#[ they were thunder and lightning. together they woke the masses ]

[reptileranting]

Mijira -Mijira - Scales, Blood and Darkness

Ok, here goes nothing. I was writing this story since last year, when i got stuck with Endtown fanfiction. Eventually, it outgrew the other project. It's a story about an anthropomorphic dragon barbarian in a dark-ish fantasy world and her misadventures. I'll try to post ~1 page weekly. I don't know if i can keep up. We'll see!

I don't want to say too much about the world; i got a lot of worldbuilding written down, but it's kinda boring to read through, imo. It'll be revealed as the story goes on.

For the people of Royalroad: i have posted that story on your website on the day of editing this post and own the account doing so.

Stuff to watch out for here: (Light?) Gore, Fantasy Racism, Slavery, Torture

Chapter 1: An unhappy place, an unhappy world

She woke up, felt a stinging lash on her belly. But it was nothing next to the pain in her head that felt like a ´Saur had stomped on it and the numbing cold that gave the world that peculiar syrup-like quality spun her head around.

"Wake up, Drake. There‘s ore to mine." Before her was a dwarf clad in that grey, iron-like dwarf metal, brandishing a barbed whip. Reflexively, she tried to move or speak, but realized they‘d fitted her with an iron muzzle and  bound her legs together with iron chains. How quaint. True to her captor‘s word, they were in a mining tunnel of sorts. She smelled the freshly broken iron and the mammal sweat from deeper in, but the fat of weapon oil and mushroom wine too.

"I see your clan, dwarf. Shouldn't miners like you have no business wearing arms and armor?“ She pressed out. "That‘s none of your business, lizard. You are here for crimes against dwarfkind, massed slaughter and demon worship. And, if your tone does not change, you‘ll stay in these mines for the rest of your stinking life." Another lash sped towards her, but she was faster. Gripping the whip flying in the air, she let the barbs dig into her scales. Muscles and pain fought Strength and wrath. Her tongue flicked out for a split second as she bared her fangs in anticipation. Fear. The sweetest of smells. The dwarf, trembling with terror, yanked the whip around and blood sprayed from her hand. No matter. The rising dark wrath of her kin was greater than any torment he could  cause her.

She leaned in, miming the mammal’s kiss as a jet of blackish flame erupted from her maw, setting the dwarf’s head on fire. The jailer screamed in agony as the fire spread to his hair and skin, flesh and blood beginning  to melt off his bones. The heat turned her muzzle a searing bright yellow, an ardency which made even her growl in pain. She tore her hands free from the already brittle chains. Just in time. The rest of the guards came charging, only to find their dying colleague rolling helplessly on the ground. Pale fear and wrath spread among the warrior. The brutality of death gave them pause.

In a blur, she grabbed the small jailer and threw his burning body into the approaching mob. The beast hasted backwards, seeking the narrow and low tunnels. The horrified shrieks of the wardens followed her, alongside their flying spears. One of the bolder guards lunged at her feet, pulling on her still chained feet. This fierce recklessness nearly knocked her off balance. Reflexively,  she grabbed the assailant. With a tortured roar, she hoisted the dwarf up, right into the flying spears of her pursuers. Heart-stopping screams of agony echoed through the cave as the iron rods tore into the dwarf like lightning strikes. The horror of the clan brother quickly turned to rage that fueled their thundering charge. But as the battalion pressed their attack, the corned dragon did not relent. Wrapping the still hot chain around his neck, she snapped his head off in one fell motion. The resulting fountain of blood cooling her iron mask. She tore the numerous spears off the limp and headless corpse and leaped back, some of the dwarves slipping and falling over their companion‘s bloody remains, their falls meeting with a well placed spear through their backs. Now they‘d finally reached her, but the tunnel meant they had to come in one after the other and her size meant that, weapons being equal, she had the greater reach - and their metal coifs left their heads unguarded. It was a slaughter lit only dimly by the flaming corpse left behind them. Soldiers entered - innards and body parts flew out. Around the fifth or so, the clang of metal and hastened feet signaled their retreat. But turned backs meant one thing for her: easy targets. Only when she was left with two spears did she stop, watching the small men run back, presumably towards the surface.

She grabbed a hammer from the side of one of the better equipped dwarf corpses and dragged herself into a nook behind a minecart, falling down on the ground as her legs quivered and tail twitched. She tore the muzzle off with her shaking, healthy hand, gasping repeatedly for air. It was not as her people had told her. She found not a merry cave filled with drink, coals, and warm forges, but a dank, miserable pit where the cold crept unto you and it's people cursed your name. "Demons take these dwarves!" She shouted. Her paws wrapped around the tiny handle of the hammer as she worked on her leg chains, trying to remember how she got into this situation in the first place.

[anniesocsandgeneralstore]

Werewolf AU with 9, 10, and 13 please! 💙💙

9. "You can't keep it bottled up forever."

10. "It's okay to cry, you know."

13. "You're safe, I promise."

M.....I wrote what we discussed and my heart is broken...i don't think i will ever emotionally recover from this....(unsure if this is 100% canon since I'm not in love with how it turned out...but we'll see...)

word count: 813

warnings: blood, gore, a little language, javy and jake best bros for life

It was pouring down rain. Thunder and lightning crackled in the distant mountains. But at least it was warm and dry in the cave. At least Reuben and Mickey had had the chance to bring over supplies before the rain started. 

At least Jake now had a soft blanket to lay on while every fiber of his being was ripped apart and made new. Stronger, faster, harder. Cursed and blessed. 

Javy was just thankful Jake’s back was starting to heal. He no longer had to stare at the shredded muscle and exposed bone and the blood that wept to the surface. Now, at least he couldn’t see his friend’s spine and the muscles were starting to stitch themselves back together. 

Javy sipped from the thermos full of coffee as he listened to the rain. If he just looked out at the Washington forest just beyond the cave entrance, it was easy to think that maybe he had just gotten caught in a storm during a hike. That he was just waiting it out. That his friend’s life hadn’t just been ruined and it wasn’t his fault. 

But then Jake stirred from his place on the blanket. His eyes blinked heavily, expression more confused than anything as he tried to push himself up from the cave floor.

“Ugh, what the — fuck…?” Jake grumbled as he got to his hands and knees, his hazy eyes catching on Javy who could only sit there and watch. 

“Hey, man, listen — “ Javy said as he set down the thermos. ��You’re safe, I promise.”

That was when the pain hit Jake at full force. He buckled beneath the weight of it as he screamed and groaned. He writhed on top of the blanket, now curled in on his side as he tried to get away from it all. But there was no position that was going to be more comfortable. No way to escape it besides falling back into a deep slumber. Javy was familiar with the pain he was feeling, had experienced it first hand. It was everywhere, inside and out. And Javy had done nothing to protect his friend from the same fate. And could do little to comfort him now, no matter how hard he tried. Javy kneeled down beside him and put a hand on his shoulder, but even that Jake flinched away from with a shout.

Jake clawed at his chest like he was trying to dig inside and get the agony out. He looked up at Javy, tears now streaming down his red, anguished face, pleading silently for help. 

“What’s…Happening — to me?” Jake managed to grit out.

His eyes turned hazy, eyelids fluttering as he teetered on the brink of unconsciousness. Javy took his face in his hand as he said, “I’m so sorry.” 

Then Jake collapse back to the cave floor. For now, he was out of his misery. But Javy’s hands shook as he pulled away from his friend and went back to his seat against the cave wall. His stomach turned sour even towards the coffee that was keeping him awake and vigilant. 

It took another twenty-four hours, but eventually, Jake healed completely. Leaving behind that mass of raised white scars up and down his spine. And in those twenty-four hours, his transformation was complete. He was now a werewolf.

Javy could see the change in him as soon as he woke up. The awareness. The strength. How overwhelmed he looked now that he could smell someone cooking breakfast ten miles away. Now that he could hear the fluttering of a hawk’s wings hundreds of feet in the air. 

Javy explained everything as they walked through the woods, back towards their abandoned vehicles. He explained what happened, exactly who attacked Jake and what he was to him now, what was going to happen now that he was a werewolf and a Beta of Red Sky. Jake didn’t fully believe him until Javy shifted in front of his very eyes.

They sat down for a while after that, Jake needing to process as he stared down at his hands like they were brand new. And they kind of were. 

“I know this is a lot to take in, and…I wish I had more answers or-or better ones,” Javy said.

“Fuck,” Jake whispered as he clenched his fists up tight, his eyes clamped shut. 

“It’s okay to cry, you know,” Javy said as he picked at the fabric of his filthy jeans. “You — You can’t keep it bottled up forever. I know. I tried. We just gotta lean on each other now.” 

Jake nodded. After a few more minutes, he took Javy’s offered hand to help him back to his feet. 

“Is…Is this what you tried to warn me about?” Jake asked as they kept walking. 

“Yeah.” Javy nodded his head. “I’m sorry, man.” 

“It’s not your fault.” 

Javy didn’t believe him.

[dokifluffs]

Sleepy Time With His Babies | Atsumu, Osamu

Pairings: Atsumu X Reader (female), Osamu X Reader (female) 

genre: DOMESTIC SLEEPY FLUFFINEss

Author’s Note: you guys are in for a treat~ 

Sleepy Time With Their Babies | Kita, Kuroo // Sleepy Time With Their Babies | Ennoshita, Akaashi // Sleepy Time With Their Babies | Iwaizumi, Sakusa // Sleepy Time With Their Babies | Kenma, Bokuto

gif by @rivaillerose 💛💛

Atsumu: 

The usually bustling city life calmed down to a light doze

Sounds of usual heavy traffic were reduced to the faint zooming sounds of a few cars as they zipped by through the empty, bright streets

Though none of this brightens reached the two of you

Your shared apartment was high enough above the city where none of the lights at night somehow reached the two of you ever

The bedroom was immersed in complete darkness, nothing could be seen no matter how adjusted one’s eyes were to the dark

Deep breaths came from atsumu as he laid on his back, his legs somewhat spread under the covers, a hand resting on his stomach, the other outstretched as you laid curled up, faced away from him in your own little ball

His mind slowly stirred, his subconscious waking at the absent feeling of your presence beside him

His deep breaths shortened down as his fingers twitched, the tips of them grazing the back of your shirt

He woke more, huffing out an airy groan

“so.. far… away.. yer not supposed to be that far…” his mind pieced this together as he reached for you in the dark, moving closer toward the center of the bed

His hand moved down the side of your body until he found your belly

Despite being half asleep, Atsumu’s mind was still as sharp as it was when it came to volleyball, if not, sharper when it came to you

He hooked his arm around your abdomen, pulling you closer to him while also meeting you halfway

He didn’t feel complete until your back was to his chest, your body was touching his

You stirred in your own sleep feeling this pulling sensation until you woke yourself up the slightest

You turned in atsumu’s hold, his hand now resting on your lower back as you faced his chest, your head tilted back so your breaths tickled his neck

As fast and as soon as the two of you woke to the feel of each other, the two of you were out like a light

And that was all atsumu wanted

To feel you

Domestic: 

The heavy weight crushed him slowly as the villain laughed maniacally in his face as he struggled to break free to save the city

Just as the final blow was about to hit Atsumu in the face, his body was jolted awake, relieved to not see any villains trying to destroy his town as he took deep breaths to head back to sleep

Though what he did realize was that the weight was still there

The bright light of the full moon shone through the open curtains Atsumu had neglected to close when he came up to bed, too tired and unbothered to do anything

But now with the light, he could clearly see the weight that made his breathing feel so stuffy

Well, he could see the weights

His four year old son and three year old daughter were fast asleep right on top of him, explaining why the bedroom door was ajar instead of completely shut like he had done coming in

His daughter was mostly the one on top of him while half his son’s body was on top

Though by the looks of what he could see, it seemed like his daughter had pushed her brother off of him

Atsumu chuckled silently to himself seeing the starfish position his daughter was in on top, her arms and legs spread widest to her abilities to hold as much of her dad as she could in her sleep

He pulled his son to his left side, carefully bringing his daughter to his right side so they could all sleep comfortably together

The two of them naturally curled into his sides, the feeling of them as natural as having you by his side

Though you were in a different time zone than they were for work right now

“We can’t wait to see ya,” Atsumu thought to himself as he let the last thing he see for the night be the pale moonlight on the ceiling  

gif by @rivaillerose​ 💛💛

Osamu: 

Osamu slept like a log with his jaw hanging slack as an inconsistent rhythm of rain bounced off the roof of the house

The bedroom the two of you slept in was high, the faintest golden-white hue of the streetlights shining in, casting blurry shadows of the rain streaming down the glass

You slept curled into Osamu’s side as he laid straight, his chest and arm being your pillow, warmer and comfier than any pillow

Your gentle, hot breaths warmed his side, his gray hair spread around on his pillow

Light snores could be heard but it wasn’t anything you weren’t used to

Even after his showers, no matter how much time he spent at home, how little time he went into the restaurant now as a little vacation, you could still smell the fresh scent of onigiris on him, even in your sleep

You nuzzled yourself closer to him, your hand rubbed over his toned abdomen even after all these years of cooking and making food, Osamu was still in shape

Occasionally even hitting some set by his brother for fun whenever visiting the rowdy blonde

His warmth was like no other and it was just as you loved it- loved him

A sudden, loud boom of thunder shook the ground, making the ground and bed vibrate for the briefest second

You jumped in your sleep, your heart aching for a short bit at the sudden jump from a resting heart rate to a rapid one

Osamu initially woke a little at the sound but was really awake now that you practically jumped against him

“You alright?” His voice was so much deeper from sleep, the words and the sound of his voice airy and raspy as he spoke

“Mmhm,” you let out a deep sigh, laying back down on Osamu. “It just made me jump...” you nuzzled closer to his body

He let out a deep chortle, his hand wrapping around your shoulder, giving it a squeeze as he pressed a kiss, followed by another as he couldn’t resist it

“I got ya,” his voice was so low, with your head laid on him, you could hear hints of the vibrations that rumbled in his chest and throat as he spoke

“Thank ya,” you copied his accent, different from yours

“Hmm,” he laid still for a moment before he turned so now his body laid, crushing on top of you

“‘Samu,” you groaned as you adjusted to his sudden mass lumped on top of you

He took hold of the sides of your head in his hands, pressing sleepy kisses to your face and neck, feeling your face burn hotter and hotter at his sudden affection

“Now I really got ya,” you could hear the smirk on his face

Domestic: 

Osamu’s arms draped across your shoulders, the other holding your belly as you sat leaned back into his chest as he leaned against the headboard, a mass of pillows behind him

His thumb rubbed over your shoulder, your head leaned on his bicep, face squished into his muscle

He was just barely slipping in and out of consciousness in hopes you were okay, that the cramps were gone

You woke him not too long ago, the pain in your back and lower belly stung tears into your eyes and that was enough pain for Osamu to see and he didn’t want to see you in pain

His own cheek and head leaned forward to rest on yours, the sweet scent of your hair filling his nose with every still breath he took in

The storm raged on outside ever since the evening and showed no sign of lighting up until tomorrow afternoon according to the news channels

Rain flooded into the storm drains, restless flashes of lightning that filled the sky

Though a little rain and a few rumbles never bothered your sleeping

That is, until a bright flash illuminated the room followed by one of the biggest booms of thunder you had ever heard in your life

Startled by the sudden loudness, you jumped in Osamu’s arms, his eyes widened and hold on your stomach just hovering fearing his touch would somehow worsen any pain you were feeling

“What’s wrong?” His voice was deep, laced with sleep dripping from every word yet his eyes and mind were alert and wide, his attention on you in the dim darkness of the bedroom, a golden aura from a street lamp in the neighborhood barely passing the curtains. “Are you in pain?”

“No, thank you, though, ‘Samu.” You let out a sigh, leaning to rest your head back on his collar, his hand draped across your shoulders giving you a squeeze and rub. “The storm just startled me, that’s all”

Your hand found his hovering over your belly, pressing it down so it rested where it had moments ago

“Hm,” he let out a shot chortle before leaning close, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “Let’s sleep,” he whispered, using his foot to bring the blanket closer to the two of you so it rested on your lower halves

