by astolat | Game of Thrones | Jaime/Cersei/Brienne | 22k Jaime didn’t understand why Cersei suddenly insisted on trimming his hair and shaving his beard, but he also didn’t care to fight her on it, even though he’d just as soon have kept the beard: it was bitterly cold in the small tower room with its arrow-slits. At night, even curled together under the two blankets they’d been allotted, it took the better part of an hour before their bodies could warm the bed enough to sleep.

L'aura è tua messaggera by Rosyredlipstick | PJO | Nico/Will | 9k | Or, how the Stoll Brothers accidentally got Nico di Angelo and Will Solace together.

June

Competition by astolat | GoT | Jaime/Brienne | 11k | Almost the instant Brienne was out of earshot, Bronn turned to Podrick, jerked his head towards Jaime and asked, “Has he fucked her yet?”

Skin and Scales by Ernmark (M_Moonshade) | The Penumbra Podcast | Arum/Rilla/Damien | 17k | The man glares, and this time, Damien is certain it isn’t a trick of the light: those eyes are violet as amethyst. He wears disdain like a second skin–- or, perhaps, like the scales that he is missing.“Lord Arum?”

I will become yours and you will become mine by spiderwebsitar | DBH | Reed900 | 24k | After an argument with his new partner, Gavin Reed wakes up five years in the future married to an android who won’t stop making fucking waffles.

Numerology by Hth | Schitt’s Creek | Patrick/David, Sebastien/David | 20k | Still, it's true that Patrick can have his shy side. He likes to be a gentleman – Mr. Order Whatever You Want I'm Paying and Mr. Here Let Me Fix That For You and Mr. No David Not In the Backseat I Want It to Be Special – so David can't entirely rely on Patrick's willingness to charge forward for the greater good.

someone you like by caela | She-Ra | Adora/Catra | 5k |  catwithabat u think ur so hipster but u just look like a lesbian 27m she_ra @catwithabat bc… i’m a lesbian. lmao 5m

Ugly Words and Pretty Things by Ias | The Terror | Crozier/Fitzjames | 4k | There are words for a man like that.

Sands of Time by tirsynni | LoZ | Link/Ganondorf | 97k | Link awakens in the desert with no idea how he got there, to encounter his worst enemy...except it was the King of the Gerudo, not the King of Evil, he faced.

death shall be no more by Ias | The Terror | Fitzjames/Crozier | 5k | "I'd rather we leave our tents behind and sleep two to a sack like the orphans we are, than to leave one man alone with last burdens."

and then redemption by spidermooned (softlyblue) | Marvel | Spiderman & Loki | 7k | "Kid," says Tony Stark wearily, "Please gimme a reason Loki's been spotted talking to Spiderman that isn't 'I wanted to be his friend'. Please. Tell me you can do that."

so many ways to talk about longing by lymricks | Stranger Things | Harringrove | 3.6k | Steve wakes up--in a pool lounger--to Billy Hargrove looming over him. Billy pushes his sunglasses down and Steve thinks sleepily that it must be so that Steve gets the full impact of Billy’s narrow-eyed glare. “Harrington,” Billy says. “We’re fucking closed.”

sun gutters by lymricks | Stranger Things | Harringrove | 5k | Steve can feel Billy’s eyes on him. “You should get here early,” Billy says, casually. “Tomorrow. At six.”

Finders Keepers by blacktofade | Buzzfeed Unsolved | Ryan/Shane | 3k | Ryan wakes with a hangover and an empty bed, and only one of them he expects.

Back Room by forthegreatergood | Good Omens | Aziraphale/Crowley | 5.6k | Aziraphale actually does have quite an extensive collection of pornography in the bookshop. Like most of the questionable things in Aziraphale’s life, it’s Crowley’s fault.

killed with kindness by veterization | Persona 5 | Akechi/Akira | 52k | Goro can't quite figure out why so many people keep acting like they're his friend.

July

On mandated uniforms and workplace entertainment by Thei | Stranger Things | Harringrove | 2k | Robin loves this job. Besides an income, it also provides her with quality entertainment. Especially when she's working with Steve, and Billy Hargrove shows up.

don't make a shadow (of yourself) by lymricks | Stranger Things | Harringrove | 11k | WIP | And Billy, curled in a cheap plastic seat with his eyes squeezed shut, wonders, could it really be this easy? Just get on a bus and go home?

paper thin by sarcasticfishes | Buzzfeed Unsolved | Ryan/Shane/Sara | 9k | Shane’s new neighbors are a morning-sex kind of couple.

your love is three times better by sarcasticfishes | Buzzfeed Unsolved | Ryan/Shane/Sara | 14k | Ryan grimaces as he types out the words, >It’s Valentine’s Day. Don’t you want to do romance stuff?

you, through half-shut eyes by brawlite | Stranger Things | Harringrove | 8k | Two parts sugary sweet summer vibes, one part snarky instagram stories, and three parts mutual pining.

damn.nation, now available on itunes by antistar_e (kaikamahine) | Good Omens | Crowley/Aziraphale | 11k | When lowly tempt-pusher Amphora (formerly of Stairwell 7B North, before she Fell,) gets the notice that end times are nigh, she gleefully quits her job and cancels her Netflix subscription and takes her place among the legions of hell.This, it turns out, was a bad plan.

The Dragon and Her Wolves by hapakitsune | Game of Thrones | Sansa/Dany/Jon | 60k |  When the truth of Jon's birthright is revealed, control of the North and Daenerys's claim to the Iron Throne are both called into question. To preserve their tenuous alliance and secure her rule, Daenerys puts aside her personal feelings to arrange a marriage of political convenience between Jon and Sansa Stark.

Bonded by softestpunk | The Witcher | Emiel/Geralt | 13k | Regis is punished for Dettlaff's assumed death, Geralt comes to the rescue, and the two of them gain something neither of them would ever have dared hope for.

Something We Were Withholding Made Us Weak by triedunture | Good Omens | Aziraphale/Crowley | 17k | "Yes, exactly. Retire." Aziraphale reaches for the last remaining tartlet brimming with summer berries. "Somewhere along the south coast, perhaps."

something happens and i'm by brawlite | Stranger Things | Harringrove | 10k | Billy loves his job as at the Hawkins Community Pool. It's even better now that Steve Harrington's a lifeguard, too.

break up with your girlfriend ('cause i'm bored) by thecopperkid | Stranger Things | Harringrove | 15k |  @umissedconnections: Bambi eyes. m4m. i was rippin cigs in the sae p-lot. u made urself puke 2 make room 4 more beer. incredible? ur my hero PLS say ur into guys

I’m Gonna Keep You in Love with Me (for a While) by beethechange | Buzzfeed Unsolved | Ryan/Shane | 22k | “Okay,” Shane says finally. “Okay. Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re just going to—we’re going to be married. The only way out is through.”“Um,” Ryan says, because this plan strikes him as counterproductive to their shared goal of not being married.

