#(later on the skull would vanish one thing i wish they kept was the arm bands)

[edgymuses]

some people tend to forget lorna's costume had a skull on it (thanks mesmero for the cunty outfit)

[lucisfavoritedemon]

Crossed Oceans of Time

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Summary: Y/n always thought her hope was lost till an unexpected call from an old friend has her traveling across time to save the man she thought was once lost in an ocean of time.

Warnings: angst, fluffy fluff, cursing, hopelessness (idk why I make the reader so depressed)

Word Count: 4122

A/N: This is written for @sweeterthanthis Quote Me On It 6k Challenge. The prompt I chose was “I have crossed oceans of time to find you.” -Dracula. This story takes place during the events of End Game. I have incorporated the quote into the story. It will be bolded AND italicized. All mistakes are mine. 

Enjoy!

Everything I had seen had been a blur up to this point. My life flashed by so quick I never had a chance to process it all. Originally born in 1922, I never believed I would be able to see the day when technology would thrive. Here I am in 2023, 101 years later seeing the miracle of technology. 

I am a super soldier. One of the first experiments before Steve Rogers, aka Captain America. I volunteered myself to Dr. Erskine's experimentation, so he could develop a better, more safe serum. 

I fought by Rogers' side in many battles, including the one that would take his best friend. There is something you do not know though, of me and Sergeant Barnes. 

I had fallen for him. Not just a usual school girl crush, no. It was full blown love. Like my body had been struck by lightning the moment I laid eyes on him. 

I could sit and talk for hours about Bucky, and how much he meant to me, but that would be pointless. Bucky was gone and yet I couldn't move on. Something was keeping my heart from finding love again. 

Steve and I fought one last time together to defeat Red Skull. We thought it was the end for us, that we would be with Bucky again, but fate is a cruel mother thing. Oddly enough, the serum in our veins stopped our bodies from dying. It preserved us and helped us stay alive. 

When I woke up, all I remembered was crashing the ship. I had no recollection of anything else after. That's when we found out we were in the year 2012. For 70 years we were on ice. Poor Steve was heartbroken about Peggy, and I couldn't help but wish I was with Bucky. 

Time flew by like it was nothing, and all I felt I did was stand still and watch it go by. Steve and I had parted ways after we got back. I was hired to work for S.H.I.E.L.D. which I didn’t mind till in 2014 it all came crashing down. Almost quite literally. S.H.I.E.L.D. had HYDRA growing right under its nose. I was again left alone with nothing but a shattered heart.

Nick Fury tried to help me get back onto my feet but I wanted nothing to do with him, or anyone anymore. I was too heartbroken to even think about what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. I really just wanted my Bucky back. That’s all I could ever ask of the world. 

Five years ago, something happened. I felt like my life had fallen apart again. All the friends I had attempted to make, all disappeared. I wasn’t the only one who lost people they loved and cared for. I finally felt maybe other people out there were feeling the same way I did.

Here in 2023, I have been without the love of my life for almost 80 years. I kept asking why I got to live while he was taken from the world so soon. I never got the answer to that rhetorical question, asked to no one in particular. That was till I got a peculiar call from an unknown number. I answered it hoping it would be the reaper I hoped to be greeted by to take me to the love of my life.

“Y/n?” It was a voice I hadn’t heard in almost a decade. One I thought I’d probably never hear again either.

“Steve.” I sounded cheery for once since I had been out of the ice.

“Hey. How are you doing? I know it’s been years since we talked, but I wanted to see if you wanted to go for a drive? Just you and me.” He asked, and I could tell he was smiling some on the other end.

“That sounds lovely, Steve. I’ve been hanging in there. Since S.H.I.E.L.D. and the whole HYDRA thing, I’ve just been laying low.”

“Where are you living now?” Steve queried.

“I’m living in Brooklyn actually. In my old neighborhood. 

“You used to live in Brooklyn before the war?”

“Yep. I actually lived above the antique shop. You know the one.”

“Yeah. I didn’t know we lived so close, yet we never met you till Erskine introduced us.”

“Yeah. Maybe then I wouldn’t feel the way I do now…” I sounded melancholy.

“I’m not too far from where you are. Meet where the antique shop used to be. We can talk more then, I have something I think you would love to hear.”

“Okay. I’ll meet you there.” I said, and hung up quickly. I knew there was nothing he could have told me that would make me jump for joy. He couldn’t say anything that would make my smile come back. It was gone, and faded with time.

I met him where that antique shop used to be, and I could almost picture it all. The cobblestone streets, the kids playing baseball, the world used to be a different place back then. It’s not like it was anymore, and I wish that it kind of was. 

“Hey.” Steve smiled, walking up to me.

“Hi.” I gave a small smile, but he could tell I had sadness written all over my face.

“What’s wrong?” Concern spread across his face.

“Nothing. This is just how I smile now.”

“Whoever took away your beautiful, contagious smile is going to pay.”

“Time took my smile away.”

“”Come on. I want to talk to you about something.” His smile grew wider as he led me to his car. 

He opened the door for me, and I climbed in. I buckled up as he climbed into the driver’s seat. We headed out of the city, down the countryside. The scenery was beautiful, but I still couldn’t bring myself to start a conversation.

“Hey, are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine. I have been for 11 years. What’s 40 more gonna do right?” I gave an extremely sad smile.

“Is this about Bucky?”

“There were so many times in my life where we could have met. Maybe just a year longer with him, and I would be able to move on, or maybe not. I was in love with him, Steve. The way I felt the night we first met, it was like everything in my life finally made sense. I felt like I had a purpose.”

“He’s actually the reason I wanted to talk to you.”

“What do you mean?”

“He was alive. I need your help getting him back.”

“What do you mean? That’s impossible. We both watched him die.”

“Remember when all those men were captured from the 107th, including Bucky, back in ‘43?”

“Yeah, and we went to rescue them.”

“Bucky was experimented on by Armin Zola. Turned into a super soldier himself.”

“Okay and?”

“Whatever Zola did to him, it helped him survive the fall.”

“So what I’m understanding is, you knew he was alive this entire time, and you’re just now telling me about it?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, but I need your help getting him back now.”

“Okay. You keep saying that, but if he is alive, why would we need to get him back?”

“Remember 5 years ago when half the earth’s population just vanished?”

“Yeah?”

“Bucky was part of that half.”

“And you think we can get him back?”

“I think we can bring back all the life lost 5 years ago. It requires us going back in time though.”

“Time travel? You’re promising time travel in a time where we thought flying cars were going to be a thing.”

“It’s possible though. We’ve tested it, and everything is up and working. We have all the dates in order, we just need the man power.”

“Alright, if it means bringing Bucky back, I’ll do it.”

“Thank you.”

Steve drove us to a huge building practically in the middle of nowhere. There I was greeted by a group of people, one of which I recognized from a brief meeting years ago. The others I didn’t know. I mean one man looked oddly familiar, but I could quite put my finger on where I had seen him before.

“Everyone, this is Y/n. She is an old friend of mine.” Steve introduced me.

“I may be old, but I sure don’t feel like it.”

“Join the club.” Steve chuckled.

“I’m Natasha. We met briefly in D.C. a few years back.” The woman I had recognized approached.

“Yes, I remember you. It’s nice to officially meet you on slightly good terms. While not being utterly terrified by a man with a metal arm.” I smiled slightly, trying to imagine how it would feel to see Bucky once more.

“So how do you two know each other?” The man that I swore looked familiar, spoke up.

“Steve and I fought together during the war.”

“Does that mean she also knew Barnes?” The man questioned.

“Yes. She did. In fact they were together for two years before HYDRA took him.”

“How does he know about Bucky?” I asked, growing concerned.

“It’s a long story.”

“I’m Tony Stark by the way.” The man spoke up, and everything was now coming together.

“I knew you looked familiar to me somehow. You look just like your father.”

“Yeah, well, join the club with everyone who says that.” Tony sounded irritated.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Y/n, it’s alright.” Steve spoke up before Tony could say anything.

He could probably tell I was freaking out. My goal was to help, not make things worse. I could tell by just opening my mouth, I was doing just that. Steve started to rub my back to calm me down.

“Is everything okay?” Natasha asked.

“She’s been through a lot. She didn’t even know Bucky was alive until a couple hours ago.” Steve replied.

“For so long I wished that something would happen so I could be back in his arms again. Now, I have a chance to see him again, and not in the afterlife. He is the man of my dreams, the love of my life. I have never felt this way about anyone before, and the fact that I have tried to move on, but couldn't just shows that I truly did love him.”

“Does she know about him?” Tony asked.

“Not about that. She doesn’t need to know.” Steve stated sternly.

“Know about what? Steve? What aren’t you telling me?”

“Stark, I agree with Steve. If she knew about him, her opinion of him may change.” Natasha interjected.

“She deserves to know the man she loved then will not be the man she is getting back.”

“What are you all going on about?”

“Barnes was the man with the metal arm you spoke of.” Tony blurted out.

“You’re wrong. Bucky would never hurt anyone. He was someone who put others before himself. He would never kill anyone.”

Steve just gave an angry look to Tony. I didn’t know who to believe. Natasha just gave me an apologetic look. I couldn’t read anyone, they all seemed to look angry or apologetic, and I didn;t know who to believe.

“Maybe the Barnes you knew wouldn’t, but over 70+ years, people change.” Tony stated before walking inside.

“Steve? Was Bucky really the man with the metal arm? If he was, I want to know. It won’t change how I feel. I just need to know, so I can help him when he comes back.”

“Yes. He was what the world knew as the Winter Soldier. He isn;t like that anymore. I promise, but he is broken and traumatized from what HYDRA did to him.”

“Understandable. Now let’s go get him and everyone else back.” I smiled, and walked inside. I didn’t have to fake one anymore. I was just happy that I finally had the chance to see Bucky again. That maybe seeing each other again could mend our souls a little bit.

Steve led me to a room where he told me to suit up. I threw on the suit laid out for me, and met the others on the main level. Steve handed me two little vials which he told me would help take me where I needed to be. He told me I was to stay with him to make sure nothing happened to me. I was perfectly okay with that.

We were all ready to find these stones. Steve showed me a picture of the stones him, Tony, Scott, and I were to be getting. I just wanted to get this over with, to be with Bucky once more. I have waited a long time for this moment, and I just couldn’t wait any longer. 

“Everyone ready?” Bruce asked.

“See you guys in a minute.” Natasha smiled.

We all shrunk down, and our groups went separate ways. I made sure to not lose sight of Steve as we landed in our desired time. We all started walking the tattered streets of New York City, and I knew where we had landed.

“Banner, you find the time stone, Stark and Lang, you two get the tesseract. I’ll get the scepter.” Steve directed.

“What about me?” I asked, curious what my task would be.

“You are staying right here. We’ll all meet right back here once we have secured our items.”

“Why am I here then if you don’t need me?”

“In case things go south.”

I roll my eyes, “fine. I’ll stay here.”

“Thank you.”

They all walk off, and I stay put where they told me to. I listen to them talking on comms to each other. They were pretty entertaining if I was being honest. That was until they started saying they lost the tesseract. Things looked hopeless now.

“What are we gonna do now? The tesseract is gone, and we don’t have any more of the capsules.” Scott paced.

“I have an extra capsule that will get me where I want to be. Please let me do this Steve?”

“Fine. I think I have an idea where you might be going. Just be careful okay?” He hands me something, “put it in here when you grab it.”

“I will. I promise I’ll be careful. I’ll see you guys when I have aquired the tesseract.” I smile.

I plug in the time and date that I wanted, and shrunk down traveling back to January 1945. The day Steve and I put the plane in the water. I remember seeing Red Skull holding it that day, right before he disappeared actually. Maybe that’s what Steve meant by ‘be careful’.

I headed straight to the hanger, and climbed inside. I hid until I knew it was safe to come out. Which meant waiting till Red Skull took off. I waited for Steve, and I to start fighting Red Skull. I came out and prepared to grab the tesseract. I had the special case Steve handed me before I left.

When Red Skull disappeared, and Steve and I went to man the ship, I grabbed the tesseract. I plugged in the date to head back, and shrunk down again, heading back to the correct timeline. I arrived as everyone else returned as well. I looked around to make sure everyone was there, but one person was missing.

“Clint, where’s Nat?” Bruce asked, looking at Clint.

“Barton, where is she?” Tony asked, being more stern.

“She’s gone...it should have been me.” He sounded so sad. I felt for him. I knew how it felt to lose someone I cared so much about.

They all gathered by the water mourning Natasha’s sacrifice. I let them have their moment. It wasn’t my place to be with them while they grieved. It just didn’t seem right, or fair to them. I sat in the lab waiting for them to come back, and assemble the gauntlet.

Steve walked in and sat next to me, “how did it go?”

“It went well. It was weird seeing Red Skull and you, and me. I think I managed well though. Why did you give me an extra capsule?”

“I figured you would go and help us, then I’d let you go and be with Bucky. Get the time you lost back.”

“That makes no sense if I lose him in the end anyways.”

“Maybe part of me hoped you would change his fate. That way you never lost him. You would never have to know what it was like to lose him.”

“That’s really sweet of you Steve, but I don’t think that would be right. For me or him.”

“I understand. I just want you to know that your pain hasn’t gone unnoticed.”

“I’m glad it hasn’t, but I really wish you knew how much I needed you too. I didn’t just miss Bucky, you were my friend too.”

“I know, but you haven’t been the same since you thought he died. You have been more closed off, you don’t smile, or laugh like you used to. I just want you to be happy again. I want to see that beautiful smile, and hear your contagious laugh once more.”

“You will again one day. Right now though, you need to help the others make this gauntlet.” I gave a half smile before moving out of the way so the others could do their job.

I sat outside with my eyes closed. Just waiting for someone to walk up to me and make sure I was okay. The light from the sun was dimmed like a shadow moved in front of me. I smiled before opening my eyes, thinking that Steve, or maybe Bucky, was standing in front of me. When I looked, I saw something that looked like a meteor heading right for the building.

I tried to run inside, but it was too late. The ball, or cannon, or whatever had already hit the building. I wiggle my way out from under the debris, but I could tell I had a pretty severe wound on my abdomen. I tried to call out to someone, but I got no response. I hoped that everyone was alright. 

I finally was able to stand up, and walked outside. There I saw Thor standing, and watching someone. I walked over to him, putting pressure on my side to make sure I stopped the bleeding. That’s when I saw Steve walking up to him too.

“What’s he doing?” Steve asked, looking where Thor was looking.

“He’s just sitting there.” Thor responded. “He doesn’t have the gauntlet right?”

“Not that I can see.”

“Let’s keep it that way.” Steve said, walking over to me.

“Who is that guy?” I asked, looking confused.

“That’s Thanos. He’s the reason half the earth’s population disappeared 5 years ago.”

“Did he figure out what we were planning?”

“It’s not the same Thanos. The one from our time, Thor killed him.” Steve said, walking over to him.

“I used to think that destroying half the planet's life would be good enough, but the other half that stuck around seems to be ungrateful. Looks like I may have to destroy this world, and create a new one, one that will be grateful for the world I have provided.”

That’s when Thor charged at Thanos, and the fight began. Tried to fight as much as I could, but I was losing more and more blood every second. I ran at him, thinking he was going to hurt Steve, but he stopped me and threw me against some rubble. I attempted to get up, but the pain was too much to fight anymore.

I watched as Steve prepared to fight by himself. I wish I had the strength to stand up and fight next to him. I just couldn’t bear the pain anymore. That’s when I heard a voice over comms that sounded kind of familiar. 

“Cap, can you read me. On your left.” The voice said, and these vortex-like things opened up, and out walked three people.

Steve turned to me, and saw that I was on the ground. He reached his hand out to me, and I took it, standing up. He smiled at me, and prepared to fight. That’s when armies of people walked through these vortexes. I stayed close to Steve, finding comfort in the one person I knew fairly well. 

“You okay?” He asked.

“I’ll be okay. I just want this douchebag dead. He took Bucky away, and now he wants to destroy the entirety of planet earth. He deserves what’s coming to him.” 

Steve smiled, “you really haven’t changed a bit. More depressed than what I remember, but your attitude is still the same.” He chuckled lightly.

I giggled, and prepared to fight to the end. I didn’t care if I died, I just wanted Steve and Bucky to live. Steve stood at the front of the army he was leading, perhaps into our last battle. I was ready to do anything. I had found my hidden strength to keep fighting till I physically couldn’t keep fighting anymore. That was quicker to come than I thought. I knew I was losing a lot of blood, but I didn’t know how quickly. Turns out when Thanos threw makeup against the rubble, I created an even bigger wound. 

Only a few minutes into the now fair fight, I started to get really dizzy. I tried to grab a hold of someone before I fell, but there was no one around me. I hit the ground and I was out for the count.

~*~

I don’t know how long I had been out for, or if I was still even alive. To my surprise, and Steve’s happiness, I was.

“Hey there sweetheart.” Steve smiled, gripping my hand tightly.

“Did we win?” Of course that would be my first question. It was the first question I asked when we came out of the ice.

He chuckled, but his look turned sad, “we won, but we lost at the same time.”

“What do you mean? Did he snap them away again?” My heart was pounding in my chest. The fear painted across my face.

“No. Everyone who disappeared is back, but Tony...he snapped Thanos and his army away, but he didn’t make it.” Steve gave me an extremely sad look.

I squeezed his hand, not even paying attention to the fact someone had just walked into the room. I didn’t even notice the person till Steve looked over to them, and got up. I couldn’t quite tell who it was because where they were standing was kind of dark. That and my eyes were fully adjusted yet, but I could tell they were tall and well built, they also had semi-long hair.

“Go on. She’s been waiting.” Steve spoke up, seeing me stare at them.

The person came closer, and I was met with their mesmerizing blue eyes. I smiled at them as they came over to sit down. He seemed closed off, or just really shy. I couldn’t quite get a read on him for whatever reason. 

“Hey.” He gave a very small smile, almost shy.

“Hey.” I smile more. 

“I’ve missed that smile.” Steve spoke up.

I giggled, “well it’s thanks to you that I feel like I can be happy again.”

The man sitting next to me just looked down. I put my hand out for him to take. He grabbed it very gently. It was colder than I thought it would be. I looked down, and saw a metal hand. He tried to pull away, but I gripped his hand tight.

“You’re not scared?” He asked.

“Because I have crossed oceans of time to find you.” I smile wide, bringing his hand to my lips, kissing it gently.

Steve smiled, “you knew it was him the whole time didn’t you?”

“Of course. Those eyes are unforgettable, and his voice is unmistakable.” I felt the hand around mine tighten, and his smile got bigger.

“I’ve missed you doll. I’ve missed you so much.” Bucky spoke.

“I missed you too. I never thought that I would ever see you again.”

We stared lovingly at each other for a while. Enjoying just taking in the fact that he was back into my life. That I had him back. That the best thing that ever happened to me was back. It was the best feeling in the world, one that I thought I would never be able to feel again. I finally felt like my heart had been put back together, and Bucky held the mold in his hands.

[jamestrmtx]

Fairytale Complex - [Undertale | Sans x Reader]

[Gender Neutral, Frisk's Parent Reader | Slow Burn]

Chapter Nine | Dating Tense! (Part 1 of 3)

[First] | [Previous] | [Next]

Alternate Title: 'Hey, (mami/papi)' or 'Sans acts like a Latin American f*ckboy'.

• • •

Week two into clearing out the air between you and Frisk's monster friends arrives much faster than you would like.

With all the pent-up frustration you'd let out during the first half of your tour and how you ended up postponing the other half prematurely precisely due to that, you don't really want to visit Toriel's home anymore. Even if she did invite you over for a chat at her place back when you were still at the hospital, and even if you did tell her you would set up a date with her soon, you assume she's already long forgotten about that promise, and the mere thought of asking her where she lives now that she's moved on from an apartment to a house is far too much for you.

Are you available today?

I would like to fulfill what I promised you at the hospital, if so.

If not, do let me know when you are free.

Here is the new address.

>> Attachment - 1 image

If you are not certain over how to make it here, I can gladly pick you up during your lunch break, or after you have clocked out of work.

Or I can ask another person to help you get there.

Just make sure you do not eat anything before visiting, so I can prepare either lunch or dinner for you and everyone else here, depending on when you arrive.

Take care. ]:)

But, of course -- and as fate would have it -- she'd sent you a string of messages first thing in the morning today.

She'd even sent you a picture with her new address, detailed to such a point where you really wish -- now that you see who the person is -- you hadn't agreed with her on having someone help you find her new home.

"Jump in," Sans says, opening the front passenger door of what you can only assume is Papyrus's car based on the stories Frisk told you about him. "We'll make it there in less than an hour -- just in time for you to make it back to work later."

Between Toriel's sudden message, what happened back at Waterfall, the cloudy weather rushing you to make a decision, and just who's the person the goat lady's entrusted to help you out, it's almost impossible for you not to stress any more than you have already.

You're still too worked up over what was revealed to you at Waterfall, and you still can't shake off the extreme caution you've now built around the same person meant to keep you safe in the first place, as far as having to remind yourself not to be as on-edge as you'd been the time he tried to console you when you started tearing up back at the Ruins.

That reminder makes you look at the monster again, though without a friendly tone or look present, mind once again fueled by your urgent need to put up a front around him.

"What makes you think I'll hitch a ride from you now of all times?" you ask, remaining in place. "And with questionable music, to top it all off."

While you're usually not one to make shallow judgements based on personal taste, you can't ignore how obvious he's being with you right now. There's a bell of warning ringing at the back of your head with the low rumble and suggestive beat of the song playing on the radio, and his beyond relaxed driving pose. Only one hand's on the wheel, and the other's hung over the open window. He's either pretending, or he's for real about his attitude, something hard to tell after ending your tour with him at the Underground.

"C'mon, pal. We know our names, met a whole month ago, and you know some of my past to more detail now, don't ya? I'd say we're still acquaintances, at the very least."

"I'm afraid I'll still have to refuse." You cross your arms and point with your gaze at the minivan parked not far behind him. "I've got my own car to drive in. I can follow behind you."

The skeleton's gaze follows yours, and his grin almost stretches when he gets a good look at where you're pointing at. "A minivan?" His irises light up and he snickers, a rumble similar to the song's leaving him. "You really are a parent at heart, huh?" His irises move on back to you, and you further shield yourself with the cross of your arms when you see he's now eyeing you up and down, a different light flaring in his gaze. "Don't think I've said this before, but you've got the looks of one, too." He winks. "And this's probably a bit off-topic and a whole lot personal, but... Has Frisk told you why they ran away yet, or are they still keepin' quiet about it? Jerry aside, you sound n' act like a good parent, as far as I've gotten to know you."