“Mmhm,” you hummed, reaching your head back to his bicep where you rested earlier, pressing a kiss to him before drifting back asleep in his hold

~~~~~ Thanks for reading! Masterlist for more! Please do not repost anywhere else!

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[potter-imagines]

Flowers in Braids (Fred Weasley)

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

Request: Could I request something please? 🧡 I just had a thought, a concept if you will, okay, so, Goblet of Fire Fred, and his gf y/n braiding his hair? 👉🏻👈🏻

Warning: None, just fluff

Word Count: 3k (short n sweet, hope you guys enjoy!)

Cloudy rays poured into the windows of Hogwarta giving a small glimpse to the declining temperatures outside. Crowds of students jogged out beyond the castle grounds all meeting up in the small village outside Hogwarts. Hogsmeade was buzzing with life as where the castle was empty besides the students who had yet to reach the age of permission to even enter Hogsmeade. Despite the younger kids cooped up inside their dorm rooms and wandering around the grounds, your boyfriend, Fred Weasley, and yourself had chosen to skip out.

The two of you were locked away in his dorm room, chatting amongst yourself as you kneeled over him, eyes trained on his hair. After working him in for quite some time, you managed to convince Fred to let you give him two French braids. His hair had finally reached the perfectly length and you had been itching for months to try different braids in it.

“Does that feel good, Freddie?”

Your fingertips raked against the skin of his scalp as you reached for another strand. The long orange strands slipped like buttermilk through your grasp. Braiding the outside piece of hair in, you tied it under the middle section of his hair, pulling tightly. Fred jerked back at your force causing his spine to smack against your knee. You mumbled a quick apology, having lost yourself in the rhythm of the weaving pattern. When you braid your own hair, you had conditioned yourself to the scalp piercing pulls. Fred was new to this, so you had to take it easy so he’d let you braid his beautiful locks again. Your boyfriend just smiled smugly with his eyes drawn shut and hummed.

“Mmmhhh.”

Taking a small section of his hair, you braid it into the pile of fiery hair and gave a softer pull to tighten it lightly. The further down you got, the faster your finger moved. Sitting on your knees, you continued weaving while taking a peek at his face. Fred looked half asleep, a small smile displayed across his face. You paused your work to leave a chaste kiss to the side of his rosy cheek. Fred’s eyes pried open by the touch and gazed up at you.

“Is that a yes?” You asked, giggling like a child. Your boyfriend just melted into your touch as you ran your free hand through the left side of his head that wasn’t braided yet. Tracing your fingers through his free strands, Fred leaned further in your touch. He was always a sucker for having you play with his hair.

“Hmmm.”

His hands were folded in his lap, thumbs fiddling quietly. This was by far the most relaxed you had seen him- besides when he was snoring in slumber. Fred was your crazy, energetic, childlike, prankster boyfriend. Although now, he was the exact opposite to his normal demeanor. He hardly uttered a word, basking in the sensation of your touch and pull. His breathing deepened, heavy puffs falling from his chest. You stared for a moment longer then wrapped your hand around the side of his face, other hand holding the end of the braid. Leaning him back a tip, you leaned down to plant a kiss to his lips. Fred grinned against your lips, but soon enough kissed you back sweetly. Whispering you used your hand to guide his head away, closer to the blanket resting on the bed.

“Tilt your head down, love.” You directed him. His ginger hair was as soft as silk, draping over your knuckles with every twist. As your fingers brushed against his neck, you could feel the vibrations of his soothing hums. Reaching around his tall frame, you grabbed a small rubber band and scrunched it around your hand. Hitting the end of the braid, you wrapped the band around the bottom of his hair with ease. Giving one last pull, you took a look at the first finished braid.

“Lemme see, darling.” Fred made grabby hands behind his back motioning for the mirror. You handed him the oval shaped pastel pink mirror and watched on in anticipation. Fred’s eyes roamed your work, examining every detail of your nearly perfectly french braid. He reached up in surprise and lightly tapped the tight weaves. 

“Wicked. Are you planning on finishing the otherside or am I meant to walk around like this?” He asked laughing. Handing the mirror back to you, Fred settled into his previous spot, his back pressed to your knees. You giggled at the sight of him. One braid was secured stiffly on one side of his head while his strawberry locks laid past his shoulder on the other side. You rose up so you were kneeling. Fred was quite tall, his towering height made it difficult to see over the top of his head. Grabbing your comb from the mattress, you curled your fingers around the top section, dividing it into three equal strands. You brushed through the pillow soft mane, another hum sounding from Fred.

“What do you think the next task is gonna be? The dragons were terrifying! Still can’t believe you were cheering for the killer dragons over our own friend.” The recollection earned a mental scoff. Remembering the events of last week, you wondered about the upcoming second task. The first task was not exactly your cup of tea. Despite your boyfriend’s astonishment and eagerness over the deathly dragons, you were petrified. Fred kept his hand laced in yours for the entirety of the task. As he cheered crazily with George, he’d squeeze your hand in reassurance to let you know he was still paying attention to you. George would give you hugs every few minutes- half to calm you and the other half to piss his twin off.

Fred chuckled again, leaning his head back so he was looking at you from an upside down view. He puckered his lips causing you to roll his eyes but reluctantly gave in and left a kiss to his ready lips.

“I think you mean amazing, love. Harry’s dragon was by far the best!” His thunderous roar filled the room. George and Lee were out at Hogsmeade, joining the rest of your friends for the day. Any other night Fred and yourself would be taking the long stroll to the village with the group. Hogsmeade trips were highly anticipated but for some reason, neither one of you really felt up for the trip. When Fred woke up, his only plan for the day was to remain attached to his bed. Not having any desires for a busy day, you decided to join him.

“Doesn’t mean you have to cheer for it, Fred.” You commented, snickering to yourself. During the first match, you sat in the stands of the Quidditch Pitch- now dragon arena- in between Fred and George. The twins hollered in excitement when the task was announced. Each competitor that came out, the twins looked through and waited anxiously for the reveal of the dragon. In all honesty, they couldn’t care less about who won or who was competing, they only wanted to see the dragons and their mass destruction. Even when your dear friend was almost killed by the fire breathing monster, Fred and George jumped up and down in delight, clapping their hands and screaming happily, “Go, dragon!”. It was a bit embarrassing to be sitting with them as other students sent dirty looks, especially the Hufflepuffs cheering on Cedric. Fred merely shrugged as you threaded the end of his hair,

“But I wanted to. Anyhow, Harry said it’s got something to do with water and George and I saw Dumbledore and Snape out on the Black Lake so I’d say it’ll be some task out there. Now let me see!” Fred whipped around as lightning speed, looking for the handheld mirror. You could see the excitement on his face. Dragging the mirror towards himself, Fred lifted the glass but just as he did, you snatched the mirror away from him.

“Wait, Freddie, I’m not finished. The flowers, remember? I picked out the purple and white ones just for you.” You squeaked. Fred had promised he’d let you stick some flowers in his braid once you finished. With everything inside of him, Fred desperately wanted to scream no. It already took you months to convince

“But… I wanna go show George my braids and if I have flowers in my hair…” He stopped mid thought when he saw your pouty expression. Puppy dog eyes and a puff out bottom lip, you gazed up at Fred with a begging stare. A smile hit his lips immediately as rolled his eyes. “Okay, fine. But I only want the little white ones.”

Grinning in victory you started separating the stems from the petals. Getting the flowers laid out on the large bed, your eyes darted up to Fred in question.

“The daisies?” Holding up the delicate flowers, you raised your brow to Fred. His doe gleam hit yours then down to the miniature flowers. A cheeky smirk flashed across Fred’s face as he flirted,

“The only flower I know is you, darling.”

Your face went deadpan as you shot your giggling boyfriend a playful glare, feigning unamusement. Fred could be extremely sweet when he wants to do and today, that seems to be his main motive. Rolling your e/c eyes you resumed your concentration on his braided hair and the generous pile of daisies laying next to your thigh. Carefully, one by one, you twist the flowers to snap the excess stem off. Then you individually tucked each petallful bud into his locks, cautious not to go overboard like you would in your own binding braids.

The pale petals poked out, It was the kind of brilliant white that would even make new snow look grey, the kind of white that sears into your retinas and makes you temporarily blind. The bright contrast made the pumpkin orange shade of his hair pop in the light. Smoothing your hand over the bumps, you gazed upon your work. Handing the mirror back to Fred, you informed him that you had finished.

“Do you like it, Freddie?” You placed your hands together, hiding your face behind them. This was the first time Fred ever let you even attempt to style his hair, and to Fred Weasley, his hair meant everything. Now in your sixth year, it has reached its peak. Fred and George were very proud of their shoulder length orange locks, and you could understand why. Dating for already three years, you could confidently declare this style was your favorite. This being the reason you yelled in horror after the stunt Fred and George pulled during their entry, or attempt of an entry, for the Tri-Wizard tournament. After he finished tousling and rolling around on the floor with his twin, Fred ran up to you for help. Much to his surprise, you took off like a rocket in the opposite direction. Your friends all laughed at the sight of the twins until tears were streaming down their cheeks. His aged state, and frizzed crazy white hair was too much for you to process all at once. You nearly cried in joy when the prankster came knocking on your door hours later back to his normal state. Back again were his beloved ginger locks. The traumatic event still haunted you. Since then, you never missed a moment to admire his beautiful long hair.

One thing Fred loved was your need to constantly touch his locks. Sitting in class, Fred will lean his head on your shoulder as the professor drones one. Muscle memory kicks in and your free hand will sneak up his back and start running your runnings through his hair. When names were being drawn out of the flaming goblet, Fred sat in front of you with George. He squeezed himself between your legs, his arms resting on your knees. While the headmasters snatched their slips of papers falling from the fire, you’d be fiddling with strands of his hair, petting over the velvet like hair. To Fred, it was always comforting to sense your hands on him, no matter where.

You waited patiently, nervous for his reaction. Fred’s large hands moved the mirror in various spots, trying to get a peek from every possible angle. Eyes raking over the braids, a twinkle beamed on Fred’s lips as he exclaimed,

“It looks wonderful, sweetheart. I’m so proud of you, I love it!” Your heart jumped with happiness at his approval. Throwing your arms around him, Fred maneuvered so he was fully facing you. He returned the hug, gripping your body tightly in his arms. His lips sneaked a quick kiss to your blushing cheek.

“Serious? Or are you just being nice?” You asked softly.

Pulling away, Fred slid you forward so you were sitting practically in his lap. Once more he sealed a peck to your lips, then left a lingering kiss on the tip of your nose.

“No, really, I honestly love it. We gotta go find George and Lee! They should be back soon. But if they ask for you to braid their hair, please say no, darling. I only want you braiding my hair, not George’s. He won’t shut up about it if you do.” His tone was a facade of chaff, a hint of seriousness shining through. It was clear he was pretending to be all jokes but the sincerity lingered. You rolled your eyes overtly and smacked his chest like a child.

“You’re so dramatic, Freddie. I won’t touch your brother’s hair, Merlin’s sake.”

Just as you went to stand up, a pair of strong arms wrapped around your frame and yanked you to your previous position.

“Where are you going?”

“I thought we were gonna show George and Lee-”

The warmth of his breath smacked against the chilling skin of your neck. His arms were stiff around your waist, not even giving you a chance to escape. Giggles stormed through you at the feeling. Fred’s fingers poked and probed at your sides, starting an attack of tickles. You tried to pin his hands down although he overpowered you in seconds. He paused his tickle war not long after, allowing you to catch a gasp of air. Smiling brightly at you, Fred extended his legs out so you were placed between them.

“But I haven’t gotten to braid your hair yet! Now, turn around for me, darling. Hand me the brush please. Your braid is gonna be all flowers, no hair.” The contagious laughter of Fred encapsulated the atmosphere. Your hands shot up to cover your face in embarrassment. Fred had tried- at least ten times- to get a braid to stick in your hair and he had yet to succeed. His idea of a braid was starting with holding all three strands of hair at once and just twisting them in a repetitive cycle. The thought of grabbing pieces of hair to braid in was just another level of hair styling to Fred. Glancing up at Fred you gave him an unsure gaze.

“I’m gonna look like a clown, Freddie.”

Not missing a beat, your gentleman of a boyfriend just smirked, replying,

“A cute clown, love. A cute flower clown. You’ll have people thinking Halloween came early!” Already expecting what was to come, Fred cowered behind his arms, using them as shield from your hits. You didn’t strike to hurt, just to sting. Part of dating Fred was falling victim to his teasing. As close as you were, his jokes never truly offended you. There was a line drawn years ago and his toes never even grazed it. Crossing your arms over your chest you scrunch your nose in pretend annoyance.

“Freddie! Not nice.”

Your boyfriend laughed gently then reached over to pick up your basket of flowers on the ground. Sifting his hands through the pile, Fred was deep in concentration as he plucked out about five flowers of various shapes. The thing that stood out to you was the color. Although different in type, all the flowers were a pretty lilac tone. You assumed he had chosen flowers for your hair until he spoke. 

“I’ll let you put some purple flowers in my hair, if you’d like? Would that make it up to you?” He asked you sweetly. Fred knew you weren’t actually mad, a small part of him wanted pastel purple flowers to begin with. He just didn’t want you telling everyone he chose them himself- this way he could say he had to, in order to make you happy. The words lit a spark behind your eyes and you eagerly pivoted on the bed so your back was against his front. Nodding to yourself you agreed to his offer, trying not to show your excitement too much.

“Now face the wall, love. I’m gonna give you a Italian braid so sit still.” Your eyes widen in confusion as you whip around to face him. Fred grinned enthusiastically, holding a small portion of your hair in his hands. Squinting your eyes, you laugh a bit at him.

“An Italian- Freddie, no, darling. It’s called a French braid!”

His saucer like eyes just stared at you, the terminology flying straight over his head. He flickered between your gape, then down to your hair, then back up. Bobbing his head he seemed to agree with you. He grabbed your shoulders gingerly and positioned you so you were looking at the wall again. Mumbling to himself, Fred whispered words of encouragement earning a chuckle from you.

“Oh, yeah… a French braid.” His hands roamed through your hair, fingers brushing against your scalp. Nimbly he separated your strands into small portions. You felt the strong tug on your hair when he suddenly stopped abruptly and asked faintly, “Sweetheart… how do you braid hair?”

[joestarwhore]

Risotto Nero - A Price to Pay

{Being the only girl in the Bucci Gang has its perks. Your familia loved you, & were fiercely protective- but what’re they supposed to do when another Capo decides to have you to himself? He’s gotta have you.}

{one way or another.}

_____________________________________

“Bucciarati were almost to Napoli, should I head straight for the city or the safe house?”

Fugo’s sharp voice woke you from your nap. You & the team have been traveling for days tracking three stand users who’ve been smuggling contraband out of Passioné’s grasp. So far, the trail has led to Napoli- and to make it worse, no one knows what they look like. But luckily, you had the name of the man in charge of the operation.

“Go to the safe house. They’re not going to move anything in broad daylight, & we haven’t been able to stop for an actual break.” Bruno circled the location on Fugo’s map. “We can spare a few hours.”

You looked to your right to see Mista asleep against the window, drool slowly coming out of his mouth. You would’ve laughed if you had any right to, with the glimpse of yourself you caught in the rear view you were surprised no one woke you up with a camera flash.

You stretched your neck side to side, your movements slowly bringing your body back to life. You could hear Giorno, Abbachio, and Narancia gently start stirring to life as Bruno continued to talk about the location, not being able to keep in their loud ass yawns. Well, honestly, that was only Narancia’s problem.

Bruno swiveled the seat to face the back, his perfect black bob not moving an inch while he does it. “Now that we’re in Napoli, it’s time to be debriefed about our current situation. Would one of you please wake Mista?”

Abbachio wasted no time to slap Mista in the back of the head, causing Mista to lurch forward with a yelp. His hand immediately went to the back of his head as he whipped around towards Abbachio. “What the hell, you dumbass!! What was that for??”

“For debriefing you idiot, pay attention.”

You giggled, resulting in a hearty “Shut up!” from Mista. After Bruno’s scolding, he started to explain the facts.

“The intelligence we received stated that the man controlling the contraband operation is a Capo. His name is Risotto Nero, the leader of La Squandra. He’s been known to defy the Familia before, so it’d make sense that he would be the one running this show.”

Bruno’s face slowly grimmed as he continued, pausing after he spoke. “While he is a traitor to the Familia, he is also one of the most powerful Capo’s in the organization. Not just because of his title, but because of his stand.”

The tension grew substantially.

“What’s his stand, Boss? Does anyone have an idea?” Narancias question rung in the air like a bell.

“No. Because no ones lived to tell about it.”

The chill that ran down your spine was unnerving. No one knows what his stand is?? No one has even the slightest idea?? How can that be?

“Boss, how’re we supposed to find this cazzo when all we have to go on is a name?” you ask, “How’re we supposed to defend ourselves against a stand that no one has ever beat?”

“By keeping your stand close. Giorno’s Golden Wind can sense life, and Narancia can track anything that breathes. Abbachio’s Moody Jazz could very well be our ace in the hole, if we can simply find where he’s been- but that’s hard to do when you’re following a ghost.”

God, that wasn’t reassuring.

Soon, Fugo’s road rage landed you at the safe house, a 3 story cabin in the middle of the woods. Mista’s excitement blossomed as soon as he saw the giant flatscreen through the window, everyone else’s did when they finally got to leave the stuffy ass van.

Abbachio helped you out of the car, letting you hang on to his arm until you’ve cracked all the bones you needed to feel relief. “Thank you Abba, I’ve been needing to do that for a while now!”

Abbachio threw you a smirk. “Yeah yeah don’t get gross on me.” He could throw up any facade he wants- you see right through his badass tough guy wall. You gave him a grin back, & grabbed your duffel bag out from under your seat. You looked back to see that the other boys had already made it inside, Bruno & Giorno already setting up the radio & laptops to start working.

Bruno def wasn’t playing around when he was looking for a place to buy. This was the nicest cabin you had ever seen, pure dark wood walls with marble flooring, a grand staircase with a BEAUTIFUL bay window?? Capo DEFINITELY had perks.

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

[3:33 AM]

You bolted awake as thunder and lightning surrounded your bedroom. Your mind frantic as the open curtains revealed howling winds and light flashing through the skies.

You took some deep breaths and calmed yourself down. It’s only a storm, nothing to- why was your door open?

Adrenaline started to churn in your stomach as you swung your legs over your bed. You stepped carefully towards the hallway, peeking down to see that everyone else’s doors were open too. You tip toed down, peering into Bruno & Abbachio’s rooms, seeing them both empty; and upon further inspection, so were Giorno’s and Mista’s. Narancia and Fugo’s following suit.

Where the fuck is everyone, and why are you not with them?

You back tracked down the hall, your legs shaking as you slowly walked down the stairs.

Were you being attacked?

The lightning lit your path down the stairs as you kept your eyes peeled for anything out of place. As you came down to the first platform, the stench of blood overwhelmed your senses, making your eyes grown wide and your hand go over your mouth and nose. This cannot be real, why is blood in the air??

“You know when I first saw you, I thought you were an angel among the saints & sinners of Napoli.”

Your hand gripped the banister as you stood in defense, looking everywhere for the source of the deep voice. Who was that?? Where the fuck is your team??

“& Then I saw Ghiaccio getting in a fight with another Mafioso. I thought it was just one of Bucciaratis boys, but oh was i so close yet so wrong.”

You slowly made your way down stairs, “I guess your a big fan of mine then, quite a shame I can’t see where you are for such occasion.”

A deep chuckle resonated through the estate. “Our life together will be wonderful, I am very sure.”

“The fuck are you-“

Your stomach dropped.

The blood. The gashes. The gore.

All of the boys were hanging by their hands, bloody chains protruding from their wrists and connecting them to the ceiling. Blood oozed from Fugos mouth, while Narancias unconscious form clearly had a broken nose and extreme loss of blood. They all were simply.. hanging by a thread.

“Jesus fucking Christ.. you’re fuc-fucking kidding..”

Invisible hands hold onto your sides as your body freezes in shock, the pressure and heat of them telling you they were quite large. Your heart beater out of your chest as you felt a muscular set of abs press against your back, those hands weaving over your chest to hold down your arms.

“Do you see, Amore? Do you see how powerful I am compared to them?” Your eyes tore away from the bloodied boys, closing them as tightly as you could. “When I saw how powerful you were and how you carried yourself, I knew we were soul mates. I had to have you. I had to have your body, your mind,” His hand rubbed gently against your clothes crotch, shooting heated adrenaline to your core, “& your pretty little cunt just full of my kids.”

Your cheeks turned violently red as you staggered to breathe. “Who..are you..”

Lips pressed against your temple as a deep chuckle vibrated your body. “Darling, I’m the whole reason you’re out here.”

Your heart froze.

“Risotto?? It’s you?!”

Suddenly two black clothed muscular arms appeared around you, one of them tilting your chin back to reveal two black and red eyes staring straight at you. “Surprised, Cara?”

You started to panic, the danger of your situation settling in. Bruno, Giorno, all of the boys, were out of action. There was no help for you, and you couldn’t summon your stand like this. Was this simply the end? Was he just saving you for last for his sick fantasy??

“Please.. what do you even want from me??”

Risotto put your hands behind your back and tied them together. “What I’ve wanted since I saw you; a life. With just you & me.” He placed you on a chair, kneeling before you with his hands tracing you and your skin. Your breath hitched as he ran over certain spots, his eyes growing darker and darker the more you react. You had to do something, you couldn’t let your family be killed over someone’s obsession over you.

“I’m going with you whether I like it or not, right?”

Risotto chuckled a humorless laugh. “A smart one! Oh i like that, I like that. Maybe our kids will get that trait.”

Dread sunk in your stomach. There’s no escape, is there?

“If I go with you, willingly with no struggle- will you allow me to use my stand on them so they atleast don’t die of their injuries?”

Risotto stared at you, looking for any sign of betrayal, but he wasn’t gonna find anything. You knew there wasn’t a way out, and you knew you didn’t stand a chance in hell against him. Atleast if you can save the boys, there wouldn’t be any death.

“Fine. But one slip up, Amore, and I’ll make your condition worse than theirs.”

Risotto unbinded your arms, helping you stand up and get your balance again. You walked towards the boys until you were a few meters away from them. You could sense their shallow breathing from your powers, you knew if you were gonna do this you had to act fast.

“Iron Maiden.”

A steam punk victorian girl emerged behind you, wielding a glowing white scythe, its jet black hair flowing behind her.