YELLOW SQUARE by dejavu (suggcest) | Buzzfeed Unsolved | Ryan/Shane | 16k |  “Since being the scene of those two, grisly double homicides in the early 1950’s, the Bringle House Bed and Breakfast has sat empty, waiting for the next couple stupid enough to try to stay all four nights.”

darling it's a faded notion by varnes | Buzzfeed Unsolved | Ryan/Shane | 28k |  Ryan and Shane get cursed by a ghost, and now they can't be not-touching. It's ... not great.

Things That Go Bump in the Night (and 7 till 12 at weekends) by HoopyFrood | Buzzfeed Unsolved | Ryan/Shane | 4k | Shane works at a Haunted House. Ryan is Ryan. Things go about as well as you'd imagine.

Everything's Weird and We're Always in Danger by beethechange | Buzzfeed Unsolved | Ryan/Shane | 15k | “It won’t go away,” Ryan says miserably. “I’ve been like this since we got here, basically, and it won’t fucking—”

Muscles Better and Nerves More by beethechange | Buzzfeed Unsolved | Shane/Ryan | 26k | “I’m serious,” Ryan says. “Don’t go fucking up my body. I want that shit back in the same condition I left it.” 

DELIGHTFUL FANVIDS

January 

(Marvel) Avengers | True North 

A Sad Man With A Box

►Dance to 2018

Collab Parts (2016-2018)

just a machine? [Detroit: Become Human] *HBD Pteryx*

【Detroit｜Become Human】Way Down We Go

She-Ra AMV | I'm Just Your Problem (Catradora)

multifandom || 2018 (the way I remember it)

Detroit: Become Human || Paralyzed

in the end | connor & hank | detroit: become human

BELIEVER - Connor ( Detroit:Become Human ) GMV

who are you? | Connor | Detroit: Become Human

Detroit Become Human - Connor ~ Blood in the Water

Connor - I'm So Sorry by Imagine Dragons [Detroit: Become Human] GMV

» whatever it takes (connor; detroit become human gmv)

Detroit: Become Human / Connor and Hank / Uptown Funk

Would You Kill?| Connor RK800 [Detroit: Become Human]

Rude Boy | Connor | Detroit: Become Human

hold on | connor & hank | detroit: become human

Interstellar | STAY

sabrina spellman *:･ﾟ✧ [look what u made me do]

Stranger Things || Blood in the Water

February

(GoT) Margaery Tyrell || The Queen

Kingdom Hearts 3 EPIC AMV/GMV - Part of the Journey is the End

My Hero Academia AMV - The Greatest Show

Endgame | The Man Who Killed The Avengers

MARVEL || Not Today

March

Marvel/DC || FRICTION

Luke & Nell || There's no without

MARVEL || Blood On ME

What is a STORY?

TUA | Swallow Us

(SW) Obi-Wan Kenobi | Whispers of the Past

Quentin & Eliot || Beautiful nothing

queliot; peaches + plums

Way Down We Go | Red Dead Redemption 2

Marvel || Together

steve x bucky || answer

part to act on [Harry Potter]

April

marvel || supercharged

(Marvel) Avengers || The Big Three -- Iron Man/Thor /Captain America

Guardians of the Galaxy

CAOS || Welcome To The Jungle

Marvel || Rise or Fall

Avengers | Sacrifice [4K]

(Marvel) Tony Stark | I love you 3000

May

(Marvel) Captain America || I Stand Alone

(GoT) Daenerys Targaryen | See What I've Become

Ser Jaime Lannister

Arya & Sandor // Thank You [+8x05]

Kingdom hearts 3 |Dearly Beloved| AMV |

June

(GoT) Cersei Lannister || The Queen Of The Seven Kingdoms

(GoT) The Dragons || They're My Children

(GoT) Melisandre || A Champion Of Light And Life

Bioshock & Infinite - Never The End (Epic and Beautiful Fanmade Video)

Bioshock Infinite : Constants and Variables : Music video/Tribute

Crowley & Aziraphale ][ Don’t Stop Me Now || Good Omens

Crowley ][ Rebel Just For Kicks || Good Omens

i'm the bad guy | villanelle.

mission accomplished • connor RK800

The Haunting of Hill House || Empty hands

Mad World ✘ The Umbrella Academy

July

(GoT) Daenerys Targaryen || The Last Dragon

Steve Harrington [Burn The House Down]

max&eleven | my blood.

Billy Hargrove [Bury a Friend]

Max Mayfield [Rebel Just For Kicks]

billy hargrove | gasoline.

Stranger Things | Heroes

✥ STEVE HARRINGTON ✧･ﾟ: * HANDCLAP {+S3}

billy hargrove | lovely.

stranger things 3 | blood in the water.

Steve Harrington; I Need A Hero

Kilgrave ][ Bad Guy

billy&steve [harringrove] || a little death (+s3)

Avengers | Sacrifice [4K]

Stranger Things || Shelter

Kilgrave ][ Rule The World || Jessica Jones

Ben & Rey | What do you see?

Billy Hargrove - RIP to my YOUTH

a thing about life.