Sans hits another weak spot, one you try to mask by showing anger on your face, using the excuse of him having checked you out. "I doubt I should answer that to a guy who's just looked me up and down." You form a scowl, persisting. "You really have no shame left in you anymore, do you? If you hadn't been so honest with me at the hospital, I would've assumed you've got experience trying to woo people over -- even if you're not that good at it, in reality."

He grins and later shrugs; the arm hung over the window slips back inside the car and lowers the volume some. "Well, what can I say, pal? Ya don't wanna be acquaintances, ya don't wanna be friends, and you're set on me being your enemy ever since the tour. The only thing I've got left's to try flirtin' with you."

"You really don't." You huff and let your arms fall back to their rightful place, self-consciousness showing when you see his irises follow your movements. "Are you that intent on pissing me off from now on? Stop staring at me like that."

"If I stop, will ya try to listen? I just wanna help you and your kid out."

Humour vanishes from his skull; the serious note to his words is then augmented when he makes eye contact with you, music now low enough not to distract you anymore. "Fine." You look back to your car. "But I won't ride with you. I... I don't trust you enough to be all alone with you anymore." You pause and avoid any further eye contact, crossing your arms again when you feel too exposed from his earlier staring.

Being a full-time office worker and single parent, topped off with having to do almost all the chores around the house, meant little to no time for yourself, which in turn meant self-care was scarce -- a factor that tripled when Frisk ran away, made worse with how you coped with their absence. Barely eating anything throughout the day to later drown out your sorrows with the least healthy food there was late in the night -- mostly microwavable to avoid having to cook only for yourself -- had left an imprint on your body and health alike, and it shows to this day. Even if you were starting to get your social life back together and even if you were little-by-little going back to a better and healthier lifestyle, you were still far from being as active as you once were before Frisk went missing. The once natural huskiness and pudginess of your physique was something, but ignoring how that amount doubled over the past few months, how you lost what once used to be good stamina, and how you have stress acne all over your face is a whole different thing in its entirety.

This man was seeing the downright worse self you could possibly show to the world right now, both in terms of emotional and physical health. How he apparently gained a crush on you over the past month is an anomaly you rather wouldn't want to find an answer for currently.

"(Y/N)?"

You look towards the skeleton when he calls out for you, a bit off-put by him using your name. Truth be told, you'd already grown used to him calling you 'pal' or (L/N). Any other name besides those main two felt strange coming from his teeth. "You good?" he asks, a subtle furrow present on his skull. "You've been spacin' off for a while now."

"I'm good," you reply, careful not to let your voice break. It's not until you see him wipe the car door with his jacket's sleeve that you notice rain's began to fall, tainting the inside -- a cause of him having left the window open. "...You should close the window, Serif. I'll follow behind in my car."

"Ride with me." There's not a trace of humour left in him, though you still find it hard getting to take him seriously. "I promise I won't bother you 'til we get to Tori's."

"I still can't." You step back, eyes looking off towards the passenger door to see it left ajar, kept somewhat protected by the rain, yet still in wait for you. "Sorry, but I.... I really can't." Already feeling your work uniform starting to stick, you reach out for your bag and take a mini-umbrella out, shielding yourself from the rain with it. "Thanks for the offer, and for the tour last weekend, but I simply can't ignore how you looked at me just a second ago, and how you've been acting with me recently."

• • •

With how heavy the rain gets, you can barely see when the monster takes a turn to the left, forcing you to take a detour to the emergency lane and suck up a cry of frustration.

Of course, accepting a ride in his car would've been much easier than all this, but then what about your integrity as a person?

Some monsters were reported to have caused Frisk harm, one of them in particular said to have been a literal, killer robot, programmed by none other than Alphys, the same monster responsible for hurting her own kind through means of inhumane experiments.

So if that was the case, who knew what that skeleton could be up to?

Whether jokingly or not, you were far from trusting over his demeanor and were in no means wanting to leave Frisk under the care of him, Papyrus, Toriel, or anyone else anymore. After all, your ex-husband left the second he deemed himself too irresponsible to look after a child. So who's to say an utter stranger belonging to another species wouldn't do the same, or worse?

"I'm sorry to say this, but we're gonna have to stop here."

Once again caught daydreaming, you look to your left, the monster's muffled voice made more audible when you lower the window only slightly, keeping the rain outside. "It'll be hard gettin' anywhere with how strong it's pourin'."

Sans is pretty much drenching himself, though your urge to let him in your car is held back when you question yourself over it. You chew on your lip as you think it through, clicking the switch the second after you scold yourself over your straight-up awful manners recently. "Get inside," you exclaim, huffing. "Don't just soak yourself for me!"

Without waiting, you turn your back to him and reach out for the seat next to yours, opening up the front passenger door for him to pass by and closing it the second he's in.

"Wouldn't've happened if you'd just hitched a ride off of me. Or unblocked my number, at least."

"As if."

His breathing's scarce, and your questions over why he hadn't chosen to use magic similar to last time are answered to you when you remember what he said about Karma.

"Use this." You offer out a towel to him, one you retrieve from within Frisk's leftover school supplies at the back of the car. "Why would you drive all the way back, park your car behind mine, and then get down from it even though it's pouring, all just to talk to me? Haven't I given off enough signs about us? Don't do this for me, Serif. I... I appreciate all your help, but I can handle this from here on out."

You find it hard not to stare when he slips off his jacket and throws it on his lap, revealing a bulky build despite him being a skeleton. He's soaked from head to toe, yet he pays little to no mind to it and takes the towel from your hands, patting it over himself a few times. "You done starin', pal?"

"How are you so... big-boned? I thought that was just your jacket adding extra bulkiness to you!" You look away when you realize just how plain and awfully rude you've been. It doesn't help when you remind yourself he's drenched because of you. "That was rude of me," you say, sighing. "I'm sorry." A strain takes over your chest and a frown accompanies it. "What I meant to say is, well..." You breathe out a sigh. "Why are you so... husky? Is that normal for skeleton monsters?"

"Just as normal as it is for you to have love handles. Didn't really notice the first few times we met, but you've gotta real (mom/dad) bod, if I do say so myself. Your work uniform kinda brings that out more."

You face him with wide eyes and keep your distance from him by scooting away, once more stricken by how much he's changed in so short of a time. What was once a level-headed and decent guy was turning out to be a much more brazen one -- a jerk, not so much yet, but boy, was he starting to cross a few boundaries every now and then. "So it's... not?"

"It's normal." He chuckles, honesty present in the subtle, hearty rumble of his laughter. "...You sayin' it ain't normal for you to have those? 'Cause Human Anatomy's taught me it is. Even more so if you're a single parent, since time's scarce and stress's more than bountiful. Don't really expect you to have your ex's six-pack abs if you're takin' up pretty much all the responsibilities of raising a family by yourself."

"Wh-" You ignore everything he's said and instead reply with, "...Why do you call them that, anyway? You know the scientific term for them if that's the case, don't you?"

"I do, but I kinda like calling 'em that more," he says. "It's a cute name for 'em."

If this was another way of him getting to try to flirt with you more, it was the weakest and most awful attempt yet. Whether he was joking or not didn't matter anymore, your desire to have him out of your life increasing with each second he spends inside your car. "You sure have plenty of guts for a skeleton, you know that? Never in my life would've I imagined someone would bring that up in a conversation." You sigh, breathe back in, and turn the air conditioner down a notch, annoyance helping further contrast the cold of the rain. "Are you alright with the cold, Serif? I know you lived at Snowdin, so I'm not sure if you're uncomfortable or not, but... I lowered it since you got rained on."

"Warmin' up to me already, pal?"

You throw another towel at the skeleton, and a scowl returns to your face. "Ask that again, and I'll kick you out for sure this time."

He laughs, taking the towel and draping it over his shoulders. "Duly noted."

• • •

With the rain forcing you to start up any means of conversation with the monster, you suck up your pride and unblock his number half an hour into your wait for the sky to calm down.

"I might have just enough energy to drive us there without havin' to wait so much for it to clear up," he comments, breaking the ice when you let him know he can call and text you again. "But I'm gonna have to take the wheel from here on."

Letting him drive is by far crossing the thick and neon line you've drawn between him and yourself, yet you can't exactly rule out his reasoning behind it. Before you can spell a 'why' in protest, he continues, preventing you from interrogating him again, "My normal magic's strong enough for small tasks, so I can try casting a veil over the windshield, kinda like how I did the last time you almost fell into the river."

It makes sense, though you hesitate, pride further shrunken when you realize you didn't exactly thank Sans for last time. "Won't it tire you out?"

"A lil', yeah. But it's better than waitin' some more, and I can just sleep that off as soon as we get to Tori's."

You face the wheel, reluctant to let go. "...Are you sure? But then what about your car?"

He nods. "It's already parked n' locked. We can think about that later."

Facing the rain, you bite on your lip and consider the options: either stay here for what you assume will be another hour alone with the skeleton, or agree with him and get to Toriel's on time. The meeting you have at work returns to your mental to-do list, influencing your thoughts on what decisions to make.

Sans was offering to help you out, but at what cost?

Would he bring it all up later and make mention of how much you owed him?

And then again, hadn't he been obnoxious enough with his flirting for you to have a counter-argument about it?

Whatever his reasons were for having offered to show you around the Underground with as much patience as he displayed and help you meet with Frisk's monster friends -- going as far as to drive you to Toriel's new place by himself -- you truly don't have time to delay anymore; the pending meeting is sufficient to remind you of that. As a result, you backtrack on your stubbornness, sighing out your frustration and letting go of the wheel after. "Thank you." Glancing at the back of the car and later back at him, you give him another look of warning before speaking up again, "Back away first," you say, lips a firm line. "If you're gonna move over to the wheel, you're way too close for what I'm about to do."

"Sure." He grins, scooting away. "Whatever ya want, pal."

You eye him over again, making sure he's distant enough for you to move to the back; no way you were getting an inch closer to him physically. The proximity from his seat to your own is more than abundant already.

When you're certain he's not looking at -- or anywhere near -- you, you slip one careful step after the other into the backseat as best as you can. Caution over not letting him take a look at your derrière or anywhere else deems your movements clumsy. Your foot almost slips, though you catch yourself, resulting in a not-so graceful land, face hitting the seats.

"You can move over now," you say once sitting up straight. You fix your clothing and look back to the front of the car when you're done. "I'm not doing that again with you around, so I'll just stay here for the rest of the ride." While you notice his irises have been gazing out at the rain thus far, you don't exactly rule out the possibility of him having slipped in a look on you while you were moving to the back. Simply confiding the monster with your car was ample trust for one single day. Having given your back to him in the most literal sense possible was exceeding it.

"Noted," he replies, laughing. "But don't sweat it. If you're worried about me ogling you, I only saw you climb over to the backseat, and nothin' else. I don't like lookin' at people that way."

"Didn't you do that barely a few hours ago, though?"

"I was mostly just distracted by how... different you look in your work uniform. Real different from your casual self, I'd say."

You face him with stern eyes, unamused. "Oh, that's all, I'm sure." You scoff. "Dunno what's your type, but I've got to be the only human you've talked with so far if you've seriously got a crush on me."

"Why's that?"

"Haven't you seen me at my ugliest? I doubt I looked anywhere near attractive the day after I fainted."

"Last time I checked, a hospital's not a catwalk, ain't it?" He grins. "And who says I'm not into you? You're still a PILF, as far as my tastes go."

"What's that mean?" you ask, quirking a brow.

"An abbreviation for 'Person/Parent I'd Like to be Friends with'."

You're sitting straight on the backseat now, hands folded over your lap as you look to the windshield, distracting yourself away from his gaze. Worry over the rain not picking up makes you wonder if Frisk's doing okay in Toriel's new home, and just what they could be up to with her and the rest of their monster friends. "Were you always this shameless and keeping that hidden? Or am I a special case for you?"

He winks and grabs the wheel without breaking his irises away from you, now staring at you from the rearview mirror. "Whatever you think it to be." It doesn't take more than another hostile look from your part for his smile to tense up again, irises almost appearing to do the same. "Damn." He whistles, looking away and grabbing the wheel tighter. "You're a tough cookie, pal."

"Yes, and I have my reasons for it."

[First] | [Previous] | [Next]

• • •

Notice

To older readers or those curious about the old version of this fanfic:

As you may have noticed, we're beginning to fall into the chapters of the old version, meaning that -- for those who're waiting for the continuation of the old plot (but improved upon in terms of writing style, flow, and depth, among other things) -- it will appear around the 3rd Arc/Chapter Twenty-Six of this new version.

With that being said, any suggestions to improve are welcomed (as that's what made me write up a new version and improve upon the old one), whether old reader or not!

• • •

Tag List (Comment or message me if you want to be added to [or removed from] it!)

@the-simp-express

@nektotersh

@disastrous-l0vebug

@therealchickenjoe

@mintyflakes025

@pandaquick

[hornsandthings]

solemn steppes

pairing: cassian (ACoTaR) x reader

summary: reader, a student of cassian’s defence training in the illyrian mountains, has a bad session. after, when he checks up on her, cassian is given an intimate reminder on how bleak and cruel illyrian life can be. angst and fluff.

note: agh, i got really stuck on this one and i think i’m a bit rusty. i tried, but decided to just get it out there hehe. i hope cass is somewhat in character... haven’t read ACoTaR in ages (something i should remedy...) // wc: 1771

+++

the illyrian mountains were certainly beautiful – misty mornings and pale sunlight. you knew, however, that this majesty was only a surface quality. what the visitor often overlooked were the frozen animal husks, the dry tundras, the abandoned hamlets. the snow was not white, not for you or any other illyrian. it was discoloured, the purity corrupted with mud, blood, piss. there was no peace here; the winds sang no lullabies.

the cacophony of the village rivalled that of the thunderstorm in the distance – the blacksmith was busy hammering away at some forged steel, a brawl was brewing, and cassian’s students were training.

you grunted as your sparring partner pushed you to the ground, limbs too weak to defend. her wings flared wide as she straddled your torso, frustration evident in her furrowed brow as her hands encircled your neck.

you clutched at them, barely keeping away the choking grip. every muscle was on fire, vision hazy with dizziness. training had only just reached its midpoint, but already a headache was pounding against your skull, making you slower, making you weaker. from the very beginning it had been a poor match; today you just couldn’t hold your ground. your blocks weren’t strong, your counters slow.

as you lay there, trapped, snow soaking through to chill your bones, you bit back tears - it shouldn’t be like this. you were older than the other students, had better control and movement. but your meat stocks had spoiled prematurely, the wind had battered the hinge of your cabin door, and screams in the night had you sleeping with one eye open.

but it wasn’t only this week. things had only gotten worse for you for some time, and cassian’s training had been the only reprieve. the opportunity to do something purely for yourself was liberating, and there was safety in the feeling of getting stronger. cauldron - you were even good at it; a rare thing. there was this, but also cassian. focused and particular - this was how he held himself during training, upholding that hard earned title of general of night’s armies. but sometimes he revealed a different side of himself, one that was funny, kind, and so very genuine. for the first time in your life you wanted to impress a male, and pushed yourself every session to do so.

but now, as you did everything wrong, you felt so useless. how could you ever believe you could be strong, if you couldn’t even feed yourself? you reached out, pawing blindly at your partner.

“elbows by your ribs,” cassian was saying, voice nearing as he knelt closeby. you tried, oh how you tried, but your mind had become so muddled with exertion that you couldn’t comprehend the meaning.

and finally her hands grabbed your throat, thumbs pressing down and soon you were choking, the little breath you had snatched so swiftly—

stop – the word was on your tongue, but all that came out was a wheeze. you clawed at her shoulder, the other clutching her wrist – but sweat made it slip, and then she was clenching her jaw, and then everything was burning—

“enough. enough! she’s trying to tap out—”

the weight lifted and the looming shadow vanished, but still you felt you were drowning. hoarse coughs wracked your body, and soon cassian hauled you up. “hey, look at me. are you alright?”

you squeezed your eyes shut. his big hands rested on your shoulders, and you used that to try to ground yourself, to focus on anything besides your seizing lungs or roiling stomach. cassian said your name once again, soft and intimate, like those few times where he could find you outside training sessions. you shook your head, giving him a weak shove before vomiting onto the ground. you spluttered, a bitter taste left in your mouth.

“for cauldron’s sake,” one of the students muttered, her sentiments echoed by others. you squinted up at the onlookers that had assembled, looks of scorn on their faces. honestly, you could understand why, and didn’t even care when tears escaped.

cassian sighed, grumbling a reply under his breath. you looked away, thinking he was annoyed, perhaps even embarrassed, but his touch was gentle as he reached for you again.

“can you stand?”

you swallowed, finally looking at him. you should’ve been intimidated, knowing that the night court’s general was seeing you so exposed; it always was hard to separate him from his role. but now, with his hazel eyes in such clear contrast to the monochromatics of the steppes, you reminded yourself that he had indeed become a friend.

lingering nausea turned your stomach once more, making you wince. cassian took it as answer, and gathered you up in his arms. “i’m taking you to the healers.”

curled up, you focused your gaze on nothing in particular as he carried you across the camp, trying not to think of what onlookers would think. this only reinforced the helplessness, the frailty that you so foolishly tried to overcome. cassian’s leathers were rough and cold against your skin, but his scent was comforting.

he set you down on a damp bedroll, hand briefly cupping your cheek. your heart pulsed violently; so unfamiliar you were with such gentle touches. “i’ll be back for you, alright?”

cassian then nodded to the healer just beyond, leaving you rather reluctantly.

the healer - an old woman, wings deformed by force - readied some herbs in the dark corner of this meagre tent. you looked around, barely keeping in the scoff. no viable blankets, no food… there wasn’t anything here that would help.

+++

cassian found you again later, when everything was graying. you hadn’t been at the healer’s tent when he finished the girls’ training session; she had told him that you left before she could even administer anything. he’d had some trouble, but eventually one of the girls pointed out the derelict shack.

you were sitting in a wooden tub - a glorified basket, really - listless in the cold water. cassian gritted his teeth, hesitating in the doorway. his relationship with you was undefined; you two saw each other only for a few hours a week at a time, and much of it was only in an official capacity. you were a quick and keen student, starting out strong. at first it had been an acknowledgement of your potential, then the liking of your smile, and eventually he found excuses to talk to you outside training. you were unyielding to the challenges of the steppes, and he admired that. being a good judge of character, cassian also found it so very easy to read you - something that had perhaps saved your life today. he knew you were interested in him, but kept yourself at a distance.

sometimes he wished you didn’t, and right now was one of those times.

he looked around at the splintered walls, the ragged bedding. he was familiar with illyrian poverty, but hadn’t experienced it so intimately for some time. you hid it well before - perhaps it was the clothing. but here in the twilight, your form looked so weak.

he quietly called your name, but you didn’t move. steeling himself, he made his way to you and crouched next to the tub. your knees were clutched to your chest.

“i’m sorry,” you croaked.

“what happened today can happen to anyone,” he said, choosing his words carefully. he didn’t blame you for a thing - didn’t think any less of you because of today’s overexhertion - but illyrian pride was a thing he had to keep in mind. you finally looked over, and your forlorn expression clutched at cassian’s heart.

“i was pathetic. the other girls are better - some of them can even fly! with my wings… what’s the point?”

he couldn’t help but glance at your curved wings, bent to fit inside. they were marked with scars and pockmarks, cruel memories of illyrian practices. he shook his head, swallowing the anger. “don’t say that. you worked hard today, as you always do.”

he sighed, thinking back on today’s overexertion and the way you had been steadily disengaging over the last few weeks. at first he thought it was an enhanced effort and trying to ignore your feelings, but he shouldn’t have been so arrogant.

“what’s going on, sweetheart?”

and your face crumpled, tears quickly welling and rolling. you shook your head, covering your face with your hands before your shoulders shook with a sob. cassian shifted involuntarily, a knee-jerk reaction.

“those… those gifts you gave me? i’ve had to sell them… trade them away… i’m so sorry, cassian. i don’t even have anything to show for it now. i— i—”

“hey.” he reached over, cupping your face, but you couldn’t stop.

“if i can’t join the legions, what am i going to do? i don’t have anything, cassian,” you implored, trying to make him understand. you didn’t need to, because cassian already knew what that felt like. “no skills, no prospects… i don’t—i don’t want to sell myself—”

he gripped you tighter, forcing you to look into his eyes. “hey, hey! just breathe, alright?” you were really crying now, sobs heavy as you gripped his arms. there was desperation there, a kind of hopelessness that he immediately wanted to change for you. the breathy sobs continued, and he quickly found a towel. “come here,” he said, helping you out of the tub and into his arms, your wet hair cold against his neck. he hugged you close, pressing what he hoped to be a reassuring kiss to your head.

when he felt your palm press over his heart, he intertwined his fingers with yours, calluses as rough as his. your hitching breaths evened out as cassian held you. he was hesitant to disturb the tentative calm, but he had to know. “how long has it been like this?” he asked, gently lifting your chin. thumb caressing your jaw, he regretted that this intimacy - both physical and emotional - had taken your humiliation to come to pass.

the reply was a mere shake of your head, full of shame and regret. your gaze lowered, but cassian pressed his forehead against yours, trying to comfort you in a way when words simply couldn’t. but he tried anyway. “i’m going to help you, alright, sweetheart? i promise. i’m sorry.” he tasted salt on his lips, and gathered you closer. “we’re going to be alright.”

he wasn’t quite sure how yet, but he was going to deliver on his promise. he cared for you, whether you believed it to be foolish or not, and cassian would endeavour to show it from now on.

[renzu-valra]

Mindless/Soulless  ;  Obsessive/Possessive (#12)

Characters: Nozaki/Nobushige  ♦  Region: Ishgard  ♦  Time: Present Hosted by: @sea-wolf-coast-to-coast​ Warnings: mind-break, blood, mild mention of body horror; non-canon compliant

I had a purpose. A reason for being here—now; drenched in sweat and cold frost. There had been a reason why I ran through the bitter storm and dark unfamiliar streets. Something I had been searching for. Something important.

But the moment I turned my gaze upwards into that second story window, my purpose had filtered away like treated water. My legs lost their balance and my knees hit the ground hard. All that rage and anger which led me here in the first place had been cleansed from my mind, and all that remained was a blank space. A vast, white void where my thoughts used to spiral out of control. I couldn’t think anymore—nor ration these turn of events. For in the closed window of what seemed to be a manse, I saw my entire life flash before my eyes.