“Scythes Blessing.”

Iron Maiden hovered to the front of you, your scythe glowing bright white as it swung a mass of energy towards them all. Their wounds mended together, the blood returning to their bodies. After the act was done, the boys passed out on the floor, surely to wake up in a few hours.

“Now, we start our life, my sweet angel.”

Tears silently went down your cheeks as you turned to the beautiful, evil man. His eyes showed a softness towards you as he extended his giant hand. Your dainty one took his, holding it as he led you to the door.

“Where are you taking me?”

Risotto swung open the huge doors to reveal the storm still actively raging, his matte black sports car in the circle drive. “Home, cara. Our home.”

You hurried to get in his front seat, Risotto closing your door and going to the drivers door. He got in, revving the car to life and pulled the car out of the drive way. Risotto placed his hand on your thigh as he took you away from the estate. Your heart hurt for your boys, but this was for the best, right? Atleast this way they’re safe. They’re safe.

“Say your goodbyes Cara. Your life starts over with me.”

“Only me.”

[cankarmawrite]

It's me, ya pal crow with a favor of Vexleth with soft cuddles that lead to wandering hands because they can't help it? 👀

When the door to her room slammed open Vex'ahlia immediately reached back to grab her bow. 

When her fingers met only air, she sighed and silently chastised herself for forgetting that Fenthras was in its revered resting place above the fireplace. Old habits die hard, and even after years of peaceful living in a quiet cottage deep in the woods outside of Whitestone, she still found herself jumping at any loud noise that broke the normal cacophony of birdsong and leaves dancing in the wind. 

The figure in the doorway was a surprise, but not an unwelcome sight.

"Keyleth darling, what's wrong?" Her wife- Vex still couldn't believe she got to call her that- stepped into their house with her antlers askew, shoulders lifted so high they almost touched her ears, and face pinched in a familiar expression of panic and overstimulation.

Vex could finish braiding her hair later. She rose from the vanity where she'd been getting ready for bed and walked quickly but quietly over to the druid who was taking shallow, shaking breaths. Keyleth shifted her weight from foot to foot, wringing the hem of the indigo nightshirt she wore between her two pale freckled hands. Vex watched the red-head open her eyes and immediately fix them on the wide wooden planks making up the floor. So it was one of those kinds of storms.

In the years they'd spent together Vex and Keyleth had come up with the term "storm" to describe those moments when every inch of her skin lit up with electricity like she'd been struck by lightning and her brain was full of thunder so loud that it stopped her ability to think or speak. 

The Voice of the Tempest had been in Zephrah for official business the past few weeks and had been so busy she hadn't returned home to spend the night with her wife in nearly a week. Seeing as Keyleth had Tree Walked here so late at night, something was definitely upsetting her love.

"I'm going to step past you and shut the door, can you sit on the couch, or do you want to lie in bed?" Vex lowered her voice to a hushed whisper that wouldn't be as abrasive to her overwhelmed lover. Keyleth swiped at tears leaking from the corners of her eyes and hummed lowly as she shuffled haltingly towards the bed. 

Vex frowned and gently shut the door before going to fetch one of the scraps of soft fabric they kept in a drawer for these occasions. Keyleth had found her way to the bed and was sitting with her arms wrapped around knees that were drawn as tightly as possible to her chest, as if trying to compress herself so much she disappeared. Vex soaked the rag in water for a moment, wrung the excess out, and moved to the side of the bed.

“Keyleth love, is it okay if I touch you to take your antlers? I have a cool rag here…” The druid was nodding before she even finished her sentence, so she gingerly climbed onto the canopied four-poster bed Keyleth had crafted out of twisting mahogany and black walnut wood last summer. The druid paused her rocking momentarily as Vex removed Keyleth’s antlers and set them on one of the nightstands, resuming the soothing motion once the endlessly patient woman beside her had laid the cool cloth across the back of her neck. 

Vex started to move her hand away but Keyleth made a soft sound of distress before practically throwing her body at Vex, who welcomed her with open arms.

She allowed Keyleth to continue her soothing routine and rocked slowly with her in silence for a minute before hearing Keyleth’s tear-choked voice.

“Nightmare.” Aha. 

“It was just a dream Keyleth, okay? You woke up, and you came to find me, so it must have been pretty bad, but I’m still here and I’m okay.” Vex kept her voice pitched low and as soft as Keyleth’s favorite velvet cloak. She felt the redhead nod against her chest and smiled softly as one of those hands she knew so well settled right over her breastbone to make sure her heart was still beating strongly. 

Over the next half hour and two more trips to the basin to rewet the rag Keyleth’s storm slowly cleared and the pair of them were left a mass of tangled limbs and lazy hands that traced exposed skin wherever it was accessible. This was their routine for the times when the storm was so bad it left Keyleth feeling fuzzy and disconnected from her own body. They would lay there, sometimes for hours, just tracing the familiar planes of each other’s bodies while Keyleth came back to herself, and the rumbling thunder in her head faded. 

Vex knew the moment the storm had completely passed because she felt Keyleth’s body finally relax into the softness of their bed, the tension draining out of her like the water from Vex’s favorite clawfooted bathtub. 

“Better my dear?” Vex inquired, lips pressing to the top of Keyleth’s head affectionately. 

Her wife pushed up onto one elbow, holding herself slightly above Vex now, and nodded with a shy smile as she removed the nearly dry rag from the back of her neck. 

“It was the tower…” 

That’s all Keyleth had to say. Vex still had nightmares about that tower in Thar Amphala where they’d made their final stand against Vecna. Even with their victory, the day had been a traumatic ordeal and Vex knew that Keyleth had likely dreamt that her Banish had failed and Vecna had fully ascended. 

Keyleth’s calculating verdant gaze traced Vex’s form with a kind of scholarly precision as if committing every inch to memory in preparation for some kind of exam. An ember caught low in Vex’s stomach, heat pooling there as Keyleth reached out a hand which she promptly nuzzled her cheek into. 

“Kiss me better?” Keyleth asked, tugging her bottom lip between her teeth until Vex surged forward and took over for her. 

By the time the sunlight was beginning to filter through the trees, Keyleth had completely forgotten about her nightmare. How could she think of nightmares when she lived a literal dream?

[commonwealthoccurences]

So Easy To Live, Easier To Die

Word Count: 1,559 Prompt: Easy Living and Presumed Dead Day(s): 18 and 19 CW: Many smoking/cigarette mentions, mourning process. Sole wasn’t exactly sure where their emotions sat on the range of furious to devastated. Somewhere in the middle, not indecisive, but the combined power of the two that had them screaming, angry tears rushing their way out as they yelled their throat raw. The grief had come on so strong, knocked the wind out of them and sent them falling to their knees despite everything that told them to keep it together, the world having turned cold so quickly they felt themself choking on frozen breaths every time they dared to inhale.

Part of them left like crumbled leaves in the wind the moment that Desdemona announced the casualties the Institute had left in the Old North Church when it was attacked. They swore they had a grip on Deacon as they were fleeing, surrounded to the point where it was useless to fight back, and the next he was slipping away from them and vanished like they had become so afraid he would. And then he was just a name on a list, someone to be put in the records and forgot about. 

Maybe that wasn’t true, but Sole couldn’t help but be furious at the pure unfairness of it all. After everything Deacon had given for the Railroad, was he really supposed to be left in the crumbled remains of their old base, an unmarked mass grave, declared dead because there was nothing left to find? Their throat had gone raw long ago and they stopped bothering to speak. The new recruits swore that’s why they were called Whisper, but then, the new recruits didn’t know any better.

And it was more than fact that they had their worst fear come true. Deacon was hardly a person when he was around. That wasn’t to say he lacked personality or dimension; hell no, he had the most delightful personality that they’d encountered in their time in the Wasteland, someone who always knew what to do or say, who’d given them a family and seen something in them when they were just wandering through the Commonwealth aimlessly. But he never belonged to them, or anyone really. There was something lackluster about the feeling whenever they used to lean against him, unsteady and hardly three dimensional. As if he were vapor that was to disperse as soon as the wind blew hard enough.

Sole knew better than to admit romantic attraction; Deacon was a cloud, lighter than air, a drifting light, not something or someone to be tied down. He was slipping through their fingers before they even got a solid grip on him. They used to joke that he drifted so quickly that if they squint hard enough they could see him already leaving them behind. Deacon would laugh, but it would never reach his eyes. It wasn’t meant to, they knew, just like they would never fully reach him. That’s just not how it worked and they both knew better than to deny their nature.

It seemed like they were missing, mourning, something they never had, and that made everything feel even more unfair. Who was he to give them so little and leave them with nothing out of the blue? God knows it wasn’t his choice, but something about it felt so Deacon. To vaporize without warning and leave nothing but a mysterious legacy with no real identity attached to it. Bitterly, they had to acknowledge it was the perfect way for him to go.

At first, they found themself harshly swallowing the smoke from cigarettes. They never smoked before, but Deacon did, and it was oddly comforting, the way their lungs and throat burned when they choked on the acrid taste. Their mind always drifted back to that night, screaming in the wreckage where the Old North Church used to stand, and it was so easy to settle back into that feeling; it never really left, after all, and they feared with all their heart that one day they would forget what it felt like to miss him. What did they have left of him but the empty space he left behind?

When Desdemona requested Sole go through Deacon’s belongings to decide what to keep and what to repurpose for other members, Sole had to laugh bitterly. There was nothing that Deacon kept that he couldn’t carry on his person. Every trace of him had disappeared in smoke. There was nothing where he slept in the second base except for a half empty can of purified water and a pack of cigarettes. They were gone by the end of the day, ash and acid mixed with salty tears flavoring Sole’s mouth as they sat on the crumbled steps of the Old North Church and let the traces of him burn away on their taste buds and at their feet.

Their first true breath of fresh air only seemed to come once a storm rolled through the Commonwealth, thunder shaking their new quarters, the rain washing away the ash that had stained their skin, throat, and lungs. Desdemona watched from her doorway, leaned against the frame, arms crossed as  Sole stood in the pouring rain, their figure barely visible in the distance until lightning flashed across the sky every now and then. And she swore she saw another figure, a pinprick on a hill, but she brushed it off. There were several patrols out, as the Railroad swore they’d never get caught off guard again. 

If Sole had shrugged on the jacket Deacon had gifted them and tried to wash away every fingerprint he left behind in the spring storm, they would never say so. It was simply pure coincidence, the way they tipped their head back to embrace the oncoming monsoon, and let the rain mix with their tears until they were indistinguishable from the night’s chaos. If they breathed in hard enough they swore they could smell Deacon, a mix of gunpowder and cigarettes and candy, until they took another breath and the clean air washed them over and brushed away the scent, then that was their business.

Their chest heaved and they began to laugh, for some strange reason. Maybe it was the feeling of a weight being lifted, an acceptance settling in the space between their heart and brain, or maybe it was the weight finally cracking at the supports they had so steadily built their entire life. If someone asked, they wouldn’t be able to tell, but there was something so freeing about feeling clean for the first time in months. Guilt and suffering washed away for a simple moment and everything felt clear again.

Of course, storms aren’t the most logical to stick around in out in the open, and Deacon had to let go as the rain, wonderfully helpful, erased his tracks from the path he had taken up onto the hill. There would be nothing left of his presence in the morning and he couldn’t help but feel resentment rise in him as he watched Sole throw their head back and laugh, obviously losing any restraint they had left after what they went through.

And maybe part of him wanted to rush over and steal them away from the life they were living. The danger and the thrill like a rose that was all thorns, maybe he could go back to being a farmer. They could have Brahmin and cats and they would wake up in the morning and not have to worry so much if he would come home the next day. Then, he supposed they didn’t have to worry about that anymore, anyway. He could never come back and they would never know he crawled out of the pile of rubble with nothing but the clothes on his back and the worry stone necklace they had gifted him last Christmas.

Desdemona knew the consequences, knew the risks they were taking, separating the two best agents they had and announcing Deacon was dead, but it was outweighed by the benefits. A shapeshifting agent of the Railroad, who, according to all records, no longer existed. He couldn’t be pinpointed by name, nor a past, a face or a relationship. No family. Nowhere to go. And she wished the rain would take her away with it as the storm rolled through, but luck was never on her side, never had been since she had taken up the reins as the leader. The hardest choices were hers to make, and Deacon was a sucker for pain with no dedication to anything other than the Railroad.

The next day, when the Earth had begun to dry and the pavement was just a touch fresher, Desdemona woke early, even earlier than she usually did, and left the Railroad bunker on her own. She let the morning silence accompany her on her morning hike up that hill, the one on which she’d seen a ghost, or a guardian angel, who could know for sure. When she reached the top, there was fresh dirt, turned over and marked with an ally symbol. There was no hesitation in her movements when she kneeled down and dug with her bare hands to uncover a wooden box. Inside was a pair of sunglasses, so unbelievably familiar, with a new touch. Engraved very carefully on the side was Whisper. The first trace of a ghost in the Commonwealth.

[beautiful-songbird]

Stranded [2]- A Long, Stormy Night

Pairing: Tae x OC, Namjoon x OC, Jungkook x OC

Genre: fluff, crack

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: this is even cringier than the last chapter and you can’t say I didn’t warn you. I also didn't edit this so there are probably typos

Summary: It’s a normal evening. Jin has invited a few of his friends over for dinner, and Namjoon is finally back in town. That is, until it starts pouring. Now everyone is stuck at Jin’s house for the conceivable future. What will they do with their time?

—————

Xia plopped down on the couch. “Jimin said he’s stuck in a traffic jam and probably won’t be back for a while.” She looked up at Jin. “Do you think you have enough room for us all to crash here for the night?”

Jin nodded. “We have another guest room and a few couches. I also have tons of pajamas you guys could borrow if you need them.”

“Great!” Hobi exclaimed. “Now let’s eat, I’m starving!”

They all agreed, and Xia and Jin helped Tae to the table as Jungkook and Hobi put all the food on the table. They are most of the food pretty quickly, but saved some for Jimin, Namjoon, and Xhei. After cleaning the dishes and putting the extra food in the fridge, they decided to watch a movie. Despite the fact that they just ate, Jin and Jungkook insisted on making popcorn, so the did that while Xia, Hobi, and Tae debated what movie to watch. Suddenly, Xia jumped up.

“I forgot to tell my mom I’m not coming over!”

She quickly texted her mom, and soon got a response.

“Oh, thank goodness.”

Tae and Hobi gave her questioning looks.

“She said she figured I wasn’t coming because of the rain.”

“Ah,” Tae nodded. “So, what are we watching?”

“You guys up for a drama?”

◇◆◇◆◇

The five of them crowded around the TV, Jin and Jungkook cramming popcorn into their mouths, and Tae and Hobi doing their own dramatic re-creation of the movie on the couch. Suddenly, there was a loud knock on the door, surprising all of them. Jin sighed and paused the movie before going to get the door.

Jimin burst through the door, socking wet, followed by Namjoon and Xhei, who weren’t as wet but still soaked.

“Namjoon, not only do you know the garage code, but you also have a key, and you still insist on knocking?”

Namjoon smiled and pulled three suitcases into the house. “I was too lazy to pull it out.”

Xhei sighed. “Jin, where’s our room? I’m freezing and I definitely need to change.”

Jin nodded towards the stairs. “Up the stairs, first one on the left.”

“Thanks!” She grabbed her suitcase and hauled it up the stairs with her.

Jin turned to Jimin. “I know probably nothing in my closet is small enough for you, but go through it and find a change of clothes before you catch a cold.”

Jimin nodded and ran off to Jin’s room.

“I’m gonna go change too,” Namjoon said before grabbing the other two suitcases and going upstairs.

Jin went back to the living room, finding Xia, Tae, Jungkook, and Hobi all asleep on the couch, cuddled together. That didn’t last long, however as lightning cracked and thunder roared again, waking them all up. Hobi jumped up, kicking Tae’s ankle. Tae gasped.

“Hobi-!”

Hobi’s eyes widened. “Sorry, Tae! Are you ok?”

Tae nodded slowly. “Hey, Jin? Do you think you could wrap my ankle?”

“Hmm…” Jin kneeled down and looked at Tae’s ankle again. “I think the swelling’s gone down enough now that I can.” He went to go find an ankle wrap.

Jimin came out from Jin’s room, practically drowning in the sweater he found. “Jin was right, I’m way too small for this.” He walked over to the couch and joined the pile that was quickly forming.

Namjoon came downstairs and looked at everyone on the couch. “Geez. Jin’s throwing a mass slumber party or something.”

“We’re all stuck here because of the rain,” Xia explained.

“Ah,” Namjoon nodded. He looked at Tae, who had his leg propped up on the table. “Did Tae hurt himself again?”

“You say that like it happens a lot.”

“Eh, he’s pretty clumsy.”

Tae rolled his eyes. “Am not.”

“That’s not what you said earlier,” Jimin quipped.

Tae glared at him while Jimin snickered. Jin than came out with a box that had a wide assortment of ankle wraps in it. He set it on the table before pulling a few out. Once he’d decided which one he wanted to use, he unceremoniously tossed them back into the box, completely missing. Then he knelt down to wrap Tae’s ankle.

“You’re gonna clean that up, right?” Namjoon asked.

“Of course I’m gonna clean up my own house,” Jin replied. “By the way, where’s Xhei?”

“She decided to shower and go to bed.”

“Oh.” Jin finished wrapping Tae’s ankle. “How’s that?”

Tae wiggled his toes. “It’s good.”

“Are we gonna finish the drama now?” Jungkook asked.

“We can finish it tomorrow. I’m tired,” Hobi yawned.

“Yeah, I’m tired too,” Xia said. “But be honest, Hobi, are you really gonna be able to fall asleep with all the lightning and thunder?”

Hobi sighed and shook his head. “Probably not.”

“Don’t worry! I’ll cuddle with you so you don’t feel scared!” Jimin exclaimed, grinning.

“You know what, let’s just all sleep on the couch. That way, no one’s alone,” Tae suggested.

They all nodded in agreement, but Namjoon cut in.

“That’s too weird. I’m going to bed.” He quickly climbed back up the stairs.

Jin came back into the room just as Namjoon ran up the stairs. He gave the others a questioning look.

“He didn’t want to group cuddle,” Tae explained.

Jin laughed. “Oh, we’re group cuddling, are we?”

Jimin nodded. “So no one gets scared or is alone.”

“All right,” Jin squeezed onto the couch with the rest of them. “Do you think we need blankets?”

“Well, I would say no, but I’m kinda cold, so yes,” Xia replied.

“I’ll go get some!” Jungkook jumped up and ran out of the room.

“This is gonna be a long night…” Hobi muttered.

◇◆◇◆◇

Jin woke up and looked at the clock, before realizing something was blocking his view. It was…a foot? He grabbed it gently and pushed it out of his face before looking to see who it belonged to. It was Jimin. Jin glanced back at the clock. It read five-thirty.

I should get up and make breakfast, Jin thought.

He looked down and was met with chaos. Jungkook was on the floor, Hobi was sliding off the couch, and Xia, Tae, and Jimin were all piled on top of Jin. He sighed.

“Guess I’m not getting up any time soon….”

Just then, a phone chimed. However, all the phones were buried either in the couch or under someone. Jin tried digging in the couch, but just ended up getting his hand stuck. He sighed heavily. He looked down at Jungkook, who had just sat up, looking half asleep.

“What time is it…?”

“Five thirty,” Jin replied. “Can you help me? I’m lying on top of my hand, and I can’t move.”

“Oh.” Jungkook stood up and picked Jimin up off the top of the pile. I’ll be right back. I’m gonna go put him in your room.” He was back within seconds and proceeded to pick up Xia. “Can you get up now?”

Jin pulled his arm out and picked Tae up. He got up and places Tae back on the couch, and Jungkook did the same with Xia. They both looked at Hobi.

“What do we do with him?”

“Put him with Jimin. That way when they wake up, they’re not alone. And if you want to go back to sleep, you can go to the guest room.”

Jungkook nodded and picked up Hobi before taking him to Jin’s room. Jin looked at Tae and Xia, who had snuggled together in their sleep.

“You know, they’d make a cute couple.” He smiled and went out to the kitchen to start breakfast.

Jungkook popped his head into the kitchen. “I’m gonna go back to bed.”

“All right.”

Jungkook nodded tiredly and left the kitchen. Right after he left, Namjoon entered the kitchen.

“What’re you making?”

“Hotteok. Would you like to help me burn them?” Jin joked.

Namjoon rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to burn them.”

Jin handed him the spatula. “Prove it.”

Namjoon rolled his eyes again and took the spatula as Jin got more hotteok ready to bake. Namjoon tried to flip a hotteok but broke the spatula and dropped half of it in the pan. Namjoon’s eyes widened as the pan started smoking.

“Jin-!”

Jin sighed. “I told you you’d burn-” His eyes widened as well as he turned around and saw the smoke. “What did you do??”

“I don’t know!”

Suddenly, the fire alarm went off, and Jin hurriedly grabbed the pan and put it in the sink before dumping water over it. Then, they heard a door open.

“Oh no, I think we woke them up,” Jin said.

Jimin walked into the kitchen, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. “Is there a fire?”

“No, Namjoon burnt a piece of hotteok,” Jin pulled the melted spatula out of the pan. “And maybe a spatula.”

“Oh.”

Hobi came out to the kitchen as well. “Why are Tae and Xia snuggled together on the couch? And how did Jimin and I end up in your room?”

“I got my hand stuck in the couch, so Jungkook had to take you guys off of me, and we decided to put you two in my room so the couch was less crowded. Oh, and Tae and Xia just snuggled together in their sleep.”

Jimin smiled. “In their sleep they know they are destined for each other.”

Hobi, Jin, and Namjoon just stared at him.

“Jimin, you need to stop shipping them so hard,” Hobi said, smacking Jimin’s arm.

“Oh, come on, admit it, they’d look super cute together.”

“Well, I mean, he’s not wrong,” Jin replied looking at the others.

Hobi and Namjoon looked at each other before slowly nodding in agreement. Just then, Jungkook walked out.

“I thought you were going back to bed,” Jin said, looking Jungkook up and down.

“I tried to, but then the fire alarm went off, and I couldn’t fall back asleep after that.”

“I’m surprised Xia and Tae slept through it. They’re in the same room as it,” Hobi commented.

“Eh, they’re both pretty deep sleepers,” Jungkook replied. “One time I had to wake Tae up by dumping ice water on him.”

They all stared at him with shocked looks on their faces.

“What? We had to get to school!”

“Ok, but where on earth did you find a bucket of ice?” Namjoon asked.

“Is had just snowed so I just pulled some icicles off the roof and broke them up into a bucket of water.”

“Was that how he caught the flu last year?” Jimin asked with a puzzled look on his face.

“Guys, are we gonna make breakfast or not? I’m starving!” Hobi cut in “And that conversation is way off topic anyways.”

“Well, I’m going back to bed, come get me when the hotteok is done.” Jimin headed back to Jin’s bedroom.

“Is he ever going to take off that super over-sized sweater?” Hobi asked when Jimin left.

“I really doubt it. Last time I lent him a sweater, he never gave it back. Even thought it was four sizes too big for him.” Jin turned to Jungkook. “Take Namjoon out of the kitchen and don’t let him come back out here. If he wants coffee, just make it for him. I don’t want him burning another spatula.”

Jungkook nodded and dragged Namjoon to the living room before returning to make coffee for the two of them.