(SW) Obi-Wan Kenobi | Whispers of the Past

The Avengers | Unreachable Star

Steve Harrington || Another One Bites the Dust

DELIGHTFUL MUSIC

January

Dark Night - Kara | Philip Sheppard

Carousel - Kara | Phillip Sheppard

They All Look the Same - Connor | Nima Fakhrara

Curse of the I-5 Corridor | Neko Case

Way Down We Go | Kaleo

Gasoline | Halsey

Sleep All Summer | Neko Case

Hold On, Hold On | Neko Case

Dreaming at Daybreak | Ann Licater

Can’t Leave | Whiskey Charmers

Voodoo Mon Amour | Diablo Swing Orchestra

Undo - Transviolet

Xuanzang - Gareth Coker

Almost - Hozier

Movement - Hozier

Dancing in a Room - EZI

Snow Dancer - Antti Martikainen

Burned Out - Dodie

Epic (pt 2) - Anais Mitchell

Mercury - Honey and the Sting

February

Spanish Sahara - Foals

Obstacles - Syd Matters

If You Still Believe - SIE Sound Team

The Expanse - Through Juniper Vale

The Woods - San Fermin

Sophie - The Altogether

Tom Thumb - Bitter Ruin

Wolves of the Revolution - The Arcadian Wild

Mitchell: Epic III - Cast of Hadestown

Hamilton soundtrack

The Spine - Transistor soundtrack

Don’t Think Twice - Utada Hikaru

Face My Fears - Utada Hikaru

Take On Me - Hidden Citizens

Moonlight Sonata - Hidden Citizens

Waves - chloe moriondo

Alligator Teeth - Mother Falcon

We All Become - Darren Korb

Ashes - Bear McCreary

Journey and Transistor soundtracks

March

The Sailor Song - Autoheart

It’s Quiet Uptown - Kelly Clarkson

Fernando - Cher

Dinner & Diatribes - Hozier

The Fly By Night - Taktsugu Muramatsu

Wake Up, Moving On - Kevin Penkin

April

Austin Wintory Radio

Resurrections - Lena Raine

Fight For You - Hidden Citizens

Mine - BazziIn the Flame - Darren Korb

Paper Boats - Darren Korb

May

Thedas Love Them - Trevor Morris

The Dawn Will Come - Trevor Morris

King - Blue October

Lemonworld - Ocean Alley

Still Feel - Half Alive

Carry On - Kygo

Longshot - Catfish and the Bottlemen

Call Off Your Ghost - Dessa

Sucker - Jonas Brother

Power Over Me - Dermot Kennedy

A Hole In the Earth - Daughter

Lunatic Fringe - red Rider

June

Ummah Oum - Kaya Project

The Fortress - Kaya Project

Good Omens Opening Title - David Arnold

A Nightingale Sang In Berkeley Square - Tori Amos

A Future for the Krogan - Christopher Lennertz

Ганджу - brain tumor

last piece | Lykke Li

Bite - Charlie Cunningham

Wait For Me - Hadestown

Nightmare - Halsey

Kaya Project albums!!!

Birds - Imagine Dragons

Crazy - Patsy Cline

Can’t Help Falling in Love - Elvis Presley

in waves playlist

July

in waves playlist

Rime soundtrack

2017 soundtrack

bury a friend - billie eilish

bored - billie eilish

the seed - aurora

how do you - elderbrook

quicksand - x ambassadors

what’s up danger - blackway 

bad guy - billie eilish

sunflower - post malone

scared of the dark - lil wayne

elevate - dj khalil

be still, my tongue - snorri hallgrimsson

dark matter - les friction

must’ve been - chromeo

magnets - disclosure, lorde

secrets - the weeknd

feels like summer - childish gambino

the hunter’s mark - erutan

johanna in space - stephaen sondheim

POSTED FIC

January

N/A

February

children of dust and ash | Bartimaeus |  Bartimaeus/Kitty(/Nathaniel) | 1,801 words |  Kitty summons Bartimaeus on a chilly fall day in her thirty-eighth year. 

March

sweet music playing in the dark | DBH | 1,102 words | “I noticed some time ago that you seem to have an appreciation for jazz.” Connor pauses, his fingers hesitating over an old Billie Holiday album. “I’d wondered if that meant you enjoyed dancing as well.”

April

N/A

May

Radio Ga Ga | Stranger Things | Harringrove | 1,143 words | There’s always another party in Hawkins, Indiana. It would be almost boring if it weren’t for Steve Harrington.

June

Sunlight | Marvel | Loki/Thor | 765 words | They aren’t quite out of the solar system when Loki appears at the arm of Thor’s chair, hair shorn short and a furious snarl on his face. 

July

like the bough of a willow tree | Detroit Become Human | Hank/Connor | 1,214 words | There’s a human lost in his woods.

knocking on heaven's door | Stranger Things | Harringrove | 1,748 words | “Just, get in the fucking car. I’ll drive you home.” Billy looked at him, very seriously, and said, “What if I don’t want to go home?”

WIPS | UNPUBLISHED | ORIGINAL

January

like the bough of a willow tree | DBH | Hank/Connor | 1,286 words | There’s a human lost in his woods. Fae!Connor   

hankcon valentine’s exchange fic | DBH | Hank/Connor | 985 words | slow dancing and kisses in the dark basically

February

N/A

March

N/A

April

Sunlight | Avengers | Loki/Thor | 746 words |  They aren’t quite out of the solar system when Loki appears at the arm of Thor’s chair, hair shorn short and a furious snarl on his face.

May

N/A

June

Untitled Original | Ghost + rain | 817 words

July

Reverse BB | 5.6k

FANMIXES/GRAPHICS

January

N/A

February

N/A

March

June

in waves playlist

#heather says what #scrapbook

[uselessnocturnal]

Lifeline

olivarry week 2018 | day two | mythology

summary; Oliver would argue that Barry is no ordinary soldier. He is not a minor character. He is not a figure in the backgrounds, hidden by Oliver’s shadow. He is compassionate and loyal with a courageous and gentle heart who deserves better than what life throws at him.  He is Oliver’s whole world. His lifeline.

-

Seduced by the promise of a glorious victory, Oliver chooses to fight against the Trojans to rescue Helen of Sparta. Barry, out of love and fear for his friend, follows Oliver into war; little knowing that the following years would test their steadfast friendship and their deepening bond.

notes; it’s seven am in the morning i have not slept and i got way too into this and i feel like i’m going to be at least a day late every day now ughh. I actually had so much fun writing this? It’s so long though you might be better off reading it on ao3. It’s heavily inspired by the song of achilles with touches of percy jackson.

read here on ao3!

In the midst of the blood and war and shouts, Oliver mourns.

It’s not a quiet mourning. Oliver sobs openly – gut wrenching sounds that mix seamlessly with the cries of war. He cradles a man, limp and cold, against his gold-plated chest, staring into his unseeing eyes and shouting at him – pleading with him – to wake up, please, I can’t do this without you. He prays to his mother, Thetis, and to Hermes, a god who favoured the young man Oliver held and yet there is silence.

The gods are busy. Or they don’t care.

If anyone paid closer attention to the greatest demigod of the ages, they’d be surprised. Why this desperate grief? Why mourn a man with such a shocking intensity? Whose death must it have been to undo the mighty Oliver?

Oliver would argue that the man was no ordinary soldier. He was not a minor character. He was not a figure in the backgrounds, hidden by Oliver’s shadow. He was compassionate and loyal with a courageous and gentle heart who deserved better than what life threw at him.

He was Oliver’s whole world. His anchor.

Barry.

In the age of Heroes, there is always one that seems to draw the short end of the stick. Barry was a disappointment to both his father and his kingdom. When other boys were going on their first hunt, Barry could barely raise a spear. Whilst other boys were adorned with laurel wreaths, Barry stood away from the competition. At the age of eleven, he had been taken in by King Robert of Starling Kingdom and lives there, an unwanted shamed prince, under the shadow of the king’s golden son, Oliver.

Oliver, just a year older than Barry, is everything that Barry is not – strong, beautiful, the son of the goddess Thetis – and under normal circumstances their paths would never have crossed. Turns out, this wasn’t normal and for reasons still unknown to Barry, Oliver takes an interest in him.

When he finds out Barry skips training, Oliver starts bringing him to his classes as an excuse. Turns out, Barry can’t carry a tune on the lyre to save his life. When Oliver’s tutor offers him a lyre and he attempts to play it, Oliver’s electric blue eyes stare at the younger boy with a mix of confusion and laughter, “I never thought anyone could make the lyre sound bad.” Oliver confesses, faux-wonder in his tone.

It’s a different feeling to the burning humiliation when he’s teased during training and, though he can feel his cheeks warm, laughter bubbles out of his throat and before long they’re just two boys giggling uncontrollably with an exasperated teacher sitting by helplessly.

