#(i had forgotten the corpses were there at all last night im sorry about that. now its tagged properly

[brosif40]

"Dramatic Irony"

lil idea i had.... what if we fought in the furnace room instead?

[diamondcamefromhell]

I wish I were her

geralt x fem!reader [as a gender-fluid person i swear i will try to write more gender neutral pairings in the future but writing ‘straight’ is easier for me as i spent most of my life dreaming strictly ‘straight’ when i idenfied as a girl and was in fucking narnia closet even from myself, sorry guys, gals and non-binary pals <3]

A/N: A LOT of shit is going on in my life, as is everyones, so I am not making a comeback yet babes, but i did get not sober and listen to heather just now and decided to write my first ever geralt fic, say whaaaaaaaaaaaat? i made him super soft and honeslty maybe a bit out of character but let a person dream okay either way

truly, i hope everyone is doing okay. the world sucks and i know people have personal problems to deal with. i hope youre okay. i hope this fic distracts you a little. I love you all. as much as a stranger can love a stranger which i believe is a lot, i fukcing love you.

Summary: Y/N has met both, Geralt and Jaskier before, but when they visit again things dont go as she expected

Warnings: violence, self-hate, blood, nsfw [but not explicit because hey hoe im a virgin]

Word Count: 2239

There was something about him she couldn’t quite place. She got lost in his eyes before and she would do it all over again. His touch left marks on her skin that seemed to burn whenever her mind wandered back to him. He changed her life forever and then he left. Only his songs were sung by other folk, pinging at her sides, reminder of those few nights he was hers. And she was his. Nothing else mattered then.

But he was a bard. A man with purpose, a man with goals. And she was just a farmgirl, no more special than any other person on the continent. She was sure that there was nothing this world had to offer her, and those moments of bliss were the best she will ever get.

Yet, when Jaskier and Geralt were passing by again, she jumped on her mare, going to the tavern in a heartbeat. Her anxiety was eating at her insides, making her shiver as she pushed the door open. Unpleasant smell of alcohol and sweat hit her, but when she saw him she got high on a different kind of drug.

But this one had no price.

His eyes were shining as he was smirking as his friend, who was brooding. Jaskier took a moment to look around, glazing over her as if she was nobody. Her heart banged in her ears as she took a few shaky steps towards the table. Loud noises coming from around her seemed to drown out when his eyes met hers. There was slight recognition, or she tried to tell herself that.

“Hello.” She managed. Geralt glanced at her, mumbling something under his breath, but her attention was elsewhere. Y/N eyes were drilling Jaskier, who furrowed his brows, smiling.

“Hello there.” He said cheerfully. His eyes looked somewhere behind her.

“Jaskier, right?” She asked, even though she knew. She knew exactly who he was and what his lips tasted on her and how they fit together like two pieces of a puzzle.

“Right. We’ve met before?” Y/N heart shattered a little, but she grabbed the broken bits, not letting them fall apart, holding it together.

“Awhile back, when you and Geralt stayed here. He was here on a contract for a wraith. You wrote a song for that one.” She rambled on, finally taking a breath in.

“Oh right!” His eyes were still glassy but he pointed at the seat. “Join us.”

“Jaskier.” Geralt grumbled, but still scooted over when she sat down. His yellow eyes seized her up. “Y/N.”

“You remember me?” The girl was taken back a little, the witcher was the one who hadn’t forgotten her. Not Jaskier. She blinked twice as Geralt didn’t respond, but rather looked at the bard.

“I remember you too, Y/N!” He argued battling Geralt’s gaze.

“How have you two been?” Underneath the table she clasped her hands together, only now realizing she’s sweating.

“Good, good. Lots of work to do around here, right Geralt?” There was nothing but silence coming from his companion. “He’s a bit shy, but you know that already.”

“Right.” Silence settled between them as Geralt downed his ale in one gulp, leaning back a little. He seemed to zone out, having a thousand-yard stare, his mind traveling elsewhere. Y/N looked away from him.

Jaskier was glancing around the tavern just as a server came up to them. Y/N seized her up, in her pretty dress and golden curls than bounced behind her back perfectly behind her back. Her smile was perfect, making Y/N fill with envy as she leaned over to Jaskier, exposing her cleavage to them all.

“Can I get you anything, sweetie?” She whispered as Y/N leaned back, swallowing hard.

She suddenly became aware of her tattered dress that had, what she hoped to be dirt, on it. Her hair was tied back but she haven’t brushed her hair today, so it most likely was a mess. She shifted, smelling pigs and sheep on herself. She became aware of all her flaws as if they were broadcasted to the world.

She wanted to burst into flames this very moment, becoming aware her cheeks are burning red. Suddenly the table became the most interesting thing in this tavern as she drowned out their conversation. She couldn’t listen. She couldn’t see. But when she lifted her eyes, the woman had sat down and Jaskier had one of his hands over her shoulder. He was laughing. The woman looked at Y/N.

“Hey, Y/N!” She, however, didn’t know the servers name, so all she could offer was a polite nod and a forced smile. “You look pretty tonight.”

“You do too, Amelie.” Jaskier said, before Y/N could respond. She dropped her gaze to the table as Amelie laughed. It sounded like bells in the wind, like a bird chirping. It was perfect. Y/N took a sharp breath in.

She zoned out again, not listening to Amelie and Jaskier again. She simply couldn’t. Geralt was looking at her, his eyebrows furrowed. He could tell Y/N was uncomfortable, he couldn’t understand why she simply didn’t leave. The girl chose to torture herself.

Amelia stood up, going back to her work, and only then did Y/N look up again, her expression different from before. Corners of her lips were turned down as she watched Jaskier look after Amelie, completely mesmerized.

“Jaskier.” Geralt called but Jaskier kept his eyes on the girl. Y/N shifted in her seat again, clasping her hands tighter.

Until she felt like she was going to burst. She stood up, muttering something under her breath. She tried not to run, but she couldn’t. She heard Amelie say something, but it didn’t matter. Nothing did. Her eyes burned as her mind kept replaying Jaskier wrapping his hands around other woman. He was not hers, and Y/N knew.

But her heart ached so much, she felt like her chest was about to rip apart. Her insides were burning and her head was spinning as she untied the horse, riding it into the moonlight. Y/N didn’t realize she just took Roach. She didn’t realize the rain had come down heavily on them. She didn’t realize she was crying.

She didn’t realize she was going right into the woods. Alone. At night.

Only when a wolf howled uncomfortably close, she stopped the horse in its tracks. It neighed uncomfortably as Y/N stared into the woods, until she heard a howl.

She ushered the horse just in time.  A pack of giant wolves jumped out as they rushed forward. Her heart was beating for a different reason. The rain was making it impossible to see as she held on for dear life. A moment later she shifted in the saddle and her leg hit a sword that was mounted on the horse.

She realized the mare wasn’t hers. With adrenaline pumping inside of her she tried to unbuckle the sword with one hand, while keeping the other one on the reigns. She struggled and the wolves were catching up. Her life was flashing before her eyes and the dread was filling in, but she knew she hadn’t lived enough yet.

She remembered Jaskiers kiss as vivid as if it was happening now, finally freeing the sword. It was heavier than she expected, throwing her off balance. Roach turned right too, unexpectedly skiting off the hill. The horse took a sharp turn, standing on its hind legs and Y/H hand slipped off the reigns. With a painful thud, she hid the ground.

Roach neighed in fear, rushing off into the woods. Y/N had to blink hard before she could see again, and when she did, her heart dropped. The wolves had her surrounded, their angry growls making hairs on her body stand up. She saw the sword dropped to her right. Out of reach. She was done. There was nothing she could do anymore.

She closed her eyes, hoping her death would be quick.

She heard a thud first. Then, something heavy dropped on her. Her eyes shot open and she saw a decapitated beast on her. Warm blood was soaking through her dress, sending shivers down her spine. Y/N only then sae Geralts back, and his sword drawn, a few more wolves laying in front of him.

The rest of the pack was slayed quickly too, as Y/N stared blankly, too scared to move. All she could smell was blood. As she could feel was fear and relief mixing inside of her. She didn’t like they made together. Her vision became blurry again. And when Geralt finally turned to face her again, she covered her mouth with one of her hands, tears streaming down her face.

Unexpected kindness shined from the witcher as he leaned down, pushing the wolf corpse off of her. His hand landed on her shoulder heavily. In response, she rushed into his arms. He just held her as she sobbed into his shoulder.

He wasn’t bothered by the rain that was drowning them both or that she reeked of blood or that he had just cleaned these clothes. He just held the girl, who almost seemed like a child, shaking in his arms, gripping onto him like he was the last straw holding her together.

“I’m sorry.” She finally managed, not pulling away. His hands around her tightened.

“Not your fault.” He rubbed her back gently as she took a few shaky breaths in.

“I didn’t mean to take Roach.” She leans away, meeting Geralts yellow eyes. He smiles.

“I followed you because you did. You’d be dead otherwise.” Y/N swallowed hard again, blinking back a new wave of tears. Geralt kept his arms around the girl, which she appreciated.

“Thank you.” Her voice broke.

Silence settled between them as Roach seemed to come back to them. It neighed, shaking its head as Geralt and Y/N stayed on the ground, in the dirt. Gazing at each other.

She saw warmth in his cat eyes. There was something welcoming and inviting in them, something that made her feel safe. Like a fireplace on a cold winter night. She felt okay. Nothing could hurt her as long as she was in his arms. She was sure of it.

“I am sorry you had to follow me here.” She breaks the silence, relaxing her body.

“I’m sorry you had to leave like that.” Geralt grows serious again. “Jaskier didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I know.” Y/N closes her eyes now, feeling the rain roll down her back. “I just wish I was enough.”

“You are. For the right person.” Her lips shake a little as she leans forward, placing her forehead on his shoulder.

“I just want to be enough.” She whispers again, as Geralt gazes into the woods. His hands tighten around her. “Pretty enough. Nice enough. Just enough to be loved. Enough to be remembered.”

“I didn’t forget you.” Geralt reminds sending a electric wave through her body. She sniffles, opening her eyes, staring at her hands.

“You didn’t.” He now grabs her shoulders pushing her away. They lock eyes, as she is suddenly drawn to his honey.

“And I wont.” Her heart skips a beat as she thinks he might lean in for a kiss. She is ready. She wants him to do it, but instead, he stands up, dragging her up with him. “Let’s get you dried up.”

She remains silent as the witcher drops her on Roach, jumping behind her. He takes the reigns, and so does she, her hands still shaking. She leans back into his chest, feeling his breathing as he guides Roach back towards the tavern.

Y/N is sure she hears wolves howl in the distance but she closes her eyes and feels safe with Geralt sitting behind her, steady and unmovable like a wall. Unbreakable.

Once she opens her eyes, they are back. He helps her down the horse, holding onto her as they enter the tavern, but this time, he guides her up to stairs. The room they entered was a bedroom, but Geralt guided her to a bathroom where a warm bath seemed to be ready.

Y/N looked at Geralt who had taken his shirt off. He glanced at her.

“You’re going to bathe with your bloody dress?” She felt a rush go though her body. Her lips curled.

She dropped her, standing there uncovered in front of him. His lips curled as he dropped the remains of his clothes. They didn’t stare at each other for an uncomfortable amount of time, but just enough for their eyes light up with hunger.

They stepped in the bath, warmth surrounding them as Geralt placed his hands on the sides of the bath, towering over Y/N, who was half underwater. His eyes were eating her up as his muscles tensed up.

“You’re pretty.” He said.

“Shut up.” She flushed, going underwater to avoid his gaze.