And I could not bear it.

I saw my brother.

For years, I had thought about what I would do if I found him again; what it would be like. What I would do and say…how I’d run to greet him and with that one embrace, all the sins I had committed until that point would be expunged from my back. But now that it was finally happening, I couldn’t do anything at all but stare.

He was running a comb through his wetted hair…slowly and with care. Just as I would do for him when we were young. With him seated atop my lap as I wove a damaged comb through his hair gently so as to not tug on any knots. His hair had grown much longer since then. And the comb he used now was of far better quality. Every time he brushed his straight hair down, I felt more of my consciousness slip away.

My ambitions and fears, returning to dust. And then, his neatly tucked night-robe slackened over his collarbone as he set his comb down onto the vanity afore him and made to tie his hair up in a loose ponytail. The white of his silk gown nearly matched the tone of his skin—his smooth, unblemished skin. He appeared as if an angel. A winged goddess of the sky. Even when he rose to stand, his full frame now in view, I felt unworthy. I was but an ant, and he, the radiant sun.

Don’t go. Don’t go.

As he walked away from the window and my image of him began to wane, I pleaded silently for him to stay. My legs knew they could yet run—run to him and force a reunion—but it was as if my brain had willingly severed the connection binding my limbs to my will. I was kept hanging on a thread as he vanished from my sight. Hanging, and so desperately wanting. Wanting, for the noose to tighten.

Like a shotgun pushed against my head, the trigger seconds from being squeezed, he appeared before my eyes once again. A book held affectionately in his slender hands. Forgo the cold and my sub-temperature body. I was at peace. And soon, I would meet my end. As he reclaimed his seat by the window, his thumb making to turn the cover over…as his fingers trailed atop the paper inside…I heard it. The sound of a trigger popping. Bang.

His thin white gown clung tautly against his curved figure, soaking up the remnants of water post bath. The tails of his robe decorated with ornate lace befitting a queen. Nothing like the rags we had worn as children. Everything like what I envisioned him wearing whenever I laid eyes on him after a day riddled with strife and woe. He was beautiful, and I could stare forever at the way his untucked bangs curled and slid against his scaled cheeks. With each flip of the page, I found something new—something old—about him to admire. I had once protested against him wearing his hair up until I realized I could better see his smile. I had wanted him to stay wholly dependent a while longer, until I saw that the first thing he walked towards was me. I had urged against teaching him vocabulary, until I heard him call for me with his fragile, sincere voice. I had fought and fought and fought against his freedom—his separation from me—until this moment. When I was faced with how absolutely transcendent he had become.

Was I finally freed? Forgiven for all my grievances? Was it all worth it?

Bang.

 ----

 Of course I had known. For all my life…you have been a part of it. Though we have both went our own ways and been changed during the journey, I would never have been able to forget you. My dear, older brother.

I let you watch whilst I feigned innocent ignorance to your presence. I needn’t sight to know you were there—gazing through mine window entranced. For a moment longer, I thought. For this small moment more, let us enjoy a tranquil reprieve. Let us forget the truths of our damaged worlds and become sheltered in a temporary lie. For his sake. My brother’s—the one who gave up everything and more for me.

I would smile, as my fingers traced the braille of the page I dedicated to memory knowing that this too was a lie. I was not able to read with my eyes anymore, unlike when I was a child still in his care. My lips curving upwards in a sweet fashion only because I knew he was enjoying this time. That surely, he felt at peace in watching another one of my many acts for him. I wanted nothing more than for him to be happy. For him to know that he was safe…and that he would always feel this soothing bliss whenever he returned home to me.

However, this time…I was resolved to put an end to this fabricated fairy-tale. And I hoped that when I did…he would still be mine.

A voice rang out from below. One of the attendants serving at this manse. A woman’s voice, calling out into the front gardens. Demanding that the man laying half-prostrate with his head turned up leave at once. Nothing unreasonable, given the late hour…however…I lowered my head and closed my eyes in knowing farewell. It was time. Time to end this charade. To say goodbye to who I once was, once and for all. And to wish all the best to the me yet to come.

The once certain voice that resonated from the room underneath mine cried out again. This time in horror and desperation. Her screams broken and airy—begging for anyone to help her…until her voice called out no more. A pity, yes…but there would be no one person put to blame for her unfortunate suffering. She had simply been at the wrong place at the most inopportune of times. Mourning her would come later. For now, I had to prepare.

So that when he pushed through my door, he would be made to understand.

His footsteps were already roaring through the long corridors of this stone manor—climbing the stairs in rapid pace as if even gravity couldn’t halt his ascent. Mindlessly, he would barge through each door along the way, having forgotten which room he spied on from below…but fortunately enough, they were kept unoccupied.

When at last he reached the wooden door which served as meager barricade between him and I…

I…

----

 Failure. Failure. Failure. I failed him. I failed him. I’m a failure.

He was—he was; he was…

That fractured bliss which had been shot through my skull only mere moments prior had ricocheted in my brain and sent bits of metallic shells shooting through my synapses. Each one becoming a word—a phrase. A torrent of impossible guilt.

It’s not—it’s not. It can’t be. It’s not possible. It can’t be.

Hurt. Wounded. Sliced—wounded. His arm, his arm, his arm.

All that blind fury had instantly subsided; all my control surrendered.

His skin—white, white, pure white. Purple? Black? A purple-black—torn apart and nearly skinless.

An animal? Monster. Beast. Man. Claw marks. Who to blame? What hurt; hurt; had hurt my brother?

Me. I did. It was all me. I did this. I. Did. This. I did. I didn’t stop them. Couldn’t stop them. Hadn’t stopped them. My brother—my little brother—had the skin of his left arm from his wrist to his elbow peeled off and and and—his chest was marked by a horrible scar. I was a failure, I was, and I couldn’t deny it anymore. I failed, I failed, I failed—

 ----

 I…

I slowly pulled my robe back over my arms and tied it around my waist. Covering myself in beautiful white silks once more before I stepped towards my ailing brother.

I…realized that I too needed this. I needed to witness my brother’s collapse to know that…I had done the right thing.

Wrapping my arms around his shaking self, I was soon brought to my knees as his weight crumbled down atop of me.

“There, there…”

I lovingly caressed him as he squeezed me so tightly he might as well have broken my spine. But surely he came to that same realization too, as his grip waned into more incessant trembling. My fingers stroked through his short, unkempt hair as I held him against myself. His warm hands soaked with the fresh blood of the woman lying dead in the foyer. Staining my white gown in his black-red.

“Big brother…I’m here. You’re home...”

Our horns pressed up against each other, nuzzling in a reminiscent manner. This scene, although set in the present…was no different than it had been in our past. My dear brother…returning home to me after a traumatic affair which struck his very core. Falling onto me in the absence of his mind. Crying pathetically as he clung to me in desperate need of my pure, untarnished love. Whilst the latter was no longer true…what mattered was that he still saw me as such. I was not broken, so long as I viewed myself through his eyes. I was still his god.

And while I yet drew breath, I would never let him go.

[blackicephantom]

The black dragon and the coward CH. 12

Note: I know your all waiting for something different, but this needs to happen first. Trust me. Please tell me what you think, because i feel a little insecure about this one......

Please enjoy!

Tagged: @patolemus , @runestarchild

- . - . - . - . - . - . - . - . - . - . - . -

Somewhere in the ocean

A long, serpentine, figure swam slowly through the water, when it felt a certain kind of vibration. The fins on its head tried to locate the origin, but to no avail. Then something poked him at the back of his mind and he started to surface. The blue scales glimmered in the sunlight and the slim face rose skyward. Just a single moment and he heard the cry, the call to come home.

With a swift jump he dove back into the depths of the water, only to jump back out in a high arch and with his own melodious cry. His main fins spread wide and his tail finished his elegant form.

The Oceanblue Raindragon recognized and answered the call to arms. And in a show of power dark storm clouds started to form and seconds later heavy rain fell upon the earth and the sea.

Once his body was back in the water he took the course back home.

Colonello, the Oceanblue Raindragon, swam swiftly and as fast as he could. His family was waiting for him.

Deep in the mountains

Fon sat quietly near his den, when the wind started to pick up and dark clouds started to form. Electricity shot up his spine and he shuddered. He stood up and watched as all the birds stopped singing and the wind howled louder and louder. Red flames engulfed his form and scales replaced soft skin.

In one smooth movement he circled a few times around the mountain he dwelled in, so that his upper body and head are even with the mountain's peak. His mane and his whiskers danced in the wind and he knew. Just then a roar echoed thru his stoney valley and resonated with his own wish and desire.

He rose up, slightly above the mountain top and sang his own song to join that of his brothers. A rough and yet calm sound left his throat and the winds around him turned themselves into little hurricanes and storms, ready to cut down the land itself.

He knew that he said he would look for Kyoya but it seems that this will have to wait, just a little bit longer. As the last note of his cry faded away, he took to the sky and started in the direction of the forest he had left only days prior.

The Bloodred Stormdragon heard and heeded the call to arms.

Inside a secret lab

Beeping filled the dark room a lonesome and glasses wearing figure occupied. Many monitors showed him just as many sceneries and yet nothing changed. He’s been in this laboratory for years now, researching everything that came to mind, but mostly ways to protect his own, so that what happened on that fateful day would not repeat itself. And he’s been waiting. Waiting for that one moment…… Verde knew that his home underground was anything but optional, but he also knew Reborn….. and all the others…..

Suddenly almost all of his instruments measured impossible data. The displays went highwire and a few displays even broke down due to the sudden intensity. A smirk and a low chuckle escaped him. Of course this would happen shortly after he thought about it.

He stood up, ignoring all his different machines and displays and went to the small lift he built to make his way to the surface. On the ride up he thought about many things. Even about his fellow Arcobaleno….. which was more than unusual. But it has been a few years now. And just as Reborn has said: this years have felt like they went by in the blink of an eye for him.

Once he was back above the ground he took a deep breath and looked around.

Unlike what his instruments had shown him, the world was silent. And that could only mean one thing: he was not alone. But out of all the people that knew him, only two could really find him. The first one is the one to call them home and the other one the silent killer in their ranks.

He watched as mist slowly crawled along the ground, which confirmed his suspicion.

A small rustling reached his ears and he just stood still and quiet, once again waiting. Next came hissing and a long indigo coloured body, only seen in parts. The mist grew thicker with every passing moment and the long body started to draw steadily closer. Then there was someone behind him but he doesn’t turn around. Doesn’t need to.

“I see that you’ve found me, Viper.” A hissed laugh was his answer and just as the mist and the stillness had appeared, it vanished. Suddenly there were howling winds and pouring rain and, most importantly, the still sounding roar of their own kin.

Both Arcobaleno looked up into the slowly graying sky and knew it was time.

With the flash of a single lightning bolt a massive creature stood amidst the green. A long maw and strong legs were the most prominent features, closely followed by the sparking yellow spikes that run along it’s back and tail and its dark green scales. Lightning crashed into the trees and rushed through the clouds above while a thick misty blanket fell over the earth, obscuring the view of all that dared to look.

Around that massive body the other one curled in on himself, his body slowly growing and a pair of thin looking wings sprouting from his form.

And thus two more voices joined the almighty song of the weather.

A low and rumbling growl from the Forestgreen Lightningdragon and a deafening yet silent screech from the Indigoblue Mistdragon. Thous two also heard the call to arms and were ready to take back what was once stolen. Their answer resonated with the cries of their brothers and no sooner were they on their way. One digging his way home and the other silently sliding close behind him.

In a village on the other end of the continent

Chains rattled as another foolish human tried to get too close to him, his tails trashing behind him. It's been ages that he has seen the sky or breathed fresh air. These villagers only caught him by sheer luck and a great deal of misfortune on his part.

The long spikes along his back vibrated gently and he raised his head, ignoring the weapons that were pointed at him. The air was charged with something…..exciting. A familiar tension filling his core and making his heart pound. It was like the thrill right before a battle and he fucking missed this. He wanted to stretch his wings, follow the clouds he was born in but this stupid chains kept him grounded.

Then there was a rumbling, right outside his meager cage. He watched as lightning tore through the sky and rain started up, which got stronger and stronger with every passing minute. His anticipation grew as the wind turned into cutting blades, almost blowing his captors away. A storm was brewing and he knew exactly who started it. So he concentrated on the wind, on the vibrations in the air and every sound that comes from somewhere farther away. And there it was: a melody so long forgotten and yet still so beautiful and familiar. The song of his family! It was time to return!

Clouds gathered all around the Village and blocked the usually bright sun. People were starting to panic and the guards that are supposed to keep watch over him became scared. His tails trashed again right before three became one and his two wings became four. Because of the increased mass of his wings the chains keeping him down broke and because of the decreased number of tails the chains keeping him pinned slipped away. He was almost free, yesssss, he could almost taste it! Only thing left to destroy was the cage keeping him here. Four wings returned to being two and one tail became three again and with the spiked tips he just slashed his way to freedom, cutting through the iron bars like nothing.

Taking a running start he swept into the air, chirping his own answer to the long overdue call to arms. The Violentpurple Clouddragon, Skull, was on his way home. Six feathered wings carried him towards his brothers, his purple scales riddled with scars.

The clouds accompanied him and shrouded his figure from view.

Back with Tsuna and Reborn

As Reborn finished his roar he settled back down and listened while he still supported Tsuna at his side. He too could feel the return of the boy's fire and couldn’t help his smirk. Iemitsu and the other foolish have no fucking idea what’s awaiting them.

From far away both could see dark clouds gathering, followed by pounding rain and destructive lightning. The slight breeze slowly grew into turbulent winds which in turn evolved into a raging storm. The air turned humid and the dragon watched satisfied as mist started to spread through the forest. Then he listened as one after another all their voices came together as a unique and beautiful song. All their specific tunes come together but something is still missing…… That’s the moment Reborn hears a soft humming, a tune that Luce used to sing….. It’s a soft lullaby that she sang for the kids.

Roaring once again the Midnightblack Sundragon completed the harmony.

The sky was once again filled with all the raging elements, waiting to avenge the dragon that’s been slain unjustified so long ago and to take revenge for all this undeserved pain and torment.

Inside of Vongola Nono’s office

Timoteo wasn’t an idiot. When he got the notice that Tsuna was missing, again, he knew that something was up. That thous three other boys were not to be found either worried him beyond belief. But when the weather started to change he clasped his hands together and started to pray, because this could only mean one thing.

The Arcobaleno were about to gather. And where the seven strongest get together, calamity almost always follows. And without a sky to soothe their rage he sees no hope for the village and his people. He saw what they could do while trying to protect someone. Now they didn’t have this luxury. He knew that something like this would happen someday, was even prepared to face the dragon's wrath this time. But he had his own duties to fulfill.

A knock on his door interrupted his thoughts and one of his guards entered. “Nono, our mages have returned.” He gave an affirmative hum and sighed. Before the guard could leave again Timoteo called out to him. “Please send in Coyote and the others, it’s an emergency.”

Timoteo, Vongola Nono, hoped against hope and prayed to all gods that would listen that the tragedy would not repeat itself. But when this haunting roar sounds again in the distance, Nono knows that their chances of survival are very slim to none existent. `Please have mercy, oh kind one and spare us the pain. Let us not spill innocent blood, let us not condemn our children.´ It was an old prayer, one that Vongola Primo taught in his time, but Nono has no other option left. A single tear slid down his wrinkled cheek.

`Oh kind one, let us live peacefully and in joy with the dragons harmony, sung in a lovely lullaby.´

_TBC_

[segalia]

Living in Lockdown with You

What’s that saying about writing indulgent fluff if you don’t have the inspiration to write? Yeah...this domestic fluff three-parter has been nagging at me since I was in extreme lockdown a month ago and wondered how Percy and Annabeth would handle a similar situation. Featuring clingy and sleepy Percabeth and working from home. Enjoy. 

*** Annabeth stared at the screen blearily, trying desperately to focus on the videoconference in front of her. As a demigod, focusing was hard for her at the best of times, and this switch to everything online certainly wasn’t helping. She was all too aware of her face in the lower corner of her screen, wishing her boss hadn’t insisted they leave their cameras on for this presentation. Blinking and squaring her shoulders, she was just about to try again to tune into the discussion of a new architectural technique when a mug floated out of the corner of her vision. 

She looked up to see Percy offering her the steaming mug with a sympathetic smile. She took it gratefully, cupping it in between her hands and letting the warmth revitalize her. 

Thank you, she mouthed, then remembered her mic was off. “Thank you,” she repeated out loud, needing something real to ground her to this moment. 

“Of course,” he nodded, and turned to give her space to focus. 

“Wait,” she put the mug on the table and caught his hand, reveling in the familiar feel of his hand in hers. “Can you stay just a few minutes?” 

He smiled again, that troublemaker but supportive smile that had eased its way into her heart so long ago. 

“Of course,” he repeated, making himself comfortable on a nearby chair. 

She expected him to start playing on his phone as she went back to focusing on the presenter, so he caught her off guard a few minutes later when he posed an insightful question about what the presenter was saying. As she answered, pulling together facts from earlier in the presentation and one of her college classes, she realized that this weird combination of stimulation, from the hot liquid warming her up inside and his hand in hers, to the presenter’s voice and Percy’s questions, was helping her focus better than she had all day. She squeezed his hand briefly in his thanks, and he gave her a warm look before asking another question. 

Gods, he was so smart. 

With Percy peppering occasional questions throughout, she was able to not only breeze through the rest of the lecture, but also pose several intelligent questions when it came to the follow-up meeting. Finally, the meeting concluded, everyone said goodbye, and she signed off. 

She sagged back in her chair in relief. “Oh my gods, thank you. You were a lifesaver.” She hadn’t meant to steal him for the whole meeting, and she was sure he had other things he was probably supposed to be working on, but she was so grateful and he was so willing that she decided to feel appreciative rather than guilty. 

He shrugged nonchalantly. “It was actually pretty interesting. I’ve listened to you rant about architecture enough over the years that at least most of the words made sense.” 

Too tired to properly express her emotions of gratitude and how smart and amazing he was even if he didn’t always see himself that way, she raised his hand to her mouth and kissed it softly. “You’re amazing, thank you.” 

His smile was soft and a little bashful, but all he said was, “what are you thinking for supper? I’m not sure we have enough leftovers for a full meal.”

Her brain switched gears to food, and they started brainstorming. With stretching and groaning, they rose and headed to the kitchen, ready to tackle this new challenge as a team. 

***

A couple days later, she found herself going to bed at a decent hour for once (quarantine and distance work had been messing with her already messed up sleep schedule). When she crawled under the covers, however, Percy was still seated in bed, staring intently at his laptop (their apartment was really tiny--what can you do against New York apartment prices?-- and didn’t have much in the way of living space). 

“Are you--” she yawned, “almost done?”

“Huh? Oh, I mean, I think so? I can move elsewhere if you want.” 

She shook her head sleepily, aligning her body so she could curl around him. “It’s okay. Just dim your monitor please.” 

He nodded absent-mindedly, focus already returning to his work as he complied. 

She must have drifted off because she woke disoriented to find Percy still tapping away on his laptop. “Hey.” She breathed, adjusting her position to lean against him, stretching out a crick in her arm, “what time is it?” 

“Hm? Oh, I guess it’s 2:30.” He blinked and muttered, “when did that happen?”

“Percy,” she was having trouble keeping her eyes open, “you should head to bed.” 

“I know, I know, I’m just really close to finishing.” 

“You said that several hours ago.” If she wasn’t careful, she was going to fall asleep and drool on his shirt.

He kept typing, and she wasn’t sure if he’d heard her. 

“Perce? Are you actually close to a stopping point? Cause if you save it for tomorrow and get some sleep now, you’ll probably do better work.” 

The computer noises stopped, and she felt him chuckle under her cheek. “Now where have I heard those words before?” 

She grinned sleepily, “Not sure. I think some wise guy said it a couple times.” 

“Wise guy, huh?” 

She could picture the smile on his face, but merely hummed in agreement and snuggled further into his side. 

“Okay, okay.” There was a pause before he said, “for real this time, I found a good stopping point, just give me a few minutes.” 

“Okay,” she was drifting off again. 

True to his word, she felt him shift several minutes later, and suddenly the dim light vanished. A tension she hadn’t even realized she was holding released. She only grumbled slightly as he gently slipped out from under her grasp, and sooner than she expected, he was back under the covers, drawing her into his chest. 

“Love you,” she murmured. “Sleep tight.” 

She felt a laugh rumble through his chest as he bent to kiss her forehead. “You too, Annabeth. Love you.” 

***

Her laptop was lifted from her lap mid-sentence and a weight settled in its place. “What?” She looked down to find Percy sprawled across the bed between her legs, head pillowed in his arms on her lap.

“Sleepy,” he muttered, shifting to get comfortable. 

“I wonder why,” she responded affectionately, holding her laptop in one hand and carding her fingers through his hair with the other. 

“Had to-” he yawned, “finish the project.” 

“And you did, so I’d say you’ve earned your rest.” His recent tiredness put her in mind of the months after he’d taken the Achilles’ Curse when he’d fall asleep anywhere and everywhere, often in this very same position. 

Of course, then, she didn’t usually have a computer and a report to finish. 

“Hey,” she gently tapped the computer on his head. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

“I dunno,” he mumbled. “That works.” 

“This works?” She repeated, skeptically resting her laptop on his head. 

“Sure.” 

Deciding to play along, she tried to continue typing. “Hm, I’ve determined that your head is not a sufficiently flat surface.” 

She felt him shrug against her legs. “Not for lack of trying.” 

“I don’t think I’m advocating for more monsters to bash you in the head.” She moved her laptop to his back instead. “I’m fond of your skull as it is.” 

“Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah,” she smiled, running her hand through his hair again, tracing the shape of his head. “Now stop distracting me.” 

“Sure thing, babe.” 

Smiling and rolling her eyes, she turned back to her report in the dyslexia-supportive program one of her siblings had designed. Percy’s back was much more stable than his head, and she couldn’t say she didn’t appreciate the company. 

She finished a rough draft and saved it, deciding to look it over for errors and edits later. As she closed the report, her background came into view. It was her and Percy during their visit to Washington DC the year before. They’d planned a large group trip with Grover and the rest of the seven to support Piper’s recent appointment. A lot of them had road tripped down together, and spent hours at the Smithsonian Museums. It had been the last time all of them had been together, and now, with lockdown, the memories were even more precious. Her heart clenched, and she was immensely grateful for Percy, even if he was becoming hot and heavy. 

