#<- said as someone who's been disappointed by team dark fics before that barely mention him

[generic-sonic-fan]

My Soul To Keep

Summary: There’s been a close call. Rouge nearly doesn’t make it, leaving Shadow panicky and uncertain. To allay his fears, Team Dark sits down and discusses their plans for the worst case scenario. 

3913 words

Rouge comes home from the hospital three days later.

Omega’s carrying her bag, and Shadow is carrying her, helping her limp over to the couch. The baggy shirt she’s wearing covers the bandages criss-crossed over her stomach. He and Omega had spent those three days, before she got home, blaming themselves and each other. Too slow. Distracted. Extraneous variables. Stupid mistake. They’d slinged it all, at this point, gotten it out of their systems so that she didn’t have to hear the pity party. 

It doesn’t stop Shadow’s hands from shaking. 

“Set me down, riiiiiiiiiiiiiight here.” Rouge groans as she slides onto the couch cushions. “And set my stuff in the bedroom, okay, big boy?”

Omega tromps off down the hall. 

“Anything you need?” Shadow asks.

“More of the happy stuff they have at the hospital.”

“You're clear for another dose of painkillers in three hours and twelve minutes. You need water, and food, if you think you can keep it down.”

“Not hungry, but I’m not going to lose my lunch over it. Did you two eat all the twinkies while I was gone?”

“I AM INCAPABLE OF CONSUMING ORGANIC SUBSTANCES.” Omega returns from the hall. 

Shadow goes to the kitchen and fills a tall glass of water. He sets this on the end table beside her. He then retrieves a box of saltine crackers from where they've been shoved in the back of the pantry. 

“. . . not what twinkie wrappers sound like.” Rouge mumbles from the couch. 

He places the saltines beside her as well. “If you want something sweet, I can make you some tea.”

“Too hot. I’m boiling already.”

“Omega, grab an ice tray, then?”

“YOU FORGOT TO SAY THE MAGIC WORD.”

Rouge snorts. She’s trying not to laugh, but her chest shakes anyway, and she cringes as she smiles. 

“Please?” Shadow sighs.

Omega goes to the freezer. Shadow opens the tea drawer and retrieves the peach-and-ginger blend. He grabs a mug from the cupboard, fills it with water, then sticks it in the microwave. Three minutes later, the timer dings. Shadow dips the tea bag into the just-boiling water and waits. Omega returns with the ice tray and starts fishing the cubes into a water bottle. The tea bag is removed, sugar added, and the concoction poured over the ice, sealed over with a lid and straw. Shadow delivers it into Rouge’s waiting hands. 

“You’re too good for me.” She murmurs. 

“CORRECT. I AM.” Omega touts from the kitchen.

“Stop making her laugh.” Shadow says. 

It’s too late, of course. She’s already giggling between pained gasps. 

“SHE WILL BE ALRIGHT. IF LAUGHTER COULD KILL, I WOULD ALREADY BE A COMEDIAN.”

“You’re enough of a clown for it.” Rouge says. 

Now Shadow’s laughing, too, despite himself. Rouge takes a big sip of her tea, letting out a faint “Mmmm” as she sucks it down the straw. She then reaches the cup over to the end table. Her hand slips, the cup falls. 

She jerks forward to try and catch it and now there’s little dots of red poking through her oversized shirt. 

Shadow grabs her shoulders and pushes her back against the couch cushions. He holds her down, rips her shirt open, and feels along the bandages. His fingers grow damp. He presses a firm palm down. She cries out.

“Stay still!” He screams back. 

His damn hand won’t stop shaking. She’s bleeding and he can’t stop shaking and it’s not helping and he needs to do better he needs to be better he needs to STOP SHAKING-

The world around slows. Breathe, in and out. Stop the bleeding. Apologize. Check the IV. Find a doctor onboard to rebind her wounds. 

“I’m sorry.” Shadow chokes out. “The pressure will stop the bleeding-”

“THE BLEEDING HAS CEASED. STOP APPLYING PRESSURE.”

Shadow lifts his palm. He checks her own. There’s no IV line. There’s. . .

“SLOW YOUR BREATHING. IT IS ADVISABLE THAT YOU EXCUSE YOURSELF TO YOUR ROOM TO CALM DOWN. I WILL ATTEND TO ROUGE. MY KNOWLEDGE OF DESTROYING MEATBAG ANATOMY ALSO LENDS WELL ENOUGH TO MAINTAINING IT.”

A hand on his shoulder. 

“SHE WILL BE ALRIGHT. GO.”

He stands. The world sways. His pulse is roaring in his ears and energy crackles at his fingertips. He focuses it without needing to utter the words, and with a resounding crack he’s back in his room. He falls onto the bed, curls himself under the weighted blanket, and lets the burning tears finally fall out of his eyes. 

After some amount of time shaking and sobbing like the pathetic coward he is, he sticks his head out of the blanket and listens. Omega is saying something he can’t make out. Then, Rouge’s voice, just barely audible. The walls shake with Omega’s footsteps coming down the hall. Shadow untangles himself from the blanket and sets his feet against the ground.

“ROUGE HAS INSTRUCTED ME TO ‘CHECK IN’ ON YOUR EMOTIONAL STATE.” Omega opens the door.

“How is she?”

“AS I HAVE SAID PRIOR: SHE IS ALRIGHT.”

Of course she is. Of fucking course she is. Just a tiny bit of blood and he lost his goddamn mind about it. He grabs at his quills, pulling them just hard enough to hurt. 

“WHAT IS YOUR STATUS?”

“I’m fine.”

“ROUGE SHOWED ME A MEME SHE FOUND ‘RELATABLE’ ON HER INSTAGRAM FEED TWO MONTHS AND SIX DAYS AGO. THE MEME STATED THAT ‘FINE’ STOOD FOR ‘FREAKED OUT, INSECURE, NEUROTIC, AND EMOTIONAL’. UNDER THIS DEFINITION, YOU ARE INDEED ‘FINE’.”

“Shut up! Leave me alone!”

“NOTED.”

Omega leaves. Shadow’s tempted to tear his quills all the way out, but that would leave him with a migraine, and he can’t be where he’s needed if he can hardly stand. Not that he’s much help to anyone. Not like he’d do anything other than flip out at the slightest provocation. Might as well start screaming her name around to complete the look, right?

He immediately catches that thought and curls in on himself. He whispers an apology against his fur, lips forming the shape of the name. Lips part. Teeth come together. Mouth opens, ending on the “ah”. He’s sorry he even thought to take her name in vain. She doesn't deserve it.

She didn’t deserve any of it. Neither does Rouge. He knows he’s projecting; Rouge hates it when he does that. She doesn’t say anything but he knows she hates it. 

“ROUGE IS REQUESTING TO SEE YOU.”

Omega stands in the doorway again. Shadow slides off the bed. They return to the living room.

“I’m sorry.” He says the moment his eyes hit the couch. 

“It’s okay.” Rouge replies. She’s wearing a different t-shirt now. The old one is bunched on the coffee table. It smells of ginger and peach. 

“I’ll do better next time.”

“Well, gee, it’s almost like your best friend could’ve died. I’d be more offended if this didn’t happen at some point.”

He’d been hoping this wouldn’t happen at all, but he doesn’t tell her that. The less therapy she has to give while she herself should be the one getting taken care of, the better.

“IT IS ONLY LOGICAL FOR YOUR MEATBAG BRAIN TO BE EXPERIENCING HIGH LEVELS OF STRESS IN THIS SCENARIO.”

“Not helping, Omega.” Rouge says.

“I AM FORTUNATE TO NOT EXPERIENCE SUCH STRESS. HOWEVER, IN THE DAYS PRECEDING TO NOW, MY RAGE LEVELS HAVE BEEN HEIGHTENED TO THE POINT OF MY PROCESSOR EXPERIENCING OVERHEAT WARNINGS.”

“I know. You yelled at me plenty about it.” Shadow replies.

“I RAGE. I RAGE AT THE MAN WHO IS RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS INJURY.” Omega slams his fists together. “I SHALL RIP HIM INTO 1,684 TINY LITTLE PIECES UPON OUR NEXT ENCOUNTER.” 

“You sure will.” Rouge murmurs. 

“AND YOU, SHADOW?”

“I’m going to start taking solo missions. Permanently”

“Don’t you dare.”

“DON’T YOU DARE.”

“You only have so much time. I’m not going to have that taken away from you.”

“FALSE. I AM A ROBOT. MY LIFESPAN IS THEORETICALLY AS INFINITE AS YOURS-”

“Shut your trap, both of you!” Rouge says. “It doesn’t matter who’s immortal and bulletproof and ‘Ultimate’ or whatever. You two aren’t so invincible either. You’re not leaving me behind.”

“I’m not-!” Shadow stops himself. “Please, Rouge.” 

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, cringing as her chest falls up and down. She shakes her head. “I get it. I know why you’re on about this so much. But I don’t know what to say other than that you can’t stop me.”

A pause. Projecting, again. He grits his teeth. He doesn't say anything.

“I’m going to get hurt. Hell, I’m going to die someday. You’re gonna have to get over that because I’m not about to stop living my life over it.”

“I know.” 

“YOU KNOW THE VAGUE CONCEPT, IN THEORY. IT MAY HELP IF WE DISCUSS MORE CONCRETE DETAILS.”

“What do you mean?” Rouge asks. 

“ROUGE, WHAT SHALL WE DO IN THE EVENT OF YOUR DEATH?”

Rouge’s eyes flick once over Shadow’s face, before puzzling in the direction of Omega. “As in, funerals, and the like?”

“CORRECT. THROUGH MY RESEARCH INTO THE DEATH AND DESTRUCTION OF MEATBAGS, I HAVE DISCOVERED THAT THERE ARE MANY WAYS TO TEND TO A BODY. SOME ARE MORE RITUALISTIC THAN OTHERS.”

“We can talk about this later.” Rouge glances back to Shadow. 

She’s begging Omega, with her eyes, to notice what she imagines are eggshells, a covert intention made obvious by her pain and fatigue. It stings a little to think that she’s so concerned with setting him off again.

“Actually,” Shadow finds a spot on the floor and sits down. “I would like to know now.”

“You sure?”

“Maria and I talked about this sometimes.” The name is still heavy in his mouth, and leaves a bitter aftertaste, but he says it with as much normality as he can muster. 

“BECAUSE OF HER TERMINAL DIAGNOSIS, CORRECT?”

Shadow nods.

“Makes sense.” Rouge says. 

“So. . . what do you want me to do when you are gone?” Shadow asks. 

“You’re being a little presumptuous there, hun. I’m not the only one who can catch bullets. Or burn up upon re-entry, as the case may be for some of us.”

“HA. HA. HA.” Omega vibrates up and down.

“I’m being serious! Tell me- what do you want me to do?”

“Guess I should get around to penning a will, shouldn’t I? I’m not letting my collection go to just anyone.”

“I WOULD REQUEST CUSTODY OF YOUR EXTENSIVE GEMSTONE COLLECTION.”

“Why?”

“TO SELL AND PURCHASE MORE WEAPONS WITH.”

“My point exactly.” Rouge rolls her eyes. “But besides that. . . well, I’m not going to lie, I actually have thought about this a fair amount. Shadow, Omega, I’m reserving my place on your fireplace mantle.”

“We don’t have a fireplace?”

“Not yet, silly. In the future, when you’re both rich and famous and have a house with one. I want the spot right and center. My Nan had her urn on Mama’s fireplace, but she got shoved behind pictures of the family dog. If you do that to me, I’m coming back to haunt your asses.”

“Are you sure you want your ashes kept in one place?”

“Well, someone has to keep an eye on you two.”

“TO ENSURE THAT I DO NOT SELL YOUR EXTENSIVE GEM COLLECTION?”

“Not just that. But to make sure you’re doing okay, you know? And so that you have something to look at and remember me by.”

“MY MEMORY BANKS, UNLIKE YOUR FEEBLE ORGANIC BRAINS, DO NOT REQUIRE SUCH JOGGING. HOWEVER. . . I UNDERSTAND THE INTENDED SENTIMENT. SURROUNDING ONESELF WITH OBJECTS THAT ARE PLEASING IS A DESIRABLE OBJECTIVE.”

“'Pleasing'? Oh please, it’s going to be absolutely lavish. I’ll put that in the will- I want my urn to be absolutely encrusted with my gems. I want to be more valuable than the Mona Lisa by the time I’m finished.”

“People will be looking to steal you, then.” Shadow says

“Which is why I picked the two most lethal people on the planet to keep me!” Rouge throws her head back as best she can, despite already having her head resting on the arm of the couch, and winks. 

“REST ASSURED, ROUGE. NOT A SINGLE FINGER WILL BE LAID UPON YOUR URN FOR AS LONG AS I FUNCTION. THIS I SWEAR.” Omega pounds a fist against his chest. 

“You two will be old fogies by that point anyway. You’ll need something to keep you on your toes.” She smiles.

“Thank you.” Shadow says. “For trusting us with this.”

“Of course. Who else could I possibly pick?”

Shadow reaches for her hand. She sees this and dangles it off the couch cushion for him to hold. He grasps her wrist, first, feeling the pulse beating inside of it. Then he slides between her fingers and presses their palms together. 

“Okay, I’m done. What about you, Omega?” Rouge looks over. 

“I DO NOT UNDERSTAND.”

“We just went over what happens when I kick the bucket- what about you?”

“BOLD OF YOU TO ASSUME I WILL PERISH.”

“It’s a contingency.” Shadow clarifies. “Take this seriously. What would you like us to do?”

“A MORE IMPORTANT CONSIDERATION IS WHEN YOU SHOULD DECLARE ME ‘DECEASED’. I AM INORGANIC. I CAN ALWAYS BE REPAIRED.”

“And?” Rouge prods.

“. . . I WISH TO REMAIN MYSELF.” Omega eventually says. “IN THE EVENT OF PROGRAM CORRUPTION OF OVER 65%, I DESIRE TO BE DEACTIVATED.”

“What, and the other 35% is somehow not worth our time?” Shadow snaps, harder than he means to. “Are you not worth getting to know again?”

“YOU CONFLATE THE CORRUPTION OF MY PROGRAMMING WITH THE LOSS OF YOUR MEMORIES. THOUGH MY KNOWLEDGE OF ORGANIC AMNESIA IS ADMITTEDLY QUITE PRIMITIVE, I CAN ASSURE YOU THE TWO ARE DIFFERENT.”

“Are they?”

“65% IS A SIGNIFICANT PORTION OF FUNCTIONALITY LOST, A HIGHER MARGIN THAN I WOULD HAVE ALLOWED EVEN A FEW MONTHS AGO. IT IS DOUBTFUL, AFTER CROSSING THAT MARGIN, THAT I WILL EVER BE FUNCTIONAL AGAIN WITHOUT SIGNIFICANT REWRITES. ANY ‘REPAIRS’ GIVEN WILL BE GENERATING PROCESSES THAT HAVE NEVER EXISTED. YOU WILL BE CREATING SOMETHING NEW. I DO NOT WISH FOR A NEW PROGRAM TO USE MY FORM. I WISH TO BE DEACTIVATED.”

“It would be like. . . someone putting fake memories in your head.” Shadow whispers. Rouge’s hand grips tighter around his.

“CORRECT. DO YOU REQUIRE ANY FURTHER CLARIFICATION?”

Shadow shakes his head. 

“GOOD. MOVING ON, UPON DEACTIVATION, I DESIRE FOR MY BODY TO BE MELTED DOWN AND MY ALLOY USED TO CONSTRUCT LETHAL WEAPONS.”

“Fitting.” Rouge smiles.

“I HAVE CALCULATED THAT I WILL HAVE ENOUGH SUITABLE MATERIAL TO MAKE TWO ROCKET LAUNCHERS, SIX RIFLES, AND APPROXIMATELY EIGHT PISTOLS.”

“Any preference in caliber?” Shadow asks.

“THE MORE DESTRUCTIVE, THE BETTER.”

“I’ll ensure there’s a 50. cal somewhere in there.”

“YOU- AND ROUGE, IF APPLICABLE -WILL HAVE FIRST CHOICE OF WHAT IS PRODUCED.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it.” Shadow says. 

“ONE MORE RULE.”

“Go for it. Shoot.” Rouge says.

“YOU MAY ONLY USE THESE WEAPONS IF YOU MEAN IT. YOU MAY ONLY KILL, INJURE, OR DESTROY WITH THESE WEAPONS. TARGET DUMMIES DO NOT COUNT.” Omega crosses his arms. 

“May I take them out to the target range to practice with them as long as I utilize them on a proper mission soon after?” Shadow says.

“I SUPPOSE THAT IS ACCEPTABLE.”

“How about for home defense?” Rouge asks. “You don’t mind if you hang from a wall most of the time, do you?”

“ALSO ACCEPTABLE. DETERRENCE COUNTS AS PROPER USE.”

“Good. Thanks, big boy. That’s a really great plan. You’ve thought about this a lot too, huh?” She says. “Glad I’m not the only one. I felt a little weird about it.”

“IT IS NOW SHADOW’S TURN TO DISCUSS HIS PLAN FOR AFTER HIS DEATH.”

“There’s no point. You two aren’t going to have to worry about it.”

“Given that you’re the only one of us who’s had a funeral already, I call bullshit.” Rouge replies.

She’s referencing the strange little event that Sonic held with all of his friends after the ARK. She’d gone. Said a few words, though she never told him what they were. What could you possibly have to say about a person that had spent only a few hours being on good terms with you? Sonic had found things to say too, apparently. Perhaps the guilt made it easy.

“I know what I want, and that’s to stay alive so that you two never have to worry about it.” Shadow replies.

“IT’S A CONTINGENCY.” Omega steps closer. “TAKE THIS SERIOUSLY.”

Shadow looks down. He lets go of Rouge’s hand. He folds his hands in his lap. He notices, upon further studying, a bit of red on his fur where there shouldn’t be. He hadn’t even washed his hands after dealing with Rouge’s wound. 

“I haven’t thought about it much.” He says.

“Okay, do you know what you don’t want, at least?”

An urn, he almost says. The idea of being confined to one place for all eternity, lingering, haunting, is. . .

“Not sure.” He replies. 

“Graveyard? Cremation? Something weird and different? Don’t tell me you’re going to donate to science.”

“Absolutely not!” His quills flare.

“NOTED. I WILL NOT PERMIT ANY SCIENTISTS TO STUDY YOUR CORPSE.” 

. . . Maria’s body had been studied, according to the records, then her existence sterilized like the rest of the ARK had been. Shadow knows, consciously, that the drop pod room is empty, but without having seen what had happened after, it is difficult to believe she isn’t still laying there. 

“Cremation.” He finally says. “I want my body destroyed.”

“So who’s shelf are you sitting on?”

“No one’s.”

“Scattered, then? Any particular location?”

He pauses. “Mount Everest.”

“Huh. Interesting. Is it okay if it’s, like, at the bottom? Or do we have to go all the way to the tippy-top?” Rouge asks.

“The top. Spread to the winds.”

“Making me work real hard for this.”

“I WILL DO IT. I AM A ROBOT; I DO NOT REQUIRE OXYGEN NOR DO I EXPERIENCE FATIGUE.”

“Thanks,” Shadow says.

“Why there?” Rouge asks.

“To make it inconvenient for you.”

Rouge rolls her eyes. “Sure.”

 “And. . . do it at night. Under the stars.” He adds.

“YOU HAVE SELECTED THE HIGHEST POINT ON THIS PLANET. YOU THEN FURTHER REQUEST TO BE SCATTERED UNDER STARS. ARE YOU SURE YOU DO NOT WANT YOUR REMAINS TO BE EJECTED INTO SPACE? DO NOT LIMIT YOURSELF. SUCH AN ARRANGEMENT IS FEASIBLE. I WILL MAKE IT SO.”

“No! That wasn’t the promise.”

It’s only when the silence sweeps over the room that he realizes what he’s said.

“. . . wish she’d picked a shorter mountain.” Rouge says. 

“We always tried to spot it from the observation deck whenever we passed over.” Shadow lets a hint of a smile cross his lips.

“CLARIFICATION REQUESTED: YOU ARE REFERRING TO MARIA, CORRECT?”

Shadow nods.

“ARE YOU REQUESTING THIS AFTER-DEATH RITUAL BECAUSE IT IS WHAT YOU TRULY WISH, OR BECAUSE IT IS SOMETHING SHE WISHED FOR HERSELF?”

His smile disappears.

“Omega.” Rouge hisses.

“SHADOW HAS EXPRESSED TO US THAT HE DOES NOT WANT TO LET HIMSELF BE DEFINED BY THE PAST. I AM ONLY AIDING IN THE PURSUIT OF THIS OBJECTIVE.” Omega speaks to her, but turns to him, staring him down.

“It’s both.” He finally responds. 

“INFORM US OF YOUR SIDE, THEN.”

“It’s that. . . I don’t want to be trapped somewhere.” He says. “No offense, Rouge.”

“None taken. Guess you’ve spent long enough in a jar already, being lusted after by powerful men. I get it. No biggie.” Rouge winks. 

Shadow glares, but he can’t hold it for long before a snicker slips out. “That’s the worst way you could’ve put it.”

“FALSE. THERE ARE WORSE WAYS. FOR EXAMPLE-”

“No thanks, we’re good!” Rouge says. 

Omega tilts his torso downwards and lets out a long-winded negative ping. Rouge laughs and manages to keep a grin on through the pain. 

“Stop making her laugh!"

“S-starting to agree with Shadow on this one.” Rouge slips out between giggles. “Ouch.”

“You should get some rest.” Shadow stands up from his spot on the ground. “It’ll help you feel better.”

“When’s the next round of pills?”

Shadow looks at the clock. It takes him too long to do the math, but he gets it eventually. “One hour, forty-one minutes.”

“Ughhhhhhhhhh.”

“ARE WE FINISHED WITH OUR PRIOR CONVERSATION?” Omega tilts back upright. 

Rouge glances between the two of them. 

“SHADOW, ARE YOU NO LONGER ‘FINE’?”

“Huh?” Rouge asks.

“‘FINE’, AS IN THE ACRONYM THAT STANDS FOR-”

“Yes, I am feeling better.”

“LIKE IT OR NOT, YOUR FEEBLE MEATBAG BRAIN IS BETTER EQUIPPED TO HANDLE CONCRETE DETAILS THAN VAGUE CONCEPTS. ILLUMINATING THIS SUBJECT HAS ALLOWED YOU TO PROCESS IT MORE EFFECTIVELY.”

“How do you know so much about my ‘meatbag brain’, anyway?” Shadow asks.

“I RESEARCH ORGANIC PSYCHOLOGY, SPECIFICALLY THE STRESS RESPONSE, TO BETTER DISABLE THE WRETCHED DOCTOR EGGMAN WITH. IT IS. . . COINCIDENTAL THAT THIS KNOWLEDGE IS USEFUL FOR OTHER SCENARIOS.”

“Mhm. Sure, hun.” Rouge says. “But thanks.”

“Thank you, Omega.” Shadow concurs. 

“YOU ARE WELCOME.” Omega steps back. He looks around the room, before his optics settle on Rouge. “DO YOU REQUIRE ANYTHING?”

“I’ll look after her.” Shadow says.

“GOOD. I AM GOING TO GO PLAY VIOLENT VIDEO GAMES NOW.”

Omega tromps down the hall and shuts the door of his room. His “shut” is a normal person’s “slam”, but given that the door’s still on its hinges, Shadow knows he’s alright. 

He looks back down at Rouge. “Is there anything you’d like?”

“More tea?”

“Hot or iced?”

“We have any ice cubes left?”

Shadow returns to the kitchen. He grabs the mug, fills it with water, and sets the microwave going. He grabs the tea bag. His eyes catch on the ice tray sitting on the counter. All the slots are filled with water now.

“I’ll run to the store. Be back before the microwave timer goes off.”

“Yeah, fuck cashiers! Steal things!” She cheers.

He makes for the door. Soon he’s skating down the streets, whizzing past cars as he scans for a generic corporate superstore. A lucky break, for once- as he comes upon a Walmart, someone’s holding the automatic doors open. He skids inside, yanks open the freezer door, grabs a bag of ice, then reverses course. 

When he steps back inside the apartment, the microwave dings. 

“Just in time. Got worried you actually decided to pay for it for a moment.” Rouge leans out from the couch. 

“If you fall off, I’m not catching you.” He sets the bag of ice on the counter.

“Sure you won’t.”

He goes to the microwave, opens it, and puts the tea bag in. Then he opens the bag of ice and fills the water bottle. He puts the rest of the bag in the fridge- he has to really shove it in there to get the door closed.

He returns, a few minutes later, to the couch with tea in hand, and passes it to her. He makes sure her fingers are looped through the handle of the cup before he lets go. She holds it. Sips it for a while. She hands it back to him. He places it on the end table. 

“Want some television?” He asks.

She nods. He grabs the remote from the television stand and powers everything on. As he hands the remote to her, Rouge reaches for his other hand.

“Hey,” She whispers as she curls her fingers over his.

She doesn’t say anything more. She doesn’t need to.

[genshin-impacted]

lost & found // Diluc x Reader (3/3)

Word Count: ~6.5k

Notes: Seelie!Reader, GN!Reader, Diluc/Reader, Mondstadt people interaction + Mondstadt Archon Quest, mild violence/fighting description and mentions of blood, Diluc POV briefly, mainly reader!POV

Summary: Oftentimes you find yourself wondering about your life before becoming a seelie, but with Diluc by your side, you don’t let yourself dwell on the long-gone past-- not when Diluc offers you affection and a tenderness that no one else is privy to. 

But on moonless nights, you let yourself wish upon a star.

(And sometimes, in this world ruled by the Gods and their stars, wishes are granted.)

Alternatively: Diluc has never asked you or needed you to change for him to love you.

[Part 2]

-

(thanks for the love for this fic! here is the final addition)

.

.

Diluc breathes out and sees the fog it makes in the frigid air of Dragonspine. The world continues to remind him that he’s lucky to have his Pyro vision, and again he’s inclined to agree that it’s a useful tool indeed. He cannot melt the snow that falls on the peaks of these mountains, but even he must admit that his flames have served him well in this icy winterland-- until it doesn’t. 

His phoenix burns through ruin guards and hunters alike, along with the icy foothold beneath him, and he falls into this cavern with no way up. He thinks it’s ironic that he’s the one that led himself into this predicament and attests it to your influence as his trouble-finding seelie.

Diluc huffs as he dusts off the snow from his shoulders and continues further into the hole he fell into, leaving tracks wherever he can so that you can find him. He knows better than anyone what you can do, and he knows that you cannot find him if he doesn’t leave clues. 

It is neither a surprising nor disappointing revelation to him. Diluc has always known that there is nothing special that binds the two of you together-- and perhaps that is why he cherishes what the two of you have. There is no contract, no string of fate, no hand of god that has put the two of you together or convinced the other to stay. You have chosen to stay with Diluc, and Diluc has chosen to let your presence change his life bit by bit.

Ever since coming back to Mondstadt, he has slowly grown more accustomed to working with other people, though with your appearance, his change has been accelerated. For with every adventure you drag him into, he meets new people, forming different teams. He’s helped Razor handle his broadsword better, and now he visits him ever so often to let him spar to his content. He let his stars be read by Mona, despite his initial hesitance (apparently, you are very into astrology), and can now see the constellations form above him much more clearly. And while he has never seen the need to be closer to his god, Venti sees the both of you more often outside of the tavern, and he sees a glimpse of Barbatos within the wind-weaving bard. 

You are a comforting presence: straightforward, easy to read, and compassionate. And he does not resist, much like everyone else, when you twirl your way into his heart. It is no longer surprising for him to understand that he does not need to be alone on the dark side of dawn when you have chosen to accompany him.

Speaking of choice, Diluc thinks irritably, wringing out the water from his hair. How did he agree to wander around Dragonspine of all places? He must have been caught up in the logistics of the experiment itself as well as your easy agreement. Diluc is admittedly the only person that understands your every nuance (or, well, most of it; some twirls are lost in translation), but even he cannot quite decipher what you want to take from this experiment of Albedo’s. 

When you find him-- which you will, he will ask you, and he thinks you will tell him as best as you can. For someone that cannot speak, you are the most honest individual in his life, which is something he has repeatedly found endearing and refreshing.  

Diluc climbs up the side of a cliff near the camp, only to see Albedo and Sucrose discussing at the edge of it. He briefly wonders if the experiment has ended, but when he does not see your light between the two of them, his breath hitches in the momentary panic he finds all too familiar to when he lost you the first time. 

Albedo spots him before he can speak. “Master Diluc, I’m relieved to find that you’re safe," he says briefly, and Diluc can at least respect how quickly the alchemist gets to the point, because he continues quickly. “Your seelie left to go find you before we could assess the situation.” He sighs as Sucrose frantically hands Diluc a towel to dry himself and a seat. “You gave them quite the scare, disappearing on us like that.” 

“You mean they’re out there on their own right now?” Diluc presses, feeling his hackles raise.

“Yes. We’re going to go out to recount your steps-- undoubtedly, your seelie will be trying to find you--”

Diluc doesn’t need to hear anything else. He holds the towel to Sucrose who nervously puts her hands up, unsure on what to do. “I’ll go find them,” he says. “The experiment is finished now, right?” 

“Do not go." Albedo sighs, and however Diluc thought of him before, it’s evident now that he is, above all else, frustrated with how things have turned out. “It’s my experiment and a miscalculation on my part. You should stay--”

“I’ll be fine--”

“Your vision does not make you impervious to the climates,” Albedo says calmly. He thinks he sees a gleam of cunning in Albedo’s eyes when he glares at the alchemist. “Besides, would your seelie be happy if you got yourself sick going to find them?” And Diluc cannot respond to that. 

“That being said,” Albedo continues, pulling at his gloves. “I predict you will refuse to stay here permanently. As it’s my fault, I’ll provide you with at least a potent heating potion before you go. Please wait; it won’t take long.”

“...Thank you,” Diluc says, taking back his towel much to Sucrose’s relief. When he sees Albedo head off onto his alchemy table, he sighs and settles into his seat. Where could you have gone, he thinks, drying his hair. After leaving the waterfall, he had… climbed the clifftop. Perhaps you lost him there without any way to notice which way he went afterward, which was a mistake on his part. Perhaps he should--

Diluc pauses his train of thought and instinctively turns his head to the left where he sees you floating. And the relief, oh, the relief he feels when he sees you fly toward him makes smiling easy. “There you are. I was about to go look for you since you weren't with Albedo." He swallows, beginning to breathe easy again. "I was worried," he admits, "I--" He stops abruptly when he looks up at you.

You are crying, and he almost does not know what to do. 

He didn’t realize you could cry. Diluc isn’t sure if he can even call them tears-- these globby droplets that disappear when they fall off your body that, when Diluc brushes them away, does not make his gloves wet. 

But he sweeps them away when they come anyways. “Hey,” he says tenderly, as you raise your voice from distress. “It’s okay. I’m fine; I’m here.” He cups your small orb-like body and listens to you as best as he can, sweeping his hand over your head and ears soothingly until your hiccup-like speech slows down to a halt. 

“You found me,” he tells you firmly. “You found me.” He repeats himself until you are warm in his hands and his hair is dry, the towel left forgotten on the ground.

Even when you have long calmed down, he continues to look over his shoulder to watch as you converse with Sucrose. “Did you get what you were looking for?” Diluc asks the alchemist, who hands him the warming potions for any emergencies. 

“Yes. Simply put, your mini seelie does not choose what it finds.” Albedo explains, “However, based on previous observations, they can hone in on things that are… otherworldly. You may be glad to confirm that you are, in fact, not otherworldly. And though this was not my intended result, I also would like to inform you that their attachment to you is out of their own volition…” Albedo watches in barely concealed amusement as Diluc glances over at you again. “Though, I’m sure you already knew this.” He clears his throat. “I would like to offer them future experimentation if they are willing.”

Diluc does his best not to look confused, but his pause gets the better of him. “Why are you asking me?”

Albedo only arches his brow and asks as a matter-of-fact, “Are you not each other’s keeper?” He continues without pause to quickly go over any logistics he has remaining, the details of Dragonspine (lest he fall into a pit again), before going over to talk to you briefly. Diluc wonders what the alchemist talked to you about but he decides to let the questions be asked later.

For now, you twirl up to him, beaming at him more brightly than usual, and he does not have it in him to say anything other than, “Let’s go home.”

.

.By the time the two of you arrive at the winery, it is dark. You do not hesitate to corral him into getting ready for sleep, and he indulges you by not protesting.

“What did you want to get out of the experiment today?” Diluc asks you, untying his hair and placing it onto his nightstand. Before he can finish his question, you bury yourself into his hair, and he thinks that your tweets and trills sound very much like laughter. He chuckles. “Avoiding the question, are you? How very unlike you,” he teases, and he knows you hear him when he looks into the mirror and sees you peek out from underneath the red and squeak indignantly.

“I’m kidding.” Diluc lifts his hair so you can climb out and face him. “You’re the most straightforward person I know,” he says fondly, and he briefly wonders when he has gotten so honest with himself, letting you know how he feels with the amount of emotion he puts into his words to you.  

Sated, you flip around once before settling into his cupped hands, deep in thought. Diluc doesn’t quite understand how your mannerisms make your emotions so recognizable, but he imagines that if you had hands, they would be under your chin in a thinking pose. 

He patiently waits for an answer, walking around his room and blowing out the lights. When he turns off the last one, you can only look up at him and let out a quiet coo-- an apology. His hands are already comforting you the moment after you answer him. 

“It’s alright,” Diluc says. “I suppose it’s not exactly easy to explain that.” He adds on immediately, “And don’t apologize again. It’s fine.” 

“I think I can understand why without you telling me,” he says, and if his voice is a little raw, he hopes it goes by unnoticed. “It’s hard, isn’t it-- not knowing what you’re supposed to be doing."

Quietly, you float up, and Diluc feels his heart tremble when you press a kiss to his forehead in a mix of an apology, a comforting notion, and an act of love. He lays down in silence with you, and if you make a nest out of his hair, and if he wakes up with you nestled at the crook of his neck, he does not say a word.

There is no need.

.

.

“Isn’t it enough?” Lisa asks him as she leans over the library railing. Diluc looks over to her as he puts away the last of the books he has asked to borrow, and he knows what she is asking before she finishes. Still, she tilts her head, her hat staying steady on her head, and repeats, “Isn’t it enough that they’re here with you?”

“Yes,” Diluc says without hesitation. “It is.” 

“Can I ask why you’re still researching about seelies then?” Lisa pauses, putting her hand over her shoulder, and Diluc knows she will arrive at the right answer without him telling her. “If not for you then… for them? You’re looking for answers for your mini seelie?” 

"I try to do what I can," he says, ignoring the way Lisa's eyes gleam all too knowingly. (He always knew there was much more to her at first glance.) "Thanks for the help, I--" He pauses when he catches Lisa smiling behind her fist. "...What is it?" he asks warily. 

"Oh, nothing." Lisa croons, giggling, "I just think it's sweet how the two of you treat each other. Anyone would get jealous of that." She pauses, looking out the window as the sun sets in the west. "It almost seems like a miracle to have the two of you find each other, don't you think? Fate, perhaps? How utterly romantic!"

"You're letting Kaeya influence you too much," Diluc retorts, much to Lisa's amusement.

"Maybe so," she says, sighing, "but even if it was fate, you wouldn't have cherished them any less." She gives Diluc a pointed look even he cannot deny. "Isn't that right, Master Diluc?"

Diluc huffs, walking past her to head down the stairs. "Asking that, I'm sure you already know my answer," he tells her, and he lets his mouth twitch in a semblance of a smile when he hears her complain about his tight-lipped attitude. It blossoms into a full-blown smile when he starts heading back to the winery.

.

When he comes back, you are waiting for him among the grapevines as the winery is basked in orange light.

He's home.

.

.

.

.

Diluc sleeps early and wakes up before the crack of dawn and takes you up the clifftop overlooking the winery. He had told you that there was something he wanted to do and left it at that. Not that you minded-- you were happy to follow him, blocking out any sharp rocks so he wouldn’t grab ahold of them as he climbed and scaring off any elemental wisps that came your way. 

When the two of you reach the clifftop, the sky begins to grow brighter as the sun peeks over the horizon. The color change from blue to yellow then orange is truly beautiful, and you are almost mesmerized as Diluc takes a seat down next to you, watching the sunrise. 

“...It’s almost been a year now,” Diluc says, “since we first met.” 

Happy Anniversary? You squeak in confusion, only to whip your body to face him when you realize why you’re here with him at dawn to watch the beautiful scene unfold before you. You squeak rapidly, stumbling over your words that he cannot hear but can understand anyhow. You hadn’t realized-- You were an idiot for not planning anything either, not that you could-- What kind of ore could you go find to bring to him as a present--? 

“Thank you,” Diluc tells you, “for the past year.” In the backdrop of the rising sun, you think he is almost too bright to watch with that gentle smile of his. The thought is only exacerbated when he cups you in his hands as softly as he has always done. “Let’s see what this year has in store for us together.” 

You trill softly, floating in the air to situate yourself on top of his head to watch the ocean shine brighter with the rising sun. 

It is not the New Year for any country nor culture, but you look into the horizon and make a wish that no one can hear. One year has passed, many things have changed, but you find that the one thing that has not is your adoration for Diluc.

"Let's go back home," he tells you, not for the first time, when the sun rises substantially above the horizon. Obediently, you float down into his sights where you twirl playfully in the air in thanks for the view. He chuckles. "No problem," he says, and he leans down just enough to place a quick kiss in between your ears.

(In hindsight, perhaps you should have wished for more kisses in the following year if you thought that was actually something you could wish for.)

.

.

.

Like the beginnings of a new arc, you lead Diluc onto the start of another campaign that lasts longer than normal and ties in with the previous adventures you have had with Diluc.

You find Aether on the shores east of Mondstadt. Diluc can only look at you curiously when Aether reveals his visionless powers and his desire to find his sister, for if there were ever any need for corroborating evidence on your talent or ability, Aether is living proof of it.

With the traveler, you resolve many of the things that neither you nor Diluc could comprehend. The red, crystalline tears are purified, the winds calm down with Dvalin’s defeat, and Venti-- or should you say, Barbatos-- as usual, disappears in a wisp of dandelions to leave the City of Freedom to its autonomy. In the breezes of Mondstadt, you can feel his protective gaze upon the city, and more often than not, you find him wandering in the tavern, looking for a quick drink that Diluc offers ‘reluctantly.’ (You know him better now; Diluc would rather hug Kaeya than admit that he cares for the people in his life more than he shows, and Venti is one of the people he can find a fondness for. You still find yourself abashed to know that you are the only one Diluc can say unashamedly and wholeheartedly that he adores you-- in his own way.)

Aether’s presence in Mondstadt is a breath of fresh air, considering how compassionate he is and how willing he is to help with the common troubles of those in the city. He is led along by Kaeya, tugged onto an impromptu date by Lisa, and given a mask to go undercover with Diluc and help him in ways that you cannot. The tug of jealousy is unfamiliar, but you are more glad than anything that Aether can be his partner during the most dangerous of missions. You tag along as moral support and as a guiding post-- and for that, you find yourself most similar to Paimon, who, for some reason, keeps being compared to emergency food. 

“You’re my companion,” Diluc tells you with finality when you look up at him, barely forming the thought in your head about being his emergency food. “Don’t doubt that.”

Turns out, people can not breathe when you are covering their entire face with your translucent body.   

When the dust settles, you never think of turning Aether down when he asks you if you can sense whether his sister is in Mondstadt. 