“I think Tae likes Xia. He’s sitting out there with his arms wrapped around her and just staring at her.”

Jin laughed. “Well, she’s definitely his type, so I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“Are you telling me that Eternally Single Tae has a type?”

Jin nodded. “And if they start dating, you can’t call him ‘Eternally Single Tae’ anymore.”

“I know. I won’t be able to make fun of him for being the only one who’s never had a girlfriend anymore.” Jungkook shook his head “My glory days will be over. So sad.”

“Oh, stop being dramatic,” Hobi said. “Namjoon’s the only one who’s dating anyone at the moment anyways.”

“That’s not true. I’m sorta dating that one girl,” Jungkook replied.

Hobi grinned. “Say her name.”

Jungkook scowled. “But I can’t pronounce it correctly.”

“Say it,” Hobi pressed.

“Nope.”

Hobi shook his head.

“Hey, American names are hard to pronounce!”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have chosen an American girl to like then,” Jin suggested.

“I didn’t choose to like her!”

“Who?” Xhei asked as she entered the kitchen.

“Jungkook’s girlfriend,” Jin replied.

“Jungkook has a girlfriend?” Xhei asked, surprised.

“You say that like I’m a child,” Jungkook complained.

Jin laughed as he flipped one of the last hotteok. “Can someone go tell the others that breakfast is almost ready?”

Hobi nodded. “I’ll go do it.” He left the kitchen to go collect everyone.

A few seconds later, Namjoon popped his head back into the kitchen. “Can I come back out now?”

“Yeah, Jungkook had your coffee,” Jin motioned towards Jungkook. “And is Xia awake yet?”

“Nope,” Namjoon responded as he sat down. “And Tae didn’t want to wake her.”

“Oh, that boy had a crush,” Xhei commented, sitting down next to Namjoon.

Jin laughed. “You’re the third person to say that in fifteen minutes.”

Hobi came back in a few seconds later, practically dragging a half- asleep Jimin. He sat Jimin down in a chair and smacked his face softly. “Come, on, Jimin, wake up.”

Jimin groaned. “I don’t want to.”

“Come on, Min, wake up. We have hotteok,” Jungkook said.

Jimin was about to complain again when Xia came into the kitchen, dragging Tae with her.

“Good morning, sleepyheads. Breakfast is ready,” Jin smiled at them.

“Ooo, you made hotteok?” Tae asked. Xia helped him to the table and sat next to him.

“Looks good,” she commented.

“Oh, I didn’t tell you guys last night!” Xhei suddenly exclaimed, causing everyone to look at her. She held up her hand, revealing a sparkling ring. “We’re engaged!”

—————

Taglist: @jiminie-and-his-pinky-finger @taehoneycheeks

[corolune]

Breathing Underwater Chapter Three: Lightning

AO3 / Tumblr Alex had always known he wasn’t like other children. They didn't hear the song of the ocean in their ears, or feel the thrumming rhythm of the waves in their hearts like he did. Then he finds a silvery coat made of seal fur, glistening and calling him to slip it on — and everything he thought he knew about himself washes away like foam on the sea. Alex Rider is a selkie, and this is the story of how a seal becomes a spy. Prologue 〰 Chapter 1: Zephyr 〰 Chapter 2: Nimbus 〰 Chapter 3: Lightning

light·ning — ➀ the flashing of light produced by a discharge of atmospheric electricity; ➁ a sudden stroke of fortune

Only weeks after his fourteenth birthday, Alex woke to a dark sky pierced by a red and blue glow. Everything was still and silent, in that part of the night when everything was asleep. As he blinked his eyes open, he peeked through the soft curtains near his bed, and saw that the flashing lights came from a police car sat in their driveway. As he heard the doorbell ring downstairs, he could feel a sense of unease, the same way he felt when clouds started gathering and he was stuck outside. A sure sign of a storm to come.

Now fully awake, he could hear the soft sound of Jack’s slippers padding down the stairs to the door. Letting the curtain fall back over the window panes, his eyes fell on his fur coat, still on his desk chair from where he’d left it to dry after school. He wasn’t sure what was going on yet, but he didn’t want to leave it lying there if anyone happened to come inside. Shoving aside his sweatshirts and trousers, he pushed it into a hanger in the very back of his closet and slid the door shut.

He heard Jack open the front door with a rattle of the chain, and tiptoed down the stairs to peek into the foyer.

There was a policeman at the door, and Jack’s quiet words floated down the corridor.

“A car accident? But Ian was always so careful…”

Sitting down heavily on the bottom step, the words washed over him, and he felt the first thunders of the storm to come. Just like his parents, his uncle had died in an accident while traveling. Distantly, he found himself wondering if that was what would happen to him, too, dying on his way to somewhere else, a victim of someone else’s carelessness.

As sunlight bled into the sky, he couldn’t help but wonder what exactly happened to his uncle. Where had Ian been going so late at night? And how would he, the same man that drove like an eighty year old, forget to put on his seatbelt? The more he thought about it, the more he found things that didn’t add up.

Tom and Jack put it down to shock, but he knew there was something wrong. And like always, he was too curious to let it go.

A few days later, seated in a drab, grey office opposite an equally grey Alan Blunt, Alex was regretting that he’d indulged his curiosity.

“There’s something we’d like you to do for us,” Blunt said.

“My uncle died because of you. What makes you think I’m going to help you?” Alex crossed his arms and glared at him and Mrs. Jones.

Ever since he had woken to that bleak policeman’s doorbell, he had been adrift in the choppy waves of a stormy sea. At first, it had seemed like the storm would soon be over, but now he saw it was only the beginning of many, like the rains of the monsoons.

“You’ve already proven yourself to be quick, resourceful, and most importantly, curious.”

Curiosity killed the cat, Alex thought to himself as they went on to explain about some billionaire called Herod Sayle, and his plan to give away thousands of Stormbreaker computers.

“All you’d need to do is look around and report back to us,” Mrs. Jones said.

“I’m not doing it.”

All of a sudden, Blunt shifted, and when he spoke next, there was none of the forced friendliness from before. For the first time since Alex had walked into the office, he saw the cunning shark that lay beneath the man’s skin.

“Your uncle left the Royal and General Bank in charge of your care. Certainly, Ms. Starbright is no longer needed, especially with her expired visa. I’m sure Mrs. Jones could find a suitable institution that would handle your living and schooling.”

“Are you blackmailing me?” Alex scoffed in disbelief, yet somehow he’d known this was coming. The storm in his life had finally broken, and now he had these people on one hand, ready to pull him out from drowning in the icy waves. If he didn’t do as they said they would push him back into the water.

Mrs. Jones spoke around yet another peppermint. “Alex, if you only helped us with this, we’d be able to let you stay in your home with your housekeeper. Otherwise, there’s just nothing we can do.”

“You haven’t really left me a choice,” muttered Alex, with a resigned sigh. “It’s just to look around, you said?”

〰〰

He’d done much more than just looking around. When Alex crept back into the room he’d been given at the sprawling Sayle mansion, he snatched up the gadgets Smithers had given him. After some thought, he pulled his sealskin out of the bag and slipped it on, too. If things went badly, he didn’t want to leave it behind, and surely it was safer on him. After his night time adventure in the submerged tunnel, he was coming to realize it could be useful in more ways than he had initially thought. He shuddered, thinking of how the cold and dark water would have been much more comfortable and easier to navigate with his warm seal fur and sharper eyes.

Pulling the silver fur closer to himself, he quietly opened the door, only to come face to face with Mr. Grin — and then, with a sudden jerk backwards, his eyes slid shut and he saw only blackness.

When he woke, he was cuffed tightly to a hard metal chair that rested against the vast, glass wall of the aquarium. Left alone in the room, after Sayle and his assistant had left, he had the distinct feeling of being just as trapped as the restless jellyfish that was held captive in the deep tank behind him. The glow of coloured lamps cast the undulating form of the sea creature in flickering shadows onto the tile in front of him.

As he wrestled with the metal cuffs, he heard the click-clack, click-clack of heeled shoes. With a feeling of dread, he looked up to see Sayle’s other assistant, Nadia Vole.

Moments later, that dread turned into panic, as he was thrown into the winding passage and splashed into the cold tank, only metres away from the Portugeuse Man of War.

The salt water burned at his scraped and bruised wrists. The jellyfish drifted languidly while Alex spluttered and slapped at the water, keeping his head afloat in the small pocket of air.

“I hope you can hear me, Alex,” he heard from a speaker somewhere above him. Through the thick glass, he could see Vole’s cruel smile. “I am sure you will have seen by now that there is no way out of the tank.”

As he looked around, he saw there was indeed no path for escape — the metal structure holding everything together was screwed tightly, and the glass seemed too thick to shatter with his weight. All the while, he kept an eye on the dark, mauve tendrils ever reaching through the drifting current. When he turned his attention back towards Vole, she was still droning on. “Soon, you will get tired, Alex. You will drown. Or perhaps it will be fast and you will drift into the embrace of our friend. You see him...no? It is not an embrace to be desired. It will kill you.”

Kicking in the water to keep afloat, he remembered Sayle’s words describing the stinging cells dotted along the long mass of tentacles. In the neon coloured lights, the circular nodes glowed ominously.

An unforgettable death, Sayle had said.

There was an echoing beat, like a drum, and he realized it was his own heart hammering away in his chest. Flowing water rolled towards him as the current changed, drawing the creature closer, and with a quick push against the wall, he managed to evade it. The glass stretched behind him, some twenty or thirty feet of it, but the man-of-war itself was close to ten feet long.

Its tentacles had danced through the current, just inches away from his arms. He broke through the water, spluttering in his shock. As he gasped for breath, trying to keep still, something clattered against the artificial rocks that were set into the massive aquarium. Through the rippling water, he could see something shiny and metallic winking back at him in the flickering lights.

Vole’s blurry figure seemed to be laughing at him from beyond the thick glass. Suddenly the water shifted, a strong current making small waves and bringing the jellyfish back towards him. More water splashed into his face, and he felt himself being dragged with the flow, his fur coat heavy on his back. With a sharp breath, he ducked underwater, swimming towards the metal object.

Distantly, Alex heard the song of the ocean thrum through his blood. As the water closed over his hair, the hood of his sealskin floated over his head, and he felt himself fall to the rhythm that was pulsing in his heart.

There, he saw what had fallen out of his pockets — Smithers’ zit cream — and breathed a sigh of relief. Somehow, the pressure of the water had lessened, and his lungs had stopped fighting for air. When he reached for the tube, he realized why — instead of rounded fingers, he saw five stout claws, attached to a furry, grey flipper.

Alarmed, he looked through the rippled glass at the bottom of the tank and met Vole’s shocked, round eyes. Breathing out slowly, he shook his head — Vole knowing his secret would only be an issue if he found a way out of the aquarium, and it was easier to focus on the problem at hand. A quick look up, and he could see the tentacled creature still drifted near the top of the water. Hopefully the current would keep it there, long enough for him to spread the cream onto the metal frame keeping the glass in place.

He snatched up the tube from where it lay amongst the rough hewn rocks, and scrabbled at the cap, struggling to get a strong grip on it with his claws. A few failed attempts, and he resorted to holding it in his flippers, and twisting it open with his teeth.

The white cream burst out, and he smeared it onto the metal that was closest to him. He followed the seams, squeezing the tube firmly and rubbing the paste into the joints with his claws. Dodging the enormous jellyfish, he swam quickly to the other side, his back flippers beating the water powerfully, and spreading the cream onto the other side of the frame.

Now, he would only have to wait, and hope that Smithers’ cream would work just as well underwater as it had in his office. He floated into the far bottom of the tank, away from the tangled tentacles and the front wall that would soon shatter.

〰〰

A lean, fair haired man stood silently in front of a helicopter. Though he was irritated at Sayle’s habit of delaying, he looked just as bored and indifferent as the rest of Sayle’s staff. The breeze rustled the leafy trees nearby as the helicopter’s engine rumbled in wait. An inconvenient, and supposedly urgent, phone call had had Sayle scurrying off of the aircraft, and he could see the short man waving his left arm wildly. A thin, shrill sound screeched out of the phone, and he recognized it as Vole’s voice.

Yassen Gregorovich was starting to regret taking this job, and he found himself wondering how many more madmen he would have to look after before his employers realized he was better suited elsewhere.

Sayle was still on the phone as he hurried off the helipad. Sighing, Yassen climbed into the aircraft and switched the engine off, watching the older man’s silhouette disappear into the hedges. It looked like they wouldn’t be departing anytime soon. He might as well stretch his legs.

As he passed through the open archway of the house, he heard an enormous, deafening crash from Sayle’s office. Was this what had caused Sayle to hurry back inside? What was that man up to now?

In a few quick strides, he had a sinking feeling he knew what had happened.

A steadily growing stream of water puddled on the persian rug in front of the office door. It seemed that Sayle’s grotesque jellyfish had finally met its match.

He opened the door slowly, letting the water flow out to equalize the pressure before stepping inside to a scene of complete wreckage, like a seaside town after a storm.

Water gushed through shattered windows, escaping the house. Lavish furniture floated by in broken pieces, and ornate frames with priceless, soaked artwork hung crookedly on the walls. Everything was covered in a fine sheen of liquid, and droplets trickled down from where the spray had hit the ceiling. He spotted the Vole woman prone on the floor, the man of war clinging to her head like a monstrous wig, and couldn’t suppress a grimace.

He delicately picked his way through the debris, careful to keep away from the venomous tentacles, which floated lifelessly in the shallow water that still flooded the room. The front wall of the aquarium was in pieces, as if something had blasted its way through.

A shape in the corner of his eye moved, and he whipped around to face it.

Something dark and furry disappeared under a floating bronze sculpture. Grateful for his combat boots, Yassen made his way towards the corner. He hadn’t been in Sayle’s office in some time, and wouldn’t be surprised if the man had added a new creature to his collection. Kicking aside a toppled candelabra, he sloshed around the heavy wooden desk only to come to an abrupt stop.

He blinked. There, hiding under the remains of Herod Sayle’s desk, was a large, fat, grey seal. As he stared at it, the seal spread its mouth into a smile. Impossibly, the creature lifted its paw as if to wave hello, before shuffling forward with a small splash.

Yassen watched it come towards him with apprehension. Perhaps it wasn’t a fully grown seal, but the thing would easily weigh over a couple hundred pounds, enough to cause serious harm. Clearly, enough to break the supposedly high-strength glass that now covered the floor in broken shards. Had Sayle decided to house a seal in the same tank as the jellyfish? The man was truly an idiot.

The man of war was highly venomous and any animal in close contact with it would succumb to a painful death. Almost every rich person Yassen had had the misfortune of coming across in his life had the most peculiar tastes, and more often than not, their whims bordered on idiotic cruelty.

Round eyes stared up into his, and he found himself feeling a bit sorry for the animal. It was lost, stuck in an unfamiliar world, but it was a strong and brave creature. Instead of succumbing to its fate, the seal had somehow managed to smash its way out of the tank, and now, instead of cowering in fear, it bravely looked up at him, asking for help.

Somewhere deep down, the seal reminded Yassen of himself, but he brushed that thought away before it had a chance to fully form. He bent down, stretching his hand towards the furry animal, and was pleasantly surprised when it bumped its head against his skin. Its fur was soft and warm.

As he looked closer, he saw a shard of glass had pierced into its flank, a bright red line of blood marking it out from the rest of the silvery fur. Now he understood what the clever creature had been asking of him.

“Are you hurt, little one?” He murmured softly, looking into the seal’s eyes as he slowly moved closer. For a fleeting moment, he thought he recognized something familiar — something he couldn’t quite place — in those dark eyes.

The seal huffed quietly, a low grunting sound, in answer to his voice. Compared to Mr. Grin and Vole, he supposed anyone would seem friendly to the poor sea creature.

The glass wasn’t embedded too deeply, and would be easy enough to pull out. Glancing around the room, he saw the sheer curtains that lined the heavy brocade drapes — they were still relatively dry. Tearing them from the windows, he ripped off a wide ribbon of the white cloth, and snatched up a heavy throw from the remains of an armchair.

With a few careful folds of the knitted blanket, his fingers were protected from the sharp edges of the large shard. With his other, free hand, he gently stroked the seal’s side, carefully assessing the best angle to extract the fragment. A quick, sharp tug, and the glass was free — but drops of blood fell into the water at his ankles, blooming like ink.

The seal was breathing quicker now, and as Yassen reached over to grab the strip of linen curtain, he saw the seal watching the blood trickling out of the wound. Swiftly, he folded the cloth around the cut, pressing hard until the blood flow slowed.

That was when he realized that binding the bandage would be a problem. He could wrap it around the top of the seal but he wasn’t about to endanger himself by trying to roll the animal.

Well. He’d done his best, and that would have to be enough. He supposed he could call someone who actually knew what they were doing. Who did one ask for, to help a randomly appearing seal, anyway? This job was ticking a lot of firsts on his list.

Seals, it turned out, were much more intelligent than he had originally thought. The furry animal pressed its flipper against the cloth covering the wound, and rolled in the shallow water, before attempting to tie the bandage itself.

The seal slapped its flippers against the water, and let out a loud, indignant bark. Yassen was shocked to see it grab the ends of the cloth in its claws and wave it at him, and couldn’t hold back a startled laugh. Shaking his head, he bent down again and tied the bandage securely.

For such a clever and brave creature, he would have to find someone to take it to safety, away from Herod Sayle, even if he wasn’t exactly being paid for it. But first, he had a deadline to keep, and a billionaire to prod back onto schedule.

Later, a bewildered animal worker would arrive at the scene after receiving an anonymous tip, but by then the seal would be long gone, as if it had never been there.

← Previous Chapter

[molluskwritesfic]

Where the Roses Grow:  Chapter Four

The compound on Arvala-7 didn’t house one bounty, but two. Elsi Nokk is an enslaved nanny with more than a few tricks up her sleeve. She’ll do anything to protect her charge, even if it means standing against - and then with - a certain Mandalorian.

@kyjoraven​ @killtherandomness​

This story can be found on Fanfiction.net and Ao3.

Chapter Warnings: Mlld language, implied child abuse, themes associated with slavery. 

First Chapter - Previous Chapter - This Chapter - Next Chapter

Chapter Four

Turns out, Elsi’s hunch about a storm front had been right on the credits. When Kuiil woke her just before dawn, she could hear the downpour hammering on the metal roof. Thunder rumbled, powerful enough to make the hut tremble.

Rubbing sleep from her eyes, Elsi made for the bassinet, opening the shutters and peering down into the wide, frightened eyes of the baby. He whined piteously and lifted his arms in a bid to be held. 

He’d never been a fan of storms.

Bouncing him and rubbing his back comfortingly, Elsi pushed past the curtain and into the front room, finding it already occupied by Kuiil and the Mandalorian. 

Both men were already dripping. Water droplets ran down the Mandalorian’s helmet in rivets, some pooling in the dents and crevices in his armor. He was returning a breakfast tray to the counter, having already eaten. A similar bowl had been left on the table, and a gesture from Kuiil confirmed that it was for Elsi and the baby. 

“We will leave shortly,” Kuiil announced. “I will prepare the trailer and the blurrg.”

“In this storm?” The Mandalorian groused, wiping his visor with his gloves. 

Kuiil waved him away, unimpressed. “It will pass soon. If we are to reach the Jawa by midday, we must leave.” He paused, then bustled over to a box, where he retrieved a bundle of dark fabric, which he then presented to Elsi.

She unfolded the cloth, revealing it to be a large, thick cloak of sleek, weather proof material. Elsi thanked him, sitting aside for the moment in favor of spooning some of the sweet breakfast porridge into the baby, who was getting impatient and taking it upon himself to stick his hands into the bowl and shovel it into his mouth. 

The Mandalorian grunted. “Fine. I’ll help you.”

Lightning flashed through the doorway as the two men pushed their way back out into the downpour. The baby whimpered at the thunder that followed, porridge dribbling down his chin. 

Elsi wiped his face clean with her sleeve. 

“We’ve talked about this, haven’t we?” She murmured, passing a hand over the top off his head to smooth the bed head of rumpled fuzz. “It’s just a sound.”

The baby grumbled moodily, already reaching to stick his fingers back into the bowl. 

. ~0~0~0~

Elsi turned the fabric over in her hands, double checking the pins to make sure everything was in order before she began stitching. The baby waddled up and tugged at her skirt for her attention. 

When he got it, he cocked his head with a questioning little ‘Wehh?’

“Yes. It’s for you,” Elsi said, going back to her task of sewing him a new tunic. 

She was using his old one as the pattern, which meant he wouldn’t be able to wear it while she took measurements. Elsi’s room was warm, and the nanny didn’t have a problem with a little naked green baby wandering around the space for an hour or so after his bath. He certainly didn’t seem to care either way.

The child was getting stronger everyday. As soon as he had woken up, he’d scarfed down what must’ve been twice his body mass in meat stew, and then immediately wanted to play. Elsi, knowing that he was bound to be attention-starved, happily complied, and kept him entertained for hours with peekaboo, tickles, and hide-and-seek. 

Her master had been ecstatic. Lord Burkisn visited her quarters as soon as he heard, interrupting the baby’s second bowl of stew to turn the bewildered little gremlin back in forth in his hands, only to plop him back down in Elsi’s arms and stride back out, muttering excitedly to himself about contacting someone.

The baby reached up for the fabric with his little three fingered hand. Elsi paused for another moment to offer him a discarded strip left over from when she had been cutting the shapes of the sleeves. The baby chirruped appreciatively and toddled off to play with his new makeshift toy, twisting it in his hands and wrapping it around his ears to wear as a hat.

The fabric she had chosen was left over from the last time she’d made a dress for one of the other housemaids. It wasn’t the fine silks she’d promised him, but it would do for now. It was soft and light enough for free movement, but durable and thick to keep the wearer warm. Luckily for her, the baby was so small that it didn’t take much fabric to clothe him. 

Elsi had plenty of scraps that had been too small to do anything with but too large to justify throwing out, and already had plans to make him a third tunic and another, warmer coat. Sure, it would be a bit of a patchwork job, but anything was better than leaving him in the same worn out things everyday.

Elsi had been there many times. She didn’t want the same for him.

As she watched him play with the strip of fabric, she also made a mental note to piece together a cloth doll. She was sure she had some stuffing stashed away somewhere...

What.

The.

Fuck.

The baby laughed. 

Elsi’s pincushion floated in midair, drifting almost lazily across the room from where it had been sitting on the table. 

Her mind was frantically putting all the pieces together. Why so many people wanted him. Why Lord Burksin was so desperate to keep him alive and healthy. 

She’d heard of things like this before. She’d always thought of them as stories… but… 

The baby levitated the pincushion into his own hands and the sight of him holding an object full of sharp needles was enough to snap her out of her thoughts.

Elsi stood abruptly and stalked across the room to pluck it out of his grasp. 

“No,” she told him firmly, maternal sternness hiding the tremor in her voice. “We don’t play with Nanny’s needles. They hurt. Okay?” 

The baby’s ears drooped. Elsi sighed, returning to her sewing table. 

“Tell you what…”