She didn’t expect him to follow, but he did, pressing her to the bottom. His lips found hers, breathing in the air her lungs craved. He wrapped his arms around her, dragging them both from underwater. The kiss didn’t split.

And there Y/N was, surrounded my candlelight, electricity running over her body again, drowning in honey and metal. She felt whole again, she felt safe. She felt loved and important, she felt seen when he locked eyes with her.

She wasn’t Amelia, no. But Y/N was herself.

And she was enough.

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

A/N [again]:  i lost the plot at the end im sorry i had a whole ass bottle of wine and i got super saddo towards it so yikes, hope you still enjoy, requests are open ofc but it might take me two years to get to it and im not kidding okay luvs i love yall bue

[akechicrimes]

Prompt 37? Futaba and Akechi platonic/Futago siblings?

37. “Follow me. It’s okay, just hold my hand.”

after akira leaves tokyo, futaba does just fine without her key item, except for when she doesnt.

(one of them AUs were goro survives the engine room and rejoins the phantom thieves. no i will not explain. persona 5 canon AND persona 5 royal do not interact. for reference in this universe futaba and akechi are half siblings but only akechi knows that)

*

“Next time you see me, I’ll be a whole new person,” Futaba tells Akira excitedly on his second-to-last day in Tokyo. “I’m going back to school, I’m out and about by myself—oh! Oh! Did I tell you I said yes to Kosei? I told Kosei I wanted to go to Shujin and they offered me scholarship! And I went to the subway station by myself yesterday!”

They’re crammed into Akira’s Leblanc attic, sitting around a cake that literally none of them were capable of baking themselves, so they’d bought the thing from a bakery and decorated it with little black and red hearts. Ryuji is passing around his gross soda, while Ann is recounting some story that doesn’t matter with incredible enthusiasm. Makoto looks like she’s determined to enjoy herself and will hear no argument.

The whole thing is incredibly morbid, if you ask Futaba. It feels less like they’re waiting for Akira to leave Tokyo and more like they’re attending Akira’s funeral. Akechi in particular looks like he’s regretting attending, which honestly tickles Futaba more than it should, that the most dishonest Phantom Thief seems to be the only one looking as honestly put-off by the entire affair as everyone else is determined not to be.

That’s everyone else’s problem. Futaba might not be happy Akira has to leave, but she’s proud. She’s sad that Akira has to leave, but also she promised Akira that by the time that he had to leave, she’d be able to get around on her own, without clinging to him for support. And she is able. She kept her promise.

Tomorrow might be the day that Akira has to go, but today is the day that Futaba is Officially Recovered.

Akira does that annoying thing he does where he puts his hand on her head and messes up all her hair, like he’s a human cat showing affection by pissing everyone off. Futaba yelps. “Look at you. You don’t need me at all.”

“I told you that I’d be ready to say goodbye by the time you had to go back to your hometown,” says Futaba. “I haven’t broken my promises yet, have I?”

There’s a burst of laughter from Haru over something Yusuke said, who looks rather surprised to discover that he said anything funny. Both Makoto and Akechi snicker at him, and then stop immediately to glare at each other the second they realize they’ve accidentally wound up sharing an opinion.

Akira ignores them. “Well, you can still text me if you need me. Or call.”

“I’m trying to tell you I’m getting better and I don’t need you,” Futaba grumbles. “Also, what kind of psychopath do you think I am to call someone on the phone?”

“That’s what phones are for.”

“Calling people is scary.”

“I thought you were getting better?” Akira teases.

“I am!” she says, pointing a finger at him. “I am! Just you watch, Akira. I’m getting better every day.”

*

Six months after joining Kosei, Futaba locks herself in her room and does not reemerge for seven days straight.

*

She tells Sojiro that she’s sick. Sojiro tells the school that Futaba told him that she’s sick. She definitely fakes a hell of a good cough, and the school lets Yusuke send her her all the homework that she was supposed to be doing in the first place, but Futaba already knows it’s only a matter of time before Sojiro rats on her, and she won’t even blame him because it’ll be for her own good.

In the meantime, she has stashes of crackers and peanut butter from back when she was a full-time hermit. She hates the taste of peanut butter within three days. Her bed is a relief, soft like a home she never left, up until it isn’t anymore. It’s too soft. No matter how she lies on it, no matter how soft it is, a mattress just isn’t comfortable when you’ve been lying on it for seventy-four hours. It’s hot. Smothering. She feels like she’s going to drown in the blankets and they’ll have to fish her moldy, sweaty corpse out of the bottomless quicksand pit of her too-soft mattress.

The thing about being a shut-in is that you don’t actually like your room very much. It’s not a relief, or an oasis, or even a place you enjoy. You’re just terrified of everywhere else more.

She plays a lot of video games that she doesn’t even like. She watches a lot of Twitch streamers she doesn’t even like. She doesn’t do her homework. She ignores Sojiro. She pretends she’s alright to everyone who texts. She wakes up and goes to sleep and thinks about going outside and goes to sleep and wakes up and wonders if the whole last year and her cautious baby steps back into the world outside was all just a hazy dream.

*

There aren’t a lot of Thieves left in Tokyo, weirdly. Haru and Makoto both graduated, off doing business and law junk that honestly makes Futaba’s brains want to crawl out her ears, but all the numbers check out and Haru’s not in the red yet, and Futaba’s looked at enough people’s dirty laundry to appreciate Haru’s clean ledger. Akira’s back in his dinky hicktown, where there’s barely anything electronic connected to Wifi worth breaking into for surveillance, which is really boring.

Ann’s been doing so many modeling gigs that she might as well not be attending Shujin anymore. She’s practically surrounded by electronics, and all of them are connected to the internet. On any given day, Futaba can snoop through the internet trail of electronic file cabinets full of images of her face, emails about her face, paychecks for her face. Futaba sends Ann more than one email about creepy old dudes making gross comments about her, along with a bunch of other illegal shit they’ve done, plus their offshore accounts full of cash if Ann wants Futaba to sic a lawyer on them.

Ann looks like she’s having fun. Ann looks different on the other side of the computer screen, like she’s less real. Like she’s not someone Futaba really knows. Like Ann’s not someone Futaba’s literally cried on at one point in her life.

Ryuji is definitely attending Shujin, but between physical therapy, catching up on a whole year of track, athletic scholarship hunting, and studying for college admissions tests, Ryuji seems to have been swallowed whole by Shujin, really. Out of boredom, one day, Futaba went down that rabbit hole of researching what it takes to get recruited for track in college, and holy shit–apparently Ryuji’s coach was supposed to be helping him with that whole process, but of course Ryuji barely has a proper coach ever since Kamoshida left Shujin’s track program in pieces. The amount of networking he’s doing is insane, especially for one teenaged boy who barely remembers his homework every night.

Sometimes, when Ryuji’s forgotten to check his email in a while and there’s a message from a coach sitting in his inbox, Futaba will send him a text to make him check it. And then it’s all, What were you doing looking at my emails, Futaba and Which of my other passwords do you know, Futaba, as if Ryuji doesn’t just use the same password over and over and has literally nobody but himself to blame.

So it’s really just Futaba, Yusuke, and–weirdly–Akechi, who’s off doing his gap year and said he was going to go abroad, but then he never did. Not to be a huge snoop, but Futaba went digging through his junk for about five seconds and then she never did it again, because she felt really weird about finding out that the guy that killed her mom is looking into social work, volunteerism, and reforming the justice system.

Like. The man who killed the Thieves’ leader is now literally out there saving orphans. It’s wild.

She might’ve been the one to tell Akechi that he can start over again and do better, but she reserves the right to at least feel weird about it.

She does not call Akira. She talks to Yusuke at school, but she refuses to ask him to accompany her on the subway. She should be recovered by now, shouldn’t she? She was supposed to have gotten over all that when Akira left Tokyo. She’s doing fine. She’s just looking out for her friends. Her, living vicariously through her friends, who’re growing up and growing away, flourishing into young adults? Never.

*

Everything is the same.

*

Didn’t she help kill a god last year?

Didn’t she work so hard to get out of her room, to make friends, to reconnect with Kana-chan?

Didn’t she work so hard to change herself?

Didn’t she help change the world?

*

Everything is the same.

*

Tuesday, 1:43 PM

YUSUKE: Futaba?

FUTABA: yo inari

FUTABA: u got more homework for me or what

YUSUKE: Ah, no.

YUSUKE: I think your teacher finds it suspicious that I’m sending you homework when I’m not in your grade, as it is.

FUTABA: oh no

FUTABA: what a shame that we didn’t have an entire year of experience with getting away with wildly illegal magic brain crimes without raising any suspicion

FUTABA: truly emailing me like four pieces of paper a day is far too difficult

YUSUKE: Well, I can’t get your homework from your teacher, but I can give you more homework if you’d like.

FUTABA: ok bucko that wasn’t a challenge

YUSUKE: There’s a math problem set that’s been incredibly dull to get through when I have more important pieces I could be working on…

FUTABA: inari im sorry to say but

FUTABA: me literally doing your homework for you is about a thousand times more illegal than you giving me my homework when ur not in my grade

YUSUKE: Oh, is it?

FUTABA: wh

FUTABA: are y

FUTABA: what do you mean OH IS IT

FUTABA: did you not KNOW ur not allowed to have other ppl do ur hw????

FUTABA: inari have u been making other people do ur hw for u so u can have more time to do art?????????

FUTABA: no shut up i dont want to know

FUTABA: i will not be ur accomplice

FUTABA: i see ur little speech bubble thingamajig yusuke i said stop typing forever and ever

YUSUKE: I can’t invite you to the art gallery tomorrow if I can’t type.

YUSUKE: It also seems impractical for you to outlaw me from texting forever.

FUTABA: i literally did not say that

YUSUKE: You said, and I quote,

YUSUKE: “Yusuke, I said stop typing forever and ever.”

FUTABA: ok i know it looks like i said that but please im begging u it’s literally just an exaggeration

YUSUKE: As Makoto would say, it’s hardly an enforceable law.

FUTABA: u literally texted my sick and crusty ass just to give me a hard time

YUSUKE: Are you about recovered from your cold?

FUTABA: and now u have the nerve to ask me to go to ur art show thing

YUSUKE: I didn’t say that.

FUTABA: oh really

FUTABA: what were u gonna ask me about then

YUSUKE: The art show, naturally.

YUSUKE: But you could have done me the courtesy of letting me ask.

FUTABA: all that on the day of my daughter’s wedding and now u want me to do u a solid

FUTABA: well i have news for u

FUTABA: the answer

FUTABA: is yeah

FUTABA: sure why not

YUSUKE: Oh, excellent.

YUSUKE: I thought that you might decline on account of your illness.

FUTABA: i’m not a punk bitch

FUTABA: i’m going

FUTABA: u were only working all those paintings for like two months i wanna see their oily faces in person

YUSUKE: Just because they were made with oil paints does not mean that they are oily.

FUTABA: cant wait to see my oily boys

YUSUKE: Unfortunately, I have to set up the event beforehand, so I will not be able to accompany you on the way here.

YUSUKE: Will you be alright by yourself?

FUTABA: uh

FUTABA: hmm

FUTABA: how oily are these boys in case i need to call a rain check

YUSUKE: Hmm.

YUSUKE: Perhaps someone else can go with you.

YUSUKE: Let me see if I can find someone.

FUTABA: what like one of ur art friends

FUTABA: i’m not going with anyone i dont know sry

YUSUKE: I’ll keep it in mind.

Tuesday, 1:59 PM

YUSUKE: Unfortunately, Ann and Ryuji were not available. Both of them will be coming late to the art show.