“We should have a group call with the others soon.” 

He stirred; she honestly hadn’t been sure he was still conscious. “We have one the day after tomorrow. Hazel put it in the group chat, and you already agreed.”

“Oh yeah.” With the stress of lockdown and working from home, details were a little hazy sometimes. “That’s good then. Are we calling your mom any time soon?”

“Maybe tonight? Paul’s busy with teaching online, and Mom’s been busy with her book and trying to homeschool Estelle. She said she’d let me know.” 

“Cool,” she idly traced patterns on his back. “Gotta say I’m so grateful for modern technology right now.” 

He snorted, “And that we can use it now.” 

“Gods, yeah.” A combined effort on the part of some Hephaestus kids, Athena kids, and a remarkably tech savvy Ares kid had led to a spell/app combo that meant monsters could no longer trace demigods through their technology. Annabeth had to admit that a smartphone had been a lifesaver a number of times, both in college and in monster fighting. 

“So, what do you want to do for this rest of the day? Especially now that you got that project out of the way?” 

“Sleep.” 

She tugged at his hair, “you can sleep later, c’mon.” 

“You can sleep with me,” he suggested, and she caught his mischievous look. 

“I’m not tired,” she stuck out her tongue. “Do you wanna watch something? We’re nearly caught up on, uh, that one show.” 

He named it. “That one?” 

Snapping her fingers, she nodded decisively as if she’d had the name all the time. He just gave her that teasing smile. “Yeah, that one. Wanna watch that?” 

With an overly dramatic sigh, he crawled off her. “Sure.” He kissed her cheek as he settled into her side. “Popcorn?” 

“Why not?” She smiled at him, “but you have to salt it.” 

“I think I can agree with that,” he grinned at her and pulled her laptop to him so he could pull up the show. 

She plodded to the kitchen (well, kitchenette), and returned a few minutes later with only slightly burnt popcorn and a salt shaker for Percy to wield. As she curled up beside him, and the familiar title song played, Annabeth felt the deep-seated contentment that no matter what crazy things were happening in the world right now, no matter how helpless and scared she felt, at least she had her something permanent with Percy. 

[brideofcthulhu10]

Hi! Uh so Billy aka Dwayne and I have the same birthday (June 23). I don't really like my birthday because I've never gotten to celebrate. I haven't had a party since I was a kid and now I just always spend the day sad and with no friends. If you wanna write something with the lost boys celebrating Dwayne and reader's birthday together, I'd really love it. (No pressure tho. I really love your blog and hope you'll have a great day ✨)

Aw, I’m sorry to hear you’ve not been able to celebrate your birthday for such a long time. Hopefully I can give you a little taste of a great birthday with the boys, and a very special (belated) birthday to you from myself and all of my readers, you are an honorary Fang Babe which makes you a part of a community that’s there for each other! If you ever feel sad, I got my DMs open 24/7 if you ever need to just vent up a storm! All are welcome. 

Happy Birthday to You Both

Dwayne x Fem!S/O

Today was supposed to be special, yet the entire day everyone was so preoccupied with their own little lives that no one had even bothered to remember it was your birthday today. It was absolutely miserable. All the while your boyfriend Dwayne was currently tucked away at the abandoned hotel hiding away from the sunlight. Bursting into flames was certainly an occupational hazard. By this point the whole vampirism thing had come and gone, and while it did frighten you, nothing was more frightening than being without your dark crow.   

Rather than stay at home to be ignored you opted to go out for the afternoon, browsing shops for a special occasion. No, not yourself. See, as luck would have it, June 23rd also held significance to Dwayne. Marko, one of the younger members of the coven, had told you two weeks prior it would be Dwayne’s birthday as well. You had to keep your own secret. Not at their request, but your own. Overshadowing his birthday would be dreadful, you hated the idea of taking it from him. Besides, no one remembered anyways. 

Weaving through brightly lit shops, you pondered each piece wondering what would suit him best. Clothes were out, maybe a new skateboard? Just looking at the little white tags stuck to the back of them made you cringe. Okay, so that was out. You weren’t made of money. 

There was an old mystic shop selling a handful of oddities, somewhere called Madame Medusa’s Mystical Boutique. A few interesting necklaces caught your eye, but one seemed to be directly calling you. It was a crow skull attached to a leather cord, bordered by two carved red beads on either side. Two thick black feathers were wedged between the beads. Gently you slipped it off the hook, running your thumb over the chilled, smooth surface. 

“It’s a lovely item, isn’t it,” an elderly woman asked. Truthfully she startled you from behind the counter, almost making you jump a few good inches. 

“O-Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t see-”

“Don’t worry dear, hardly anyone does,” she chuckled, tenderly plucking the skull from your hand. “Shall I wrap this up for you?”

“Oh- Well I wasn’t, I mean it’s nice but-,” you stuttered, but already she was shuffling towards the counter again. Boy pushy woman. You didn’t even know how much it cost, you weren’t exactly on a budget but you couldn’t be going on any big spending sprees.

“Hush now. He’s going to be waiting for you, somewhere nearby. I can guarantee that this is the one you’re meant to give him,” she insisted, wrapping the necklace under aged brown paper. 

“Yeah, I’m sure he’d like it but-,” you couldn’t help but trail off. How- How did she know?

The woman pushed the little baggie your way, giving a tender smile before she began to hobble towards a curtained room behind the counter.

“W-Wait, I didn’t even pay for it!”

She waved off your concern, looking behind her shoulder while she parted the curtains in her path. 

“Consider it a present from those who neglected you. Take it to him, you’ll see..” And with that she vanished behind them, leaving you stunned where you stood. Silently you glanced down at the small plastic bag, almost jumping in place when a dusty old grandfather clock began to ring through the store. One, two, three, four, five, six. Oh! It was already six o’clock. Crap the boys would be up any minute!

It didn’t take too long to spot the gang of vampires sitting on the worn, wooden banisters talking amongst themselves. Dwayne was just as eager to spot you, sweeping between the boys and lifting you up in his arms. “Happy birthday, princess,” He gushed, planting tender kisses all over your cheeks.

“How did you know? I didn’t-”

“My bad,” Marko spoke up. He leaned back from behind Paul to wave your way, as if he were waving a flag of defeat. Damn. You weren’t even sure how Marko figured out your birthday in the first place, there was just no keeping secrets from that guy! 

Dwayne set you down, although he carried a much more concerned expression this time. “Why keep it a secret in the first place, Y/N?”

You fiddled with the bag still clutched in your hand with eyes cast downward towards your feet hoping a good excuse could get you out of just admitting you’d rather play backseat. But, you didn’t. Not that you couldn’t come up with any excuses. Rather, you didn’t want to be sidelined even for your boyfriend’s birthday. It was yours too, and for the past several years it seemed like you were constantly being set aside so that other things could happen. Your sister’s wedding, that trip to Colorado your parents took, grandma and grandpa visiting, your brother’s soccer games- everything seemed to take precedence over the celebration of the day you were born. And worst of all is you never got your Sixteen Candles happy ending. No one would really recognize they screwed up. You wouldn’t be apologized to with tearful shock when your parents realized they forgot your birthday, your friends- if you could even call them that at this point- wouldn’t try to cheer you up, and there was no handsome crush ready with a birthday cake to make it all go away. It’s like Dwayne already knew your feelings because before you could get a word in he pulled you into a crushing hug. Your head pressed against his chest. Sometimes you forgot he had no heartbeat and instead only listened to him rumble when he spoke to you.

“Just because today is for me, doesn’t mean it isn’t for you too, princess.” 

Those words hit you harder than you anticipated. Your throat felt as if it were swelling, dry with each labored swallow, and a tight pressure squeezed the bridge of your nose. Inevitable tears eagerly rushed down your while burnt cheeks. 

Dwayne only held you in place. He never let go until you were the one ready to release him, wiping away those pesky droplets of emotion staining you. “Now, I was saving this for when we took you to the hotel…,” he began with his hand jammed into his jacket pocket, rustling around for whatever it was he needed. “But, I figure maybe you need it now.”

A thick banded ring of aged silver sat in his calloused palm, an oval cut of turquoise clasped in place by a weaving border. Veins of black and copper split through chunks of blue-green paths. Rather hold it out to you, Dwayne tenderly took your hand into his own to slip the hefty piece over your ring finger. It nestled perfectly in place and you couldn’t help but let out a breathless laugh, slinging your arms over his neck. He already knew what to expect. Iron arms engulfed your waist and lifted you up. His stubble scratched the edges of your mouth when you crashed your lips into his. The sensation was overwhelming. It wasn’t just that he got you this, it was what he had gotten you. 

Dwayne had often told you myths and lore on lazy nights when the hunting grew slow and the hours were long. Once you found yourself admiring a very similar cut of jewelry decadently adorned with many fine cuts of turquoise, finding your curiosity piqued when asking him what the significance was to all these pieces. Why was it such a commonly used stone in so much jewelry, especially with Native American tribes.

“From what I can remember,” Dwayne thought back at the time, leaning over you to admire the pricey baubles kept protected under a thick sheet of glass “, my grandmother told me that every tribe has always valued it. I mean, they all have their reasons. It’s a powerful gem that carries protection, life and strength. I’ve even seen it change colors depending on where you find it. I hardly ever saw it though when I was alive, even back then it cost a fortune.”

But now, through one way or another he’d remembered how you admired them from afar, yearning to have a ring like that of your very own. The one to five hundred dollar price tags always scared you off whenever you’d come to find them in stores- at least, the real ones. For once you didn’t care how Dwayne had acquired your gift. Gift! Oh!

“Oh, hold on,” You interjected between kisses with the little bag presented before him. “I um, got you something too. From that crazy lady in the mystic items shop!”

A warmth spread through your chest watching him lay the necklace over, the skull placing perfectly atop his many others. It suited him perfectly. 

The whole night was just perfect. You spent the entire time going on rides with the boys after they spoiled you for dinner, later dragging you to the hotel where you realized what Dwayne meant earlier. There were streams of colored paper hanging off the rafters and old piping, red balloons tied to the furniture, and a banner of paper reading out “Happy Birthday Dwayne and Y/N” written in big, red marker letters. You couldn’t even make a wish when they brought out a cake for the both of you. After all, what more could be asked? They had already given you the most perfect birthday you could have ever hoped for. 

[mimiwrites2000]

Legends

Chapter Twelve ~

AO3 ~~

Pairings: Armin x Annie/ Eren x Mikasa/ Levi x Hanji (other pairings will be added as the story goes on)

Words count: 7119

* spoilers for chapter 127 and up

Summary:

an injury

a miracle

an understanding

and maybe 'everything happens for a reason' holds some truth in it, and all of it leads to that tingle of emotions with unsolvable maze that hypnotize its victims

~a story of broken hearts who are searching for a cure while mending each other’s wounds

“Annie, you know I would do anything for you, right?”

“Father…?”

“I love you, and I want you to be happy, no matter what happens, I’ll always be by your side, you know that, don’t you?”

“I… I know, but… what’s going on?” Annie knew what was going on, as her father led her further into the forest, the sun barely creeped out from behind the mountains, and it was freezing cold, Annie’s fingers were like sticks of ice that were going to snap at any moment, her legs were numb, and the suitcases they were carrying made her feet dig deeper into the dew dirt.

She tried deflating the balloon that swelled in her throat, she took deep breaths, she was aware that this was coming, she told herself that she was ready for it, and yet…

The thick trees were getting scarce, bushes and weed overthrowing them, not before long, the tangled branches no longer blocked her vision, and Annie found herself at a clearing, the stream running by it.

The place where she peaked at Armin dancing with Mikasa.

Someone was already waiting for them.

If Annie wasn’t sure that Armin was still passed out in the cottage, she would’ve wished it was him.

It was Eren, his long brown hair messy around his face, and his suit disheveled.

Annie glanced at her father, and her breath hitched in her throat when she saw tears glistening in his eyes.

“You took so long,” Eren said, crossing his arms, as he strode a few steps towards them.

“But here we are, the past doesn’t matter anymore,” Mr. Leonhart said, he tried to walk, but the cane in his hand wobbled and he almost fell, but Annie caught him; the ground closer to the stream was even wetter, cold moisture seeped into Annie’s boot, bruising her toes, freezing them until they almost fell off her feet. She could see her breath turn into a white mist right after it left her mouth.

Propping her father up, she exclaimed: “What is going on? And Eren aren’t you supposed to-”

“Annie,” Eren stopped Annie, it was only then that she realized the dark shadows framing his eyes.

Mr. Leonhart turned to Annie, clamping his hands on both of her shoulders, he looked her straight in the eyes with such intensity that made Annie want to step back, but she didn’t.

“Annie, my daughter, do you forgive me?”

“For what?”

“Answer me.”

Annie glanced at Eren; the prosaic look he wore made her hand itch to slap it off his face. She turned her eyes to her father and said: “I do.”

“You know that I love you, don’t you?”

“I do.”

Mr. Leonhart knelt down and picked up his cane, after he steadied his footing, he gestured for Eren.

Eren stepped towards Annie, she raised an eyebrow at him before she said: “Isn’t it rude to leave your wife alone at your wedding night?”

He didn’t acknowledge her comment, instead he lifted up his hand.

“Annie, I’m sorry,” he said, his fingers hovering an inch away from her forehead.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” her voice was wobbly, and she hated that. Her eyes begging Eren to be done with it.

“Goodbye.”

Eren touched her forehead.

~~~

When Armin woke up the day after the wedding, he had a head-splitting headache, he couldn’t even lift his head up the pillow, like a ball with some thick, heavy liquid inside, chaining his head down- or it wasn’t even a pillow, it was a rock-hard surface, and now that he was thinking about it, it was unbearably dreadful, and cold, and-

Why was he stretched out on the floor?

Armin looked around himself, what is this stinking smell? He got the answer soon enough when he noticed a foot dangling right above his head, Armin wrinkled his nose, pushing the foot away but retreated immediately when his fingers touched the surely-is a dripping sweat sock.

Through groans and multiple failed tries, Armin figured out a way to prop up himself on his elbows without pouring his brain out of his skull, he squinted his eyes, inspecting the room, the sun barely creeped into the place, decorations were up, glasses and liquor bottle were thrown around the floor, some shattered, their sharp splinters waiting for an unlucky foot to pierce through.

Human bodies scattered around the room, their bodies inflating then deflating like the failed attempts of a kid trying to blow up a balloon, some were snoring like an elephant, belching foul-smelling breath through their noses and their opened, drooling mouths. Someone was whistling through their nostrils.

A bolt of pain pulsated through Armin’s head, before he dropped back down on the floor, only to jolt at the sudden impact, then memories from the day before rushed into his mind, the wedding, drinking, Annie, a lot of drinking, Annie, more drinking.

These were his final thoughts before he drifted into another wave of restless, uneasy sleep.

The next time Armin opened his eyes, the sun was going down behind the mountains.

Armin covered his eyes with his elbow, not tolerating the harsh yet soft light, fighting the nausea induced by the vomit taste in his mouth, the headache was still there but he surely didn’t feel like passing out anymore.

“It’s about time you woke up, you look like shit.” Someone said from above him, Armin shifted his elbow off his eyes, just enough to see who was talking, once he saw Connie’s face, Armin dropped his elbow and closed his eyes again, “you kinda fucked up, didn’t you?”

“Connie, what are you talking about?”

“Kissing her while drunk? Dude, even I have enough brains to not do that,” Connie gulped down the rest of what might be leftover coffee, grimacing at its bitter taste.

Armin stiffened, the headache departing him for a second: “What?” his voice cracked.

“I saw you, it’s not like you were hiding, anyone could’ve seen you if they looked outside the window.”

“Oh, God,” Armin let out a shuddering breath, rubbing his forehead, are there any pain killers around?

“You don’t have to worry about her, they had already left.” Connie twirled the residual of his coffee around, he pouted when he imagined its much stronger taste on his tongue.

The headache came back at full force pounding Armin’s head, he thought his head might as well blast, and what was that about Annie leaving?

“What do you, nngh… mean, aah, she left?” Armin breathed out, as he rubbed his head and tried to sit up.

“So, she didn’t tell you? Sheesh, man, she must have been pissed at you.”

“Connie would you please stop and actually answer my, ugh… question?”

Connie snorted, not taking Armin seriously in the slightest: “She and her father, they left before the sun even was up, I’ve never seen anyone franticly pack like her father, he was steaming.”

“And you were awake and didn’t bother to wake me up?” Armin had finally managed to sit up, and he was looking around the room as if painkillers would materialize if he wished enough for them. If his head kept on thrashing like this for one more minute, he might go crazy.

“After all the drinks you had yesterday? You wouldn’t wake up even if I kick down that wall on your big head,” Connie said as he pointed with his thumb at the wall behind him, he sighed and stood up, “besides, I saved your ass from a very embarrassing confrontation.”

“Where are you going?!” Armin asked, his voice louder than he intended, sending a bang of pain through his head, he grimaced and massaged his head, trying to subside the sting.

“To get you some painkillers! Idiot,” Connie turned away from Armin and vanished into the kitchen, a few moments later, he reemerged with a cup of water and some oh God finally medicine. He silently gave them to Armin and sat again on the couch, his head dipping low.

“Whatever you’re hiding, are you planning on telling me?” Armin said before chucking the white circular tablet into his mouth, swallowing painfully.

Connie’s eyebrows rose on his forehead, he thought he was covering up really well, I did a great job, Armin is just a genius. Connie cleared his throat and said: “I can’t.”

Armin was quiet for a moment before he said: “Okay, whatever,” he plopped back down on the floor.

One

Two

Thr-

“Annie didn’t let me wake you up.”

Ah, that’s the Connie Armin knows, can’t hide a thing if his life depends on it… wait what-

“Annie did what?” Armin coughed a few times, feeling the tablet he just swallow climbing up his throat.

“She swatted my hand arm right before I shook you,” Connie said, and showed Armin the red spot on his forearm, which was forming into a muddle of blue and purple.

“Well then… I guess she really is mad at me…” Armin sighed, rubbing his forehead, maybe in a minute I’ll wake up and all of this would turn out to be a dream or something…

“What did you do to her? Did you say anything… I don’t know, offending?”

“I…” Armin ruffled his hair, noticing how it was matted with sweat, his nose accidentally got closer to his armpit, and he gagged at the pungent aroma, he needed an urgent shower, “I can’t remember anything,” Armin lied as he headed to the bathroom.

He wanted to rip off the suit of his body the moment he closed the door behind him, but he only managed to lean onto the sink, all energy drained out of him. His hands griped the edge of it so tight, he imagined crushing it into sand, flowing between his fingers. Armin squeezed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth.

Now she was gone.

Forever.

Armin threw his head backward and groaned, he fucked up, just like Connie said, he fucked up badly, there was no better way to say it.

Armin was frustrated, he was mad at himself, at his stupidity, he couldn’t even fathom an explanation why Annie didn’t just shove him away from the beginning, from the moment he wrapped his arms around her, but now he knew the taste of her lips, the scent of her skin.

He felt her hands on his chest and her fingers in his hair, he sensed her pulse on his lips, he ran his fingers through her hair, and he tasted her tears on his lips.

Armin’s fluttered his eyes open, and he was met with his reflection in a crocked, palm-size mirror, all he could see was how horrendous he looked from the outside, and how disgusting he felt from the inside.

He shook his head and was about to take off his shirt, but he stopped when his hands felt something in its chest pocket. His fingers tremulously sought out two rings, silver, almost identical.

His own ring, and Annie’s.

Armin stared at the two circular metals on his palm, the corners of his eyes were itchy and his throat tight.

She didn’t take his ring with her, and she left her own ring with him.

Annie made it loud and clear that she didn’t want any of his memory, she desired a new life, away from this place, away from the past, and away from him.

Armin stared into the mirror once again, and saw tears streaming down his cheeks.

~~~

Three years later

It was dawn, the sun creeping from behind the trees, night creatures scurried to their hiding places under rocks and between crocks in trees trunks, the birds tweeting, hoping from a branch to another, warming up for whatever struggle this day withholds for them,

Armin was sitting on the swing, which took the majority of his small porch, but it was worth purchasing; Armin usually wakes up before sunbreak, makes a cup of coffee -this precious beverage that the outside world introduced to them, was the only catalyst to manifest enough energy to start the day- then he would admire the sun rise, slowly, as if the whole world stopped for a moment, all silent and serene, before rolling back again into its endless storm.

Armin watched the stars as they faded, and he had to remind himself that they were still there, holding up, just a larger star robbed them off their spotlight and took all the glory to itself.

He thought about what he would do during the day, attempting to schedule his remaining free hours into a useful time; it was his day off; he should probably be productive and work on a few side projects he was putting to the side for the past few months.

He tried to conjure an excuse to not work on them; maybe he should run some errands in the village, or write letters to Connie and Jean; he didn’t see them in months, last time Connie wrote to him, it was to inform him that he’s opening a small business with Niccolo. And Jean… well, he was still trying to settle on a job.

A mix of guilt and stress was growing in his stomach, he was so used to deadlines and bolting to get things done in time, to rush with tremulous hands and shaking legs from one office to the other. It was still alien for him to leisurely check off his tasks, one after the other, slowly, until all were gone, and then a new list would arrive, and he would go through it again, patiently.

No point in rushing, Armin comforted himself, he got all the time in the world.

He spent an extra hour admiring his surroundings, even though he lived here for about three years, he could never get bored of this place; there were countless, colorful birds living on the branches in the forest ahead of him, he tried once to track them down and study them, but their engraved wild nature made it impossible to catch, after all, it was used for predators hunting it down, not a mere, harmless human.

Reluctantly, Armin went inside his house.

Hanji did offer all of them mansions in the most prestigious parts of the city, to hire servants and cooks for them, to pay for any entertainment facilities they ever dreamt of, saying that ‘your efforts when you served as soldiers can never be thanked enough.’

All of them refused.

Instead, Armin, Eren and Mikasa sought a place with a serene atmosphere, some place where they can live in peace for the rest of their lives, and they found this village.

It was a new place, outside the walls, the far north of the island, its summers were scorching, and its winters were freezing, just like Shiganshina, and without hesitation they agreed that this place was exactly what they needed.

Armin’s house wasn’t big, nor was it fancy, in fact, it was in a dreadful state when he first got it, its past owner was trying to sell it for years, but it was half an hour walk from the village, and people can’t spare any extra time to get to their work, to the center of the village, where life was buzzing with people who have families waiting for them back home.