Elsi plucked all the needles from the pincushion and stuck them all into a wad of scrap fabric. She rolled the now-harmless piece of stuffed fabric back to the baby, who immediately perked up and picked it up to squish. 

“Just until I make you something better, alright?” 

The baby chuckled, giving no indication that he understood her as he hefted the ball over his head, the Force lifting it higher than his hands would reach. 

Elsi drew a shaky sigh, returning her attention to her work, giving her hands something to do while her mind whirred away.

Yes, he was valuable. 

But what could Underworld goons want with that kind of power?

~0~0~0~ .

The storm wouldn’t last too long, but the time it lingered was dreary and miserable. The rain beat down on the metal trailer, straight and unfaltering as the lightning flashed endlessly above their heads. Kuiil rode ahead, sitting up high on the giant lizard - which Elsi had since learned was called a blurrg - as it plodded along, tugging the trailer steadily forward. 

The Mandalorian sat at the head of the trailer on a metal storage box, stoic and evidently unbothered by the downpour. He stared straight ahead with his rifle resting in his lap - though the only thing ahead of him was the rump of the blurrg, and so Elsi couldn’t help but wonder if he was making a point of not looking at her. 

The thought perplexed her, so she used it to amuse herself while they travelled. The baby was tucked away in his bassinet, either playing quietly or napping, leaving Elsi with nothing to keep herself occupied other than her own thoughts; and of the trains of thought currently available, the one concerning the Mandalorian was the least bleak. 

She was trying not to think about her collar, and was doing pretty well to forget about it, having tied the strip of fabric she’d used the day before as a bonnet around her neck to make a scarf; it wasn’t great, but it hid the scars and kept the air off her neck, which was all she could ask. 

She knew she ought to be trying to plan her way around the baby falling into the hands of the Imps, but she had so little information that she was only succeeding in making herself anxious.

But the Mandalorian was… interesting. From her vantage point sitting on her own crate a little behind and to the side of the Mandalorian’s, she could study him from underneath her hooded cloak without his noticing. Not that anything about him was especially peculiar. A rugged, world-worn member of what was rumored to be a dying culture, resorting to a gritty, violent profession to survive. Nothing unusual about that. The Empire had made that of almost everyone. 

What stood out about him was his quiet, seemingly kind nature - a trait that was in short supply these days, or at least among those that Elsi encountered. She appreciated it; it made him a trustworthy protector and a worthwhile lover, which made her almost sorry that their previous coupling was almost undoubtedly their last. 

Shame, really. Not only did she appreciate the pleasant soreness he’d left between her legs, she was still curious about that cuddly side he’d shown her. 

Rain drenched and motionless, he appeared more machine than man, and certainly wasn’t showing that softer side now. 

. ~0~0~0~

The figures of the Underworld came as night fell. Elsi thought of them as Borcatu; small, insidious vermin that wormed their way into every corner of the galaxy. There were six of them at Lord Burkisn’s table. Elsi didn’t know who they were. Didn’t really want to. But they had taken the baby with them into Burkisn’s private study, so she lingered, hoping to catch snippets of the conversation through the thick oaken door. 

She didn’t like what she heard. 

The child was as much of a slave as she was. They knew about his abilities. Knew he was valuable. Only, they didn’t seem to know what to do with him. 

The baby was up for sale.

Lord Burkisn was mediator. The spokesman of some silent, higher power. No wonder he’d been so nervous about the baby’s health; you break it, you buy it, and all. Elsi couldn’t quite get her bearings on the seller, but one of the potential buyers was definitely Imperial; the clipped, almost serene tones gave him away. A Vice Admiral, if she wasn’t mistaken. Vice Admiral Viln.

There were several other players at the table, but the most interested party apart from the Vice Admiral was some kind of warlord who was in charge of a number of mercenary gangs; hired guns, assassins, etc. He was called Kue Fusa. Elsi didn’t recognize the name, but from the way the others in the room spoke to him, he was a force to be reckoned with. 

To Viln and Fusa, it was more than an auction. They seemed to take it personally, each offer and counter offer was seen as a personal dig at the other and the formidable organizations they represented. 

With their hands temporarily tied by social niceties, they resorted to outdoing the other; and while there was no way in hell anyone actually cared beyond the credits, the baby’s welfare became a point of confrontation; Especially since he’d only just recovered from an illness caused by neglect.

In the end, Fusa offered to increase his offer and buy Elsi as a package deal.

Viln scoffed at the idea. There was no point in it. 

Elsi floundered at the thought of being sold again. 

Vice Admiral Viln, seeming to have had enough, doubled Fusa’s offer without bundling in the slave woman. 

Elsi didn’t know whether to be troubled or relieved.

~0~0~0~ .

The rain stopped around mid morning. The sun returned with a vengeance, and the remaining clouds melted into nothing like cotton candy in a watering mouth. Soon, the puddles were burned away, leaving the ground to crack and crumble under the blurrg’s stumpy legs.

With the rain gone, Elsi freed the baby from where he’d been shuttered in his bassinet, but wouldn’t let him actually get out of it to wander around in the small trailer. 

He grumbled at her moodily, but eventually gave in and flopped down to amuse himself with his toys. 

Neither the Mandalorian nor Kuiil were much interested in conversation. Occasionally, Kuiil would comment on a landmark or game trail as they passed it. The Mandalorian might occasionally acknowledge him with a half-interested grunt or a one-to-two word response. Elsi was again left with her thoughts. 

She fiddled with the bracelet wrapped seven times around her wrist, worrying the loose beads near the clasp. The beads were large enough to be threaded on a strand of the braided leather, and so were large enough to slip off when the clasp was undone.

Again, it looked next to worthless. 

Elsi tugged at the clasp a little too hard.

Oops.

One side of the clasp was pulled from where it was tied to the braid. The five or six beads nearest to the loose end tumbled off and scattered across the trailer bed, pinging on the metal and rolling every which way.

Muttering curses under her breath, Elsi crouched on her hands and knees to give chase. The Mandalorian’s helmet turned to watch for a moment, but ultimately returned his attention to the landscape.

The baby, on the other hand, studied his caretaker with wide eyes that knew a little too much. Elsi flashed him one of her secret smiles as she rethreaded the beads and twisted the clasp back into place. 

~0~0~0~ .

. ~0~0~0~

When they reached the Jawa, the sun was just slipping past its highest point. Despite the heat, Elsi kept on the cloak Kuiil had lent her as protection from the sun’s rays. When Kuiil told them that they were getting close, Elsi finally took the baby out of the bassinet and sat him in her lap. He preened when she gave his ears a distracted scratch, her eyes fixed on the dark, looming shape of the crawler up ahead. 

She heard the Jawas before she saw them. Upon seeing the traveling party, the air was filled with their agitated screeches. 

“Greetings!” Kuiil called out jovially in fluent Jawa. Elsi was pretty fluent herself, as bartering under the table was the best way for a slave to find comforts that weren’t provided by their masters, and there weren’t many people who were willing to trade with slaves.

The angry wails only increased in volume. 

“They ready don’t like you, for some reason,” Kuiil commented offhandedly to the Mandalorian, who still sat with his rifle handy across his lap.

“Well, I did disintegrate a few of them,” the Mandalorian said wryly. He shifted his weight slightly, the only indication that he was uneasy. 

“You need to drop your rifle.”

The Mandalorian’s hands tightened on the weapon. “I’m a Mandalorian,” he grit, “weapons are part of my religion.”

Kuiil shot the armored warrior one of his trademark paternally-disapproving glances. “Then you’re not getting your parts back.”

Elsi actually heard the Mandalorian’s teeth click as he tightened his jaw. For a heartbeat, she half-thought that he would refuse.

But he only sighed, sitting the rifle to the side as he pushed himself to his feet. “Fine.”

“No weapons!” The Jawa spokesperson repeated, pointing at the Mandalorian’s blaster accusingly,

“And the blaster.”

The leather glove creaked as the Mandalorian clenched his fists, but again, relented. 

The baby chirped, wiggling to be put down as the trailer came to a halt. Generally unafraid of the Jawa, Elsi placed him carefully on his stubby little feet, then followed him to the floor to sit cross-legged behind him while he stood at the edge, so that he was well within her reach should he decide to get a closer look at the funny little people that were jabbering to each other and to Kuiil.

Elsi watched the negotiations with mild amusement. Jawas were strange creatures, but easy to please, if you knew how.

In this case, they wanted an egg. 

The Mandalorian would bring them the egg.

It sounded simple enough, but Elsi knew that, for the Jawa to want something that badly but be unwilling to get it for themselves, there was no way that it was a simple task.

The Mandalorian had to have known that, but he agreed anyway. 

Elsi was beside herself with worry.

Now that she had a friend in Kuiil, Elsi wasn’t too concerned about Mando’s welfare. If he died, then she and the baby had somewhere to stay until she figured out something else. The only downside was that she’d still be stuck on Arvala-7, further increasing the risk of being caught and/or killed by other hunters. 

They needed to get offworld somehow.

And so, although she did want the Mandalorian to survive, the source of her agitation wasn’t him, but rather, the fact that he had taken the baby with him.

Elsi was pissed.

Of course, she understood WHY; to the Mandalorian, leaving both of his bounties behind, unguarded, was a bad idea. She knew he thought that, sans collar, Elsi would take the baby and make a run for it. Although she had no intention of trying to escape him, she was also well aware that there was nothing she could do to convince him otherwise.

So, they couldn’t be left together.

If he took Elsi with him, there was the off chance that she would take advantage of an already risky situation and sabotage him while he was distracted by the beast guarding the egg. 

He would take the baby, instead.

So, YES, Elsi understood. But that didn’t mean that she wasn’t still very, VERY angry about it. She didn’t even bother trying to hide it.

The Mandalorian had the decency to seem sheepish. He’d tilted his head sympathetically when she moodily tucked the child back into the bassinet, wrapping each blanket around him as if she could create a barrier to protect him while she wasn’t there. He also swore - quietly, so the Jawa wouldn't hear - to guard the child with his own life while he was in the hunter’s care.

It didn’t make her feel any better.

And so, Elsi sat on the trailer with her legs dangling over the edge, worrying the beads on her bracelet and watching the ridge that the Mandalorian had vanished over about an hour prior.

Kuiil waddled back over from where he’d been checking over his blurrg and brushing dried mud from between its scaly toes, leaning back against the trailer beside Elsi and folding his arms across his chest.

“The Mandalorian will care for the child,” Kuiil declared in that blunt way of his. “They will both return to you soon. I have spoken.”

Elsi didn’t respond, keeping her eyes on the horizon, as if she could will the baby back to her faster, if only she kept looking. 

Ugnaught grunted. “Have you considered my offer?” 

She didn’t have to look over to know he was studying her carefully. Elsi rolled a bead around between her forefinger and thumb. “My answer is unchanged.”

Kuiil had first broached the subject on the Jawa crawler, when the Mandalorian had gone up to the control room and Elsi was left to tend the baby in the cargo hold with Kuiil. 

She could stay with him on his farm, he’d said. He could sponsor her until she found something better. 

She could be free. 

“The bounty is for the child,” Kuiil insisted. “The Mandalorian does not want to see you returned to chains any more than I do. He can be convinced to leave you behind.”

The Mandalorian wasn’t the reason she refused, and they both knew it. 

“It isn’t all about credits. He has a code,” Elsi murmured anyway. “My worth is irrelevant. He will not break it.”

Kuiil shook his head stubbornly. “That is not an issue. I can help you to convince him.”

“And what, stay behind and allow him to take the child?” She scoffed. “Never.”

. ~0~0~0~

When the meeting adjourned,  Elsi slipped away before anyone could catch her eavesdropping. She returned to her quarters to wait anxiously by the door for the baby to be returned to her. 

Sure enough, another servant knocked at the door a few minutes later, carrying the lidded crate bearing the child. 

“The child has been bought,” the servant informed her. “The Vice Admiral will be staying for three days until the courier bringing the appropriate credits arrives. You are to make the child ready for departure at that time.”

Elsi took the box urgently, closing the door so hastily that she almost shut it before the servant was done speaking. She hurried over to the table and sat the box down to open it.

When Elsi flipped open the lid, her heart ached almost as keenly as it had the first time she’d done so, when the baby was first placed in her care. 

The lively, bubbly little creature that she’d grown so fond of was gone. The child huddled in the corner of the box, frightened, sad, and very much alone. It was as if the light inside him had been snuffed out. He stared dully at his stumpy green feet, his usually bright, curious eyes empty and devoid of life. 

“Hey, lovely,” Elsi murmured. His drooping ears twitched slightly at the sound of her voice. “It’s over now. All those awful people are gone. They didn’t hurt you, did they? Let me see…”

He all but melted against her when she took him back into her arms. The baby buried his little face into her neck, clutching desperately at her dress with all the strength he had in his tiny three fingered hands. 

Elsi held him tight to her chest, rubbing soothing circles against his back and humming quietly. Her heart broke just that little bit more when he began to tremble, his body heaving with sobs as he silently cried his little heart out.

In that moment, Elsi made a very important decision.

When the baby finally hiccuped himself into silence, she pulled his head carefully away from the damp spot on her shoulder, just enough to look deep into his tired, watery eyes.

“I won’t leave you alone like that again,” she promised, wiping at the tear trails and snotty nose with her sleeve. “From now on, your battles are mine.”

The baby blinked up at her owlishly, seeming to understand.

~0~0~0~ .

“The child attracts those who wish to enslave others, and will continue to do so,” Kuiil continued stubbornly. “You have been granted your freedom, and you will not lose it again. I have spoken.”

Elsi’s eyes flashed.

“I’ve come too far and fought too hard for him,” she said slowly, her voice taking on a low, yet dangerous edge. “I will not abandon him now… and I have spoken.”

.

~0~0~0~ .

[missmonsters2]

About You || Part IV

Gif by: giuliacommissions (please check her out if you’d like to commission her for gifs and other work 💞)

PAIRING: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader/OFC

Summary: Wanda had never known loss like she has until she lost Pietro. It’s debilitating. She can’t eat, can’t sleep, can’t even leave her house. Life is fading fast, and she’s not sure if she even wants to hang on. Enter you, a stranger that reconnects her to the daily things that makes life beautiful.

Warnings: Deals with loss & grief and the spectrum of emotions and depression that comes with it. Please note there is no glorification in any of this. Loss, grief, and depression are nothing beautiful. Also, please don’t hesitate or reach out for help if you are in a dark place. Love you, lovelies 💘

Genre: Angst & Romance

NOTE: Did you forget about this series? I wouldn’t blame ya LOL Please drop a comment if you’d like to be part of the tag list! 😚

PART I || PART II || PART III

PART IV of X

Translations + Transliteration Пьетро - Pietro

Count: 1497

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

“Honestly, you need to get out more.”

Wanda huffs as she tries to refocus back on her painting. Pietro has decided to come visit her during his lunch hour from work and he seems to be in a mood of harassing her on her social skills—or really lack of.

“I don’t know if you noticed, Pietro, but considering that my form of a 9-5 job includes me sitting in this studio all day painting solo. There’s not much I can do about human interaction.” Wanda dabs her paintbrush in the blue of her palette, coming back up with a steady hand as she continues her work.

Her brother admires the unfinished art his sister is creating, but he grins when he hears her reply.

“If that’s the case, I can totally introduce you to someone. They would seriously be perfect for you; hopefully, help you loosen the stick up your—”

“Пьетро!” She yells, accent thick as she glares at him, a slight blush on her cheeks. She rolls her eyes as she hears his laughter.

“Alright, but seriously, Wanda. I could introduce you to someone.”

Wanda focuses on painting again, absently noticing how she’s got the color green on her thumb, but she’s pretty sure she didn’t take out green today.

“Not now, I’m pretty busy with work.”

She whines when she feels Pietro flick the back of her head.

“Look at you, all grown up and busy with work.”

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

You’re about to leave Wanda’s after doing her dishes and sweeping the floor. You’re seemingly checking to make sure you have all your things when you notice for the first time that’s heavily pouring outside.

There’s thunder and lightning, you can barely see in front of you when you look out the window.

You hum before Wanda appears beside you, looking out the window as well.

“How did you get here?” She asks softly.

“Driving,” you answer absently, still staring at the harsh rain pouring outside. It’s not like you haven’t driven in this weather before. You’re quite adept at driving in harsh conditions being overly cautious when on the road. You’ll quite often take the back roads knowing there won’t be other cars.

“This is going to be a bitch driving home,” you sigh, turning around to leave when you feel something pull at the end of your jacket.

You turn around to see Wanda looking at you seriously.

“It is too dangerous to drive,” she tells you plainly.

“It’ll be fine,” you tell her with a wave, but Wanda doesn’t let go of her hold.

“I don’t know how long it’s going to pour for, and it’s already getting pretty late,” you purse your lips.

“You can stay the night.”

You think Wanda would be more reserved about you letting her invade her space. After all, she had been quite clear about wanting you to leave and that you were a nuisance, but then you see the look in her eyes and the seriousness in them.

She won’t say it, but you don’t need her to.

“Okay,” you agree gently.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

You find it kind of hard to fall asleep on Wanda’s couch. Not that it’s uncomfortable because her couch is weirdly better than your bed at home, but you can definitely hear the walls expanding and contracting and the drops of water from the sink.

You’ve probably lain in bed for hours now, wide awake. You sigh quietly, getting up and moussing your hair. You’re probably not going to get much sleep at this point, so you get up and to pour yourself a glass of water.

And then you hear it.

It’s quiet with Wanda having her door nearly shut, but the sound traveled through the small crack.

It was a groan.

And no, not a sexy groan, but a groan that indicated she might be in pain.

You bite your tongue, debating if you should go check because you’re not sure if Wanda would appreciate you entering her bedroom, but you hear her groan again and immediately go check. Opening the door slowly and quietly, your eyes try to adjust to the dark room. You do see a mass of hair in the bed and vague figure tossing and turning.

Making your way in, you kneel on the ground beside the bed, looking over at Wanda. Her face is scrunched up, a light sheen of sweat on her forehead, and lips trembling.

“Пьетро…”

It’s comes easier than you think it would to brush your cold fingers against her warm cheeks, watching as her face settles and unconsciously rub her face closer to your hand.

Honestly, it feels like someone is slamming a hammer right into your chest because you never thought seeing a stranger hurt like this could hurt you too.

Because she looks lost like you do.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷ 

Wanda can always tell if she’s had a nightmare. She wakes slowly, blinking in the dark. She feels different, but Wanda cannot exactly explain why.

Slowly getting up, she felt a weight drag on her hand.

Looking down, she noticed you sitting on the floor, hunched over her bed with your hand intertwined with hers.

Her eyes traveled over your bare shoulders and arms, noticing the lack of blood and tiny goosebumps, a sign you’ve been there for quite some time.

Wanda wriggles her fingers, feeling the warmth, and thinks about how hard it must’ve been to sit there as long as you did.

She can’t help but think how stupid you are.

But stupidly kind.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷ 

You watched Wanda’s face, dazed and stoic and pursed your lips as you finished up cooking.

Perhaps she was mad?

It felt like you did cross a line.

“Listen, Wanda—I’m sorry about the…hand-holding—”

“I’m hungry,” Wanda cuts you off, and you say nothing more but licking your lips as you bring the dishes to the table.

The two of you eat in comfortable silence until Wanda decides to break it again.

“Why three months?” She asks, stopping your spoon from entering your mouth mid-air. You put the spoon back down in your bowl and look over at her.

“I hardly think a month will change you, so I asked for three,” you say simply.

“Three months won’t change anything either,” Wanda argues back.

“Then I will just ask for more,” You scoop more food onto your spoon again. “If you’re so sure you’ll want to die, then it doesn’t quite matter if it’s a couple months later, does it? You can spare me more time, can’t you?”

Wanda bites her tongue.

“Why are you doing this?” She’s gripping her spoon harder then she means to, but she just doesn’t understand.

You look over at her thoughtfully.

“I want to know you.”

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

“Are you warm enough?” Wanda asks unsure as she looks at the blanket and pillow you’ve got on the couch.

You hum, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Somehow, you’ve negotiated to living with her because if you want to help her, then you need to be with her. Less time together means more likely you’ll begging for more time in the end.

That’s what you told Wanda anyways, and she seemed to reluctantly agree.

Wanda walks back to her room, settling in her familiar bed and sighs as she looks at the ceiling.

All this eating together, sleeping, talking, and sharing…it was only for three months.

After three months, she can say no to more time and everything would go away.

Even though that’s what Wanda kept telling herself, she kept tossing and turning in bed. Her hand kept clenching and opening, and she already knew what she was missing—or wanted, exactly.

Wanda liked holding hands. She wanted the handholding. It felt good, the warmth and steady pressure.

It was a mix of both pride and fear that stopped her from getting out of bed to ask you. So, she lied there, thinking about with family you don’t get a choice. She would hold hands with Pietro when he cried the first time he was rejected from his dream job, or when his long-time girlfriend moved to another city. And while she was always willingly there for Pietro, she did realize one thing.

Wanda liked having the choice.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

When Wanda woke through the night again, she knew right away it was different.

She sat up and hesitantly wriggled her fingers, feeling the familiar warmth and pressure. Looking down, she found you sitting on the ground by her bedside again, the similar lack of blood and goosebumps on your arms.

The wriggling seemed to wake you slightly as you hummed quietly, eyes still closed before you intertwined your fingers more intimately. Your thumb pressing into the back of Wanda’s hand and fingers lacing together.

She lay back down facing you, watching you as your head rest on your free arm, unaware of anything.

How stupid, Wanda thought.

You were going to catch a cold like this.

But Wanda was already smiling.

PART V

[sourbat]

39 for hammertooth if you'd like to...? 8)

Kissing tears from the other’s face.

Wow. So, this turned out big. There’s a kiss before the main one, but trust me when I say it doesn’t compare to the main course. 

I really hope you like this one. Thank you. 

Warning: set post Galaktikon 2

Toki dreamed. He dreamed he was in space, floating aimlessly amongst the vast black sea of nothingness. In his dream, he carried no physical form, no arms or legs to paddle through the weightless current, and no mouth to call his brothers who floated alongside him, there in spirit, and just as formless as he. In his dream, they sailed across earth’s outermost layer, drifting peacefully, coating the planet in a veil that soothed, healed it from the damage of a battle between gods. Toki stared outwards, at the distant stars, twinkling bright. He paid no mind to his spreading consciousness, instead taking delight in how he could stare the sun head-on without his eyes hurting, the glowing fogs of distant galaxies that radiated new colors Toki never knew existed, and the gorgeous purple and white swirl of their own milky way.