YUSUKE: Fortunately, Goro is.

FUTABA: whomst

YUSUKE: Goro Akechi?

YUSUKE: Crow, in case you know multiple Goro Akechis.

FUTABA: no like why u callin him goro

YUSUKE: I asked him if I could and he said yes.

YUSUKE: There’s not many people left in Tokyo who were part of the Thieves.

YUSUKE: I’m not exactly popular at school myself, so I thought it prudent to hold onto the connections I already had.

FUTABA: hhhhhhhhhhhhh

FUTABA: but why him……………………………………….

YUSUKE: Has he done something wrong?

YUSUKE: Well.

YUSUKE: Besides the obvious.

YUSUKE: Last I heard, you were quite vocally supportive of Goro making a change for the better,but have you prehaps reconsidered?

FUTABA: i mean he’s always been nice to me

FUTABA: like even before he was on the team as crow

FUTABA: and then later after he like lost his shit and tried to kill us

FUTABA: he was also like weirdly nice

FUTABA: even if he was dressed as a tokusatsu villain

FUTABA: but

FUTABA: i

FUTABA: ok this is gonna sound really weird but like

FUTABA: you know how i said that the person to take me to the art show has to be someone that i know

YUSUKE: Yes.

FUTABA: even though akechi was one of the thieves at the end

FUTABA: i feel like i dont really know him

FUTABA: he like had that whole breakdown where he spilled all his kylo ren sadstuck junk and then he peeled his dumb ass up off the floor and then we beat up his dad in a dark alley

FUTABA: and then i guess akira likes him a bunch and hangs out with him and i guess probably talked to him about all that stuff that happened

FUTABA: and also i think ann talks to him

FUTABA: and also haru i think for some reason……………………..

FUTABA: but like i feel like. we as a group. never really uhhhhhhh

FUTABA: got to know him very well i guess

FUTABA: because he spent like the whole year being a fake ass bitch

FUTABA: and then by the time he wasnt, the thieves were busy literally fighting god, and it was all business business business

FUTABA: ughghfhg i guess this is just a really long way of saying that like yeah ok i guess i do know him but i dont think i really do

FUTABA: even when he was off the shits in the engine room it was like

FUTABA: somehow that was not……………………………….. really him

FUTABA: idk maybe this is just my Thoughts but like

FUTABA: idk some people are like “your true self is who you are at your worst” and

FUTABA: yeah maybe you are some PART of urself when youre at your worst but like

FUTABA: also not???

FUTABA: that can’t be it

FUTABA: that’s not ALL of you

FUTABA: so all i ever saw was him when he was being a fake ass barbie prince and then when he was like actively losing his shit

FUTABA: and both of those were like. two types of fake ass barbie prince

FUTABA: except obviously the one where he started screamin about murder and trying to kill joker was like, fake ass serial killer barbie prince

FUTABA: anyway i dont buy it for a second that seeing akechi at his worst means that i know the first thing about his “”“”“”“”“true self”“”“”“”“”“”“

FUTABA: like i know that i technically met him but also at the same time i dont think ive ever really actually met this dude

FUTABA: uh tldr what’s the truth crowboy

FUTABA: second tldr do you got anyone else i can go to the art show with because im not unpackin all that junk in the trunk while also trying to fend off a panic attack in the subway

YUSUKE: Well, to speak to "what’s the truth, crowboy,” I’d say he’s actually really funny.

FUTABA: WHAT

YUSUKE: Yes, actually.

FUTABA: YOU TRYNA TELL ME YOU SHARE A SENSE OF HUMOR W AKECHI

YUSUKE: As everyone knows, I don’t have a sense of humor.

YUSUKE: But if I did, that might not be inaccurate to say.

YUSUKE: Either way, we could ask Boss if he’ll take you to school.

FUTABA: no

FUTABA: im not makin him shut down leblanc for the day just cause i cant get my shit together

FUTABA: and i go to school by myself all the time now i dont need to be walked there by my dad like a four yr old

FUTABA: r u sure u dont have anyone else who can take me

YUSUKE: You said it had to be someone you know.

YUSUKE: I can take you.

YUSUKE: But I’ll be getting to Kosei early to prepare.

FUTABA: how early is early

YUSUKE: Four in the morning.

FUTABA: PLEASE INARI

YUSUKE: The people you know is a quite limited pool, Futaba.

FUTABA: shut the hell ur face i dont need u tellin me to make kosei friends too

FUTABA: i get my butt to school every day i’m already a hero

FUTABA: ok alright

FUTABA: crow-san it is

FUTABA: hhh

FUTABA: no shut up stop typing i’m fine

FUTABA: i already saw his dumb ass get inflicted with Horny from Yaldy God Himself i ain’t afraid of no crows

FUTABA: actually now that i remember that that was pretty funny mwehehehehehehe

FUTABA: OKAY send me the who what when where why

YUSUKE: There’s a PDF flier. I’ll send it to you.

YUSUKE: But I will have to type the email to send it to you.

FUTABA: oh my GOD inari

FUTABA: i swear to god ur not actually this dense and youre just pretending u dont know what an exaggeration is just to drive me up the wall

YUSUKE: Oh, that is a possibility, isn’t it?

FUTABA: WH

YUSUKE: Ah, last period is starting. I’ll have to talk to you later.

FUTABA: WHAT

FUTABA: NO WAIT

FUTABA: HELLO????

FUTABA: YUSUKE NO COME BACK

Tuesday, 2:53 PM

FUTABA: YUSUKE HAVE YOU BEEN MAKING AKECHI DO UR HW FOR U SO YOU CAN DO MORE ART??

FUTABA: IS THAT WHY UR ON A FIRST NAME BASIS W HIM

FUTABA: ANSWER ME STRINGBEAN

*

In Futaba’s opinion, there’s an infinite amount of more embarrassing reasons to pull yourself out of your depression pit than “I needed to yell at my friend for being a snotty bastard,“ and there’s worse escorts to have than the weird guy who went from being a professional murderer to their weird awkward friend. Firstly, if there’s anything that can motivate Futaba Sakura, it’s the primal urge to dunk on her friends for spite and memes. Secondly, there’s no chance in hell Futaba’s going to have a breakdown in front of Akechi.

She can do this. She got herself out of this grave once; she can do it again. Even if Akira isn’t here. She’s getting better. She promised him.

On the eighth day of her almost-return to hermithood, Akechi texts her:

AKECHI: I’m here.

AKECHI: Are you ready to go?

Futaba is wearing only an old shirt, no bra, sweats, and vaguely greasy hair from all the showers she’s skipped.

FUTABA: i’m SO ready

FUTABA: the readiest

FUTABA: ultra mega super ready

FUTABA: featherman ranger code name Ready

AKECHI: Oh.

AKECHI: Alright.

Hell yes alright. Time for Futaba to save her own life from her gravesite of a room.

With… Goro Akechi. Wow, life is weird, huh?

She drags on her Kosei uniform like a skin discarded long ago. It feels stiff. Maybe because it feels wrong to wear school clothes like a functioning human; maybe because she just hasn’t washed it in a week. The very idea of explaining herself to Sojiro stresses her out, so she doesn’t do it. The idea of not explaining herself to Sojiro, when he deserves an explanation and also would probably have a heart attack if he realized that she’d disappeared from her room without his knowing, also stresses her out, so she still doesn’t explain herself to Sojiro.

I told Akira I’m better now. I can do this. I did this for more than six months. I was out of my room in the real world, I went to the school festival, I changed my own heart…

She creeps down the stairs like a thief in her own house and pokes her head out the door. Goro Akechi is fiddling with his phone in the sun outside her house, looking like he, too, has only just managed to pull on his Human Suit and look like a guy who didn’t make shadows beg for mercy for fun, so it looks like this whole expedition is going to be a lot of fun.

"Futaba-chan?” says Akechi, only just noticing her lurking in her own doorway. “It’s been a while since we last saw each other. How are you?”

Futaba opens her mouth. No noise comes out.

Akechi’s eyebrows slowly begin to knit together.

“I’m good,” she says squeakily. Clears her throat. Holy shit, she’s not afraid of Akechi after all that junk they went through in the Metaverse. She saw him as a rat. She saw him visibly want to break his father’s face when Shido tried to apologize to him on live TV. Once, Makoto and Akechi got into an unironic, passionate, hour-long argument about whether or not it’s beneficial to color code your notes.

“I’m alright!” Futaba announces louder, maybe a little loudly, considering the way he looks only more concerned. “L-Let’s hurry up and get this sidequest over with!”

She pulls her hoodie over her head and jams her hands into the pockets and makes herself as small as possible and inches out of the doorway. “If you… say so,” says Akechi, and eventually matches her incredibly slow pace as she shuffles her way towards the main street.

When the noise of Yongen-Jaya’s street hits her, her heart rate (already high as hell) spikes even higher like the first day she’d come out of her room, but the old coping mechanisms come back like second nature: Breathe slower, avoid eye contact, remember her mission, stick to the sides of the streets. Breathe slower. She’s still got it. It’s still hard, but she’s got a whole arsenal of ways to deal. She can do this. She will kick Yusuke’s ass for being a dick, if only out of sheer spite.

If Akira were here, I could hide behind him and…

No, shut up, shut up. All she has is her hoodie and Goro Akechi. Akira’s not here. She can do this by herself.

Akechi makes precisely two attempts at small talk (“How has Kosei been?” “Have you seen the pieces Yusuke submitted to the art show before?”) before he realizes that Futaba isn’t going to respond by virtue of barely holding onto her shit by her fingernails. He shuts up and sticks close by. Futaba makes her way down the streets towards the subway like walking on a tightrope. The subway station isn’t busy, but she puts every step in front of her like she’s going to fall. Getting on the subway might as well be a highwire. Futaba and Akechi wait for the train in mutual silence to the sound of other commuters murmuring amongst themselves, like a toothless echo of Mementos’s depths.

When they get on the train, people around her are quiet, thank god, but all of a sudden she’s convinced that she smells because she hasn’t taken a shower in literal days, and she tries to pack herself into her seat as tightly as possible. The guy in front of her is scrolling through something at a ferocious pace and his thumbnail keeps hitting the screen with this incessant clack, clack, clack noise. The subway voice announces their next station as the doors begin to close, and a girl suddenly sits bolt upright, having realized that this is her station after all, and bangs Futaba’s knees hard as she passes. Futaba wants to curl her legs to her chest, but she’s wearing Kosei’s uniform skirt and it’d just make everyone stare at her if she did that on the subway. She curls her fingers into the skirt hem. She stares down at her knees and lets her hair drape around her like a curtain. She can do this. She can do this. Breathe slower. Even slower. I did this for more than six months, I told Akira I’m better now, I changed my own heart…

Akechi pulls out his phone. Futaba’s phone buzzes.

AKECHI: Are you alright?

FUTABA: i said i was ready dude

Akechi types and retypes an answer, which technically Futaba could just look over his arm and read, but instead Futaba flips through apps on her phone and pulls up a shitty mobile dungeon crawler. She dies four times before Akechi puts his phone away without sending anything.

They pass multiple stations like that. Futaba sure as hell hopes that Akechi’s watching which station they’re on, because she isn’t. After the millionth time she dies, Futaba just closes the app altogether. Concentration’s shot. Can’t focus on anything. Heartbeat’s too loud. Breathing’s too loud. The guy next to her is breathing too loud. Everything is too loud.

New text:

AKECHI: Yusuke said you’d recovered from your cold, but you still look a little unwell.