Their tentative connection falls into a steadfast friendship. Barry starts spending a lot of time with Oliver, often invited to events that would usually be exclusive to the royal family. Throughout the years, they only grow closer, spending almost every waking moment with each other.

They lie together on the floor by King Robert’s feet as he weaves a tale of gods and creatures for them. At fifteen, Barry’s reached that stage where everything is growing and now he’s just a bundle of awkward limbs that seem to stretch out everywhere. Oliver, on the other hand, has grown into his body extraordinarily well all broad-shouldered and tanned muscle. Barry would complain that it was incredibly unfair if he didn’t secretly think that Oliver was the most beautiful man he had ever seen.

Barely listening to the king’s stories anymore, Oliver nudges Barry with his foot grinning like he’s just played the perfect joke. Barry rolls his eyes, hoping the darkness of the candle-lit room conceals his quiet blush, returning the smile with one of his own, kicking Oliver back eliciting a short laugh from him.

Robert, sensing their fidgeting, sits up straighter in his chair and lets a fond expression (albeit slightly disgruntled at the interruption) cross his face. He rises, gesturing the two to follow as they leave the room to the corridor. Barry stands to the side as they share a quick, private conversation. Robert points at one of the slave girls down the corridor and he’s not quite sure why but his heart drops to his stomach and an uneasy feeling overcomes him.

It’s around this age that both the boys would be starting to bring girls back to their bedrooms. Barry knows for a fact that the other boys Robert fosters have as they brag about their conquest the next day. As far as he was aware, though, Oliver hasn’t had anyone in his room and it seems that the king was getting concerned.

Having finished his conversation, Robert bids the two goodnight and returns to his chambers. The two stand silently for a moment, two silhouettes in the darkness.

Barry plays with his fingers for a moment before meeting Oliver’s striking eyes (even though he’s a year younger, he’s fairly sure he’ll be taller than the demigod) before asking quietly, “What did your father say?”

He can just about detect movement as Oliver shakes his head and responds in a low voice, “He told me that the girl has been staring at me the past few days. He says she’s intrigued.”

“Are you- are you going to bring her to bed?” Barry chooses his words carefully, swallowing the lump in his throat.

He almost can’t hold back a sigh of relief when Oliver shakes his head again.

“My father…” Oliver starts hesitantly, “he said my mother wants me to go and train with Chiron the Centaur and…I want you to come with me.”

Barry’s head spins. This conversation has just taken a complete one-eighty and though the thrill of going somewhere – leaving the palace – with Oliver (!) instructed by a goddess is overwhelming, there’s something about the statement that makes the whole situation seem almost forbidden.

He nods numbly, eagerly and still he asks, “Will your father be okay with it?”

A mischievous grin lights up his face, “Definitely not. You’re going to have to sneak out.”

“You’re joking.” Barry splutters, “I can’t do that!"

Oliver places his hands reassuringly on Barry’s shoulders, “You can,” he takes a step forward so they’re only an inch away from each other and he’s back to staring at those beautiful blue eyes, “I believe in you.”

The idea excites Barry more than it should. He’s barely prepared and he’s doubtful he’ll be able to pull it off but Oliver believes in him.

It fills him with a hope and pride that he’s never actually experienced. He spent the night going over a plan in Oliver’s room until they were pretty sure it was foolproof and he feels almost prepared.

He stands next to the king as Oliver kneels in a goodbye, his father looking on in pride. As Oliver rises and comes over to Barry, Barry can feel his heart clench at the mere thought of Oliver leaving. It’s a ridiculous reaction, especially since he knows he’s literally going to be chasing after than man in a few hours.

“I- I’m going to miss you,” Barry admits as Robert leaves the two alone in the courtyard.

“Me too, Barr,” Oliver confesses, unaware of the butterflies he had released in Barry’s stomach with the new nickname – how much of it was for show, Barry wasn’t sure. He’s not sure where the instinct comes from but he moves in to the man, arms outstretched for a hug. He can see the hesitance in Oliver’s eyes before something like screw it crosses his mind and they embrace each other tightly.

“I’ll see you around.” Oliver breath tickles Barry’s ear, his voice holding a secret only the two of them understand. He pulls away from the hug, cheeks dusted pink, turning sharply with his pouch over his shoulder, sword at his waist and venturing out of the castle and towards Mount Pelion.

King Robert seems to pity Barry, giving him the rest of the day off, leaving Barry with nothing to do until he sets his plan into action. The few hours without Oliver is harder than he’d thought it would have been. Without his company, there isn’t much Barry could do…it had honestly been a while since he felt this lost.

The plan starts after nightfall. It’s a simple plan really – the two had just decided to complicate it to entertain themselves. All Barry really had to do was take his weapons (of which he had little to no skill in using) and just run out of the gate. The hardest part is memorizing where to go. Thankfully this plan harnessed Barry’s few and greatest talents – speed and memory – so it really isn’t too much of a problem.

Running away from the palace is exhilarating. Ignoring the calls of guards who he knows will give up soon enough, this is the best feeling in the world. He can feel the air, the wind on his face and the ground beneath his feet, lifting him up and pushing him forward. The adrenaline pumps through his veins and he’s never felt more powerful before – running towards Oliver.

In the blanket of night, Barry’s hurtling through the jungle at the speed of light until he crashes into Oliver. The two of them fall to the ground and somehow they both know it’s each other. There’s no resistance as they tumble together across the dirt and leaves. Barry laughs breathlessly, flushing, as they roll to a stop, Oliver on top, a small but exasperated smile on his face.

“Sorry,” Barry breathes, “I was just…running.”

A small chuckle escapes Oliver, “It’s okay.”

Oliver’s weight eases off him and he offers a hand to Barry, “C’mon, we’ve got a long trip ahead.”

Barry grins and takes his hand.

It’s a few days until they reach where Chiron’s meant to be. They’re both exhausted and sweaty from the journey and all they want is to collapse. Because, yes, Oliver’s a demigod and he has a ridiculously high stamina and Barry can definitely hold his own but it’s more out of the comfort zone than they had both expected.

“We should be close.” Oliver announces, breathing heavily. Barry nods, a jerky motion, choosing to save his energy about ready to take a break. They both freeze as they hear a rustle in the trees. Oliver’s sword is out in a second and he shoves Barry behind him. A shadow looms over them and they’re met with a centaur…except he wasn’t quite.

Barry couldn’t help but stare, mouth slightly agape, at the human legs molding with the body of a horse. Chiron was different in that aspect, having two front legs that are human whilst other centaurs had the whole body of a horse. Though Barry had heard the rumours and seen the images, he was both fascinated and astonished by seeing the Great Chiron in real life. Chiron looked down on the duo, his dark eyes analytical and stern with a dusty grey beard that reminds Barry how old the centaur is and how much he must have seen. As the centaur towers over them Barry realises: This is what true power is.

“Son of Thetis, Prince Oliver of Starling,” Chiron’s voice, when he speaks, is rough and commanding, leaving no room for questions, “I have been expecting you.”