You leave with Aether and Paimon with the promise that you return to Diluc at the winery. You guide the two of them to Stormterror’s Lair, a place you have gotten far more acquainted with in the past month, and head up to the cliffside where a ruin guard’s footprints remain next to a dandelion. You can sense something here, though you are unsure of what, and you are about to apologize for finding nothing when Aether looks over to you with wet eyes.

You coo up at him comfortingly as he sighs with a mixture of relief and sadness. “Thank you,” he tells you, holding out his hand. You press against it, and you hope he knows that the best you can do to imitate a comforting hand-hold. “At least now I know for sure she’s here in this world.” He smiles at you. “This gives me a lot of hope that I’ll find her, so… thank you, really.” 

Aether leaves for Liyue in the next few days, and if you had known he would leave so soon you would have done more than held his hand. You wish you could comfort him, reassure him that his sister, too, must be looking for him just as hard as he was. (Even if this was not the truth, you think if you wish hard enough, you could maybe manifest it for him.) You have so many words within you and yet none of them are conveyed, and Aether’s sad smile stays. 

It gets hard sometimes, knowing how little you can do, and how much you could have done before-- and this is one of those moments. It is rare for you to feel melancholy over the things you no longer have, but they come and go like the waves on Falcon Coast. Without a word, Diluc can tell when you are feeling down, holding you when you fall into his hands. 

His kisses come more often now, and he places one between your ears when you are with him during your lower moods. You think your day improves almost immediately when he does so, but it helps tremendously also that Diluc never forgets to reassure you.

“If you want me to help you with anything,” he says, “you only need to ask."

You coo again, twirling once, nudging at his cheek before backing away just enough to look at him. If you had a heart (and you sometimes suspect you do), it would be beating quickly as you wait for him to decipher your actions.

“...Ah,” he says, picking you up again. You think for a moment he looks as embarrassed as you feel, but then he asks, “...Another one?” and places a second kiss onto your head. 

You trill, pleased that you are spoiled by Diluc and even happier that Diluc only joins you in your mirth when he huffs in laughter.

“What an honest seelie,” he says, and you could not be more content with how fond he sounds of you and how, again and again, he continues to be patient with you even when you cannot be patient with yourself.

.

.

Sometimes when the moon is high and Diluc is fast asleep, you find yourself at the place you first came to fruition as a seelie. The lake by the Winery and this exact scenery may as well be your birthplace. When you look into the reflection you see your orb-like features, viscous yet watery all at once, emitting light. 

But sometimes, when the only light is coming from the fireflies that glow beside you, you look into the lake and see a familiar face staring back at you. They have your face-- your eyes, your nose, your mouth, and your brows of a time when you were not a seelie. It’s the only time you get to see this image of your past self, reminding you of what you were before. Sometimes, you think you can hear your voice being carried over by the winds of another world, of another time. 

These moments are the only thing you have kept to yourself. 

After all, what’s the point of holding onto something that you no longer have? The man you’ve grown to care for-- grown to love-- is someone who has his eyes set forward toward the future, and you’re going to be there with him no matter what.

Although seelies cannot dream, you dream of carrying over the tray of tankards and washing the dishes in the tavern, of carrying Klee over your shoulders as you lead her to Albedo, of bumping elbows with Kaeya jokingly or placing a blanket over Jean’s shoulders when she falls asleep in her office again.

You dream of lacing your hands with Diluc’s, pressing your lips upon his temple, and hearing his heartbeat against his chest with a steady, grounding rhythm that reminds you you are home.

And sometimes, just dreaming is enough.

(And sometimes, it is not.)

.

.

Life goes on. You see more of Mondstadt and begin to know the land like the back of Diluc’s hand. Knights and adventurers alike know you as the little seelie, and whether they think you follow Diluc or Diluc follows you is up to each person’s interpretation. (Regardless, none of them are wrong.)  

You accompany Diluc when he trains Razor in Wolvendom, and you invite Bennett to adventure sometimes with the two of you. (The boy may be unlucky, but you’re a magnet of trouble, so you think you have some things in common. A lot more things explode when he accompanies you but Diluc can handle it.) You make sure Jean gets some rest (“Your seelie is, um… very…” “Stubborn?” “I was going to say determined.”) and follow Lisa around on her expired library book expeditions. (“You think she’s beautiful, don’t you?” Diluc says to you, and you wonder why you babble excuses to him-- You’re more beautiful!-- while he looks at you in amusement.)

You and Diluc spend more time with other people in comparison to before, but you still have quiet moments with just the two of you when the days are slow. You’ve been learning how to move small things even better than before, among other things, but with this skill in particular, you can actually slide the pieces on the chessboard when you play against Diluc, who looks on (fondly) as you do your best to carefully push the pieces with your body. 

You always end up knocking some down, but when you finally get a handle of it, you do it with such concentration that Diluc doesn't have the heart to offer help. He does, however, end up polishing the board so the pieces slide more easily. You notice it’s shinier but he doesn’t let you pay it any mind.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says to you, and you think the words I love you come to mind more often than not recently. 

Thank you, you trill instead, and you ache with a want that pulses ever so often when you want so much more than you have when Diluc reaches out to caress your head.

“Like I said,” Diluc says softly. “Don’t pay it any mind. It’s your move still, you know.”

And you move the pieces. And you pick the grapes in his vineyard. And you find artifacts of crimson for him. And you kiss the scars from the many years he has battled (with or without you). 

.

.

.

He gains another in the next, final battle with you as his seelie.

.

.

.

Diluc has gotten hurt before. It’s inevitable with the number of enemies he faces, the number of times you run into enemy territory, but it has never been a problem for him to stand back up and fight. His fire burns brightly-- shine true is his motto, and Diluc lives those words as though they have been etched onto his soul. 

Much like fire, Diluc is relentless, and you can only follow him as he pushes through enemies, listens to his connections, and finds a den of thieves that have been terrorizing Springvale for months. The two of you should have known that their efficiency was because they were led on by the Fatui, but you fail to notice until they have you surrounded. 

You have every faith in Diluc to come out safe and sound, but it takes only one mistake for you to be reminded that there is a limit to everything. 

The blade slices through so quickly you aren’t sure what happened, but when Diluc pulls his hand back from the cut on his side to have it painted with blood, your heart drops.

“A little out of depth, don’t you think, Darknight Hero?” 

“I’d keep my tongue in my mouth if I were you,” Diluc growls, and you can only tremble in mid-air as your mind races with the things you can do-- only to think of all the things you cannot do. You almost miss what Diluc tells you with the way your hearing fuzzes. “Go back to Mondstadt and tell the Knights where these bandits are,” Diluc says, and you know it’s serious when Diluc thinks about reaching out to the knights. (This is partly true, you would realize later, that despite Diluc’s hesitance on being associated with the knights, he knows you would reach out to Kaeya or Jean if needed-- if not for him but so you would be taken care of.) 

You should have told Jean or Kaeya or Amber or even Lisa where the two of you had gone just in case things go awry. The thought never crossed your mind things could go wrong when you had Diliuc with you.

“You’ll find me again,” Diluc tells you softly when you hesitate, and you wonder how he can lie to you like that when his gloves are too bloodied to even hold you. “I promise.”

How could you ask me to do that? You plead, feeling tears well up again. How could you ask me to leave you?

“It’s okay,” Diluc tells you, and his bare hands are warm. “It’s fine.”

You are ripped out of Diluc’s hands when someone throws an electro grenade in the fire below Diluc’s feet. He’s still standing even after this, but a throwing knife hits him on the shoulder, another grenade to his left. You can do nothing but watch as Diluc is hurt, falling onto the ground. 

If there was ever a moment you wanted something so badly, you would have done anything to get it, it would be right here-- right now. 

You are the last thing he sees.

.

.

“You whose strength stems from your devotion, I shall lend you my power.”

.

.

You don’t know whose voice you heard or how somehow you have the hands to hold onto the Vision framed with Mondstadt wings in your hands, but you’ve learned not to question the good things in life-- one of them being your life at Diluc’s side.

Your voice is loud, you realize, when you shout at the bandits to leave. And your powers are strong-- strong enough to protect the person that matters most.

The bandits run at the fight sign of trouble, and the Fatui agent is unconscious. (You checked.)

You hold Diluc as he lies on your lap, breathing heavily but still breathing-- thank the archons. You quickly brush his hair away from his face and press on his wound, wincing when he lets out a grunt of pain even unconscious. I won’t let them hurt you, you think, taking one of his hands to brush your lips over his knuckles. (His hands are rough and calloused, but you love them just the same for how gently they held you when you were just a seelie.) If they come back, they’ll have to get through me. 

“Hello, mini seelie.” 

You look up from Diluc just in time to see a hand reach down to softly rustle your hair, much to your dismay. The initial reaction gives way to surprise when you recognize that the voice comes from none other than Kaeya. He grins down at you with his sword by his hip, and you frantically look around to see if the bandits had come back.

How did you--?

“Nice wings you got there,” Kaeya teases you, making you look back and find that oh, when did those get there? “Didn’t even notice them because you were too worried about Diluc, huh?” When you nod, he softens his gaze. “Why don’t you let us take care of things around here, hm?” He glances down at Diluc who has been sleeping soundly in your lap. “Let’s get him back home.” 

.

.

When a few knights come with a cart to ambulate Diluc back to Mondstadt instead of the winery (you couldn’t argue with Jean even if you did choose to speak; she’s stubborn when the people she cares about are hurt), you feel the tension leave your body all at once, and for the first time in what feels like an eternity, you actually feel sleepy. 

“I’m glad we arrived right in the nick of time.” You turn to Kaeya who had been working behind the scenes, directing the knights. “You did good work, chasing them out of here so we could catch them easily,” he says, “I-- oof!” 

You tackle Kaeya into a grateful hug, and it takes him a few moments to respond by placing his hands onto your back and giving it a few pats. “There, there,” Kaeya drawls, but you can hear the smile in his voice anyways. “Better not hug too long; Diluc might be jealous that I’m the person you hug first, you know.”

You let go slowly, grinning up at him as though you agree, and you dodge Kaeya before he can mess with your hair again. On the way out of the camp, Jean gives you a smile, Amber waves excitedly at you before rounding up a few more bandits, and your cheeks hurt a little from the way Lisa pinched it. You go find Diluc where he’s being taken back in a horse-drawn cart and hold his hand until you’ve fallen asleep by his side.

(In his sleep, Diluc holds onto you.) 

.

.

.

Diluc wakes up twice. Once, very briefly, when your wings are expansive and when the Vision at your waist shines brightly with power. Before he wakes up the second time, you can already feel the power fade from both you and the Vision. 

You knew that your transformation was temporary; powers do not always last forever, especially since the glow of your Vision seems contingent on the cycles of the moon-- particularly the moon that you were born on. You think that you should feel more disappointed, but you don’t. You get to hold onto Diluc’s hand in yours and wipe away the sweat from his forehead as he sleeps, and you think that if you only get this one chance to do these things, then you will take what you can get. 

You will love Diluc as you are, no matter what form you take. Your transformation wasn’t necessary. Your powers were a bonus, but even if you weren’t granted a miracle, Diluc would have been safe, as a courtesy of Kaeya who had been trailing behind the two of you since you from the start. (Kaeya and Diluc's connections had the same info this time around, so they were bound to intersect at some point.) What you’ve been given was not the power to save Diluc, but the chance to love him in a way you have always dreamed of doing.

When Diluc opens his eyes the second time around, more aware and more awake, you almost don’t know what to do. It’s a momentary panic when you think he doesn’t know who you are, but he only needs to take one look at you before he raises his hand to caress your cheek as he’s always done. 

“It’s okay, I’m here. I’m fine,” he soothes, though his voice is still raspy from disuse. “Don’t cry.” 

I can’t believe you wanted me to leave you behind. How could you tell me that? 

“...Sorry,” he says, and you raise your head from his bed just enough so he can wipe away the tears on your lashes. “It’s funny but even if you don’t talk, I can still understand you.” 

You watch as he slowly takes your hand and presses his palm against yours, lowering his fingers until they’ve interlocked with yours. “My seelie,” he says with all the warmth in the world. You can only nod before you’re wiping away the tears that spring up again. "Even in this form, you'll still lead me, right? Still find me if I get lost?"

You don't know what type of face you're making, but Diluc softens his gaze before shifting slightly in the bed offered to him by the church. "Come here," he whispers, arms outstretched.

You tentatively place your weight onto the bed, arms placed on each of his sides as you gingerly climb into bed with him. When he winces, you put a hand on his chest, alarmed, to stop him from exerting himself.

“I’m fine,” he says immediately, and when he looks at you, he bursts out laughing, only for him to wince again more strongly. “Sorry, your expressions-- they’re exactly how I imagined them.” He chuckles, though you purse your lips at him as you finally settle under the covers next to him. You make a sound of surprise when he leans over just enough to press a kiss onto your forehead. You hear his soft huff of laughter again when you bury your face into his chest out of embarrassment. “Still as easy to read as ever.”

You grab a hold of his shirt with your ears pressed against his sturdy chest. He gently rubs circles on your shoulder as you listen to his heartbeat, which is as steady as you have imagined it to be. It quickens ever-so-slightly, and you look up at Diluc in time to see him gaze down at you tenderly. “You don’t have to speak,” he says, brushing his hand across your cheek. “Nothing has to change at all. But there’s something I want to know.” You raise your hand to caress his hand (and he finds the courage to keep on speaking).

“Do you think you can tell me your name?” Diluc whispers, the most unsure you have ever seen him, and you think you’re so fond of him your heart (not just metaphorical this time) might burst from it.

It takes only a moment for you to decide to scoot yourself up just enough to kiss him on the side of his mouth, and you can't help but grin at the stupefied expression on his face. 

And you say your name. 

How interesting is it that it's the one thing you cannot convey through trills and twirls, cannot show through hugs and kisses? You never thought that your name could have such significance but you watch as Diluc's eyes widen and you think this moment is the gift the gods have given you. 

Diluc takes a moment to taste your name, and he calls out to you for the very first time out of many, many, many times.

.

Before the sun rises, Diluc wakes up to your bright glow and with your seelie body pressed up against his collarbone. He breathes your name into the quiet infirmary before he closes his eyes to sleep again.

.

.

.

.

You are found more often than you are lost. For every time Diluc calls your name-- as a seelie or as a human (fairy?)-- your heart soars as high as the anemograms at Brightcrown Mountain. 

As a seelie, your life with Diluc stays the same-- for the most part. No one treats you differently and no one loves you differently from when they knew you as just a seelie. If anything, the biggest change has been in Diluc's life where the stares from his admirers are more muted and the swoons reduced, for how could anyone continue to pine over someone that is so evidently preoccupied with someone else? (Even though they've only seen the person who Diluc holds in high regard once every new moon.)

Every adventure still has the same probability to go awry and Diluc still polishes the chessboard to perfection for you. Though on moonless nights, Diluc can hold you close, and you can hold him closer, saying his name (the second word you ever say) and hoping he can never feel quite as lost as before when you are here with him.

FIN

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@creation-magician @inlustris-but-obey-me @lumi-ying  @thetwinkims @loveyoutothestars  @ninqat  @winterptilopsis  @nya-vivi  @just-noelle ​ @shr3ik

[dreaming-about-fanfictions]

Choose Me Instead II Draco Malfoy x Reader II Chapter 3 of 27: Honesty

Summary:  Pretending to be in a relationship with Draco Malfoy to get back at your ex might have not been the smartest idea you ever had. Especially during your last year of Hogwarts where you should be focusing on exams and your future plans. However, you were just pretending. There was no way in hell you could actually catch feelings for someone like Malfoy. … Right?

CHAPTER 2

A/N: I’ve come to the realization that I’ve changed so much in this story during the past few days and added some chapters that it can probably already count as a slow-burn fic. I guess. Not sure. Have fun! Thanks for the lovely feedback! I love you all to death <3

Words: 3583 Pairing: Draco Malfoy x female!Reader, post-war Warnings: mentions of sex, light swearing

It was weird being back at Hogwarts. Something about it still didn’t feel right. After the war, it was unimaginable for you to come back here and finish school. But they took their time and closed it off for over a year. The school got rebuilt, the victims buried, the survivors tried to heal and move on. On the first anniversary of the end of the war, McGonagall – the new headmistress of Hogwarts – publicly announced that the school would open for the coming year and the seventh graders were given the chance to repeat their year.

You were excited about coming back and seeing your friends again, gaining a little bit of normalcy. School, homework, petty drama – you wanted nothing more than to be busy with all of those things. Yet something felt different when you stood in the Great Hall for the first time after your arrival. Something had changed. You had changed.

“You’re daydreaming again, Y/N.”

Ginny’s voice pulled you back into reality. Your best friend sat across from you with her eyebrows raised, chewing on a croissant.

“Tired,” you replied and smiled briefly.

“From what?”, she asked. “You left super early last night!”

“Yeah, because it was super boring.”

The redhead shook her head. “It was not! There was a fight between two Hufflepuffs and that’s the best indicator for a fun party.”

You chuckled. “Is it though?!”

“Or,” suddenly she put down her croissant. A devious smile appeared on her face and she began talking with a lowered voice: “Did you leave the party early with your date to –”

“I beg you to not finish that sentence, please!”

Ginny laughed. “Oh come on! McLaggen is kinda cute!”

“He’s awful.”

“He doesn’t need a good character to –”

“Ginny!” You playfully threw an apple at her. She caught it, laughing. “You’re the worst,” you said and shook your head.

Just when you wanted to change the topic, someone else started walked in. You stopped midsentence, staring at the couple who were coming down the hall, holding hands.

Ginny saw them too and she knew what you were about to do next. “Don’t, Y/N,” she said softly. “Stay here. At some point, you’ll have to face them. They’re our friends. He’s my brother. We have classes together now.”

You knew she was right. Yet, running away still seemed like a better option to you. Ginny sensed that, reached over the table and squeezed your hand. “Stay,” she repeated.

Ron and Hermione sat down right beside you, cheerfully wishing you a good morning. You didn’t reply but smiled at Harry instead who sat down next to Ginny and gave her a kiss. They were a cute couple and you were happy for the both of them. They finally found each other.

The four began to talk right away. It was still exciting to be in the same year as them, to finally share classes and spend so much time together. Well, not for you to be honest. You could happily live without seeing Ron every day.

You tuned out their conversation after a while, still debating whether or not you should leave the table. Your eyes drifted over the other students in the Great Hall and got stuck at the Slytherins. Not many people sat there as most of them had already finished breakfast. Before you knew what you were doing, you noticed he wasn’t here.

You felt a little sting of disappointment and frowned. Where did this came from? As if you cared about seeing Malfoy.

Saying that you didn’t replay that kiss in your mind over and over again would have been a lie. When you left the small room last night, you felt dizzy and confused. Yet you repeatedly told yourself that the kiss meant nothing. It happened so you didn’t get caught. Good god, it was Draco Malfoy, probably the last person in this school you wanted to kiss (well, besides McLaggen). So no. This kiss didn’t mean anything.

“Y/N?”, you turned your head when Hermione said your name.

“Why are you staring at the Slytherins?”, she asked.

You shrugged but the blush on your cheeks betrayed you. “No reason. I was thinking.”

She frowned. Ginny and Harry looked at each other in confusion.

“So? What is it?”, you asked.

“Right, um, we wanted to ask if you’d like to come play Quidditch with us?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Since when do you play Quidditch?”

“Ron taught me over the summer,” she smiled at her boyfriend. “Besides, they have to try out for the team in two weeks anyways so why not practice a little.”

You looked at Ron who stared at his plate. He probably felt as comfortable with the thought of you playing together as you did. The way he avoided your eyes made you angry though.

“No, sorry”, you quickly said and suddenly stood up. “Homework.” This was it. You had to leave.

 ***

You gritted your teeth angrily as you made your way up the stairs. God, you still hated him for how he treated you three months ago. You were supposed to be friends and he fucked it all up. Now you could barely stand the sight of him and every encounter left you feeling like you needed to punch a brick wall.

Being so lost in your thoughts, you almost ran around the corner, crashing into someone.

“Watch it, Y/L/N!”

Great.

“Watch it yourself, Malfoy!”, you snapped.

Draco Malfoy stood in front of you, one hand in the pocket of his pants, the other gripping your arm to prevent you from falling down. It must have been out of instinct because as soon as he realized he was touching you, he let go as if you were a hot plate.

“Someone got up on the wrong side of the bed,” he stated dryly.

“Shut up,” you mumbled, lowering the tone of your voice a little. “And let me through.”

He did neither. “Did McLaggen find you after all?!”

“None of your business, Malfoy!” With that, you pushed him aside and continued walking down the corridor. You were too mad for Malfoys bullshit.

“Y/L/N!” Apparently he was particular talkative this morning.

You ignored him.

“I couldn’t care less for your obvious boy troubles –”

Who did he think he was?!

“– however, I still have something that belongs to you.”

This made you stop dead in your tracks and turn around. “What?”, you asked, brows furrowed in confusion.

He smirked. “Your shoe.”

Oh. Oops.

Annoyed, you shrugged. “So give it back to me.”

“It’s in the Slytherin common room.”

“I’d rather die than go down there.”

“I’d change the attitude if I were you. After all, you want something from me,” his voice grew colder.

You were unimpressed by that. “Make me,” you shot back.

There it was again – that look on his face. The same look he had yesterday as he gazed over your body in the small room. It made you shiver – and for a second you weren’t sure if it was the good or the bad kind of shiver.

Then he smirked again: “Quidditch field. Tonight after dinner.” And while he already started walking backwards he added: “I’d rather die than be caught talking to a Gryffindor.”

Goddamn Slytherins.

***

It was unusually cold for a September night. You shivered and zipped up your jacket, regretting that you didn’t bring a scarf. No student or teacher seemed to be outside at this time, only the occasional crow flying above your head and the rustling of leaves accompanied you on your way to the Quidditch field.

The reason why Malfoy chose the Quidditch field of all places to give you back your shoe was beyond your knowledge. Yet you didn’t complain. In about half an hour, your friends would join you. Before the war, this was one of your favourite spots to just hang out and talk.

When you arrived on the field, it took you a while to spot Malfoy. He sat way up on the bleachers. You groaned and made your way up the stairs. Malfoy didn’t notice that you came as he was busy writing something in a small green notebook. Huh. Interesting.

He flinched when you sat down beside him and quickly closed the book.

“What are you writing?”, you asked curiously.

Malfoy pretended not to hear your question and instead reached inside his bag. “Here,” he pulled out your shoe, handing it to you.

“Thanks,” you put in the small bag you brought. “So what are you writing?”

He looked at you with an annoyed expression. “You have what you want so you can go.”

“You’re no fun, Malfoy.”

“Says the Gryffindor.”

“Excuse me?”, you raised an eyebrow. “We’re more fun than all the Slytherins combined.”

“Right,” he scoffed.

Still, you didn’t move or leave so with a sigh, he added: “Do you have no friends to bother?”

You grinned. “I do. In fact, they’ll be here in –”, you took a look at your watch, “– twenty minutes.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Perfect.”

“Why did you tell me to meet you here?”

“I was gonna be here anyways,” he shrugged. “Easier to make you come to me.”

You ignored his sly remark. “You were going to be here anyways? Alone?”

Another shrug.

Leaning back, you watched Malfoy from the side. He had dark circles under his eyes and kept his gaze focused on the field, his fingers playing with the sides of the notebook. Something (beside you sitting next to him) bothered him.

“So what was up with you this morning?”, he broke the silence.

You raised an eyebrow. “As if you care.”

“No,” he admitted. “But you’re obviously not leaving until your friends come and that question might make you stop staring at me.”

You chuckled softly. Then you realized that he was actually waiting for an answer. “Nothing important.”

“I figured.”

“You’re a jerk.”

“Probably,” Malfoy stated without any emotion in his voice.

You were silent for a few seconds. Part of you wanted to get up and leave. After all, Malfoy was probably the last one you could trust. He didn’t care and it was literally none of his business. You didn’t even like each other. Keeping it simple and vague was probably the best approach: “Dumb stuff, really. Like you said – boy troubles.”

Malfoy shifted without noticing it, turning his body more towards you, leaning in a little. “Well, now I’m curious. Who managed to make Y/L/N this mad and can he teach me?”

“I don’t know if you’re keen on Ron being your teacher,” the sentence just slipped out. You regretted it right away.

Malfoys eyes widened. “No fucking way.” Then he began to smirk – that evil, ‘I’m-better-than-you’-smirk he had perfected over the years.

Your face felt like it was on fire and you were glad it was getting dark already. Maybe he wouldn’t notice the blush. “Oh, be quiet!”

“Weasley?”, he scoffed, not believing it. He stared at you with quite the interest now. There seemed to be a lot more to you than he would have guessed. “How the fuck did that happen? Isn’t he dating the … isn’t he dating Granger?”

You knew what he wanted to call her but were surprised that he stopped himself. That never happened before.

“Yes, he is,” you mumbled and gave him a suggestive look.

This caused Malfoy to laugh. It was a dry, short laugh. He leaned back a little. “You’re kidding, right? Fucking hell, Weasel managed to not only screw you but do so while dating Granger?”

“I like how eloquently you phrased that,” you said sarcastically.

He ignored you. “How did that happen?”

“Okay, first of all”, you began, “… they weren’t dating when it happened. I’m not a homewrecker, that’s probably more of a Slytherin thing.”

“Does she know?”

“Know what?”

“Does Granger know you two f–”

“Geez, Malfoy, watch your language,” you interrupted him quickly, before you added: “And no.”

“So cheating isn’t a Gryffindor thing but lying is?”, Malfoy concluded, smirking again. “Good to know.”

“Oh, shut up,” you raised your chin. You were right about this in the beginning – you shouldn’t have told him anything. How were you supposed to get this right? Even though there was no reason for you to explain yourself to him, you still felt the need to: “They were going through a crisis and broke up and well … I spent a few weeks with their family and I always considered Ron a good friend but … but something happened. And then he ended things with me and got back together with Granger. Well, he got back together with her first and announced it in front of everyone, including me.”

“That’s how he told you that you two were over?”

You nodded. “Yup.”

“Phew,” Malfoy let out a whistle. “Wow. I must admit, I’m impressed.”

“Sure you are.”

Suddenly Malfoys facial expression changed from amusement to confusion. “So what’s the big deal now? You two screwed a few times and now he’s playing house with Granger again.”

You sent him another suggestive glance which caused him to let out another laugh.

“Please don’t tell me you got feelings for the Weasel,” he said in complete disbelief. Then his eyes suddenly began to wander further down and you realized he was looking at your … body. Rude. Before you got the chance to put him in his place, he simply said: “You can do a lot better, y’know.”

Oh. This was unexpected. You felt a blush creeping up your cheeks again and felt actually a little flattered by his words. Yet, they confused you. Why would he give a Gryffindor a compliment?! Was there a hidden insult in it? Maybe a slight undertone you didn’t notice?

“It goes without saying that this conversation stays between us,” you cleared your throat. “No one knows about this whole mess except Ginny. And you.”

Malfoy nodded. “You put an awful lot of trust in me.”

“Don’t disappoint me then.”

The two of you were quiet for a few moments. It was almost completely dark by now and a nervous glance to your watch made you aware that Ginny and the rest of her friends might appear any second now. The silence grew uncomfortable after a while.

“What’s up with that whole engagement thing, you mentioned yesterday?”, you wanted to know, remembering that weird comment of him. “And don’t act all mysterious again. I told you my mess now you have to share yours.”

Malfoy snorted. “Ask away.”

This was easier than expected. “Are you dating the little Greengrass?” Totally understandable if he was – Astoria was the perfect mixture of smart and drop dead gorgeous. A lot of guys were into her.

“No.”

“She called you ‘honey’.”

“Yes.”

You frowned. “I’m confused.”

“Do I really have to explain to you how pureblood marriages work?”, Malfoy said with a mocking undertone.

“Of course not. I just thought we left that behind us when the war ended”, you remarked.

He gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “As if hundreds of years of tradition can be forgotten with one war.”

“So you’re forced to marry her?”, you tried to understand the situation better.

“No, it’s an arranged marriage which is not even official yet,” Malfoy shifted slightly. “Mother would like it because the Greengrass family is still respected and …”

“… rich.”

He glanced at you quickly. “We lost a lot.”

“I bet,” you scoffed.

Abruptly, Malfoy got up and grabbed his bag. “I should leave.”

Out of instinct, you extended your hand to reach for him but stopped just inches in front of his arm. “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that”, you apologized. Feelings of guilt and pity appeared inside of you as you didn’t expect him to be so openly hurt by what you said. “I heard … well, everyone heard about the trials and your parents and all that. Sorry.”

Malfoy hesitated but then sat down again. His whole demeanour had changed in just seconds. He had almost been … approachable but now the look in his eyes was as cold as ice again.

You cleared your throat. “Do you want to marry her?”

He didn’t answer right away. You wondered what went through his head in this moment.

“I don’t ask myself that.”

The answer didn’t surprise you. “Why not?”, you tried to dig deeper.

Again, a few seconds passed before he mumbled: “No, I don’t want to marry her. I hardly know her.”

“Hmm,” you nodded. “Does she want to marry you?”

“I don’t know”, he gave a half shrug. “She had a thing with Zabini over the summer so I guess … I’m probably not her first choice.”

The answer to all of his problems seemed so easy, you thought. Yet it would be met with much apprehension. Traditional pureblood families like his were difficult when it came to this stuff.

Knowing what his reaction would be, you still had to say it: “So don’t get engaged.” Before he could reply, you raised your hand. “Yeah, I know, traditions and all that bullshit. Why don’t you just start breaking traditions?”

Malfoy shook his head. “My family works a little different than yours.

“Not that different to be honest”, you whispered under your breath.

He heard you and you were met with a very confused look. When you didn’t elaborate, he continued talking: “Anyways, I can’t. I could try to postpone but I’d need a very convincing reason.”

“Like?”

“Another girl from a good family.”

“And?”

“And what?”

A grin appeared on your face. “There are at least ten girls I can name right away who’d love to get a shot with you.”

Seriously, even most of the Gryffindor girls your age had been crushing on Malfoy at least once. He was very attractive and clever and that whole ‘bad boy’-act made quite a few girls weak in their knees. You had noticed this too but being so close friends with Ginny and Harry those thoughts never found room to grow inside of you. In your mind, Malfoy had always been an arrogant jerk. Still is, you corrected yourself quietly.

“Have you spoken with them since I became a –”

… a Death Eater, you finished the sentence in your head. Looking at the young man in front of you, wearing his school scarf while sitting in a sports stadium, the whole concept of him being a dangerous criminal just seemed absurd to you.

“Besides it’s a dumb idea”, he continued. “It would be a fake relationship and no one in their right mind would agree to that.” He let out a dry laugh. “Only a Gryffindor can think of something like that.”

In that moment, your eyes met. Never before did you notice the unusual colors in them like you did now. The piercing grey reminded you of storm clouds on an autumns day. Yeah, a fake relationship. Who in their right mind would … Unless …

The sudden thought that appeared in your mind made you flinch. He seemed to be thinking the same when he quickly broke the eye contact, straightening up and staring over at the field.

You got up in a rush, swinging your back over your shoulder. To your big relief, Ginny and your friends had just entered the Quidditch field. Their laughter echoed through the whole area.

„I should go. There’s Ginny.”

He nodded. “Right.”

“Thanks for the shoe.” Could this situation be any more awkward?! You doubted it. Hastily you turned around and almost stumbled over your own feet when you made our way back to the stairs. Something else came suddenly to your mind.

“Oh, and Malfoy?”, you stopped. He didn’t turn to look at you but you knew he heard you by the way he slightly moved his head. “I know a lot of fucked up stuff happened and pureblood families are the worst but … but don’t spend the rest of the year sitting here alone. I bet that there are still quite a few of your Slytherin friends that want to spend time with you.”

There was nothing you expected him to say in response to that so it surprised you when he suddenly said your name. “Y/L/N?”

“Yes?”

“Get over Weasley. It’s beneath you.”

You were glad he didn’t see the big grin on your face.

 ***

Ginny was surprised to see you coming down the stairs and running across the field. She wondered what you did up there and frowned when he saw a guy sitting there with the all too familiar white-blond hair.

“Is that Malfoy up there? Were you talking to him?”, she wanted to know when you finally reached the group.

“Oh, um,” you stuttered. “We ran into each other.

Ginny squinted her eyes. “Right”, she doubted. “How did you –”

Bang! You let out a short scream at the sudden noise.

“Sorry!” Someone shouted and a very distressed looking Seamus Finnigan appeared behind dark smoke.

“What the hell did you do?” Ginny squeaked and with that she forgot all about Malfoy.

You looked back up to where he was sitting just a minute ago. He was gone now. A weird feeling was left inside of you after the rather unusual conversation you had with the Slytherin. You shook your head, trying to get rid of it and turned your full attention back to your friends.

***

I hope you like it! I’d love to hear what you thought about it! <3

CHAPTER 4

“Choose Me Instead”-Masterlist HP-Masterlist Tag List: @writerdee1701​, @youareinllve​, @sjmahoney​, @detroitobsessed​, @takura-rin​, @jadam268​, @wynterwind​, @mina672 , @renaissance-confiance​, @harpoon999​, @doitforthevine67​, @rinasrights​, @flowerpowerpixie​, @gold-flowing​, @starkssnarks​, @bookcornerkins​, @harpersmariano​, @markedsweetly​, @iraniq​, @pointlesscoconut​, @hvrcruxes​, @pillowjj​, @idkatee​, @jungjxxhyun, @magicwithaknife​, @graystherapy​

Let me know if you want to be added to my tag list! <3

[drabbles-mc]

Drag You Down

Juice Ortiz x F!Reader

Request by Anonymous: Could you do a fic with Juice x reader where he’s ignored her for weeks only for Chibs to bring him to at her place the night he tried to end it in s4 e8 and he realized how much he messed up by ignoring her and tells her about the deal with potter, thinking she would leave him? You can decide how it ends

Warnings: language, angst, mentions of bruising/injuries, mentions of suicide

Word Count: 2k

A/N: This time period in the show is so heartbreaking for my boy but it does make for some really good angsty fics. Hope you enjoy! xo

You called his phone again only to get sent straight to voicemail. With a heavy sigh, you tossed your phone aside. At this point, you weren’t sure if you were more worried or angry. You’d even taken the time to swing by the clubhouse to check with Jax to make sure that you had the right number. Juice had been dodging your calls and texts for weeks—you hadn’t seen him at all and it was starting to get worrisome. Your concerns weren’t quelled at all when Jax said that Juice had been distant with the club as well. It was one thing if he was just blowing you off, or just blowing off the club, but he’d never cut himself off from everyone all at once. That wasn’t like him.

A few times over the course of the last few weeks, you’d driven past his house. You felt a little obsessive doing so, but you just wanted to know that he was okay and alive somewhere, even if he was ignoring you. You never saw the lights on or his bike in the driveway, though, and you had no clue where else he would go besides the clubhouse or your place.

You had poured yourself a large glass of wine and settled down into bed with a good book, just trying to get your mind off of everything that your brain was conjuring up. You couldn’t stand to keep thinking of all the terrible scenarios that Juice might’ve landed himself in if there was nothing that you could do about it.

You’d hardly pressed the glass to your lips when you heard someone knocking hard on your front door. The only people who would be knocking on your door at this hour would be people from the club. You threw on one of Juice’s sweatshirts that he’d left behind and made your way to the door. You looked through the peephole and your heart dropped into your stomach as you saw Chibs on the other side of the door, supporting Juice against his side.

You unlocked and practically threw the door open, “Holy shit,” was all you could force out.

Chibs looked exhausted, and angry. He had Juice propped against his side, a scowl etched into his features. You could tell that this was the last thing that he wanted to be doing at the moment. Despite the frustration, you knew that underneath it all, Chibs cared or he wouldn’t have taken the time to come and knock on your door.

Juice was a mess. Your brain couldn’t fully process what was happening in front of you, almost as though it was protecting itself from the hurt and disappointment of it all. His clothes were smeared with dirt and there were tears in his eyes as he stood in front of you, unable to meet your gaze.

“Come in, please,” you snapped back to the situation at hand as you gestured for them to come into your house.

Chibs walked in, immediately making his way over to the couch and depositing Juice onto it with no gentleness whatsoever. He sighed, running his fingers back through his hair. Taking a beat to get his thoughts in order, he looked over to you and nodded for you to follow him into the kitchen, out of earshot from your mutual bond.

You followed him, nervously biting at your bottom lip. Chibs could see the worry on your face and it made him feel worse about what he was about to tell you. He didn’t have all the details, but he knew enough to know that he had get Juice over to you if there was any hope of the situation getting resolved and everyone getting out somewhat unscathed.

“What’s going on?” you whispered, unable to tear your eyes away from Juice.

“Yer gonna have to do some damage control, love,” Chibs leaned in close to you as he spoke.

You ran your hands down your face, “What happened?”

He shook his head, “Not my story to tell. He needs you righ’ now. Don’t let him tell you otherwise,” he placed a chaste, reassuring kiss to your temple, “Take good care’a him for me, yea?”

You nodded, trying to get your racing thoughts in order, “Of course.”

He walked back into the living room and looked at Juice, who had his face buried in his hands. Chibs rested his hand in the center of Juice’s back, right between his shoulder blades. It was a soft gesture, and you couldn’t help but to think that you had never seen Chibs be so delicate with anyone, let alone one of the men from the club. You hung back for a moment, not wanting to intrude. Chibs leaned in and said something quietly to Juice that you couldn’t make out, but Juice simply nodded his head in response. Chibs nodded and looked back to you, offering up a small, brief smile before heading back out the door.

You walked into the living room and sat down on the couch next to Juice. Your leg brushed and pressed against his, and it broke your heart that you could feel him fighting the urge to pull away from your touch, from you. You wanted to reach out and pull him into you, but you didn’t. He didn’t look up at you, instead staring down at the floor, gnawing nervously at the inside of his cheek.

“I can’t try to help you if you don’t talk to me,” your voice was soft.

He shook his head, “I don’t think you can.”

You nudged his knee lightly with your own, “Try me.”

“Why do you even still want to help me?” he finally looked over at you, tears filling his eyes to the brim.

The sadness in his expression wiped away any of the anger that you had been feeling towards him over the last few weeks, “Because even though you’ve been driving me out of my mind the past few weeks when you decided to drop off the grid,” you shook your head slightly, “I still love you, and I still care about you. I will always have your back, Juan. But I can’t do it right if you don’t let me in.”

“There’s so much shit and I can’t…I can’t bring you…I can’t put this on you,” he blinked, trying to fight back his tears.

“We’re a team,” you lightly rested your hand on his knee, “Whatever it is that you’re going through, I’ll help you however I can. But I can’t help you if you keep me in the dark. What’s going on?”

He stood up off the couch and paced for a few moments, eyes looking anywhere but at you. You sat back and waited patiently, knowing that trying to rush him into telling you anything was only going to make him clam up more. He finally paused and took a deep breath. Still not looking at you, he reached and pulled his hoodie off over his head. You had no idea what it had to do with anything, but once he was down to just his t-shirt, your heart plummeted into your stomach.

You stood up and went over to him, taking the sweatshirt from his hands and discarding it on the couch. Tears trickled down your face as you looked at the bruises that trailed around his neck. He didn’t need to say it—you knew exactly what had happened. What you didn’t know, though, was why. You slowly reached forward, gently resting your hands on his shoulders as you looked at the dark marks that wove all around his throat.

“Why?” your voice was barely a whisper.

It was hard for him to look at you, hating that he was causing so much pain for you, “There’s this guy, this agent. He, um, he knows some shit about me, about my family. It…it could do me in with the club.”

You could see it on his face that he wanted to tell you more, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to do it. It was hard to imagine what the man could have on him that would hurt his standing with the club—they were all essentially career criminals at this point. What terrible thing in his past, in his family, would be that bad that he would bottle it up to the point of trying to kill himself to avoid the fallout?