Futaba doesn’t respond to that. She doesn’t need Negative Nancy over here telling her she’s gonna crack. Because she isn’t gonna. The subway starts to slow, and the voice announces the station for Yusuke’s school. She’s literally almost there, she’s right there, she might die in three seconds because her heart is going to pound of her chest but at least she’s going to make it, she promised Akira that she was alright—

The subway doors open. Passengers stand to get off. Akechi stands up. Futaba drops like a rock.

“I can’t,” Futaba’s voice says. She sounds like she’s crying. “I can’t, I can’t do it, I—”

“Futaba—”

“I’m can’t do it, I—”

She buries her face in her knees on the dirty subway floor. Oh, she really is crying. “I’m sorry,” she says, “I’m so sorry, I couldn’t…”

Around her, people’s feet stop moving. They’re staring at her. She’s crying on the subway and everyone is staring at her. “Shh,” says Akechi, like Futaba doesn’t know she’s being a loud and irritating pest, but then he takes off his winter coat and covers her with it. Suddenly everything goes dark. It’s a huge coat, too; it wraps around her whole torso with enough room to spare to cover her entire head. Inside, it’s like she’s back in her room, only listening to the sounds of real life somewhere on the other side of a computer monitor, where it can’t hurt her. It’s so surprising she hiccups to a stop. Two hands pull her up by the shoulders and guide her to stand. “Up. Let’s go.”

“Is she okay?” says a voice.

Futaba’s entire body seizes with fear. She ducks into her own knees, trying to disappear.

“Hey, little girl, are you alright?”

“She’ll be fine,” says Akechi’s friendly, super fake ass barbie prince voice. “My sister just had a hard day. I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”

“A hard day?” Now the stranger’s voice is accusatory.

“For your information, our dog was recently brutally run over in front of her eyes.”

“Young man, are you serious right now?”

“Oh, yes. There was blood everywhere. Its intestines squelched horribly under the tires less than six feet away from her,” Akechi goes on. Futaba chokes, and then hiccups in what she realizes is almost a laugh. “Please excuse her. Thank you.” And before the literal complete stranger can follow up on that awful statement, Akechi takes her hand and pulls her up.

Futaba stumbles to her feet. If she has to take the coat off right now, she will actually die.

“It’s okay. Just hold my hand and follow me.”

Blindly, she lets him lead her out of the subway, weaving through people with only minimal contact with other people’s shoulders. There’s a whole awkward period where Akechi has to walk her up the stairs out of the subway station while she can’t see anything, but eventually the noise and bustle of other people around her seems to die away, and the air grows cooler in the way it does in the shadows between city buildings. Then they stop walking altogether. When Akechi lets go of her hand, she almost tries to grab it back before she catches herself.

“Okay. There’s nobody else around, now. It’s safe.”

Futaba doesn’t come out of the jacket. In the dark, her eyes dart back and forth, trying to see even as she blinds herself.

“Sorry for grabbing you so suddenly like that,” Akechi’s voice goes on after it becomes obvious she’s not going to come out.

Futaba wipes snottily at her own face. Oh, this is so gross, she’s got snot and tears on top of five days worth of grime and body juice because she hadn’t taken a shower. She’s disgusting. She really actually wants to die right now. She can’t show her face like this.

“Er,” says Akechi. “Do you want…. water, or…?”

Futaba folds up right there on the city pavement, probably dragging Akechi’s nice coat all over a dirty alleyway. She tucks her face into her knees, where she feels safest, and pulls the coat flaps even tighter. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be.”

“I’m sorry for not being okay,” she mumbles.

There’s a short silence. “You really don’t have to be.”

“I do,” Futaba says. She feels like she’s nine years old again, a petulant kid who needs to hold people’s hands and be escorted around Tokyo. “This is—it’s stupid, and I can’t believe I-I’m still doing this, a-and even a-after everything that h-happened last year, I’m still just a… I’m still…”

“It’s fine,” says Akechi. Even he sounds overwhelmed, and at the first sound of weakness, she pulls the coat off her head and glares at him furiously, red-faced and covered in tears and snot and gross depression juice crust and all.

“I’m not supposed to be this way anymore!” she says miserably. “I’m supposed to be better! Moved on! Doing literally a-anything else but crying over t-taking a subway! It’s stupid and nobody else is like this and I just want to be over this already and I just want to be better already and—!“

She covers her face with her hands again. God, even when she says that, it sounds pathetic.

After a moment or two, she hears Akechi moving again. She peeks at him. He’s crouching in almost the exact same pose as her, looking like he’s resigning himself to neither getting his coat back, nor moving from this spot any time soon, nor getting to Yusuke’s art show on time, but also looking archly and entirely unperturbed about it. Actually, it looks like he’s writing a work email on his phone.

Futaba was right about being in an alleyway, but it’s so cold because they’re shielded by a trio of vending machines selling canned coffee and wrapped sandwiches. "Our dog was recently run over?” she says.

“People can mind their own damn business,” says Akechi in his Pleasant Boy Voice, without looking up from his email.

“He was just trying to help.”

“Oh, yes, let’s help the crying girl by crowding her and suffocating her in a crush of public transit.”

Futaba snorts. “That was really mean of you.”

“Oh, absolutely,” says Akechi.

Futaba sucks a truly disgusting gob of snot into her nose. “Ugh. I wish I could’ve seen the guy’s face when you told him that.”

“It was like I’d spat on his shoes. I should’ve kept going. Or had a camera.”

“Futaba giggles wetly into her forearms. "Like one of those—those prank videos online… Get Yusuke to film it.”

“Yusuke, as the cameraman? I’m not trying to make a documentary.” Akechi flips to a different screen on his phone. “I already texted Yusuke about our poor dead dog, by the way, so don’t worry about it.”

Suddenly Futaba feels like literal garbage again. “Why are you always so nice to me?” she mumbles.

Akechi makes a weird face, like he’s trying to do his old Pleasant Boy shtick while having swallowed a lemon whole. “You say that like me being nice is somehow unusual.”

“Uh, yeah. Because it is. You literally were just being a huge asshole to a guy you’d never met over a fictional dog.”

Akechi has this increasingly disgruntled look on his face like he kind of wants to punt Futaba down some stairs, which, frankly, is the best sort of reward, in Futaba’s opinion. “I’m working on it,” he says grumpily.

“How’s that been?” says Futaba.

“Which part?”

Futaba has one whole moment of self reflection on this idea as maybe not a good course of action before she barrels on anyway: “The part where you’re turning your life around. Starting over. Trying again.”

“It sucks dick,” says Akechi.

“Oh, right on,” says Futaba, and then before she can stop herself: “Wait, I thought you liked dick?”

Akechi makes a noise like a strangled cat.

Futaba cackles. “Dude, incognito mode when you’re browsing for porn does not save you from people like me.”

“Have you been spying on me?”

“Uh, yes? Obviously?”

“You know you could get arrested for that sort of breach in privacy.”

“Oh, boo hoo, so sorry I know all about your weird orphan-saving night job and your smutty Featherman doujinshi collection. You’re not gonna narc on me.” Futaba stops. “Are you?”

“Stop looking at my internet history.”

“No. You better not narc on me.”

“Then stop looking at my internet history.”

“You had to google how to change a SIM card last week, crow-boy; you couldn’t stop me if you tried.”

“I will narc on you.”

“No you won’t. You’re the one trying to not be an asshole.”

Akechi makes a face like a cat being slowly submerged in cold water. Futaba laughs in his face.

“If you’re quite done,” says Akechi grouchily.

“No, never. You’re made for being made fun of,” says Futaba. “I’m gonna be making fun of you for years and years, crow-boy; you’re never going to get rid of me.”

“Great.”

“Gonna be creeping on your weird orphan-saving night job until the day you die.”

“Wonderful,” says Akechi without inflection whatsoever.

“Mwehehehehehehehehehe.”

“If you’re quite done.”

“I will take a well-deserved break from my endless duty to troll you both on and offline,” says Futaba. “Because I really really really wanna go to the art show.”

Akechi has the nerve to look relieved that he no longer has to squat in a dirty alleyway listening to a high school freshman bully him. “Then let’s go.”

Futaba hugs her knees tight. “But I wanna keep your coat.”

“Aren’t you wearing your own coat?” says Akechi, trying to look like he isn’t shivering. “Aren’t you getting hot?”

“I’m keeping it.”

“It’s my coat.”

“I’m keeping it.”

“Fine, then. Keep it. It’s dry clean only.”

“Oh, ew. No, take it back, gross, gross,” and Futaba peels the snotty, tear-stained, dirty winter coat off and dumps it back in Akechi’s arms, who looks at it with the expression of someone long-suffering and without hope of escape.

“And,” says Futaba, “I wanna see it if you tell anyone else that our dog got run over.”

Akechi smirks. “You’ll have to film it, then.”

“Oh my god, like I wouldn’t.”

Futaba scrubs her face one last time. She still feels like she’s covered in a grimy layer of slime, but maybe she can wash her face at Kosei. When she gets there. Because she’s gonna get there.

“Uh, one more thing,” says Futaba.

“Not like you’ve bullied me into doing literally everything else you’ve wanted,” says Akechi.

“You can’t laugh at me.”

“Good thing I don’t have a sense of humor,” says Akechi, which horrifyingly confirms to Futaba that Akechi and Yusuke, of all people, really do share a sense of humor.

Futaba hesitates. “Please, um… please don’t tell Akira about this.”

“Why would I tell Akira?“

"Nice. Good answer.” She smooths her hair down, trying to make herself presentable, or just have something to do with her hands. “I… told him I was gonna be okay without him and all that, so… I don’t wanna let him down, you know?”

Slowly, almost shyly, Akechi smiles. “Oh, yes. I know.”

“Our secret. Secret-keepers.”

“Secret-keepers. Are you ready?”

Futaba takes another deep breath. Pushes herself up, brushes herself off, and sighs. “Absolutely not. This is gonna suck so much dick,” says Futaba. “Let’s go anyway.”

[stovetuna]

would you ever consider,,,,,,writing a fix it fic,,,,,,for endgame,,,,,,,pls im starved but also I love you so fuckin much your writing brings me joy

HEART EYES oh my gosh, thank you, anon. I hope this is sufficient. 

full disclosure, I’m absolutely useless when it comes to the “logic” of time travel, so a lot of liberties are being taken here for the sake of story. 

- - - 

Moments after the bright blue light of Tony’s arc reactor goes dark, Steve knows what he has to do.

He grieves, at first. He could hardly do anything else. Hell, it’s everything he can do not to let a howl out, the one clutching at his throat right now that’s equal parts devastation and rage. He swallows the raw, unholy sound and he weeps instead, like he’s never wept before—not for Bucky, or Peggy, or the Commandos, or Natasha, or Sam, or anyone—and then he falls to his knees in the ash and mud, everything that’s left of Tony’s last act of defiance. 

The words echo across the years like the worst kind of phantom pain as Steve looks and looks and looks at Tony, Tony’s corpse, Tony’s unnaturally lifeless body that doesn’t make sense to see, I think I would just cut the wire. 

Always a way out. 

Steve wishes he could go back in time and punch himself in the teeth, just like Tony said. 

Around him, heroes kneel, silent. No one talks about what has to be done, what the world will be like without Tony Stark, how they’re supposed to go on—for the moment, everything is still, and just as the blue light of the arc reactor had flickered out moments ago (wrong wrong wrong it should be shining like a solar flare he should have lived it should be him against that rock) Steve feels something flicker to life inside his own chest. It’s faint, but glows steady. Only he can see it, feel it; only he knows what it means. 

It’s a choice, an easy one, that Steve’s already made. 