Oliver bows deeply and Barry scrambles to copy his movements, what were they to do in the presence of someone who has seen it all?

The centaur gestures them to rise and turns to Barry, “Bartholomew,” he starts, noting how Barry stiffens at the use of a name he hadn’t heard since he was exiled, “You are not supposed to be here.”

Quickly, Barry is reduced to nothing but a fumbling mess and crazy hand gestures, “Well- I –uh –just…” The words that leave his mouth are incoherent and he knows it, his cheeks flaming red.

He’s silenced by Oliver’s hand on his shoulder, squeezing it tightly and with the eloquence and confidence of a king responds for Barry, “He’s with me, Chiron.”

Chiron regards them silently, “and if I choose not to take him in?”

“We’re both coming,” Oliver’s confidence wavers at the question, “I –I’m not going without him.”

A knowing look crosses Chiron’s face, fleeting but definitely still there. Barry’s not sure if Oliver notices but puts it out of his mind as Chiron faces Barry once again bending down to him. “So, Bartholomew, this question is for you,” he directs, holding Barry’s gaze, “do you want to train with me?”

“Uh –it’s Barry,” he corrects without thinking, “and…yeah I’d be honoured to be trained by you.”

Chiron nods, seemingly pleased with Barry’s response. He gestures to his horse back, “Climb on and we will begin your training.”

Training with Chiron is hard, even for Oliver. Whilst they spend a lot of their time training with weapons like swords, spears and bows (a weapon which Oliver quickly grows attached to), they discover that Chiron has a lot more to offer than just combat training. The centaur pushes them to keep adapting and changing. He teaches the two simple medical practices – lessons that are not all that interesting to Oliver but something that Barry thrives at.

Often they’re left alone in the woods for a day. A test, Chiron explains, to practice adapting and survival skills. Together, they manage to make it through mostly unscathed, stretching Oliver’s hunting skills and Barry’s medical ones.

Even though they’ve both found something that they’re good at and want to practice further, Chiron forces them to keep up with all the training. Even if it means an exhausted Barry struggling to keep a bow in place and somehow hitting Chiron (who was behind him!) and if it means Oliver just accidentally killed his fake patient by giving him a poison instead of an herb.

It’s tough but together they endure it. They’re bond deepens until the word ‘friends’ can’t describe it. It’s more than that. They’re partners – they have each other’s backs, they understand the other without having to say a word. A connection like this, Chiron muses as he observes the boys (men – Oliver has just turned eighteen), it is something precious and rare and he hopes that the terrors of the future will not ruin that.

There’s a prophecy, you see, that Thetis revealed to Chiron a few months back. Oliver has two fates: to gain glory and die young or live a long and uneventful life of obscurity. Chiron barely had to take one look at the man and know which Oliver would choose. It isn’t that Oliver craves glory, but that he seeks to save his city. And Barry, Chiron is sure, will follow Oliver in a heartbeat wherever the man went. Regardless, they would both find themselves on a battlefield.

So when the announcement reaches the hills of Mount Pelion, Chiron doesn’t hide it from either of them.

“This is from King Menelaus?” Barry confirms brows furrowed in thought, though he knows that this is primarily Oliver’s decision.

“King Agamemnon of Greece, actually,” Oliver corrects distractedly, skimming the paper Chiron had passed to him, “Helen of Sparta has been kidnapped by the prince of Troy.”

Helen of Sparta. Now, there was a name Barry could remember from Robert’s stories. She is supposedly the daughter of Zeus and the most beautiful woman in the world. She had married Menelaus and now, for some reason, has been kidnapped by Paris, the younger prince of Troy. The situation itself seemed straightforward enough. Attack Troy. Rescue Helen. Do this by recruiting the greatest heroes of their time.

Barry can tell by the light in Oliver’s eyes that he’s intrigued or more likely, that he’s already decided he wants to go. Chiron had told Oliver in confidence about the prophecy and Oliver had of course told Barry (why did Chiron even attempt to keep it a secret he himself wasn’t sure). There was nothing more Barry wanted to do but just keep Oliver here – safe – at least for a little longer. At the time, as they rested in the comfort of Chiron’s cave upon a bed of emerald moss, the thought of war had seemed so distant.

“I’m going.” Oliver declares, leaving no room for argument, though he looks towards Barry slightly uncertainly.

Barry offers up a small smile and nods his encouragement, “I’m coming with you.” There’s an obvious relaxation in Oliver’s shoulders as he turns to retreat into the cave to pack, leaving Barry alone with Chiron.

“What troubles you, Bartholomew?” Barry supposes he shouldn’t be surprised by Chiron’s intuition or his persistent use of his full name, for that matter.

He shrugs, half-heartedly, “Is there any other way we can protect him?” he asks, letting a touch of desperation leak into his words, “I just-” Barry bites his lip, “I don’t want to lose him so soon.”

A despondent expression decorates Chiron’s aged face, “Fate has a funny way of working out…” he hesitates, “there is one way he can be better protected. But you should be warned it is a risky move for him.”

Barry swallows the lump in his throat but nods, waiting for Chiron to continue. To his surprise, he calls Oliver back. Barry looks at the centaur questioningly but is ignored.

“There is one more task I need you to fulfill.” Chiron instructs, “If you want to survive longer in this war, you need to bathe in the River Styx.”

Both pairs of eyes widen. “I thought the Styx was a myth.” Oliver states, questioningly, “Would I really become invincible?”

Chiron gives them both one of those I know all looks that they’ve grown accustomed to. “Maybe in a couple of millennial, people will think you’re myths,” his eyes sparkle for a moment but darken once again as he continues, “It will be a difficult journey. That you’ll have to take alone.”

Almost immediately, the men’s eyes jump to each other as they exchange a silent conversation until they reach an agreement. It’s almost amusing how they seem to instantly jump to each other for support, Chiron marvels; it has been a while since he has seen a love so strong.

“I’ll do it.” And with those three words, Oliver seals his fate.

Barry has to wait at Mount Pelion. It’s an agonising wait, especially since he doesn’t know whether Oliver is alive. He finds himself fretting about the man day and night. It’s almost like it physically pains him to be away from Oliver. He figures out early on the real reason why Oliver has to carry out the quest alone.

“You separated us on purpose, didn’t you?” Barry accuses Chiron on the cliff outside his cave, sounding more resigned than angry.

The wise centaur shrugs, facing the overlooking lake, “Why exactly would you think that?”

“Because we rely on each other too much. We’re too close?” Barry’s not entirely sure what the reason is, “Together we’re weak?”

At this suggestion, Chiron turns sharply towards Barry, “That is entirely false. I believe that together you are both stronger.”

He leans closer, his beard almost tickling Barry’s face “I also believe that you two have a loyalty towards each other that – if left uncontrolled – could lead either of you with a tough choice: to save the world or Oliver.”

Without sparing Barry an answer, the centaur gallops down the mountain and into the greens below. Logically, Barry knows he should save the world. That’s what a hero does after all. But in his heart, he realises that he would do anything to save Oliver even if it did mean bringing the world down in his wake.