“What is it?” he let you gently cup his face in your hands, leaning into the warmth of your palms, “You gotta let me in. Please, let me help you.”

Hesitation was written all over his features as he looked into your eyes. He looked so hopeless and torn up, his face stained with tears. He collapsed back down onto the couch and rested his head in his hands. You sat down next to him, pulling your feet up underneath yourself as you carefully draped your arm around his shoulders. You leaned slightly onto him, silently begging him to tell you what was going on.

After a few minutes of silence, he started to outline everything to you. You listened intently, and silently. His voice trembled as he told you about everything that had been resting on his shoulders over the past month. He was constantly wiping at his eyes and cheeks to keep his tears under control, and you felt your heart shatter inside your chest.

“I’m not telling you this because I’m expecting you to fix it,” he shook his head slightly, “I really wouldn’t blame you if you wanted nothing to do with me, with us, anymore.”

You pulled back from him a little, trying to get a direct look into his eyes, “Is…is that what you thought was going to happen when you told me all of this? You thought I was just going to…leave?”

As much as he tried to force it down, a sob made its way past his lips. He turned and leaned into you, letting your arms truly envelop him for the first time all night. You rested your cheek against the side of his head as he cried into your shoulder. Taking a slow, steady breath, you shut your eyes and lightly trailed your hand up and down his back.

“I can’t drag you down with me,” he said softly, “I can’t do that to you.”

You pressed your lips to his temple for a moment, leaving a soft kiss there before speaking, “You’re not dragging me anywhere,” you squeezed him tight to you, “We’re in this together. That’s the whole point, you know, that neither of us have to go through anything alone. It’s not going to be easy, and I’m not going to sit here and pretend to have all of the answers right now, but we’re going to figure this out somehow, okay? But please,” a few stray tears escaped and rolled down your cheeks, “You can’t do this again,” your fingertips ghosted over the bruises that lined his neck.

He pulled away from you and ran his hands over his face, trying to regain the slightest bit of composure. He reached out and his hand lightly cupped your chin, “I love you.”

You reached and traced your thumb along his cheekbone, “I love you too.”

“I’m sorry that things are always so messy with me,” you could see the genuine regret in his eyes that he had created this situation and put you into it.

You shook your head, “I’m not afraid of a little bit of a mess. You just can’t cut me out, okay? You need to let me love you through it.”

He nodded but didn’t say anything else as he leaned in and caught your lips with his in a tender kiss. You felt the way that he melted into you and you knew that regardless of everything else that was happening, all of the things that were out of your control, you were able to keep him safe for one more night. If getting him through things one night at a time was what it took, then so be it. But you knew, as his lips continued to gently move against yours, that you couldn’t let anything else happen to him. He was a beam of light in the midst of so much darkness, and that was something that you couldn’t afford to lose.

[theteddylupinexperience]

I’ve Got You-Marcus Moreno x f!reader

AN: this is my first fic in a whiiiiile, so I hope you guys enjoy! This is technically a female reader insert, but there are only a couple of pronouns used. Reader has fairly nondescript powers, but in my head it’s kind of a cross between Stranger Things and Carrie. Huuuuuuge huge thank you to @pascalpanic for being so encouraging and the sweetest beta reader ever! Thanks again darling!

Warnings: a couple swears, kissing, anxiety, brief mention of a bad relationship, blink and you’ll miss it Taylor Swift reference, Miracle Guy deserves his own warning, but really this is pure Marcus loving fluff

The room feels tight. That’s the only way you can explain it, it feels as though your lungs are compressed just sitting here. The conference room in the Heroics headquarters has never been your favorite, especially as a new recruit. The constant need to prove yourself to everyone is absolutely overwhelming.

The situation at hand is far from simple, Lavagirl and Mrs. Vox are both away on maternity leave again and the team needs people to cover for them the next few months. Marcus Moreno sits across from you, and flashes you a brief smile. You’re sure he can sense your nerves, he knows you too well. Although he was the leader of the Heroics, he had been the one to take you under his wing when you first joined, explaining that it was normal for your powers to feel like they were controlling you, despite you wanting it to be the other way around. You’d been hiding your abilities since you were a child, but now that you were an adult and allowed to feel everything so deeply, they had shown themselves more prevalently than ever. A week after a blow out fight with your ex, you had found yourself in the lobby of this very building, begging anyone who would listen to help you. The windows had blown out of your apartment when your fight reached its peak, and you were terrified that you could hurt someone.

Your attention is brought back to the room around you when Miracle Guy speaks up. “I just don’t see why we need to bring anyone in, we can handle things around here.”

“Don’t be so full of yourself, Miracle Guy, remember the alien invasion last year?” Tech-No shoots back.

“I remember we were saved by our children, why can’t they join us?”

“Maybe because they’ve got pre algebra during our training times,” Marcus speaks up, the eye roll in his voice palpable. The corners of your mouth twitch up as you try not to laugh. Marcus catches you, and shoots you a wink that makes your heart stop.

“Who do you suggest, Moreno?” Miracle Guy barks. God, he’s annoying, you think to yourself.

“I suggest Firefly,” Marcus says your nickname as though it’s the most obvious choice in the world, and you puff up slightly at his confidence in you. The pride, however, is short lived when you hear Miracle Guy scoff.

“Firefly?? Is that a joke?” he starts, “she’s completely out of control, she could get us all killed.” He sends you a cutting glare as he continues, “Or she could kill all of us.”

The room erupts into argument, you can’t keep straight who’s defending you and who’s agreeing with Miracle Guy. You wouldn’t be able to hear it past the blood rushing in your ears, anyways. You briefly catch Marcus’s eye as you stand up, but you can’t bear to fully look at him. What if he feels the same way? Oh god, what if they ALL feel the same way?

Miracle Guy’s words swirled around in your head as you storm out of the conference room. You manage, barely, to hold your tears back until you are out of sight, not wanting any of his accusations to ring true.

You turn a corner, finding yourself in the children’s area of the Heroics headquarters. You pace up and down the rows of lockers, just stay calm, don’t think about it, just stay calm. You’re shaking, tears finally spilling over.

You still in the middle of the hall, breathing hard and covering your face with your hands as your emotions reach a fever pitch.

“FUCK!” you scream, and every door of the entire row of lockers flies open.

“Firefly?”

You whip around, the doors slamming shut as electricity crackles in the air.

“Marcus?” you whisper. The tension drops immediately from your body, replaced with crushing shame as you realize your boss has witnessed your outburst. “Fuck, I’m so sorry, I just-“ you start, tears slipping hot down your face again.

Marcus looks at you for just a second, and you panic that he’s going to fire you, or worse, be disappointed in you. You go to apologize again, but before you can say anything, he’s crossed the hall to you and enveloped you in a tight embrace.

“Hey,” he starts, petting your hair, but never letting go of you, “Don’t be sorry, okay? I’m sorry. I never should have let that conversation get so out of control.” He freezes momentarily when he realizes what he’s said, and he pulls back, holding tightly onto your arms and looking directly at you. “You are not out of control, Firefly. You are the strongest person I’ve ever met, you have this incredible power within you, and of course it’s going to take time to get down. I have nothing but absolute faith in you,” Marcus promises.

You hazard a look into his eyes, your stomach knotting tightly in reaction to what you fear could be love. Marcus is a magnetic force of a man, someone you’ve been drawn to since the very second you walked into his office for the first time. There’s so much you want to say to him.

“I’m sorry,” is what comes out. “Why?” Marcus looks confused. You huff out a shaky laugh, “I don’t know.” He smiles at your laugh, and your heart swells. The doors of the lockers begin to shake again, threatening to burst open the way you fear your chest might.

If Marcus notices, he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t tease you, though a flash of a smirk crosses his face before he pulls you into him again. “I’ve got you,” he says. A few moments pass with Marcus just holding you while your breathing settles. “Hey,” he starts again, “come over for dinner? I know Missy would love to see you.”

You giggle lightly, pulling away from him. “Sure, I’d really like that. Missy is the best.”

Marcus feigns shock and offense at your statement, “What about me?”

“You’re okay, I guess,” you concede. Before you realize what you’re doing, you run your fingers through his hair. You watch his ears turn red at your touch, and briefly toy with the idea that he could feel the same way about you. He brings his hand up to cover yours, and brings it down to his mouth to place a kiss to your palm that makes your head spin. He feels like a sunset at the beach, or the first sip of your favorite coffee.

Marcus smiles, showing the dimple you adore so much.

You could cry again at the way he’s looking at you, but this time it doesn’t feel like rage or shame. It feels calm, calm in a way you’ve never felt before. All at once, your emotions are settled and your racing thoughts are quieted.

“What’re you thinking about?” he asks, breaking you out of the trance of his eyes and lips on you.

“I’ve just… I’ve never felt like this before. Not since I was little. You make me feel like I’m home, Marcus, I don’t know how to explain it,” you admit cautiously, noting how the lockers begin to shake again at the rise in emotions.

“Can I try something?” Marcus breathes.

You nod, and the rattling gets louder the harder you try to silence your mind. Your thoughts are everywhere, overwhelmed with everything Marcus, as you try to figure out what he’s going to do.

Before you can ask any questions, or even second guess yourself, his lips are on yours. Your eyes flutter closed, and you melt into the kiss, trying to memorize the way his hands feel on your waist, and his beard feels on your mouth, in case this is all a dream and you’re about to wake up.

The rattling stops immediately, and the hallway is filled with a blissful quiet as Marcus reluctantly pulls away to breathe. He rests his forehead against yours, and moves his hands from your waist to your jaw, to cradle your face in his hands. You are acutely aware of how hard you’re breathing, but also aware of the fact that the hallway is silent despite your heart and mind absolutely soaring after Marcus kissed you.

“How did you do that?” you giggle

“That was all you, sweetheart,” Marcus tells you earnestly, “you’ve been in control all along, I just gave you somewhere to focus that energy.”

You stand on your toes to kiss him again, more fiercely this time, almost desperate as you pour every ounce of love you feel for this man into the kiss. One of his arms moves around to the small of your back as he walks you backwards to rest against one of the lockers. You’re the first to pull away this time, just briefly, to place soft kisses along Marcus’s jawline. He sighs breathlessly at the affection, and gently grabs your shoulders to push you back. He looks deep into your eyes, and you get lost in just how gorgeous he is right now. His lips are red and swollen, his eyes dark, and when he leans down to place a firm, chaste kiss to your forehead you’re sure this is heaven.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about doing that since the moment I saw you for the first time,” Marcus says.

You laugh again, your cheeks burning deliciously from how hard you’re grinning at him, “The feeling is mutual.”

“Are you still coming over for dinner?”

“Can we do that again?” you ask, amusement and affection rich in your voice.

It’s Marcus’s turn to laugh now, and he laughs deep in his chest, tilting his head back, and you take the opportunity to sneak a kiss just below his ear.

Marcus cuddles you closer to him, your head on his chest listening to his heartbeat. He smooths your hair down, and kisses the top of your head.

“We can do anything you want, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

[jaskiersvalley]

AAA I loved that Jaskier attacking Stregobor -fic. I have re-read your fics multiple times and the centaur ones are my favorite (jaskier is my fav..) . I'm going on a 4 hour train trip the day after tomorrow (I'm terrified of trains and travel), so I'm probably going to use reading your blog as a distraction from anxiety heh. Thanks for doing what you do!

Wishing you safe travels on the train, Nonnie! For what it’s worth, I’m super proud of you for doing it despite being terrified of trains and travel. Will definitely be keeping you in my thoughts today as you make your journey (hopefully you’re off to do something nice !). To keep you well supplied with distractions, have a whole new AU just for you!

Witchers were an abomination but they were a necessary creation. Wingless and half wild with blood lust, society feared them, shied away from their unnatural looks even if they were created and not born like that. The trials and mutations stripped them of their wings, left them grounded and unreadable. Society was too used to reading social cues from wings, someone without them was a blank, emotionless figure.

However, they were an unwanted necessity. Airborne monsters were easy enough to deal with, there were teams and departments celebrated for their heroics in dealing with harpies and griffins. But things like arachasae, nekkers and drowners needed to be controlled and taken down. However, wings were too vulnerable and delicate to be subjected to being dunked in filthy water or crawling into dark, damp caves with. It was how witchers came into existence. They were given strength, stamina and healing power in exchange for their wings and their worth in the eyes of society. Needed but universally loathed, if a witcher was in town, people held their wings tight to their bodies for fear of a witcher getting jealous and tearing it off, fashioning fake wings for themselves out of them.

Jaskier’s wings were large, brown with white tips. He was especially proud of how the whites sparkled in the sunshine. It led to him preening, rubbing oils into the feathers to keep them perfect. He also spoke a lot with his wings, lifting them, flaring for dramatics, fluttering when excited and puffing up to flirt with anyone who gave him the time of day. Spotting a witcher in the corner of a tavern, his wings flared out, showing off and flirting out of habit. He wasn’t deterred by the lack of a wing twitch of dismissal or an answering fluffing of acceptance. Instead, Jaskier sat down at the table with a wide smile.

As far as first meetings went, it wasn’t Jaskier’s finest but Geralt didn’t verbally (or physically) eviscerate him for approaching which was as good as accepting the propositions as far as Jaskier was concerned. He was working with limited information so he had to do his best and hope.

The more he trailed after Geralt, the more he learned to read the smaller nuances of his body. When his shoulders tightened, Jaskier knew Geralt was worried. But a small raise of the corner of his lips meant mirth or fondness. Not to mention the tick of a jaw muscle which only ever came about when Geralt was engaging some horrible creature. As much as he denied it, Jaskier knew it meant worry, maybe even fear. No matter what anybody said, Jaskier knew that witchers felt emotions as deeply as anyone else, they just didn’t have the means to express them in the same way.

Life on the road was not an easy one. Jaskier soon became glad his wings were mostly brown, the whites were dust stained and less than glamorous. Oils and cleaning products had to be used sparingly because they ran out sooner than they got to a town that stocked Jaskier’s preferred brands. It was a worthwhile trade off, oils in exchange of inspiration and a muse for his art.

They were sat in another clearing, perched on logs and Jaskier was trying to reach the base of his wing where a few feathers were tangled and in desperate need of a tidy. One of them was probably loose but there was no way for Jaskier to see what he was doing. From the side, Geralt was pretending not to watch him struggle.

“You could help rather than gawk,” Jaskier huffed, annoyed that his arm wouldn’t bend exactly as he needed it. What use were good, strong bones when they stopped him from reaching the base of his wing?

Silently, Geralt stared at him before grunting. “You don’t want me help.”

“I think you’ll find I blood well do. Come and make yourself useful.”

Jaskier thrust the oil towards Geralt and huffed to hurry him along. He watched as Geralt’s eyes widened and he stood up, the most hesitant Jaskier had ever seen him. Steady hands took the proffered oil and Geralt settled on his knees behind Jaskier.

“See the feathers at the base? They’re giving me such trouble and itch like crazy.”

Careful hands reached to untangle them and Jaskier heard Geralt gasp.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt murmured. Without seeing him, Jaskier could read him so much easier. “I didn’t mean to.”

Not quite sure what had happened, Jaskier hummed and twisted to look back at Geralt who had a brown feather between his fingers and was staring down at it in horror.

“I’m too brutish for something as delicate as your wings.” Geralt made to stand up but Jaskier flared his wing, trapping him.

“It was loose. You need to pull a lot harder than that.” A suspicion was swirling in the darkness of Jaskier’s mind. “Have you ever touched wings before.”

Never before had Geralt looked so timid. Eyes wide, he looked up at Jaskier before his gaze skittered away. A small shake of his head told Jaskier everything.

“Well then,” he said and stretched his wings out wide in invitation, “have your fill.”

At first, nothing happened and Jaskier almost started worrying that he’d gone too far. Usually only mates and family groomed each other. Though he doubted Geralt knew that, having spent so long without wings. So he tried to tamp down on the emotions bubbling away in his chest. They were all driven from his mind with the first, hesitant touch that skimmed across the ridge of a wing.

Each touch was light, barely there and Jaskier could hear how gently Geralt was breathing, barely making any noise.

“You can touch all you want,” he reassured. Gradually, the touches got braver, after a few more loose feathers dropped thanks to Geralt, he settled into the moment.

Fingers buried themselves into each wing and Jaskier gasped at the touch. Geralt growled a little. “You’re so soft.”

As Geralt’s hands dug into the feathers, a thumb brushed against an oil gland at the base of a wing and Jaskier stifled a groan. It had been a long time since anyone had touched him there. Though he was free with his body and affections, there were some taboos even he didn’t break with a stranger. But Geralt was no stranger. They had been travelling together for so long now.

“Am I hurting you?” Geralt asked, frozen.

“Quite the opposite.” The admission didn’t fluster Jaskier as much as he had expected. “Your touch is very intimate.” The hand moved though Jaskier could feel the reluctance in it. “It’s a welcome touch, if you’re interested.”

A soft, quiet “yes” was barely audible but the touch returned and Jaskier bit his lip when Geralt mirrored his touch on the other wing too.

He didn’t last too long without begging. “I want to touch you too.”

Hesitant, Geralt moved from behind Jaskier. It was all too easy to tug him down to straddle Jaskier’s lap and his arms wound under Jaskier’s, returning to playing with the bast of his wings.

Instinctively, Jaskier’s hands wrapped around Geralt, hands splayed flat on his back. For all the scars he had, there wasn’t even that much to remind them of the fact he had been human once. Exploring the expanse of a smooth back, Jaskier shuddered. He was a little disappointed Geralt’ back wasn’t as sensitive as his but all it meant was that he got to explore and try new things.

Jaskier was delighted to find that nipping along Geralt’s jaw and kissing down his neck were met with favourable reactions. It emboldened him until their lips were pressed together, tongues licking against each other playfully.

It was a first that was definitely worth remembering. Geralt was so careful until Jaskier all but growled at him to grip his wings better. While lovers had done that before, none compared to Geralt and his raw power. There was no doubt in Jaskier that if he wanted to, Geralt could rip his wings off without even exerting himself. Instead, he was so careful and gentle with them, cherishing each touch, nuzzling under Jaskier’s chin and mouthing at the skin there as they fucked. While Geralt didn’t have wings that flew out to full span to shake and quiver with pleasure, there was no missing his enjoyment. Soft words, half lost murmurs dipping into growls and whines. Never before had Jaskier felt so worshipped and pampered.

They didn’t really mention it the next morning. Jaskier would have almost worried but, a few days later, he was unpacking bags from Roach for the night. At the bottom of the satchel for the bedrolls, he saw a handful of carefully stored feathers he recognised. They were the ones Geralt had loosened and pulled. Jaskier hadn’t realised they had been gathered up, cleaned of any dust and stashed away. There was nothing for it, Jaskier was going to have to keep adding to the collection. Maybe Geralt would appreciate a couple of white ones added to them when the time came.

However, the first white feather Jaskier shed didn’t end up in the bag. Instead, Jaskier brushed Geralt’s hair out of his face and pushed the quill through the bun he’d managed to put it up into. The fact they were in the middle of a tavern and Jaskier was declaring in a very public setting his claim on Geralt was only a secondary motive. As much as Jaskier wanted Geralt to be his, he also wanted to be Geralt’s. What he didn’t expect was for Geralt to smile, touch the feather now in his hair and then hold a hand up.

From a bag, he pulled a dagger, ornate with flowers and a wolf on the handle. Understanding the gesture, Jaskier accepted the offered dagger and tucked it into his waistband. With a stroke over Geralt’s cheek, he got up, slinging his lute across his chest, staring up the strumming for the first song of his set. If there was a slight swagger to his steps, a proud smile, nobody would have picked up on it because all eyes were on his puffed up wings as he showed off for Geralt and nobody else.

[buckthegrump]

IBTHNTTTY - 4

Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Y/n hates Bucky Barnes. Absolutely loathes him what makes it worse is that she has to share her office with him. Now with a promotion on the horizon she has to find a way to work with him and not against him.

Word Count: 1384

Warnings: Angst (kind of), fluff, mentions of past bullying, wizard swears, probably other things

A/n: i’m actually making pretty good time on this fic

They made it to the cabin site safely. 

Everyone had made it before them and had already divvied the cabins and teams for the weekend. While Y/n would be sharing a place with Natasha, her partner for the weekend would be none other than Bucky Barnes. That had Jill and Natasha written all over it.

Seeing as how it was still early in the day, they had an hour or so to get settled in their cabin before their first activity. So Y/n was in her cabin with Natasha.

“I know you’re behind it,” Y/n muttered. Both were sitting on their respective beds.

Natasha smiled. “It was Jill’s idea, I just talked to Coulson, and he agreed that the two of you could learn to work together better.”

“We share an office and haven’t killed each other yet, I’d say that we work together fine.”

Natasha snorted. “Please, at least once a month, the two of you get into a yelling match, scaring your poor intern who’s only trying to do his job. Not to mention that whenever I ask someone to take a manuscript down to you, their immediate reaction is to cringe and ask if they half to. Honestly, I’m surprised that no one died in that car on the way up here.”

“I still hate you for making me be his partner this weekend,” Y/n grumbled.

“It’s only two activities; the rest of the weekend, you can mope out on the beach with the book I know you brought.”

Y/n gave Natasha a half-smile. “I brought two.

“Of course you did,” Natasha said as she shook her head.

* * *

“Ok, so now that we’re broken up into teams, here’s how the game will work. One of you will be blindfolded, and the other will direct you through the maze. Both of you must make it through the maze to win,” Maria said.

“What’s the prize?” Someone called out from the back of the group.

Maria shot whoever it was a glare. “The prize will be revealed tomorrow night.”

“Sounds like an exciting way to say they haven’t figured that out yet,” Bucky said under his breath. Y/n bit back her smile, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of her thinking he could be funny; sometimes.

“Anyway, we are staggering the entrees to the maze, and you will be timed. The pair with the fastest time will win this game. Now we will start with group one,” Maria said.

Y/n glanced down at her paper. They were number 30, which meant they were close to last, if not, dead last. It also said that she would be the one blindfolded, which she wasn’t the least bit thrilled about. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Bucky; it was just she was 100% sure that he was going to leave her in the middle of the maze.

And if he did leave her in the maze, blindfolded or not, she would be fucked. If she couldn’t look at a map or hadn’t been able to walk the terrain before, she was shit at directions. It was one of the reasons she walked around a new city when she moved.

The maze was outside and just a quick walk from the campsite. It was made of hay, very on theme for October. But it also meant that they had built it higher than the average adult man, and there was no way to cheat their way out of it.

Y/n reached into her small backpack that she’d brought along and pulled out her book. She sat on a park bench near the maze entrance, which just so happened to be a slide. That made her more nervous because then she couldn’t just retrace her steps to the entrance; she would have to find her way out.

But, instead of worrying about all that, she read her book. She had barely made it two sentences in when she felt someone sit next to her. She didn't have to look to know it was Bucky, but she was just going to ignore him and hope that he didn’t try to talk to her. She would put up with a lot of bullshit, but interrupting her reading was where she drew the line.

He didn’t. He sat there staring at his phone, probably also reading, and didn’t say a word.

Then it was their turn to go in. Luckily they were allowed to go down the slide before she had to be blindfolded. One the other side of that coin, it was getting dark out, and Y/n wasn’t sure if they would finish the maze before it was dark out.

At the bottom of the slide, she put the stupid eye mask on, but before sliding it over her eyes, she looked at Bucky.

She opened her mouth to say something, thought better of it, and covered her eyes.

“Are you ready?” Bucky asked. His breath tickled her ear. She hadn’t realized he was standing so close to her. She nodded slowly, still not positive he was going to leave her behind. “Ok, just follow my directions.”

For what felt like three minutes, he gave her a steady stream of directions before he muttered a curse and stopped. She stopped walking and turned her head side to side as if she could tell which side he was on.

Buck didn’t speak for a long moment, and Y/n was starting to think he’d left her behind.

“Bucky?” She asked and was embarrassed by how scared she sounded.

“I’m here,” he said, and she let out a sigh of relief. “Did you really think that I would leave you behind?”

“It’s happened before,” she said simply, hoping that he wouldn’t ask questions.

“Well, lucky for you, I want that prize. I’m just trying to decide if we should go left or right.” It almost sounded like he was waiting for her to answer him. “Left.”

They continued through the maze much like they had at the start, with Bucky giving clear and concise directions, and Y/n blindly following them. 

“Shit,” Bucky swore just when Y/n thought they were getting to the end.

“What?”

“It’s really dark out,” Bucky answered. “Why did they think this was a good idea, and why are we the last ones?”

“Bucky, I’m going to ask nicely that you don’t leave me behind again. I’m directionally challenged at the best of times. And being lost in a maze will almost certainly send me into a panic attack,” she spewed out information that he probably didn’t need.

“Why are you so afraid that I’m just going to leave you alone in a dark maze?”

Y/n hesitated. “It’s happened before.”

“You keep saying that, I have never -”

“Not you,” she cut him off.

He went quiet again. And although she knew that he wasn’t going to leave him, she couldn’t help herself from -

“Bucky?”

“I’m still here,” he said softly. “Fuck it.”

He grabbed her hand and began leading her through the maze. The twists and turns were going at a rate that left her confused, but the quicker they got, the better. 

Bucky’s hands were big and warm. Y/n didn’t know if he did it on purpose or if was a habit he’d picked up somewhere, but his thumb rubbed comforting circles on the back of her hand. Somehow, his hand had callouses and was soft. 

That thought brought up a funny story about one of her friends from college, who, when commenting on the softness of a boy’s hands, blurted that he must masturbate a lot.

Bucky dropped her hand, and she instantly missed its warmth.

“Ok,” he said before she could ask what was happening, “I think we’re here.”

For a split second, Y/n was disappointed that he wasn’t still holding her hand. Then she cast the thought from her mind and reminded herself exactly who Bucky Barnes was. 

They exited the maze, and Y/n finally took off the blindfold.

“Good job, you two,” Coulson said as he walked towards them, “I’m pretty sure that’s the fastest time yet.”

Bucky looked at Y/n and winked. His smug expression made her want to slap him. She groaned and walked away.

[consumedkings-archive]

WITCHING HOUR, a john seed/deputy fic.

chapter five: dark vibrations

word count: 11.4k

rating: m for now, rating will change in later chapters as things develop, tags will be updated accordingly.

warnings: body horror, hallucinations (?), mentions of self-harm, mentions of suicide. spooky scary activities ensue. elliot has an increasingly difficult time keeping a grasp on reality. we knew this was gonna happen, though!

notes: howdy! i hope y’all enjoy this. sometimes i go weeks without updating and sometimes i wait like, 4 days before manically writing an entire chapter. you know how it be like that sometimes. i was feeling a bit more inspired and felt like i finally hit a groove on where this story was going, which i think definitely helped, and i hope you all enjoy it!

thank you, as always, to everyone who reads, likes/comments, even if you just come into my dms with two nice words or write something nice in your tags; it really does make my whole night to see even one person enjoying anything i’ve made. <3

Cold morning light filtered in through the window, drenched in wedding-silk grays thanks to the wintery cloud-cover. Everything in the room looked to be placed with absolute intent and care; polished, porcelain-white decor in elaborate geometrics, gold accents, a king-sized bed with impeccably pressed sheets. Truthfully, John had thought for certain he’d come back into the house to be informed by Elliot’s statuesque mother that, in fact, she had rescinded her offer to let him stay and actually, he would need to depart immediately, lest the authorities be called.

He was glad that it hadn’t come to that, of course, because it would’ve been such a shame to have to dampen Scarlet’s opinion of her own daughter so quickly into their meeting.

Dropping his small bag of belongings—the manila folder packed full of information, including his own scribbled notes; the burner phone; a few quickly-packed clothes that had been meticulously cycled to avoid the most long-term wear—John paused as the heat in the house kicked on with a delicate whirr.

Everything in Scarlet Honeysett’s home seemed to be precisely the shape and color that she liked, with not a single thing out of place; and yet, as the heat kicked on, he was certain that he could hear the sound of sharp, hushed voices downstairs, a little ripple in the woman’s perfect, arcadian home scene.

It was good. It felt good, to be here. To have gotten the upper hand. So much of the past weeks he’d spent with Elliot had felt like he was slowly, violently spiraling out of control, but this? She was here, and she had to play by his rules for once, and—

And he’d wanted just one more second alone, with her. To watch the way her eyes flickered over his face, to drink in the way her chin tilted up in defiance but not unlike the way she used to do it when she was waiting for him to kiss her, the same lovely high-color in her spreading along her cheekbones and the same little spark in her gaze. Whether it was anger or allure was neither here nor there, anymore; with Elliot, they were interchangeable, a stepping stone one way or another, just the way it had always been with them.

Because John liked her anger. He liked her wrath. He wanted to put his hands on it, his mouth on it, break it into pieces and wring it out of her and put it back and do it all over again, while she said his name, his name, and not anyone else’s. God, she’d been so fucking close—so close, and he couldn have just had her if he really wanted to, grabbed a fistful of her hair and kissed her when the sting of her slap was still fresh on his face. She liked when he did that; kissed her, like he was starved for her. Because he was starved for her, and then she could knot her fingers into his shirt or dig her nails into his skin or whatever it was she wanted to make him desperate.

The sound of excited barking downstairs broke him out of his thoughts. John blinked, taking one last swift look-over of the immaculate room his mother-in-law had decided to put him up in before he nudged his bag beneath the bed and stepped out into the hallway.

To say old money would be almost an understatement. Surely, this house had to have some kind of historical significance; it was several stories, with one of those grand staircases that was wide going up, hit a landing, and then split to either side of the house. As he made his way down, he caught sight of the flicker of Scarlet’s silk robe in the kitchen; music drifted out of it, the same kind of hazy, older music that Elliot had turned on in her mother’s house back in Hope County.

“Stop moving,” Elliot was saying to Boomer, strapping him into a little reflective vest that sat on him like a saddle blanket. For a second, she didn’t notice his presence—or willfully ignored it; he couldn’t say for sure one way or another—and instead focused on the Heeler, rubbing his ears and kissing the bridge of his nose. A tiny little smile ticked the corners of her mouth, and he thought he heard her say, so handsome, best boy, yes you are.

Boomer’s attention snapped to John, now at the foot of the stairs. He let out one sharp, accusatory bark (could dogs sound accusatory, John wondered, or was that just Elliot getting to him?), and what little of his hackles were visible from out under the vest spiked up instantly.

“Good to see you too, beastie,” John greeted him, trying to ignore the way the hound’s low-pitched, reverberating growls made his skin crawl. Flashes of Boomer’s numerous and vicious takedowns of not only Eden’s Gate members but at least one member of the Family that had the misfortune of having chained the dog up darted across his memory, like a flipping through a photo album.

“Don’t talk to him,” Elliot snipped, cupping Boomer’s ears protectively. “I don’t need him getting the idea we’re friendly.”

John rolled his eyes. “More than friendly, I’d say.” His eyes darted over her, drinking in once against the shock of her appearance—red hair, so fucking red that every time he looked at her it was almost like staring at a stranger until he took in the rest, the freckles smattering her nose and the flush in her cheeks, cupid’s-bow lips that were glossed. Had he ever seen Elliot with more than river-soaked mascara on before?

The woman shot him a look, dry and unamused, coming to a stand. He asked, “Going for a walk?”

“Trying to,” she replied tartly, “but someone is evil enough that Boomer doesn’t trust them.”

“We’re pals,” John offered pleasantly. “Me and the beast. You know, were, anyway. He probably just needs to spend a little time with me.”

“Speaking from personal experience, more time makes you less palatable.”

“Let me come on the walk with you,” he tried again, letting her little barbs and jabs roll right off of him, water skating off of his feathers. At this point, he really quite enjoyed her venom; it was familiar. “I’m sure we’ve got plenty to catch up on.”

Elliot eyed him warily, eyes giving him a scathing once-over—eerily reminiscent of her mother’s own disdainful look, and now he thought, ah, yeah, that is where she gets it from, then—as her mouth twisted around whatever it was she wanted to say but wouldn’t let herself. Something too vicious for Scarlet to overhear, perhaps. The threats she’d made in the past had been wildly colorful, but each second that Ell spent considering her words more carefully rather than saying whatever it was she felt with her eyes darting to the kitchen was another second that John became more aware of how little Scarlet actually knew.

“Fine,” Elliot said at last, her eyes narrowing. “I suppose that we do. Mama, we’re leavin’.”

The little quirk of an accent at the end of her sentence made him swallow back a laugh. He’d barely heard that Georgia accent back in Hope County, but maybe spending time with her mother had reinspired it.

“Alright,” Scarlet said, drying her hands on a towel as she stood in the doorway. Her eyes glanced between them, inquisitive for a moment, before she said, “Be quick. Doctor’s appointment in an hour and a half.”

John tilted his head. “Oh? Baby check-in?”

“Can’t imagine what else it would be, Mr. Seed,” Scarlet idled. “Are you familiar with the process of pregnancy?”

“Not beyond the knowledge of a man, I’m afraid.”

“Well, allow me to educate you,” the blonde said, her voice light. “When a woman is carrying a baby, she has to make frequent visits to the doctor, to ensure that all is well. Can’t have anything going wrong with the baby, you know.”

John steadied the intake of breath so that it did not sound so abrupt. He would have done a double-take and thought perhaps she was just overbearing, and not attempting to insult him, were Elliot not smiling. Certainly, only her mother’s attempted insult of him could elicit such an expression out of her.

“Then my arrival was fortunately timed,” he announced. “I look forward to it.”

“And you’ll be sorely disappointed,” Elliot cut in, her humor fading. “You won’t be coming.”

Ah, yes. That’s why I don’t love her attitude. “That’s absurd,” he replied, incredulous. “It’s nearly six weeks, and I haven’t seen a single ultrasound of our baby.”

He was careful, this time, to keep it to our baby. He’d seen the way Elliot’s expression tightened when he’d said my baby, even though that’s what came so naturally to him now, being that they were hardly on the same team—but he’d seen it, that look in her eye, the way she’d squared her shoulders like she’d suddenly been ready to go at him.

Only one thing to do with a rabid dog, Jacob had said, not two days before they found Elliot drenched in another man’s blood in the woods.

John half-expected Scarlet to jump in, to say that it was the father’s right to be there; she was more traditional than Elliot, if her comment about wedlock or her insistence of him staying were anything to go by, but when he turned his gaze to her, the older woman’s expression was devoid of any sympathy. Typical of Honeysett women, he was coming to find.

“If she doesn’t want you there, then you won’t be there. I won’t have my daughter stressed out,” Scarlet told him. “Stress is bad for the baby. Surely that falls within the realm of what a man knows about babies, Mr. Seed?”

He pressed his mouth into a thin line. “Surely.”

“Good. Hour and a half, my beloved, do not be late.”

That a woman had become so capable of tacking the softness of my beloved onto something that verged on a threat was nearly beyond John—would have been, certainly, were he not accustomed to Isolde’s particular brand of venom that was not so unlike Scarlet Honeysett’s.

“I won’t,” Elliot promised. “Can you call the handyman? My TV’s been acting up lately. Turning on static and whatnot.”

“Fine,” Scarlet replied, waving her hand. “I’ll have them come out this afternoon.”

Elliot turned on her heel and opened the front door out into the frigid morning, letting Boomer dart out ahead of her and not waiting for him in the least. He fell into step beside her easily, shrugging into his coat halfway out the door as it clicked shut behind him; she trudged through the snow, passing the garbage can and opening the gate that led out into what had once been pastureland and towards the woods.

It was the same fence that she’d been standing at, early that morning, face lax and serene. If the return to the fence bothered her at all, it didn’t show on her face any more than her irritation at having him there.

“Your mother’s quite...” John’s voice trailed off. “Tall.”

“Mm.”

“Statuesque, even.”

“Mmhm.”

“I get the feeling she doesn’t like me that much.”

“Yes,” Elliot acquiesced, her tone dripping with something close to venomous amusement, “I’ve never seen her take so poorly to someone so quickly before.”

“I suppose I should be flattered.”

“You would be.”

A fourth of the way into the snowy pasture and Boomer was far ahead of them, leaping like a little speckled gazelle in drifts of snow. It was easy to forget that the dog had been ready to rip him to shreds just a little under an hour ago (and once more, more recently). Still, as they trudged through a path that it seemed Elliot had worn through a few times before, John let out a little puff of breath and glanced over at her.

For just one second, she wasn’t spitting any venom at him, but rather seemed to favor the act of pretending like he wasn’t there, which was a bit worse than having her fix her fury on him. Her gaze was focused forward, following Boomer’s little lines in the snow. Attention at all was one thing, but acting as though he didn’t exist?

John said, “So, Burke just got his autopsy reports back and dropped you off right here at home, huh?”

Elliot’s face had already gone pink from the cold, right on her nose and spreading through her cheeks. At his words, a new flush of color rose, a shade more vicious than the last, and her gaze slid to him. If looks could kill, he thought, that dreamy little spike of delight at her eyes on him going straight to his head. Look at you, my little Wrath. You’ve got the good girl mask on, but I know what your true face is.

He’d seen it. Kissed her when the blood was still in her mouth. Let her feed the monster inside of her when she told him to beg, when she dug her nails into his skin, when her breath hitched in her chest from the pressure of his knife blade against her sternum—not in pain, necessarily, but delight at that pain.

The scar had to still be there, of course. The reminder of its existence, swathed in the heavy winter fabrics she wore now, made his fingers itch. If he could just get his hands on her—get his mouth on her, if she would just stop being so obtuse—but he didn’t think he’d be so fond of her if she wasn’t.

“The same way the government probably drove you and your siblings back to the compound and dropped you off,” she replied at last, her voice tight, “isn’t that right?”

John flashed his teeth at her in a grin. “Very astute, hellcat.”

Her expression tightened at the moniker. She sucked her teeth, fixing her eyes forward again, shifting back into the strategy of being withholding of her attention rather than entertain him.

“Oh, come on,” he said, swinging around in front of her and stopping her single-minded journey across the pastureland. “You can’t say you didn’t miss me even a little bit, Ell.”

“I told you,” she replied tartly, “not to call me that.”

“Because it reminds you of what it was like when we’re together,” he agreed.

An exasperated noise came out of her. “Did you forget that I lied to you?”

“At the end, sure,” John said, eyes flickering over her face. “But I don’t think you’re so good a liar you could lie about all of the times you said please, or the way that you said my name, or—and I think you’ll recall I’ve insisted on this bit from the beginning—the undeniable connection that we’ve had since we met.”

“You are a fucking lunatic,” Elliot snapped, her face flushing red. “And don’t fucking talk about me like I’m—like I wasn’t there, I know what I—” She sucked in a sharp breath; lower, and more threatening, “I’m aware of what I said. Of what I did.”

“And you’re going to tell me that it was all fake?” he prompted, unwilling to let go of this little thread. Gripping, sliding through his fingers, but he wouldn’t be so quick to let it escape him now that he didn’t have to think about her mother pitching in an unwanted opinion. “That you lied the whole time and you don’t feel anything for me, that—”

“Of course it wasn’t fake,” she bit out. Her voice had gone venomous, sharp, unbridled in its timbre. “I’m not a fucking psychopath, John, I can’t fake loving someone like you can.”

John opened his mouth to say something, and then closed it. He hadn’t been expecting that. Sure, there was a part of him that was sure Elliot had her doubts about his intentions, otherwise she wouldn’t have fucked off to the middle of nowhere (nor turned them in), but—still?

“You think I—” He paused again, blinking. “You’re not that stupid.”

Her eyes narrowed. Everything about her stiffened, quite suddenly, like maybe she was bracing to take another swing at him. “You are fucking begging for a punch to the face.”