*

After the funeral, Bruce sends him back with the stones. Clipping branches takes time, but it’s hardly tedious: First he returns to Morag, walks past Quill’s prone, snoring figure, and returns the Power stone to its place in the timeline. Like something out of Indiana Jones, Steve thinks to himself as he does it, but it’s not his voice he hears. It’s Tony’s, because only Tony would see a dangerous, precarious situation like this and make a pop culture reference. 

They watched that one together. Just him and Tony, early on, when things were still good. Tense, maybe—brittle, but good. Before Steve knew about Bucky, or HYDRA, or Tony’s parents; before Steve realized he did in fact know how to lie, but only when it came to Tony Stark. They’d drank good beer and talked gingerly around the subject of Steve’s adjustment to the 21st century; Steve couldn’t help but think of Tony when Indiana shot the swordsman, remembering what Tony had said on the helicarrier with startling clarity, the opposite of how he’d been thinking in the moment: I think I would just cut the wire. 

Now, Steve pushes the orb back through the energy barrier, mouth pressed in a firm line. The burns will heal, in time. He has plenty of it, after all, and the pain is a cheap price compared to what he felt watching Tony die, and it’s a price he’s more than willing to pay if this works.

• 

The Soul Stone is hard, not because of the climb, or the Red Skull (although, in fairness, it does throw Steve for a moment), but because he has to watch the soul stone plummet to the earth knowing it won’t bring Natasha back. There are only so many things he can fix, and this isn’t one of them. 

“What’s done is done,” Schmidt says, sadder than Steve ever heard him in life. Turning around, Steve looks at the cloaked figure floating, weightless, a few inches above the ground. He doesn’t feel pity, per se, but there’s a misery to Schmidt’s expression that looks deeply carved. Earned. Painful. He looks the way Steve feels, standing there in the place where Nat died.

“What was it like?” Steve asks, meaning the moment when Schmidt held the cube and disappeared. It doesn’t even register that he’s spoken until Schmidt is looking at him and speaking back. 

“Death would have been preferable,” comes the reply. Steve doesn’t have to go far to remember Tony’s slack, expressionless face, how sickeningly wrong it felt to see death in a place it didn’t belong. It would be unbearable to even imagine that moment for more than a second if Steve didn’t have an extra vial of Pym particles tucked away in his belt. 

“Yeah,” Steve mutters. “I know what you mean.”

Natasha would be proud of him, the way he punches Skull clean through the side of the mountain on his way out. 

* 

Returning the Reality stone is…complicated. 

Rocket and Thor had conveniently forgotten to mention how they got the stuff out of Dr. Foster—maybe Thor didn’t even know, since he’d been having a conversation with his mother at the time, according to Rocket’s later recounting of events—which means Steve is left standing over a sleeping stranger with a syringe filled with dangerous miasma with no clue what to do. 

He can hear Tony in his head again, a welcome rupturing of the tension that’s making it hard for Steve to even breathe, let alone think his own thoughts: stick ‘er with the pointy end. 

It’s solid advice, actually. But for a moment, all Steve can think about is how dearly he misses that voice in his ear, his head, his life, even though he’s lived less than seventy-two hours without it, but that’s seventy-two hours (plus/minus seven years and change) too long. He’s getting impatient, putting things back the way they were just to get to where he should have been all along, and he doesn’t want to waste a minute watching Dr. Foster sleep when he knows he could be spending that precious time getting back to Tony. 

Life, Steve’s learned too many times in too many devastating ways, is too goddamn short. Tony didn’t hesitate, in the end, so Steve won’t either. Not now.

Holding his breath, Steve sticks Dr. Foster with the pointy end and then runs like hell.

* 

The Sanctum Sanctorum is remarkably unscathed despite being surrounded on all sides by Chitauri carcasses and broken alien tech. Dust from the rubble and ash permeates the air so thickly it’s like trying to breathe plaster of Paris without a mask. Steve coughs as he knocks on the front door, grateful all over again to be cured of his asthma. 

The person who opens the door is far from expected, but like Nat told Scott that fateful day back at the compound, nothing’s crazy anymore. 

“You’re not who I was expecting,” they say, lackadaisical like they’re not surrounded by dead aliens that just fell out of the sky. Bruce and Stephen had told him the Ancient One was a bit, well, strange, but Steve certainly wasn’t expecting this much archness wrapped up in sunflower yellow. 

What, did Big Bird suddenly decide to take up transcendental meditation? Tony’s voice snarks. Steve bites his tongue for a second to hold off the snort threatening to escape him. The Ancient One raises an eyebrow (or lack thereof) at him with a smirk. 

“Is he close, still?” 

Steve’s thoughts go silent so fast his head spins. “I’m sorry?”

The Ancient One steps forward. “I’m sure you are,” they say. It feels dangerous, standing out here on the front steps like this, but if the Ancient One doesn’t flinch at being exposed, then neither will Steve. They hold out their hand with a beatific smile. 

“I won’t ask how it all went,” they whisper conspiratorially, “but do tell me one thing: is Bruce alright?”

The Time stone flashes a vivid green from the safety of its cradle of dense foam inside the carbon steel suitcase, which Steve holds out to the Ancient One like one would a box with an engagement ring inside. 

“Bruce is fine,” he says. The but goes unspoken. One look at Steve and the Ancient One knew exactly what his plan was, apparently. He’s still reeling from their earlier comment. He watches the stone float up from the suitcase and drift toward the amulet resting against the Ancient One’s stomach; their hands flicker and move as it opens with a whisper of metal and gears that reminds Steve poignantly, painfully, of Tony. 

There had been a couple of years there, the good ones, when he’d spent a lot of time watching Tony in his workshop, learning the ways in which Tony’s genius applied itself to the world. Everything from DUM-E to JARVIS to the suits to their comms to the reactor powering the tower to proprietary satellites to pasta carbonara, Tony’s mind was capable of it all, and then some. And it all lived inside a man who drove Steve crazy with anger and frustration and awe and lust and who gave Steve so unbelievably much without asking for anything, anything in return except Steve’s friendship and trust and instead Steve had given Tony the awful truth about his parents two years too late.

After Siberia, Steve spent most nights awake, standing on balconies and rooftops just holding the flip phone and thinking back to those earlier days with the kind of bitterly pitiful regret of the truly stupid: of course he’d been infatuated, back then. Of course he’d run away from the very thought. There’d been Pepper, obviously, and it was Tony. More to the point, it was them: Steve and Tony, oil and water, north and south, futurist and idealist, stubborn and stubborner still, always opposite in all the ways that mattered. 

Of course he’d used that as an excuse. God forbid Steve Rogers ever admit to being afraid. 

The Ancient One closes the amulet with a slow, gentle glide of their pale, steady hands. Tony’s were darker, bigger, stronger, more. Not capable of this kind of magic, but to Steve, Tony’s mind was magic. And his heart was made of pure light. He’d placed it in Steve’s hand. Steve never told anyone how it burned him to hold it, or that he’d prayed for the wound not to heal. 

He’d cried the next morning—for their losses, yes, but mostly because he had healed. It was torture, feeling one way but appearing the opposite. It was one of the ways he and Tony had come to understand each other, over the years prior: sometimes what appears on the outside isn’t the truth of what lives on the inside. 

Looking up into the Ancient One’s eyes feels like falling headfirst into time, itself. 

“I would caution you against your choice,” they say, wise and mischievous at the same time, somehow, “but I know you will set things right, when the time comes.” 

Steve closes the suitcase and nods. He tries not to think about Tony’s funeral. The way the first arc reactor Tony had ever built floated off on a wreath of flowers across the surface of the lake, quiet and all heart, the way Tony had been at the last. 

He has to go back there, one day. 

But not yet. 

* 

His past self is still lying unconscious on the glass walkway where Steve left him when he returns. Arms and legs akimbo, that charmingly ridiculous uniform stretching to compensate for the awkward splaying of limbs, Steve Rogers of 2012 looks like a child who went down for a nap, hard. In so many ways, he was a kid, back then, and yet so old. Too old, too soon. 

You’re just a little unstuck, Billy, Tony had said to him once when he’d found Steve awake in the communal kitchen at 4 AM, too riled by a nightmare to go back to sleep. At Steve’s confused look, he’d smiled—kind, soft, caring—and two days later gave him a first edition signed copy of a novel by someone named Kurt Vonnegut. 

Listen: Billy Pilgrim has come unstuck in time.

He read it cover-to-cover twice before he went looking for Tony in the workshop to thank him with a hug. One of the few they’d ever shared, and all the more precious for it. 

Steve Rogers of 2023 knows this kid won’t hesitate to seize the opportunity he’s about to be presented with.

“Look alive, soldier,” he barks. Rogers coughs and splutters and springs to his feet like something stung him right on the ass. As soon as he registers Steve, his copy, standing in front of him, he falls back on his heels into a fighting stance. It’s wobbly around the knees, but Steve doesn’t bother correcting his stance. This isn’t what he’s come to do. 

“Listen to me, and listen carefully,” he says, and then he tells him everything he needs to know. 

Bucky is alive. You can save him.

Peggy, too. You can be with her.

The war is over. You can live without it. 

You can go home. You get to have one.

Imagine it. 

Rogers looks at the time-space GPS with a degree of skepticism Steve forgot that face was capable of. After talking trees and raccoons and living Norse gods and alien armies from outer space and Titans and time travel—after Tony Stark—nothing seems impossible anymore.

Finally, finally, Rogers holds out his hand, palm to heaven. Steve’s stomach tightens painfully to remove the device from his hand, but he thinks of what’s waiting for him downstairs, and letting go has never been so easy. Rogers holds it like a bomb waiting to go off, wary and fearful, but excited, too. 

Then, he looks at Steve, lit up the way a child whose parent has just given them a whole dollar to spend might be. 

“Are you sure?” 

“More than I’ve ever been.” 

Rogers’ face tightens. “What about—” he glances down through the glass. “The others? Will they know? Will they be alright?” 

“I’ll handle it,” he says. He’s taking a page out of Tony’s book here, winging it where he’s used to planning. Bucky was proud when Steve told him his half-cocked idea to go back in time to be with Tony Stark, however Tony would have him. 

How’re you gonna figure out being both Steves at once?

I’ll handle it. 

And if they figure it out?

They’ll handle it.

Rogers is hesitating. He doesn’t want to be selfish—that’s not in his nature. Steve smiles and reaches out, cups his hands around the one with the device and closes Rogers’ fingers around it. 

“It’s okay,” he says. You’re allowed to be selfish, when it’s the right thing to do. 

Looking at his younger self is dizzying, like vertigo. Tony once mentioned having a huge crush on Jimmy Stewart when they watched that movie as a team, which is how Steve learned Tony Stark liked men, too. That was the night his world really turned upside-down. 

Steve reaches into his belt and hands Rogers the extra vial. Enough for one trip. He’ll never get his dance with Peggy, but she’ll get hers. 

Steve will just have to dance with Tony, instead. What a hardship. 

He’s smiling, looking vaguely downwards where he knows Tony is, when Rogers looks at him and asks, “Why?” 

Steve dials the date and time and coordinates from memory. 

A week from Saturday.

The Stork Club.

Eight o’ clock, on the dot. 

The past is past, except when it’s not. Rogers is unstuck, but Steve isn’t. Not anymore. He hasn’t been for a long, long time. 

He shrugs. Smiles, easy, the way he couldn’t when he was Rogers’ age, fresh out of the ice and soul-broken, hopeless. 

“I’m home.”

*

The last test is the hardest. Steve goes down to the lobby via the elevator, carrying the scepter in one hand and the suitcase containing the space stone in the other. He’s dressed in his 2012 uniform again, and he didn’t miss the way it rides up his ass, but he’s got more important things to think about. 