In his dream, he saw the earth beneath him, massive and blue. Eyeless, but all-seeing, Toki watched the glitter of city lights, the gathering of clouds, and the graceful turn of the planet. He saw how day transformed into night,  and in doing so, remembered a distant, faded memory. A promise he made. Something important. Toki watched the planet spin, days and weeks go by, trying to remember what it was, the promise, but couldn’t breach anything past those final moments before falling asleep. So he stopped, turning away from earth, and to the stars that flickered, at his nonexistent form, and went on, floated further into his beautiful, but admittedly lonesome dream.

…

He sailed further, vanishing into space,  consciousness never fully wavering despite the everlasting silence, the darkness and the unending sense of loneliness…

…

Something cut through the emptiness. A flat note ripped through space, waking Toki, startling him out of his peaceful state. An inkling, a sharp, painful reminder that he left something behind. With his mind now spread across the greater part of the galaxy, it took awhile just to wake up, to realize what was going on. The stars twinkled around him, and his brothers, just as equally spread and silent, quivered at the terrible sound. In his dream he was nothing more than a cluster of atoms, but the song somehow tore through Toki, attacking him, yelling and pleading for him to put himself back together. A terrifying noise. A mournful sound. An unending, unwavering rip of chords that called him forward, back to earth, to the atmosphere.  

And then came a dream of rain, of thunder and lightning, and Toki picking up each piece of himself, of Nathan and the others and, following the instruction of the grief-stricken, but now familiar tune, fixed them together and cast them into the storm clouds.

Toki dreamt of water, of falling into it and becoming one with the atmosphere. He dreamed that he was drowning. He feared he was, until a new sensation took hold. He was falling, away from the blackened sea, from the weightless joy of space, and was tumbling back to earth, falling, falling, closer to that frightening noise. The moment pieces of him sank into the clouds, collected and readied to be carried off into each droplet, the song became more rapturous, beautiful. Toki felt himself start to reform, and he could feel the fragments of a promise, and memory of him playing, helping orchestrate the music that now consumed his drenched, ailing soul.

He reached out with an arm that wasn’t entirely there, at the source of each trembling, wretched note. Each wonderful note. That familiar melody. 

His song.

 …

Toki woke to the gentle patter of rain hitting a window, and the sound of a monitor providing a steady, repetitive beep. Senses still trapped in a fog, Toki pushed a breath of air through his lips, and was surprised to discover the chapped edges and nerves stinging from the brief expulsion of air. The drizzle outside called for him to remain still. Toki couldn’t figure why, but thought he should listen to it. Still, he parted his mouth, breathing in the alien atmosphere, the strange, medicinal taste that lingered under each shallow inhale. In the distance, he heard footsteps, clicks, beeps, and voices.

Toki tried opening his eyes, to get a better sense of where he was, because he knew he wasn’t in his room. The bed underneath was too stiff, and the sheets so thin. Everything felt heavy and rigid, and whatever attempt he made to move, to wriggle in place, was met with an impossible weight. His legs were stones, and his throat was dry. His mind was alert, but his head was still fuzzy, and trying just to turn, to rub his face into the pillow made his brain feel stuffed and sick. His right arm was disturbingly numb.

The rain’s patter grew silent, and Toki possessed just enough strength to open his eyes, to meet with the harsh light right above him. His muscles squint, recoiled at the sudden change. The world was a massive, white blur, and as Toki wrestled with his consciousness, pulled himself awake and tried to focus his tired eyes on a shape, heard the monitor and turned towards it.

It was his monitor, he realized, staring wearily at the indistinct figure of a squiggly line jumping in tandem with his heartbeat.

He was…in a hospital?

Then came a sound. Something hard hitting the floor, and liquid splashing as it collided with a surface. Startled, Toki slowly turned his head, this time more capable, but felt a terrible ache that crawled up his spine and settled across his skull as he tried to locate the source of the noise.

He blinked. Standing before him was a dark, blurry figure.

“Toki?”

A pain filled Toki when he heard the voice. Magnus. He knew. Toki swallowed a lump, trying to make sense of why it hurt so much. He squinted his eyes, barely catching the outline of Magnus’ figure, the wild and indistinct form of his hair, and the long, thin design of his encroaching form. 

“…Ma–”

“Toki!” A sad, desperate cry.

Magnus approached, stepping over whatever mess he concocted, and hurried towards the bed before Toki could effectively focus on him. His bed shook, and Toki knew Magnus was there, gripping it, trembling above him. He stared at the blurry figure, barely making out the man’s silhouette, but spotting the rich color of his iris set upon him.

“You’re awake…”

The shaking of the bed ceased, now replaced with warm, shaking fingers outlining Toki’s face. Toki closed his eyes at the touch, racked with a terrible ache as hands cupped his jaw. Each touch was so affectionate, so tender, and for whatever reason, Toki felt starved of it. Warm hands. A thumb rolling over his cheek. He detected every distinct movement, no matter how soft, how subtle, and the pain that nestled in his chest grew bigger, heavier, and a terrible feeling, one Toki couldn’t put into words, gripped him. As if he had read Tokis’ mind, Magnus now hovered over him, and his lips gently applied soothing reminders across Toki’s forehead that this was real; his frantic, uneven breaths hitting Toki’s face was real; each pained touch that warmed Toki’s weakened state, reawakened nerves and filled Toki with energy, was real. It was supposed to calm him, but Toki shuddered, terrified by the thought that arose, the thought that this was real, that he was finally feeling something. 

Like he was waking up from a very long sleep.

Toki stared into the dark mass of hair and shadows. “Magnus?”

“Yeah,” his warm voice spoke, trembling and reverberating that same fear as it sank into Toki. Magnus pulled back. “H-how you doing, buddy?” 

Toki stared at the reconfigured form, of Magnus slowly coming into better view. Toki could make out the red surrounding Magnus’ eye, the blurry line that made up his smile. 

He swallowed again. “…tired.”

Magnus chuckled above him. “I’ll say,” he said, voice stressed and hoarse. “You’ve been sleeping for nearly a week.”

Toki went silent. A whole week?

It would explain why he felt so tired, muscles and joints stiff from a lack of movement, and body sore and weighted from underuse. Toki blinked, a little pleased when he reopened them to see some loose strands of Magnus’ hair finally begin to solidify. He could make out Magnus’ face better, and with it, could see what his long sleep had done. The man looked so worried! So concerned. So…so tired.

“Ams…awakes now,” Toki said, surprised by how a week-long rest could result in his voice so faint, lungs exhausted from a simple inhale.

Oh, but they had a battle! Right… a battle in space. No wonder he felt so weak.

“Magnus,” Toki called, heaving the man’s name out. “Dids we...”

“You did it, man,” Magnus said, voice falling to a barely controlled quiver. The space between them vanished once more, shadow returning to cover Toki. Magnus’s hands cradled his head, returning and supplying Toki with a touch that was still so intense, so refreshing despite only being away from him for a week. “You saved the planet. You all did…”

Toki smiled at the news, felt the ends of his eyes burn as Magnus continued to feed and refill his hungry, empty body with his touch. Toki closed them, choosing to focus on the relief of knowing it was finally over, and sighed under each welcoming sensation, the warmth of Magnus’ presence finally reentering his life after spending so long dreaming of the stars. He listened as Magnus informed him it was alright, that everyone was alive, that the others were waking up with each passing day. Toki sniffed, elated to hear that everyone was safe, that Skwisgaar would wake up soon after him, and they’d all be able to celebrate. Abigail was here. And Charles. His arm was broken, and he suffered some burns here and there, and he’d have to stay in the hospital for a little while longer to run some tests, but he was alive. Everyone was alive, and he made it back in one piece.

Suddenly, his smile started to burn, and Toki felt a minute rip spread across the center of his upper lip. He licked it, tasting the parting of his chapped skin, and winced at the sting of his own dry tongue. He swallowed. “Ams…thirsty.”

“Gotcha,” Magnus said, and parted from him to retrieve some water. The instant he did, the ache returned. It was less than a minute, but the yearn for touch, for someone to acknowledge and speak with him quickly consumed Toki’s thought. It was the same, unending feel of loneliness that had started to fill his dreams, and was returning with a vengeance for each second he spent alone.

But Magnus returned, cup and straw in hand, and the pain quelled long enough for Toki to get the first eager sips of liquid down his throat. His slip lip ached, but a few licks from his now moist tongue helped ease the pain. 

“Better?” 

“Yeah,” Toki answered, smiling up at Magnus.

Magnus leaned close and carefully placed a finger on top of the cut lip. “Here, let me get you some more,” he said after a quick check, and left his seat to refill the cup. As he did, Toki cast his tired eyes on the man, and he noticed there was something off about his appearance.

He was thin. Magnus was noticeably slimmer, enough that Toki could point it out despite his vision not being his best. There was that fine blur that suggested it might not be the case, but when Magnus returned to his bedside, Toki could see the finer details. His cheekbones were more pronounced, and Magnus, though happy, looked emaciated.

“You hasn’t beens eatins,” Toki stated, frowning. He tried lifting his left arm to touch Magnus and  feel the sharp counters that he had worked so diligently to fill with hearty meals and love, but could barely bring to lift it. 

Magnus took Toki’s hand into his own. “I’m sorry, Toki,” he said, smiling terribly at him. “It was…rough. I’ll regain it all back, man. Just you wait. You just…” Magnus paused, lowered his head and inhaled deeply. He glanced up. “You just focus on getting better, alright?”

Toki gave a weakened nod, but struggled to hold a smile. Magnus looked unwell. He almost looked as bad when Toki visited him in the hospital, right after he recovered from his surgery. He looked so much thinner! Exhausted. Broken down. It… hurt. Toki remembered working so hard to get his weight up, and Magnus lost it all in such a short period. He must have been so stressed, so worried looking after him. 

The threat of tears arose, and Toki shut his eyes.

“Something wrong?” he heard Magnus ask.

Toki shook his head.

“What is it?”

Toki sniffed, opening them. “You must... have beens so... w-worried,” he said, whimpering out the words. “Must… have beens a… really scaries week.”

Magnus stood up to get closer. He pressed his head gently against Toki’s. “You’ve no idea. But don’t worry; I’ll be ok.” He got closer, arms wrapping around Toki’s lying body, carefully sliding underneath him and stopping whenever Toki jerked from the random jolt of pain. Somehow, he managed to produce a recognizable hug. A strange, distant hug, but one Toki realized he desperately needed. The moment Magnus affirmed it, Toki wanted nothing more than to return it, to break whatever space remained between them and experience the entire embrace. He wanted to feel Magnus hold him, enjoy the fastened pace of his heart and the sheer joy of just having him close. But even this awkward, incomplete hug felt so good. So refreshing. New. Like he hadn’t…

Like he hadn’t hugged Magnus in a very, very long time.

Toki blinked. Tears began to roll down his face as he revisited his dream and saw himself, not quite alive, but not dead either, floating in space, watching the earth slowly spin with the passing days. How many times did it spin? Toki lost count, and his attention had turned towards shooting stars and far away galaxies once he grew tired of the revolving earth. He spread all over the cosmos, getting lost, forgetting, and it was only because he heard the song…

Toki sniffed. “M-Magnus?”

Magnus held him as close as he could. “Yeah, Toke?” 

Toki closed his eyes one final time to try and stop the tears, to fight the horrible realization that was unfolding before him. “H-how longs…how longs has Toki beens gone?” he coughed. Magnus shuddered at the question. Toki wriggled in place, even though it took up so much of his energy. Even though it hurt. He needed to see Magnus. He needed to know. Toki continued moving, pushing Magnus away until he had no choice but to face him. Trembling, Toki asked, “How longs did it… takes me to gets backs home?”

He saw the anguish in Magnus’ eyes.

“M-Magnus?”  he pleaded, shaking in his bed. He inhaled a deep breath, fighting through the soreness to get a full sentence out. “H-how longs haves you and everyones been waitins for us?”

Magnus recoiled at the question. Toki watched as Magnus brought a hand to cover his darkened eyes, to hide away a drop of the pain that was now emitting from him. Magnus trembled,  his lips curled into a thin line as he exhaled heavily through his nostrils. Finally, after some time, Magnus dropped his hand, letting it fall on top of Toki’s, while the other gripped the bed’s metal railing.

“You’ve…well, you’ve been away for a while, buddy,” he said, voice fighting between keeping a gentle composure, and wanting nothing more than to break and fall into a state of piteous cries.  Magnus’s mouth remained opened, and Toki watched as he sucked in a staggered breath. Magnus squeezed his hand.  “A little more than two months.”

Toki sank. “W-what?”

“You arrived just in time for New Years,” Magnus said, forcing a laugh. He squeezed Toki’s hand again, adding a little playful shake. “D-don’t worry…I’ll sneak in some champagne.”

Months.

The word hit hard. Months. He’d been away for months. He’d been dead for months!

No wonder Magnus was so thin. It’s been months. He waited for months. Abigail and the others…

Months.

“Oohhh…” Toki’s lips curled, bearing teeth before parting further. A pain stabbed at his heart. He let out an airy gasp, then broke into a weak cry.

“Hey, hey.” Magnus lowered, letting go of the railing to pet Toki, and then gave him a more affirming squeeze. “Hey. Shhh. It’s alright.”

“N-no ams not!” Toki wailed. He coughed, choking on uneven gulps of air. “I…I has been gones for… t-two months. I…”

Magnus pressed his face into Toki’s crown. “It’s ok,” he whispered into Toki’s messy hair. “I’ll catch you up on everything.” Another haughty laugh. “Spoiler alert: nothing important happened.”

Toki stared at Magnus’ heaving chest. “B-but, Magnus...”

“Toki, it’s al–”

“I l-left you all alones…” More tears fell, and Toki let out a staggered whine. “Yous waited f-for two months…and Toki… m-missed your…”

Magnus’ hand shook.

“…I m-missed your birthdays!” Toki bleated, and let out another whine once Magnus pulled him into a hug. A real hug.

His arm, though in a cast, ached. It burned, stung like nothing Toki ever felt before, but when faced with the pain, all he could think to do was bring his one good arm up to return the favor. He lifted it as high as he could, barely making it over Magnus. More tears fell as Toki felt the effect of their embrace, the warmth that he’d been deprived of for months.

“I missed y-your birthdays…and Christmas…” he bawled. His heart stung, racked with guilt. “I gots you n-nothings!” 

“Oh, no, Toki.” Magnus pulled away, breaking the hug in the process. He stared down at a wretched Toki, face ruined with tears, saliva and snot. Magnus shook his head at him. “No, you…”

He cupped Toki’s shaking jaw. Thumbs rolled over Toki’s cheeks, wiping away a few of the tumultuous streams of tears covering the younger man’s face. Toki winced, squinting each time Magnus tried, but failed, to cut off a stream, then felt another burst of heartache when Magnus gave up, succumbed and let a gentle flow begin to fall from his hardened face. He dipped forward, face covering Toki’s. Toki felt the sharp prickle of Magnus’ unkempt facial hair rub against him. Magnus drew his lips upwards, kissing Toki’s tear-stained cheek. The first stung just as bad as the hug, but then came the second, kissing another stream away and leaving behind an inkling of relief. Then, a third. A fourth.

Then Magnus parted. “You gave me the best damn gift of all,” he said, voice hoarse and raspy. He looked Toki in the eyes. “You came back. Like you said you would.”

Toki hiccuped a weak cry.

Magnus wiped away some of his own tears with his sleeve, then smiled. “Gift just…it arrived a little late,” he said, stuttering an awkward laugh that was far more genuine than the last. It was real, and although it sounded so off, and it ended with a sharp, staggered inhale, the truth that filled each word before it, the smile that lifted it, and the lighthearted beginning of its treble was more than enough to let Toki know Magnus meant it.

Hearing it, Toki sniffed, squinted his sore eyes, and then broke into another, more uncontrolled cry. He bobbed his head, trying to agree, trying harder to smile, but the tears wouldn’t stop. Magnus returned to him, attending to the opposite cheek, and kissed at the tears that wouldn’t cease flowing. With his weakened arm, Toki held on to Magnus, fighting whatever pains it brought him to have him close, even after his monitor warned him to stop, and the nurses raced in to demand what was going on and tell Magnus to have better control of himself.  He didn’t let go. He wouldn’t let go even after the nurses threatened to put him under, and another called for Mr. Offdensen. Toki held on, waiting for that moment when Magnus kissed all the tears and inner turmoil away, leaving nothing behind but the pain from a long battle and the promise that, that too, would soon be soothed by him.

[shreddedparchment]

A World of Our Own Pt.01

The Big Boom

08/05/2019

Pairing: Bucky x Reader     Word Count: 8,630

Masterpost     Warnings: language, dead bodies, Bucky’s lower back dimples

Prompt: Castaway AU

A/N: This is for @ruckystarnes ‘s Summer of AUs Challenge. I’ve had this idea in my head since I signed up but wasn’t sure where to start or how long to make it and I think it’s now officially been established that one shots are nearly impossible for me to do. So, here’s another mini series. Not sure how long it will be but I do have a beginning, middle, and end in mind. I hope you like it and as always, if you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

The cabin is quiet. Save for the jumble of white noise that deafens you to everything but the subtle ding of the seatbelt sign.

There’s a comfort in the clouds that roll past your window, obscuring all the world beneath you as you slice the heavens in the mass of painted aluminum.

Alone, you booked your ticket, boarded your plane, and sat until you fell asleep. You were in the air when you woke up only a few minutes ago.

Wiping at your sleep heavy eyes, you scan the seats beside you, in front of you, and behind you. All of them are empty.

For one paralyzing moment, you remember all of the horror movies and TV shows were people disappear on planes. The Langoliers sticks out vividly and you fumble to reach up and press the call button.

You wait only a minute before a smiling stewardess with soft corn colored hair pulled up into a tight and neat bun moves towards you then politely leans in. She smells like pastries. Cinnamon and vanilla, soft bread and glaze.

“Yes, ma’am? Is everything alright?” She asks, sweet honey like voice that sounds so put on you almost scoff but it’s her job to be as customer service friendly as possible.

“I-Am I the only one on the plane?” You wonder, eyes drawn into narrow slits as you consider the woman and look for signs of possible body snatching.

What if she’s an alien?!

“Oh.” She gives you a more genuine smile, laughing lightly as she shakes her head. “No. There is a gentleman sitting a few rows up and to the left.”

You push yourself up almost frantic, craning your neck to see this mystery flier and spot a dark chestnut brown head of hair carefully pulled back, his body slumped against the window he’s sitting next to.

A sigh of relief slips through your lips.

“Why are there only two of us?” You wonder, curious as you’ve never flown on a plane with only one other passenger.

“I’m not sure.” She admits, brow kindly furrowed despite the deep tone of curiosity in her voice. “All of the seats were paid for but only you and the gentleman over there came aboard. We waited until the last possible second, but we couldn’t wait any longer.”

“Oh.” You reply lamely, your mind racing to think of reasons every other person on this flight wouldn’t show.

Had there been an accident? Something big that had prevented people from getting to the airport?

It seems highly unlikely. What other reason could there be though? Had sixty people all woken up late and missed their flight?

“Can I get you something to drink?” The woman asks.

“Oh, no. Thank you. How much longer do we have? How long was I asleep?” You wonder, staring up into her sharp green eyes.

“We’re not even halfway yet.” She smiles, the more she speaks the more she settles into genuine friendliness. “Eager to get home to someone?”

“No.” You reply lamely, sadly. The ceaseless cavity of the empty plane suddenly too quiet. “No one. You?”

She nods. “My husband and little boy will be waiting for me when we land. I’ve been in the air for almost three weeks.”

How nice.

“Sure you don’t want anything to drink?” She asks again, hand gently placed on your forearm.

It’s soft and warm. A tender gesture as she watches your expression for betrayal of thirst.

“I’m sure. Thank you.”

“Alright. We’ll be serving your dinner in about an hour. If you’d like seconds when the time comes, just let me know. We’ve got lots of paid for food that won’t get eaten.” She curls her lip, a wry smile at the free food then moves back down the aisle and disappears behind a deep blue curtain.

Fifteen minutes later she comes back. She escorts you into first class and allows you to sit wherever you’d like. You pick a window seat on the right side of the plane and quickly glance out to see if you might see land.

Instead you spot water in the breaks of the heavy clouds the plane is currently soaring through.

Water?

You look for the stewardess again, heart beating heavily as a small bit of panic creeps in. You aren’t supposed to be flying over any oceans.

Distraction from this red flag comes in the form of the stewardess moving back into the first-class cabin with the man from before trailing behind her.

He’s tall, wide, with broad shoulders, thick hips, thighs the size of telephone poles, wearing a pair of faded blue jeans, dark almost black t-shirt underneath a thick black jacket. He’s wearing a black cap over his long brown hair, a plain black backpack on his back.

He keeps his head down, avoiding your gaze but when the stewardess stops beside where you’re sitting and gestures to the seat next to you, he looks up at you.

He’s wide awake, despite the slumber he’d been in. Steel blue almost ice-like eyes bright and alert. His jaw is fuzzy with a five o’clock shadow and his hands are covered with black leather gloves.

He must be cold.

The square line of his jaw, straight nose, deep brooding brow accompanied by his stunningly fit physique, set him apart from all other men you’ve ever seen.

He’s gorgeous. Handsome in a roguish kind of way. He looks familiar but you’re not sure why.

You give him a timid smile, friendly but unsure.

Stern eyes turn to the stewardess before he moves around her, through the two center seats, and sits down on the left side of the plan as far front as he can. He takes his backpack off and shoves it underneath his seat before pulling his hat down low and probably going back to sleep.

It would be foolish to feel offended by this snub because he doesn’t know you so why should he sit next to you but you do feel offended and you exchange a look of surprised upset with the stewardess who is blushing deep pink at her failed attempt to make her two charges sit together.

“I didn’t want to sit with you either.” You grumble, knowing that he probably can’t hear you over the roar of the plane.

“Sorry.” The woman says but you shake your head. “Dinner?”

“Please.” You nod and she disappears one more time.

She takes forever.

Five minutes pass. Then ten. Fifteen. Twenty.

As you’re about to rise to check on your food, the seatbelt sign above you illuminates as a ding disturbs the otherwise silence of the plane.

“The pilot has turned on the fasten seatbelt sign. It looks as if we are headed into some rough weather. Please fasten your seatbelts and remain seated. Thank you.” The stewardess says, her voice tight with tension.

You quickly do as she says, glancing out of your window again as the previously gray clouds darken into a threatening purple.

The man to your left does the same, eyeing the curtain suspiciously when there’s a sudden jerk as the plane falls a foot.

You gasp, grabbing the back of the seat in front of you and the arm rest on your right. It shakes again, the pitter patter of heavy rain added to the hum of the plane. Thunder shakes it as the bloom of lightning flashes outside your window.

It all happens so quickly that your mind has little time to make sense of it all.

The plane shakes and throttles, jerking up and down, left to right. It hurts your joints and makes your teeth click as you clench your jaw in fear.

More than once your eyes wander to the man on the left side of the plane and he looks at you too.

Something in your eyes—probably the paralyzing terror you’re feeling—prompts him out of his seat.

“You okay?” He asks, voice smooth and rich.

It makes you feel better but only for a moment.