But Armin loathed noise, he hated packed places, where people are too busy to appreciate a butterfly passing by.

But here, at the outskirts of the village, closer to the forest, it was quiet, and Armin never worried about the rush hour, getting to work on time didn’t even cross his mind, or even getting enough sleep for a hard working day.

Armin got the house for half the price.

Even though everyone pictured Armin in a cabin by the ocean, Armin himself decided to live away from it, if anything, he wanted to get the jolt of happiness each time he saw the ocean, he never wanted to ever get used to it. The waves shall always make his breath catch in his throat, the cold water up until his ankles shall always send shivers down his spine.

Armin walked to the kitchen, which was connected to the living room, he was hesitant about having them disclosed; worrying about the cooking smell, grease and all, he surely didn’t want his couch smelling like fatty food, but he ended up rarely cooking anyway, so it wasn’t an issue.

He deposited his empty cup in the sink, before heading towards the stairs, its wood lighter than the rest of the place; it wasn’t here when he first moved, but he built a bedroom on what used to be the roof, this way, he had an extra room he could use as an office. Armin didn’t ascend them, but merely touched the handrail, he was making his way to where he should be longer, stretching his journey to his office as much as he could, where what he dreaded the most was waiting for him, taking a physical form in blank, pure white pages, and scraped, unfinished outlines.

He finally ran out of tasks to idle on, and there was nothing else to do but get in that office, and do the excruciating, agonizing task of all time.

Armin sat by his desk, finding interest in anything that passed across the opened window, a butterfly, a bird, a falling leaf.

The moist, dew dirt’s aroma wafted through the window, a branch from a near tree made its way through it, poking at the ceiling, Armin asked for Eren’s help to cut it off, but lately, procrastinating was Armin’s inseparable shadow.

He had been wondering the forest since he stepped into the office, avoiding to look at the page laying vacant on the desk, the pen in his hand tap-tap tapping on the hard surface of the wooden table, accidently drawing dots from where it plopped on the blank page laid in front of him, as blank as my mind.

Sometime his eyes would linger on a certain notebook on the desktop, it was the only notebook he had filled from cover to cover, his handwriting cramped in it, filling every single line. Beside it, there was a small, wooden box.

Armin knew that living alone was the best choice for him, solitary was his method of functioning, even though Eren and Mikasa suggested having a two-stories house and all can live together, but Armin refused, saying that he didn’t want to intrude on their privacy, and it didn’t help that they were a bit too “touchy” for Armin’s comfort.

It’s not like Eren and Mikasa lived far away from him, they preferred to get a house in the village, its atmosphere depicted their childhood, and they found that soothing; another sugar cube to their new life, a place that reminded them of one of their best times, a proof that they were living a new life without forgetting about their past, the past that gave them this present, and hopefully, a brighter future.

Armin would hop through the vast lands of daydreaming, a fantasy overlapping the other, and when he was confronted with reality, the empty papers within his hands, a big, long wall hindering him from getting to the next imaginary place- he would grow wings and fly over it.

Armin snapped out of his dreams when he heard knocks on the front door, he got up, wiping the drool dripping down his chin with his sleeve, at least now he would have an actual reason to not work.

“Uncle Armin!” A kid yelled, their pitchy high voice stealing the serenity of the place in a second, Armin shook his head and laughed.

At the door, stood Eren, Mikasa, and little Ymir, all beaming at Armin, and all of them holding something in their hands.

“We figured you would want some company on your day off, we hope you don’t mind.” Mikasa said in her never-changing calming voice, waving a basket in front of her.

“Of course, he wouldn’t mind, he should be grateful we brought him lunch, better than his awful cooking.” Eren stepped past Armin inside the house -Mikasa rolling her eyes in the background- Ymir following him, but not before hugging Armin, and he couldn’t help but wonder how Historia trusted her daughter with these two. 

Historia would send Ymir every now and then to visit Eren and Mikasa and stay for a few days, she was so attached to Eren, and would cry and thrash in her room if she didn’t see him at least once a month.

Armin didn’t have to tell his friends to make themselves at home, he never did, they would just invade the house and do whatever they felt like doing, and it’s not like Armin minded in the slightest, as long as they didn’t step into his office.

It was already lunch time, Ymir helped Eren set the table, as Armin went into his forbidden office, to repack whatever he tried to work on.

“How’s your project going?” Mikasa asked, leaning on the door frame, her arms crossed. She already got her answer when she saw all the blank, new papers, however, one notebook caught her attention.

“Which one?”

“The book.”

“Oh… not so well,” there was no point in denying the truth from Mikasa, he couldn’t lie to her anyway, besides, she was the only person he told about all his failed projects. Armin organized his desk, even though it wasn’t exactly jumbled up, still, he put pens into a cup, and papers -mostly new and untouched- in their arranged folders and into drawers, but he kept one notebook on the desktop.

“Hey Armin, why is that notebook… different?”

“Oh…” Armin peered down at what she mentioned, it certainly was different; its cover worn out, some papers out of their place, and the pages that once used to be white turned into a brown-ish color, “nothing, I just… write more in it, I guess,” Armin took the notebook and hid it in one of the drawers.

Mikasa decided to feign belief in Armin’s feeble lie, she looked around the office from where she stood, it looked more like a small library than an office to her, shelves surrounded the four walls, bending at the weight of the myriad books on them.

The place smelled of old books and a combination of floral and apple pie fragrance Mikasa was sure didn’t come from the opened window. The crimson rug under her feet had four flattened spots from the desk’s chair. Mikasa knew that Armin spends a lot of time in his office, probably all his free time…

“I’m really glad you guys came today.” Armin said as he sorted out a pile of papers into three separate files, “it does get lonely in the forest sometimes.” He let out a breathless chuckle but bit his lip when it sounded like a pathetic wail of a wet dog.

“Our house is always open for you, and you know that.” Mikasa said as she bit her lip, taking a step into the room, she looked up, noticing the invading branch, it suited the office’s aesthetic, “but, you know that having someone here with you would make a difference-”

“Mikasa, we’ve already went through this,” Armin rolled his eyes and tried to ignore Mikasa by concentrating on the papers in his hands.

“You can’t just stay alone forever.”

“I’m fine by myself for now, and it’s not like I’m on the verge of the grave, I’m twenty-two years old.”

“Even Jean and Hitch are dating!”

Armin blinked in surprise: “When did that happen?” So Jean finally moved on from Mikasa, huh?

“Well, everyone knows they’re dating, except for them.”

Armin slapped his forehead: “They’re not even official and you guys…” he sighed, since when did people’s personal life regale others entertainment?

“One failed relationship doesn’t mean that you should stop trying,”

Armin dropped the thick files he had in his hand, and it fell right on his feet, he hissed in pain, but Mikasa ignored that as she went to read some books’ spines on the shelves, her hands clasped behind her back, making sure to not touch anything; she was aware that Armin doesn’t like guests in his office, and she already crossed that line, she trespassed into prohibited territory, she might as well be wary.

“You know who I’m talking about,” Mikasa wasn’t planning on dropping the subject.

Armin froze, a lump was forming at the back of his throat but he couldn’t swallow, he was cornered in his own place, sieged by Mikasa’s words, and he never thought Mikasa would mention her, in all the three years after the practically apocalyptic events they went through, he couldn’t recall Mikasa or Eren ever talking about-

“Sophie, I know I introduced you guys, and I don’t regret it, but you two just don’t work out with each other,” Mikasa’s fingers trespassed on an especially old book’s spine, they trailed the engraved title, what’s beyond, it said, Mikasa’s fingers were getting curious to what it could hold inside.

Armin closed his eyes, and almost choked a sigh: “That was a year and a half ago, I’ve moved on, and I’m sure she did too, and it’s not like we held any real emotions for each other-”

“But if I’m being honest, you did neglect her,” Mikasa picked the book from the shelf.

Armin hands slipped and a particular sharp edge of a paper sliced through the not-any-longer calloused skin, he did steam it in a second, but the nasty pain from a paper cut could never be topped, “It only lasted for a couple of months and both of us decided that we aren’t a match! It was mutual!” Armin stuffed the rest of his papers into one file, not caring if they were in the wrong order, he just wanted to get Mikasa out of his office as soon as possible-

Mikasa opened the book, or more like it flung open by itself on a certain page, as something metal and shiny fell off from it, landing with an unimpressive thud on the rug.

Armin reached for it, but it was too late, Mikasa was already inspecting the circular polished metal, she held it in the light, and saw a small notch on its side, she flicked it, a thorn popping from the ring, the tip ever so sharp, ready to cut into flesh.

Mikasa turned her eyes to the opened book in her other hand, the ocean, the title said at the top of the page, in cursive delicate writing, Mikasa scanned the page, at the bottom, a hand drawn picture of the ocean was fading, this book must be too old…

Armin tried to concoct a retort, but he ended up sputtering from where he was still crouched on the floor: “Th-that’s my ring! I just s-store it there!”

Mikasa put the ring back where it was, closed the book on it, and placed it back to where it was cramped with other books.