There’s still a commotion happening in the lobby, the fallout of Tony’s self-inflicted heart attack diversion, but Steve manages to force himself away from where he knows Tony is to walk right up to Alexander Pierce. He would dearly love to drop the man right here and now in this lobby, audience be damned, but he has a part to play, yet.  

Steve tamps down the urge and rage long enough to present Pierce with the last stone. The look that flickers behind Pierce’s shrewd blue eyes is telling enough—Steve could punch himself, it’s so obvious. Glee, hunger, intent, all there, malicious and toxic. HYDRA, right out there in the open.

He’ll deal with it later. With extreme prejudice. 

“The cube was just a housing unit,” Steve explains, slipping back into his old by-the-book tone of voice like one slips on a pair of well-worn leather shoes. Pierce takes it with an eerie smile. 

“Very good, Captain.” At Pierce’s nod, Steve straightens, looks back with a knowing smirk, and nods in return. Rumlow would have already updated him about Steve’s words in the elevator; now the rest of it—rescuing Bucky, infiltrating SHIELD, destroying HYDRA and Pierce with it—is up to Steve. 

But first.

“If you’ll excuse me, sir,” Steve says deferentially, already moving away from Pierce toward the circle of black suits hovering around Tony and Thor like expectant vultures at the feast. His heart is in his throat, racing.

“Get your hands off me!” 

Tony.

Thor is running interference on the suits, pushing and holding them back, Mjolnir in hand. He clears a space for Steve to walk through with a nod. Steve nods back, but his eyes are elsewhere. 

Tony.

“I said let go of me, Mall Cop! I’m fine, I don’t need your help.” 

Pepper always says I’m the best at taking care of others at the expense of myself, Tony had told him once. They’d been sitting on the edge of the landing pad near the top of the tower at sunset, going over what went wrong with whatever battle had happened that day. Steve had spent the entire conversation with one hand shoved under his thigh to stop himself from reaching out to hold Tony’s, who’d put himself in the line of fire—unnecessarily—and had nearly given Steve a panic attack. 

A panic attack. How quaint, compared to a shattered heart. 

She’s right, Steve had replied, but then Pepper’s right about everything. 

Most things, Tony said. I’m still not sure if she’s right about me. 

Steve still remembers the way his hand had clenched under his thigh at those words. What do you mean? 

Tony had looked out over the city, not gloating or smug the way Steve had assumed he would be when they first met and Steve learned billionaires were a thing that existed—quite prevalently—in the 21st century, but wistfully, like he couldn’t believe he had the view at all. 

Most days I wake up expecting her to be standing by the bed fully dressed, waiting for me to open my eyes so she can tell me it’s over, he’d said, quiet so only Steve could hear, like the whole city was listening in and Tony wanted to keep this moment between them. I don’t think she’s right about choosing me. 

Steve could have painted Tony in that moment: vulnerable, eyes and skin and hair glowing like fire and honey and whiskey in the light of the setting sun as it glinted off the cityscape. He was handsome, small but strong, nervous but brave, and so unbelievably worth choosing it took every ounce of Steve’s strength to keep his hand under his thigh. To not reach out and take Tony’s face in his hands and just—

Tony, he’d said softly, urgently but without force, waiting until Tony looked him in the eye to say what he’d been holding back for years and even then it was only the tip of the tip of the iceberg: You are worth choosing. 

The way Tony had stared back at Steve then is not unlike the way he looks up at him now: from the floor of the lobby of Stark Tower, roughed up and shellshocked from the battle and his brief introduction to outer space and a minor cardiac episode, but relieved and inarticulately happy to see Steve there among the suits. 

“O Captain, my captain!” Tony crows, wheezing slightly on the last syllable in a way that is far too endearing for Steve to handle, especially given his own fragile state. When Tony reaches a hand up, Steve doesn’t hesitate to take it and haul him to his feet.

Tony is alive. Standing there, in front of Steve, alive. Younger, smoother around some edges and sharper in others, beautiful like a sunset and a sunrise rolled into one—an astronomical anomaly of the rarest kind. The Black Sabbath t-shirt is singed but mostly whole, and Steve wants to linger on that detail, except he can’t. 

“You alright there, Cap? You’re looking a little blue around the gills…”

Blue. Blueblueblueblueblueblue. 

The burning light at the center of Tony Stark is so blue, a glowing circle shining out from behind that silly threadbare band t-shirt like a beacon in the night, guiding Steve home. How is no one else marveling at this? At Tony Stark, alive? 

He’s staring. At Tony’s chest. He knows he is, but there’s no helping it. Just like there’s no helping the way he reaches out and pulls Tony into a hug like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. It wasn’t long ago he’d carried this same body, suit and all, off the battlefield, crying himself hoarse even as he laid Tony out on a patch of grass in the sun away from the smoke and desolation. He’d watched this man die not seventy-two hours ago, and here was Tony, in his arms the way Steve should have held him years and years and years ago, alive. 

It shouldn’t be possible. But as he’s learned ten times over, when it comes to Tony Stark, impossible is only a matter of perspective (and a little bit of elbow grease).  

Steve muffles his hitching breaths against Tony’s shoulder, trying desperately to compose himself even as he falls apart. He’s failing, but can’t bring himself to care. Tony returns his embrace haltingly, like he can’t believe it’s happening, but then neither can Steve. 

“It’s alright, big guy. Party’s over,” Tony chuckles into his ear, nervous, patting Steve on the shoulder from under his arm in an awkward bend. “I’m fine, I promise.“ He does the unthinkable, then, Tony: he steps back and takes Steve’s hand and lays it flat against his chest so Steve can feel the strong thud of his heartbeat and the low, steady hum of the arc reactor at the same time. “See?” Tony says with a quicksilver smile, “alive and well.” 

Steve knows his eyes are wet. His hair is a mess and he’s still grieving his Tony, and that grief is a ten-ton weight in his stomach. And yet, standing here looking into this Tony’s big brown eyes, faced with that benevolent (if teasing) smile and generous heart, Steve feels young and limitless, weightless, like he’d float off the floor if it weren’t for Tony, who’s still holding his hand against his chest.

Steve knows this is selfish and reckless and his staying here could break the fabric of reality itself, but he would choose this—he’d choose Tony, warm and alive and smiling at him—every time. There are battles to be fought and truths to be told and lives to save, and he may never get to have Tony in all the ways he wants him in this or any timeline, but he’s willing to wing it and see. 

Who knows—they could very well end up married. 

Crazier and more impossible things have happened.

“Alive is good,” Steve says, locking a sob away behind a smile so big it strains his cheeks. “It means you can still pay for shawarma.” 

Tony’s face goes slack with surprise, and then he’s laughing so hard he’s cackling, leaning into Steve’s steady hand for support. Steve can feel Tony’s laugh as much as he can hear it: it feels like home and sounds like rock music and looks like sunlight spilling out between his fingers, bright blue. 

- - -

also on AO3! https://archiveofourown.org/works/22299358

[sansfangirl4life-blog]

Souls of Glass Chapter 5

A timeskip and some insight into poor Lost’s depression QwQ My poor baby

Lost is mone, and Undervirus belongs to @jeyawue

Chapter 5

Three weeks later....

Lost hummed as he pushed the vacuum around the house, ear buds in his ears. "Take me down to the river bend...." He pushed it along the carpet, his bare feet enjoying the feeling of the soft material beneath it.

"Ya look goofy." Xans said as he flipped through a book, chewing on some gum. He blew a large bubble and it gave a soft 'pop' as Lost looked his way. "I mean, Vapyrus usually does this."

"Well I don't see you helping with chores. And besides, Vapyrus is outside tending to the flowers with Frisk today." Lost said, turning his music back on. Xans smirked and pulled a screen up, flipping through songs until hitting one. Lost frowned when the song changed and he glared at Xans as he laughed. "Quit messing with my music!"

"Aww, c'mon! I wanna see ya 'dansen'."

"Ugh...." Lost's blue eye flashed and Xans was lifted into the air, hanging upside down. More magic surrounded the couch as he vacuumed under it before placing it gently back down, and depositing Xans on the floor roughly.

"Ow!"

"Serves you right." The teen huffed and continued to clean, changing his music back. Xans smirked and his large, data wings formed and he flew over Lost and back to the couch. "Why don't you help Sans clean up in the kitchen?"

"Cause I don't want to." Lost rolled his eyes and continued cleaning. Xans took a moment to look the young man over, his teal and green eyes narrowed slightly. He's getting circles under his eyes....is he not sleeping? He frowned and shook his head. Nah that ain't right. He sleeps like a log. He watched Lost finish up and put the vacuum away. "Did that wear ya out?"

"Hmm? No, I'm fine." Lost stretched and headed to the kitchen. Xans scowled a little and put his book down, following him. Sans was at the sink, scrubbing the dishes with a pink apron over his clothes. "You need any help?"

"No, I'm fine. Thanks for asking Lost. They're almost done." Sans smiled and Xans felt his scowl deepen looking at the two of them. He used his own magic to yank Lost to him and looked into his eyes.

"What the hell Xans?!" Xans smirked and leaned in close, his lips ghosting over his captive's. "Let me go Xans."

"Heh, last time ya said that....ya were begging for a different kind of 'release', no?" Just as Xans hoped, Lost's face turned beet red and he licked his lips. "If ya want....I can do that again."

"Fuck off!" Lost shoved him away and stormed outside as Xans watched him go. Sans stood in front of him, having finished and hung the apron up.

"Do you always have to be such a damned prick?" He asked. Xans looked down at him and clicked his tongue slightly. "You don't need to be so rude."

"I ain't actin' any different just because he doesn't like it." Xans said, shrugging. He turned to see Lost outside, kneeling next to Vapyrus and Frisk, helping them pull weeds. He walked outside and leaned against the door, watching them all interact. Sans teleported beside him and sighed. "What now?"

"I've noticed that he never looks at her when he talks to her."

"Who, ya mean Frisk?"

"Yeah....I asked Valphys to look some info up on why...her and Gaster are currently looking at information but it feels kinda...invasive." Xans just chuckled and Sans frowned. "You just made that dirty, didn't you...."

"Heh, I could go for an 'in depth' look if ya want."

"Ugh, Xans no." Sans shook his head. Xans leaned in close and Sans could feel the smirk against his skull.

"That wasn't what ya said a week ago Sans~...." Sans rolled his eyes and pushed him back. "Heh, just messin' with ya." Xans watched as Loat helped them plant a few new flowers, showing her how to do it. "Although he does have rather nimble fingers it seems..."

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

Footsteps crunched the snow beneath his feet as he wandered in the dark. He felt the cold through his hoodie and shirt, the chill air like ice in his veins. Why...why is it so cold? Was it always this cold? Lost wondered as he wandered around. There was no moon above him, yet he could see his surroundings with ease. This looks like the woods but...it feels different...

He zipped his hoodie up and continued walking when he heard a familiar growling sound. Amalgams.... He held his hand out, but when no magic formed he froze. No....no what's happening?!  The noises grew louder and he felt terror grip at his soul. I....can't fight back? What's going on?!

He turned around and began to run. The tree branches seemed to grab at his clothes, like icy hands tearing at his clothes. He tripped over something and fell face first into the snow. "N-Ngh...." He wiped his face away, only to freeze when he noticed what was on his face. "D.....dust..."

"Help us...." Lost turned around as the voice echoed in the distance. Something grabbed his leg and he tugged away. A hand made of dust released him, but tried to grab him again. "Help....please...."