He also realises that he loves Oliver. It’s a fierce love that Barry had never nurtured before but he had brushed it aside, thinking it may have just been a childhood crush. They had kissed and touched each other a few times whilst they were at Mount Pelion (usually when Chiron abandoned them for the night – it kept them warm!). Nothing more than that and although the feeling left both of them warm and buzzing with the heated touch of the other, it had never developed into something deeper.

Presumably, their love wasn’t just about the physical aspect. It was obvious in the way they move closer together when they were uncertain and confide everything in each other. It was obvious in the way they looked at each other when the other wasn’t looking and how they’re minds always jumped first to the protection of the other.

Barry doesn’t need to wonder if Oliver loves him. He knows that he does – it’s just that maybe Oliver hasn’t realised it yet. And even if he does, neither of them will know where to go from there. Although not frowned upon, most couples in Greece were of a different sex – and that was mainly for childbirth. If Oliver had been any other man in the city, it would not matter that he doesn’t have children. But as a prince, the eldest and only son of Robert no less, it was absolutely essential for him to bear a son to be the next in line to the throne.

He forces the thoughts out of his mind. There is no use in worrying about something that may not even happen, especially with the war coming up and the fact that Oliver still isn’t back yet.

Oliver returns a few days later, his strides are more confident and Barry can almost see a certain aura around him that screams powerful demigod. Yet, there’s a slight darkness to his eyes, a weight on his shoulders dragging him back. When he sees Barry though, his eyes brighten and he breaks into a jog towards the other man. Barry, grateful to every god and goddess that Oliver is alive, is already running towards Oliver for a very much longed for hug.

He gets something better.

Barry barely has his arms around Oliver when the stronger man picks him up so Barry ends up straddling Oliver, his legs wrapped around Oliver’s waist, he’s pressed up against his bare chest and his face is only a few inches apart.

“What was that–” He’s cut off as Oliver’s lips crash into his – it’s a desperate, hungry kiss mixed with blood and salt. A kiss more passionate than either of them had ever shared.

When they finally pull away from each other, lips red and swollen, Barry’s hazel-green eyes stare into Oliver’s a question evident.

“I’ll tell you later,” Oliver promises, “I just know that…I don’t want you to leave my side.” He mumbles, letting Barry slide down and pressing a kiss to the younger man’s forehead.

A flush spreads across Barry’s face, coupled with a smile, “I’d never leave your side, Ollie.” It’s not the first time Barry’s used that nickname and yet it sets Oliver’s heart on fire because it’s the first time it means something more.

Later doesn’t seem to come. As the two pack their sacks with their sparse belongings and some food for the journey, Oliver seems to delve into a spot of quiet consideration. Barry chooses not to push, trusting that Oliver will tell him when he wanted to, but worries silently by his side, hoping that no matter what happened, they would face it together.

When they reach Troy, the war has already gone on for five months and is in full chaos. There’s no way to tell which side is winning – there are high casualty counts on both. They’d like to believe that the Greeks are at an advantage with great heroes to help them like Heracles and Odysseus. And now, Oliver.

Barry feels like it’s obvious when Oliver joins the war. Even without prior experience, Oliver seems so…at ease with war. He makes fighting seem like a mesmerizing hacking art. His spear moves faster than the eye can follow, never stopping, ever-changing. It whirls, flashing forward, reverses, then flashes behind. On the battlefield, it is Oliver who leads men into victory, even though he is not the commander. It is Oliver who slays more of the Trojans than all the other Greeks do in total. He seems to be an unstoppable force and the Greeks love him for it.

They shower him in praises at the campsite; raise him on their shields as they return from their most recently won battle. The tent that Oliver shares with Barry soon becomes crowded with loot and other spoils of war. Everyone wants to talk to the greatest demigod of the ages.

Oliver, whilst civil in front of the soldiers, seeks solace after every battle with Barry. They keep their relationship quiet, sneaking kisses between battles and stealing touches every time their paths crossed. As the Greeks slept through the night, Barry and Oliver would bask in each other’s warmth, savouring each and every short moment they could share together.

At first, Barry is uncomfortable at the prospect of war, hesitant because there must be another way rather than killing. He had brought the worry up to Oliver once and the man had looked at him strangely. There is no other way, he’d said, not unkindly, he kidnapped a king’s wife. Oliver hadn’t laughed at him but he had been concerned and almost tried to stop Barry from going on the battlefield – worried that it would be too much for him to handle.

It took a lot in Barry not to snap back that he could handle himself. He may not be the most skilled, but gods help him if he sits by in Oliver’s tent as every other man goes out and fights for his country.

The war stretches on longer than they expect. What starts out as a couple of months turns into a year, which extends even longer to six years. There are heavy losses on both sides and yet neither side appears to give. At this point, Barry wonders if anyone actually knows what the Greeks had started out fighting for. If they still remembered Helen of Sparta who could be locked away in her ivory tower, watching as men still fought and died for her. It must be a difficult existence.

Barry spends his time either on the battle, barely scraping death, or in the Greeks’ temporary medical bay of the day. He does admit he likes it there more than he ever did on the battlefield. Here, he heals people with the skills Chiron taught him. He learns their names, faces and of their families back at home and listens to how much they misses them. This war has gone too long, men would often complain after thanking Barry, I just want to go home.

Home…Barry muses. Unlike these men, he has no connections outside of the battlefield. Yes, he misses Mount Pelion with its groves and rivers and Chiron always watching. But for him, home was wherever Oliver was.

Their relationship was still going strong over the course of six years. It was difficult to keep the façade, especially when King Menelaus keeps questioning why Oliver won’t take a slave girl for his pleasure when Oliver seems to capture so many of them. It wasn’t just because of Barry that Oliver wouldn’t keep the slaves.

He’d confided in Barry one night, “I feel powerful on the field…like I can do anything. But every life I take…I feel like I’m trading away…little pieces of myself…everything that makes me good.” He had hesitated as Barry squeezed his hand encouragingly, “I thought, if I didn’t keep the slaves…at least they wouldn’t have to look at the face that captured them in the first place.”

Barry had nodded in understanding, and drew the man into a kiss and capturing his cheeks with his hands as he pulled away. “You have nothing to compensate for,” he’d said, “You would not have come out the other side of this as a hero, if you didn’t have a light inside of you.”

The words had brought tears to Oliver’s eyes as he had let the younger man draw him close and rested in his protection.

A few weeks later, Oliver brings a girl to their tent. She’s dark-skinned with brown wavy hair and chocolate eyes. Barry and Oliver can barely communicate with her, only just getting across their names and receiving hers in turn – Iris.

Even with the communication barrier, Iris is incredibly talented with healing, making her useful in the med bay. As they treat the men, Barry manages to teach her little pieces of Greek and in turn she teaches him Latin, making it so that they could have basic conversations with each other.