“Yeah, I know that,” Mikasa said as she side-eyed a small wooden box on the desk, where she was sure Armin’s ring laid untouched, then she turned and walked out the office.

~~~

“In a week or so, it will be the third anniversary of the end of the war.”

“Oh, is that so…”

Eren and Mikasa chatted as Armin silently listened to them, all sitting around the dining table, they were having spaghetti and meatballs for lunch, a Marleyan dish Niccolo taught them how to make, with Mikasa’s own twist and tips from when she watched Carla in the kitchen, everyone agreed that nothing can beat her recipe.

“I think they will hold a festival in the village,” Eren said before he stuffed a meat ball in his mouth.

“Fun!” Ymir chirped in, and Armin smiled; this kid did bring enormous joy to the trio, and Armin never thought that a child would change their whole lives like that.

“Yes! It’s gonna be so fun!” Mikasa said in a high pitchy voice to Ymir, who was grinning, her teeth all red from the sauce, “mama would surely let you spend it here with us.” Ymir nodded, before she was immersed again in her food.

“Armin,” Mikasa acknowledged him, he hummed, “me and Eren are going for sure, do you wanna tag along? We’re gonna have a lot of fun, I promise.”

Mikasa’s voice was soft, so soft, it reminded Armin of the summer fluffy, white clouds, and when Armin looked into her eyes, they were pleading for him to say yes.

“What do you mean?” Eren inquired, raising a confused eyebrow at Mikasa, “he won’t be here anyw- mmpph”

“What?” Armin asked.

“Never mind him,” Mikasa said, a forced grin on her face, as if she didn’t just knock the air out of Eren with her ‘playful nudge’, “so, you’re in?”

“I…” Armin wanted to say no, that he had a lot of work to do, and that he’s not in the mood to party, not to mention that there would be enough liquor for the whole village to get knocked out, and Armin was trying so hard to stay away from alcohol; he didn’t taste it in three years.

“I’ll think about it,” Armin decided to settle on a vague answer, he learnt to not give away promises like they were free postcards.

Mikasa’s lips twitched upwards in half a smile, a part of her ignoring the fact that Armin would most likely come up with an excuse to not go.

“How’s work?” Eren asked Armin, as he stuffed meatball number who-even-knows into his mouth.

“Good, I guess, less pressure, ever since I started working from the shadows.” Armin answered, even though the mouth-watering food was waiting on the plate, Armin’s fork idled at an olive on the side of the porcelain dish.

“Hanji did give you the option, yet here you are, don’t you ever think of retiring soon? I mean, me and Mikasa are pretty much living stress free-”

“I can’t just sit around, besides, I would be unemployed if I leave the military, and it’s not like creating strategies from a cabin in a forest is dangerous,” Armin repeated the answer he always replies with whenever this tirade of retirement is discussed, it worked every time and made them shut up-

“But don’t you ever consider-” Eren’s mouth was full of food, he chewed quickly and swallowed, his mouth stained with red sauce, “don’t you ever consider starting a family?”

Armin choked on air, he felt that olive stuck in his windpipe, except that he didn’t even eat it, Mikasa offered him a glass of water but he only waved her hand away and said: “Did-” a cough “the two of you” another cough “plan this?”

The shared silence told him so.

Armin got up, taking a napkin and wiping his mouth, only to realize that he didn’t eat anything: “I’m gonna go for a walk, and when I get back, I don’t wanna hear any more of this bullshit.”

The screech sound of his recently-vacant chair echoed through the room, before Armin left the house, holding himself from slamming the door behind him.

“We… went too far… didn’t we?”

Mikasa nodded, looking at little Ymir who was devouring the rest of what was left on her plate, oblivious to her surroundings.

Armin had to muster all the remaining self-restraint to not send the door flying off its hinges; they both knew that these topics ticked him off, and they went through this dialogue more times than he would care to count, but still, they insist on doing it over and over-

His raging thoughts halted in his mind as well as his feet when he was met by an unexpected guest, frozen at the bottom of the two steps leading to the porch was Connie, a suitcase on the ground beside his feet.

“H-hey, Connie, what’s up?” Armin internally slapped himself at the feeble way he greeted his friend, but electric zips were still thrashing in his mind, sending jolts to his tremulous hands.

Armin shoved his hands in his pockets and walked to Connie, and this seemed to wake Connie from whatever trance he was lost in, then, a current of words were hastily flowing out of Connie’s mouth, overlapping and incoherent, and Armin couldn’t make a single word out of it.

Worry and concern shoved anger out of Armin’s nerves, in a second, he was in front of Connie, shaking his shoulders, and that quaked his jostling words into a cohesive sentence: “Do you want to go on a walk?”

Armin was taken aback by this sudden request, they didn’t see each other in months, and Connie didn’t write to Armin that he was going to visit, he merely just popped up in front of his door.

This wasn’t like Connie.

“Sure, but do you want to go inside? Maybe rest for a bit? We were just having lunch, so the food is probably still warm,” Armin tried to ease Connie off whatever he was struggling with, to clear his mind for a minute.

“No, I don’t feel like eating, and I need to get this off my chest, thanks though.”

“Ok then, let’s go.”

Armin walked side by side with Connie, he knew a rout in the forest long enough for Connie to talk with no pressure. Even though concern was chewing at Armin’s patience, he couldn’t force Connie into saying a word, he knew his friend for so long to know not to do so.

However, Armin bit the inside of his lower lip, holding his tongue from snapping at Connie, who didn’t stop fidgeting in his place; a hand would shoot up from his pocket up to caress his short grey hair, before it rubbed his temples and hid back into his pocket, his steps were out of rhythm, one short step, the next long enough to make Connie take a small step backwards to stay beside Armin. He was playing with the skin around his fingernails, Armin glanced at them and saw how red they were, with a darker shade of brown inside the edges of them, dried blood.

Armin crossed his arms, as if this would restrain him from saying anything he would regret.

“The predators are far into the forest, don’t worry,” Armin couldn’t hold himself back from saying that, he tried to keep his voice even and unbothered; but irritation seeped into his tone because Connie kept checking behind them as if someone was following them.

Connie stopped dead in his tracks, and Armin did a small dance of joy in his mind that his friend finally decided to speak out.

“Sasha.”

Armin’s arms dropped beside him.

One word, and it made Armin know exactly what was coming up next.

“I can’t- she just- I don’t know, I thought I was over it- it’s unfair-”

“Hey hey hey,” Armin clamped Connie’s head in his hands, steering his head so he could look into his eyes; they were a light shade of a dreadful pink, “take a deep breath, and don’t pressure it, I’m not going anywhere, I’m here to listen,” Armin didn’t waver his eyes off Connie’s, his words anchored Connie down, made him stop for a second.

Armin didn’t let go of Connie until he nodded, then Armin motioned for a large, fallen tree trunk on the side, and both sat on it.

“I don’t know from where to start.”

“It’s fine, take your time.”

Connie was silent for a moment, he swallowed and rested his elbows on his knees, his back arching with the weight of words he had yet to unleash.

“She… ever since she was gone, she pops up in my sleep, but… most of the time it’s really just a dream that doesn’t make any sense,” Connie mumbled, he was apprehensive, trying to remember one of these dreams, and when he did, he jolted back, startling Armin, who sprung out his arms in his direction, thinking he choked or something, but the wide smile on Connie’s face made Armin retreat back his hands.

“Th-there was that one dream! I don’t know where I was, but I remember that I was calling her, and I was getting irritated because she didn’t answer, and suddenly, a mountain of a steamy, hot potatoes emerged from nowhere! Like from no fucking where!”

Armin nodded his head rapidly, permitting a hesitant smile on his face despite a few droplets of spit splashing his face.

“Then the mountain just split open and there she was, she was floating? I guess she was, and she held out her hand to me and said in a decent voice I’ve never heard her speak in before,” Connie puffed up his chest and held out his hand to Armin, acting out his dreams, with a thick voice he mimicked: “come with me, my dear fellow, to the land of food,” Connie broke his demeanor and was laughing so hard, birds were abandoning their spots on the trees around them.

Armin laughed alongside Connie, and he tried to look over the hint of sadness in Connie’s voice, and he didn’t persist on the small cracks interfering with his tone, his shaking fingers, or the tears glistening inside his eyes.

Connie laughs subsided gradually, and then he wiped his nose on his sleeve, his vision was getting a little blurry, but he kept going, his voice calmer and quiet: “It was like this, all along, just laughs, but for the past four months, or maybe five, all I see are nightmares, one where her neck split open, or when the bones in her body snap, or blood pour from her eyes.”

Tears were rolling freely down Connie’s cheeks, his words choked, half of them battling their way out with his tears, and Armin could barely understand what his friend was saying anymore, but one single sentence was the same as a big stone dropping down Armin’s stomach.

“No matter where I see her or how it starts, she dies each time.”

A deep part of Armin knew that this was coming, he knew a dead person usually visits the living ones’ dreams, sometime it’s just a recall of a good memory, or a comforting hug, Armin once had a dream of his grandfather hugging him and singing him to sleep, however. Sometimes these long gone people haunts your dreams and turn them into nightmares, like some sort of a reminder that they didn’t deserve dying, retelling you that they will have a long last effect on your life, some sort of a witchcraft that will trap you for as long as you keep on breathing, to the point where it makes you want to-

“I want to forget about her,” Connie let this one single sentence out, and looked straight into Armin’s eyes.

Armin was still, not moving, he just stared back into Connie’s eyes, waiting for them to blink, but they seemed to turn into an unmoving sculpture. Armin shook his head, unbelieving and agitated.

Connie wanted to forget about Sasha,

Connie wants Eren to wipe off his memory.

Armin’s heart was beating in his ears, he didn’t notice his fists tightly clutched until he felt a nail digging excruciatingly into them. He tried to speak, to let out a rational reaction, some right-headed reaction that Armin was known for all his life.

Memories, memories, memories, memories, Annie-

Pain.

“Don’t start with some noble speech about ‘letting the dead keep on living in your mind’, I can’t,” Connie kept going, his eyes veered up at the sky, “those nightmares are ruining the good memory I have of her, and I don’t want that, she doesn’t deserve that.”

Armin only watched his friend, his head up to the sky, his eyes wide open, tears gushing down his cheeks, trickling off his chin before dripping onto his open hands,

“Well, Eren and Mikasa are actually visiting me today, we should… go back and… talk.”

Connie regarded Armin as if he grew a second head, he thought that Armin would give a long ass tirade about all this memory tempering shit, it didn’t cross his mind that he would be so easy to talk to about this specific topic.

Three years ago, the day following Mikasa and Eren’s wedding, Connie found Armin in the shower, soaked wet with freezing water, hugging himself and shedding tears… silently.

After that, Armin caught a very bad cold and had to stay in bed for five days straight.

Connie was certain that this memory crossed Armin’s mind too as they walked back the same path to his house.

Each step Armin took sent dozens of electric shudders into his body, he tried to calm himself by watching the birds flying from one branch to the other, or by the sound of his and Connie’s feet scraping against the dirt, but his ears magnified the voices into deafening thuds and screeches, the veins in his forehead were throbbing

What exacerbated it was that he couldn’t hide from the guilt growing inside of him at how he snapped at his friends, he didn’t mean to, he surely didn’t and shouldn’t have, after all, they were doing that out of concern.

Even though he was pissed at them, he had to apologize, but he would save that for later, there were more pressing matters. However, when Armin and Connie reached the house, Eren and Mikasa had already left.

Armin took Connie’s suitcase and walked inside his house, but Connie tried to stop him: “You know it’s fine, I can just go straight to their house-”

“Connie you look like shit, take a break first, maybe sleep for some time, and we’ll discuss everything later.”

Connie followed Armin silently.

Armin found a plate of food wrapped in a towel waiting for him on the table, he smiled, there goes Mikasa being the mom again, but he wasn’t hungry at all.

“Hey Connie, want something to eat?” Armin said as he walked to the table.

“Uh… what do you have?”

Armin unwrapped the towel: “Spaghetti and-”

A folded paper fell from it.

Armin put down the plate and unfolded the paper, only to find out that they were two papers folded together, one was brown and looked somewhat formal, while the other had scrabbles on which Armin immediately recognized as Eren’s messy handwriting.

“Spaghetti and what?” Connie asked, but Armin didn’t answer.

The paper wrinkled underneath Armin’s grasp as his eyes scanned the content of it, his jaw tightening with every word.

[ieattaperecorders]

Something’s Different About You Lately - Chapter 3: Crawling and Many-Legged

Martin gets a song stuck in his head.

Read on Ao3

It galled Jon how at home he was in the institute. How right he felt among the stacks of folders and files, the detritus of academia. He should have taken more pleasure in returning to his flat each evening, a comfort he hadn’t had since the coma. But it always felt like retreating, an unfortunate if necessary pause. Put a simple meal together, do the dishes, shower, sleep a few hours, anxiously kill time until he could return. The archive was where he belonged, and he hated it.

It wasn’t safe there. But it wasn’t safe anywhere - this world had no sanctuary from the forces that gathered at the edges of Jon’s nightmares. In the archive he could still find the people he cared about most, and if he could see them, he could keep them safe.

He was in what Tim called the ‘bullpen,’ where the others had their desks. The ceilings were high there, filled with nooks and crannies where shadows pooled and made you wonder, idly, if something could be hidden up there and spying on you. Sasha was at her desk, posed like an ancient statue, leaning forward on her elbows and reading from a file. Her long black hair was pulled into a messy bun and stuck through with pencils, which seemed unnecessary given she had two at her desk already, and another behind her ear. She seemed intently focused and Jon didn't wish to disturb her, but he had a question to ask.

"Have you seen Martin?"

"Nnnm-nnuh." Sasha muttered. It was either a no, or a meaningless sound she made while hoping he'd stop talking and leave her to read.

"I haven't seen him all day," Jon continued. "I'd wonder if he even came in, except he lives here now."

"Wouldn't know." Sasha looked up, meeting his eyes. She ran a hand through her close-cropped, auburn hair. "The archive is a big place, Jon. Maybe he got lost."

Jon frowned, unhappy at the thought, and turned back towards the stairs.

He found Tim at the bottom of the stairway, leaning against the wall and shuffling papers between his hands. Jon saw glimpses as he moved - lurid reds, yellows and pinks advertising circus acts, the writing all in Russian.

"Have you seen Martin, Tim?" Jon asked. "I need to talk to him about something. It's important."

"Can't help you, boss." Tim shrugged. "You can't keep an eye on everyone, you know?"

Jon might have replied to that, but he heard footsteps coming from further up the stairs, and all the thoughts went out of his head. The footfalls had a cadence that he recognized - the shy, careful tread of a heavy man used to stepping lightly, afraid he might make too much noise. Jon ran towards the stairs, but in his hurry he knocked Tim's hands and all the papers went scattering.

Several steps up already, Jon turned and winced. "Sorry."

Tim smiled, but his eyes were burning and there was smoke in his hair. Blood dripped from where his jaw was broken.

"I don't forgive you," he said.

Jon nodded. He understood. But he still had to find Martin, so he turned and went up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

Martin's footsteps were distant and mist-muffled, and Jon had to strain to hear them. As he reached the top of the landing he was certain he saw him - just a silhouetted, but there was no mistaking it. The silhouette vanished around the corner and Jon broke into a run again, following with the relentlessness of gravity. He ran through the hallways, taking turns and looking through doorways, but the fog kept collecting between them. Every time he caught a hint of direction - a shape in the distance, a shadow, a breath - it dissolved just as soon as he came closer.

At one point Jon was certain he could see Martin clearly, sharp and certain as he ducked into a room. Jon reached the door just as it was closing, but when he pulled it open Martin wasn't there. Instead, Jon saw two other figures, quietly speaking to one another.

"Basira? Melanie . . ." Jon looked around the room. "Did Martin come through here? I . . . I thought I just saw him."

Melanie turned, blood trailing down from where her eyes used to be. Her expression was solemn and composed.

"I need to speak to him." Jon continued. "I have something to tell him. There are so many things I have to tell him . . . ."

Melanie shook her head. "He doesn't want to see you."

"You shouldn't be here." Basira came to stand beside Melanie. Her voice was the temperature of white hospital linen, of ice water brought begrudgingly. "You shouldn't have come back."

"I . . . I had to." Jon said quietly.

Basira shrugged, as if it wasn't worth arguing. "We can deal with it later."

A hand fell heavy on Jon's shoulder, and when he turned Georgie was there. Her eyes were just as he remembered them from a hundred terrible dreams, quiet, gray, and disappointed. The woman who wrapped her possessive arms around Georgie was quiet and gray as well, her head was shaved and a section of skull had been removed to expose the brain. She stared at him with eyes like a coroner's report.

"It was never a second chance." Georgie said with finality. "This isn't either."

Jon backed away, uncomfortable with the dead woman's eyes but even more so with Georgie's. Daisy said nothing from the corner where she crouched, jaw dripping, claws kneading the floor. Her gaze spoke clearly without any words, it fell on Jon and shouted, run.

He did run, back into the hallway and as fast as he could. The floor twisted under him, the fog gathered, his scars bled. He ran in any and every direction until he'd lost all sense of where he was or what he was fleeing.

Only then did he finally stop. The hall ahead of him was a dead end - no doors, turns or exits, nowhere to leave to, and at the end of it was Martin. Jon could have wept. He hurried to the end of the hall.

"Martin . . . I have so much I need to tell you," he exhaled, dizzy with adrenaline, with running and relief. "Terrible things are going to happen here . . . ."

"I know, Jon." Martin said.

"No, you don't. You can't possibly." Jon stammered, breathless. "There - - there are people out there, trying to change the world in horrible ways. The Unknowing, and Elias, and - - and Peter Lukas, he's going to hurt you . . . ."

"I know, Jon." Martin's voice was patient, weary. As if he'd explained all this so many times. "I know it all. The Lonely, and the coma, and what you did to the world."

That . . . that was impossible. Martin couldn't know about any of that, could he? It didn't matter. None of it mattered, because none of it was asa important as what he still had to say.

"I love you, Martin," he reached to touch the side of his face. "You mean the world to me. You were the reason I kept fighting, even after all was lost . . . ."

"Yes, Jon." Martin sighed heavily, removing Jon's hand from his cheek. "I know about everything. I lived through it all with you, remember?"

Jon couldn't see properly, and Martin's form kept shifting. His hair was longer, and there were dark circles under his eyes. His clothes were dirty, torn, and stained with blood that wasn't his. He carried a backpack that Jon recognized.

"But . . . you can't." Jon frowned. "None of that has happened yet."

Martin shook his head, a humorless smile on his face. The look he gave Jon lay somewhere between pity and contempt.

"Come on, Jon." He placed a hand against the wall, his fingers curled like knives. "Did you think any of this was real?"

Like a cheap backdrop, the wall came away in Martin's hand, and with it came the rest of the world. Jon saw the awful truth that had been hidden behind the theatrics. Of course . . . of course. How could he have forgotten? He and Martin had never left the tower.

From where he stood Jon saw himself in the center of the Panopticon, right where he belonged. The Archive of the Ceaseless Watcher, forever witnessing, forever recording, a mindless and infinite repository of terror. Beside him was Martin, curled against the warped shell of Jon's body, knees tucked under his chin. Unwilling to leave, unable to die, eyes dim and without any hope.

With despair he beheld the only fate there could ever be for the two of them, and he saw his own mouth forming words. And the words his mouth formed were, "with despair he beheld the only fate there could ever be for the two of them, and he saw his own mouth forming - - "

Jon bolted upright, blinking in the dark of his bedroom. His phone was ringing.

* * *

Cross-legged, Martin sat on middle of the camp bed and checked the time again. He really needed to sleep. Each minute that passed just added to how tired he'd be in the morning. For a while now he'd been relying on black tea and nerves to keep him awake during the day, occasionally supplemented by a sneaky nap when there were still other people in the building. It got him through each week, but he knew he couldn't keep it up forever. What he needed was a solid eight hours. But that chance was gone for the night, so he ought to have been making the most of what time there was.

Instead he set his phone on the stack of boxes that served as a bedside table and picked up a well-worn pocket notebook. There was a writing exercise he'd been working on, one he'd seen online somewhere. You were supposed to put down whatever words popped into your head - not thinking or editing at all. Then, after filling a page, you picked out a dozen or so and tried to make a poem out of them. Martin didn't really expect to produce anything worth looking at even by his own standards. All he wanted was to occupy his mind, focus on something that might settle his thoughts to the point where he could sleep. He looked back over the page he'd been writing on:

walls. door. closed. stuck. trapped. trap. pit. pitted. eaten. perforate. pick. dig. bore. burrow. squirm. scream. wring. writhe. anxious. panic. escape. run. hate. hate this. i hate this so much. so much so much so much.

Lovely. All it needed was an artful splatter of blood and it would be the perfect prop to leave behind after he mysteriously disappeared one of these nights. He flipped the notebook closed.

Laying down was out of the question. Every time he tried, he'd feel something crawling over every inch of his body. No matter how firmly he told himself there would be nothing there, that there was never anything there, it was no use. He'd last maybe a minute or so before leaping up, flipping on the lights and checking himself over for invaders.

No. He would just have to sit up and occupy himself until he dropped off from sheer exhaustion. It would happen eventually, hopefully soon. Meanwhile, he just had to turn his mind towards something calming. Something other than how tired he'd be in the morning. Or how vulnerable he was while he slept. Or how something might stand over him while his eyes were closed without him ever knowing. He just had to stop thinking about the sounds coming through the walls, or what had been in the hollows of Jane Prentiss's eyes. About how that basement had smelled, or how quickly those things had moved, or about wet, writhing segmented bodies crawling over one another, pressing up against this room from the outside until - -

Martin gripped his chest and counted in his head, trying to slow his breathing. This was a really bad night.

He checked the time again to find that less than fifteen minutes had passed, and a frustrated whine slipped out of him. He stared at the phone in his hand and thought about what Jon had said a few weeks ago.

This place is unsettling at night. A second perspective can be a breath of fresh air.

He had told Martin to call him. Jon couldn't get mad at him for calling if he'd told him to, could he? Or, well, he could, but it wouldn't be very fair of him. Really, the way the past month had gone, Martin found he was less concerned about sparking Jon's ire than he used to be. Mostly he was embarrassed at the thought of phoning him up to explain that he couldn't sleep because of phantom worms. What exactly did Martin expect him to do about that, anyway? Check under the bed for Jane Prentiss? Read him a bedtime story?

The image of himself curled up in bed while Jon read Tolkien to him was both ridiculous and embarrassingly appealing. He'd heard Jon do recordings before, once even overheard him singing to himself, and he did have a good voice. In fact, having Jon read something out loud to him, even just over the phone, would probably be really, really nice, whether it helped him sleep or not. Martin would definitely rather be eaten by worms than suggest it.

If Martin did call, Jon would probably say he was being irrational. And maybe he was?

Well. Not too irrational. Everyone had spotted worms chewing and crawling around the institute's baseboards. They probably followed him here, which was great, just a wonderful possibility to consider. What was it that people said about infestations? For every one you see, there's a hundred more you don't see? So actually, yes, he was being extremely rational in general and if anything he should be more concerned that --

something was crawling on the back of his neck down his back crawling squirming wriggling

Martin bolted away from the bed, yanked off his nightshirt and reached frantically around himself. His hands couldn't cover the full expanse of his back, so he grabbed a metal-edged ruler from nearby, swiping between his shoulder blades where he could still feel the slow, slick, trailing something . . . .

By the time he made it to the bathroom, the sensation had faded. He still took the time to examine his back in the mirror, craning his neck to see. No worms. No holes. A few long, red scratches he'd given himself with the corner of the ruler, trailing wide over his shoulders. The florescent light shone off a sheen of sweat between his shoulder blades, and as he watched a drop of it creep down his spine that crawling feeling zipped through him again. That was it. That was all. Just his own sweat and nerves.

He splashed some water on his face before pulling his shirt back on and trudging morosely to the cot, face burning, glad that at least there had been no one around to see. He picked his phone up from where he had dropped it, relieved that the screen wasn't cracked. Looked at the time again. 1:43.

Just someone to talk to, he thought as he opened his contacts. Just a few minutes of another human voice, even if it only told him to stop imagining things and go to sleep. He pressed the call button and the phone rang.

"Yes? Hello?" Jon's voice was groggy, with a sharp edge of irritation to it. "What is it?"

Martin winced. Of course he'd woken him up. He'd said that he kept odd hours, that meant it was all right to call him after ten, not after one. He briefly considered hanging up and pretending that this hadn't happened.

"Hello? Is anyone there?" The edge in Jon's voice increased, dipping into anger. Martin heard him mutter something about automated calls.

"Hi. Sorry." Martin said. "I know it's late . . ."

"Oh. No, no, it's fine." Jon's voice changed immediately, dropping to a gentler tone. "What is it? Is everything all right?"

"I'm not sure." Martin swallowed, mouth dry. "It's probably all in my head, but, well, what you said about another perspective . . . ."

"Of course. What - -" Jon stifled a yawn. "What's troubling you?"

Martin was hit then by just how little had actually happened. A few odd noises and his mind conjuring danger from sweat. Trying to explain the last few hours in a way that didn't sound completely stupid felt impossible.

There was silence on the line for much too long, and then, "Martin? Are you still there?"

"Yeah, sorry. Just hit me how underwhelming this is going to sound," he said apologetically. "Probably wasn't worth waking you over."

Again there was silence. Martin found himself thinking if the worms had been waiting for a particular moment to fall on him, bore through his flesh and eat whatever part of his brain thought phoning Jon at two am was a good idea, he'd be up for it right about then.

"It's fine, Martin. Really." Jon said. "I'm glad you called. I . . . appreciate that you would reach out to me. Obviously I asked you to, but, still."

Martin blinked, surprised at the sincerity in Jon's tone. It was reassuring, and it tied itself up around a handful of other things he'd been feeling lately, enough that he felt able to talk.

"All right, well . . . I think there might be something in the walls."

There was a heavy pause before Jon spoke. "In the walls."

"Yes, in the walls!" The tension that had been winding in Martin for hours hadn't left, and something in Jon's tone made him defensive. "Is that really hard to believe? Infestations usually start in walls, don't they? If those things are, making, I don't know, nests. . . ."

Against his will, Martin found himself imagining what those things would make nests out of. The visual of half a dozen hole-shot bodies entered his mind, curled like mummies between the rooms, mouths writing with larvae and opened as if to scream. He shuddered.

"No, no, it's - - it's a logical concern." Jon said. "But you're not thinking of - - that is, you're not cutting holes in them, are you?"

"Oh." Martin flushed. "No, no. I'm not going to start knocking down walls or anything, if that's what you're worried about. I just hear things through them sometimes. Especially at night."

"What sort of things?" Jon asked. "Er . . . worm noises?"

"Sort of. Well, no. I mean. Maybe?" Martin sighed, "okay, the thing is . . . there's the usual old building sounds. And I know that probably most of what I'm hearing is the pipes, right? But there's other sounds underneath that and - - yeah," he started to pick up speed, talking faster and thinking less about it "- - sometimes it does sound a lot like something's crawling around in there, and that's not even getting into the voices - -"