"We're so scared...." Another hand grabbed his left leg, the hand hot and sticky. He looked down to see the hand was formed of blood and bone, the bone piercing his pale skin. He shook and screamed, trying to get out of their hold.

"Let me go!"

"Please help!"

"They're coming!"

"They'll eat us!"

"No...no stop....stop it please!" Lost could hear loud, pounding footsteps coming and his eyes widened. The creature was large and dripping, the smell of its breath like rotting corpses and mold. The creature loomed before him and his Soul seized up. "L...let go..."

"It's coming....."

"It's there...."

"It's here!"

"Ah!" Lost's eyes snapped open and he fell out of his bed. He rubbed his head, groaning slightly. "Ugh......damnit...." He listened for a few moments, sighing when no one stirred in the house. "Good...didn't wake anyone." He slowly stood up and sat on the edge of his bed, burying his face in his hands. "Fuck.....what the hell is with these nightmares?" He walked over to the coatrack and slipped on his blue hoodie, then he put on his usual slippers. He grabbed the small cellphone Frisk had gotten him and headed outside.

Locking the door behind him, he breathed in the night air and began to slowly walk down the street. I've forgotten why I never slept... he thought, hand stuffed in his pockets. He looked up at the sky, his sharp eyes still able to pick out a few, dim stars, the rest blocked by city lights. He wandered into the deserted park, glancing around before sitting on an iron bench.

The moon shone down gently on the pond, the small stirrings on the water making the reflection waver. It's a rather peaceful night out here... He smiled a little. It's so calm and quiet.... Lost sighed and looked down at his hands. Do I...even deserve this kind of peace? After everything I've done.... He gripped his hands into a tight fist, nails almost cutting skin. After all the lives these hands have stolen....do I dare to even think I deserve this chance?

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

Xans walked down the street, a slight limp to his steps. "Heh, damn that guy really hit me hard..." He smirked and licked his lips. "Then again...I was able ta give as much as he took..." He chuckled to himself before stopping. A streetlight flickered above him as he looked around. Huh.... He closed his eyes and focused before he picked up on a familiar presence. Lost? What the hell is he doin' out 'ere?

He snuck behind a tree to watch the young man gazing out at the water. He had an odd, lonely look to him that made Xans's Soul and gut twinge at the sight. The moonlight made the white tips of his hair and skin give off a faint glow. To Xans, in that brief moment, he almost looked ethereal. The moonlight was covered by a cloud and the moment passed. Huh....

"I just...don't know..." Lost whispered to himself before sighing. Xans walked over and Lost turned, red eye flashing as a faint red glow covered his left hand. 

"Who-"

"Take it easy there Lost." Xans raised his hands and the glow faded. "Yeesh, ya glow around every handsome guy ya come across?" Lost just shook his head and Xans frowned. Huh....he usually retorts....what the fuck?

"Sorry Xans." Xans just stared at him as he turned back around. His shoulders were slightly slumped, making him almost look small in the shadows of the trees around them. "I just...I'm tired." Xans frown deepened as Lost brought his legs up to his chest, resting his chin on his knees. Xans moved and sat next to him, wincing a little as his still sore rear sat on the iron.

"Wanna talk about it?"

"There's nothing to talk about." Lost said quickly. "Just....I'm just tired."

"Of?"

"......I don't really know. Everything and nothing...." He admitted softly. 

"Life...death....pain and joy.....just..." He sighed and shook his head, hiding his face behind his legs. "I don't know." Xans placed an arm around Lost's shoulders, feeling him flinch and almost pull away. But he stopped and instead let the virus pull him gently closer.

"I don' have a fucking clue what's eatin' at ya. And yer refusal to talk about it doesn't help out much." He felt Lost tighten his grip on himself and shook his head. "But...ya don't have to worry. Ya got people here ta lean on, alright?" He felt Lost slump against him and he turned to him. "Oi, Lost?" Lost's legs slid from where they had been and for a small moment, Xans felt panic grip him. "Lost?!" He looked down and sighed when he saw Lost's face. Sleeping...ya damned jerk.

He watched as Lost shifted a little closer as a breeze blew past, making him shiver. Heh...ya'd prolly be blushin' like mad right now if ya were awake... He thought. He brushed a few strands from Lost's forehead to gaze down at his face. Dark circles were visible under his eyes, and Xans noticed how his body sagged from exhaustion. He sighed and looked up at the night sky. I can't wake 'im up. He looks.....happy. Xans frowned and looked back down at him. Happy, huh? Ta be fair...he's never happy around me. Then again I tease the shit outta him, but... Lost's head slipped against his shoulder, leaving a comforting warmth.

Xans watched as his chest rose and fell, his breathing even and deep. He shifted and lifted Lost into his arms with ease. "Alrighty...let's get home, hmm? So we're not sleepin' out here and catching a cold." He closed his eyes and focused on the living room. He opened them and he frowned a bit. He was standing in the kitchen, just a few feet from the blanketed couch and roll out bed. Weird...I know I teleported us ta the living room....whatever.

He walked over and placed Lost on his bed after removing his slippers and hoodie. Hanging the jacket up and placing the slippers by his bed, he made his way under the covers on the couch. Lost had turned to face him in his sleep, letting out a soft sigh and a tiny smile graced his features. Whatever the hell is eating at ya Lost...I hope it isn't that bad. Yer with all of us after all.... He smiled a little and closed his eyes. Night Lost....ya big softie.

[matazz]

entries

diary entries of roy endoza

here’s some journal entries of roy endoza that i wrote for the duration of the campaign. for the most part, i kinda wrote these in my twitter drafts just to write down roy’s thoughts. sometimes to remember events that happened, and sometimes just to vent out roy’s feelings to myself. i ended up saving these on a document for safe keeping and i’m glad i wrote these.

‪entry 47‬

‪i miss milo so much. his laugh, his eyes, his smile. i would do anything to have that back.‬ ‪i know its my fault he’s gone. its only been a few months, but i’ll fix that; all of it. no matter how long it takes, no matter what happens. i’ll find some way to do it.‬ ‪entry 53‬ ‪i’ve retrieved a letter from a dream telling me to visit latham and retrieve a key. i’m curious, so i’ll check it eventually. it was definitely odd.‬ ‪entry 55‬ ‪i met a young boy. his name is fox. he’s some sort of shapeshifter. he’s quiet, but his presence is nice company. he also received a similar letter to mine. i have a feeling we’ll be travelling for a while.‬ ‪entry 62‬ ‪we retrieved the key & met some other ppl with letters too. we’re heading to a trinket store back in origin now. i dont wish for them to know of my life so i’ve found a way to steer them as far from possible to finding out about myself. i’ll probably visit ma too.‬ ‪entry 63‬ ‪an elf woman named leera attacked us after i told her i wasnt going to give her this key. i dont like her. she seemed very cocky.‬ ‪entry 65‬ ‪delilah is kind.. i feel like i’m able to trust her. i asked her a question about my goals, vaguely, and it turns out that ayce asked a similar question. based on the message in his later i get the feeling he’s undead.‬ ‪entry 66‬ ‪i told ayce the biggest con in all of history.. but i confirmed he’s undead. i have more hope in my goals now that i know its possible. he hugged me bc he thinks we’re similar. i dont usually allow people to do that but i’m sad for him. i wish i could ask more about him. ‬‪entry 69‬ ‪i’m getting closer to ayce, unexpectedly, but good for me. i need his information.‬ ‪he talks to me a lot about his life; i think he’s become dependent on me which is easy for me. its hard for him to see i’m using him when i lie to his face.‬ ‪entry 72‬ ‪we’re travelling to copper coast now for another key. if it werent for ayce, i wouldnt see any other reason for me to come. fox is still around, but i feel like he's doing his own thing. the other two arent big presences for me to care about.‬ ‪entry 73‬ ‪atlas is a werewolf? i didnt think those were real. this group keeps getting stranger. first a shapeshifter, second an actual living zombie, third a werewolf.‬ ‪ive continued my lie to the rest of them. they all seem to have believed me, strangely enough‬ ‪entry 74‬ ‪copper coast was very pleasant. i wish to come back someday.‬ ‪entry 88‬ ‪this trip to clandesteine has been a disaster.. what the honest fuck‬ just happened ‪entry 90‬ ‪fox told everybody about himself, finally. i feel this huge sense of pride?? i’m very proud of him. i dont understand why i feel so attached to him but i adore him so much‬ ‪entry 92‬ ‪((incoherent scribbles, kinda like “vsdjfsasifwnqkosdkv”)) i think i accidentally implied to ayce that i love him romantically and i think he loves me too... i’m freaking out and i dont know how to react... i think he thinks i’m cool and romantic but i didnt mean to be. ‪entry 93‬ in all honesty, i just wanted to tell him he needs to be more cautious of me. a part of me wishes he could figure it out himself so i dont have to tell him. ‪seriously! i dont know how i did that! i do love and adore him too but i feel like shit.. i dont deserve him, especially considering who i am. on the other hand, i hope he never finds out the truth about me.‬ ‪entry 94‬ ‪oh my god. atlas killed a man and ayce and fox proceeded to tell the guards. i feel sick. i’m currently at home but if they say my name at witness testimony i’m royally fucked. i dont know. i might just run for it and live in myr’s peak. maybe no one will find me.‬ ‪entry 95‬ ‪the group managed to get bailed out using ty’s name. benefits of being friends with rich people?‬ ‪fox found my poster though, so he saved my name during eyewitness testimony. i told him the truth. its been the first time i told someone how i really felt. he wants me to tell ayce but hes the last person i can tell. ‪entry 97‬ ‪we’re in lunarden! it feels nostalgic to be back.

i want to go back to every place i miss. i took ayce to that me and nori used to go to back in high school. i think shes currently performing in solardome? i miss her‬ entry 97.2 ‪i came up with a few different ways to complete my goal. i have a few more probing questions, but i will have to ask later. i think i’m getting closer to the answers‬ entry ‪97.3‬ ((scribbled out)) ‪i havent had sex in a while. i’ve wondered this before but realized it was an inappropriate question to ask. i wonder if ayce’s dick works? it probably doesnt. this is so sad. i dont know how i’m going to fuck him if thats true.. yikes‬ ‪entry 98‬ ‪i’m planning to get completely smashed once we get to solardome. i feel like i deserve it.. ive been pretty stressed and havent got laid. i’m crying remembering that ayce might not even be an option.‬ ‪entry 98.2 ((lost)) ‪i love ayce so much, and its confusing. am i just sexually frustrated? am i just lonely? am i just sad? i feel guilty because it tears me apart. im confused because i love milo still, too. i know i should tell him the truth, its whats right but i know he’ll hate me. i dont know what to do. (extra note inbetween the pages, torn out: to mom. i love you venhfrhdy mcuh. thank you fir everhything. yes. roy.) entry 98.3 what happens if i succeed? i hope ayce doesnt kill me. entry 100 ‪good morning. ayce & i are officially dating. were in solardome atm; i dont remember much of last night but i remember thinking he‘s beautiful. is it wrong to fall for him?‬ ‪entry 101‬ ‪good evening. i saw ms winters. she was undead, just like ayce. she died a year ago. her soul was lost though. i killed what remained of her undead corpse. i assume she was trying to remain in this world.. i’m scared that this will happen to him too. maybe ill have to do the same to him. entry 101.2 i hope ayce's soul is able to sustain in his body for longer. i cant afford to lose him. entry 101.3 ‪the blackness on my fingers has risen up more than it has before. its almost hard to write with my hands anymore. i assume its bc the gods know what i'm doing & are against it, so they're trying to give me more recoil than usual. but the last time i killed an undead corpse was in my house 6 months ago, and i promise that the last time i will use it is when i bring milo back. (torn note inbetween the pages: hi ayce. its unrealistic you'll ever find this but there's some things i want to say. back when we first met, i lied to you as a reflex when you asked me why i'm dealing with necromancy. to be honest, i could kind of gather you were undead, but i still lied anyway. my story is personal, its hard for me to be honest. i know i'm an idiot, and i'm sorry i used you. to be truthful, i still am a horrible person and for the entirety of our relationship i've already known that i was using you and i've felt so guilty about that. my feelings are complicated, but i've never lied when i said i loved you, and i still do; but i still want to bring milo back. i made a mistake and i want to fix that. the truth is that i still love him too. i know you deserve better. i'm sorry about lying to you. roy) entry 102 a dragon made us experience our dreams and nightmares. jade's scared of blindness and bugs. a valid fear, in a way. and she was dreaming of doing shows. i think it was supposed to display a feeling of happiness and joy, but it was just spooky since we all experienced her dreams with no sound. i never realized how scary it was to be deaf until i experienced it. atlas' was morbid. people were dying and there was so much gore. then there were people saying they owned him. i knew he was a bad person but it was scary to see all of that again. he dreamt of a workshop with a girl and a young boy. it seemed sweet, with a tinge of nostalgia. i would have never expected him to have dreams. he just seems like a horrible person with no sympathy to me, but i guess he has feelings. i still think he should go to jail, but i feel like he'll just try to kill me if i say anything instead. fox's was sad. we got thrown into a void