“I mean,” John began quickly, waving his hands a little, “that you surely don’t think that whole time I was just—”

Elliot made a disgusted sound and brushed past him, letting out a high whistle; the sound immediately drew a flurry of activity as a flock of birds when bursting from the treeline, followed closely behind by Boomer’s gray-and-black speckled form. John fell back into step with her, huffing out a breath of air. He was going to table that discussion for later—she was clearly still upset, still a little sore and tender from their departure, and that was fine. There were a lot of things at play concerning his wife’s mood, including but not limited to being pregnant.

So she did, he thought, glancing at her through the corner of his eyes. Love me. Back then, and maybe now, still.

“How have you been sleeping?” is what he said instead, when the moment had spread between them long enough for him to think that he was safe to speak again with incurring her wrath once more. Her lips pressed into a thin line.

“Fine,” she replied, her voice tight.

“Yeah?” he asked, keeping his tone conversational. Elliot blinked once, slow, clearly trying to temper herself. “I just remember what a restless sleeper you were, back home.”

He wanted to say, I saw you at three AM, twice, staring out your window and then walking out into the snow barefoot. I saw you sleepwalking, I know you aren’t sleeping well.

He wanted to say that, and he couldn’t, because if Elliot knew he’d been tailing her for a while she’d go berserk—pull the plug, self-destruct, take whatever loss she had to in order to fucking end him.

“I’m sleeping fine,” the redhead reiterated. For a second, she looked like she wanted to say something; her eyes flickered uneasily, like something was bothering her and she hadn’t been able to say it to anyone but maybe she wanted to, and maybe she could say it to him, but something in the treeline drew her attention away. They were about ten yards away, now, the low breeze skimming pine needles against each other as Boomer barked conversationally at the birds that had so rudely taken flight.

Elliot’s molars clicked, grinding together. Her lashes fluttered, and she sucked in a sharp little breath through her nose.

“Elliot?” John glanced at the trees, but that was all he saw—tall, dark pines, bunching together erratically through years of growth spurts and inevitable fellings. He turned his gaze back to his wife, gaze inquisitive. “What?”

“Don’t you—?” She stopped herself, and sucked in another sharp breath, and now John felt the concern spike sharp and hot in him, because when he reached up she didn’t even seem to register his movement; Elliot, the same woman who had snatched his wrist and threatened to snap it in half for having the audacity to ‘sneak up on her’ when he’d been in the middle of talking to her, completely transfixed on something that he couldn’t see.

“Elliot.” He tried something firmer this time, his hand coming up to sweep the strands of her hair away from her shoulder and neck. The gesture finally startled her out of wherever it was she had gone, yanked her back to reality.

Her shoulder bunched up to her jaw in an effort to deter his hand, swatting at him absently with her hand. “Don’t touch me.”

“Are you going to tell me where you were just now?” John asked, tilting his head inquisitively.

“I was here. Just thought I saw something in the trees,” she replied tightly, turning away from the treeline and clearing her throat. “Just birds.”

Just birds, she said, even though the birds had already taken off and the forest was otherwise still and serene. Behind her, Boomer whined before beginning to follow her back towards the house. Elliot moved with a newfound purpose, one that she had been distinctly lacking before.

His mouth pressed into a thin line. John turned his attention back to the trees, searching for anything—any tangle of branches of play of shadows that might read sinister or threatening.

Only the trees and their shadowy pines. He thought about that night he’d fished Elliot out of the Family’s grip, when she’d been so fucking drugged up to her gills that she’d balked at the sight of the treeline on their way out. I don’t think I can, she’d said then, her voice pitching high with the anxious vibrations of panic. John, I don’t think I can—

“John,” Elliot snapped from ahead of him, “are you coming, or are you just gonna stand there all fucking afternoon?”

He thought about the way Ase had grabbed her hand, blood and viscera coating Elliot like she’d become a tried-and-true Scream Queen. If he searched long enough, if he sat in the memory long enough—did Ase’s mouth open? Had she said something to Elliot? What had she said?

“John,” came the grinding demand, again, less patient than before. “As much as I would love to leave you to freeze to death for insinuating I’m stupid, mama would hate to have to deal with a corpse on her property and I’d never hear the end of it.”

“I missed our banter,” he replied, though the jest did not quite land the same way that it would have were he not so deep in his own thoughts. By the time he’d started walking in her direction, his back to the forest, something uneasy had settled just under his skin; the feeling of being watched, eyes on the back of his neck, anticipation prickling along like his spine.

The house loomed, polished and pristine, on the horizon; as they picked their way across the snowy field, Elliot puffing out breaths occasionally from the labor of it all, John tried to shake that pervasive feeling of dread that had settled over him.

Maybe it was nothing. Maybe Weyfield was just Weyfield, a small town not unlike Hope County, and maybe he was just jumpy from the way the Family had conducted their business, and maybe it was the same for Elliot, who had certainly been put through a different experience than he—but regardless:

The sooner they got out, the better.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Shouldn’t have agreed to let him drive me here.

“Have you been getting enough sleep?”

It was stupid. Stupid, I should have put my foot down, told him to fucking stay at the house and wait for me to come back.

“Elliot?”

She blinked, vision fuzzing and refocusing around the sterile white of the doctor’s office. Her abdomen was sticky, and the ultrasound machine had been turned off along with her shirt tugged back down. Like usual, Dr. Harding did not say anything about the gossamer-webbing of scars, but did pause upon first seeing them, as though she hadn’t seen them times before.

“Sorry?” Elliot said, the apology quirking up at the end in question. She sat up from the bed, the paper crinkling beneath her as she moved.

“I asked,” Harding reiterated, “have you been getting enough sleep?”

Elliot knew the answer. She felt the exhaustion souring in her mouth already, the way something spoiled when it went too long without attention. A sickness. She should say that she hadn’t been sleeping well at all, that she’d begun sleepwalking, that

(seeing things, I’m seeing things when I close my eyes and when I look in the dark treeline, I see faces, heads, people I don’t know but they feel familiar and their faces drop down in between the branches of trees on invisible silk threads and their terrible dark mouths open but they can’t scream)

she’d been feeling out of sorts, as of late. That seemed like a nice way to put it.

The dark images that had fluttered between the trees on her walk earlier that morning with John felt as real as any memory—and that wasn’t to say that her memories always felt real, because they didn’t. But the validity of this morning’s waking nightmare of floating heads drifting between tree-trunks, swinging loosely while John asked her how she’d been sleeping.

“Fine,” Elliot said after a moment, feeling a fresh wave of nausea come over her. “I think, um, maybe the stress about the baby is keeping me up at night.”

Harding regarded her for a moment. The severe sharpness of her dark hair pinned back did nothing to soften her expression—though the woman was hard-pressed to be cheerful, she, at the very least, never sugar-coated anything. “Have you been trying those breathing exercises before bed? And spending time at the stables, as I suggested?”

“I have,” she replied, which wasn’t entirely untrue—she was doing at least one of those things. “It’s just been a lot of—stress, is all. I’m sure it’ll get better once the holidays are over.”

“That can definitely help,” the woman agreed, nodding her head and typing a few loose notes into the computer. “If you find that you aren’t getting enough sleep—enough,” she continued, pointedly, “restful sleep, you let me know and we can figure out some next steps.”

Elliot nodded, coming to a stand; the sudden movement had her head rushing, and she for a second she thought again of the floating heads, swaying with the breeze through the pine boughs.

“I’ve been sleep-walking,” she blurted out impulsively, her doctor’s gaze turning quizzically towards her. “I mean—um, just twice.”

“Do you have a history of it?”

“No,” Elliot began, “but I’ve always been a restless sleeper.”

“It’s not uncommon for sleepwalking to increase with pregnancy, Miss Honeysett,” the doctor replied, her voice even-keel. “It sounds like you’re under quite a bit of pressure, as well. I would suggest trying something mild—an over-the-counter sleep aid would be fine. Unisom is a typical one. Try half of one first, and see how it makes you feel.”

“Okay,” she murmured, sliding her coat back on. Something that was less heavy-duty than the pills her mother had left for her might be good. “Are there any—symptoms? To sleeping pills?”

The doctor adjusted the glasses on her nose, regarding her for a long moment. “Some adverse side-effects, on occasion. Usually with stronger, prescription sleep aids, you could have worsening anxiety and depression, day-time drowsiness. That kind of thing.”

So, no hallucinations, then. No sleepwalking, no lost time, no...

“Are you having other symptoms?” Harding asked.

You’ll think I’m crazy, Elliot thought, you’ll think I’m fucking nuts if I tell you about my dream with the television, and Joey’s body, and walking out nearly to the treeline in my sleep clothes. You’ll think I’m fucking nuts and I’ll have to be committed.

So Elliot said, “No, just curious,” and Dr. Harding hummed as she scribbled the name of the sleep aid onto a sticky note for Elliot to take out with her.

“You have a healthy baby, Miss Honeysett. Let’s keep it that way, shall we?” The brunette gestured for Elliot to head out the door, walking with her back up the hallway that led to the front lobby once again. “Next appointment we can find out the gender, if you’d like.”

“Oh,” Elliot said, surprised. Was it that soon already? Had it already been that long of being—like this? With child? She swallowed, pleasant little flutters in her chest. It was the first time that she’d felt something other than dread concerning the baby. Well, first time, sans John’s annoying little assertion about his claim. Why had that bothered her so much?

“You can decide to keep it a surprise,” Dr. Harding added, sound a little amused. “Think about it, and in the meantime, get some rest. Half a pill to start, remember.”

“Will do, thank you.”

She waded through the small collection of people in the lobby and out onto the street. Something strange was humming inside of her—it was sad, she realized, with a little spike of panic. She felt mournful. So fast, and so soon, she would figure out the baby’s gender, and suddenly the baby would be all the more real and she’d have to start thinking about names, she couldn’t have a baby without a name, and how was she supposed to pick a name? How was she supposed to decide something a real human being was going to be saddled with, forever?

Was the baby a Seed? Or a Honeysett?

Which one was she?

“What’re you doing, just standing out here? You’ll freeze.” John’s voice broke her out of her thoughts, shaking her back to reality again. He must have seen her standing there, glassy-eyed in the middle of the sidewalk, from where he’d been waiting—perhaps, if she was lucky, even suffering over the fact that he hadn’t been allowed into the doctor’s appointment—and come out. He’d kicked up a big enough fuss about not getting to come in that she’d said, fine, you can fucking drive me there, but that’s it, and true to his word John hadn’t pressed the matter any further than that.

Even though he wanted to. She could tell he wanted to, the second they had parked on the main street. She could tell he wanted to say, so, maybe I do come in, hm? What do you say to that? But he hadn’t. And that was...something.

Fuck, she needed to stay focused; she couldn’t keep letting her mind wander like that. Twice in less than an hour?

“I was just—thinking,” Elliot replied, feeling exhausted already. John’s brows furrowed at the center of his forehead, and she sighed. “Stop looking at me like that.”

He arched a dark brow loftily. “Like what?”

“Like you fucking care,” she snapped.

“Contrary to what you might believe concerning my feelings for you,” John quipped, his voice tart, “I do have every reason to be invested in the well-being of our baby.”

She thought to reiterate again that the baby was, in fact, hers, and not any part his, as she was doing all the work and John had done nothing to endear himself as an acceptable father-figure, but she was too tired. Something about the doctor’s office and the way she’d had to dodge the truth of how she’d been feeling left her empty, scooped out her insides like she was a Jack-O’-Lantern and left her floating, aimless.

“Ell,” he began. His voice had pitched lower, now, and his hand reached up; she saw it move in the corner of her vision and something inside her said, yes yes yes, this is what we want, we remember you, we know you. He twisted a loose curl around his finger, letting it smooth out against her shoulder, the corner of his mouth ticking upward when she absently batted his hand away. “Tell me about the appointment. Did everything go well?”

“The baby is fine,” she told him, and then sighed. “I mean—healthy. The baby is healthy. The doctor wants me to pick up an over-the-counter sleep aid, so we’ll need to stop at the store on the way home.”

“I thought you were sleeping fine?” John prompted. He sounded sly. His was a gotcha tone, the way he got when he thought he’d walked a particularly fine circle through the holes in what she chose to tell him or not. Elliot’s expression flattened. She ignored the way that he was looking at her—hungryhungryhungry, always greedy and never, never content with what he had—and fixed her eyes on the passing traffic behind him.

She said, “Just when you’re being somewhat tolerable, you have to go and ruin it.”

“If it’s intolerable for me to point out when you’re withholding information from me about your health,” he demurred, “then I’d prefer intolerable.”

“I cannot believe that I have to say this to you,” Elliot bit out, the sudden spike of irritation flaring hot and violence in her chest, “but I don’t fucking owe you anything. I don’t owe you the truth, or an explanation, and quite frankly, the fact that I allowed you to even chauffeur me to this fucking appointment is a sign that I’m being incredibly generous with you—far more generous than what you deserve.”

John’s teeth flashed in a grin. Before, back in Hope County, the venom had bothered him—he’d hated it, frowned and fought back with a little poison of his own, despised that he had to work so hard to get to the nitty-gritty underneath. But he had once, and perhaps now that he had known her, it only thrilled him.

How frustrating.

“Everything I did,” he said, lowering his voice as he closed some of the small distance between them now, “whether you believe me or not, was for us—”

“Ugh.”

“—and I might have gotten a little heated,” John continued, and this time when he reached up again Elliot’s mouth twisted into a grimace and she tilted her face away, don’t say it don’t say it don’t you fucking say it fuck you fuck you fuck you, “back at the ranch, but I meant it when I said that I l—”

“Honeysett!”

It was Via. Her greeting immediately cut off John’s words, effectively driving a wedge between their metaphorical—and physical—closeness. Snapped her out of the magic of his cologne and his voice and his hand coming up to her shoulder with its grounding weight.

“Missed you at the barn today,” the blonde chirped, cheery as she approached, hands tucked into her fluffy parka pockets. Her eyes flickered over to John, inquisitive. “Friend?”

And then Via turned her eyes back to Elliot, waiting expectantly. It struck her quite suddenly that Sylvia was checking—that despite the kindness and warmth in her voice, she was giving Elliot the opportunity to escape, to wave a red flag and ask for help. She said friend?, and what she meant was, is this man bothering you?, and it made a fuzzy warmth spread right through Elliot’s chest, uncomfortable in the softness is inspired in her.

“Hey, Via, this is...” How best to proceed? How to explain, this man is the father of my baby—which, by the way, I’m pregnant—and also technically we are legally married, oh and also he’s supposed to be in Federal custody right now but he isn’t, somehow, but it’s fine, we’re all good? “...my...John.”

Sylvia eyed her for a moment, sticking out a gloved hand. “Howdy, Elliot’s John. I’m Sylvia.”

John was clearly trying not to have the biggest shit-eating grin on his face as he shook Via’s hand. “A pleasure to meet you, Sylvia,” he replied pleasantly, once again reminding Elliot that the man was a tried-and-true practiced liar and could slip a perfect face on at any time. The knowledge was almost enticing, to know that she’d seen him without the masquerade, more than once.

It made, in hindsight, reflecting back on that moment he’d come unraveled at the ranch—No way, baby, I’m fucking it for you—have a different light. She had done that to him.

Good.

“Y’all busy?” Sylvia asked, blissfully not prying any further for an elaboration on what the nature of their relationship was. “I was just about to meet Wyatt at the Wild Rose. It ain’t trivia night, but they do have a live band playing tonight that’s supposed to be good.”

“Oh,” Elliot said faintly, “I don’t think—”

“That sounds excellent!” John interrupted. “I’ve barely seen anything of Weyfield. What do you say, Elliot?”

I say you can eat shit, she thought, but Sylvia was watching her closely—trying to make sure everything was okay, she supposed, considering Elliot had said nothing of John since they’d become friends. She took in a little breath and looked at the blonde, giving a small smile.

“No harm in a little time out of the house,” she agreed after a moment. “I’m starving, anyway.”

She wasn’t hungry in the least. The sticky note with the doctor’s suggested sleep aid was crumple in her pocket, and a little sweaty from the way she’d been clutching it, but somehow the idea of returning back to the house only seemed to fill her with more dread.

The tv, buzzing static, dull and thrumming in the back of her head, in the roots of her molars. HAVE YOU BEEN HAVING STRANGE DREAMS? And the heads, twisting and turning in the breeze, their silk-spun puppet threads invisible, their mouths swinging open as they try to scream.

HAVE YOU BEEN HAVING STRANGE DREAMS?

“Well, can’t have you starvin’,” Sylvia said amusedly, looping her arm through Elliot’s own and beginning to walk. “You’re not keeping my girl well-fed, Mister John?”

“Trying my hardest,” John replied, his gaze sly, “but she can be a bit ornery.”

“Hm, that does sound like her. Where are you visitin’ from, anyway?”

As they chattered, over her, John on one side and Sylvia on the other, Elliot got the distinct impression that her friend was quietly, politely fishing for information without putting Elliot under the stress of it.

HAVE YOU

Snow underfoot. The forest breathing, expanding, swelling because it holds some great, dark beast just waiting for her to get close enough.

BEEN HAVING

(Itwaitsforyouitwaitsforusallanditwillhaveyou)

STRANGE

“Careful,” John cautioned, reaching for the door with all of the gentlemanly nature of a man not possessed by the devil to hunt her down across states, “it’s slick.”

He opened the door into the Wild Rose, the sweep of warm air rushing over her a pleasant shock to her system that managed to draw her back to reality. Sylvia nudged her inside, effectively planting herself between Elliot and John as they moved single-file into the crowded bar.

She was tired, and having nightmares, and once she finally got some sleep she would feel a lot better about everything. All she needed was some sleep. And in the meantime, try to enjoy her time with her friends as best she could.

Get some sleep. Feel better in the morning. Burke’s old mantra popped up in her head, running through the worn grooves that were a sad, bittersweet sort of comfort to her now; the second you think you can’t anymore, you keep going anyway. Dig, dig, dig, until her fingers were dirt-packed and bloody, as deep as she fucking needed to go to keep moving, because it wasn’t just about her anymore.

Get some sleep.

Feel better in the morning.

Sylvia had drifted out from their little formation to make her way to the booth they had recently staked out as their own, where Wyatt already sat waiting and waving for them. John planted his hands on her shoulders, squeezing and lowering his mouth to her ear. “What do you want to drink?”

“You’re acting awfully domestic for someone who should be in Federal custody,” Elliot replied lowly, looking at him over her shoulder just in time to see him flash a smile that was all teeth.

“C’mon, hellcat,” and he all but purred the words at her, making her skin prickle in a type of anticipation that wasn’t purely dread. Traitorous, treacherous body. “You can at least play at liking me while your friends are around.”

“Iced tea.” She shrugged, disembarking his hands from her shoulders. “No lemon. A lot of ice. Think you can swing it without, I don’t know, lying halfway to Hell on your way there, Slick?”

“Anything,” he replied, pitching his voice even lower amidst the din of the bar, “for my lovely wife.”

Elliot’s head snapped around, ready to grab a fistful of his shirt and remind him to watch his fucking mouth, but he’d already started his journey to meander through the crowd and reach the bar on his little fetch quest.

Fucker, she thought, even when her stomach twisted with something other than vicious disdain. John had only been here for a day and was already too comfortable taking liberties; she’d have to make sure that got nipped in the bud before he got any funny ideas about his own personal redemption arc.

It would have been nice, to just be able to turn off any and all feelings whenever she wanted. But she couldn’t, and that meant she’d have to do the next best thing:

Get John the fuck away from her.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Eden’s Gate did not make a good first impression. Eden’s Gate did not even make a good second or third impression; in fact, Isolde had come to the conclusion that Joseph’s little compound was incapable of making any impression that didn’t fill the observer with a sense of despair. Every time she stepped out of the little building Jacob had set her up in, she was overwhelmed with disgust—eyes followed her, but none of them held anything beyond a dull spark of interest, nearly smothered by what seemed to have been a full-body beat down by the other cult.

The other cult, she constantly had to remind herself, because that’s what Eden’s Gate was. A cult.

A few miserable days at the hands of Montana’s coldest winter by record had her in a foul mood. The snowfall seemed inevitable, like it wouldn't ever stop, and the amount of times there had been paths shoveled between buildings—all leading to the chapel—were equally endless. Isolde couldn’t imagine coming to fucking Montana for fun, let alone for work, and yet she was somehow here for the latter and not the former. Distinctly, painfully lacking in fun.

It didn’t help that Joseph was insufferable. It didn’t help that every time he fixed his eyes on her, she felt an uncomfortable heat dripping down her spine like some kind of molten IV, like they hadn’t left on the worst of terms. Like she hadn’t told him to get the fuck out of her loft, like she hadn’t thrown an engagement ring on the floor like it was poison.

That was a time of her life that she had the distinct desire to not revisit, not even once, and yet in his presence—she found it nearly impossible to ignore. Joseph seemed to take a special, muted pleasure in making her hackles raise, and at least that hadn’t changed about him.

“Sol!”

Jacob called to her from halfway down the compound’s yard, a truck idling beside him. She stopped her trek back to her little hovel and looked at him, arms crossing over her chest.

“You wanna get out for a little?” He inclined his head toward the truck. “I’ve got some errands to run.”

“What kind of errands do the Collapse dictate?” she asked.

“The important variety.”

“Hm.”

She didn’t elaborate on that any further, and Jacob waited only one heartbeat before he reached for the driver’s side door and opened it, slowly.

“Going once—”

“I am not a child, Jacob.”

“—going twice—”

Fuck, did she want to get out.

“Fine,” Isolde snapped, “but bring that truck here. I’m not hiking through a snowdrift to get to you.”

Jacob, sounding quite pleased with himself, replied, “I thought you weren’t a child?”

He seemed moved enough by the dramatic eyeroll to oblige her, and if he found it annoying, it didn’t show; enough so, at least, that Isolde was able to clamber into the passenger side of the truck once he pulled it around, tapping the snow off of her shoes before pulling herself in.

“Thank you,” she huffed, shutting the door and rubbing her fingers to circulate the blood again. “This weather’s a bit abnormal, don’t you think?”

“Not anything out of the ordinary for this time of year, no,” Jacob replied. He nudged the windshield wipers on, plowing a thin layer of snow that had already begun to accumulate off of the window before starting to pull out of the compound. “I think you’re just not suited to the snow.”

“Could have told you that myself,” Isolde snipped. “I’m a hot-blooded creature.”

Jacob made a noise, something like an mm, a place between agreement without incriminating himself by agreeing too fervently or elaborately. She glanced over at him through the corners of her eyes as they turned onto the highway. In the comfortable silence that elapsed between them, Isolde settled back against the seat of the truck and tried to appreciate being out from the stifling dread of the compound.

It did seem to her that Joseph was markedly different than he had been, before. In the few instances in the last couple of days where he hadn’t been picking a fight with her, it almost felt normal—but of course, he was doing it in his own way, this pot-stirring, this instigating. With politeness. With kindness. By remaining completely unrattled by anything she said to him, every, any critique, so self-assured in his righteousness that not even reason could make him look twice at the state of his congregation.

Then, he had always been that way. Righteous. Assured. She had found it appealing, once—she liked a man with confidence—but now she found it—

Equal parts frustrating and attractive. Objectively, of course. Not anything that she felt herself.

“Trying to account for the bodies of the Family against the ones we know we saw before,” Jacob explained, when she had been quiet long enough to let him sort out his thoughts. “Seems like they started killing themselves, in pairs, once the two leaders were done with. I sent out a couple of scouts and they radio’d back some locations, but they’ve gone quiet for a while.”

“Dedication,” Isolde murmured, digging the nail of her thumb into her lower lip. “How dreadful.”

“The dedication, or the act?”

“Both. Imagine being so bound to something or someone.”

Jacob’s mouth twisted in a wry smile, and he brought the truck to a crawl. Two bodies, swallowed by snow nearly up to their waists, sat propped against the cliff face. He fished a pad of paper and a near-worn out pencil out of the center console of the truck and held them out to her.

“Mark it down, Sol.” When she blinked at him, he continued, “What, you thought you were gonna get out and not help me?”

“Well, I was hoping.”

She sighed, taking the pad and pencil—a glorified secretary is what I am, she thought bitterly—and marked two tally marks down. From where the car was stopped, she could see that the arms of the corpses came together, and though it was buried in snow, she had to think that beneath the white frost their hands were intertwined.

They went like that for a while; Jacob would drive to a spot, have her mark down the amount of bodies, and then go on. By the time they had reached Fall’s End, Isolde had counted nearly twenty dead bodies. As they rolled into the far end of town, Isolde realized very quickly that most of the buildings were blackened, and when she rolled down her window, the stale scent of charcoal still sat in the air.

“What happened here?” she asked, grimacing and scrunching up her nose.

“Dunno,” Jacob replied tightly. “Someone with an agenda.”

Isolde’s gaze snapped to him, to try and wring any information out of his expression, but true to his nature Jacob remained completely unreadable. It wasn’t until they had gotten to what appeared to have once been a bar and tallied up the bodies there that Jacob threw the truck into park.

“What in the fuck?” he muttered, eyes fixed forward. When Sol followed his gaze, she realized that it was fixed on someone—someone running towards them, frantically, nearly falling over themselves in the snow.

“Is that one of yours?” she asked. “Jacob?”

“Shh.”

He had busied himself fishing around in the back seat, and as he did Isolde squinted, trying to get a better look at what was going on. The man running definitely had to be Eden’s Gate—he had the big red emblem on his shirt, but he wasn’t wearing any coat, and—

And there were others.

“Jacob,” Isolde said, “there are more.”

“What?”

“Bodies,” she managed out, “there are more bodies.”

The snow wasn’t so deep on the roads that she couldn’t see the width of a body, and she did—see it, that is, tousled dark locks reflecting wet and sticky in the overcast, late-afternoon light. The man running was waving his arms and yelling for help, and then he fell over one of the bodies, fell to his hands and knees over the body of someone else, and made a sound kind of like anguish.

Jacob finally managed to pull out what he’d been looking for—a pair of binoculars—and immediately lifted them to his face.

“Shit,” he said. “Fuck, they’re ours.”

“All of them?” Isolde demanded. “They’re all—”

“Yes,” he bit out, opening the driver’s door and grabbing the rifle from the back seat. “They’re all ours. Isolde, stay in—”

Jacob’s words were cut off by the violent crack of a gunshot. For a split second, Isolde saw nothing; in the space between heartbeats, sluggish from panic, she saw the arterial spray coming from the back of the running man’s body before he hit the ground, screaming.

He wasn’t dead. He wasn’t dead, he was still crawling, dragging himself through the snow, leaving a smear of red behind him, and that’s when Isolde saw them.

Jacob had stopped moving as well. The person at the far end of the main road leading through Fall’s End had yet to shoulder their weapon. From here, Isolde could see that she was tall—short-cropped, blonde hair, swathed in dark clothes, but beyond that the features were near impossible to make out.

“Close the door,” Isolde hissed, not moving, her instincts screaming to duck but the fear that sudden movement would draw attention prevailing. “Jacob, close the fucking door.”

The eerily satisfying click-click of what could only be the bolt-action rifle in the hunter’s hands clattered around in her head. The rifle was returned to their shoulders, brought up level, and then fired again.

Out of pure instinct, Isolde flinched—but once again, the bullet was aimed not at them, but at the man already crawling in the snow. The sound of the gunshot, and the subsequent bullet-on-bone impact, was enough to make her stomach churn; now, at least, the man lay slumped in the snow, one of the many bodies that seemed to have been the unfortunate pull-and-fire clay birds for the stranger.

“Who,” Isolde whispered furiously, as Jacob carefully put the truck into drive without letting it move forward at all first, “Jacob, who the fuck is that?”

The redhead’s expression was unforgivingly tight, pulling taut with it the scars and mottling of his skin visible outside of his beard. He wasn’t looking at her, but rather kept his eyes fixed forward, as he closed the driver’s side door.

“Fifteen men,” he ground out between his teeth, “that’s fifteen fucking men I sent out here to figure out the body count.”

The stranger finally lowered their rifle, apparently satisfied with their work. This far away, it was hard to tell, but Isolde got the distinct impression that they were being watched, looked at now, where before the attention had been elsewhere.

And then it was confirmed, because the stranger lifted one gloved hand and pressed her index and middle fingers right against the hollows of her jaw. A snakebite. A cut right to the carotid. A message.

Jacob cranked the wheel, the tires shrieking in protest against the snow as he pulled between buildings in a sudden rush of acceleration. The stranger was quickly cut out, stifled by the side of the used-to-be-bar, leaving them out of direct range of a sniper rifle. Not that her companion seemed that pleased about it, anyway.

“Fuck,” he bit out, seething as he tried to navigate the narrow space in the clumsy Eden’s Gate truck. “Fuck, did you count how many bodies were on the ground?”

“Hm, no!” Isolde snapped viciously. “I was a bit too busy trying to make sure they were going to shoot us!”

Jacob gritted out another string of swears between his teeth, turning the truck until he could take what looked to be a back alley in the opposite direction of their little hunter. He checked the rearview mirror frequently; his expression was set in a deep frown, and he only looked at her once before continuing his regular scanning of the road behind them.

“Well, aren’t you going to turn around?” she demanded.

“For what?” Jacob replied flatly. “I’ve got a hunting rifle, not my HTI.”

“I don’t know what that means, and I don’t care,” Isolde bit out.

“It means, the chances of me getting shot before I get a shot on them are significantly lower,” he told her, his knuckles whitening along the steering wheel, “and as confident as I am that I could kill them before they killed me, I’m not confident they wouldn’t take a shot at you first.”

Isolde’s stomach rolled. It wasn’t the violence that bothered her—it wasn’t the death, or the guns, or even the blood—but the message itself. The Stranger had been hunting the Eden’s Gate men and women for sport. For fun. To pass the time, while they waited. But what for? What could they be waiting for?

She stayed quiet, listening to Jacob radio back to the compound quick, short orders that flew right over her head. She couldn’t stop thinking about it—the gesture. The stranger. Who were they? The remainder of the other cult, perhaps? What were they waiting for?

You’re next, that two-fingered, snake-bite-right-to-the-carotid gesture had said.

You’re next, and I’m coming for you.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Sylvia did not seem that impressed with John Seed, and Elliot could not blame her.

John was exceptionally charming. So charming, in fact, that he and Wyatt seemed to get along smashingly. It was almost frustrating, how quick the blonde took to John—but then, Wyatt did strike as the type of man who got along with everybody until they gave him a reason to think otherwise. After all, he’d been kind to her, and she was...

Needless to say, Sylvia was a harder sell, which was nice. Reassuring. It made Elliot feel more grounded, to see Sylvia politely smile at John’s chatter—she’d nearly forgotten how much he liked to talk—but then decidedly turn to Elliot to ask her about something or dive into a different conversation. It was pointed, and if the way John watched them interact was any indication, the message of it was not lost on him.

By the time the evening had drawn to a close, for her and John at least, the brunette had departed to go warm-up the Jeep and left her standing by the doorway, keeping warm, with Sylvia.

“You sure you’re doin’ okay?” the blonde asked after a moment, propped up against the wall in the tiny little doorway that led out to the main street. “You look tired. Stressed out. I was worried when we didn’t hear from you this morning, about comin’ to the barn.”

Elliot felt a little pang of guilt digging in, just there below her sternum. “I’m okay,” she promised. “I’m sorry I didn’t call, I—had a doctor’s appointment this morning that I completely forgot about until my mama reminded me, and John showed up this morning too, so it’s just been...”

“A crazy day,” Via agreed, her nose crinkling cutely in amusement. “He’s a funny fella, that John of yours.”

Oh, if only you knew. “I think so, too.”

“What is he?” she asked, conversationally. “Maybe a—car salesman?”

Her friend’s playful jab was enough to elicit a laugh, billowing out of her and catching even herself by surprise. But then, she shouldn’t have been shocked to find that Sylvia had gotten a quick read on John. Given the way she’d quickly diverted from the attention on Elliot’s scar and carried on, she thought maybe Via was more perceptive than she liked to let on.

“Lawyer,” Ell replied, and Via winced comically.

“Ouch.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I mean—Elli,” Via intoned playfully, “he might as well be sellin’ you snake oil when he’s a lawyer.”

Elliot sighed ruefully, glancing out the window to see John clambering out of the front of the jeep. Snake oil seemed a light judgment for him, all things considered.

“Hey, Via,” she began, swallowing a little, “if I tell you something, you’ve gotta promise you won’t say anything?”

Via regarded her curiously, head tilted. “Okay, sure, Freckles. What’s up?”

She shifted on her feet. “John and I are actually, um—” Elliot paused, swallowing thickly. She didn’t want to say it. She didn’t want to, because saying it out loud—her, and not John—made it real. Gave it legs. Forced her to face what had happened and what she couldn’t change yet.

“You don’t have to,” Via told her gently. “I could tell there was somethin’—you know, out of sorts. You don’t get a slick-talkin’ lawyer grinnin’ like the cat what ate the canary if he hasn’t done somethin’ to piss a woman off.”

Elliot shook her head. “We’re actually, uh,” she tried again, pulling at a loose thread on her shirt, “m—married.”

Saying the word out loud didn’t feel as wretched as she thought it would, which was almost three times as concerning. She felt, instead, more dread waiting for Sylvia’s reaction—waiting to see what her one friend had to say or think about that.

The woman’s face screwed up comedically. “Oh, Freckles,” she said, her tone teasing. “Say it ain’t so.”

“I’m not kidding!” Elliot felt a nervous little laugh bubble out of her. “I mean—what, Via? You clearly have an opinion on him.”

“I don’t know the man from Jack walkin’ down the street,” Sylvia demurred. “I just think...well, I just think you’re a real peach, you know? And you didn’t seem too pleased to have this John walkin’ around, and I take that kind of thing seriously.”

Sighing, Elliot scuffed her shoe against the ground, watching John pick his way through the crowd back down the street.

“We left on—bad terms, sort of,” she explained. “He showed up to make amends.”

“Do you want to make amends?”

The question caught her off-guard. It was an obvious one—obvious in that, it should have been one of the first things anyone asked her regarding John, even John himself, and yet: no one had. Not a single person had asked her if she wanted to suffer through making amends with the man who had lied to her, violated her trust, and still somehow managed to be the one person she didn’t have to fear seeing the worst, ugliest parts of her.

“I don’t know,” Elliot said after a moment, clearing her throat. “I haven’t decided yet.”

“Then I will reserve judgment,” Sylvia replied firmly, “so you can make a decision on your own.”

The door to the street opened, bringing with it not only a waft of chilly wind, but John himself and the scent of his viciously-expensive cologne. It took every ounce of Elliot’s self-control not to burst into laughter at the absurdity of it—John Seed, charisma-extraordinaire, somehow managing to make poor first impressions both on her mother and her friend.

“Car’s all warmed up,” John announced, rubbing his hands together. He glanced between the two women, the corner of his mouth ticking upward. “What’s so funny, hm?”

“Nothing,” Elliot replied. “Just talking about you.”

This piqued his interest. He said, “Good things, I hope,” and she could see it on his face—the painful reminder of the way John had craved Joseph’s approval, the way he’d lit up like a nuclear mushroom cloud the second Joseph deigned to say anything remotely kind to him.

“Jury’s still out,” Sylvia said lightly, and then flashed a pretty smile and clapped him on the shoulder. “But don’t worry bud! We’ll get you there eventually.”

John tried very hard to feign polite laughter, but the uneasiness bled through readily—and it was a little satisfying, to see John squirm, to see him out of his element, no longer surrounded by a constant chorus of Yes hitting his dopamine centers nonstop. No wonder the man had a conniption anytime someone dared to dislike him.

“Better get this lady home, she looks like she’s about to fall asleep standing,” Sylvia announced, reaching and giving Elliot a gentle hug. “Night, Freckles.”

“Goodnight.”

John and Sylvia bid each other a pleasant goodbye as Elliot stepped out onto the street, careful to avoid icier parts of the concrete as she made her way to the car. Her brain felt fuzzy—a lot of socializing, a lot of time spent trying not to let John get to her. It had been long enough since she’d had to hold her walls up for so long that she felt exhausted from doing it, even for this long.

Maybe that was his strategy. Wear her down, then swoop in, just like last time.

“Did you have fun?” John asked, and she realized that she was at the car, having climbed into the passenger seat already. He closed the driver’s side door, settling in before carefully beginning to back out of the parking spot.

“I mean, having you loom over my shoulder the entire night was a little odd.”

He made an affronted sound. “I was not looming.”

“You were,” Elliot told him, “a little.” She paused, feeling the exhaustion pulling at the edges of her vision, begging for her to close her eyes—but she couldn’t. Not in the car, not with John driving. If she did, he might just keep driving and not turn back around. “It’s funny—”

“My quote-unquote looming?”

“How much different you are,” she finished, “when you’re not around Joseph.”

John was clearly trying very hard not to look like he was stiffening at her words. Gotcha, she thought, with a little pinprick of pride. Yeah, I didn’t forget. I didn’t forget how much you hated it when I brought him up.

“I don’t know what you mean,” John replied, keeping his voice light. “I’m exactly the way I’ve always been.”

“You haven’t tried to drown me a single time.”

“That time was a miscommunication,” he insisted. “I wasn’t trying to drown you. Just—coerce you. And besides, that’s behind us now. I know you, Elliot Honeysett, intimately, which means such forms of brute persuasion aren’t required.” He paused. “It’s much better when you indulge me willingly, anyway.”

Elliot’s nose crinkled. “You sound fucking nuts when you say that. ‘That one time I thought about drowning you was just a miscommunication’. No wonder Sylvia doesn’t like you.”

“So she told you? That she doesn’t like me?”

He paused for a moment, his gaze flickering over to her, and when he saw the very subtle upturn of her mouth he exhaled out of his nose.

“You’re fucking with me.”

“Not necessarily. But if I was—it would be the least you deserve.”

He was different, out from the insane pressure of the cult, out from under Joseph’s thumb. It was like, given room to breathe, he was suddenly relearning what it was like to make his own decision—to exist outside of Joseph. Back in Hope County, John had been fervent in his belief that he owed Joseph everything. Maybe the distance had done him some good.

Don’t, something inside of her insisted viciously, as she turned her attention out to the side of the road where the headlights illuminated snowdrift after snowdrift. Don’t get soft on him. That’s how he got you last time, you know. Don’t let it happen again.

But if he wanted to press the issue about Sylvia—or about her comment concerning Joseph—John seemed to exercise a remarkable amount of self-control and instead focused on driving. In the quiet, without him chattering on about doing things for them or how much he missed our banter, it was almost...Comfortable.

“Finding out the gender,” Elliot said after a moment, the exhaustion now settling like a deep chill in her bones. “Of the baby, I mean. At the next appointment.”

The brunette shifted in his seat. In an attempt at nonchalance, he said, “Oh, yeah?”

What am I doing? she thought. He plays nice for one night. He’s good at that. Short-term goodness.

“I’m nervous,” she added after a moment. “About finding out.”

“Not excited?” John tilted his head.

“No,” she admitted. “Nervous.”

Ahead of them, she saw the dark blur of a figure. A frown tugged at the corners of her mouth. John was saying something—something about how he’d read a number of books and it was normal to feel nervous, or some other kind of psycho babble—but she shifted forward in her seat, eyes straining to see.

“Slow down,” she said, “I think there’s a dog...?”

“What?” John asked. “Where? I don’t see anything.”

“Just up ahead. Have you not been paying attention to the road?”

He made an indignant sound—“I am the best driver between the two of us, you know,”—but before Elliot could think up a response, the dark, furred creature slowed down ahead of them, stopped in the middle of the road, and turned its head.

The headlights caught it immediately. It was a dog, four-legged and large and shaggy black fur, but when it turned its head, it was a man’s face, the mouth slung open and the gently-rounded teeth of a human’s mouth blaring white in the headlights. Something dark and slick oozed between the teeth, in that split second, she watched the dog-human-creature push off from the ground and stand on its two hind legs.