He makes his way towards you surprisingly agile and when he settles into the seat beside yours, he fastens his seatbelt again and turns to look at you, placing his right hand over your left which is currently clutching your arm rest.

“It’ll be okay.” He says. “Planes are very safe.”

Liar. Your mind reels. You nod, hoping more than believing he’s right.

The plane suddenly drops several feet, moving fast and throwing your body up out of your seat to hover for a few seconds. The stewardess on the other side of the now swaying curtain is seated in her own seat, fastened in, screaming at the top of her lungs.

This isn’t normal!

The man beside you wraps his right arm around your shoulders and helps to hold you steady, but the two of you are being pulled and jerked in every direction as the plane continues to shake and tumble.

“We’ll be okay.” He nearly shouts beside your ear, but you barely hear him over the roaring of the plane as it suddenly shoots forward, angling downwards as it starts to plummet.

The lights begin to flicker and then completely shut off making the lightning storm outside the only source of illumination.

You reach over and fist the man’s jacket, clinging like a child as the plane loses power.

There’s a sudden explosion behind you to your left and you feel the sudden rush and pull of powerful air, heat, flame…fire? In the air?

You huff in panic, breathing fast and shallow as the cabin pressure changes and your head begins to feel dizzy. Like a swirling vortex you’re pulled deeper into darkness as the man beside you pulls you closer.

There’s a loud click and safety masks fall from the ceiling. You’re too terrified to reach for one and instead look up at the handsome man.

There are worse ways to die than staring at the face of a beautiful stranger. He also meets your gaze and frowns before reaching up to grab a mask.

He ignores protocol and begins to put it on you, but you black out just as the thick yellow cup closes around your mouth.

The tremulous call of seagulls pull you from oblivion. You aren’t ready to wake up and yet consciousness comes upon you anyway.

Clinging, wet heat chokes you. It weighs your body down, suffocating your lungs into a gasping breath. You’re also wet. Clothes heavy and damp like you’d been swimming in your clothes.

Something hisses and your mind sounds a warning.

Snake!

You scream, sit up, and search for the threat.

It hurts to look around. It’s bright and you blink against the light of day.

The sun almost seems to shine straight down on you, though you don’t see the warm yellow of summer. Instead the light is filtered. Bright but darkened by layers and layers of cloud cover.

“Hey! Wake-Finally. Hey, get up.” That previously soothing voice says.

You turn in search of it as your memory comes flooding back.

You’d been on a plane. Nearly alone. It had started to rain. The plane had begun to shake and then fall.

As you look around, you see an endless white sand beach. It extends to your left. To your right. Curving around as if it extends out to the ocean before you, teal blue waters made whiter by the black storm clouds that paint the horizon.

“Get up.” The voice says again, and you turn around to look behind you.

He’s there, sans jacket, dark gray shirt clinging to his toned torso as he lugs what looks like a five-foot section of the plane you’d just been on. It’s cut and torn as if someone had taken a saw to it but more wild and without the precision of a defined man-made cut.

You see two windows and several seats still attached to the cracked floor.

Had the plane actually crashed?!

“Grab those carts.” The man tells you, gesturing with his chin at two silver food carts to your left as he disappears into a split in the dense tropical green.

Palms line the edge, rising high and then twisting and bending in wild angles. Huge ferns litter the bases, emerald conifers fill in the gaps. You can see pretty magenta, white, and yellow flowers throughout, and the occasional dry brush. All of them swaying dangerously in the chilling air of the coming storm.

You’re not quite sure why you listen but you crawl onto your knees then slowly get to your feet, swaying from side to side for a moment before you find your footing and trudge through the wet sand towards the carts.

It takes all your strength to pull just one up along the beach towards the tree line. You nearly make it, giving your cart one last grunting pull before you fall onto your bottom, hands slipping from the handle you’d been holding. The man emerges, hustling down to the other cart and lifting it up onto his shoulder as if it weighed no more than a sack of feathers.

He sighs when he sees you sitting, gaping with your mouth open at his display of strength.

“Move.” He shoves your hands away, nudges you out from in front of the cart with his knee, then takes hold of it and drags it the rest of the way through the trees.

You’re slightly affronted by the pushing, but you get to your feet and in stunned silence, take another look around you.

Where’s the rest of the plane? Is all that’s left the bit you’d seen the man carrying? What about the pilots and the stewardess?

Her husband will be waiting. Her little boy.

“Hey.” The man says again, startling you into a small jump as he pulls your attention back towards the trees. “Come on, unless you wanna try your chances out here when the hurricane hits?”

“H-hurricane?” You squeak, but he doesn’t wait for you and heads into the trees.

Fear pulls you after him. Stumbling as you race to catch up to him, you turn your eyes to the floor of the tropical jungle to move faster.

You look up to find him again and see nothing but black as you crash into his chest.

You gasp, hands reaching out to keep yourself upright. He grabs your wrist, pulling you towards him so that you can find your footing.

“Keep up.” He orders, then releases you to follow him.

“Wait.” You complain, he’s moving too fast.

Your floor length navy floral summer dress seems like a silly travelling outfit choice now, and you hike up your skirt to keep from tripping over it. Though, you’re thankful for the thin racerback spaghetti straps. This heat is unbearable.

Even with that, it takes all your strength and energy to keep up with him. You also realize that you’ll have to make a choice. Keep up and fall or stay upright and fall behind.

You fall twice.

The second time, you stab your hand with a sharp black rock, hidden beneath the large serrated leaf of a fern, also scraping your knees through your dress on solid ground.

Your hand bleeds and you wince, scurrying back onto your feet before you lose him.

For the second time you see black and crash into his chest.

“Ow.” You gasp, accidentally stepping on his foot but your weight seems to mean nothing as you scramble backwards off it.

He reaches for your wrist again, this time angling your right hand up to look at the fresh wound on your palm.

“If you get hurt, you need to say something.” He chastises you then bends down, takes hold of the bottom of your dress and rips a long piece of the thick blended fabric.

“Hey!” You complain, surprised by his grabbing your skirt.

Frowning at your protest, he shoots you a small glare but then wraps your hand up with the strip of fabric.

“Hold that tight.” He instructs and suddenly you’re very aware of the lack of carts.

“Where are the carts?” You wonder, looking around for what must be the food and drinks.

“I already dropped them off.” He says, which is impossible.

“How-?”

“Come on.” He says, sliding his right hand down into your left.

He curls his fingers around it, holding tight as he sets off again, moving slower as he pulls you along.

You’re silent the rest of the way, nervously glancing around at the trees. Wondering if maybe you should be more worried about wandering into the jungle with a strange man.

The walk from the beach takes about five minutes when the trees suddenly part to a small clearing. The torn-up bit of the fuselage that you’d seen him carrying into the trees is set up against two trees. Most of the curve is still there and he’s angled it so that it can almost shield from all directions but most especially the top.

The two carts are indeed already here. Pressed against the last exposed side of his makeshift shelter to cover it from all sides but one. The end, to be used—you assume—as the entrance and exit. The windows are angled so that they provide sight straight up to the sky.

“Get in there and get one of the bottles of Vodka and clean your hand. In my backpack you’ll find some bandages. Wrap it up.” He points at the fuselage and lets your hand go.

“Where are you going?” You gasp, turning to look at him as he moves back towards the beach.

“I saw some bits of the plane we might be able to use to make some tools. We have maybe two or three hours tops before that storm hits and we’ll need something for when we go to the bathroom.” He’s thinking so practically.

He’s sprung into action so quickly despite the swaying trees, the air whipping against your bodies, or the strange cracks and animal cries coming from the jungle around you. You’re still wondering what happened to the stewardess and the pilots.

Are they also somewhere around the jungle? Is this an island? It must be.

He turns to leave again, and panic drives you towards him. You reach down and take hold of his left arm. Having been expecting warmth, you’re slightly stunned when you feel cool metal. You turn your gaze down to it, noticing for the first time the sleek black bionic arm.

How you hadn’t noticed it before when he’d wrapped up your hand you don’t know but now you can see it. All the way up to the bulging metal bicep.

You’re thrown for all of a split second before your eyes are blazing into his, “Please don’t go.”

He looks at you, taking in your scared expression then pulls his arm from your grasp but only so that he can take your right hand, holding it more gently as your cut is there on your palm.

“You’ve been so brave until now.” He observes. “I need you to stay that way.”

“What happened?” You ask, desperate for answers.

“I don’t know. The storm blew us off course, but the explosion is why we went down.” He explains.

“Explosion?!” You cry, remembering the big boom behind you right before you’d passed out.

“We can talk about this later. Right now, I need you to be brave for me again. Can you do that? I have to go get what we need before the storm hits.” His reasonable tone is what prompts you to nod.

He looks at your wrist and points at one of the black hair ties you always carry there.

“Can I borrow one of those?” He asks.

You pull your hand from his grip and peel off the first one and hold it out to him.

“Get inside the fuselage. I’ll be back in a bit.” He tells you as he quickly sweeps his hair up into a high bun.

“You’ll come right back?” You ask, so afraid of being alone here where no one will know to find you.

“I’ll come right back.” He promises, then moves to head out again.

“What’s your name?” You ask him, hoping that maybe if you know his name, you’ll feel more comforted that he’ll return.

“James.” He tells you. “James Buchanan Barnes. But everyone calls me Bucky. What’s yours?”

“Bucky…” You repeat the name quietly, clinging to the way it tastes as you speak it. “Me? I-I’m Y/N.”

“I’ll be back, Y/N. Get inside.”

You nod and finally obey, moving to the entrance then drop to your knees to crawl in. The space isn’t small by any means, but it is low and close to the ground. You can sit up straight inside with plenty of space overhead but neither of you will be able to stand inside.

When you turn around to look outside, Bucky’s gone.

The hurricane lasts three days.

Bucky keeps you in the shelter as the storm rages overhead. You’re absolutely terrified. The tempest tears trees up by their roots and you tremble with fear as you hear the distinctive creak and crack of large thick trunks being torn apart.

When it passes, Bucky’s survival instinct truly kicks in filling him with a relentless drive.

He takes you down to the beach, hand in hand, slowly waiting for you to step over the mish mash of foliage and jungle debris.

It’s hotter than ever, even more so after such a big storm, and you have to stop several times to catch your breath.

“You okay?” He asks, waiting patiently despite the energy you can see him nearly levitating with to begin running around doing his own thing.

You’re in his way but he’s trying not to let you see it.

“Yes.” You gasp, skin dewy and sticky from the compressing wet air that labors your lungs.

He releases your hand.

“Sit.” He orders and you gratefully do as he says, finding a small fallen tree to perch yourself on.

He gives your dress a glance then moves towards you and with that sleek bionic arm of his, he tears at your dress to make it shorter.

“Hey.” You reply, startled.

He rolls his eyes at you, frowning at you with a look of exasperation, full pink lips puckered with his disapproval.

“Don’t flatter yourself. It’s just in the way.” He quips, then holds out the excess fabric and begins to tear strips for what you assume is makeshift bandages.

He pulls his backpack—it’s surprisingly still intact after the plane crash—around and stuffs the fabric in before giving you another glance.

You flinch as he reaches out, tracing with his right thumb the length of your lower lip. You can feel the pull of his heated skin against the chapped mess of your lips.

Once more he delves into the black abyss of his bag and pulls out a large bottle of water.

You know now that it’s filled from a small flowing stream close to the fuselage, and the only reason he’d chosen that particular spot for the shelter is because of the close proximity to that wide stream of fresh water.

“Here. Don’t drink too much or you’ll make yourself sick.” He instructs.

“How does someone get sick from drinking too much water?” You ask, slightly irritated but you take the bottle and begin to guzzle it down.

“Don’t-” He sighs, “Ugh, whatever. Make yourself sick.”

He gets to his feet and offers you his hand again. With a quarter of the water gone, you rise wincing at the pain in your ankles and the soles of your feet but happy with the slosh of liquid in your belly.

Your feet burn and ache as you put your weight on them. Your attempts not to wince fail and Bucky looks down at them.

Self-conscious, you shift uncomfortably trying to hide your sandal covered feet underneath the green ferns that cover the ground.

“Come on.” He pulls you along again, water bottle sloshing in your free arm as he pulls you slightly faster but still slow enough that you can maintain your balance.

As the beach comes into view, the dark skyline in the horizon seems to be fading, turning more blue than gray.

The water shines like turquoise jewels, bright and pretty. This beach, with its white sands, curving palms, and beautiful clear waters is the very definition of paradise.

A dream destination for any vacation seeker. And yet, you hate it. You’re stuck here. No modern amenities. No escape. Just Bucky.

He releases your hand. He’s already talking, pointing down the long length of the beach to your left and then your right but you only hear a buzz in your ear instead of the words that he speaks.

You stumble forward, staring out at a section of shallows about fifty feet out into the water where the cockpit juts out, nose in the air, windows somehow still unbroken. About twenty feet in further, the section of the plane you’d been sitting in sits halfway submerged, torn apart from the front during the crash.

“Y/N!” Bucky nearly shouts, two feet in front of you, shoving himself into your line of sight.

You tear your eyes away from the front of the plane and search his gaze for the fear that you’re feeling, the hopelessness.

“What?” You ask, voice choked.

“I need you to walk the beach, look for anything that might have washed ashore that we can use.”

“The black box?” You ask, stepping towards him. “Did you find the black box?”

Bucky breathes in slowly, watching your composure fall apart.

“It was destroyed in the storm.” He explains. “The first one. The stewardess and the pilot had been going on about how it was malfunctioning before we even began to feel turbulence.”

“H-How do you even know that?” You demand, desperate for him to be wrong.

The humid island breeze whips your hair, somehow never drying your skin despite the constant flow.

“I have really good hearing.” His mouth is set in a tight disapproving line.

“But they’ll know where we are, right? They’ll just search the flight route.” You bargain.

“We…” He hesitates.

“What?” You demand, moving closer again, stopping right in front of him, chin lifted to stare up into his shifting blue eyes.

He searches yours too, looking for something. Sanity maybe.

“We were off course for a while. About two hours, I think. I’m not sure. I really was asleep before the stewardess moved us to first class, but we weren’t on the right flight plan.” He explains and all hope seems to fade.

You very nearly lose it right then and there, but Bucky’s hands come up to rest around your biceps.

“I need you to keep it together, Y/N. I need you.” He says, deep voice smooth and calm.

He needs me?

The words fill you with an odd sense of calm. There’s a whisper of truth in them and you’re sure he does need you but it’s not for survival. Not in the sense that you need him. How long would you have lasted without him?

A few hours that first day? The hurricane would have hit, and you would have probably died.

“Can you do that?” He asks, voice careful and gentle despite that same hum from before that he’s vibrating with to get started.

His patience is wearing thin and you can see his irritation returning.

“Yes.” You whisper, nodding small.

“Good.” He tells you, then pushes you back, forcing your knees to buckle.

He shoves you back until you’re sitting on the hot fine grains of sand.

“Wait here.”

As he moves to turn, you reach out and grab his metal hand, clinging to it tightly as your fear returns.

“Where are you going?” He ask, desperate.

Bucky looks down at your hands around his arm, a strange look of confusion in those dazzling blues. His five o’clock shadow has turned into a full-on scruff, hiding the chiseled square of his jaw, the small dimple on his chin.

His gray t-shirt clings to his torso still, the humidity making him sweat but he’s somehow also not as dewy as you are. His skin a bit drier. Not as shiny.

“I’m just going to swim out to the cockpit and the front of the plane where we were sitting. Your carry-on was on there, right? You moved it when we moved?” He asks, checking but he seems to already know.

“Yes.” You nod.

“Did you have shoes in there? Better shoes?” He eyes your sandals again and you shift your feet, once again self-conscious.

You think about the other two pairs of strappy sandals you’d had packed away in your checked luggage but yes, in your carry-on there was a pair of sneakers.

You nod, staring out at the water as it laps at the crashed nose of the plane.

“The pilots? The stewardess? Did you find them?” You ask, worried, your mind flashing with the kind smile and shining green eyes of the kind woman who’d set you at ease on the plane.

Her husband…her son.

Bucky takes a deep breath and squats down in front of you.

“I buried the stewardess down that way.” He indicates the beach to your left with his chin, eyes never leaving yours.

Sadness overwhelms you at the thought of her family, missing her, worried, not knowing that she’s already dead. They’ll search for her.

You look in the direction he indicates, eyes watering at the thought of her now motherless son.

“She was married.” You gasp, not realizing that you’re crying just yet.

“I know.” Bucky says, softly. Gently. Kindly. You look at him and search his now blurry face.

With a hard swallow, you tighten your hold on his hand.

“The pilots?” You ask, scared to know, desperate to find out.

Bucky shakes his head. “I didn’t find anyone else. They might have gotten out before the plane went down. I blacked out shortly after you did and when I came to the cockpit was gone. I just barely got us out in time.”

So, Bucky saved you?

You are already highly aware that you’re still alive because of him but that initial plunge into the sea while the plane was careening out of the sky is the reason you’re still alive.

“H-How did we survive the fall?” You ask him, absolutely baffled.

“I’m stronger than I look.” He replies, a small subtle curve to his lips.

He looks pretty strong…

“Y/N, this is what I wanna do. I want to get you some proper shoes. I need to get as much supplies out of the front of the plane, electrical equipment too in case I can build some sort of beacon so that maybe someone might be able to find us.

“I want to get a nice big signal fire built here on the beach to keep lit in case a plane passes overhead or a boat out at sea comes close enough to see it. I wanna build us a proper shelter in the spot with the fuselage. Up off the ground so that when the inevitable wild animal comes around, you’re not on the ground waiting to be sniffed, gored, or bitten.

“I have a lot of work to do.” He finishes.

Everything he’s said sounds like brilliant ideas. Perfection, really, and your heart begins to swell. His words indicate an innate worry for you.

“Why did you save me, Bucky? In the plane? Before the explosion behind us when the plane had just started to shake, why?” You ask, searching his patient expression for truth.

“I-I don’t know, you just looked so scared.” He admits. “I know what that feels like.”

Bucky? Scared?

Questions flood your mind. Questions that you’re suddenly very eager to have answered.

Who is Bucky? Where was he going? What does he do for a living? He does kinda look familiar but only like a face you’d once seen in a dream. What would he have to be scared of? Where did he get the bionic arm? How did he lose his original one? How old is he? Does he have family waiting for him? A girlfriend? Boyfriend? A wife? Husband? Kids?

“Y/N?” He probes, sliding his warm metal thumb across the back of your hand, caressing the skin.

“Yes?”

“I kinda need my hand back to get all of that stuff started.” He confesses and with a surprised gasp you let his hand go.

“Oh, right.” You curl your own into fists, laying them on your lap while ignoring the stretch of the scabbing skin on your palm.

Bucky had already checked it this morning.

“Wait for me here, okay?” He asks, cautious with you.

You hate to see him go. The past four days on the island—three trapped in a small confined space with him—have been spent with Bucky at almost every moment.

He must also not like leaving you, or so you hope, because he turns to look back at you as he walks to the water.

He stops at the edge, just beyond the reach of the low-tide, and finally turns away from you to pull his t-shirt over his head.

You shouldn’t be thinking it. You should be focused on the realities of your situation. The dangers, the precautions you need to take. You should be making lists in your head of things to do for survival, to keep yourself alive on this island but instead you trace the exposed length of Bucky’s sculpted torso.

The muscles on his back flex and stretch against taut slightly pale white skin. God, I hope he’s single. You think wildly. And at the very least bi.

Wherever he’d been before he was on the plane, it had not been sunny. Definitely not a tropical island. The dimples on his lower back draw your focus and your heartbeat quickens as he suddenly begins to step out of his jeans.

You blow a soft rush of air through your chapped lips, reaching beside you blindly for the water bottle Bucky had given you.

With a quick gulp, you watch him wade into the glimmering ocean water, your eyes appreciating the ripples of his biceps, both metal and flesh.

Maybe it won’t be so bad being stuck on an island with Bucky?

Fuck Y/N. Get a grip. What are you thinking?

*****

Bucky lugs your carry-on up onto the shore, tossing it with ease down beside you as he pulls his now clinging briefs up a little higher on his hips.

He tries not to think about how exposed he is to you or anything else that doesn’t have to do with his and your survival.

He’s got one goal here. To get you both off this island in one piece.

Running his hand back along his wet hair, he smooths it, your hair tie wrapped securely around his wrist for when he’ll need it again.

“I’ll be back.” He tells you, watching you struggle to pull the bag closer.

His words pull that terrified stare of yours back to him, that inescapable look of need that had pulled him across the plane to you in the first place shining up at him from your battered, chapped, sun-burnt face.

You burn so quickly. He’ll need to find you some aloe in case it gets worse. Your skin is already cooked despite the short time the two of you have spent out in the sun.

Today it’s shining down brightly. Maybe he should have put you in the shade of a palm?

“Where are you going?” You ask him, your fear drawing him close to you.

You tilt your head back, stare up at his face.

He finds your helplessness annoying…but also refreshing. He likes feeling like this. Needed. Wanted. And he’s not blind. He can see the way your eyes roam over his body.

It’s nice to know he’s still got that to him too. He’s still human. Whatever it is that’s left of him. He still somehow has something to offer.

“Back into the cockpit.” He’s not sure that telling you why will really help or if it will make you cry again like with the stewardess.

He’s still recovering from the way that had made him feel. He’s not sure he can take feeling like that again so soon. He’s not even entirely sure what it had been.

It had definitely felt bad to watch you cry but he’s unsure of where it stems from. Is it discomfort with your vulnerability? Disgust at your weakness?

The Winter Soldier in him—the memory of his thought process that is very nearly gone—see it as such. Crying over a dead body? Useless. It helps no one. It provides nothing.

Bucky knows that’s not true. Grieving can be cathartic. He’s grieved before. Very recently he grieved over his time lost as the Winter Soldier. He grieved the loss of his best friend to old age.

Steve had made his choices. He’d lived his life. Now it’s time for Bucky to live his own.

Of course, crash landing on a deserted island had not been what he’d had in mind. Would Sam already be looking for him? Or…maybe he thinks Bucky ran off again?

“Why?” You plead, eager to keep him close.

His chest warms at the thought that you want him near. The fact that you’re not afraid of him, of his arm, is reassuring. He likes it. He likes not being scary.

This island is scary for you. Being stranded here, is scary for you.

“I found one of the pilots.” He admits, waiting for the words to register with you.