"Wait, voices?" Jon cut in sharply.

Martin winced. He hadn't meant to mention that part, but he was tired and anxious and couldn't keep a lid on things. It had just slipped out.

"Um. Yes. Sort of," he said quietly. "Sometimes."

"Are they saying anything specific?"

"Not really? Just sort of indistinct, maybe not even words. It's more like. There's a melody to it? Not something you could hum, but . . . it sort of sticks in your head. Sometimes I get it running through my mind during the day, you know, but I only actually hear it at night, so . . . ." Martin trailed off, keenly aware of how insane he sounded.

There was a very long pause on the other end. When Jon spoke again, his voice was slow and careful. "You haven't been sitting up and listening to it , have you?"

Internally, Martin groaned. "Look, I know how it sounds, Jon, I just- -"

"Martin. Martin." Jon raised his voice, covering Martin's protest. "I believe you."

"I - what?"

"I promise, I believe you." Jon said. "Please, just . . . have you been listening to it? The . . . the singing."

It was the fear in Jon's voice more than his actual words that made Martin pause and consider his answer.

"Not on purpose, I guess. I still hear it of course. Sometimes I try to cover it with music or, uh, forest noises, but that never really works. But it's not as if I'm trying to listen."

"Does it . . . ." Jon laughed weakly, "this is probably going to sound like an absolutely deranged question but, does it sound like it's for you?"

Martin couldn't explain the sudden lunge of fear in his gut when Jon asked him that.

"Wh-what?"

"Does it sound like something is singing to you? You specifically?"

The question was strange, but it resonated. There was a feeling he got sometimes sitting up in bed, half-dazed with exhaustion. It was hard to put a name to, but it felt familiar.

Come to think of it, he knew what that feeling reminded him of. It was a boy named Colin from his first year of secondary school. That was back before the growth spurts had turned Martin into the too-big, too-obvious teen he'd eventually become, when he was still a high-voiced fat little boy. Colin had been bigger and older, and he would insert himself into Martin's life at random, meeting him at the corner on his walk to school or sidling up to him in the lunchroom. Hitting him up for any money he might have, which was never very much, or making jokes that Martin felt obliged to laugh along with even though they were at his expense. Sometimes he'd muss Martin's hair in a manner that felt almost friendly, or pinch and poke at his chubby sides in a way that decidedly wasn't.

Martin was fairly sure Colin hadn't had any friends either, and maybe in some other world they could have bonded over that, but Colin didn't want a friend in Martin. He'd marked him as a pushover who would put up with him for the poor excuse for companionship that he sometimes provided. And he'd been right. Colin had been better than nothing.

"It sounds . . . friendly." Martin said after a pause. "But . . . not a nice sort of friendly. More cruel. If that makes sense."

Jon muttered something to himself that Martin couldn't hear, then spoke again into the phone.

"Are you dressed?" He asked.

"I - - What?"

"Are you dressed?" Jon repeated. "Have you got shoes on? Are you wearing clothes that you can go outside in?"

"Um." Martin glanced towards the suitcase where he kept most of his clothing. "I could be in a moment?"

"Good. Get on what you need, then get outdoors as quickly as possible. Take anything essential that you can easily grab. Wallet, phone, keys, that sort of thing. Wait for me just outside the Institute." There was more shifting and dragging, the sounds of him moving things around. "I can get there in about half an hour, depending on the trains."

"Why? What's this about?"

"Just wait for me there." Jon's voice was sharp, but there was an audible current of fear running through it. "And - and don't listen to any singing. I'll be there as quickly as I can."

Before Martin could ask anything further, the call ended.

[vincess-princess]

ex malo bonum

Chapter 5.

Word count: 3391 Warnings: self-harm, suicide attempt Author’s note: it’s been exactly 3 months since i posted the last chapter, and i have nothing to say for myself

Nikki patted Vince’s bare thigh and left with a mocking “sleep tight, angel”. He didn’t even bother to untie him, and Vince didn’t ask for it. He hadn’t fallen so low yet.

He regretted it very soon. Though the bleeding down there had stopped, the blood didn’t go anywhere and soon started to stink. Mixed with the smell of blood from the previous night, it made the room smell like a slaughterhouse. Vince had seen one of those a couple of centuries before, during his last visit on Earth. He wasn’t Vince yet back then. He was something else. Something completely different, but with a name and a purpose. Back then, any sight of violence was revolting to him. He had to turn away to avoid watching poor animals getting killed.

How he envied them now. It seemed so easy. Just one swing of an axe, and everything is over.

No sharp teeth biting into his neck. No long claws tearing apart his flesh. No rough hands ripping off his clothes, pinning him to the bed, leaving bruises on his skin.

Even animals had it easier than him. Even about animals He cared more than about a child of his own, his flesh and blood, his own creation.

More and more of those dark, wrong, rebellious thoughts were flashing through Vince’s brain, flouncing about in his skull, intrusive, erratic, convincing. In the farthest corner of his mind Vince kept waiting for a stern voice in his head to say that it was all for a reason, and the reason was the crime he had committed, and all of this – all of this was his punishment.

But it never did, and the thoughts remained. They leaked deeper and deeper into Vince’s mind, to its most secluded corners, where even Vince never dared to look directly, afraid of seeing something he wasn’t supposed to see. They leaked there, drop by drop, word by word, and filled them to the brim, and mixed with what was already there.

And then came to light.

***

Just as the world started fading to black in front of Vince’s eyes, the door slammed open. Strong hands gripped his wrists and pulled them apart, releasing his throat. Vince tried to hold his breath, he almost did it, after all, but then a familiar, though way weaker, spike of electricity went down his spine, and for a moment his tormented vessel’s intrinsic desire to live overcame Vince’s desire to die. He inhaled hungrily, went into a fit of coughing, inhaled again, and again, and again, and the world started gaining colors back.

The first things to color were the eyes right in front of his. Strikingly, mesmerizingly blue eyes.

“Please, kill me,” Vince whispered hoarsely. The only demon who looked at him with a hint of sympathy was now right in front of him. Maybe he had enough kindness left in him to do Vince the last favor. He grabbed demon’s arms and pulled himself up, closer to Mick’s face, digging his fingers into tattooed skin with desperation strong enough to win over the fear. “Please, please, kill me.”

The demon cast a glance at him, his expression indifferent, and then pushed him back on the bed.

“No fucking way.”

Vince gasped shakily, feeling tears gathering up in his eyes. His last hope vanished. Nobody would let him do it, let alone help him. As much as the demons hated him, they needed him alive.

“Oh, come on, let’s do without all that,” Mick winced at the sight of tears. “Are you a teenage girl or what? Calm down.”

“I won’t,” Vince slurred through gritted teeth. The momentum, the state of turbulent determination was fading away, leaving behind only exhaustion and desperation.

“You will.” Mick frowned, and the air thickened again like it did with Nikki, and Vince suddenly remembered that this demon in front of him could destroy him in a movement of a finger. He must have already pissed him off so much. Vince bit his lip to not let out desperate sobs, stifled them in his chest for later, when he would be alone. “If we wanted you dead, we would simply not come for you.”

“I wish you had done that,” Vince said bitterly. Maybe talking back to such a powerful demon was a bad idea, but hadn’t he tried to kill himself a minute ago?

Mick didn’t answer this time, just looked at Vince, and he wasn’t able to utter a word anymore. He tried, but his tongue felt sluggish and heavy, his lips were as though glued together, not willing to part. All Vince could do was breathe shallowly and look at Mick wide-eyed with fear.

“That’s better,” Mick said after a few seconds of silence, interrupted only by Vince’s heavy breathing. He looked over Vince, his gaze lingering on the blood-stained sheets between Vince’s legs and the wooden crowbar, the one Vince’s bracelets had been attached to, broken out of the bed’s headboard. Vince’s wrists were bloody and raw from where bracelets had been digging into his skin, but they only started to hurt now. “Is that Nikki’s visit that got you so agitated?”

Vince, still not being able to talk, shook his head. Nikki had started the process, of course. But the thoughts were Vince’s, not Nikki’s.

“It is, then,” the demon concluded and moved around the bed to get a better look. Feeling his stare right there again drove blood to Vince’s cheeks for absolutely no reason. He had just realized how awful he must have looked, bloody and beaten, stripped of his last remains of dignity and self-control. No angel could get into a situation like this; He just wouldn’t let it happen.

Vince was, apparently, no longer His child.

“Nikki, unfortunately, isn’t the gentlest partner,” the demon said. “And he still hasn’t learned to clean up after himself.” Mick added calmly, the sort of unnatural calmness with not a single leaf on trees moving that comes right before the storm. “I should make him do it,” Mick cast another examining look at Vince, whose eyes widened with fear. “I really should.”

At the mere thought of Nikki touching him again something broke inside of Vince, spilling cold into his veins, spreading it throughout his whole body. But then Mick stretched out his hand and touched the chain. The metal ring around Vince’s ankle opened. While Vince stared at it in disbelief, the belt restraining his other ankle untied itself and slid to the floor. The bracelets opened with a click a second later.

“Next time.” Mick added. Relief washed over Vince. “Now get up.”

Easier said than done. Vince rolled on the side, trying to lean on his arms to sit up, but all his strength seemed to have left him, and his shaky arms were too weak to lift his body. Mick grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him up on his feet, nodding in response to Vince’s silent “thanks”.

Then Vince took one step and fell on his knees. His legs, having spent more than a day in the same position, couldn’t hold him. The abrupt movement sent spikes of pain throughout the lower part of his body, hurting in all the wrong places, places where it wasn’t supposed to hurt; a drop of blood slid down his inner thigh. Vince thought being hit by a truck should have hurt worse. It did, but only for a second. Here – here Vince had to go through it fully conscious and painfully aware of how it happened.

“I will not carry you,” Mick warned, but reached out to help Vince get up. Vince gripped his hand so hard he almost pulled Mick down onto the floor with him.

“Careful!” Mick hissed, pushing away Vince’s hand and visibly wincing from pain. “I said I’m not carrying you, fucking get up yourself!” His hand rubbed the base of his neck.

Scared of making another mistake, Vince no longer tried to hold onto Mick, leaning onto the wall instead. His every step was followed by a pang of pain between his legs, but he never made a sound and only gritted his teeth. He wasn’t weak. He could handle it. He would handle it, purely out of spite towards Nikki.

His vision blurred by tears, Vince didn’t notice they had arrived at their destination. Only when Mick opened the door in front of him and carefully pulled him inside, Vince managed to concentrate on reality.

He was in a bathroom. Not a very huge one and definitely not clean; but it had a toilet on which Vince could sit and the bath where he could wash off the blood which had already dried up and formed a crust on his skin. Vince limped heavily to the toilet and plopped onto the toilet lid.

“No-no, not here. Get right in the bath.” Mick pointed at it and turned on water. Thank god, Vince thought, and it took him a couple of seconds to realise he wasn’t thinking of Him as reverently as he did before.

Vince clumsily climbed into the bath and sank onto the bottom. He looked at the water filling the bath and on red drops diluting in it with apathy. Hot water burned his skin at first, but once he got used to it, it became almost comforting, like a blanket or a hug of a friend.

“I’m going to fetch some clean clothes for you,” Mick said soon after. “Don’t try to drown yourself, okay? I’ll be back too soon for you to actually drown. Just keep that in mind.”

Vince only nodded slowly, his gaze fixed on the water that was slowly reddening. His self-destructive moment of excitation had faded, leaving him empty and exhausted. Even raising his gaze seemed too big of an effort.

Mick should have really returned quickly, because Vince didn’t even notice his absence. The demon held a pair of jeans and an oversized t-shirt with a weird image on it. Skulls or something. Very demon-like.

“I doubt Tommy’s or Nikki’s pants will fit, so I had to take one of mine. Don’t you dare ruin them, I’ll take them back once we get you some new clothes,” Mick warned. “And the tee is Nikki’s, it’s his fault you’ve got all your things torn and bloody.”

Nikki’s?

Vince caught Mick’s gaze and shook his head, not even afraid of it piercing him through now. He barely handled hearing this name, let alone wearing his clothes. He wouldn’t put it on for the love of God and everything holy.

“What?” Mick frowned, and something as though fell in Vince’s stomach, but he didn’t avert his gaze. “Come on. It’s just a t-shirt.”

I will not, Vince pronounced with his lips, put it on.

“You’re being ridiculous.” Mick rolled his eyes. “You wearing his t-shirt doesn’t change a thing. It’s just because Tommy is even taller than Nikki and I don’t have anything clean right now.”

I will not, Vince repeated, burning a hole in Mick’s skin with his eyes, put it on.

“And I didn’t ask for your opinion,” Mick said, annoyance on his face. Every second Vince spent looking right into his eyes he grew more and more nervous, and some part of him, the one that wanted to crawl away when they first met, insisted panicky, don’t argue, just do what he says, he will get angry, he will punish you for your audacity-

Fuck off, Vince told it and kept looking Mick right in the eyes, as the world around him was losing its colors, and only those strikingly-blue eyes, that unreadable face, were all that mattered now.

Mick sighed. Slowly, wearily.

“Alright,” he said. The tension in the air that their eye contact was producing weakened. Vince inhaled sharply, only now realizing he had been holding his breath the entire time. “Are you okay with Tommy’s tees or do you hold grudges against him as well?”

Vince shook his head.

“Alright then.” Mick disappeared so swiftly even the door didn’t creak and came back with another t-shirt with an even weirder pattern, this time with wings and some letters. Vince caught a glimpse of Mick’s eyes under his black hair, but couldn’t recognize an expression in them.

By that time yellowish water had filled the bath. Vince sank lower into it and closed his eyes, imagining himself being in His arms, the dream that always used to bring him comfort and peace. But it didn’t work that time – instead of calm and reassurance he felt only resentment, resentment so strong he struggled with an intense desire to jump out of the water. A goddamn demon, an evil, low creature did more for him than He did, and Mick didn’t even do that much.

“Hey, don’t sleep,” Mick’s voice was muffled, as though he was talking from another room, although Vince could see him standing next to the bath. “You can actually drown. Your body is now almost as fragile as that of a mortal.”

Why? Vince pronounced silently.

“You have lost the Lord’s support,” Mick said His name with softness, almost… fondness? “and haven’t yet come into your full power. You’re hanging between Heaven and Hell, and neither is ready to accept you so far.”

Wait, so Heaven can take me back? Vince perked up.

“What?” Mick raised his eyebrows. Vince, feeling incredibly stupid for some reason, pointed up at the ceiling, then at himself, and raised his hands up, curling his fingers around an invisible hand in the air. Vince hadn’t realised how vital the ability to speak was to him before, even if it was just to throw curses at Nikki and Tommy. Now he was missing it intensely.

Mick looked at him with confusion for a second before understanding reflected on his face.

“You want Heaven to take you back?” he said, frowning. “You still want it?”

Vince glanced at Mick and then lowered his gaze, staring at the water instead. He wouldn’t have answered even if he could talk, even if the question hadn’t been asked by a powerful demon who expected a very obvious and clear answer.

“You still want it,” Mick concluded with a sigh. Vince couldn’t bring himself to disagree. “Bad.”

He was disappointed, Vince could distinguish it in his tone. And hearing that from Mick was scary. But Vince needed the answer.

“Well, not quite,” Mick said slowly almost a minute of silence. “No one who’s left Heaven can come back.

That was it. No one who’s left Heaven can come back. It rang in Vince’s head, and every other sound was muffled by Mick’s voice repeating the same line in his head. No one who’s let Heaven can come back. No one who’s let Heaven can come back. No one-

“But that’s not a one-way ticket down to Hell,” Mick continued, and his voice, low and clear, easily overlapped Vince’s whirl of voices in his head repeating the same phrase, so easily it would surprise Vince if he wasn’t overcome by emotions. Vince concentrated on his voice, and his panicky thoughts slowly faded to black. “There are… options.”

Vince recalled what he heard from Nikki through the haze of pain and fear, thoroughly separating his actual words from emotions connected with him, locking the emotions down in the farthest corner of his mind, safely contained from other people and creatures with human appearances. Never show anyone your weaknesses, he had come to realise during his short stay on this Earth.

Gesturing “restless spirit” to Mick turned out to be quite a challenge and probably looked very funny, but not to the two of them. Mick smiled a couple of times at Vince’s clumsy gestures, but actually tried to understand him. It would be easier to just give Vince his voice back, of course, but it somehow didn’t occur to the demon. Vince appreciated the effort nonetheless.

Finally flapping his hands and drawing shapes in the air did their job, as Mick frowned in confusion and said unconfidently: “Ghosts?”

Vince nodded energetically.

“Ah, that,” Mick sighed. “I swear, one day I will mute Nikki for good. He talks too much about things he knows too little about.”

So it was all wrong? A little spring of hope perked up in Vince’s chest. No one who’s left Heaven can come back, Vince tramped the spring into the ground mercilessly, but it was harder than he expected. It kept unbending once he moved away his metaphorical shoe.

“Sorry, kid,” Mick interrupted his struggles, and with his words grabbed the spring and pulled out the string in one swift movement, so swift it didn’t even hurt much. “You may not finish your transformation, yes. But it would hurt much more. You will practically doom yourself to eternal suffering. And I know you won’t believe me now, but life as a demon and even as a ghost is not that bad. There is a much worse fate for a fallen angel”.

What fate, Vince wanted to cry out, but could only exhale loudly. Mick turned away from him, obviously not willing to continue the conversation. Oh no, Vince wasn’t going to let him just walk away. Not like that. Not in such a moment.

Vince stretched out his hand and tapped Mick on the side.

“What?” Mick looked at him, and there was a slightly darker shade in his eyes, a slightly grimmer tone in his voice, and Vince’s hand dropped onto the side of the bath and remained there. It wasn’t like when he revolted to wearing Nikki’s t-shirt. That was a trifle, and now – now they reached something way more serious.

Alright. Okay. If Mick didn’t tell him, he’d find it out on his own.

“No more questions?” Mick grinned, but his grin lost its spark of sincerity. “Good. Here’s soap – I suppose you already know what it is? No? Wash your body with it. Put it in water, then roll around in your hands a bit, then apply to other body parts. And this,” – he pointed at a bottle on the edge of the bath, “is shampoo. It’s for hair. Just pour some on it and rub it in for a couple of minutes, then wash it off. You’re going to be stuck within this vessel for a long time, better learn how to take care of it. Got it?”

Vince nodded.

“Good. I’m not going to bathe you myself like some goddamn kid who shit his pants. You’ll do it yourself, and I’ll be outside, and the moment-” he grabbed Vince’s chin and pushed it up, forcing him to look into his eyes, soak up their clear cold blueness, “-do you hear me, the moment I feel you do yourself any harm, even slip in the bath, I will come, and you will regret it. Got it?”

Unable to nod this time, Vince opened and closed his eyes, breaking their eye contact with an incredible effort.

“Good boy,” Mick released his chin and ruffled his hair roughly. Electric charge went through Vince again, but this time he barely noticed it, still trying to break free from the hypnotizing power of Mick’s eyes.

Mick headed to the door, opened it and turned back to Vince.

“By the way,” he said unexpectedly carefully, “have you decided on a name already?”

Vince blinked helplessly for a couple of seconds before Mick with a “shit, I forgot” waved his hand, returning his ability to speak.

“I,” the first words were hoarse and quiet, “I, I’ve been calling myself Vince all this time. I saw it on a on a huge picture not far from… not far from that place. The human there also had blond hair.”

“Vince then,” Mick smiled. “Nice name. I’ll pass it to the boys.”

When he left, a weight was as though was lifted from Vince’s shoulders. He hadn’t realised how much his presence was weighing on him, how much pure tension hung in the air when Mick was in the room. Now that he was gone, it was like a breath of fresh air.

Vince leaned back onto the bath side, sliding down deeper into the water up to his chin, and inhaled slowly. The water was warm and dulled the pain. And Vince finally wasn’t restrained.

It felt good.

[capswritinq]

Morning- Bucky Barnes Fic Part 2

Summary: Bucky reminisces and mourns y/n. The events of Endgame transpire.

Genre: More angst than I intended but a happy ending!

Word Count: 2.5k

Note: Thanks for all the lovely feedback on part 1! Hearing people’s reactions to the things I create motivates me to keep making them. I was too lazy to rewatch Endgame so everything is based off of my memory, by the way. Also, do you guys like having music to go with some scenes or is it distracting? Please let me know your thoughts!

Y/n was a homebody. Of course she loved spending time with her friends and seeing new sights every once in a while, but ever since she met Bucky, the place where she enjoyed the most was home. When they bought their first house together, y/n had visions of what she wanted the place to be.

“We have to get cute chairs for the front porch. Imagine going out there in the morning and having a cup of coffee while getting to watch the sunrise, how nice is that?...Oh! And we have to make sure we have tons of paintings and pictures on the walls, I hate when people leave it bare. I was thinking for the kitchen...”

Bucky was only half listening to her ideas. He knew that whatever she did, he would love, because she was trying to make a house their home. He knew she would make sure that it was apparent that they lived there, as she was a very expressive person. He loved that about her, how her personality was so big she wore it on her sleeve.

Getting everything unpacked only took one week, as y/n spent all day and all night decorating and putting everything where it needed to go, with Bucky’s help of course.

The night y/n deemed they had their “finished project”, they took two wine glasses out to the front porch, along with the crosley Steve gifted Bucky for his past birthday. A record was softly playing.

Y/n and Bucky sat in their “cute” chairs, along with the music floating through the evening air.

“I think it’s funny how our appliances and security system is so hi-tech, yet we probably get the most use out of your record player and my old polaroid.” Y/n commented.

A small smirk was on Bucky’s face. “I guess I never thought about that, but you’re right.”

“You know, I’ve always been an old soul. I know it seems like everyone says that but it’s true for me. I grew up on this technology yet I’ve always relied on pen and paper. I matured so young. History was always my favorite class in school, too. The World Wars fascinated me. I would go home and read all about them, past the stuff they would assign. I always wondered what it was like to live during that time.” She looked Bucky in the eye.

Bucky thought for a moment. He didn’t think about his life before HYDRA all too often anymore. His mind was now occupied with thoughts about other things, or rather on a particular person.

“Well, the air was fresher. It was just as noisy though. People talked on the streets louder, and you could hear the car engines on the road more. People weren’t so afraid of each other either.”

Bucky looked down at his hands, his eyes flickering between his flesh and metal one.

“You would walk in a place and pretty much talk to anyone. If someone came battered and bruised at your door, you would let them in. People had lost so much after the Great War, that any ounce of kindness or normalcy was embraced.”

“I bet the parties were pretty lame, though.” Y/n said lightheartedly, looking up to Bucky to see his reaction.

“You kidding? Yeah, you couldn’t really hear the music all to well but the dancing was just as good, if not better. Drinks were cheaper, too.”

Y/n laughed at that. “Everything was cheaper, Buck.”

“Well no shit.” He chuckled.

“The music was great though, I’ll give you guys that.”

Bucky hummed in agreement.

The record player crackled as it moved to the next track. The clarinet of Benny Goodman filled their ears, and Peggy Lee’s soft voice glittered in the air.

Y/n stood up from her spot, and reached her hand out to Bucky. “Dance with me.”

He smiled up at her and grabbed her hand. She turned the dial up on the crosley, and wrapped her arms around his body. Her head rested in the crook of his neck. He held her hand and placed his other arm around her waist. They swayed to the tune.

The only sound he focused on was the music playing and her light breathing. The only thing he thought about was her. In that moment, he looked at her with stars in his eyes because she was his whole universe. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for this woman.

“I love you so much, Bucky.” She whispered delicately in his ear.

Bucky closed his eyes and inhaled a breath, taking in her lovely scent.

“I love you too, darling. So much.”

“Even when I’m a little wine drunk?” She said pulling back to look at his face, a crooked smile on hers.

He grinned at her. “Even more when you’re wine drunk. You’re more fun that way.” He said cheekily.

“Oh shut it, Barnes.”

He laughed and held her face in his hands, and gently moved forward to kiss her. She responded, wrapping her arms tighter around him, her finger tips softly tugging at the ends of the hair on the nape of his neck.

Bucky could honestly say that that was one of the happiest times of his life.

Now he was left destroyed, absolutely shattered, with the absense of her. He knew his happiness rested in her, no matter how unhealthy it might seem. Half of him went away the day she vanished.

5 years without her. 5 years of misery. He felt like he just watched every day go by, not really there.

His life lacked color without her in it. Bucky thought that after 5 years maybe, just maybe, things would eventually lessen but the pain still ached in his chest. He yearned for her. It didn’t help living in the place where she last was, everything reminding him of her.

He kept her small pile of dirty clothes laying on the floor in their bedroom. He left her art studio untouched, not baring to open the door again. Even a mug that had her chapstick stain on it remained on her bedside table.

The little fragments of her pained him to look at, but at the same time it kept y/n’s memory alive. But Bucky couldn’t ever possibly forget her.

His day started just the same as every day before that, after the infamous snap. He woke up later than he used to, showered a bit less, and moved around hardly. Some days were better than others, though. Bucky counted days where he could drag himself to the grocery store a win.

The time on his phone read 10:35. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, knowing Steve was going to be disappointed in being late yet again for a meeting. He already had 3 missed texts and 2 calls from him.

Hey, where are you?

Answer your phone.

Damnit Bucky. I thought things were getting better.

Bucky huffed at reading the last one. As if he could ever get better. As if his soul, body, and heart didn’t long for her to still be with him.

He texted back a “Sorry, leaving now” before quickly putting on some clothes that didn’t smell like rubbish before hastily leaving the house.

————

Bucky sat across from Steve in the cafe booth, staring at him with pained eyes. He didn’t breathe. He looked down after a moment, trying to process what Steve just revealed to him.

“Every night since the snap I’ve gone to bed wishing I could have done something. That I could do something to reverse it all. I’ve held onto this hope. But as the days turned into years I’ve had to face the reality that she-“ Bucky paused. “She’s not coming back. None of them are. And you just spring this onto me. I don’t know if I can allow myself to build up that hope again just to have it all crash down on me. I couldn’t endure that.” He shook his head, meeting Steve’s blue irises.

“Of course there is no guarantee that this will work. But you owe it to her to try. We owe it to all of them. If there is any chance, any slim chance this could work, why not take it?”

Bucky let his words hang in the air. He really thought about it. Of course he would do anything for her, anything. But the feeling he felt when he found her ashes, realizing that this was all real and that she was gone, tore him apart. Having to rexperience that would be torture. Not even HYDRA could have done damage to him like that. But Steve was right.

He owed it to her, his light. He was so tired of living in the darkness. He would do anything for her.

“Okay. When do we leave?”

———

Banner had done it. When the plant outside the compound window reappeared, and the birds started singing louder, Bucky could feel his chest rise with hope and relief. When Clint received a call from his wife, Bucky cried.

She was back. He couldn’t see her but Bucky could feel the heart strings reattaching and the aching dulled. His world was colorful again.