She screamed, and John swerved, and immediately threw the car into park and slammed his hand on the hazard lights button.

It was dread, pure dread and fear, sending a pulse of adrenaline straight to her brain. Bent over at the waist, Elliot closed her eyes tight, trying to will the image out of her head, out from behind her irises. John had quickly unbuckled and reached over, his hands doing the same to hers.

“Elliot,” he said urgently, fingers pushing the hair back from her face. “Ell, take a breath, come on—sit up, you have to take a breath—”

“Is—is it gone?” she asked, but the words came out closer to a wail, the fear spiking viciously in the timbre of her voice. Please, God, what the fuck, please let it be gone. God, oh fuck, what the fuck what the fuck— “The—the—”

“There’s nothing—?” John stopped. Elliot frantically scrabbled at the high neck of her parka, fingers shaking and clumsy. “Ell—”

“Can’t breathe,” she managed out. “Too hot, can’t—”

The brunette reached over the console and stilled her hands. She was still bent at the waist, but he made do, pulling the zipper of the parka down until she could pull her arms from it; once it had been deposited in the back seat, his hand went to the back of her neck.

She sat up slowly, her eyes immediately making a frantic search of the road. There was nothing. Only quiet snowfall.

“Where—” She paused, swallowing thickly. “Where did it go?”

“Ell,” John murmured, “there wasn’t anything in the road.”

“What do you mean?” she moaned. “I saw it, the—I saw the—”

“You saw...?” he prompted. His thumb swept across the back of her neck, coaxing.

“The dog,” she insisted. “It was a dog, but it had—it’s face was—it was a man’s face, and it f-fucking—it fucking stood up, John!”

He was watching her carefully, his gaze searching her face for a long moment. He cleared his throat. “I didn’t see anything,” he told her. “Just that you—you just screamed, so I pulled over.”

“I’m not crazy,” Elliot bit out, her voice wobbling.

“I know,” John replied plainly. “Maybe it was just—you know. The snow. In front of the headlights.” And then: “Have you really been getting enough sleep, Ell?”

She felt her lip tremble, the desire to cry almost overwhelming. She couldn’t stand it—couldn’t stand John being tender to her, worrying about her, questioning the validity of her saying that she had been sleeping fine because he could see that she couldn’t. He was wretched and wicked and it needed to stay that way.

“Please take me home,” she said finally, re-buckling and rolling the window down to let the cold air on her face. “Please just take me home.”

John waited for a few heartbeats before he turned the hazard lights off and put the Jeep in drive.

“I don’t think you’re crazy,” he told her after a moment, glancing at her a few times. “I mean it, Ell.”

“Fuck you,” she replied, exhausted and feeling furiously wound up. “Just take me home.”

Get some sleep.

Feel better in the morning.

[today-only-happens-once]

Scutum

Title: Scutum

Word Count: 9424

Summary: Sci-Fi AU. Roman sees the weapon first. The rest is just instinct. Found family. Platonic Logince, Platonic LAMP/CALM. Features Cartoon Therapy characters + Remy/Sleep.

Warnings: cursing (a lot woops); whump/angst/hurt/comfort; violence a la sci-fi/sci-fi weapons; science stuff that’s like 10% research and 90% made-up; sci-fi colonization stuff; passing mention of drunkenness; poison/being poisoned; feelings of guilt and misplaced blame and stuff like that; talk of death and dying; Elliot is briefly a little bit of a jerk but they’re anxious/traumatized and also kinda young so they’re doing their best; injury and blood; let me know if I forgot any.

A/N: Have some sci-fi escapist found family hurt/comfort. This took forever, wow. Several weeks and three drafts later and here we are. Glad it’s done! My huge, undying thanks to @creativenostalgiastuff for all of her help as my beta for this fic and answering my many, many questions and dealing with my general self-doubt. First time writing sci-fi. Would love to know what you think! <3

…

Captain Logan Sanders scrubs a hand underneath his glasses and leans his head back against the glass of the circular window. The metal of the spaceship—affectionately coined Foster by the ship’s medic, Patton Hart—creaks with a dull groan. The captain usually uses the window in the ship’s armory when he needs a moment alone, as its size allows Logan to comfortably lean up against the glass and look out into the “void of space”, as their pilot—Virgil Shea—tended to describe it.

Their relations officer and navigation coordinator, Roman Prince, usually hated looking too long at it. Logan had the feeling it made him feel lonely, or homesick. Maybe both.

Logan doesn’t mind it, though he also wouldn’t have necessarily called it a “void”. Billions of stars and the occasional swirl of color meant a certainty of life that existed out there. The universe is always teeming with it, and Logan finds a greater comfort from this distanced reminder than the crowded, bustling bazaars that Roman seemed to thrive in.

Logan hears the door swish open, his head swiveling over towards the sound. The light that floods into the room illuminates the dusty iron walls and the shelves of weapons—phasers and guns lined up beside one another, boxes of ammo on the shelf above—and Logan sees a familiar figure silhouetted against the light.

“Hey, Captain,” Kai Dwyer greets, unfazed by the sight of Logan sitting in the window.

“Kai,” he replies, pushing himself up to his feet off the window ledge. He grimaces slightly as he stretches his back, having forgotten how stiff the metal makes him when he sits too long.

Kai grabs a clipboard off the wall adjacent to the door. “Thought I’d do a quick inventory check before we dock.”

Logan frowns. “Are we close?”

“Virgil said we were still a few hours out. But I wanna be thorough. Make sure I know everything we need before get on planet.”

Logan inclines his head, rolling his shoulders to shake off the lingering stiffness before he crosses towards the door. “Acceptable. Carry on.”

Kai gives a small mock-salute. “Roger that, Cap’n.” The door slides shut behind Logan.

Foster is an old ship. Even to someone unfamiliar with the schematic, it’s evident in the grated flooring, the worn metal walls and beams that hold it together, the way the pressurizer hummed on occasion. Newer models tended to be sleeker, more streamlined, and generally brighter than the dark iron walls that adorned Foster’s interior.

Logan would never admit it—even to his own crew—but he trusted Foster more than he trusted other ships. Logically, he knew it was ridiculous. In the vast majority of cases, Logan believed that newer generally meant improved. But when it came to Foster, Logan had never even considered trading it in for a newer model. Instead, if something needed fixing on the ship, then Logan would consult Virgil and their engineer, Remy, to give Foster the needed updates. The ship was as much a part of the crew as any of the rest of them and it had gotten them through it’s fair share of close calls. As far as Logan was concerned, Foster had earned the loyalty of the crew.

But of course… that an inanimate object could earn loyalty didn’t make logical sense. So Logan kept that particular sentiment to himself.

Logan hears a familiar sound of the door swishing open down the short pathway and sees Roman duck out of his room. The relations officer is wearing his white and red armor suit, and Logan arcs an eyebrow when the officer meets his gaze.

“Hey, Specs.” Roman gives a small salute that echoes Kai’s a moment ago. Logan rolls his eyes.

“Greetings. Might I inquire as to why you’re wearing armor? My understanding is that we’re about to dock for a benign venture.” Logan pauses. “Unless you know something I don’t?”

“What? Oh.” Roman glances down at himself as if he’d forgotten what he was wearing. “Sorry to disappoint, Logan. Patton wanted to check the monitors in the suit, so I’m supposed to wear it around for a little bit. Make sure the readings are all right.” He bounces on the balls of his feet. “I’ve gotta say, Kai’s upgrades to the armor are pretty cool. Check this out.”

Roman stretches an arm out to his side, and Logan has barely registered that his palm has started to glow when something bright shoots out from it and Logan throws an arm up to protect his face.

A moment later, Logan lowers his arm to see a glowing hole through one wall of the ship. Through that hole, Logan sees the med bay and Patton staring out at them with wide, startled eyes. Picani is standing on the other side of the med bay, a ukulele in his hand, having just startled out of the chair he was sitting in. Logan clenches his jaw, turning a frustrated gaze at Roman before he hears the metallic clang of footsteps climbing up the ladder and the unmistakable voice of the ship’s primary engineer.

“Girl, you better not have busted a hole in my ship again!”

At the end of the hall, Remy García’s head pokes up with a glowering look as he pulls himself up onto the top layer of scaffolding. His dark goggles are pushed back into his hair, and he’s got streaks of grease smudged across his forehead and along his cheek.

“Your ship?” Logan asks, crossing his arms over his chest. His comment goes ignored as Remy stalks down the pathway and Roman starts stammering out either an apology or an excuse.

“You’re lucky you didn’t punch a hole straight through the outer shell or we’d all be dead.”

The intercom announces its presence with a familiar click and faint static before Virgil’s voice chimes through, echoing slightly off the metal walls. “Yeah, Remy and I might’ve fixed the damage from last week but we’d rather not test it while we’re floating through the great abyss of space.”

Roman’s holding his hands up in surrender. “It was an accident!” He glances through the hole in the wall. “Sorry, Patton. Sorry, doc!”

Patton waves. “It’s okay!” he calls from inside the med bay.

Picani chuckles and waves as well. “Nobody’s hurt!”

Remy sighs and looks to Logan. “That won’t be the cheapest fix, Cap, and we maxed on the budget for ship fixes last time we docked. That pirate gang did a number on Foster.”

Logan pinches the bridge of his nose. “Roman, it’s coming out of your pay.”

Roman opens his mouth as if to argue, then closes it before nodding. “No, yeah. That’s fair.”

Remy gives Roman one more glare before turning and heading back towards the ladder that descends to the lower deck. Logan is about to head to the bridge when he hears Roman say, “I mean… you gotta admit that was pretty cool.”

“I will admit no such thing,” Logan replies dryly as he heads in the opposite direction of Remy. “At some point, I’ll have peace and quiet on my ship again.”

“I wouldn’t be sure of that!” Roman calls after him brightly.

…

“We’re probably about 3 hours out from docking, Captain.”

Elliot—Virgil’s co-pilot—makes the announcement as the door to the ship’s bridge swishes open. The corner of Logan’s mouth quirks slightly, always impressed by Elliot’s ability to know who was coming through the door without looking. Anytime Logan asked them about it, they merely shrugged.

Foster’s bridge is relatively small. Green, red, and blue dots of lights cover both walls above a row of seats with harnesses for emergency cases. Each dot of light was information about how Foster was functioning, and Logan scans both walls quickly. Everything seemed to be operating efficiently.

“Understood,” Logan replies to Elliot.

A few feet past the emergency seats along the walls are the two pilot chairs, occupied by Virgil and Elliot. Virgil flips a small metal switch, then glances over his shoulder at Logan. Virgil had been the last person to join his team when Logan was first recruiting—Picani, Kai, and Elliot didn’t join until a few months ago. Logan had been uncertain when someone whose call sign was “Anxiety” responded to his flyer in search of a pilot. But word on the street had been that Virgil was the best of the best, and Logan was running low on potential candidates that measured up to his expectations.

Virgil had more than proved the rumors. Logan owed his life to him and his piloting skills more times than he cared to admit. The entire crew did.

“So why exactly are we docking in Vannaheim?” Virgil asks. “Not that I’m not, like, totally jazzed to be going to a planet that’s 99% desert.”

Logan crosses the short distance to stand between the two pilots chairs. “Vannaheim’s dune pattern is being impacted by gravity shifts that they can’t explain. We’re there to take some observations and perhaps help their scientists develop a solution.”

Elliot glances at Virgil, then snorts at the look on his face. “You’re just mad because you can’t wear your hoodie.”

Virgil points a finger at them. “I can, and I will.”

“You will do no such thing,” Logan interjects with a pointed look. “I will not have one of my best pilots suffer heat stroke.”

“It’s my aesthetic and I like to suffer.”

Logan shakes his head, looking out above the ship’s controls to the window that spanned in front of the pilot seats. It was a similar view to the one Logan had been enjoying a moment ago in the armory window, with the addition of Vannaheim in the distance—a small, red and orange planet that was approximately half the size of Earth. Hot and dry, but slightly higher oxygen levels than were present in Earth’s atmosphere.

Logan had been to Vannaheim six years ago when an old friend of his, Corbin Wright, had requested his help with developing vegetation alternatives given the arid biosphere of the planet. He’d been concerned at the potential ecological ramifications should they introduce flora and fauna that were not native to the planet. Instead, he and Corbin and a few other scientists spent a few weeks researching the native vegetation and fauna and determining what options were most compatible with human nutritional needs.

The effort had been met with some resistance from a minority of the colonists on the planet. They formed something of a resistance group—called themselves the ‘Retribution’, which Logan still thinks is a bit excessive—that started with some minor disagreement at community meetings, but quickly devolved into accusations that their ‘way of life’ was ‘under attack’. Which was ridiculous. Logan left as things continued to escalate, knowing that his presence on the planet was likely to only heighten the tensions. It was Logan’s original idea, after all.

When Corbin reached out about the gravitational shifts, he’d said tensions had remained after Logan left—even reaching moments when Corbin worried it would turn violent—but that things seemed to have mostly settled down in the recent weeks. Logan had asked if Corbin was sure that Logan returning wouldn’t have an adverse effect on the peace in the colony.

One way to find out, Corbin had replied dryly. Logan didn’t find it particularly comforting.

…

Two and a half hours later, Logan is passing by the med bay when the click through the ship’s intercom perks his ears.

“Heads up. We’re T-minus 27 minutes until we’ll be pulling into dock.” Elliot’s voice is distorted slightly by the static hum.

It clicks off in the same moment that the doors to the med bay swish open. Patton steps out, looking down at a chart that’s projected flatly from the gauntlet on his wrist. He glances up and smiles.

“Heya, Cap.”

Logan arcs an eyebrow. “Greetings. Everything satisfactory?” He inclines his head to the chart Patton had been looking at.

“What, this?” Patton glances back down. “Yeah. Just going over the charts from the new suit readouts. I was gonna have you try yours on before we docked, but Roman’s little… surprise earlier did some damage to the chest plate as I was downloading the software.” Patton laughs. “Kai said he can fix it, but not before we dock. I did manage to salvage your helmet, though. Ya have a minute?”

Logan follows Patton through the entryway into the med bay. Perhaps “med bay” was a bit of a gracious term for it. The room was relatively small, with two gatch beds fixed to one wall, and a variety of medical equipment and read-outs that Logan only vaguely understood how to use. The room was well-equipped for as small as it was, but Patton was also the only medical doctor on the ship.

On the left gatch bed, Logan sees black armor with blue accents—and the half-melted chestplate. It resembles, in style, to the white and red armor Roman had been wearing earlier.

“I updated the heartrate monitor display, plus the one for oxygen intake,” Patton is saying behind Logan as he minimizes the chart he’d been looking at and moves to a monitor on the far wall. “I also added a body temperature gauge and a toxin sensor since you can never be too careful, y’know?”

Logan nods, lifting the new helmet and inspecting it. The exterior of the helmet looks the same as before Logan had turned it over to be updated. A dark visor shields the face, the rest of it black with dark blue accents. It matches the damaged suit that sits in pieces on the gatch bed.

“Ya like it?” Patton asks. Logan looks over his shoulder at the doctor, who had stopped what he was doing on the monitor to look expectantly at the ship captain.

Logan glances back. “It appears to be the same helmet.”

Patton grins. “Looks that way. It’s cooler now, though. I also added in some ecological monitors. Simple stuff, at least for now. Atmosphere make up, surface temperature. Working on some other stuff, but that seems like enough for a prototype, don’tcha think?”

“I suppose it does make sense to limit variable additions when testing new technology.”

“Try the helmet on for me? Oh, and you should probably take your glasses off. Kai made sure the display will adjust for your vision.”

Logan obligingly slips the dark armor helmet over his head. He reaches up to his temple on the outside of the helmet and presses in. There’s a high-pitched blip and Logan’s vision goes from dark to a bright, staticky blue. Logan instinctively shuts his eyes against the blinding onslaught.

“Yikes!” Patton yelps, and Logan senses him suddenly standing beside him. A slight pressure on his left temple, a quiet blip, and Logan’s vision goes back to black. “I’m sorry, Logan. Not sure why that happened. I’ll have Kai take a look.”

Logan slips the helmet back off. “Not to worry, Patton. I’m confident in Kai’s engineering capabilities.”

Patton gingerly takes the helmet from Logan’s arms and sets it back on the gatch bed in front of them. “Yeah, but still. We were so close to all of you getting to try the new suits!”

Logan rakes his fingers through his hair to pull it back under control from its disheveled state. It was always a mess when he took his helmet off. He slips his glasses back onto his face. “Nevertheless. Roman and Elliot’s test runs on Vannaheim should still be adequate in assessing whether the new software you’ve developed will serve its functional purpose adequately.”

Patton gives Logan’s helmet a sad pat. “Yeah, you’re right. Well, thanks for giving it a shot, Cap! Good luck down there.”

“Your luck is unneeded, but appreciated. Thank you, Patton.”

…

The blast of arid heat stings Logan’s eyes slightly as Virgil lowers the ship’s docking track. Logan smiles politely at Corbin—slightly aged from the last time he saw him, but unmistakable regardless—and the two other individuals that stand with him. Roman and Elliot linger closely behind him as Logan descends the ramp and shakes Corbin’s hand.

“It’s good to see you, Logan,” Corbin greets with a faint smile. “Allow me to introduce you. This is my partner, Sloane. And this is Valerie.”

Logan shakes both of their hands, thinking idly that Sloane’s evident excitable energy rivaled that of Patton’s. Valerie has her dark hair pulled back into a high ponytail, which isn’t necessarily a surprise given the heat. The orange and yellow sands stretch into rolling dunes in the distance, unheeded by the small colony network they’d docked in. A bright blue sky stretches above them, and Logan sees Elliot slip on a pair of sunglasses out of the corner of his eye. Roman squints and brings up a hand to shield his own vision.

“Rainwall’s gotten bigger,” Logan remarks as Corbin leads them from the dock and further into the colony.

The last time Logan had been here, it had barely been a few temporary settlement structures—really just glorified tents, in Logan’s humble opinion--cohesive enough to call a colony network but only barely. The structures look more permanent now, and there are certainly more of them. Pathways between them are not paved but are certainly worn enough with foot and vehicle traffic, and Logan is pleased to see that they put his prior suggestion of solar panels to use. The roofs of nearly every building—most of them white and domed structures of varying sizes—are covered with them.

There’s a gust of wind, kicking up the sand and dust at their feet. Logan turns his face into his shoulder to keep from inhaling. Roman coughs behind him. “Oh great,” he says with an air of drama that makes Logan roll his eyes. “This planet is going to ruin my hair.”

“You get used to it,” Valerie says.

“I definitely do not want to get used to it.”

The corner of Logan’s mouth quirks. “We could return to Dal’tera, Roman.”

“I thought we agreed to never speak of Dal’tera again.”

“You and Virgil agreed to never speak of what happened on Dal’tera again. I made no such promise.”

Although Logan doesn’t turn around, he can feel the way Elliot’s gaze flickers between Roman’s face and the back of his head. “What happened on Dal’tera?”

“It was four years ago—”

“Which is why we are leaving it in the past!” Roman cuts in insistently. “Unbelievable. The lack of trust. First, Kai disables the cool blaster-thingy on my suit, now my own captain is betraying my trust.”

The accusation is empty and with a certain familiar affection underlying the dramatics, but Logan holds his hands up in mock surrender regardless. “To Kai’s credit, you did damage the ship less than half an hour after having the technology made available to you,” he says, and Roman makes an affronted noise behind him.

“It was an accidental—”

Elliot interrupts him, sounding amused. “Did you just call it a blaster-thingy? Really?”

Logan glances over his shoulder in time to see Roman look down at his armored hand. “I don’t know the name for it.”

“It should be named something cool.”

“Yes, I agree. Perhaps we should come up with some options to run by Kai when we return.”

As they pass one of the vegetation fields, a pair of colonists wave at them from a distance. Logan sees Sloane wave enthusiastically in return out of the corner of his eye. Corbin lifts a hand in a more subdued greeting. A pair of children cut out between the buildings in front of them and barely dodge Logan and Corbin at the front of the group, shrieking with laughter.  Behind him, Elliot and Roman chat about potential names for the new technology that Kai had inputted into the suit.

It’s a familiar thrum of background noise as they make their way through the settlement. The excitable chatter and increasingly ridiculous suggestions for naming technology makes Logan vaguely grateful that Kai tended to name his own tech rather than leave it to those two. Regardless, Logan is content to let them chatter away. Especially if it kept their attention occupied as they navigate through Rainwall.

As much as the colony had grown since Logan had last seen it, it doesn’t take them too long to reach the far end of the small town. They’re led to one of the white domed structures at the far end of the network of buildings and worn pathways. Corbin inputs a four-digit code into the keypad beside the door, and Logan hears a lock click before the door swishes open.

…

Logan feels the beanbag hit the back of his head for the fourth time and doesn’t even bother to turn around.

“Sorry, Captain!” Roman says, also for the fourth time.

Logan, Corbin, and Valerie had been pouring over data spreadsheets, charts, graphs, and notes regarding the anomaly in Vannaheim’s dune pattern for the past three hours. Roman and Elliot both had tried to assist for the first hour and a half, but while they were extremely bright and intelligent people in Logan’s opinion, neither were particularly practiced or well-versed in theoretical physics or planetology. Elliot’s understanding of piloting had been helpful briefly in identifying some smaller anomalies in the gravitational shifts in the planet’s atmosphere, but that was about the extent that their expertise could help.

The pod—as Sloane had been calling the one-room building they were in—was small and simple on the inside, but certainly functional. The couch and table towards the front of the pod had been pushed against the wall to make room for the game that Roman and Sloane had started with a beanbag that Sloane happened to have handy. Towards the back were several computers, and a few chairs. Corbin sits in one, scanning over the contents of the most recent read-out, and Valerie sits in the other. Logan stands and paces in the space between them and the game of beanbag. There were a few unpacked crates blocking part of the pathway, having previously housed brand-new computer parts.

Roman sheepishly jogs the short distance between himself and the beanbag at Logan’s feet, snatching it up. Logan opens his mouth to say something when Elliot cuts him off, sitting up a bit from where they’d been lounged against the couch.

“Did you guys hear that?”

Logan frowns, but it’s Valerie who speaks up, looking up from the tablet in her hands. “Hear what?”

But then they do hear it. It’s distant, but rapidly getting closer. Shouting. Someone screams. And—

“Was that phaser discharge?” Sloane asks, his face draining of color. Elliot scrambles to their feet, crossing towards Logan and further away from the door.

“Corbin, take Sloane and get out of here,” Logan says immediately. “Valerie, you too. Get somewhere safe.”

The shout is right outside the door. Corbin grabs for Sloane and yanks him back behind him as the door swishes open, fumbling to pull the phaser out of the holster at his belt.

Logan barely has time to register that the strangled cry from Roman is his name before he feels a weight slam into him, sending him crashing to the floor just as phasers go off. Logan doesn’t know who fired first, his ears ringing slightly and Roman, a heavy weight, on top of him.

“I knew he’d come back!” a new voice—grating and sharp and a little hysterical—shrieks. “I knew fucking Logan Sanders couldn’t keep his distance! You’ve ruined our way of life one too many times you fucking piece of—” Corbin fires his phaser, a streak of green light slamming into the figure’s chest. Even through the chaos, Logan can see the switch set to stun.

“Roman,” Logan grunts as he shoves his relations officer off of him, “what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Roman rolls off him with a tight grimace, an arm wrapped around himself. He doesn’t answer and he doesn’t sit up, and it’s only then that Logan sees the skin of Roman’s waist—a sickly green and black—exposed between his fingers and broken armor.

Logan’s mind kicks into overdrive, the shouting between Corbin, Valerie, Elliot and the intruders overlapping with exchanges of phaser fire fading into background noise.

Logan goes to reach for his comm at his belt before he realizes that it’s been shattered into pieces. Parts of it are melted, apparently having taken some phaser damage. Unusable. Logan changes tactics immediately, pulling the identical equipment piece off Roman’s shoulder and clicks in.

“Foster Crew,” Logan says, clipped and urgent. “Come in. We have a Code Black. Repeat: Code Black. We need immediate assistance.”

“Fucking shit,” is Virgil’s instant response, muffled from static. “What’s your location?”

Logan looks to Elliot on his left, who is staring at Roman with wide eyes having heard the call go through the comms. “Elliot,” Logan says. “Send our location.”

They blink quickly and nod, pressing a button on the gauntlet on their armor before firing another round of their phaser. It cracks against the wall. Elliot ducks back behind the create as the corner of it splinters into shards with a ricocheting crack.

Logan reaches for the wound on Roman’s waist, but Roman won’t move his hands. He’s pale, already with a thin sheen of sweat, and when his eyes flutter open, Logan doesn’t miss the glassy look in them, nor the way that they don’t seem to focus.

“Roman. Hey.” Logan taps his face, then pulls Roman’s hands away. “Look here.”

“Cap?” Roman’s voice is distant. Hazy. Confused.

When Logan yanks Roman’s hands away so that he can better assess damage, Roman makes a noise in the back of his throat that doesn’t sound fully human.

Logan doesn’t respond. The wound isn’t just phaser damage, from the little Logan can see. Phasers didn’t generally turn skin into that green-black mottled mess. There appears to be several tiny puncture wounds. Toxin, Logan thinks, and reaches for Roman’s comm again. He helps Roman sit up and lean against the crate behind him.

“Patton. Come in, Patton.”

Corbin is shouting something from where he’s taken cover against the wall on the opposite side to Logan’s left. He fires twice more.

“Roman’s vitals are all over the place,” Patton answers without having to ask what Logan needed to know. “Toxin levels are elevated and climbing. What’s happening down there?”

“Virgil, what’s your ETA?” Logan says instead of answering. He’s on autopilot, his mind racing. He can barely keep up with his own thoughts. Flashes of green phaser fire streak overhead and leave scorch marks on the white walls of the pod.

“Two minutes but it looks like you guys are pinned down. We’ll do what we can. Might be two and a half before you guys can get out.”

“Is anyone else hurt?” Logan asks to the open air.

“Not yet,” Corbin replies, ducking as another round of phaser fire hits overhead. “They’re Retribution though. No mistaking that.” He aims again, fires a few more rounds. Logan hears something heavy slump to the ground. Roman grunts and leans his head back against the crate he’s propped up against. His breathing is fast and shallow.

Despite himself, Roman gives Logan a pained smile. “I got pretty good reflexes, huh?”

“This situation hardly classifies as a testament to your reflex speed.”

“Virgil always said….” Roman grimaces. Shudders. Tries again. “Virge always said he was fastest but I could give ‘im a…. a run for his money.”

Logan frowns. “Your speech is slurring.”

“Sorry.”

Roman starts saying something about the last time he was drunk—Logan was there; they’d been celebrating Virgil’s birthday—but Logan has mostly tuned him out. His mind is still spinning. Toxin-equipped phasers were new technology to Logan. He’d heard there was potential for it, but he hadn’t looked much into the tech or its development. For it to be possible, then they’d need access to existing natural toxins. Synthetic ones wouldn’t pair as well with the phaser tech and would risk overloading or overheating the weapons. What natural toxins existed on Vannaheim?

More than one, from Logan’s memory. It had been a subsection of his research when looking into native vegetation options from the planet six years ago.

“Logan? Come in. Logan?” Patton’s voice over the comms not only interrupts Logan’s sprinting thoughts, but also causes Roman to cut off his slurred, barely coherent speech.

Logan grabs the device. “Here.”

“Roman’s getting worse. I think he’s panicking, ‘cuz his heartrate is through the roof, but that could also be the toxin. Do you know what it was?”

“I don’t. If I were to guess, based on the damage and situational factors, I’d probably assume it was a hemotoxin or necrotoxin but without more information or the ability to run tests, I cannot be certain.”

Virgil’s voice cuts into the conversation. “T-minus one minute.” Even distorted from the static, Virgil’s voice sounds strained in its own right. “Fuck, I’m going as fast as I can, Logan. Tell Princey he’s not allowed to die before I have the chance to kill him myself for being an idiot.”

Roman scoffs, but it’s weak and pained and sounds a lot more like a cough. “An idiot?” he demands incredulously.

“Message received,” Logan says dryly before setting the comm down. “Roman, take a deep breath.”

Roman sucks in a breath—shaking and thin—and winces. “Ow. Shit.” Roman’s arm wraps around his torso and he tosses a shaky smile to Logan. “I can’t believe I’m really gonna die having never beaten you at chess.”

It’s Elliot that answers him first, their voice tight and strangled and desperate. “You’re not going to die.”

“You’re not going to beat me at chess,” Logan adds. He can still hear shouting outside the pod. Roman gives a breathy laugh before his eyes unfocus again, blinking owlishly. Logan sets a firm, grounding hand on his shoulder. “Focus. Roman, tell me five things you can see.”

“Tell me five things you can see.” Roman blinks hard, then looks around uncomprehendingly. “Where… am I?”

“Vannaheim,” Logan replies smoothly despite the way his chest clenches. He cannot panic. Logan takes a breath.

Roman makes a face. “I hate Vannaheim.”

“Because the wind messes up your hair. Yes, you’ve told me.”

The door swishes open and Logan grabs Roman’s phaser from its holster and fires a shot. It cracks against the wall of the pod slightly to the left of the intruder. Logan had left his phaser on the ship. An oversight on his part. Deal with it later, Logan tells himself firmly.

“A prince has got to slay,” Roman says, his words slurred. He takes a breath that seems to tangle in his lungs, and wheezes out a cough.

“You’re wearing a uniformed suit of armor,” Logan finds himself saying. Wasn’t enough to protect him, something hisses in Logan’s mind. Logan shakes his head quickly. He’d deal with that thought later. “If you’re that worried about your appearance, wear the helmet.”

Logan estimates that it’s been about twenty seconds since his last communication with Virgil and Patton. They hear the door swish open. Valerie fires. There’s a startled cry and the door closes.

“I like the—” Roman cuts himself off with a clench to his teeth, his body visibly shuddering. He curls around himself, his head nearly pitching straight into Logan’s chest. The captain catches Roman’s shoulders, holding him steady until the trembling is back to a more manageable level a second later. He guides Roman to sit back again.

Roman’s head leans back to thump gently against the crate, his brow pinched. “Logan… you’re shaking.”

“Falsehood,” Logan replies distractedly, trying to tune in to the conversation Corbin and Valerie are having on the opposite side of the small pod given the lull in combatants. They can still hear the fight raging outside. Someone screams. Pounding footsteps.

Sloane is typing frantically into one of the computers. A second later, there’s a click by the door. “Doors are locked. Should at least slow them down,” he says.

Corbin glances back at Logan, his chest heaving in an attempt to catch his breath. His jaw sets when his eyes flicker to Roman slumped against the crate.

“You’ve gotta get out of here,” he says. “Valerie and I will cover you. As soon as Anxiety gets here, make a break for it. They’re not here for a war. They’re here for you.”

Logan opens his mouth to reply but Roman’s strained, slurred speech interrupts him. “Logan… give m’ th’ phaser.”

“Why?”

Roman’s brow furrows together like he thinks the answer should be obvious. “Figured I’d take a few of ‘em down with me while… while you two…” He grimaces again, but Logan gets the picture.

“No.”

Roman levels a look that would be a glare if his eyes would stay focused on Logan. “Be logical, Captain.”

Logan doesn’t deign the challenge with a response. He just stares at Roman—the sheen of sweat, the shallow and rapid breath, the way Roman can’t seem to support the weight of his own head—and then looks back at Corbin. “If we flee and they’re here for me, it’s not impossible that they’ll give chase.”

“We’ll ground as many as we can,” Valerie says, quickly adjusting some calibration on the phaser in her hand.

“Captain,” Roman insists, but Logan ignores him.

“Virgil will just have to shake the rest,” Logan says grimly.

“T-minus five seconds. Incoming.” Virgil’s cracked, staticky voice breaks through the comms on Elliot’s and Roman’s shoulder.

“Speak of the devil.”

“Let’s move,” Logan says, crossing back to Roman.

He figures that offering a hand to help Roman stand up wouldn’t be enough support, given that Roman seemed barely capable of holding up his own head. A fireman’s carry? Seemed excessive, at least for the time being. Perhaps Logan would default to that should Roman lose consciousness.

“’m gonna slow y’ down.” Roman’s voice is quiet, and it takes Logan a moment to decipher what he said given the way the words run together.

Logan crouches down and takes Roman’s arm, wrapping it around his shoulders and bracing one hand against Roman’s armored chestplate. “Think you can stand up?”

“Not lis’ning.”

“Answer the question, Roman.”

Roman swallows. Shudders. His arm tightens around his waist. “Yeah.”

“Three. Two. One. Up.” Logan stands, bracing most of Roman’s weight into his side. Roman nearly pitches into the floor, but he manages to get his legs underneath him and though Logan can feel him shaking with the exertion of effort, Roman is standing.

Progress.

“I’ll wait to unlock the door until you guys are right in front of it,” Sloane says and if there’s a bit of strain to his voice—if he casts a long glance at Corbin—well, Logan doesn’t say anything about it.

“Logan,” Roman says. “Lemme… lemme st…” Roman spasms, and nearly pitches right out of Logan’s grip. His hand on Roman’s chest is the only thing that keeps Roman from tumbling to the floor.

Logan goes to take a step with him—he can see black bleeding up through Roman’s neck like spilled ink and it tightens something in his chest—but Roman doesn’t move. Logan gives Roman a sharp look, opens his mouth to explain that they didn’t have time to waste, but there’s something fiery and bold beneath the haze of pain and poison that clouds his gaze.

“’m not worth—”

“It’s not your decision!” Logan cuts him off sharply. Furious. His gut twists against what he knows was the rest of Roman’s sentence. Roman releases a breath that would sound annoyed if there wasn’t a bit of a hitch to it.

“Doors opening in three. Two. One.”

Corbin and Valerie duck out first, and it’s a mess of dust and wind as Foster’s engine roars overhead, touching down as close as it reasonably can. Logan hears the reverberating pops of phaser fire exchanged somewhere in the cloud of dust. Streaks of green light criss-crossing in the sand-clogged cloud around them. Corbin yells for them to go. Elliot fires off a few shots of their own, sticking close to the two of them to fill in the gaps of phaser coverage left between Corbin and Valerie.

They run.

Or, as best as they can manage. It’s barely a loose jog, really, with Logan having to support most of Roman’s weight. But Roman manages to put one foot in front of the other and from his strangled breathing and how hard he’s shaking, Logan knows it’s about all Roman can manage to do.

Logan estimates that the distance between the pod and Foster is about a hundred or so meters. At the rate they’re moving, it should take them about twenty seconds to reach the docking ramp that Virgil lowers as soon as they touch down. Maybe less than that, if they can push the pace a bit more.

It takes ten seconds before Logan feels bright heat rip through his upper right bicep. Warm liquid spills down his arm.

“Captain!” Elliot yells, alarmed, over the chaos.

“I’m fine,” Logan grits out. “Go! Go!”

Patton meets them on the docking ramp, his eyes wide, and takes Roman’s other side to help Logan get him the rest of the way up. Elliot fires their phaser twice more as the ramp closes before ripping their comm unit off and calling into it.

“Virgil, punch it. We’re gonna have tails.”

“Fuck. Everyone accounted for?”

Logan grabs Roman’s comm. “Affirmative. Get us out of here.” Logan braces himself, and Roman, for the shift as Virgil lifts them off and takes off.

Roman sways.

Patton reaches for his wound. “Ro—”

The navigations officer collapses. Logan grunts as he and Patton both catch him before he crumples entirely, the effort tearing at the wound in Logan’s arm. Bright, hot pain ripples down his arm and up through his shoulder. Logan clenches his teeth against the sharp cry that tries to tear up his throat.

“Roman!” Elliot steps forward, but Logan holds up a hand, trying to get his breathing back under control from the fresh wave of pain.

“No, Elliot. Pilot with Virgil.”

“But I want to help!”

His arm is throbbing and Logan glances down at it, noting with a certain level of detachment that it just looks like a normal graze. No sign of toxin damage. “Help Virgil,” Logan tells them firmly, leveling a steady gaze that leaves no room for argument.

Elliot’s expression darkens before they turn and head towards the cockpit.

“I gotta get Roman to med bay,” Patton says quietly. “And get you patched up too.”

“I’m fine,” Logan says, helping Patton hoist Roman up from his half-collapsed state on the floor. “Just a graze.”

“But still.”

“It’ll heal, Patton.”

“Logan.”

Logan’s jaw snaps shut. He gives a single, stiff nod in return.

…

The next several minutes are frantic.

Patton and Logan carry Roman to the medical bay and Patton immediately pries Roman’s suit off him to get a closer look. It’s a flurry of movement as he hooks Roman up to various machines to read off information about his vitals, extracting some of the toxin from his system so Patton can run different tests on it separate from Roman’s body, all of which is made more challenging by the frequent shift in g-force as Virgil and Elliot try to lose the ships that had followed them off Vannaheim.

Logan is still on autopilot. He doesn’t stop moving. Logan helps Patton as much as he can, and it’s not until Patton is very gently helping Logan into chair to bandage his wounded arm after Roman has been fully equipped that Logan realizes the warm liquid that he’d felt down his arm was his own blood. Logan stares at Roman on the gatch bed with numb detachment and lets Patton clean and wrap the wound in his arm. It’s while Patton is tying the knot on the bandage wrapped around Logan’s bicep that Virgil clicks on over the intercom.

“I think we’ve shaken the last of them. Status update on Princey?”

Logan and Patton exchange a glance. Patton offers a sad smile and slight lift to his shoulders. Logan stands from the chair and walks to the intercom on the wall. He presses the button, waiting for the click before he speaks.

“No change. Did we take any damage?”

It’s Remy’s voice that answers him. “She’ll hold together, but Foster’s warp drive is out of commission until we can dock and I get some parts. What the hell was that all about?”

Logan swallows and leans his head against the wall for a moment. A damaged warp drive meant that getting to the next planet would take a bit longer than originally planned. He glances over at Patton, whose lips press into a grim line. Logan swallows before he answers over the intercom. “It appears that some prior work I did on that planet in an effort of sustainability warranted a minority of individuals harboring some… hostility.”

Behind him, Patton is peering at the monitors with Roman’s vitals. “Seems like more than just some hostility.”

“And we’re sure Wright is gonna be fine down there?” Virgil asks.

“Reasonably,” Logan replies. “Their hostility was directed predominantly at me.”

“And yet Roman—oh, wait. Hey, Cap, you might wanna come up here. We’ve got a message inbound from Vannaheim.”

Logan sighs. “I’ll be right there.”

Logan isn’t sure what to expect. He can’t fairly say that he is surprised. It made sense that they would attempt contact, especially given that they had successfully evaded their trail. And expecting the message to wait certainly wouldn’t have made sense—they’d be out of signal range within a few minutes. Logan considers, briefly, letting the message go unanswered. But there couldn’t be any harm in talking, right? Perhaps Logan could even appease them enough to quell some of the hostile action that could—had, did—put innocent people in harm’s way.

His arm throbs. Logan looks over his shoulder at Roman, prone on the gatch bed. Pale, except for the side that got hit being a smattering of mottled green and black. The black bleeds in curling tendrils across his chest, up his shoulder, his neck.

Patton catches him staring and gives him another one of those sad smiles. “I’m doing what I can for him, Captain.”

Logan swallows and nods. He squeezes Patton’s shoulder on his way out.

He tries very hard to not look at the hole through the wall that Roman had blasted earlier today. Instead, he focuses on the weight of his measured, calculated footsteps against the grated scaffolding. The very faint and yet oddly familiar, comforting scent of iron that lingered on the inside of the ship despite Patton’s best attempts to fix it. He counts in his head how many steps it takes from the door of the med bay to the cockpit.