of empty space where we were surrounded only by dopplegangers and a vaguely humanoid figure. he seemed so lonely and upset. he's scared of being forgotten by us and that made me so sad. i adore him, and he's grown a lot since we first met. i gave him a hug when we went into his dream sequence. i hope he knows i will never forget him. his dream was sweet. he just wants to save people and hang out with us still. i think he'll go far, and i would love to be there for him still when all of this is over.c (the rest of the pages with entry 102 are torn out) when i saw milo in the old house again just being his happy lovely self i felt miserable and happy at the same time. i love him so much, and i knew i missed him already but seeing him again just made me feel so much love for him all over again. it just makes me miss him more. it's hard not to cry thinking about what i've done to him. i wish he could come back. ayce's was hard to watch. i witnessed myrkul force ayce to choose between killing me and quri. ayce cried as he couldn't make up his mind, and then i watched as i fell into a void. i felt sick and i wanted to puke. i thought ayce found out about me. i thought he knew that i was using him for necromancy, but when i asked him about it, he told me that he thought i killed him with quri. i... personally don't have any reason to ever kill him so that was a bit sickening to think of. i dont ever want to kill anyone. i dont even have anyone i hate enough to want to murder. the only person i hate enough to want to kill is me. i know based on what i said before i guess it might have seemed that bad; but haha... i would never ever want to do that. putting people down at hospital was rough. god, putting ms winters down was rough and she was already dead. i love him, but it's probably better if we end the relationship and just stay as friends? he's already witnessed me still loving milo, and he thinks i murdered him... i'll try to clear up his misunderstanding, but it'll be hard to without giving more of myself away. this relationship has so many problems. entry 103 a new discovery. the world isn't flat? the god's are using their powers to “lock off” the rest of the world. apparently sanctuary is only a small part of the world. that was a really weird discovery to find out? it's kind of hard to believe, but at the same time, not. apparently they keys we've been collecting hold the respective power of the gods, and they're used to “open” the gateway. i have no idea what that means. apparently beshaba wants to use our keys to do exactly that. and also they can kill the god's? entry 112 when we came back to lunarden we discovered that delilah and allen were kidnapped by atlas’ syndicate. i knew atlas was trouble. i hate having to associate with him. we’re going to save them yet it makes me nervous. entry 114 i feel like i almost died in there. we saved the others and no one was hurt though. we’re going to trip back to lunarden and then travel through the travel gates back to origin to try avoid people. allen mentioned something about strange readings. i have a feeling i know what it is. i’m going to ask lathandar questions. entry 115 nvm we encountered leera. this group genuinely scares me. I’m travelling with people who are down with murder. i should seperate. she uncovered my posters to them and i want to die. she also mentioned the last key at a ball. i need to bounce. lathandar also confirmed my suspicions last night. entry 116 fox left before i could. i feel bad. like maybe it was my fault. i miss him. we have to continue though. entry 117 its so hard to find a bag of holding. i just want to have this spirit stone around without having it in the open. entry 118 we’re in origin now and delilah let me rent out her bag of holding. an absolute kind soul. we bought tickets to the ball. so expensive. i wish i didnt do that. entry 123 i’ve done so much in preperation of whats to come. Soon. i hope it works. i’m going to travel to solardome and investigate those readings. entry 124 suspicions

confirmed. miss winters is alive. she captured my biological father. a strange way to meet him. i cant see him as my father. i told her about the key, and we’re going to rearrange our circle. we’ll still use the spirit stones, just as a backup. i’m scared. i’m terrified. i dont know if it will work and i dont know what will happen if it does. i know the gods will be mad but i’ll deal with the consequences when it happens. i’m sure i won’t be a champion anymore. we’re doing this on friday evening, which means i’m no longer attending the gala. they don’t need my assistance anyway.

[twilightsporklez]

The Real Reason Why I’m Not Allowed Inside The Denny’s Anymore

    Snow covered the road as Kain drove down the highway. They were almost to their cabin.

    He parked the car. “we hear bb”

Story continued under the cut (cw: violence, death)

    “It will be a long, freezing night. We need supplies. Can you get some wö’od?” Amy, his girlfriend, asked. She had forgotten to bring a coat, and also the proposal ring.

    “ill get sum donut worrie :3”

    Did he just say a face? “I need to go reconsider how the universe works.” Maybe this marriage thing too. Amy got out of the car and marched through the snow bank. “Do not forget the wö’od my love.” She watched him drive off and then unlocked the door.

    Amy entered swiftly, closing the door behind her. She shivered. It was about as warm as a corpse in Norway that legally isn’t allowed to be unearthed in case it causes another pandemic. As expected, there was no wood in the fireplace. 

    She followed her way back up the familiar stairs to the attic. There were plenty of blankets to be had. One by one, she dragged them downstairs and made a fort. It was a complicated structure, designed with easy access to the fireplace and a ventilation system. It was tiring work, and even though it was only early afternoon, she fell asleep and started to dream.

    A horse walks through the snow. He thinks that having an intermission in a story this short is a stupid idea. He cannot express this opinion, both because he is a horse, and because he does not know that he is within a story.

    The horse is not hungry, for he had a snack earlier.  He has plenty of warmth, snowflakes melting as they hit his pelt. The only pain he faces is emotional.

    All his life he tried to gain his father’s approval. He had been too runty, too ugly, too stupid for it. Finally he had been sold off to a rich family; finally he had met his father’s expectations. 

    It had not lasted. He walks back to his home town in shame. A sign in the distance. Free Plastic Surgery at Claire’s (with purchase.) Maybe he could at least be pretty enough for his father. An unsuccessful child is less shameful if said child has had thousands of dollars worth of alterations made to their body.

    The horse speeds into a gallop. It will be morning soon and he wants to be first in line.

    Something hit Amy. “Nieghe,” the thing said. It was a horse. Her perfect fortress had mostly fallen into disrepair in her sleep.

    “im home sweatie :D”

    The emoticon sent shivers down her already-frozen spine. Wind rocked the house. “Can you light the fireplace? It is cold.”

    “im sowwie babie i spent all the monays on my new freind chad” He reached over and pet the horse. “heil keep us warm”

    “Neighghh,” Chad neighed.

    Amy swaddled deeper in her cacoon. “He does not have enough hë’et for all four of us Kain.”

    “ok i know im not great at math but im pretty sure we are only 3”

    How was it possible to instill the dread of seeing a typo into your voice? “No. I am,” Amy paused. “I am. I-I am pregnerte.”

    “ur pregante” he asked.

    “Neieihg,” Chad said.     “Yes I am pragnerp. How will he provide for all of us?”

    “hes berg hoarse he can keep us warm” Kain said.

    Amy considered it for a moment. “I think you are right. If we cut him open and hide in the skin, we will have a nice meal and be able to stay toasty all night. I call the intestine’s- I need a new scarf.”

    Kain’s mouth gaped open. “u cant kill him hees my frond dont u loaf me :(“

    Chad took a few steps back. “Niiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiegh.” Perhaps he could understand human speech. Or maybe he just recognized her determination to have some fresh winter fashion.

    “I could put up with the weird faces, but this is too much.” Amy looked Kain straight in the eye. “You are no longer my boyfreind.” 

    “:(“

    “Neeigeh,” disapproved Chad.

    Kain gave Chad a hug. “im nice so ill let u stay teh nite butt after that we dont have to talk amy”

    “But I refuse. We will die long before the night is over.” Amy pulled her blanket over her head. “What if there is an intruder?”

    As if she had predicted the future, the door suddenly burst open, bringing with it the frigid air of the storm.

    Kain turned around. “an intruder oh no chad like i taught you”

    Chad pulled out a gun. “Neeeigh.” Chad pressed down the trigger. Chad, like most horses, did not have hands with which to aim. Bullets spewed everywhere.

    Kain went over and shut the door. “wait nvm theres nothing there just the storm” 

    “I am bleeding out. Why did you do this? How could you trust a horse with a gun over your own girlfriend?” 

    “ok i didnt give him the gun i dont know where chad got that but i am proud of him” He pulled a carrot out of his pocket and fed it to Chad. “he was supposed to do a song and dance routine but i like his creativity”

    Chad neighed happily. “Neighh!”

    “I’m cryigngngn :(“ Amy clutched her chest. She was in too much pain to realize what low levels she had stooped to. “If you transplant his organ’s the baby and I may live.” 

    Kain stared at her from the doorway. “you arent my girlfrand anymoar”

    “I hate you!” she screamed. And then she died.

        The horse meanders into the Claire’s. There are no other customers. He brings some nail hoof polish to the front desk and asks for plastic surgery. The clerk does not speak horse, but that is okay. He’s used to that.

    He releases the only thing he received from his father other than verbal abuse. A long, swirling horn grows out of his forehead, and he levitates a pen and paper onto the desk. Plastic surgery pls, he writes. The clerk is startled but understands. He pays for his purchase and then follows the clerk into the back area.

        It takes a while to get onto the medical bed (he hopes it is medical, anyway,) but once he is on it the gas takes him quickly. He experiences no pain, and awakes feeling fine.

    He is carted over to the mirror. He cannot recognize himself. It is horrible.

    The face is distinctly human in the way that true emotional connection can never be. The skin is pulled tight against his bones, his nostrils struggling to pull in air.  It sags in all the wrong places, and his hair, oh my his hair. It resembles that of a shounen protagonist who has just done some heroin. 

    He is a failure.

    His father will never love him now.

        Kain turned to his best friend Chad. His only other friend- ex-friend, had just died. He wasn’t sure what to do with the evidence yet.

    “Neighhhhhgh,” Chad said.

    Kain spoke horse and knew what Chad meant. Im sorry about your girlfriend can i eat her.

    “dont be sad i never luved her” Kain unraveled the body from the blankets for easier consumption. This would make the cleanup easy. 

    He started on getting the blood out of the carpet.

    “Neiehhihihgh.” What will you do with your love life now that your girlfriend is dead oh wait we should have a funeral.

    “nah” Kain threw the blankets into the fireplace and lit them. “rip to her but im different ill survive these bullet wounds” he said. And then he didn’t.