They grow close. It’s a nice feeling to have an actual friend to talk to. They talk about anything they can, heavily avoiding the topic of war (to be fair it’s not in either of their vocabulary). Only after Oliver storms out of the tent upon seeing Barry and Iris laughing together does Iris bring it up.

“Oliver…uh…upset? Why?” She asks in her broken Greek though Barry gets the gist of her sentence even before she has to ask.

He hesitates for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck, “I- He might be…jealous?” He tests the word, meeting her eyes to convey his message. He’s fairly sure she doesn’t understand the actual word but she already knows why Oliver’s upset.

“You two are…happy.” She states, smiling widely at him, “I go.” She points to the tent flap, as Barry stands up frantically, waving his hands in a panic.

Laughing at his concern that he’d hurt her feelings she puts her hands out to pacify him, “I help.” she punctuates her sentence with a wink, leaving Barry in a state of realisation as she leaves him alone in the tent.

Sure enough, Oliver returns seconds later, simmering with barely controlled rage.

“Ollie, what’s wrong?” Barry asks, concern colouring his tone.

Oliver shakes his head, “Look, I just… I need to clarify. Are you…doing anything with that girl?”

“Iris,” Barry corrects automatically, “and no, of course not!” I love you lingers on his tongue but it just seems too soon.

Oliver bites his lip and doesn’t meet Barry’s eyes, clearly not completely at ease.

“What else happened?” Barry pushes gently.

He sighs before delving into an explanation, “King Agamemnon captured a daughter of a priestess of Apollo and refuses to give her back even though Apollo has threatened,” Oliver clenches his fist, voice hardening, “to send a plague throughout our camps. I’ve tried to reason with him – to talk some sense into him – but he refuses unless-”

He hesitates, meeting Barry’s eyes carefully, “Unless I give him Iris.”

Barry’s world seems to stop for a second, glitch and then carry on, “I’m sorry –what?”

Oliver purses his lips and drops his gaze, nodding once more.

“No. No.” Barry repeats, coming up close to Oliver, “you can’t do this. There has to be something- ”

“There isn’t anything!” Oliver all but shouts in his face. Barry stares at him for a moment stunned as Oliver closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, “The plague is already spreading. Soldiers are getting sick. They’re going to the medical tent. That’s where you are.”

He swallows and raises his eyes to the roof of the tent, closing them and then looking Barry straight in the eyes, “I can’t – I don’t want you to get infected.” Oliver’s eyes are glistening now and Barry understands now, why Oliver wants to do what he’s going to do.

“Look, the king promised he wouldn’t harm her and I just thought…”

Barry nods as Oliver pulls him into an embrace, “I understand…just let me talk to her.”

The conversation with Iris is a quick but tearful one. They convey their goodbyes in long hugs and he wishes her luck as Oliver takes her away to King Agamemnon.

Barry hoped everything would have been resolved in that moment. His heart plunges when Oliver strides back in to the tent and sits himself on their bed, fuming in quiet rage. Barry doesn’t ask questions this time. Instead he waits for Oliver to open up to him. There’s a long almost suffocating silence in the tent.

“I’m not fighting anymore.” Oliver states, his voice quiet and even. The proclamation startles Barry out of his spot on the cushions.

“What do you mean – What? Why?” Barry splutters. He can’t be serious. The Greeks – we – can’t win without him.

Oliver shakes his head stiffly, “Agamemnon – the king – he’s taken my honour.”

“You’re going to let the Greeks lose because the king wounded your pride?” Barry demands, infuriated. This is absolutely ridiculous.

“The Greeks aren’t going to lose.” Oliver growls, “He’s ruined my reputation! Everything I’ve built up over the years is overlooked now because he took my slave from me unwillingly!”

“You’re reputation?” Barry questions incredulously, “Oliver, you can easily get that back up within a battle. Nothing has been taken away from you! And Iris, she isn’t some object to be tossed around! She’s a person!”

“You can’t just abandon us because of something as petty as this. We need you.”

“When did it change from ‘the Greeks’ to ‘us’?” Oliver snaps, “When were you suddenly such a supportive member of their cause? You told me yourself: You didn’t think this was right.”

“And if you don’t help them, they’re going to die, Ollie. And you don’t want that on your conscience.” Barry’s voice breaks slightly as he stares into his lover’s beautiful, broken blue eyes. He can tell he’s gotten through to Oliver because of the flicker of regret that dances across his eyes.

A horn sounds in the distance – the signal for a battle about to come.

The two of them stare each other down in the doorway of the tent, Barry urging Oliver to go and Oliver wanting to go but hesitating to nurse his pride. Sighing Barry gathers Oliver’s armour.

“Just this once, I’ll go out in your armour,” he compromises, not letting Oliver speak, “we can’t let them lose any of the battles when we’re so close to defeating the Trojans.”

“Hopefully, just seeing your armour alone will scare people away.” Barry shrugs, “Even then, I should have enough skill to manage myself.”

Oliver looks doubtful at the idea, concern written across his face and yet, still too stubborn to take up the armour himself. One day, Barry swore, Oliver’s pride would be his downfall.

“I’ll lead them well,” Barry reassures Oliver, adjusting the straps of armour to fit him a bit better.

“I know you will.” Oliver murmurs, pulling the man into a final kiss before he left. It’s a soft and quick kiss before Barry moves away, smiling at his best friend and lover.

“Come back to me,” he pleads, “As soon as you beat the Trojans back to their ships bring the armour back and I’ll take over.”

“I’ll do whatever I have to.” Barry promises.

He takes to commanding with a surprising amount of ease. With people already believing he was Oliver, it isn’t difficult to have the sway he needs to convince them to attack. Though his technique is not as swift as Oliver’s, Barry is able to disarm and injure many of the Trojan army. He understands now, why Oliver is so involved in fighting. There’s a tiny taste of power every time a man falls, coupled with a bitter taste in his mouth that quickly diminishes the euphoria. It does give him that tiny boost of confidence, though.

Barry had been involved in enough battle plans to know a good strategy and he managed to push the Trojans back almost, dare he say it, easily. It makes a further attack all too tempting.

In a split second decision, he continues the fight, leading the Greeks towards the already weakened Trojans in an attack that Barry is almost sure they can win. He knows he’s smart enough to pull it off.

As they’re charging to attack, Barry stops suddenly. His mind completely blank – wiped clean – so that he can’t even remember what he’s doing, he doesn’t even know what he’s doing. A single name sits on his lips as he tries to shake off the disorientation and remember what he is doing. It’s important. It’s a mission. I was doing it for…for… the Greeks no…for Oliver.

And it’s with Oliver’s name that the disorientation clears and his wits return to him. Barry can barely understand what just happens but he doesn’t have time. He needs to find Oliver and –

a sharp pain blossoms from the middle of his stomach. He clutches blindly at the shaft of a spear, searching for the end of it until – oh – it’s inside him. Barry stumbles backwards, for a battlefield it’s surprisingly empty until he realises he’s no longer on the field.