The answer is eighteen.

The door swishes open and Virgil cranes his neck around. Elliot doesn’t even show signs of having heard the door opened at all.

“Ready, Captain?” Virgil asks, his finger poised over one of the buttons in front of him.

Logan steadies a hand on the back of Virgil’s chair and nods. “Yes.”

The screen in front of them blips on and Logan stares in surprise as Corbin, Sloane, and Valerie’s faces fill the frame. “Hey, they made it!” Sloane says brightly. Logan can still feel tension pulling his shoulders taught.

“Barely,” Elliot says, so quietly Logan almost doesn’t hear it. Logan sees Virgil glance at them, his brow furrowing.

“How’s Roman doing?” Valerie asks.

“We’re working on it,” Logan says.

“You mean Patton’s working on it,” Elliot cuts in.

“Yes,” Logan acquiesces. “I do mean that. Our ship’s medic, Patton Hart, is doing what he can. How are things there?”

“Our earlier assumptions proved accurate,” Corbin replies with a shrug. “They followed you. The ones that didn’t were angry, but hostility tapered off once they realized they were outnumbered and that you were gone.”

“I apologize for bringing you under some fire. That wasn’t my intention.”

“It’s not like you could’ve known,” Sloane says with a dismissal wave.

“We’re about to lose signal,” Virgil says quietly.

“Hey, keep us updated about Roman, will you?” Corbin asks.

Sloane and Valerie both nod. “We’re just as worried about him as you are!”

Elliot mutters something under their breath that Logan doesn’t quite catch, but from the suddenly furious look Virgil shoots them, perhaps it was better that he didn’t. Logan assures them that they will let them know as soon as there’s any change to report. Virgil cuts the feed and flexes his grip around the ship’s controls.

“What the hell was that?” Virgil demands suddenly. For a moment, Logan frowns in confusion before he realizes that the question was meant for Elliot and not himself.

“Forget it,” Elliot replies with a quick glance to Logan.

“Bullshit,” Virgil shoots back. His grip on the controls look too tight to be comfortable. “You’re not good with confrontation. Fine. But you don’t get to sit there and make passive-aggressive jabs at our captain after the shit-show we just dealt with. One that he got you out of, I might add. What’s wrong with you?”

“Okay—” Logan says, placatingly, but Elliot interrupts him.

“What’s wrong with me?” they demand, waving a hand towards Logan. “What’s wrong with him? He doesn’t seem phased in the slightest! Roman was shot trying to protect him and he just acted like he didn’t care—”

“Because that’s his fucking job!” Virgil turns a glowering look onto Elliot.

“Virgil,” Logan tries, bewildered at the argument, but they both seem to have forgotten that Logan is even there.

Virgil continues, tearing his gaze back to the stars stretching in front of them. “He’s the Captain, Elliot. It’s his job to make sure shit gets done, and that is especially true when one of us gets hurt. Logan doesn’t fall apart during a crisis but don’t you dare suggest that means he doesn’t fucking care.”

Elliot is silent. Logan doesn’t know what—if anything—he should say. Virgil heaves a sigh and rakes a hand through his long bangs. “I mean, shit. Look, I know today has been a lot. The past two hours have been a lot. And you haven’t been with us very long. But if you don’t know anything about our Captain, know this: Logan speaks how he cares in his actions. All you have to do is pay attention.”

Logan blinks. He forgot sometimes how closely Virgil watched other people, including himself. He’d noticed it in the beginning when Virgil had first joined, but Virgil had mostly dismissed it and said it was an “anxiety thing”. Logan didn’t know that he believed that, but over time, Virgil’s steady, watchful gaze had become less unsettling and more comforting. Until Logan forgot entirely just how much Virgil paid attention to the people around him.

Elliot sighs. They don’t look up, but Logan hears their words regardless. “I’m sorry, Captain. I was… unfair.”

“It’s understandable,” Logan replies, surprised at being suddenly addressed. His mind is still reeling. Too full of information that is racing through his mind to fully process the argument that just ensued.  “Take a breath, Elliot. Get some rest.”

“I…” Elliot looks like they want to argue, but they seem to change their mind. They stand up and look to Virgil. “Are… you good?”

Virgil glances at them, and something softens in his expression. “Yeah, kid. I’m good here.”

Elliot nods absently, then disappears through the cockpit doors. Virgil glances over his shoulder at Logan. “You should get some rest too, Captain.”

“I’m fine.”

Virgil sighs. He doesn’t press him.

…

Days go by. Patton manages to get Roman to stable vitals and Logan thinks he can hear the collective sigh of relief across the ship when the announcement comes over the staticky intercom. But Roman doesn’t wake up, and Patton tells them that he isn’t sure when—or if—it’ll happen. Logan spends most of these days in the med bay, doing what he can with his scientific knowledge to assist Patton’s tests on the toxin. Kai joins them for short periods of time, putting his knowledge of weapons and tech to some use in the long hours.

They manage to come up with an antidote somewhere around what would be a little past two in the morning Earth-time of the second day. It cleanses Roman’s system of the poison, but damage had been done. It was difficult to ascertain exactly how much.

Logan doesn’t sleep much. He thinks Patton notices, but whenever the doctor tries to bring it up, Logan shrugs him off. His usually rigid circadian schedule had been disrupted by bad dreams that echo with Sloane’s pale face and Elliot’s shaking hands and Roman’s strained words. The last words he’d gotten out. I’m not worth—and every time, Logan wakes up before Roman can finish the thought. So Logan gets enough sleep to function, and he spends the rest of his time in the med bay and around the ship making himself useful.

All the crew find time to stop in on occasion as the days press forward. Virgil and Elliot take shifts. Picani makes sure that Patton and Logan are eating, and sometimes sits and talks to Roman’s unconscious form. Patton does that too—talk to him. Whenever he gives Logan an update with a new chart read out, he speaks as if Roman can hear him.

When Logan eventually asks him about it—if he thinks Roman can hear them—Patton lifts a shoulder and replies, “I don’t know. I hope so. And it helps me to talk to him anyway, y’know?”

Logan tries it when Patton goes to bed that night. He sits in the chair that Remy had grabbed and set beside Roman earlier that day and listens to the way the silence of the ship at this hour seems to echo against the old metal walls and bracing. Foster had been quieter in general in the past several days. Less laughter. Less teasing. Less… vibrant.

“That’s your fault, you know,” Logan says quietly, looking at Roman. “As much as I always complain about your insufferable noise level, I’ll admit I had grown… accustomed to it.”

Roman’s face is still startlingly pale, but it had lost the sickly sheen of sweat. He breathes evenly. Regularly. Logan listens to it for a moment, grateful that it at least wasn’t the shaking, shallow wheezes it had been on Vannaheim. The black-and-green stain on Roman’s skin had mostly faded. He’d have a scar, Patton said, on his waist where the initial hit happened. But the rest of it should go back to normal in a day or two.

“Now the quiet just seems…” Logan sighs. He listens again as the ship groans. “It seems heavy. Though you’d probably mock me for the use of the chremamorphism. Ordinarily, I’d qualify it with literal or figurative, as I know that silence cannot carry a physical weight, but…” Logan breaks off. It feels like a literal weight, hanging over the ship like a fog and darkening the iron walls. Weighing on the shoulders of those who move within the space.

Logan sighs. Scrubs a hand across his eyes under his glasses with exhaustion. “There’s something that has been bothering me, Roman. Something that I need to say to you.”

Logan leans forward. Bows his head. “You tried to tell me that you weren’t worth the risk of getting you to safety. Which is, honestly, bullshit. I don’t leave my people behind, Roman. You, of all people, should know that. And you… you shouldn’t have taken that shot. That was meant for me.”

Logan wonders, now that he’s said it aloud, if the weight on his shoulders from the silence is really the weight of his own guilt. Poised over his head like a pendulum on the verge of snapping.

Bearing Roman’s weight on Vannaheim had not felt this heavy. Logan realizes suddenly that his hands are shaking. He clasps them together in front of him between his knees.

“I’m the Captain,” Logan says. “It’s my job to keep you all safe, and I let you down. That’s on me. And… I am sorry, Roman. I am sorry for my shortcomings as a leader and as a friend. Because if you felt unworthy of being saved, I’m afraid I have failed in both responsibilities.”

A voice from the door to the med bay startles Logan. “It isn’t your fault, L.”

Logan looks over his shoulder towards the sound and finds Virgil leaning against the entry way. Logan blinks in surprise. He hadn’t even heard the doors open. Virgil just watches him with a quiet, unwavering gaze, even if there’s something a little softer in his eyes than Logan is used to seeing.

“Virgil,” Logan greets, pushing his glasses further up his nose and standing. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

Virgil shrugs a shoulder, glancing to Roman. “Couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d check in on Princey.” He pauses, his gaze flickering back to Logan. “And you, too.”

“I’m fine.”

“He doesn’t blame you for what happened,” Virgil says, stepping further into the medical bay and letting the doors swish shut behind him. He’s got his hands shoved into the pockets of his purple plaid-patched hoodie.

Logan shakes his head. “But I do. I should have been more vigilant.”

“Weren’t you the one who taught me that dealing with ‘I should have’ is a dangerous and unproductive thought pattern?”

Logan hesitates. He can’t argue with that. He remembers the conversation from years ago. “Roman shouldn’t have been put into that situation.”

“He did it to protect you.”

“I didn’t ask him to do that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“But—”

“Logan,” Virgil cuts in, tossing his hands up in exasperation, “All of us? On this ship? We’re a family. You didn’t ask for that, but it happened. You are not the only one who cares about other people on this ship.”

“I know that.”

“Then know that any one of us would do what Roman would do if meant protecting you. We look out for each other.” Behind him, the door swishes open again but Virgil doesn’t even turn around. “We protect one another. All of us. You protect us, we protect you. That’s how this shit works.”

Patton steps into the med bay in a cat onesie. His pajamas. He pads quietly into the room, tugging the hood off his head. “Virgil’s right, Cap. We’re a family here. Like it or lump it.”

“And while this may be your ship,” Virgil says as Patton crosses to the monitors on the wall. “We don’t plan to go anywhere any time soon. You’re stuck with us.”

Despite himself, Logan cracks a faint smile.

“Yeah,” croaks a voice from the gatch bed that makes Logan whirl around. “Couldn’t get rid of us if ya tried, Cap.”

Roman’s eyes are open and glinting with something that Logan can’t quite decipher in the dark. Amusement, but something softer too. Patton gasps and rushes over, helping Roman sit up a bit more and grabbing the glass of water with a straw that he’d been refreshing each day for this very event. Roman takes a grateful sip and leans his head against Patton in silent gratitude. Patton smooths his hair with a gentle pat before helping Roman lean back in the bed again.

“How do you feel?” Virgil asks.

“Like I was shot.”

Virgil snorts.

Patton asks him a series of questions that are a bit more pointed—“Any dizziness, Roman? Do you know who I am? Do you know where you are? Are you feeling nauseous?”—and adjusts some of the machines to accommodate for an awake patient. Roman is a bit slow with his answers, and a bit slower still for the orienting ones, but he answers them accurately and cracks a few jokes in the meantime, and Logan just watches, feeling some of the tightness in his chest ease a bit.

When Patton makes a joke and the ship hears Roman’s laughter for the first time in almost a week, Logan thinks maybe he’ll finally be able to sleep through the night.

 ...

Tags: @helloisthisusernametaken, @ren-allen, @quoth-the-sparrow, @princelogical, @random-pianist, @ravenclawicecream, @erlenmeyertrash, @milomeepit, @at-least-seven-pretty-potatoes, @rileyfirstname, @pinkeasteregg, @sassy-in-glasses, @vigilantvirgil, @generalfandomfabulousness, @lacrimosathedark, @thepoolofthedead, @monikastec, @heir-of-the-founders, @yourworstnightmare999, @artistictaurean, @kanejandkruge, @cdragontogacotar, @damienswifeolicitydallysgirl, @angst-patton, @savingshae, @noneed4thistbh, @awesomelissawho, @unikornavenger, @bopthesnoz, @spiralofsilencetheory, @finger-gunsss, @crownswriter123, @swlotakulady34, @gaylotusthatexists, @analogical-mess, @dolphidragon, @flix-net, @narniasfinestavengingsociopath, @friedlieb-ferdinand-runge, @bibbidy-bobbity-booyah, @procrastinations-my-middle-name, @theburntesttoast, @monroig, @secretlyawyvern, @puddinglec4t

[abzzz3]

No Soul To Love - Part Three

gif credit to @sharingloki​

Part of a multipart fic requested by @leniram1890​

Summary: The soul is a powerful thing. It has the ability to heal people when harnessed, but also has a will of it’s own when you find a soulmate. Your soul has been ripped from you for the very purpose of healing others, and now you’re just trying to have as normal of a life as possible. That’s when tall, dark and handsome showed up, flipping everything onto it’s head and forcing you to hope for more than this life you’ve been damned to.

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Tags: @leniram1890​ @kcd15​ @deathkat657​

Warnings: vague eluding to potential drowning

Word Count: 1,735

Notes: This chapter definitely didn’t go how I originally planned it to, but it’ll probably make the rest of the fic better so I’m not mad. If you would like to be added to the tag list please let me know, constructive criticism is welcome.

_______________________________________________________________

“So what happened back there? Your friend said it was a migraine” Loki asked, as you both walked along the street together, in the vague direction of your apartment

“Yeah, I get them randomly sometimes, never know when they’re about to happen” ‘Because I never get warning’ you added in your own head

“When did they start? Do you know what caused them to begin?” Loki continued to ask

“They started 6 months ago, and I know why they started but there’s nothing I can do to stop them. Believe me, I’ve tried” You answered, your tone defeated

Loki’s brows furrowed and he looked as though he was deep in thought, silent for a few minutes as you both continued to walk. You lead the whole way, although Loki was so in tune with your every movement that to any onlookers it looked as though you both knew exactly where you were going. You supposed it was just because you knew that he didn’t in fact know where it was going, that you could see the tiny delay in his movements when responding to you.

“This is me” You said, stopping outside a red brick apartment building that looked a little run down but still nice enough to be a proper home, if a little outdated

Loki looked upwards, as if inspecting the building, and then back down at you

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” He asked once again

You chuckled, a small smile creeping across your lips

“Yes, I’ll be fine. I just need to shower and get an early night’s sleep and I’ll be good as new in the morning”

“Very well”

You smiled and made your way up the stair to the main entrance, keys in hand, when Loki called after you 

“y/n!” you turned around to face him “perhaps it’s better if I don’t come back to the store again, I saw the fuss I made for you all today . . . you, especially”

“Oh . . .” you heard the disappointment in your voice and was surprised by it “if you want, but Loki, you didn’t cause my-”

“Is there any chance I could have books brought to me, instead?” He asked, watching you intently

“You mean like delivery? Sure, I’ll give you the store number”

You reached into your handbag as you came back down the stairs and handed him a business card for the store “Just call it when you want to order anything new, there will be a delivery fee to pay as well, but it won’t be much-”

“That won’t be a problem” He assured, taking the card from your hand, fingers brushing slightly as he continued to look at you “Thank you, y/n, until next time”

Loki gave a slight bow and walked off without another word, leaving you slightly speechless as you watched him walk off, before heading inside and into your apartment.

The space wasn’t fancy by any means, but it was home. The linoleum in the kitchen/dining area was coming up in one of the corners and it was scuffed in some places through years of use, but you had craftily hidden most of it with furniture and plants, and the living room had an old brown carpet that you hated and could only hide to a certain extent underneath a couple of rugs. It was cosy though, with each wall filled with bookcases, overflowing with books that had been either read or were on the to-be-read list, or even some favourites that had been read so often that they had anything from coffee spills dried into the pages to broken spines, held together by superglue because until pages fell out and were lost you refused to replace them. This small space was your kingdom since you moved in four months ago, when you could no longer bare to live in your old house and also couldn’t afford the bills by yourself anymore. 

Most nights, you would come home and make dinner before sitting down with a book and read until your eyes started to droop, or you could no longer put off doing the adulty things life required of you when you lived on your own and had to look after your own space. Tonight though, you ate some leftovers, had a hot shower and went straight to bed, still thinking about the day’s events and Loki’s reactions to it all. 

-

“You know you could have warned me a bit sooner, I nearly passed out in the bath last night, Adam.” You scolded over the phone as you got ready

Some weeks had passed by now and Adam had continued to draw on you without effective warning beforehand, and you were furious after last night. 

“I don’t always get a chance to warn you y/n, he just showed up at my door and had the money there, I couldn’t just turn him away. Besides, you survived and still have your job. You’re fine” Adam sounded as though he didn’t have a care in the world right now, and it boiled your blood.

“No, I’m not fine.” you snapped “I’m anything but fine.”

“Calm down, there are people out there a lot worse off than you. Remember that next time you try to berate me” He responded, his voice starting to turn to a warning tone

“Just warn me next time”

“Fine, I have a client coming in today, and I was going to give you a break with this one but now I’ve decided otherwise. This one will probably hurt” He snapped and hung up the phone

You wanted to scream in frustration and throw something but you knew it would make no difference, so you just took a deep breath and grabbed your bag before heading out the door and to work. The walk was uneventful and the only things you were going into work for today was a team meeting before the store opened. You walked inside and saw Mr. and Mrs. Bates already there, along with Tessa who was just putting her bag down so must have only arrived a couple minutes before you.

“Good morning ladies, we’re just waiting on Sean now and then we’ll get started” Mr. Bates greeted, and as though he was summoned by the sound of his name Sean, the new employee, walked through the front door and greeted everyone which meant Mr. Bates could get straight into the meeting.

“Now, as we’re all aware by now the store has become much more popular over the last month, to the point where we’re making more than double our usual revenue. This has solidified Mrs. Bates’ and my thoughts on something we’ve been discussing and putting into the works for about a year now.”

You all waited in suspense for what was to come next

“We’ve come across the opportunity to open a store upstate. There is an old storefront that has been vacant for sometime now in the town where we live, and if we’re being honest” Mr. Bates gave his wife a cheeky smile “We’re both a bit bored at home and having gotten a taste for work again over the last month we don’t particularly want to stop working in the store any time soon. We won’t be able to run the upstate store by ourselves though, and this is where you guys come in.” He looked around at all three of us

“If any of you would like, we will be needing one staff member upstate, otherwise we are also able to hire someone from the area. No one has to answer today, but we will be opening the store two weeks from now” Mr. Bates nodded in the way he usually did to say that the conversation had finished and we were each free to go.

You sat there thinking about it for a moment and before you even realized it your body was already standing and moving towards Mr. Bates

“I’d like to move to the new store, Mr. Bates” The words tumbled out of your mouth

He looked shocked that you had given your answer so soon

“You don’t have to make up your mind yet child, this is a big decision” He cautioned

“I understand that, but I have no one here in the city and we all know city life isn’t really for me anyway. It would probably be better for my health anyway, being somewhere quieter” You explained to him, watching him nod thoughtfully

There was also that fact that now that the opportunity was in front of you, the thought of being further away from Adam was also a massive driver in your decision. You would give anything to be as far away from that man as possible.

“The town is small, there isn’t any nightlife or many people your age y/n” He continued to try, to make you take your time thinking about it

You just gave him a knowing look, as if to say ‘you know I don’t care for nightlife anyway’ which made him chuckle at his own comment

“Very well, if you truly want to. There is an apartment upstairs that was also part of the sale, which you can rent from us as well, unless you would rather stay where you currently are and travel back and forth” His brows furrowed with a disapproving look as he mentioned the long drives it would take to get to and from work

“I’d love the apartment, thank you. You’ve both been very generous to me” You thanked, looking at the husband and wife duo with grateful eyes.

You finalized some details, leaving the conversation with Mr. Bates advising he would email through all the details and contract to do with the apartment, and all the necessary info about the new store and how/when it will be opened and run. 

The walk home was a thoughtful one as well as an intense one, making lists in your head of everything that had to be done and when it had to be done for you to move upstate in time for the opening of the new store. As scary and spur of the moment the decision was, you were also very excited. The only thing you would really be leaving in the city was Tessa and the both of you agreed you would catch up every second weekend. 

[softlyjiminie]

sempiternal | k.s.j

⇢ pairing(s): gryffindor!seokjin x hufflepuff!reader  ex-slytherin!yoongi.

⇢ word count: 8.4K

⇢ genre: angst, fluff, hogwarts!au.

⇢ summary: love has many obstacles, more often than not, it is eternal and unchanging; an everlasting love.

⇢ warning(s): please read! swearing, breakups, semi-violence.

⇢ author’s note(s): hey guys! here’s another Harry Potter inspired fic, i worked real hard on this one, it’s been a year in the making so i hope you enjoy! you may read slytherin!yoongi here to understand.

the summer of your fourth year had to be one of the worst summers you’d ever had. your heart broken and torn and ripped and hurt from the year’s endeavours. you had wasted hours with soggy cheeks and a hoarse throat, the other girls in your dorm smoothing down your hair and whispering ‘he didn’t deserve you’’s into your ear as you fell asleep. 

min yoongi. the boy you trusted with all your heart, and gone and ruined it just for a bit of fun. you could still feel the ringing in your ears as the howler spat his venomous words. the ringing didn’t stop after that. 

at least not until seokjin came along.

you were back in the muggle world, with your muggle things and muggle life, trudging through your local corner shop, just looking for something, anything that you could stuff your face with and have no regrets. you wanted to forget. with tired feet, dragging across the store’s floor, you had finally reached the till, plopping the almost melted tub of ben and jerrie’s ice cream onto the counter.

you looked up with a sour face, trying to ignore the fact that the flavour you’d picked had been one of yoongi’s favourites when you introduced him to muggle treats. with a pang in your heart you met a pair of whisky coloured eyes and plump pouty lips that belonged to none other than kim seokjin.

kim seokjin.

fuck, it was kim seokjin.

the gryffindor boy with the soft blonde hair and sweet grin, who was a favourite amongst all of the houses. jin had been popular from his very first year at hogwarts, winning over everyone with his kind heart. he’d soared through the ranks in his house’s quidditch team, now acting as gryffindor’s prized seaker. the girls loved him, and you could see why. gasping, you looked away from the older boy, in his sixth year moving onto his seventh. 

you missed how his lips twitched up into a soft smile as he scanned your tub. you shoved your fingers into the depth of your pocket, ready to pay with a bill or two before seokjins’s soft voice filtered through the air between you. “hey, YN. don’t worry about it, it’s on the house.” 

you felt yourself melting at his soft tone, his honey brown eyes causing warmth to drift over your skin. how did he have that effect on you? You barely knew him. “t-thank you seokjin-“ you blushed, scooping up your bag. the older gryffindor offered you a dreamy smile before shaking his head and running after you once he realised you were leaving.

“you know-“ he hummed, walking you to the sliding doors. “i’ve seen you around, you seem like a nice girl that i’d like to get to know better,” his words sent a pang of warmth to your heart. “if you don’t mind waiting for me, my shift ends in a few minutes and we could hang out for a bit.”

you were hesitant at first, but stayed nonetheless, jaw dropping when seokjin rolled out of the store in a fitted white t-shirt and black skinny jeans (after changing out of his uniform.). he really was effortlessly beautiful. some would have called you foolish for trusting a boy you’d just met, but he was sweet, walking you to the nearest park and devouring your ice cream with you. 

cookies and cream had never tasted so sweet, the memories that go with it becoming much fonder.

“i’m sorry about what happened with yoongi,” the blonde mumbled, as you spooned the last of the frozen desert into your mouth. you flinched, suddenly feeling the ringing from the howler again, and seeing the slytherin’s vacant expression as you ran past him. seokjin knew he had hit a nerve, his hand quickly engulfing yours. “you were really brave for handling it the way you did, i-it gave me the courage to talk to you today,” his thumb smoothed over the back of your hand, and you gulped, losing yourself in the coffee of his eyes. “you deserve better-“

‘i deserve someone like you.’ you had finished off in your head, leaning into him. your vision became clouded just at his touch, his hands coming up to cup your cheeks. the moment was rushed, you’d only just met him, but you’d never been treated with such gentleness, like you were the most expensive thing in the world. seokjin’s eyes flicked down to your lips and then back up to your eyes and you so desperately wanted to meet him in the middle. just a kiss. 

but he was gone as soon as he came. disappointment burying itself in your chest as your eyes fluttered open once again. seokjin was still holding your hands when your vision refocused, his grip on you not loosening. his whisky eyes noted how you posted and looked away from him. “Y-YN... i’m sorry,” he sighed, causing you to gently switch your gaze over to him again. “i know you’re hurting still and trust me, i really do want to kiss you but i don’t want you to feel like i’m taking advantage of you. i’ll wait until you’re ready, if you want me to. ” 

your heart fluttered at the blonde’s words, but you could still feel the disappointment in your veins at the thought of waiting, even if it was best for you. “come on now,” Seokjin grinned, trying to make eye contact with you as you looked away from him to cover your pout. “don’t  be upset YN, won’t you give me a smile?” 

he was crouching in front of you now, palms resting on his knees as he pulled funny faces to make you laugh. you couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled up in your throat when he sent a particularly weird one your way. 

the gryffindor boy beamed adorably, his dark eyes twinkling under the light of the rising moon. “there’s that smile, pretty girl.” 

a romance bloomed for you that summer, with seokjin being a muggle himself it was easier to meet up and organise dates. true to his word, the soon-to-be seventh year refused to kiss you or carry out any public displays of affection with you until you were ready so it took you almost two weeks to convince him to let you hold his hand. 

he treated you like a delicate and wilted flower, watering you with the affection that you craved and might not have gotten with yoongi. he tended to your bruised petals, and lifted them high once again, the colour returning to your life. 

seokjin was what you had needed all along. 

you hadn’t kissed, like he promised until one night where you had invited him to meet your family, they were comforted and surprised at the fact that seokjin was a muggle like yourself. your mother even more so when she pulled you aside to comment ‘that’s not how i expected yoongi to look’ in which you blushed, catching the blonde’s eye from across the room as he wrestled your little brother into the carpet (much to your father’s delight). 

“that’s because he’s not, mum,” you’d said in a hushed whisper, helping her to whip the cream for desert. “that’s seokjin...”

your mother hummed, staring between the two of you before giving you a small nod of approval. “well, i think he’s cute.” 

after a dessert of warm apple pie and cream (or ice cream for your brother.), yourself and seokjin had headed up to your room for some alone time together. You’d shut the door behind you, turning around to find the tall blonde laughing at an old photo of you, which you’d swatted away with a pout.  “your parents are really lovely,” jin whispered when you’d decided to curl up for some cuddles on your single bed, even if it was quite the squeeze. “your brother too.”

you smiled at him, twirling a golden strand of his around your finger, feeling his eyes drifting of your face.  “they really like you seokjin, if you’re not careful, mum might not let you leave, you’ll be on washing up duty for life!” you gasped between small pockets of laughter, causing the boy you’d been dating to laugh loudly.

“so they really like me?”

“Indefinitely.” 

“maybe more than your other boyfriends...?” 

you knew he’d been referencing yoongi, careful not to mention his name. you’d  never had a boyfriend before the slytherin boy anyways. 

“hmm, i’m not sure...” you pretended to tease, almost instantly regretting your decision when Seokjin rolled over your smaller frame, leaving your side. His palms fell flat either side of your head, sinking into the memory foam mattress as he caged you in. suddenly one hand was at your stomach, pinching your side until you were crying from laughter and gasping for air. you had no idea he knew you were ticklish.

your brother must have told him.

“s-seokjin!” you cried, burying your face into his hard chest as he tickled you mercilessly. “i can’t-“ 

he didn’t allow you to finish, tickling you further with a devilish smirk spreading across his lips. “say i’m the best!” 

“y-you’re the best! seokjin-“ 

his fingers paused, palms stretching out by your head again as you tried to regain your breath with a smile. you noticed then, how the pretty his eyes looked when the light hit them properly, how plush his lips were and soft his hair. it seemed as if seokjin was looking down at you with just as much awe, because suddenly he was swooping in, hands finding your cheeks as he sunk lower to brush his lips over yours. “c-can I kiss you?” he mumbled nervously. 

you nodded. “please...” 

his lips touched yours ever so slightly, and it’s only when you parted yours that he begun to kiss you fully. the plush pillows melding with each other perfectly, as your fingers threaded through tufts of his golden locks. jin’s hands slipped down from your cheeks to just under your shirt, soothing your heated skin as you worked your lips against his in a desperate attempt to taste more of him. 

one kiss turned to two, and two to three and soon enough you were full on making out on your silly childhood bedsheets. it was only when you could hear the little thump of your brother’s footsteps against the hard wood of the stairs that you jumped apart, straightening your clothes.

seokjin was the first to stand, knowing it was him that your younger sibling sought. with careful steps, he made his way over to the door, offering you the brightest of smiles before saying. “there’s more where that came from pretty girl.” 

you could have passed out on the spot.

confessions of love came not long after, with your impending return to Hogwarts coming up. seokjin had come to pick you up from your house in his parents’ car at around seven, promising your father you’d be back by eleven-thirty at the latest. he drove you both to the highest point in your home town to watch the sun go down and the city lights switch on, the sight taking your breath away. 

the blonde had treated you to an elaborate picnic of home cooked goodies that he’d made and a tub of your new favourite ice cream of vanilla cheesecake. you’d sat munching the treats on the hood of the car, before laying back and watching the stars, pointing out constellations whilst holding hands.

and whilst star gazing reminded you of yoongi, you couldn’t find it in you to miss him. 

seokjin looked down at you, your head resting on his chest with the stars pairing up in your eyes and he couldn’t help but blush when you met his gaze. “will it be the same?” you mumbled to him, thinking of your return to hogwarts. the older boy was to become a seventh year, and it would be his last year at the legendary school for practicing magic. He would be busy with his N.E.W.T.S and you with your O.W.L.S since you were moving into fifth year. would the feelings that sparked between you both change? for better or for worse? you heart couldn’t decide. 

as if he was reading your thoughts, jin silenced your raging mind with a soft peck to your lips, which deepened when your fingers met his hair, pulling him closer. “i’ll still love you all the same.” he whispered against the seams of your pink lips, not quite wanting to pull away.

“you love me?” you gasped, voice barely above a whisper. all you could see was jin , all you could taste was jin and all you could breathe was jin. all you needed was jin. you heart pounded viciously against your rib cage as he slotted his body against yours, looking down at you with so much love. 

“i do.” 

and then you smiled, with bleary eyes and a raging heartbeat because not once had anyone of romantic interest said those words to you, not even yoongi. so whispering back, you uttered the words. “i love you too,” 

your first few weeks back at hogwarts went smoothly, with you settling into a routine and managing to get top grades in the first-term assignments. your professors had suspected that you’d do exceedingly well in your upcoming O.W.L exams. 

you heard tales of jimin and jungkook’s adventures with taehyung in the muggle world and secretly wished that next time they’d invited you. although you’d run into Yoongi on the first day back, seokjin never complained about you not introducing him as your boyfriend, nor did he push for any explanations when he’d walked in on yoongi trying to make amends, resulting in you becoming a blubbering mess the second you’d left that room.

seokjin was an angel, a sweetheart and you’d never been so happy, memories of your ex becoming faint as you made new ones with the blonde gryffindor . people called it the honeymoon phase and maybe it was, but you wouldn’t let other people’s spite get in the way of you being happy. at least that’s what you hoped for.

a few weeks at hogwarts turned into a month or so, with the winter air fast approaching and first signs of snow fall around the corner. you’d  found yourself scurrying through the halls of the ageing castle, desperate to find your boyfriend; who had promised you an evening of hot chocolate and cuddles to make up for a date night you’d both had to miss. 

seokjin was busy, being the headboy of gryffindor had started to take up a lot of his time that he usually left for you, on those nights where you’d meet outside the kitchens for a quick kiss before bed. quidditch practice had also picked up a tonne, with an important gryffindor vs slytherin match coming up that even jimin was training for. 

it wasn’t just those things, that took up your time with him. the older boy had started hanging out with his teammates more, cutting into scheduled dates and even went on trips to hogsmead without you, only remembering when he found you half asleep outside his common room waiting for him. ‘darling...’ he’d say, lifting you bridle style, and humming in content as you nuzzled into his chest. ‘what’re  doing out out here?’ 

‘waiting for you’ you’d mumble back, still half asleep. ‘we have a date planned don’t we?’

‘maybe another time.’

sometimes it felt like you were giving more than you were getting. you didn’t want to fall into that trap again. 

your winter robes swished at your feet as you trotted down to the gryffindor common room, trying to meet jin before he had the chance to run off with one of his mates. you were walking so quickly, you hadn’t had the time to slow down before you collided with the gryffindor girl jimin had the hots for. “on YN! i didn’t see you there!” she exclaimed, grabbing your shoulders and giving you the once over to see if you were alright. 

you smiled at her softly. “sorry, i wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.”

“ah, it’s alright,” she blinked, looking at you as if there was something more to say. “did you need something? last time I checked you were a hufflepuff, no?” 

the pair of you shared a sweet laugh before you managed to calm down enough to tell her where you were headed. “i-i’m looking for seokjin,” you strung together the words through your final puffs of laughter. “we-we’re meant to be hanging out today...” 

you bite your lip, refraining from mentioning going on a date and watched with a patient stare as the gryffindor girl wracked her brain for memories of her headboy’s location. “he’s  in the library!” she nodded, furrowing her brows as if to confirm her guess. she took note of the way your eyes lit up, sure, the library was an odd place to host a date, but you didn’t mind. “with Namjoon, I think he’s studying.”

you tried to hide the drop of your smile as you thanked the girl, heading towards the library in an even bigger rush than you were in before. you were mad, borderline livid, storming through the rows and rows of books that decked the shelves of the dusty library, your nose twitched at the musty air, but you chose to ignore it, waltzing right over to our target. You couldn’t believe seokjin was willing to miss yet another date.

you found both boys tucked into a corner of the room, books of charms and defence against the dark arts spread across the sleek mahogany table. you allowed yourself a few seconds to calm down, knowing that your face was probably heated high with rage and you didn’t want to embarrass yourself in front of namjoon. 

you didn’t know the purple haired boy all too well, but knew enough to be aware that despite having a quiet and perhaps even shy exterior, he was one of the best and bravest wizards in hogwarts. he was also in the year above you. when you’d finally worked up the courage to approach the table, namjoon was the first to notice you, his quill pausing midair as he glanced between your - still raging - face and his older housemate. “uh- hyung,” he coughed awkwardly as you silently seethed above him. seokjin didn’t budge, too focused on his notes. “hyung-“ 

“what namjoon-ah? i swear to merlin if you’ve spilt your ink again i-“ the blonde looked up, exasperated expression falling away as his quill stopped dead on the page. jin could practically feel your anger, washing over him in boiling waves like heated lava. He was in trouble. “oh.”

Your nose scrunched up. “damn right, oh.” you watched as your boyfriend’s face contorted into a sheepish expression, his gaze flittering down to his stilled hands. 

“i’ve forgotten something haven’t i?” he whispered, the swell of his lips caught between a set of perfectly straight, pearl white teeth. 

“oh of course not, only another date.” 

both males seated at the table flinched at the sarcasm that dripped from your voice. namjoon raised his hand slightly, cowering under your sharp glare when you turned to face him. “t-to be fair, he does have N.E.W.Ts to study for-“ 

“shut up namjoon!” yourself and your boyfriend, very nearly, shouted earning yourself vicious hushes from students that were also in the library. the purple haired boy shrugged, trying to turn back to his work, leaving you and seokjin to deal with each other. 

you felt your heart sink when he looked up at you, this hadn’t been the first time Jin had skipped out on a date, and you doubted it would be the last unless you put a stop to things. you couldn’t help it when a sad pout pushed at your lips, your boyfriend’s large hand coming round to cup your smaller ones. “oh honey. please don’t give me that look,” You turned away, opting to look out of the window instead of into his eyes, you were more likely to give into him then. “YN... i know you’re upset with me, but i promise to get better at this, i hate seeing you sad and the fact that i caused it makes it worse. i’m such an idiot.” He brought your hands to his lips, pressing a kiss atop your knuckles with a downtrodden look.

you blushed, feeling the weight of his stare get under your skin. he was always able to do that, make you smile. 

“won’t you give me a smile pretty girl?” 

And with that you broke out into a large, unstoppable grin. 

the air was cold against your cheeks and nose, the bobble hat and scarf your mother had sent you, doing their best to shield you from the cool, crisp weather. hogsmead was littered with crystal snowflakes, blankets of the thick white layers stretching as far as the eye could see. you rubbed your gloved hands together in order to create some form of warmth, or perhaps it was to do with your nerves.

a few days after your confrontation in the library and some seriously overbearing affection from your boyfriend, he had decided to treat you out on the next trip to hogsmead. you had been bursting with excitement at the thought since then, every date with seokjin was just as nerve wracking as the last. 

from inside the three broomsticks, the boys you had known to become your friends observed you with care and curiosity, the stomachs filled with warm pie and sweet butterbeer. “someone should go and  get her,” jimin mused from over his plate of half eaten pie, he was starting to lose his appetite as he watched you through the window. “she’s bound to catch a cold out there.” 

jeongguk looked up from his plate, crumbs dusting the outer corners of his lips as he munched on his slice of cherry pie. “what’s she waiting for again?” the younger asked, spraying his slytherin and hufflepuff companions with an assortment of pastry crumbs. 

the pair cringed with disgust, wiping away their clothes as taehyung looked up. “she’s waiting for jin, they’re supposed to have a date today...” the Hufflepuff boy was already trailing off when his housemate hoseok let out a deep snore from his seat, slumped over the table. he’d  had a late night sneaking around with his newly found slytherin girlfriend. “i saw him earlier on though, with his quidditch team...” 

the boys fell silent, hoseok’s snores filling the air between them. jimin sighed; pushing his seat back to stand up and meet you outside. with a hat tugged over his luscious silver locks, he left his friends sitting solemnly at the table. the fifth year slytherin resisted the urge to retreat to the warm arms of the establishment once he was outside, his arm sliding around your shoulders for warmth. you jumped when you noticed.

“what’s been keeping you outside, away from the pie, YN?” the boy asked from beside you, you craned your neck to look up at him allowing your breath to catch at the sight of the snowflakes resting on his lips. jimin had always been charming and you would be a fool to say that you didn’t think he was attractive. so it came as no surprise when girls went after him, deeming him the catch of the century. the heartthrob of your year. and still, park jimin had always remained the humble boy you had met during first year, never letting the attention get to his head. park jimin may have seemed like a player, leaving a trail of broken hearts in his wake, but what no one seemed to notice is that girls only wanted him for his pretty face and toned body. you only hoped that certain people saw past that, looking at the sweet boy who looked out for you so much. 

you could see the concern wavering in his dark eyes, so you grinned up at him ignoring the cold dry stretch of your lips. “i’m waiting for seokjin,” you hummed, watching a puff of air fade into the snow scene. jimin flinched from beside you, arm tightening ever so slightly before he relaxed. “we h-have a date...”

jimin would have never missed the little tremble in your voice. part of you already knew that your boyfriend wouldn’t show up, you’d seen him babbling away with his teammates already and yet, you trusted him. trusted him not to break another promise. to not let this be just another honeymoon phase. 

“at least i thought we had one.” 

the silver haired slytherin sighed down at you, squeezing your smaller frame into the warmth of his body. “how about we go get you that pie, yeah?” he offered in a whisper and you nodded, ignoring the swell of heart break in your chest. 

the halls were empty, as they should’ve been that night, with seokjin on hall monitor duty since we he was a prefect. he didn’t mind being up that late, seeing as it was a late start for him the next day. that didn’t stop him from feeling tired though, slips of exhaustion tingling in his brain as he walked mindlessly through empty halls.

the elder boy rounded a corner, only to be met with a shadowy figure at the other end of his path. as they stepped into the candle light, the blonde deemed the figure to be park jimin, his moonish hair was ruffled and a smirk lay delicately on his lips. some people called him a bit of a sleaze but seokjin knew better than to tell you that. 