“Dead?” You ask, voice cracking.

“Yeah.”

“Wh-what are you going to do?” You ask him, pretty eyes searching his own stern expression.

He has to remind himself to be softer with you. You’re not like his friends or associates. You’re soft. Civilian. Gentility is what you need.

“Pull him out. Bury him next to the stewardess.” He tells you, and watches as your lower lip shakes.

You let him go and he makes quick work of the body. He doesn’t pull the pilot over to you and instead heads straight for the spot he’d buried the stewardess just next to the tree line where the sand shifts into soil.

It doesn’t take you long to catch up, but he tries his best to keep you from seeing the swollen, waterlogged body of the pilot. Dead eyes open to the world, though they no longer see.

You’re crying again, wearing your sneakers, kneeling a few feet away.

He doesn’t like the weight in his chest that your crying brings. He frowns, annoyed again.

It takes him half an hour to dig the grave and another half hour to bury the pilot.

He’d been the older of the two with graying black hair and deep umber skin, made pale and gray by the lack of life.

“The other pilot?” You ask him, turning your sorrowful gaze back on him and he’d prefer the needy one.

“I don’t know.” He shakes his head, tired of burying people.

“Bucky?” His name falls timid from your lips, unsure.

As he turns to you, he sees you holding out his pants.

“We’re gonna make it, right? I don’t know anything about surviving in a jungle. I don’t-don’t know how to help you.” You confess.

The disappointment in your voice is telling. You’re blaming yourself for not being more knowledgeable about surviving in the wild?

Cute…and understandable.

“Just do what I ask.” He orders, taking his pants from your hold gently then slipping them on, grateful for the coverage.

You give him his t-shirt but instead of putting it on he shoves it into his backpack. It would be smarter to wear it while he works but he’s not a regular human and he’ll be fine without it.

He doesn’t want to get it all dirty and sweaty as he does what he needs to do.

“Scour the beach.” You say, looking down past the graves towards the curve of white sand, jewel waters lapping at the shore.

“Yeah. Don’t go too close to the water.” Bucky instructs, fearful suddenly. “The water is in low-tide right now, but it’ll rise.”

What if you get too close? What if you get swept out to sea and you drown?

Fear like this Bucky has never felt. The charge he’s taken in ensuring your safety over the past four days is suddenly made clear. He cares whether you live or die, despite the denial he’s been forcing on himself.

Telling himself that he’s only trying to be nice isn’t working anymore. The thought of you walking away from him, being out of sight where he can’t keep a constant careful watch on you terrifies him and he can understand the look that you give him now every time he walks away from you.

“Maybe…” He begins, staring across the endless beach. “Maybe we should just wait to scour the beach together?”

“Why?” You ask, rising to your feet, planting your carry-on in the ground more securely.

“It might be dangerous.” He realizes.

“But you have things to do.” You tell him. “It’s just walking across the beach, Bucky. I can do at least that much. Especially now that I have my shoes.”

You’re taking offense with him. Does it sound like he doesn’t trust you to do such a menial task? He very nearly doesn’t but it’s not for the reasons you might be thinking.

You’ve proven you can take instruction, despite how clumsy you seem to be in this terrain. His lack of trust is in your ability to stay safe.

Since he’s known you, you’ve passed out, nearly drowned—though you still don’t know about that and he’s not sure he’s going to ever tell you—fallen and cut your hand, you’re dehydrated, you’re not eating as much as you need to, you’re scaring him.

Can he keep you alive? He must.

Reluctantly he nods. “Fine, but do me a favor and if anything even remotely scares you, scream for me.”

“How are you going to hear me?” You ask him, confused.

You don’t know he’s a Super Soldier. You seriously don’t know who he is, and he likes that more than he should.

“I’ll hear you.” He assures you. “Promise me, Y/N.”

“I promise.” You relent and then head down along the beach with heavy, clearly pained steps.

Your body must be aching, adjusting to the environment in harsh ways.

You’re so soft and fragile. He watches you until you’re small and his need to build you a proper shelter becomes overwhelming.

First things first; fire.

 *****

You walk for hours. You stop only to take drinks of your water bottle and turn over what looks like something that might be useful.

You find small items, cups and seat cushions. A few wet blankets. A metal box shut so tight you can’t open it. Whatever is inside weighs a bit. A first aid kit. Two more small bags—carry ons that probably belonged to the pilots or the stewardess.

You pile everything on top of the bags, struggling to pull them back towards the section of beach you’d left Bucky on.

Above you, the sky is fire. Blazing red and orange as the sun begins to set. It makes the island cooler, almost cold compared to the higher temperatures of the day.

A large almost five-foot-high bonfire blazes in the distance but Bucky’s nowhere to be seen.

As you grow closer, the sky above you deepens to a bruised black, scattered with a shock of white stars as the horizon fades to pink and yellow.

“Bucky?” You call out, huffing and puffing as you pull the two bags to a stop.

You’ve had to stop and pick up the items you kept dropping and you’re exhausted.

Collapsing beside them, you suddenly remember your own carry on back by the makeshift graveyard.

You groan, fall onto your back, and stare back towards the spot, upside down.

“Hey.” Bucky’s voice falls on you like a security blanket.

You’ve been with him non-stop since you arrived that at first it had been bliss to be alone. Silence, where no one is giving you orders or frowning down at your inability to keep up, had been nice.

As you’d walked further and further away from him, your fear began to grow, and you stole quick tense glances at the dense tree line. What monsters lurk inside? How will you die?

By the time you turned to head back, you were missing Bucky desperately.

You push yourself up, smiling at him, so giddy to see him it’s stupid.

He struts towards you, clean and bathed, wearing a tight white t-shirt, the same blue jeans, munching on something that looks like mango.

I hate him.

“What’d you find?” He asks, moving to look at your haul. “These cushions will work nice for sleeping on. We can put these together with the ones we have in the fuselage. We’ll have to share.”

He slurps up the sweet nectar of his mango, making your stomach growl and your mouth water.

With amused blue eyes, he looks at you and then huffs a very small laugh.

“Hungry?” He asks, then holds out the mango for you to take.

You grab it, shove it into your mouth and nearly moan around it as the juice hits your tongue turning bitter salt into sweet candy.

“Easy. We still have the rest of the airplane food back at camp. There’s plenty of food to stuff your face with. We need to finish that within the next three days. It’ll go bad by then.” Bucky says, grabbing the two bags in one hand, the first aid kit and the metal box in the other, leaving you with the cushions you’d found.

“Thanks. Wait, my bag.” You gasp, getting to your feet to follow him.

“I already took it back to camp.” He moves towards the trees and you follow.

You reach the small split that he’d first led you down, the one you’d stumbled and fallen over, cutting your hand. Bucky keeps walking but you stop, gaping at him then down at the ground and the surrounding trees.

“How-?” You begin but you’re so emotional, you might just cry again.

“I can’t have you tripping every time we need to come down here and we’re going to have to keep coming back to the beach.” He explains, but with no patience to let you have this moment, he walks on. “Come on. It’s getting dark.”

Bucky seems to have spent the day clearing a path about three feet wide. Rocks and boulders that had been in the way have been shoved aside, the green ferns that had covered the ground have been pulled up. Thrown aside too, the earth dug up so that a single dark path leads from the beach and as you follow him, all the way back to camp.

“Bucky…” You whisper, stunned and appreciative.

Then your eyes fall on camp. The fuselage has been lifted onto a platform built with the fallen trees from the storm. It looks very temporary but it much better than anything you could have done.

“Saved some time on the platform by using the tress that had already fallen.” Bucky explains. “At least this way we won’t be sleep on the ground. At least until I can get a better shelter built. Your bag’s inside. Put those cushions next to the other ones.”

“Do we need a better shelter?” You ask him, desperate to keep your roots on this island shallow.

You’re no Gilligan. You’re not planning on living here.

“Just in case. We don’t know how long we’ll be here. Better safe than sorry.” He makes sense.

You have to crawl up the two-foot-high gap from floor to platform since there is no ramp but you’re so grateful for the elevation that you don’t complain. Why would you?

A cleared-out path to make walking to and from the beach easier for you. An elevated shelter so that no animals will easily reach either of you. Cushions gathered and lined up to make up a narrow makeshift bed.

There’s a roaring fire a few feet in front of the now elevated fuselage, a small metal panel placed over the open flame with two plastic plates full of airplane steak and white rice, a side of mushy carrots and green beans on top. There’s two pale rolls of bread also warming up beside the plates.

Bucky has indeed been busy.

You do as he says, making the bed slightly bigger and it actually looks like it might really be big enough for two now. Still small. Tight. You’ll have to sleep right beside each other.

“Grab a change of clothes.” He says, and you do as he instructs, grabbing a new pair of underwear, a pair of jeans, and a plain white t-shirt from your carry on, subconsciously thinking about his own white t-shirt.

You meet him by the fire.

“Ready?”

“Where are we going?” You wonder.

“Follow me.”

He leads you around a small thicket of trees towards the spot you know the fast-flowing freshwater stream is.

When he stops beside it, your eyes are drawn to the four-foot-deep hole disrupting the flow of the water. The hole is lined with large shining green leaves, made dark by the fading sunlight. You can see clearly enough however to understand that Bucky has built you both a tub of sorts.

The water flows in, fills the tub, and then continues to flow down along the stream keeping the water moving.

“Bucky…” You gasp, once again stunned by the work he’s put in, in one fucking day!

“I’ll make it better over time. The leaves will have to be changed in a few days at least until I can find something that’ll last a while longer. I’ll see if I can find some plastic or tarp. The back of the plane is still missing. There might be something in there.” He explains. “Will you be okay in the dark?”

There’s still enough sunset light that if you bathe quickly you can get back to the campfire before it’s completely dark.

“Yes.” You smile, the first since you crashed here. “I’ll be fine.”

Bucky smiles back at you, wide, pearly whites on full display. He’s even more handsome than you realized, and you already knew how good looking this man is.

“Good. I’ll go finish with dinner. Hurry back.” He says, then turns to head back.

“Bucky,” You call, eager to thank him.

“Yeah?” He turns to you, still smiling lightly.

You can’t help yourself. You move towards him, the pull of safety and security overwhelmingly seductive.

With a push onto your toes, you press a quick soft peck to his bearded cheek. The dry, cracking skin of your lips must feel like a scorched desert against the somehow soft flush of his skin.

He doesn’t pull back though, and he doesn’t complain. He lets you hold that kiss for two seconds before you fall back onto your feet to smile up at him.

“Thank you. For everything….so far.” This journey is just getting started and you’ve been very little help.

“Go on.” He says, stern but the warm glow of his eyes is kind. “It’s getting dark.”

He leaves you there, feeling protected. Secure. And maybe slightly less fearful about the journey that you and Bucky have found yourself forced on.

With Bucky, maybe it is possible to get through this.

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[newtxgarvey-blog]

😍

Never have I gone to Cate’s apartment and she hasn’t had juiceboxes stocked for me. Like for real, 2am beat to hell and she’ll bring me a juice with a bright green straw and make everything better. She’s always looking out for me and the all important tiny cartons of juice. 

She’s a bloody good person. I’m not saying that Cate McKenna doesn’t have flaws, she has a lot. But we all do, at least she works on hers. I would never tell her, but when it comes to making a change in a self destructing life, I think she’s a pretty good person to model myself after. And i’m crazy proud of her.

She’s always been there. Since I met her smartarse in training, and she refused to take my constant shit talk. When we became friends, and ever since. Without even asking, she’s been there. Stalkerish maybe. But comforting, definitely. I know that i’ve always got someone watching my back ready to fight the world with me, and that’s something I hold close.

[fairytale-idylls]

When the sun rose, and Elise’s brothers again became wild swans, they took up the net with their beaks, and flew up into the clouds with their dear sister, who still slept. The sunbeams fell on her face, therefore one of the swans soared over her head, so that his broad wings might shade her. They were far from the land when Elise woke. She thought she must still be dreaming, it seemed so strange to feel herself being carried so high in the air over the sea. By her side lay a branch full of beautiful ripe berries, and a bundle of sweet roots; the youngest of her brothers had gathered them for her, and placed them by her side. She smiled her thanks to him; she knew it was the same who hovered over her to shade her with his wings. They were now so high, that a large ship beneath them looked like a white seagull skimming the waves. A great cloud floating behind them appeared like a vast mountain, and upon it Elise saw her own shadow and those of the swans, looking gigantic in size. Altogether it formed a more beautiful picture than she had ever seen; but as the sun rose higher, and the clouds were left behind, the shadowy picture vanished away. Onward the whole day they flew through the air like a winged arrow, yet more slowly than usual, for they had their sister to carry. The weather seemed inclined to be stormy, and Elise watched the sinking sun with great anxiety. It appeared to her as if the swans were making great efforts with their wings. Alas! she was the cause of their not advancing more quickly. “When the sun sets,” she thought in alarm, “my brothers’ wings will turn back into arms.” They could not make headway. Surely, they would fall into the sea and drown. Elise offered up a prayer from her inmost heart. Dark clouds came nearer, the gusts of wind told of a coming storm, while from a thick, heavy mass of clouds the lightning burst forth flash after flash. The sun had reached the edge of the sea, when the swans darted down so swiftly that Elise’s head trembled; she believed they were falling, but they again soared onward. Suddenly, she caught sight of a rock jutting up from the water just below them, and by this time the sun was half hidden by the waves. The rock did not appear larger than a seal’s head thrust out of the water. They sunk so rapidly, that at the moment their feet touched the rock, it shone only like a star, and at last disappeared like the last spark in a piece of burnt paper. Elise saw her brothers standing closely ‘round her with their arms linked together. There was but just room enough for them, and not the smallest space to spare. The sea dashed against the rock, and covered them with spray. The heavens were lighted up with continual flashes, and peal after peal of thunder rolled. But the sister and brothers stood holding each other’s hands, and singing hymns, from which they gained hope and courage. In the early dawn the air became calm and still, and at sunrise the swans flew away from the rock with Elise. The sea was still rough, and from their high position in the air, the white foam on the dark green waves looked like millions of swans swimming on the water. ― The Wild Swans, by Hans Christian Andersen. Artwork by Anton Lomaev.

[mistraliprincess]

Qilin’s Meditation

Head gently hanging low, eyes closed, legs crossed, and arms resting atop them, the Qilin sat below the Wisteria tree of the Fujiki garden. Tail, longer, thicker, and now scaled unlike the last time she had done this, curled on the ground beside her. The fur tuft end gently rising and falling, just as her shoulders were with each expansion of her chest to breathe in. A long, slow, deep inhale to be held only a second before letting it free with an exhale lasting just as long.

Each outward breath, the Fujiki’s Semblance would act, expelling gentle wisps of mist from her mouth during the duration of her exhale. Though unlike usual, each expelling of mist let loose more into the air than it should with the length of her breath. Within just a few minutes, the mist had gathered to more of a fog within the back of the yard that housed the garden. Just minutes more and the fog not only filled the rest of the yard around the house, but it had grown thick, even beginning to spill beyond the walls which marked the Fujiki land. None would be able to see the woman seated at the base of the tree deep in her meditation if they were to look. Nor would she be able to see her surroundings if she woke to the fog.

It would just be her, hidden alone within the Semblance made veil of her subconscious making.

Light and warmth would graze across her skin, brightening the darkness that was her eyelids shut before her eyes. Though it would not disrupt the Huntress’ meditation. Nor would the feeling of a cold spray of water across her skin, or the subsequent strong smell of an abundance of flowers. The weight of something long and scaled slipping up her arm before abruptly giving way to the ticklish sensation of a gentle insect at the end of her finger tip wouldn’t even be enough to wake her. Yet she was full aware of the sensations, her brow furrowing and her mind wondering while she continued to breathe.

Soon light returned beyond her eye lids, though it was dull this time, cold even, but quickly gave way to flickering, scorching heat for a brief moment. That strong warmth dulling and focusing to her chest, to her heart, reminding her of her Mother and her love... how she missed it so... A light shiver surging up her spine brings her back to the present before she could loose her meditation as a gentle ringing seems to fill the back of her head, For some reason or another coaxing her to straighten her posture, to bring her arms back and grip her knees to strengthen her pose.

While initially finding it odd how she was so compelled to stabilize and secure herself in her place, she was quickly thankful that she did. A strong gust of wind battering against her from behind, pushing her forward against her arms and her knees as she pushed to keep upright. Unlike before, however, this feeling wouldn’t come and go so quick. No, this wind lasted, shifting it’s direction and strength every few seconds again and again, eventually sounding less like wind and more a beastly howl. Seconds more of this howling gust’s direction changing around her and it would become cold, wet, but just slightly. A familiar sensation akin to what she knew so well from her affinity within the family Semblance.

As abruptly as everything began, however, it would end all the same. Returning her mind, body, and senses to her current self, seated atop the grass surrounding the Wisteria tree in her family garden, between two roots that just barely peek above the ground. Her breathing being the only sound to grace her ears for a long minute while she kept her meditative pace.

“Kemuri” 

Her name registers in her mind, yet she never heard any voice speak it audibly, a warmth accompanying it. Both being oddly familiar, yet very new at the same time.

“K҉e̢͡m̷͢͝ur͜i“

Again, though this time somehow distorted, and in an all too familiar way that she hadn’t had to deal with for a while, nor the accompanying chill.

“Kemuri”

The third was audible, hearing it unlike the prior two making her head tilt a little, though her breathing kept and her eyes stayed closed. But she was focused now, listening for that voice, feminine, a little croaky, elderly but wise sounding. She wouldn’t hear it again for almost a full minute, but when she did, it was accompanied by a mixture of sensations. Of the familiarity and the chill from the previous two times she felt her name called by the unknown as this third spoke one simple word, close to her ear and loud.

“Breathe”

As if the cap gun signaling a race to begin, a wave of thoughts, of memories, none of which were her own rushed through her mind. 

Visualizing that battlefield she had been pulled into months back by the shadow of her ancestor. The Prince of the past clashing with his very own father, the ever so familiar Tanto in hand, though clean as it would meet the blade of an Odachi time and again. Both Fujiki weaving a mass variety of breathing styles and their subsequent bonuses or elemental effects into their battle. One moment has the large blade of the King arcing down with flames coating it. The next has the small Tanto surging forth with a crack of thunder and spark of lightning. Following would be a concentrated jet of water spewing from one’s maw, carving the ground open as the other dodged the attack. Their retaliation being an ear-piercing screech that even made Kemuri flinch.

The scene before her shifting as the prince lets loose a roar so loud and ferocious it could rival any Grimm of the modern day. Drawing the Huntress’ view closer and closer, right to the odd skull mask that hid the man’s head as they lowered to all fours. The jaw opening to take Tanto into hold between red fangs so they could enter into a beastly sprint at the King. Yet she would not see the clash as the vision shifts, surging past and through heavy mist to emerge somewhere else, a new landscape, this time coated with sand, barren, lifeless. Save for some monstrosity, Whale looking though with a mass horn and talon-tipped fins. The beast surging down from the air to disappear beneath the sand with a pillar of it shooting high into the sky.

As the creature emerges again, however, there’s someone latched to it’s back. Gripping tight to the long handle of what looked to be a Naginata stuck in the monster’s back. A woman, long flowing hair, inverted horn much like her own, though longer and decorated with many more branches signalling their age. The woman adjusting, getting her feet under herself on the beast’s back as it starts surging across sand dunes and flailing to get her off. She seems to decide to oblige the mass creature, pulling her weapon free and using one of the thing’s movements to add momentum as she jumps from it’s back. A bolt of lightning striking it where she once stood, making the thing cry out in pain as it crashes to the ground making the sand spray up again.

The woman landing, she goes into some odd pose before seeming to breathe. A sudden energy forming around her, slow and flowing first, as if the mist that would leave Kemuri’s own maw. Though instead, for the woman, it was light of some sort, multicolored too, and it spilled from the corners of their mouth to then envelop their body. The energy becoming a very visible, flowing aura encasing them of a pure rainbow of colors. Glowing so very bright like a radiating, guiding light, as she suddenly kick off from the ground. Immediately becoming a blur for a split second before unseen entirely until something strikes the sand whale, making it’s side cave in as it’s toppled before it could recover from the earlier lightning strike.

Atop the fresh wound stood the woman again, the blade of her weapon stuck back into the body of the whale. The thing crying out from the pain it was feeling at having suffered her attacks. Though it was likely to feel even more in a moment, as she could see winds pick up surrounding the glowing woman. Sparking electricity, flames igniting to life, the aura around them taking form of a blooming flower and an ear-piercing noise building. Abruptly all of it would stop, however, but in it’s place something new happened. A sudden large flaming orb coming into existence above the woman, quickly surging down to envelop her and the whale entirely before exploding, sending out a shock-wave and pushing sand away to create a crater. 

Immediately following, the raging flames of the explosion and the sand within the air would be sucked inward to a single point. Everything being impossibly compressed and sucked into a blinding light that grows and blinds Kemuri’s vision before suddenly enveloping her in darkness once more. Taking a moment to breathe, to think over what she’d just witnessed, to piece things together. To ground herself that she was back in reality before she’d open her eyes to the world once more.

Initially a little confused by the extreme fog blinding her, but she fixes the issue with a few breaths. Using slow inhales to recall and withdraw the fog into herself where it had come from. Clearing the yard and the garden in a mere minute, leaving herself seated beneath the Wisteria tree with sunlight peering through between the hanging flowers above.

She felt... full, in an odd way. Not within her stomach, but her mind. Whole, almost, like so many things that had been nagging at her in the back of her mind were satisfied. Even if she had still yet to really comprehend everything completely. It would take time for that, but for once... she was fine with that. A sensation that she could make so much more progress now than she ever could before with her training, with her Semblance, made it clear to her that this wait would be worth it.

Though only one thing still bothered her... the skull mask she saw, the same she had come to possess... Thinking about it brings a faint echo of the roar the prince let loose in her vision to her mind.