He must have chased the man – Hector, prince of Troy – around the walls unknowingly. But how did that happen? Surely, Barry couldn’t have been stupid enough – the gods. A god must have cursed him – taken his wits in that moment – weakened him so that Hector could finish him off.

Barry is no longer wearing Oliver’s armour. Hector must have taken it before he retreated. “Oliver,” he mumbles half-deliriously, “I need to get the armour to him.” A face hovers over his, blue-eyes but Not Oliver because this man does not have the same chiseled jaw as Oliver. Voices are swimming in his head, blending together so they don’t make sense.

There’s just one voice he wants to hear. “Oliver.”

The man, King Menelaus, protecting his body nods and in a moment of clarity Barry hears, “I’ve sent someone to get him.”

His body relaxes in relief. Oliver is coming.

The spear sends a last pulsing, shuddering throb throughout his body. Barry’s eyes close. A final, trembling breath leaves his lips. And then, as Oliver sprints across the field calling Barry’s name, Barry lets go.

In the midst of the blood and war and shouts, Oliver mourns.

He had run straight into the midst of all the chaos with only one man in mind – Barry. He finds him soon enough or rather his body, protected by King Menelaus and Ajax. Barry is laying so incredibly still, a spear buried in his stomach, a small pool of coppery blood watering the ground beneath him.

He gathers the man up in his arms. He’s so cold – nothing like the warmth Barry radiates the moment he steps into a room. It’s so rare to see Barry still – there had barely been a moment where the boy hadn’t been moving. He was always fidgeting with something or other or even when he was standing still… it felt like he was flittering.

It’s not a quiet mourning. Oliver sobs openly – gut wrenching sounds that mix seamlessly with the cries of war. He cradles a man, limp and cold, against his gold-plated chest, staring into his unseeing eyes and shouting at him – pleading with him – to wake up, please, I’m sorry, Barry please, I can’t do this without you. Barry. He prays to his mother, Thetis, and to Hermes, a god who favoured the young man Oliver held and yet there is silence.

The gods are busy. Or they don’t care.

If anyone paid closer attention to the greatest demigod of the ages, they’d be surprised. Why this desperate grief? Why mourn a man with such a shocking intensity? Whose death must it have been to undo the mighty Oliver?

Oliver would argue that Barry was no ordinary soldier. He was not a minor character. He was not a figure in the backgrounds, hidden by Oliver’s shadow. He was compassionate and loyal with a courageous and gentle heart who deserved better than what life threw at him.

He was Oliver’s whole world. His anchor.

Barry. He’s crying now, choking on his grief, tears mingling with the sweat on his face and dampening Barry’s tunic as he holds the man closer to his heart.

Barry was more than a lover. He was Oliver’s best friend and closest confidant. They were partners who held each other on a special level of trust. Barry had been the first person he had thought of when

the nymph of the river Styx had said, “You need a mortal point.”

“A what?” Oliver had asked. A mortal point for an invincible body? That sounded ridiculous.

Styx, had calmly uncreased the folds in her dress, sighing as though she had heard this kind of incredulity all before. “You need to stay anchored to your mortal life.”

When she’s met with even more confusion she rolls her eyes, “Imagine a spot on your body that will remain vulnerable. This is where your soul will anchor your body to the world. If you lose sight of what keeps you mortal, the River Styx will burn you to ashes. And you will cease to exist.”

Oliver had stared at her for a moment and then at the river. Thinking carefully before he chose, he concentrated on a small spot under his left armpit. It was unlikely that anyone would aim a weapon there and, with armour, it would be relatively well protected.

Closing his eyes to brace himself, he imagined a string like a bungee cord connecting him to the riverbank. Without thinking, he jumps.

It’s a terrifying moment when everything burns and he can’t control his muscles. Every nerve was dissolving, screaming in pain. This was one of his first real battles. And he was already losing.

Oliver could feel his soul literally burning away, being ripped from his body. His hands and feet felt like they were melting into the river. He wanted to give up.

But he couldn’t.

“Oliver! The cord!” Oliver could hear a voice through the murky water, “Remember your lifeline.”

Oliver focused on the cord, imagining it thicker and stronger, ignoring the pain and the oh gods, what’s my name. He felt a tug through the cord and looked up.

Barry stood on the bank, smiling down at Oliver, “Hold on, Ollie! I’ll give you a hand.”

Barry’s voice was clearer now. Oliver could feel himself stop dissolving.

“Come on,” Barry says, a light in those beautiful hazel-green eyes, “Take my hand.”

Memories came rushing back, sharper and clearer than before. Memories of him with Barry in the palace in Starling, plotting to escape together, tasting the sweet fruits of the forest Chiron offered. The current stopped pushing him down. His name was Oliver. He reached up and took Barry’s hand.

He had emerged from the river, gasping and spluttering, scanning the area for Barry even though Oliver knew he shouldn’t be there. It had seemed so real. No one was there but Styx, relaxing on a rock, looking only mildly impressed that he’d survived.

The pain had subsided. He wasn’t sure if it had worked but…at least he was alive.

“Thank you, Lady Styx.” Oliver bows, not entirely sure how to treat a river nymph.

Styx shrugs indifferently, “You’ve just committed yourself to a lifetime or hardships.” She hops off the rock and rises to his height. “I’ll give you a piece of advice though.”

“Whoever you saw…whoever pulled you out? He is your real lifeline. You have to protect him because without him, you’ll lose all sense of mortality. It won’t be a fast process but his death will weaken you. Do not, under any circumstances,

lose Barry. Oliver had lost Barry.

Barry, who on his journey back, Oliver had realised he loved with a burning passion.

Barry who only wanted the best for everyone.

Barry who Oliver had tried so hard to protect just for his arrogance to get in the way and now…

Barry was gone.

#olivarryweek2018 #ancient greece au #olivarry #oliver queen #barry allen #song of achilles #barry as patroclus #oliver as achilles #angst #lots of it #but also fluff #i hope for your sake that the line break works #lyss writes #arrowverse is whack #greek mythology au

[a-gency]

Although the #World is full of suffering, it is also full of overcoming it.

- Helen Keller

It’s always #Mourning somewhere...

#Sculptor #JSewardJohnsonJr has sadly passed away at 89.

His #Life like works often surprised the passers-by. One #Sculpture in particular became more than a curiosity.

“Double Check” a seated #Businessman reviewing the contents of his briefcase was in Liberty Park near the #WorldTradeCenter when the attacks of September 11, 2001, left the area in ruins. Many other #Artworks in the buildings and outside were destroyed that day, but the man with the briefcase survived, covered in debris. The sculpture is so lifelike that firefighters are said to have tried to rescue it. It became a makeshift #Memorial, a #Symbol of #Endurance to some, a reminder of the bodies never recovered to others. In 2006 it was installed in the newly named Zuccotti Park, not far from its original spot.

“I thought of him as a businessman #Everyman - with his briefcase - getting ready for his next appointment, and people identified with him. So when he #Survived, it was as if he was one of them - surviving as well.”

#PeopleAreNeverJustNumbers and #WeRememberYou