“jimin!” the gryffindor called out, earning a look of surprise from the younger boy, before a deep scowl. “what are you doing out here all by yourself?” 

the silver haired boy rolled his eyes with a ‘tsk’ storming last jin, who held a look of shock before running to catch up with the slytherin. “it’s none of your business, is it?” 

“i mean it’s awfully late,” seokjin tried to reason, carefully matching his steps with the boy. after all, jimin was yoongi’s cousin and their families had quite the reputation. “i could always deduct house points you know...”

jimin froze, closing his eyes as if to calm himself before turning to face the older boy. “you have a thing for being late or on time don’t you?” he paused, allowing seokjin to think. “you’re  never late to class, to meals and most certainly quidditch practises, but you never seem to be on time for dates with your own girlfriend...or do you even show up at all?”

the gryffindor seventh year froze in his spot as jimin spun on his heel, walking backwards in the direction of his dorms. a cruel smile of a true slytherin crawling onto his lips. “deduct house points for that, why don’t you?” 

whispers trickled through the classroom as a ravenclaw prefect slipped into your class, handing a note to your transfigurations professor. your eyes barely peaked up from your scroll, where you furiously scribbled ahead in your notes, desperate to finish your work ahead of time. your professor had a thing for letting students leave early if they completed their work.

the professor cleared their throat from the head of the classroom, silencing the whispers from your classmates. a mixture of ravenclaw and hufflepuff. your heartbeat soared when you made eye contact with the prefect, gaze skittering to jeongguk who was sitting beside you with lips pursed in curiosity. 

the professor coughed again, causing your line of vision to shoot to them, and he offered you a gentle smile. “YN, you’re needed just outside the classroom.” 

“now?” you stuttered, anxiety sky rocketing. 

he nodded, opening the door for the prefect who was leaving. “now.” 

you swallowed nervously, packing up your belongings as jeongguk gave you a reassuring grin. the class talked in hushed mutters as you passed, your body twitching with anxiety as you left the room. with your eyes trailed on your feet in shame, you lifted your head onto to be met with a familiar stare. “s-seokjin?” you asked in surprise, truth be told, after the incident at hogsmead, you had been hesitant to see him. it turns out he felt the same. “wh-what are you doing here? did you pull me out of class?” 

he nodded, answering the questions swirling in your mind. “i needed to see you, it couldn’t wait,” the blonde paused, as if to seek your permission. he owed you an explanation and you bobbed your head slightly, an indication for him to proceed. “i-i know it looks bad, that i didn’t show up to hogsmead and that i’ve been ignoring you, but trust me YN, when i say that i’m going to make it up to you.” 

you swallowed thickly at his words, folding your arms so that one hand could desperately clutch an elbow as if to soothe your nerves. with a bite of your lower lip, you glanced up at seokjin once more, an earnest and sincere expression painting his heavenly features, an expression you had seen many times before. you could feel yourself melting into the warmth of his gaze, your mind screaming to forgive him just so you could be close to him once more. 

“i’m so sorry, pretty girl,” seokjin added, noting your hesitance to reply. the seventh year took a step forward, closing the distance between you as he reached out to brush a finger down the apples of your cheeks. you could feel yourself keening into his touch, giving into that guilty pleasure. To the risk of heartbreak again. “i promise i won’t miss out on another date again, i’ll treat you to a nice night out and we’ll spend the evening together and-“ you frowned at the familiarity of his words, each syllable recognisable to your ears. seokjin had said it all before, so why did you give in every time?

did he really care about you? were you really just a mindless fifth year, blindly following someone she loved? insecurities  crept up your throat at the thought, choking you from the inside and tearing apart every fibre of your being. it’d only be a matter of time before seokjin left hogwarts and found someone his age. someone he could make it out of the honeymoon stage with. the blonde noticed the frown on your lips and the creases at your forehead. “pretty girl, please give me a smile?”

not this time. 

“seokjin,“ you sliced through his words with a wavering voice, your boyfriend’s hand retreating from your face as he looked at you in shock. “you know i love you, you know i do but i-i think we should take a break. recently it feels like... i’m not getting what i give and i want to say but until you can prove me wrong... i just don’t want to end up like how yoongi and i did before. i don’t want to be your temporary fix.” 

you stood still with a clenched fist until you finished, eyes that were screwed shut opened to find that your boyfriend was completely silent. his eyes told you that he wanted to speak up and you wanted that. you wanted him to say something, something to convince you that you didn’t need space or time apart, and that he wouldn’t let you be just a passing phase. seokjin stood before you, mouth opening and closing as he fought an internal battle. 

with a shake of your head, you stepped away from him, a cloud of disappointment settling between you. his silence was enough. “i’ll see you around then, seokjin .” you breathed, gaze falling to the floor.

“YN..” 

“please don’t pull me out of another class unless you have something important to say,” you cut him off bitterly, turning away with a swish of your golden embossed robes. “my grades are important to me.” 

the halls were once again empty, a sort of coldness settling in them as seokjin patrolled them once more. paintings talked and whispered about his heartbreak, the frown on their golden boy’s face was far too much for them to handle. leaving them to turn away in despair.

he’d fucked up, he really had.

in his mind, seokjin had been doing right by you. he told you loved you, he made you laugh, he made you smile. but telling someone you love them and loving them are two different things. seokjin didn’t know that you felt abandoned, he didn’t take into account that he was creating a repeat of your last relationship. he wanted to do better for you, and he wasn’t. 

so here he was, the gryffindor boy finding comfort on the cobblestone floor of his favourite place away from home. his dark eyes following the magic sprouting from his wand, casting his patronous just to keep his bitter heart company. the scops owl danced around him, wings of blue flapping and shedding its diamond tears. the blonde could only watch with parted lips as his patronous burst into pieces, revealing a munching slytherin before him.

it was common for yoongi and seokjin to cross paths when the elder was on hall duty, more often than not the slytherin boy found himself talking to the house elves who gave him cookies and milk late at night when he couldn’t sleep. the two would bump into each other in the winding halls and magical staircases, share an awkward smile and wave (more like yoongi was grimacing) before heading in opposite directions. tonight was no different, except yoongi noticed something.

seokjin was sad.

the younger boy, with his hair dyed a simple black, knew the familiarity of sadness’ wake. he knew how much it would help someone to offer them a smile or a hand in times like this. yoongi chewed the dry skin at his bottom lip before taking a step towards the elder and holding out half of the cookie he had left. “it looks like you could need it.” the slytherin mumbled gruffly, looking away for a second.

seokjin’s lips parted once more, the words catching on the rim of his mouth as he stared up at the younger boy. not once had they had such a, for a lack of better word -civil- interaction. there had always been the space between them, the elephant between the two. you. but, now it seemed, they shared common ground. you had left both of them. 

“thank you.”

yoongi looked conflicted for a second, debating whether or not he should stay and comfort the elder. his bed seemed much further from his mind than he had hoped for, at this point. “are you...” he started, tongue peeking out to wet his lips. “are you okay, seokjin?”

the question startled the elder, perhaps just a bit, still not used to this level of attention from the boy who’s girlfriend he’s stolen. he couldn’t help when his lips begun to form the words. “no, not really.” 

“wanna talk about it?” 

“y-yeah, sure.” 

at this point the slyhterin had bunched himself up beside seokjin, looking at him with sleep ridden eyes but an expression that said he was ready to listen. and yet, the blonde felt himself hesitating. why did it have to be yoongi? of all people, to find him here in this vulnerable state, it had to be the boy who probably hated him most. 

“YN left me,”He muttered, throat closing in fear of judgement from the very boy who lead him to YN. “we, uh...she broke up with me.” 

a pause. 

yoongi gasped. “Oh wow.” 

seokjin looked up, a fire ready to set ablaze in his eyes as he stared the slytherin down with ease. “what’s that supposed to mean?” 

yoongi shuffled, looking up at the ceiling as his dark hair fell over his eyes, it was almost as if he hadn’t been sure what to say, then again he’d never expected to find himself in kim seokjin’s company. 

“it’s  just that...it’s clear as day to anyone...how much she loves you,i don’t think anyone thought it would end. i never thought it would end. you were her forever it seemed.” yoongi confessed with a slight frown and a crease to his brow, the storm of hurt rumbling behind his black magic eyes. “yoy were her forever and not me,” he turned to seokjin, angry at him, angry for him, angry at himself. “you were supposed to be her forever and not fuck up like me, for merlin’s sake you piece of shit.”  

the gryffindor blinked as he shuffled away from his younger, not quite expecting him to lash out in such a way. “yoongi...” 

“no, shut up!” the latter growled, his voice eerily hushed for the venom laced in his tone. yoongi stood, past emotions rushing through him as he tried his best not to combust. thoughts and feelings of that fateful day blasting a chill through his veins. “I bet you promised not to hurt her, I bet you promised not to be like me.” The words spilled before Yoongi could stop them, white hot anger flashing behind his eyes as his word slurred with fury, Seokjin flinched at every syllable of truth hitting home. “Didn’t you?”

“i did,  I promised…” the elder remembered, frowning at himself as yoongi sat down, the anger having rolled out of him by now. the two sat together in the dark halls, emotions swirling through their minds and hearts as they reflected. 

a moment passed.

“so, how do you intend to keep that promise?”

“wh-what?” the blonde babbled sheepishly, surprised by the slytherin’s sudden change in attitude. Yoongi smiled sadly at his elder, running a hand through his blackened locks, pushing it out of place as he eyed Seokjin. “What do you mean?”

yoongi hummed slightly, kicking his foot on the cobblestone floor as he chewed on his lip. He hadn’t meant to blow up at the gryffindor earlier, too many feelings from the last year still resonating within him at the time. however, now he felt a sense of guilt, wanting to help the poor headboy especially if it meant helping YN, who deserved all the best. “I just mean… you promised her that you’d be better than me, so you have to show her that.  I didn’t mean to blow up at you so bad, but I felt like we both had things to say.” 

“what i’m trying to say, is that if you’re going to make it up to her, you need to show her what she means to you.” the younger noted, distantly. 

seokjin’s brow creased. “how do I do that?” 

yoongi smiled softly this time as he stood, placing his hand on the older’s broad and firm shoulder. “that’s for you to figure out what I couldn’t.” he mumbled softly, bidding the gryffindor a good night as he stepped out into the darkness.

your shoulders sagged as you dumped your bag against the door, shrugging off robes and collapse on your bed. You’re exhausted, the hours of herbology notes you’d written up had finally taken its toll on your cramping hand. 

you desperately want to nap, just a few seconds before the girls get back from their classes and start to squeal over how your infamous best friend kim taehyung snuck his muggle pet into hogwarts. you swear their giggles and claps gave you more migraines than watching jimin endlessly flirt. 

you’re only two steps away from your bed, the smooth honey yellow sheets drawing you in when a warm hand slips over your mouth and another pulls you into a firm chest. 

a horrified scream escapes your lips, was this a prank? were you being attacked? did one of those horrible slytherin boys that picked on everyone sneak into the dorms? a million and one thoughts popped into your mind, and you only wished you still had your wand on you. you’d stupidly left it in your robes.

the stranger whispers short shhs into your ears, but you’re too busy rustling and kicking your legs to care. with heavy breaths you bite on the hand, gagging at its salty taste and jab your elbow into the ribs of your attacker, pulling yourself away from their rather large frame. 

“hey hey! YN, it’s me!” the stranger cries, holding a hand to their ribs as the suck the blood from their wounded hand. he pants, his robes disheveled as you eye him up and down. 

you’re mad, more than so. how dare he come into your private space uninvited, holding you in such a way and giving you such a fright that you screamed louder than the herbs you’d been studying earlier. “by merlin! seokjin what the hell? what do you think you’re doing?” you start, face heating up at all the fury you’ve kept hidden. you try to convince yourself that the anger you feel is because of him sneaking up at you, and not because of the yearn in your heart that comes after seeing him for the first time in a while.

the blonde wipes his hand on his robes, crimson blood blending in with the red of his house. the colour stings your eyes, a reminder of his place in hogwarts. above you. the doubts from times with yoongi creep into your mind, and it takes you a second to remind yourself that you’re better off without him. both of them. 

“i’m sorry, i know i shouldn’t be here, but i had to see you.” 

the words, as sweet as they sound, make you curl into yourself. they would have made you blush before, they would have made you smile. but your heart still hurts from where be betrayed your trust. your eyes meet his, they’re still as warm and as inviting as you remember, and maybe a little more dull. you wonder if he’s taking things well. you know that you aren’t, you miss him.

you want him to stay, but you don’t want to give in.

“you have three minutes to talk, starting with why and how you’re here.” you say pointedly, wrapping your arms around yourself as you cast your gaze aside. your ears detect the small gasp of joy that the gryffindor lets out and your body reacts to the steps, desperately needing his touch after all these weeks.

he blinks as he shuffled towards you, rubbing his thumb over his own knuckles. “i missed you,” seokjin breathes, he knows that he shouldn’t have said it. He can tell by way your face contorts in a slight pain and the way your hand comes to grip your chest from over your shirt. ‘don’t’ he hears you mumble and closes his eyes softly. “i used a disguising spell so i could follow some girls in, and hid behind your door. i’m here because...because i realised how foolish i’ve been, i know that ive hurt you and im here to desperately ask for your forgiveness,”

you blink, frowning at him as he speaks, you’re not used to apologies. but this isn’t yoongi, this is seokjin. “i don’t care how long it takes, i’ll wait for you because i realise how much i need you here.” the blonde finishes, grasping your hand with need. the simple touch sends you into a spiral, your cravings for his closeness raging on as he pulls away. 

“seokjin...” you whisper, so close to him that you can feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. 

“i don’t need an answer from you now, just for you to come to the quidditch match on friday.” the taller asks, his tone pleading slightly. he doesn’t know what he’ll do if you say no, fear wrapping around his heart and squeezing. 

you shook your head, not sure if you were agreeing or disagreeing. you watched with forlorn eyes a the elder wizard moved to kiss your knuckles, standing upright to exit through the door. “i can’t promise you that.” you mumble quietly, letting him walk toward it.

“then just seeing you is enough.” 

the cold air nips at your cheeks as you stand in line with your fellow hufflepuffs. the hands of frost pinch at your skin, and tickle your nose, wrapping their evil arms around your waist as you shiver with annoyance. taehyung looks down at you and smiles, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to pull you into him. his sweater is warm like the honey yellow that drips from its fabric, and you cling to him more in search of it. 

girls squeal around you, they chatter about their favourite quidditch players. jimin is all that they mutter, and while he’s your friend you can’t help but he chanting for someone else in your head. 

“seokjin’s playing today,” a ravenclaw giggles, casting you a side glance as yourself, taehyung, hobi and little jungkook advance in the line. “i wonder who she’ll be cheering for now that she’s had a taste of both houses.” 

the snide remark sets a blaze off in your chest, but you instead, squeeze your housemate’s hand tighter. the boys continue excitedly, going on and on about how jimin trained on end for this. yet your mind lingers on the gryffindor himself. you wonder if he’s thinking of you, of how you would calm him before every match. you feel your heart skip a beat at the thought as you pass through the gates, into the stalls.

students from all years, hufflepuffs from all ages sit with one another and chat excitedly, but you don’t miss the way their loud words become hushed as you and your friends walk by. “don’t worry about them,” jungkook reminds you when you sit down, his bright doe eyes giving you comfort. “they’re just jealous.” 

“of what?” you mumble; there’s nothing that you have. you’re no longer with the golden boy of hogwarts, what else is there to be jealous of? 

hoseok leans over taehyung’s lap to reach for you, his mouth covered in the chocolate frogs that he’d brought from hogsmead. “you’ll see!” 

the boys all share a look and a giggle, you swore they acted like gossiping girls sometimes. you shake your head and roll your eyes, settling into the seat. the hard wood makes your thighs uncomfortable and your teeth still chatter from the cold. a tap on your shoulder makes you turn around. 

“YN LN?” the boy asks, adorning the signature ruby robes. you nod, and he looks relieved, pulling something from his cloak and passing it to you. “this is for you.” 

he speaks, but doesn’t saw where the brown paper package is from. you allow your fingertips to touch at the material as the boys around you stare. you gasp in awe when you tear open the paper, revealing seokjin’s deep red sweater, his name printed on the back. 

‘i love you, please wear this.’ the note reads, and you clutch the clothing to your chest, catching the eye of seokjin as he whizzes out into the pitch.

screams echo in your ears as the final minutes before half time tik closer and closer. you had never understood sports, muggle or wizard like, you had always found them particularly boring. quidditch in a way reminded you of the football your father watched on a sunday down at the pub, either coming back extremely heartbroken or so excited that he’d press sloppy kisses all over your face. 

the students around you jeer at slytherin players as the zip past on their broom, chasing after the infamous golden snitch. you pay little attention, playing with the loose thread of the gryffindor’s sweater, having slipped it on. the fabric smells like him, like comforting nights spent by the fireplace in his common room. you close your eyes and can almost feel his arms wrap around you, and his plush lips press soft kisses to your hair. if you close your eyes you can imagine what it’s like to be with seokjin again. 

the excited chanting suddenly turns into worried gasps, and your eyes shoot open. you seem him, seokjin, spiralling down from the highest point. his broom appears busted and the other players of his team are chasing after him. your heart stops in your chest as you notice jimin heading down after him as well, the mop of silver hair fluttering with the rapid breeze as he zooms after your lover. 

you can feel fearful trembles start to wrack your body, your friends beside you holding you close as you all sit on the edge of our seats. waiting for impact. waiting for the scream of pain.

it doesn’t come.

instead, the blonde stops inches from the ground, his broomstick shooting up into the sky. the wands of his fellow housemates on the ground, follow him and suddenly the sky appears less grey and more...

orange. 

bursts of red and yellow spout from his broom, the petals coating the entire pitch and all the stalls as seokjin circles it, followed by his team mates. the students of hogwarts look up to the skies in awe, giggling and dancing in the petals. you catch two, holding them in your palm as you rub the silken petals. red and yellow, tangle together. 

jungkook shakes your shoulder, pointing up. “what?” you mumble, but replace the tone with a surprised gasp as seokjin comes to a halt on his broom in front of you. he holds out two whole flowers, one a deep rouge and the other a sunset yellow. he looks to you with shy brown eyes and parted pink lips, and you can feel a thousand and one pairs of eyes on the two of you.

“chrysanthemums,” you whisper, taking them lightly and tilting your head to meet his gaze. “they’re my-“ 

“your favourite... i know,” the gryffindor smiles, pointing to the plants in your grip. “yellow is for love and red for loyal love.” he explains, nearing you and you tune out the squeals of girls nearby. “YN i know, that these last few weeks have been hell without you, to which is a fault of my own. i let myself take you for granted, instead of showing you what love should be. you deserve every ounce of love and everything good from then on. i promise from this forward; to love you eternally...that is, if you shall have me?” 

“seokjin...i love you too.” you whisper, rushing forward through the stands to capture his lips in a soft, emotional kiss. you feel the truth in his words and the love that he once gave, relaxing into him as you fight the tears of longing in your eyes.

the klaxon sounds for the end of half time, but you ignore it, kissing him until the moment remains eternal in your mind. 

[pixelzprince]

Circuit - Lore Fic

FINALLY!! This lore fic has been about two weeks  in the making now, and finally we can post it!

It’s a bit of backstory regarding Incandescent and Chill (and Wolvesbane, a bit) and the misadventures the thrill-seeking young dragons in the Hewn City get up to - basically an excuse to write a bunch of headcanons for the Shade. And let’s just say, when the most cursed city in an entire Flight territory is way more saturated with magic than usual.. something’s bound to go horribly wrong.

Warnings: Some mild horror themes, unreality/slight derealization/existential crisis stuff, you know. We’re dealing with the 10% More Eldritch Shade here after all. Also, mentions/implications of bullying, eugh.

Probably the darkest thing we’ll actually write out in our character lore, to be honest though things get better after this, it’s just a Not So Pleasant inciting incident-

With that out of the way, onto the show!

"So it's like, a ghost-themed biking group?" Chill had asked on the way to the venue. "Sounds.. kinda forced to me, to be honest." 

His neon friend let out a poorly stifled guffaw, briefly lifting a claw from the handles of her bike to hide her grin. "I don't think you're in any position to say that, Mister 80s band tees."

Chill frowned, clinging a bit tighter to Ink's shoulders as they zoomed through the night aboard the latter's tricked out three wheeler bike; Incandescent's parents hadn't allowed her to get a proper motorcycle, and all Chill had was his old mountain bike, though the Mirror couldn't truthfully say he felt all that safe clinging to the spiny shoulders of a Banescale for dear life on a vehicle meant for one.

Thus, he'd urged her to drive as slowly and carefully (the damage to his "coolness" didn't go unnoticed) as she could manage given her high octane lifestyle - giving them much time to talk on the trip. Plenty of time to sling banter and waste breath meant for more valuable discussions.

"Right, so... you really capitalize on that Halloween aesthetic?" Chill tried again, wording his question carefully to dodge Ink's edgy defenses; for how nice his friend could be, she was like a spring-loaded trap full of retorts ready to snap given the right ammunition. "Everyone thinks you're some sorta cult, but it's just for the rep, right..?"

Ink quirked a wry grin, teeth glinting in the low lights of the city. "Something like that." Her spines rattled with something akin to excitement, making Chill quietly yelp and adjust in the seat to avoid getting skewered. "Reputation's power, right?"

Chill fought the conditioned urge to shoot some witty sarcasm back, though his contemplation was interrupted as the bike came to an abrupt halt, worsened by the sudden prickling of scales against his arms.

"We're here," Ink supplied.

She slid off the bike, radiant scales glistening in the neon lights of the shopping center. Chill barely caught the discarded helmet slung at him, the weight smacking against his chest and knocking the air out of him. He called after her as he fumbled, "Heavy helmet for a hard head!"

Ink gave no indication that she'd heard him, merely striding off towards the parking lot of a nearby pizza place. Chill frowned, disappointed in the lack of acknowledgement. He shook his head as if to rid himself of the childish irritation, before hesitantly beginning to follow Ink.

He kept his head held low, eyes shifting around to observe the creeping murk of the city's almost unnatural darkness; even at only dusk, even with the piercing glow of dozens of light sources (the motorbikes' custom lights, the LED of the storefronts, the subtle hues of his own luminous capsule trait, his overwhelmed mind rattled off) the Hewn City's oppressive night seemed to leech as much warmth and luminescence as it could.

And this was Light territory; a shudder went through Chill as he dared to imagine what Shadow or Ice's expanses looked like at night, away from most sources of radiance.

Slinking past an unrelated crowd congregated by the road (they smelled of pizza, sweat, and ozone, probably some sports team, ugh), the Mirror soon reached his destination, a small group of dragons around his age, some younger, all gathered in the darkest corner of the parking lot.

How convenient.

Some were lazily leaned against their bikes as makeshift lounges, while others stood almost like guards, alert and scanning the area. Chill caught the eye of one of the latter category, a Nocturne with strikingly patterned scales. Their eyes widened as their gazes met, before they scowled and turned away slightly. They muttered something to their companion, a rather anxious looking Fae who was half coiled by the tail around a metal-studded bike just a tad too big for them. The Fae looked almost as out of place as Chill, wearing a brightly patterned hoodie and trying to look tough, though the amusing juxtaposition did little to reassure him.

Just what kind of crowd was this-?

Ink tugged him over, draping an arm over his shoulder in a gesture that, outwardly, may have seemed protective. Chill frowned and glanced up to see the mischievous, "I'm dragging you into shenanigans" grin that betrayed otherwise. He wilted under her conniving gaze, silently resigning himself to whatever hazing or crimes this so-called "biking club" had in mind.

Vandalism? Petty crime? He couldn't say he was up for it, himself, but he hoped whatever the group of off-kilter rebels had planned would at least be fun in the moment. Anything but bike racing, at least...

The wind began to pick up a bit, drowning out some of the quieter chatter around him. He allowed himself to relax, if only a tad bit; perhaps they were just.. hanging out. Loitering was a crime in some places, right? Passive crime, "safe" crime. Chill, figuring that the others had no interest in hanging out with him, distracted himself by counting the treasure in his pockets, wondering if he had enough to get himself a slice of pie. He may have been half Fae, but anyone, enhanced Mirror senses or not, could smell the thick, syrupy scent of apple cobbler wafting through the air from the pizza place.

It was all... so passive. Boring, but pleasant.

Of course, something had to give.

After what seemed like ages of tense stillness, Ink spoke up suddenly, her voice rumbling like a foreboding storm cloud, which Chill felt from where he was currently hugged to her side. Of course, the calm before the storm was over.

Despite everything, her voice was a tad comforting, a familiar sort of "danger" instead of the alarm bells that had initially screamed from every other corner of this place. Chill clung to her subconsciously, glaring out at the others and trying to tune out whatever was said, to just focus on the pure tone... dissociate into the void, or however the halfhearted joke went.

Despite his efforts, a few words slipped by, "Summoning" and "power" and whatnot. Part of the ghost gimmick, he assumed. He shuddered from the sudden, brisk breeze that whipped by, though instead of being hugged closer, he was abruptly shoved towards the center of the crowd.

A yelp escaped him as he stumbled to regain his bearings, his claws painfully catching on some uneven pieces of concrete. He hissed, swaying, before he  glanced around to see what he'd missed in his half-attentive musings. 

When had they formed an actually cohesive circle..? And around him specifically..? He looked back at Ink for explanation, though she averted her gaze. The wind rushed by, now deafening. It'd picked up unnaturally quickly, and Chill soon located its source, a growl ripping from his throat as he once again met the eyes of the Nocturne.

Airborne Parchment?! Where would they get something like that? Instead of using the windbound material for its intended purpose of bringing life to drawn objects, the supposed leader of the group was merely willing forth elemental gales of wind into existence. They didn't seem to have much hold over it, but control wasn't the intention, merely... power.

"What are you doing?!" Chill hollered. He snapped out of his stupor, storming towards the amateur spellslinger. Their eyes seemed to widen a fraction, perhaps in shock, though before more words could be exchanged, their previously awkward Fae companion leapt into action, shooting forth and headbutting Chill right in the stomach.

It wasn't a very hard hit, rather a precise one. Capsule dragons were known for their vulnerable stomach area, and sure enough, Chill reeled back, hardly able to prevent himself from crumpling to his knees back in the center of the circle. He was freezing and burning all at the same time, battered by brisk winds and the uneasy sort of thrum that rippled through the earth itself.

And yet, finally, through the gale, voices rang true. "We've never done this before, true.." It was a tinny, raspy voice that grated on Chill's ears. "But but but!! Someone naïve was needed to call forth the Shade. Call forth, not use as a vessel. He won't be hurt."

"So he's the flippin bait you mean?! Can it with the sugarcoat." A painful shockwave rattled Chill's senses as Ink screamed from somewhere above him. "And you've never done this before? He's a test dummy if anything-"

Her hands are blazing with light, undoubtedly, as she growled, "You said you knew what you were doing."

"Silence," a third, cool voice intercepted. It reverberated much stronger than the rest. "It has already begun. The artifact will draw the Shade near."

The Shade? 

Chill's eyes stung as he forced them open, and he instantly regretted it. His surroundings were awash with too-bright colors, the dragons around him more like blobs of light against the pitch of his surroundings. Alarms blared in the back of his disoriented brain, and he bared his teeth, trying to stand. His claws uselessly scrabbled against the suddenly slick concrete for some purchase, and by the time he managed to stand, he could faintly see something somehow darker than the existing murk rising from the cracks.

Liquid dripping upward, unburdened by the constraints of reality.

And all fell silent, as if the world itself paused to gaze into the void.

He watched it for a moment, himself, mesmerized by its headache-inducing, impossible blackness. It swayed in an inviting, inquisitive manner, hardly blotting out the dull panic slowly igniting in the Mirror's bones. Only the very edges of its fluid form seemed to reflect light, almost like a cartoonish outline that barely detracted from how otherworldly the substance was. 

The Shade..

A quiet, almost breathless whisper shook the stillness, "It worked..."

And Chill's world exploded into white hot pain, impossible fireworks set aflame behind his eyes.

~~~~~

A pulse. A pain. A thrum of negative power. 

A shockwave cuts through the souls of all in the crowd, invasive and calculating and yet erratic all the same. Wild to their perception and coiling and thriving with an intelligence beyond this world. It.. analyzes them, down to the core, samples their magic and minds, and then it's gone. 

The all-encompassing murk seems to draw in all light like an amorphous black hole. It's fluid and yet like plasma, burning and freezing, hollow and yet dense. It moves with a weight that's not quite physical, though fearsome and ancient all the same. Though as soon as the display of eldritch un-energy begins, it stills, settles, coalesces in the center of the circle in a more manageable form.

The summoning worked... or so they'd thought.

The Nocturne stares, captivated. The now useless parchment drops limply from their claws as they breathe, "Oh... Lightweaver.."

Ink breaks the stillness with a snarl, "Orbit!" and in an instant, the Banescale's upon the summoner, a tangle of claws and spikes and conflict. The summoner has no chance to react, the air knocked out of them as Incandescent crushes them prone to the ground and screams in their face, "What did you DO-"

They manage to whisper, "The summoning worked," though their heart's not in it. They cast a forlorn gaze towards the semi-solid insubstantiality. Their poor artifact, perfectly crafted to contain traces of the Shade... lost to this blunder. "At a cost..."

The sentiment sends Ink hysterical. "At a cost?" She devolves into wordless screams, all fight leaving her as she weakly shakes Orbit, who stares into the tearful gaze hollowly. Others break from their frozen state to attempt to break up the fight, life and energy, albeit a tense sort, flooding back.

Life cannot be paused for long, after all. The elements, however dimmed they may be, quickly resume their presence.

Ignoring the halfhearted tussle, the Fae from before hops down from his perch, silently striding past the "fight". His palms flare with magic, bright and cold and merciless, matching the shine of his eyes. Gone is the awkwardness, even in the face of the Shade itself.

The insubstantiality, which has collected into the form of the Mirror that it claimed, raises its "head" slowly, shakily in a false show of weakness. Its eyes, the only spots of light on it, blaze like searchlights, betraying its true strength.

The Fae speaks, that raspy tone adding a hint of menace to his words, "A failure.. another failure." He bares his teeth and snarls, "An expensive failure."

Another? The impossibly lightless plasma inches back, fan-like crests pinning back as it gazes into the wild eyes of disappointment and scorn. The Shade does not know fear... but all this creature knows is the impulse of fight or flight humming in its hollow core.

Something akin to a heartbeat pulses in its "chest". Quick, fearful, hardly present. Move, flee.

The fighting's died down, Ink dragged away from Orbit's huddled and silent form, and all the Banescale does is scream into the sky, into the speckled night. Yet the darkness she screams at is nowhere near the impossibility of the Shade which has claimed her friend.

Fear. The heartbeat stutters. Run.

Elemental ice, wicked and glowing, freezes the spot where the being had been mere moments before. The Fae spits a venomous string of blights, at the summoning, at the lost artifact, at the waste of time. But the residual darkness staining the ground isn't the Shade he'd aimed to erase.

It's already long gone, fleeing through the gaps of reality itself, through the tear from which it arrived.

~~~~~

Find safety.

Get out of there. Away. Far away.

But where..?

~~~~~

The fragment of Shade rematerializes in the subway. From the darkness itself, it's ejected, the ambient Shadow element of this world rejecting its unnatural presence and leaving it to sizzle in the fluorescent, buzzing lights of the few operational signs in this district.

And yet, it relaxes, collapsing shockingly solidly upon the cold, smooth pavement.

It's silent for once, the normal hustle and bustle of the city having been driven out by recent damages done to this railway. Even the usual stragglers, kids like Ink's club, who normally loiter around the "spooky abandoned subway" for kicks have long since either gone home or to the park to camp out.

Not even the most daring of delinquents would test their luck napping in the hollow depths of the earth. Not in Light territory, especially.

They say Light, for all its pristine brightness, hides something eldritch. The brightest lights cast the darkest shadows after all.

Perhaps, this is that something.

With that thought, the insubstantiality lets out a cry.

Get to safety. Hide.

It manages to stand, first shakily onto all fours, then to its hind legs. It limps towards the darkest corner, baking in the light, before it stumbles and trips to its knees again, gasping. The air passes through it, not that it needs to breathe; nonetheless, it curls up and forces itself to inhale and exhale, if only to replicate the life that it'd sensed all around it just minutes before.

Breathe.

It scrabbles at its chest its claws finding little purchase in the slick, incorporeal material making up its form. Frictionless, there's no way to scratch through to tear out the artifact inside, now bound to its metaphorical core.

It’s alive. ALIVE.

Yet the mere contact sends it reeling, light shimmering from within and just barely reflecting off its body, enough to outline its limbs among the tangled darkness, to give some definition to its form.

It’s… I’m real. I'm alive. I'm real.

The tentative balance of energy and nothingness snaps, allows life to win over, if only slightly. He remembers, his eyes glowing not with a pure, absent white like before, but with a blend of violet and fiery hues, a rapidly shifting twilight twinkling in his gaze.

Time releases a breath it'd been holding since the threads of reality first snapped.

They'd summoned The Shade, of all things. They'd tethered it to an artifact, which had tethered itself to him. He could still, if only faintly, feel his own magic humming beneath the oppressive gloom which coated (comprised?) his form, but it was.. contaminated, thoroughly so.

His poor excuse for a heart thumped once more, only seeming to beat prominently when he was struck with powerful emotion. He held his paws to his chest, focusing on that sound, willing it to continue, to prove he was still of the living realm.

Yet the heartbeat stilled soon enough, merely the erratic pulsing of a cursed artifact attempting to keep the Shade in check. To keep things in balance, in control.

The altruistic part of him was glad that such an artifact was now useless to that group. With such potential, to control even a piece of an otherworldly horror... he didn't even want to imagine what it could be used to bring about.

Petty crimes, he at least hoped. Petty crimes deluxe edition, don't get caught.

A bitter laugh escaped him, distorted and crumbling in the umbra. No need to worry about crimes now, at least. Their power... it was his now... it was him now. 

Or perhaps he was its. 

He waved a claw, watched it seem to flicker as if already cutting through atoms in the air with a single gesture, leaving smoky afterimages behind.

As the memories of the past thirty or so minutes flooded back, he realized, he can do just that, he has done just that, slipped out of the physical plane and just moved, perhaps faster than light for a moment, even. 

So that's what teleportation really was.

The childish part of him would've relished in the idea of obtaining cosmic power, like some sort of superhero, though he knows better. His own magic fights constantly within, a storm of elemental energy caught in an endless cycle of extinguishing and reignition, with the artifact in the center, regulating it all.

He's no superhero, and this is no origin story.

He stared at the high, arching ceilings, at the darkness that would've once strained even his Shadow element eyes.

He's no superhero... he's just a circuit.

[buckyjustbelikethat]

Stuck in the Past: Pt 5

Title: Stuck in the Past: Part (5/5)

Characters: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You are a historian asked to help the Avengers take down a Hydra leader.

Warnings: angst, kidnapping, torture, mention of character death, vulgar language, mentions of anxiety.

Word Count: approx. 3600

A/N: This is my second update tonight, but I really wanted to finish this fic before I procrastinated and finals started. Originally there was going to likely be two more parts, but I just made it a really long part I hope you don’t mind. As mentioned in my other parts comments are always welcome. It may be angsty at first but I promise there’s a happy ending.

Previous Chapter

You didn’t know how you could possibly face Bucky to watch a movie with him. You were shaking and having a full-blown panic attack on your floor with the photos in your hand. You felt unsafe, knowing somehow, someway, someone had gotten into your room. You asked Friday if she had any records of someone entering your room, and she said no, she asked if something was wrong and if she needed to alert Tony, but you harshly replied no. You were sure that if he could get into your room, then the threat to the rest of the team was very real. Who knows what he had planned, but you weren’t going to take that risk. You didn’t know how you possibly were going to follow through with what he asked of you, but the world had thousands of people like you, but only one team of superheroes to defend them. You knew what you had to do. You send Bucky a text saying that you weren’t sure if you were feeling up for a movie. He hadn’t replied yet, but amidst your panicked breathing and crying you heard a knock on the door. You jumped at the noise and the fear that was suffocating you before seemed to hit you like a bullet. “Hey, y/n it’s me, I just came to check on you.” You heard Bucky say through the door.

You relaxed but only slightly. You quickly hit the photos under the mattress calling to Bucky “Just a minute.”

You tried desperately to make your voice sound normal, but Bucky could tell you had been crying. You had no chance of hiding from him your emotions, but you knew you would have to lie about why you had been upset. You open the door and met his concerned gaze. He quickly assesses you for any injury, and upon finding none he looks back up to you, “What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing…” damn, even now you couldn’t stop the tears. You knew that this was the last time you would see him, you wished your last image of him was a happy one, where he was smiling and laughing along with you. But you knew there was no time for your hopes. Time seemed to slow, as Bucky felt as if your eyes were trying to commit his features to memory, and his heart was filled with dread.

“Y/n you can’t lie to me. What’s wrong.”

You felt exposed, you knew if he saw your face he could tell when you were lying to him, so you pulled him in close. “I’m just stressed” you say through the tears “I feel like I’m not helping the team enough, and I just am feeling anxious about everything.”

Bucky held you back as if his life depended on it. He had a suspicion that you hadn’t spoken the whole truth, but he was afraid of prying too far and scaring you away. But all he cared about was doing whatever he could to comfort you, but your sobs seemed to get worse the more he held you.

“Hey, shh, doll, it’s okay, you are okay, you haven’t disappointed anyone.” He picks you up and takes you to your bed so he could hold you closer. You cried in his arms as he continues to try and calm you down. He hasn’t known you for long, but he could tell that your emotions right now were not normal. He was on edge, desperately pleading that with his words and if he just held you close, he could ease whatever pain you were feeling.

Eventually you relaxed a little in his arms, but the fear and sadness did not leave your eyes. “Thank you, Bucky.”

“For what sweetheart?”

“For being you, for being there for me.”

“Anytime doll, are you sure you are okay, do you want to talk more about it?”

“No, it’s okay, you being here is enough, it’s something I have to take care of by myself. But I can handle it. I’ll be okay Bucky.” You stare deeply into his eyes, and Bucky swears the sincerity in your eyes was trying to communicate something more than what your words were speaking.

“Promise to tell me if there’s anything I can do y/n, anything to help.” His words were filled with desperation. “Please.” He felt an urgency he couldn’t explain.

You break eye contact with him, and rest your head against his chest “I promise.”

You hold each other for a long time, both of you needing to just hold each other and feel that you were both safe. You wished you could have a proper goodbye with Bucky, but you knew if you said anymore, there would be no way you would be able to leave tonight undetected. Eventually, when you realized you were running out of time you had to send Bucky away so you could leave. “I’m tired Bucky, I think I’m going to go to sleep.” You kissed him softly, and when you broke away you promised “I will see you in the morning.”

It was a promise you knew you couldn’t keep, but it was the one you knew he needed to hear before leaving you for the night.

“Okay doll, I’ll see you in the morning.” His statement though resolute, felt desperate. As if he needed assurance, as if he could see the lies in your words.

When Bucky left, you prepared yourself to leave. You wished you could leave a note, thanking the team for everything they have done for you in these past weeks, but you didn’t think it was safe. You took the pictures with you, and quietly left the building, informing Friday to keep your departure a secret.

When you arrived at the address there was a shadow standing in the alley beside the building. He had a mask on, and though you recognized it from pictures you had seen of him, seeing it in person brought chills to your body the photos never encouraged. “It’s nice of you to finally join me, I hope you followed my instructions and didn’t alert the team or your precious boyfriend. Just because you are here with me doesn’t mean my threat doesn’t still stand.”

“No,” your voice was shaky, “No one knows, I promise.” It was the one promise you made that night that was actually sincere, and you wished it wasn’t.

“Good.” He says as he walks up to you, and just as he approaches you, you feel something hard bash into your head and within seconds you were out.

You woke up tied to a chair in an old warehouse. It was cold, and damp, and your body was shaking against your binds. You had hoped all he had planned for you was a quick death, but it seemed that you weren’t that lucky. You quickly looked around, but it was dark, and you couldn’t see much, especially with the migraine pounding through your head, begging your eyes to stay closed. Suddenly a light came on near you and you heard him approaching. His mask was off, which was the first time you had actually seen what he looked like, but it also told you that you weren’t making out of this alive. You weren’t sure how many hours had passed, but you were sure that if you weren’t able to find him with the team in a course of weeks, there wasn’t much of a chance they could find you in time, no matter how long he decided to keep you alive. “Your finally awake, perfect, I was hoping you would wake soon so the fun could begin.”

“What do you want?” You speak through the fog in your brain.

“To ask you a few questions before you die.”

If you didn’t have a hard time focusing because of your head injury you were sure that you would be vomiting in fear at this point. But you tried desperately to keep yourself together, hoping he couldn’t see how afraid you were.

“How much do the Avengers know of me?”

Thanks to you, they probably knew more than he would want them to, but you weren’t about to tell him anything and give him the upper hand, they still needed to be able to take him down after you died.

“I’m not going to tell you.” With your response came a hard punch to your stomach.

His questions continued, and you continued to give him no information, trying to desperately think of anything besides the pain he was putting you through every time he didn’t get what he wanted. You tried to think of Bucky holding you before you left, the comfort in his arms, you both communicating with your eyes how much you meant to each other, even if you didn’t know how to say it.

No matter how hard you tried to focus on Bucky, you couldn’t stop yourself from feeling the pain, and he was only getting angrier.

“You are not a hero,” He practically spits out at you. “You mean nothing, so stop trying to play the hero and tell me what I want to know.”

“No.” You barely whisper out. You didn’t have enough energy to say much more. He punches you once more in the face and that’s when you pass out.

Bucky entered the kitchen at the time he knows you are always there, but he only finds Wanda sitting at the table. “Have you seen Y/n?” He asks Wanda, after the night before, not seeing her was scaring him, but he was trying not to overreact.

“No, I haven’t. She’s probably still in her room.”

“Yeah, I’m just going to make sure she’s okay.”

He practically runs to your room, just needing to see your face, and hear you tell him that his fears were crazy, and you’re fine. But when he knocks on your door he doesn’t get a response. “Y/n, are you there?” He asks, but he knows if his loud knocks didn’t invoke a reply his words were useless.

“Friday, is y/n in her room?”

“No.”

“Where is she.”

“I am not aware. She is not in the building.”

He was losing his patience. “When did she leave?”

“Last night after you left her room, she told me not to inform anyone.”

That’s when he tried calling you, a last-ditch effort of him trying to pretend there was a chance you were going to pick up and be fine, but he didn’t have a lot of hope left. When he finally heard the phone start dialing, he heard your phone ring from within your room, and his heart felt like it fell out of his chest. “No.” he kept muttering under his breath beginning to panic. “Friday open the damn door and tell Tony and Steve to get down here.” He speaks his voice breathy with fear.

Friday unlocks the door, understanding the urgency. He searches your room for anything that would tell you where you went but he finds nothing, the room looking the same as it did when he left last night.

“Bucky what’s going on?” Steve asks as he enters the room with Tony.

“I don’t fucking know, but last night y/n was distraught, and she wouldn’t tell me why, she came up with excuses but I knew that they weren’t the truth, and I came to check on her just now and she’s nowhere in the building, Friday says she left last night after I left her room, and she fucking left her phone here. I should have never left her last night, I should have figured out what was wrong, I knew something was wrong, oh my god.” He felt like he was going to be sick.

Steve came over to him and tried to calm him down. “It’s okay Bucky, we’ll figure it out, there’s a chance she’s still okay.”

“Friday, give us a rundown of y/n’s activity yesterday.” Bucky heard Tony’s voice.

“Her day proceeded as normal, but her suspicious activity began when she entered her room at 7:00pm, she asked me if anyone had entered her room throughout the day, no one had entered through her door and I don’t have camera surveillance in her room. That is when y/n entered a very panicked state and Bucky had come in. Afterwards she had left, informing me to alert no one of her departure.”

“Shit.” Tony replied after the AI finished her report. “Friday start searching through any camera footage surrounding the tower, follow her movements after she left last night.”

Tony started rushing out of the room to get to his office. He alerted the rest of the team to meet him there. Bucky ran after him, desperately hoping the camera footage could give them any information on where she went. Once they were all in the room, and the rest of the team was informed of the situation Bucky sat in the corner of the room, frozen with fear, knowing that right now he was no use in finding her and it was eating him alive.

“We’ll find her Bucky.” Steve spoke waking Bucky from his terrified state.

“We have to Steve.” Bucky was now crying but he couldn’t care less. “This is all my fault, I should have known, I shouldn’t have left her.”

“Hey, you didn’t do anything wrong, this isn’t your fault.” Steve spoke gently but with confidence, hoping he could stop his friend from spiraling.

Tony and the rest of the team were having a hard time finding where you went, which told them one thing, Death Oath was behind this. Surveillance footage was corrupted and tampered with, Bucky was losing hope that they could find you in time. The team worked vigorously trying to find any information they could. It was nearing night-time when they finally found a lead, and they wasted no time in suiting up. Bucky needed to get to you, he needed to make sure you were safe, or he wasn’t sure if he could live with himself.

The team prepared on the quinjet to enter the warehouse they suspected you were at. Bucky could barely hear what they were saying all he could focus on was your last moments together, what he should have said, what he should have done. “Bucky, I need to make sure you won’t do anything reckless. Follow the plan.” Steve said to him in his captain voice, knowing Bucky probably wasn’t paying attention.

Bucky heard enough to know his role, he was thankfully chosen to seek you out while everyone else handles Death Oath, sure he wished he could be personally responsible for his death, but you were all that mattered to him right now.

When the quinjet finally landed Bucky followed orders but was trying to get to you as soon as possible. The team located Death Oath in a difference section of the warehouse and were working on subduing him. Now all Bucky could do was hope that when he found your body, you were still alive. He broke down the doors to where they suspected you were, Natasha was following close behind. “Shit.” Bucky said when he saw you tied to the chair. He ran up to you and could see how bruised you were, imagining the broken bones laying beneath the battered skin. “Untie her.”

He barks orders at Natasha, but this was a mission, and this was you, so she didn’t take offense to his harshness.

His hands were immediately going to your throat to check your pulse, and he wanted to cry when he still felt your heart beating, he was sure he was going to cry later, but right now he needed to get you out of there. Natasha almost had you untied when you started to stir, too weak to fully open your eyes. “Please, no more, please.” You pleaded with them, trying your best to move away from the hands you felt on your skin, and Bucky’s heart broke.

“Hey doll, it’s just me, it’s Bucky,” his voice cracked, unable to stop the tears slipping out that he thought he could hold back. “you’re safe, no one is going to hurt you okay?”

Once Natasha had you untied Bucky lifts you into his arms. “Try to stay awake for me doll okay? You’re gonna be okay.” He said to you but it sounds like a prayer.

Natasha communicated through the comms that they have you, and that you’re alive but need immediate medical attention. Steve replied that they will meet them on the quinjet and that Death Oath has been contained.

When Bucky made it back onto the quinjet, Bucky laid you down on the stretcher. He was still on edge, holding your hand tight, and now whatever composure he had before was completely deteriorating. “Please y/n, you need to stay with me, you can’t leave me yet, we haven’t had enough time, please, I’m so sorry.”

The team anxiously stayed to the side as Natasha tried to pilot them to the tower as fast as she could. When the team finally arrived to the tower the medical staff was already waiting for them, Steve had to practically rip Bucky away from you so the doctors could take you into surgery. Bucky sat outside the medical wing of the tower, on the floor in front of the door, waiting for the doctors to give him news. Steve sat beside him, unsure of what he could possibly say to make his friend feel better, but he knew words weren’t what Bucky needed right now. Hours passed, and finally one of the doctors came out to inform them that you are stable, and that you currently aren’t awake but that they can come in your room if they want. Steve asked for a full report, but Bucky doesn’t care, he can get that information later, right now he just needed to be with you.

When Bucky saw you, the guilt feels fresh again. He wished he had done something, but he now understands the double meaning in your words that night, and there was no way he could have convinced you to tell him what was going on, Death Oath must have threatened you, and he wasn’t sure how valid the threats were, but you obviously believed them. Bucky sat by your bed all night and into the next morning. You still hadn’t woken up, but the doctors said that that was to be expected, and that your body needs sleep to recover.

Bucky hadn’t slept well in a while, even before you were taken, your duress that night, and his already present insomnia stopped him from getting any sleep. Steve had come in earlier trying to get Bucky to eat something, and Bucky tried a little to appease Steve, but his appetite was gone, still overcome with worry and stress. He started having a hard time fighting his own exhaustion, and after a few hours he fell asleep in his chair, his hand still grasping your own.

When you woke up, the pain was intense. You had a hard time remembering why you were in so much pain, but as you open your eyes it all starts to come back to you. You see Bucky sitting in the chair beside you and you start crying, you were so sure your last meeting was goodbye, and the relief you felt that you were here safe, and that Bucky was safe, was overwhelming.

Your cries must have woken Bucky, because he started stirring. It took him a moment to realize that it was you he was hearing, and that you were awake.

His shock was interrupted by your visibly upset state and he immediately wanted to comfort you.

“Hey doll, it’s okay, your safe.” He says as he gently caresses your head.

“I didn’t think I would see you again.” You say to him earnestly but finally making eye contact with him.

“I know, but that’s over now, you’re okay, we are all okay.”

“I’m so sorry Bucky, he had threatened you and the rest of the team, and he had gotten into my room, so I knew that if he could do that, then you guys really were in danger. I’m sorry I lied.”

“Hey, you have nothing to apologize for. If anyone should be apologizing it’s me, I should have known something was wrong, I mean I did, but I shouldn’t have let it go.”

“Bucky, this is definitely not your fault, what would you have done even if you found out.”

“Anything to keep you safe.”

“And that’s exactly why I couldn’t tell you, I didn’t want anyone getting hurt because of me.”

Bucky understood, but he didn’t like it. He wanted to be able to protect you, but he knew if the roles were reversed, he would have done the same. “I know, but please never keep something like this from me again, we will figure it out, I promise, in a way that doesn’t hurt anyone. I can’t lose you y/n. You have to understand.”

“And I can’t lose you either Bucky.” You say as you reach out to pull him in for a kiss, missing his closeness. Needing it to heal your mind, even if your body wasn’t as immediate of a fix. Bucky kisses you tenderly, trying not to aggravate any of your injuries but knowing you need him just as much as he needs you.

[mage-cat]

First Steps Home - Saving Who?

Glimmer and Catra’s escape plan is underway, and it’s taken a turn that surprises their rescuers.

@cruelfeline May I offer you a Hordak rescue fic is these trying times?

Chapter 2 of part 2 of the Mending Bridges series. First chapter of this fic here. Start from the beginning of the series here.

Story under the cut. ~2100 words. Link to AO3 through here.

Bow looked understandably bewildered. “Why do we need to save Hordak?”

“First,” Catra answered, “while I’m sure the two of you could mess up the transporter mechanisms well enough for us to make it back to the planet, the longer they are out of commission, the better. For that we need someone with more experience with the tech, which means Hordak. Second,” she pointed at Entrapta, “are you really going to look into those big, pink eyes and tell her ‘no’?”

Bow made the mistake of looking into those eyes, open wide and shining with hope at the idea of rescuing Hordak of all people. He turned back to Catra, “And just what do you expect us to do with him once we’re back on Etheria?”

Catra shrugged. “Put him under house arrest in Dryl? The Alliance could even mandate directions for his research.”

Entrapta’s face split with an ear-to-ear smile. “I approve of this plan!”

“He did all this for Prime’s approval. Now, he’s seen that striving for that was pointless. His choices are to let himself be wiped away, or to find a better alternative. I just want to give him the choice.”

Bow sighed. “Fine. Let’s go.”

“Imp is going to have to make himself scarce,” said Catra, pointing to the creature perched on Entrapta’s shoulder.

“Why?” she asked.

“Horde Prime sees Hordak as a defect fit only to die. How do you think he feels about Imp?”

Entrapta tucked the crystal in her pocket and held Imp in front of her. “If I wrap you in my hair, will you be alright in there?” Imp nodded and nestled himself in a thick tendril that Entrapta looped over one arm.

As Catra moved towards the door she said, “If we get stopped, I’m taking you to the reconditioning room to reassure you that Prime has taken care of Hordak--sorry, if we’re stopped he’s clone K-18--while Adora and Glimmer are working out a personal matter.”

---

In the best luck any of them had had in a week, they reached the reconditioning room without incident. Inside, Hordak floated upright in a tube of green liquid, cables plugged into ports in his back laid bare by a dark garment that didn’t cover much. Overly exposed and completely slack, it was easy to imagine him as little more than a dead skeleton.

Entrapta stood in front of the tube. She had released her hold on Imp in the same moment that her face fell into wide-eyed worry. “What are they doing to him?”

“Honestly,” Catra said, “Prime explained it, but I don’t have the background to understand most of the technical language he used, and what I did understand, I don’t want to think about hard enough to repeat properly. I think I understand these controls though.”

After a moment, the liquid drained and the sides of the tube retracted into the floor. Hordak would have hung imply from the cables if Entrapta had not rushed to hold him up.

“Hordak? Hordak?!”

“Even if he can hear you right now, he can’t react,” Catra explained.

“Do you know where the armor I made for him is?”

Imp broke away towards a nearby storage area and pointed to one of the containers. Together, Bow and Catra got it down and opened it, finding the armor. Entrapta quickly started disconnecting the cables and fitting the armor in place. Even if it was only visual, it had the effect making him seem less like a corpse and more like something that could operate as a person as it helped Entrapta hold him sitting upright.

When she was done, she pulled the crystal out of her pocket. “Please work,” she begged it as she slipped the crystal into the socket that she had designed to hold it.

“If his eyes are green when they open, we may have to run,” Catra said.

“You couldn’t have mentioned that before now?” Bow whispered fiercely.

Catra shrugged.

Hordak’s eyes opened blessedly red and focused on the woman who was smiling at him, her own eyes filling with tears of relief. “Entrapta?” His voice was little more than a disused croak. “How?”

“Bow and Adora got me off of Beast Island in exchange for Scorpia joining the Rebellion,” she said as she pulled him up standing, her hair holding her up to match him in height. “Catra lead us here.”

“You came for me?”

She smiled wiping the tears from her eyes with her hair as her hands kept a firm grip on Hordak’s. “Of course I did. You’re the best lab partner I ever had.”

For the first time, he looked away from Entrapta and took in their surroundings. His gaze fixed on Catra. “Force Captain,” he said coldly.

“If you really need it, I could try to explain to you right now why I did not feel bad messing with the head of the person who suffocated me twice and sent me out on a suicide mission, but we are short on time. Just know that I actually do think that there are some fates that not even you are bad enough to deserve. Now do you want to help us sabotage your big brother’s transporters and join us in getting out of here or not?”

As the two seemed determined to stare each other down, even while Hordak and Entrapta continued to hold hands, Bow said, “Entrapta, would like to to see how the transporters work?”

Entrapta jerked as if waking up, her hands finally leaving Hordak’s with the motion. “I would love to see how the transporters work.” She turned back to Hordak, regaining his attention. “Dismantling the components would be very informative.”

They could practically see the wheels turning in Hordak’s mind as he considered if he could really turn his back on Prime, on everything he had ever known and worked towards.

Imp scurried up onto his shoulder, where Hordak almost automatically began to scratch under his chin.

“I worried about you.”

Horde Prime’s and Catra’s voices came in quick succession. “Destroy that disappointment. You’re safe here.”

Hordak looked at Catra. “Do you already know how to reach the transporter systems?”

---

They hadn’t been able to snoop around enough to figure out how they could reach the transporter systems. Imp could find them through the vent shafts, but that didn’t match up closely enough with the corridors. With Imp once more swaddled in Entrapta’s hair, the group looked almost like a standard diplomatic delegation with a clone escort.

Almost.

Another Horde clone stopped them. “K-18. You are supposed to still be undergoing reconditioning.”

It was Catra who answered. “Horde Prime thought it would be best if the one playing guide for the Etherian delegation had as much knowledge of the planet as possible. That left him with only one option. K-18 is leading us too...” She turned to Hordak. “Where exactly are we headed again?”

Hordak blinked and answered, “The aft-ward conference room.”

“If I understood correctly,” Catra continued turning back to the clone, “that is where we will be handling the negotiations.”

The clone stepped aside and allowed them to move on.

Once they were out of earshot, Hordak muttered, “Your skill with lying continues to be unsettling.”

“If you didn’t want practiced liars within your ranks,” Catra said in the same low tones, “you shouldn’t have given Shadow Weaver charge of the cadets.”

“If I had been wise regarding Shadow Weaver, I never would have employed her at all. I fail to understand why you were so reluctant to send her to Beast Island.”

Catra’s stride never broke. “I needed something from her first.”

“I told you at the time that whatever information she had was not worth the risk of keeping her in the Fright Zone.”

“Information was an excuse I was able to give you. I wanted something else.” She was silent for several steps. “After going through all the trouble of supplanting her, even if she would never apologize for the way she had treated me all those years, I thought she could have at least admitted that I proved to be a worthy opponent rather than a worthless disappointment. It was dumb of me.”

Hordak seemed to consider what she had just said. “I suppose I do understand that impulse.” Silence hung between them for a few more moments. “Shadow Weaver was shortsighted. When not engaged in duplicity, you performed admirably.”

“Horde Prime is shortsighted too. His obsession with perfection means that he doesn’t see the good in unexpected results. We can use that against him.”

Hordak stopped in front of a door. “We’re here.”

“Great,” Catra said as they stepped inside and closed the door. “I’ll handle lookout duty while you three tech heads get to work. Remember, we want this out of commission for as long as possible. If any components are useful for portal technology and small enough to carry, we want to take them with us.”

“How will we get them to the rendezvous point without being noticed?” Bow asked.

“This is the rendezvous point.” Catra held up her Force Captain badge and pressed on it, turning the face red. “Glimmer has a tracker. When she and Adora have cleared the docking bay, she’ll come get us.”

An alarm began to sound. “Well, they’ve certainly made some progress in the docking bay,” Catra said. “Work fast and hope they don’t figure out where we are quickly.”

While Hordak directed Bow and Entrapta in pulling this and grabbing that, Catra set to work mutilating the mechanism that would allow the door to open. A haphazard pile had built up around the team’s feet when something began banging on the door.

Glimmer teleported in. “Ready?”

Hordak looked up. “I’m unsure the exact state of the supply lines at present, but this will take some time to repair.”

“We’ll take it.”

Entrapta swept the pile of parts up in her hair as they held hands and Imp clutched Hordak’s shoulder.

“Hold tight, Hordak,” Catra said. “The first teleport is the worst.”

In a gut-churning blink they were next to the ship the rescue team had arrived in, the docking bay around it thoroughly trashed with several unconscious Horde clones on the floor.

They rushed onboard. Bow slid into the pilot’s seat. Catra stood next to him, clutching the seat back with her eyes fixed on the freedom beyond the ship’s front screen. Hordak sat down heavily in the back of the ship, wrapped firmly in Entrapta’s hair with Imp in his lap. Adora and Glimmer sounded like they were picking up an argument where they had left off before Glimmer had teleported away and back.

Minutes passed. The ship continued to fly towards Etheria’s surface. Catra’s grip on the pilot’s seat loosened, and she began to make out details of Glimmer and Adora’s exchange.

“Your mother told me to look after you.”

“That’s not what she said,” Catra cut in.

Glimmer’s head jerked towards her. “It’s not?”

“She said, ‘Take care of each other.’ I’m not surprised you misremembered it, Adora. You never really understood what the phrase means.”

Adora crossed her arms. “And what exactly do you mean by that?”

Catra’s arm swept outward. “Look at the people around you. Where do you think we would be without you? Do you think we would all be helpless without you around to play hero? Where do you think you would be without us? What does our support mean to you? I’ve tried to tell you before. Being your sidekick is kind of a shit job.”

Glimmer added, “Honestly, I’m surprised Catra didn’t snap and start trying to kill you years sooner than she did. It only took me a few months to get sick of you acting like I couldn’t know what’s best for me.”

“Maybe you should ask yourself what it is about you that led two different people to risk tearing the planet apart just to have the chance to prove you wrong.”

“It wasn’t just to prove her wrong.”

Bow’s voice was was slightly too loud as he said “Wow! I am way to busy flying this ship to have an opinion in this conversation.”

Catra leaned back on the pilot’s seat. “You’ve been taking the brunt of it lately, huh?”

His eyes stayed resolutely fixed forward. “Still too busy flying.”

She turned back to Adora. “You went from being Shadow Weaver’s favorite to being the Sword’s Chosen One. You have ridden through life with power others gave you, and it sure does feel like you think that makes you better than the rest of us.”

Adora tightened her jaw. “I broke the Sword. It was the only way to stop the Heart from going off.”

Catra turned back towards the front of the ship. “Maybe you’ll finally learn how the rest of us get through life.”

Next Chapter: Landing >

[marvel-lucy]

The Safe Place - chapter 1

Wrote this at 4am so it may not even contain words...

Angsty Bucky fic, because angsty Bucky fics are my jam :)

This is their one safe place in the world that no one knows about, where they come alone, to be themselves – to be Steve or Clint or Natasha, not the Captain, the Hawkeye, the Widow. So when he turns up, in a battered pickup, cap pulled low, loose shirt trying to hide the body underneath, and he’s not alone, you know this is important.

You can’t make out who’s inside the truck when he gets out; the sun’s reflection on the windshield is obscuring all but the shape of someone inside. The passenger stays there as Steve gets out and walks towards you.  You’d been alerted to the vehicle approaching when it was still a way off and been watching on the monitor. Other than the team, people didn’t come out here, too far off the beaten track to be found by accident. That was the deal, that was the dream; this was your safe place too. You recognised the truck though, and de-activated the security systems – you recognised Steve’s truck, the one he used when he was trying to avoid attention. When he came out here. So you weren’t afraid when the truck pulled up, and the noisy engine cut out, but wary, because there was never any mention of guests before.

Then he stood in front of you and said just one word – Bucky – and you understood. But you were afraid, because Steve was talking of just a couple of weeks and nobody will know and now the man had got out of the truck and it was all moving too fast.

‘What if they come for him?’

‘They won’t. That’s over now. But he needs space, to… remember.’ Bucky wasn’t moving, just standing by the truck, squinting slightly into the sun.

‘Remember what?’

‘How to… be. How to be himself. I’ve never asked for anything like this before, but… it’s Bucky.’

And that’s when you knew you’d say yes. Not that there was any other option really. Since Steve had set this up for you, four years ago, you’d felt you owed him an unpayable debt. This ‘farm’ that wasn’t really a farm, was bought and paid for, and in your name. You had a truck you could use to pick up groceries from a small town nearby; a dog, for company and reassurance; and the best surveillance and security setup Stark could provide. They said it was the least they could do after what Hydra had put you through; when they’d taken you, kept you, hurt you so much, to extract what they could about your role leading ops for the Avengers. You’d held out well, but you still woke up with nightmares that something you’d said would compromise the team, and their blood would be on your hands. So when they got you out, you knew you had to get out completely, get away. You couldn’t look at them in case you saw disappointment or anger at your failing, at letting them down. If you’d looked though, you’d have seen pity instead, worry for you, anger at what had been taken from you and all that was left. So they’d set you up here and you’d eventually found some pretence of peace. Peace in the distance from everyone, and peace in the knowledge you went nowhere without a loaded gun strapped to your thigh, even slept with it, a shelf outside the shower the furthest you’d go from it. It wasn’t to use against Hydra in case they came again, it was to use against yourself. Anything better than the thought of those dark cold rooms again.

Four years you’d been here, mostly alone. Sometimes one of the team would come out for a day, or a week, just for a break away from the city and the noise and the constant pressure of missions. They’d arrive, tightly wound, shoulders hunched, muscles tensed, and by the end of their visits, they’d be looser, softer, quicker to laugh. You’d gleefully tell them you were using them for their muscles, and they’d happily split logs, dig the ground, make repairs. Simple jobs that had no life-changing consequences. You all knew this was just make-believe for them, a few days playing house before heading back to war, but at least you were there to offer them something.

You nodded, and Steve turned, gestured to the still figure by the truck.  He walked forward, climbed the steps of the farmhouse, looking unsure against the sun-bleached wood and long grass. You held the door open for them both and he walked through without meeting your eye.

As it always did, the house suddenly felt smaller, when it was filled with bodies.  Your dog suddenly came bounding up the steps from wherever he’d been on the property, leaping with joy at the new company, licking at Steve’s face as he bends down to say hello.  He was a big dog, wolf-like in appearance, but ridiculously soft-hearted.  You couldn’t help smiling as he knocked Steve to the ground, paws on his shoulders, yipping with delight.  

‘Buck, you’d better come say hello, let him sniff you, so he knows you’re a friend’. You didn’t comment on the fact Bucky hadn’t been introduced to you yet.  Bucky was standing just inside the door, head hanging low.  His clothes looked worn and unwashed and although he was as tall and broad as Steve, there was something diminished about him, as if he was withdrawing into himself.  His cheeks were hollow as if he hadn’t eaten well in a while.  He looked at the dog anxiously, then stepped forward.  The dog cocked his head and turned at the movement, a slight growl in his throat before Steve rubbed his ears.

‘This is Bucky, he’s a friend,’ he said, as Bucky slowly held his hand out, pulling off the glove that covered his right hand but leaving his left hand covered. You knew the story about that one.  The dog stepped forward, sniffed at him, then started wagging his tail and running around Bucky’s legs with enthusiasm, stopping for a pet on occasion.

‘He’s a useless guard dog,’ you said, eyeing the dog with affection. Bucky’s eyes turned to yours now and he stood up from his crouch, hands tensing into fists.

‘Buck, this is my friend, I was telling you about,’ Steve said, introducing you.  ‘You’ll be safe here, while we get everything sorted. You can rest a bit.  Not too much though, she’ll have you planting carrots and chopping wood soon enough.’

You held your hand out and after a pause, he shook it.

‘Thanks, for letting me stay.’  His voice was rough as if he hadn’t spoken for a while. You could see Steve was holding himself together through sheer will, looking as if he wanted to break down, or rest here himself and let the world go on without him, but instead he was standing tall, and being extra cheery to make up for the gloom that emanated from Bucky.

‘Give me a hand to unload the truck?’ he said, heading back outside.  They pulled boxes and bags out, dumping them in your tidy home and you could feel yourself getting overwhelmed with the sudden company and chaos.

‘Thought I’d better bring you some supplies, in case you didn’t have enough.  Buck has an appetite like mine, sorry, so we didn’t want to eat you out of house and home.’ He hefted two of the boxes effortlessly into the kitchen – you could see eggs, ham, bread, poking out.  Bucky picked up the other bag – presumably his clothes. Taking a deep breath in, you remembered that this house, in your name, was all down to the Avengers. You owed it to them to provide a welcome.

‘I’ll show you your room,’ you said, and led the way as Bucky followed, unspeaking, his footsteps barely making a sound on the stairs.  

--

@melconnor2007 @avengerscompound @kittyslove @badassbaker @phoenix21love @lbouvet  @bellenuit45 @prplprincez  @gingerrootknits  @pineapplebooboo @feelmyroarrrr @avengerofyourheart @eyeofdionysus @hellomissmabel @learisa @mitra-k-w @imhereforbvcky @shaddixlife @supernatural-girl97 @iwillbeinmynest @amrita31199 @algud @whatsbetterthanfantasy @pixierox101 @edward-lover18 @madcheshire89 @heartfulloffandoms @chipilerendi @kenya-17 @mckorni32843 @amandarosemire @rda89 @nyxveracity @sea040561 @mrsalh32611 @ruinerofcheese @callmebucky-doll @vintagepigeon @bubbasmom @sassycanoodler @ladylorelitany @natcad @thisismysecrethappyplace @geeksareunique @mywinterwolf  @moderapoppins @rinthehufflepuff @holyfuckloueh @onebatch--twobatch @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @patzammit @procrastinatingart1st @princess76179 @marvelouspottering @fangirlanotherjust  @notyourtypicalrose

[crazy-fangirl1245]

My one-shot fanfic @plancesecretsanta for @numbah34!  They requested a “surprise me” fic, so I decided to do a scene rewrite of Season 7 Episode 3 “The Way Forward”.  You know...the one with our favorite Plance moment (”Don’t you touch her!”).  I did not realize Pidge and Lance were going to be so difficult to write, so here’s hoping that I kept them in-character well enough! <3

Well, this certainly hadn’t been part of the plan.

Why did it seem like every time something went right, five other things went horribly wrong?

The Voltron paladins, Allura, and Krolia had been captured and now sat trapped in a small and cramped cell on a Galra pirate ship. They were handcuffed, their lions were out of commission, and there was currently no way of getting out of the cell without someone manually opening it on the other side.

And their fate rested in Coran’s hands who had somehow managed to evade capture.

To put it plainly, they were quite screwed.

As they all sat around contemplating what was in store for them if they didn’t escape soon, the door opened and two Galran soldiers walked in followed by their old enemies, Ezor and Zethrid, who looked a little too happy for the prisoners’ comfort.

“Look who’s here,” Ezor smirked.  “It’s Voltron.”

Zethrid slammed her huge fist into her palm. “We’re going to have a little talk.”

“Hey, you’re the guys that Lotor shot into space,” Lance remarked.

“And the ones that were trying to kill us,” Pidge added.

Hunk smiled nervously.  “Yeah, sure, but we’re all friends now, right?  I, for one, am glad you survived.”

“I’m glad you survived, too,” Ezor smiled. “It’s not fun torturing a dead person.”

“Oh.  So maybe not?”

“Where have you been all this time?” Zethrid demanded. “And what happened to Lotor?”

“What are you talking about?” Shiro asked.

Ezor frowned.  “We’re talking about your little disappearing act.”

“Answer the question!” Zethrid said.  “How did you survive that explosion?

“Don’t you know?” Hunk asked.  “You were there.”

“I think there’s a little confusion about how the ‘we ask questions, you give us answers’ scenario works,” Ezor told him.

“Enough questions,” Zethrid growled.  “Where is Lotor?”

Keith glared at them.  “Lotor’s dead.  We left him in the Quintessence Field.”

Ezor rolled her eyes.  “Yeah, that doesn’t really add up.  Why aren’t you dead?”

“Because of…the power of teamwork?” Hunk offered.

“I’m going to ask you one more time,” Zethrid said, glaring at the Paladins.  “And then we’re going to have to take a more extreme approach.”

“The fun part,” Ezor smiled eerily.

“What happened to Lotor and where have you been all this time?”

None of the paladins could answer her.  They had told her the truth, and it wasn’t their fault that she didn’t believe them.

“If you insist on maintaining this charade of ignorance, you leave us no choice but to apply pressure.”

“Finally.  Who’s our first victim?”

Zethrid’s eyes scanned the paladins and she smiled as she landed on the green paladin.  “You. I’d bet half my fleet this group of heroes has a soft spot for the small one.”

Ezor started walking towards Pidge.

“Don’t you touch her!” Lance yelled.

He attempted to attack Ezor, but the red alien had much more fighting experience and it didn’t help that he was still handcuffed.  Ezor dodged his hit and then kicked him into the far wall.  He sat up and prepared to try again, but one of the Galra soldiers aimed his gun at him.

Zethrid smirked.  “Your defiance is adorable and so very misguided.”

“Leave us alone!” Pidge demanded.

Ezor used her ‘hair’ to grab Pidge and yank her forward into her arm.  She smirked as she hoisted her well above the ground.

“Pidge!” Hunk exclaimed.

“Let her go!” Keith ordered.

“No, please!” Lance begged.  “You take me instead, do you hear me?!  Give her back and take me instead!”

Pidge spared a glance in Lance’s direction full of fear and confusion.  She wasn’t sure she had ever been more scared than she was at that moment.  Not just for her, but for the rest of her team as well. For him.

Ezor grabbed Pidge by the neck and slammed her against the cell wall.  Lance took a step forward, but she held up a finger.  “Take one more step, and I snap her pretty little neck.”

“We told you everything you want to know! Hurting her won’t change the fact that Lotor is dead!  Please! Just let her go.  Do whatever you want to me, just please don’t touch her!”

Ezor and Zethrid exchanged knowing glances.

The red alien smirked again and held up the hand that wasn’t holding Pidge up against the cell wall.  Her fingers sharpened into talons, and Lance thought for sure that his heart stopped beating.  She slowly inched the claw closer to Pidge’s neck.

“Answers. Where is Lotor?”

“He’s…dead,” Pidge choked out, her oxygen supply cut off by Ezor’s hand.  “It’s…the truth.”

Ezor used one of her talons to slice Pidge’s cheek, leaving behind three deep cuts.

“No, stop it!” Lance cried.

Small lines of blood began to make their way down Pidge’s face, the dark liquid standing out against her pale skin that was beginning to turn blue.

Lance thought he might throw up.  He had never felt so powerless in his entire life.  He couldn’t do anything to stop this.  None of them could.  They just didn’t have enough strength.  Not like this.

“Pidge, I’m sorry,” he whispered as he collapsed to his knees.  He tried to fight the tears welling in his eyes, afraid that it would make him appear weak in front of both the enemy and his teammates, but it felt as if Ezor was strangling him too and he couldn’t breathe.

Pidge kicked against the steel behind her and clawed at Ezor’s hand, desperately trying to draw in a breath.

Her vision began to go dark from the lack of oxygen.

Ezor’s smirk widened at her pain as she tightened her grip.

Suddenly, red lights and alarms began flashing and blaring exclaiming that there was a hull breach.

Zethrid angrily left the cell to deal with the problem followed by the other Galran soldiers.  Ezor looked at Pidge with disappointment before dropping her onto the cell floor.

Pidge inhaled sharply and began coughing and taking deep gulps of air.

Lance was at her side in a second.  “Pidge! Come on, come on, breathe!”

He put his handcuffed hands to her back and shoulder to help her sit up while she focused on reclaiming all of her stolen oxygen.

Tears formed in the corners of her eyes, but Lance couldn’t tell if it was from the pain or the fear.  It was most likely a combination of both.

He was furious that he hadn’t been able to prevent this.

If anything worse had happened, he never would’ve been able to forgive himself.

He already couldn’t forgive himself.

“Lance…” she wheezed.

“I’m right here,” he said quietly.  “I’m here. I’m so sorry, Pidge…”

The girl’s eyes closed and she slumped over into his arms.  When he saw the dark bruises on her neck and the blood running down her cheek, he wanted to pummel Ezor and Zethrid into the next deca-phoeb.

“Pidge? Pidge!”  He looked up at the others.  “We’ve gotta get out of here now.”

Krolia walked over to the door and peeked out of the small opening.  “This is it.  The next time that door opens, overwhelm the guard.”

However, before they could do anything, they heard the guard crying out in pain and a loud thump.

Then the door opened.  To their surprise, the space mice sat on the unconscious guard’s stomach smiling proudly.

“Hello, little friends!” Allura smiled as she knelt in front of them.  They squeaked at her.   “What?”  More squeaking.  “Where?”

“Where?” Hunk repeated.  “What are they saying?”

“Coran’s trying to rescue us.  And he’s got help.  Acxa.”

“What?” Keith said in surprise.

The space mice helped everyone undo their handcuffs.

“Pidge?” Lance said urgently, lightly shaking her.  “Pidge, come on, you gotta wake up!”

Nothing.

“She’s barely moving!”

“We gotta get out of here,” Keith said firmly.  “Can you carry her?”

Lance quickly scooped Pidge up into his arms, and they began making their way through the ship so they could find Coran, retrieve their bayards, and get to the lions.

Lance always knew that Pidge was the smallest one of their team, but holding her broken, damaged form in his arms made him realize just how small she really was. She didn’t get enough credit for being this small and still managing to be a defender of the universe.

He made a mental note to tell her that when she woke up.

If she woke up.

Lance shook his head.  No.  When she woke up.

Holding her close and feeling that she would be okay as long as he held her, Lance followed the others towards their lions.

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

The Voltron team found solace on an abandoned planet and made camp inside a small cave.

Allura bandaged Pidge’s wounds on her cheek and neck while the others made a fire and tried to find something to eat.

Lance refused to leave Pidge’s side.  Even though Allura and Acxa insisted that she would be okay, he couldn’t believe it until he saw it himself.

He couldn’t stop blaming himself for her injuries and what might’ve happened if the alarms hadn’t gone off.

After what felt like hours, Pidge’s eyes slowly opened.

Lance was pretty sure he hadn’t ever seen Pidge without her glasses on, fake or not, but without them on, he realized just how pretty her eyes were.

“Lance?” she croaked out, her voice hoarse after the beating her windpipe had taken.

“Hey, don’t talk,” he said gently.  “We got you off the ship and we’re on another planet to get our bearings and figure out our next step.”

“My throat hurts.”

“Here, Acxa managed to make this.”  He handed her a glass of amber liquid.

“Acxa?”

“Yeah, turns out she’s on our side.  We wouldn’t have made it off that ship without her.”

Pidge sipped the liquid and made a face.

“Uh, yeah, she mentioned it wouldn’t taste good.  But it will help you get your voice back.”  Lance sighed heavily and put his hand on hers.  “I thought I had lost you, Pidge.”

“You…you tried to get them to take you instead.”

“Come on, any one of us would’ve done the same.”

“Maybe…but it was you.”

“I would die before I let anything happen to you.  I hope you know that.”

“I do now.”

“I’m so sorry.  For everything.  That should never have happened to you.  It should’ve been me.”

Pidge slowly put the back of her hand to his cheek.  “It’s okay.  Comes with being a Paladin, right?”

Lance put his hand against hers.  “Still…seeing you like that…it made me realize just how important you are to Voltron, to the universe…to me.”

Pidge smiled a little, feeling her heart throb.  She wasn’t sure she had ever truly seen Lance in a romantic light. Not consciously anyway.  But him looking at her like that made her realize that she wanted him to like her that way.

She fingered the bandage on her cheek.  “Think it’ll leave behind a scar?”

Lance knew Pidge wasn’t really a self-concious person (maybe with the exception of her height), but hearing her sound so scared about the possibility of three scars on her face made his heart ache.

He gave her a charming smile.  “Well, if it does, no one will ever think twice about crossing you again.”

Pidge couldn’t help but lightly smile.  She supposed she hadn’t thought of it like that.

“You amaze me, Pidge,” Lance continued.  “Even though your skills lay in your incredible tech abilities, you still fight with everything you’ve got.  You have more courage and bravery than anyone I’ve ever known.”

Pidge’s throat began to tighten, and not because of the injury she had sustained. “Lance, I…”

“Pidge…”

Lance stood up and leaned over her.

“What are you doing?”

“I really want to kiss you.  Is that okay?”

Pidge’s face turned several shades of scarlet.  Then she barely nodded.

The kiss could barely even be called a kiss.  It was more like a brush.  Lance didn’t want to hurt her even more, and Pidge wasn’t sure how much she could take.

But it had to have been the most beautiful thing either of them had ever experienced in their entire lives.