The blissful moment was short lived when the building started to crumble and they realized they were under attack from Thanos.

The nerve of that fucking guy.

Bucky came out of the rubble seemingly unharmed, running to Steve. The fight had began.

Bucky just wanted to run home to her. He knew she would probably be so confused, stepping out of her studio and seeing the state of the house. It was a wreck. Bucky just couldn’t take care of it or himself anymore.

But he knew this would end in a fight. Thanos needed to be ended.

So he fought. Sending bullets into the skulls of the extra terrestrial beings and punching any creature that got in his way, he kept the image of y/n in mind. The knowledge of her being alive and him not getting to see or hold her killed him, but he was determined as ever to beat the fuck out of Thanos and his army.

In the moment he sent a bullet through another creature’s skull, the being wisped away into ashes instead of falling back on the soil. Bucky looked around, confused, until he saw Stark in the distance wielding the gauntlet. 

His eyes widened as he witnessed the thousands of aliens, Thanos included, being vanished into the air. He cringed at the sight of Peter and Pepper hunched in anguish over Tony’s body.

Steve approached Bucky from behind, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. 

“You alright?” Steve asked, tears in his eyes. It had been one hell of a day.

Bucky nodded. “Yeah. I can’t believe Stark did it.”

Steve looked down, not wanting to Bucky to see the tear that escaped. He stood there for a few seconds, letting everything settle over him.

“You should go home. You should be able to find a car by the compound, or whatever is left of it.”

Bucky looked at him.

“What about you?”

“I’m going to catch up with Sam. Don’t worry about me. Go see her.”

Bucky instantly grinned at the mention of y/n. He hugged Steve.

“Give my regards to Sam.” He stated.

“Same to y/n.” Steve smiled.

Bucky gave Steve one last look before jogging towards the compound, his feet picking up momentum the more he thought about y/n. 

He was going home, at last.

------

She was sitting on the porch chairs, a distant look in her eyes. She was holding onto a wine glass.

Her eyes widened when the car approached the driveway.

Bucky didn’t even turn it off before he got out, running to her. She gasped.

“Buck-”

“Y/n!” He swiftly pulled her into him, crushing their bodies together. He inhaled her beautiful scent. He cried.

They held each other for a while, the only thing to be heard was the muffled sounds of their breaths and clogged noses, the happiest of tears shedding.

He kissed her temple, his lips lingering. He looked down into her eyes, hers showing both love and relief.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t come sooner. You have no idea how happy I am to see you. God, it was hell without you.”

Her face contorted in concern. “I can’t imagine what it was like, Buck. I’m sorry.”

He didn’t say anything, but pulled her into his embrace again, cradling her head in his arms. He kissed her hair.

That night, they laid in their bed, it now feeling warm and comfortable  and right. He held her in his arms, so tight and close. She nestled into him, her body fitting his like a puzzle piece. Neither of them were sleeping, but neither spoke a word. He could explain everything to her later. She could tell Bucky just needed a break from talking or thinking, all he needed was to just hold her. To know that she was really there with him.

After a few moments, Bucky turned his body to face hers, moving his arm that was underneath her to his side, his other wrapped around her torso. He gazed at her.

“Will you marry me?” He whispered, voice husk, sincere.

She stared at him, and tried to stifle a laugh, but a chuckle escaped her. Bucky’s face held a bit of amusement, at the joy of getting to hear the beautiful sound, but also confusion at her reaction.

“What?” he asked.

She met his eyes. “You know I’m not one for grand romantic gestures or cheesiness, but I’m just imagining how Winifred would have reacted to you asking me that like that.” Her smiled reached the corner of her eyes, a small laugh following.

Bucky looked up at the ceiling, shaking his head and grinning. “She’s rolling in her grave right now, yelling at me about being a gentleman and my rudeness.” 

Y/n giggled, reaching out to rub Bucky’s arm.

“Oh, totally.”

After their laughs cooled down, Y/n stared at Bucky fondly and determined.

“Of course I’ll marry you, Bucky.” She pressed a kiss to his hand that rested on her shoulder.

It was crazy how much a difference a day made. Yesterday, Bucky didn’t have purpose to his life. Without y/n by his side, he didn’t see the point in continuing on. But now, having y/n in the home they shared, their bed they occupied, wrapped up in her, he wished to have all the time in the world to be alive and share it with her. Before, the only solace he gained was in sweet dreams of her, because it was the only time he felt her presence when she was no longer around. Now, Bucky didn’t want to fall asleep, he wanted to stay awake forever and spend every waking moment with her.

He fell asleep that night holding her, hearing her soft snores. In the morning when he woke up around 6, he stared at her lovely face, undisturbed by the peacefulness of sleep. He could hear the sound of four birds chirping furiously. For once, the sound filled him with an overwhelming amount of joy. 

He was whole again.

[venusofthehardsells]

Dreamgirl [part 3]

ReaderxBucky Barnes [part 2] Summary: Bucky tries to adjust to his new life in the Avengers compound. One day he meets a girl who might be everything he needs in order to move on, but is his past really that far away? Warnings: NONCON in this chapter - if you are triggered by or uncomfortable with this DO NOT READ, death, masturbation, psychological manipulation, violence, vomit A/N: Holy goat, this took forever to write. Thank you so much for all your comments and your patience! ♥ This chapter was really difficult for me to get through and I won’t be surprised if this is not your cup of tea - I’m not even sure it’s mine at this point. Maybe chapter four will be kinder to Bucky. Who knows anymore. Let me know your thoughts ~

The run back to the compound is a complete blur. Bucky is drenched in sweat when he throws himself into the last empty chair in the briefing room, one minute before the clock hits the hour. He avoids looking at Steve altogether; he can’t bear it, the concern from his friend. Instead he spends the entire briefing staring at Stark as if he is actually saying something of importance, which he never does. Nothing relevant to him at least. Bucky is still not ready for field duty. It’s just about the only thing he can agree on with Stark. It doesn’t make much sense for him to be there at all, but Steve and Fury insist. Something about keeping him in the loop, in case he suddenly becomes fit for going on team missions. So he shows up and he tries to care.

But today, he doesn’t hear a word Stark or any of the SHIELD agents are saying. His running clothes are strangling him. He keeps checking the time on every screen within view, watching the digital numbers change every minute. How did it get so late in the day? He almost doesn’t dare blink, afraid the hours will vanish again in a brief second of inattentiveness. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t piece the morning together properly. He was talking to her… God, the mere thought of her makes him dizzy, everything from the scent of her perfume, to her sweet smile, to the little yellow hearts on her nails. Is it possible that he was so far gone fantasising about her that he lost himself that deeply? Could he have been asleep in his seat without realising it? No, he’s pretty sure the coffee cup was empty when he left. He doesn’t remember drinking it though. His head pounds and he vaguely thinks this is what a really bad hangover used to feel like. The sweat from the run back dries on his body as he sits there and when Tony Stark finally wraps up, Bucky feels cold as ice. Despite the hour and his long sleeves, his teeth are almost rattling in his skull. Worse is he can tell how bad he is starting to smell and it’s making his stomach roll and lunge inside of him, or at least it feels like it. If he had eaten any breakfast, he’s sure it would have been on the floor by now. He ought to get lunch though, to make up for the meal. Bucky considers it for less than a second. He knows he should eat, that he needs to with his crazy super metabolism and all, but he cannot remember ever having felt less hungry. The mere idea of food, the taste of greasy fried bacon, rubbery texture of eggs in the mouth, even the slightest thought of that fucking smell of cooking oil, fuck, it’s enough to make him sick. As soon as people start to leave, Bucky is out of the door, ignoring Steve’s call of his name. He jumps into the first bathroom he passes and flings himself into a stall, not a second too late. He pukes into the toilet the moment his head is horizontal and it just won’t stop. Even though there’s nothing in his stomach save a bit of coffee, his body wants it gone. Badly. His flesh hand shakes holding onto the edge of the basin. The metal one is a little more calm, but he can tell his thumb has made an indent in the porcelain. Was it always this bad to throw up? He can’t recall, he hasn’t done it in seventy years. Whatever HYDRA pumped into him has kept him healthy and fit and mercifully out of situations like this. Bucky keeps heaving for several more minutes even though there’s nothing to chuck up. Just when he is sure all of his entrails are about to fall out through his mouth, the cramps finally let up and he sits back against the wall, the sour taste in his mouth almost enough to set him off again. He runs a hand through his hair; it’s sticking to his forehead and his neck in the cold sweat that has erupted all over him. “Bucky?... Are you in there, pal?” Even though he knows Steve has seen him at his absolute worst, he tries to pull himself together. As quick as he can without stumbling he gets on his feet and splashes some cold water in his face. Takes a few slurps from the tap too to clear his mouth. The man staring back at him from the mirror above the sink is paler than he remembers, and his eyes are a little wider, but otherwise Bucky doesn’t look as out of sorts as he feels. “I’m okay, Steve,” he answers with a strain in his voice as he exits the stall. Steve doesn’t look too convinced, standing against the wall with his arms crossed and a frown on his face. “You sure?” “Yeah. All good. Probably just need some more sleep.” He shrugs and realises that he does in fact feel exhausted. “I, uh… might have overdone the running a little bit.” “How long were you gone?” Bucky bites back a remark about minding his own business. “Left around five-ish I think,” he says in what he hopes is a casual tone that hides his annoyance. And the fact that the nausea is bubbling back up already. “Jesus Christ…” Steve runs a hand through his perfect blonde hair, looking equally concerned and impressed. “That’s almost seven hours Buck! That ain’t a run, that’s…” His voice stops short of whatever word he was about to say, but Bucky can guess. Torture. Self-harm. Inhuman… They hold each other’s gazes across the bathroom for a moment of hard-strung silence, before Steve averts his eyes. “It’s a problem,” he says then, clearly using all of his self-control to sound somewhat calm. Bucky wishes for the millionth time that Steve wouldn’t try so damn hard. His old friend is walking on eggshells around him and it’s driving him up the wall. The small army of therapists and doctors working on him already treat him like a brittle antiquity and the other Avengers as though he’s some sort of unstable explosive. Stark is the only one who doesn’t seem to care if he breaks or blows up and it would be refreshing if it wasn’t for the fact that every one of his vicious jibes and insults makes Bucky feel like less than the dirt under Stark’s shoes. Of course, he deserves it, there’s no doubt in Bucky’s mind about that; sometimes one of the others tells Stark to back off, but Bucky doesn’t see the point. He is a killer, he is a monster. Should he ever forget it, they’re all there to remind him with their caution and their adjusted voices. Bucky Barnes is still not really human, is he? If only Steve, of all people, would just treat him normally, he’s sure it wouldn’t be so excruciating to exist. He bites down on his lip. “Yeah, well, like I said… I needed the extra time.” Bucky fights the urge to cross his arms and sticks his hands into his pockets instead. To think that he was almost happy only this morning. “Bucky, you know you can talk to me about-,” Steve starts, but Bucky cuts him off before he begins to sound too much like one of his shrinks. “Stark’s parents, okay?,” he all but hisses, no longer able to look Steve in the eyes. “I dreamt about Stark’s parents again, saw their faces and I just… forget it. I’m fine, Steve.” His voice almost cracks at the last words. He needs to find another bathroom without Steve in it so he can puke his guts out in peace. The way Steve looks at him, hurt, shocked, utterly helpless, feels a little bit better than stepping on a landmine and almost having both feet blown off, but only a little. Bucky can’t bear it. Before Steve manages an answer, Bucky pushes past him out of the bathroom and down the hall as quickly as possible. Moments later, he hauls himself into his own room and locks the door behind him. A weary air of guilt, worn threadbare over the past few months, scrunches his features as he trudges to the toilet, kneels down and vomits again. It’s quite fitting for how sick he feels when he thinks of Steve’s expression - the single constant in his life and he’s screwing that up too. Steve just wants to help him. It’s a quality in very short supply and Bucky knows he should value it more than he has done so far. He should try to be more open, more cooperative. After all, it’s Steve… When his stomach stops fighting, he peels off his clothes and crawls into the shower for the second time that day. It’s quickly becoming the only place he feels remotely comfortable. No one to judge him but himself, no dreams but the ones he chooses. As the water starts to trickle down his body, he begins to relax. It takes longer than usual, he’s already so worked up from the day and it’s not even two pm yet. But he forces himself to let go of everything, at least for a little while. His muscles unclench slowly as he lets all thoughts seep from his mind until he is thoroughly unburdened in the little safe space of steam and water. Bucky’s flesh hand glides down between his legs and takes hold of his cock. Practicality tells him an orgasm will help him loosen up enough to maybe catch up on a little sleep before dinner and still, he hesitates. He knows exactly what he wants to see, who he wants to see, but he’s afraid to try and imagine her. It’s okay, it’s just a fantasy. Bucky groans and gives himself an uncertain pump, then another. I won’t mind, James. You can think of me. Let me help you feel good… Her whisper in his head is as clear as if she had been standing behind him, breathing the words on his neck. He can almost feel her hands glide down his shoulders, his arms, until they close around his wrist and gently makes him let go. Let me take care of it for you. Her much softer hands replaces his own around his cock and he can feel her body press into his back, her lips on his shoulder, her nipples against his skin, her hip nudging his ass, her arms tight around him, her scent of coffee and floral perfume filling up the air. He hardens in her grip before she even starts moving. See? You need this. It’s okay, James, I think of you too. “Fuck…” The way her fingers slide up the underside of his length, trailing the vein there with her painted nails is almost painful and he moans loudly. Do you want to know what I imagine? What I think of whit my fingers inside of me? Bucky can’t hold the sounds back anymore. He groans at the images flashing through his head, of her hands that he has already touched now stroking him so intimately, and dear god, those same fingers disappearing into her slick, warm folds while his name falls from her lips. He moans again and thrusts his hips up a little to meet her strokes, bites down hard on his lip when her thumb traces the head of his cock. Both of her hands work relentlessly on him, one fast, one slow and he can feel every muscle in him contract until he’s trembling and the only thing on his mind is the release he desperately needs. I think of this, she whispers and the words are a brief chill on the back of his neck beneath the heat of the shower and the heat building inside of him. I think of this big, hard cock inside of me, stretching me… There is a bit of hot water running into his open mouth as he throws his head back, but he hardly notices anymore. He is panting, nearing. His legs are shaking. He is so close, he’s going to- …stretching me so good, filling me up until I- He cries out with the release before he can stop himself and his vision flashes into white. The force of his orgasm is so intense he staggers and leans on the tile wall. Cum covers both his shuddering hands and his stomach. It takes a while for the shower water to get rid of it all; he watches the white fluid slowly run and circle into the drain like a peppermint swirl. Bucky can’t remember the last time he came so hard, but then again, he can’t remember the last time he came from a fantasy of this kind either. Her smile when she looked at him from behind the counter in the coffee shop is the only thing he sees as he turns off the water and towels himself dry. A part of him feels like a creep for having used her to get off, or at least the image of her, but Bucky is so tired of feeling guilty and at the same time, he can’t help but hope she really does think of him, too. Guilt is too easy, he decides as he wraps the towel around his hips and leaves the bathroom. His life has become one long agonising guilt-trip for simply being alive and while he is still adamant he is to blame for all that Stark and everyone else accuses him of, he is starting to feel sick of it. Maybe she can be the one person he doesn’t have to feel guilty about. If he can allow himself as much, that sliver of normalcy she offers with her sweetness and her adoring eyes, perhaps somewhere in the chaos of the twenty-first century even Bucky Barnes has a chance of healing. “Do you honestly believe that?” The voice makes him snap his head up. He briefly meets his own startled gaze in the mirror above his desk and in the span of a single heartbeat, every trace of warmth is gone from Bucky’s body. Right there, behind him, in his room in the compound is the monster that haunts his dreams and sometimes his waking hours too: staring back at Bucky from above the edge of the black mask covering half his face, are the cold, calculating eyes of the Asset. “No… how…” “I’m never far away.” Bucky watches in silent terror as the Asset takes four almost languid steps towards him and stops right behind him. “This mind…” The Asset lifts two silver metal fingers and taps Bucky’s temple. “…isn’t just yours. Not anymore.” “Shut up,” he manages weakly and even with the mask on, Bucky can tell the Asset is smirking. “It’s been a long time, but I gotta hand it to you. This new life is quite comfortable. I’m especially gonna enjoy that pretty little plaything of yours. Looked real good in that tight skirt today, didn’t she?” The word doesn’t exist in Bucky’s cache of languages to describe the dread flooding his veins then. There’s no longer blood inside of him, only ice water that bites and rips as it courses through him. His hands are gripping the edge of the desk so tightly it’s a wonder it doesn’t splinter. “Don’t… don’t touch…,” he tries, but his voice is sticking in his throat like a knife with a serrated edge that hurts worse the more he fights to get it out. “Or what?” The Asset slowly turns his head and Bucky follows the direction of his eyes in the mirror, somehow already knowing what is happening, what he is going to find. His galloping heart nearly crashes through his chest anyway. She’s lying on the bed behind them. Asleep, Bucky realises with rising panic, no longer wearing the work uniform, but instead a silky little one-piece that drapes to show off every single detail of her body from the point of her hip to the rounds of her soft nipples. His girl sleeping in his bed, wearing something for only him to see. And he wishes she were anywhere else. A contented sigh escapes her mouth and she turns a little, making the delicate fabric drag enough to allow him the conclusion she hasn’t bothered with underwear. “You sure know how to pick ‘em, Barnes. Quite the little dreamgirl, isn’t she?” “No…” The Asset sits down on the edge of the bed and reaches a gloved hand out to rest on her thigh. She hums in her sleep as that monster slowly strokes her skin, inching closer and closer to her barely covered folds. He raises an eyebrow without looking away from Bucky and dips his fingers beneath the fabric, starting to draw languid circles there. Bucky wants to rip the entire arm off him. He wants to call out her name, tell her to run, but the words keep lodging themselves somewhere behind his lips and the Asset just sits there calmly, working her clit while watching him with satisfied triumph gleaming in his eyes. “Do you think she dreams of us?,” the Asset almost purrs as she lets out a moan in her sleep and bucks her hips up to meet his movements. “Stop it,” Bucky whispers, his entire face contorted in rage. It is as if he is frozen in place in front of the mirror; both of his hands are locked around the edge of the desk that he wants to fling into the Asset’s smug face and his feet are solidly planted on the floor. He can’t move. Only watch as the Asset starts to rub her clit faster and the sound she makes when she finally comes undone has him hardening beneath the towel. Then the scent of her cum washes over him and he has to bite back a moan of his own. It makes his knees go weak. “I don’t think I want to stop, Barnes. Your little squeeze is delicious.” The Asset holds up his hand so that Bucky can clearly see the white cum running down the black glove. “And she seems to like it, doesn’t she?” White-hot anger surges through Bucky’s frozen body as the Asset takes a deep breath of her essence covering his fingers. Get away from her, he shouts inside his head; blood is thundering so hard in his ears that he almost misses her confused little voice. “James?...” She looks at the Asset, then meets Bucky’s eyes in the mirror. Her heartrate is faster than normal, probably the aftershock of the orgasm. “What’s happening?” “Get out…,” he wheezes in that strained, almost-not-there-voice that is all he can manage to force out. What is wrong with him? Her eyes widen when she realises his panic and she moves to get off the bed. She doesn’t even make it to the side before the Asset grabs her shoulder and drags her back. “Not so fast, pretty girl.” She shrieks as the assassin pushes her back down into the mattress and quickly straddles her before she can roll away. “I’m gonna have a little more fun with you.” “Let go of me!,” she hisses and lashes out at his face, at the mask, but the Asset easily captures her wrist in his silver metal hand before she can make contact and pins it above her head. “Not yet,” he says quietly, getting hold of her other wrist as well. She is completely locked beneath him. The Asset takes his time to admire the view before him, seeming to relish in the way she squirms uselessly between his legs. “James, please. Help me,” she begs, her voice unsteady and shrill and it rips at Bucky’s very soul to hear. He is trembling in place, but that’s all. Why can’t he just fucking move?! The Asset grabs the crotch of her flimsy one-piece and tears through it, pushing it out of the way. She immediately struggles harder, but the Asset merely squashes her wrists tighter and she cries out in pain. Stop hurting her, Bucky mouths desperately. Nothing but air comes out of his mouth, but he’s sure the Asset can hear him. Let go of her, you have me, you can do whatever you want to me, kill me if you like, just don’t hurt her. The Asset audibly chuckles and turns his head to meet Bucky’s gaze in the mirror. “You shouldn’t have shown her to me, Barnes. What is yours, is mine.” He undoes a buckle and a zipper with casual indifference only using his flesh hand. The motion is efficient and Bucky knows from the worst, most repressed parts of his memories that it’s from experience. He always lies whenever people asks him if he remembers all the people The Winter Soldier killed, tells them yes, because he cannot bear to unearth certain victims yet without surely shattering himself beyond repair. When the Asset frees his cock from its restraints of his gear, already hard and leaking, and lines himself up with her exposed entrance, the faces of all those forgotten victims seeps back into Bucky’s mind and he wants to die. It would be easier than to face those ghosts, the ones he didn’t just kill but wishes he had. Please, just let go of her! You can have this body, I don’t care. I won’t fight you for it if you let her go. Listen to me!, he yells inside his head, but the Asset doesn’t acknowledge it. Don’t fucking touch her! “James, help me!,” the girl cries, the one that isn’t a ghost, the one he hasn’t… “You don’t have to do this, please don’t do this, just let me go… let me go, no! Stop, please, no! No!” Her words disappears into a scream when the Asset plunges into her in one unforgiving thrust. He leans back and closes his eyes, savouring the feeling of her tight walls around him. Bucky clenches his own eyes shut at the sight, flinching with every cry and sob the Asset now wrings from her as he starts to thrust his hips at a brutal pace without letting her adjust properly. He can’t look at it. He can’t stand there and look at the Asset hurting his girl and not being able to stop it without going mad. The sound of her crying is bad enough. “Wanna know how good she feels?,” the Asset growls and the sobs turn back into screams. Bucky immediately knows he’s made her cum. Again. Even in his petrified state of terror and disgust, the thought of her warm, silken cunt throbbing around his length almost makes him see stars and he can’t remember a time he has ever been more ashamed of himself. “Stop it,” he gets out, choking on the words and the fear and the wrath. Please just stop it. “But I’m not done with her yet. I’m sure she has more to give,” the Asset says between breaths. Instead of slowing down his thrusts, he increases the force behind each movement, jolting her body harshly each time he bottoms out. “Come on, pretty girl, you can take more than this. Don’t hold back on me.” Bucky can tell from the desperate, high-pitched sounds she’s trying to stifle that he is not letting her come down from the orgasm. Instead, he pushes her right into the next one. Tears are streaming from her tightly shut eyes as the high shoots through her and the Asset still doesn’t let up. He let’s go of her wrists and grabs a hold of her throat instead; the metal fingers closes easily around her neck, unyielding despite how she now claws and scratches at his lethal prosthetic. He is far enough above her for her fingers to only graze the mask in her turmoil. Somehow, Bucky’s eyes have managed to fall open again and he almost wishes he could gorge them out entirely. Let go, you’ll kill her! She’s gasping for breath through the tight grasp on her throat, her struggle slowly growing weaker. “She wouldn’t be the first,” is all the Asset answers before he reaches down and pinches her clit. The sound that escapes her then is so horrifyingly raw and desperate Bucky can’t believe it’s coming from the same girl who had in a soft, sweet voice asked him about something as mundane as coffee.  Her back arches off the bed and her arms and legs flail in a vain attempt to get his hand away from her overstimulated bundle of nerves. It’s too much. Every part of her is shaking violently under the unbroken string of orgasms the Asset forces out of her pinned down body. He lets out a groan and his hips finally begin to stutter and lose their ruthless pace. He lifts his hand from between her legs and for half a second, Bucky thinks it’s over, that he’s finally done with her. She will be in pain, but she’s alive. They both are. That’s all that matters. He has already pricked his finger on the peak of relief when the Asset raises his flesh hand and removes the mask. She stops struggling. Stops heaving for breath. Her bloodshot eyes just stare up at the face of the man she knows as James in shocked disbelief as her arms fall limply to her sides. The Asset’s lips spread in a sinister smile as he watches the fight leave her completely. He thrusts into her one final time, spilling his cum with a deep groan and his metal hand tightens on her throat until her eyes roll back in her head and she goes still. There is a strangled cry, like a small animal being trod on, and Bucky realises the sound is coming from himself. You… you killed her… The vicious grin on the Asset’s face turns into a knowing smirk. “Did I?” Bucky tries once again to free his hands from their cramped hold of the edge of the desk, only to find that he’s no longer standing at it. Instead, his eyes are looking right down at his own dark vibranium fingers clutching the dead girl’s neck. His knees are solidly planted on the bed, her body trapped beneath him, his cock still inside of her… With an agonised howl, Bucky sits up in the bed and stares at an empty room. His heart is thumping so hard and rapidly against his ribs, his entire frame trembles with it. The images from the nightmare flashes before his eyes every time he blinks and he rubs them in the hope that they’ll leave him alone. Both his hands come away wet with tears. This has been the worst dream he has had in months. He slowly clenches and unclenches his shaking hands to make sure they still obey. That they wouldn't somehow… She wouldn't be the first. He curls into a mess of sheets and limbs and pillows and let the crying rake through him. Everything hurts. It's hard just to get air into his lungs. There is a gentle tap on the d,or, so quiet he almost misses it. "Buck? Pal, you in there?," comes Steve's soft voice. "You didn't come down for dinner and… I, uh… Bucky, I just… if I was outta line earlier, I'm sorry. Don't want to bother you, I just gotta know if we're good?" A particularly violent sob leaves Bucky before he can prevent it and Steve's enhanced hearing picks it up immediately. He opens the door carefully, giving Bucky time enough to tell him to go to hell, but he doesn't.  "Oh, Buck," Steve sighs when he sees his friend and quickly shuts the door again, before kneeling down next to the tangled heap of bedding and supersoldier. Bucky reaches out with his flesh hand and grabs onto Steve's shirt  "Don't leave," he manages almost desperately between sobs, afraid of how gravelly his voice sounds, afraid it'll disappear again. "Of course not." Steve settles in next to him and places an arm around Bucky, awkwardly at first because of Bucky's wrapped up fetal position, but with a bit of shuffling and wiggling they make it work.  "Of course I'd never leave you."

From Alhabor’s private notes, page torn out and crumbled: I miscalculated today’s dose. Not enough to kill him which would have been a fucking nightmare. Didn’t include it in the report, hope I won’t have to. Must be more careful from now on. Too close to the target for mistakes at this rate.

Tags will be added in reblog ~

[goldgalaxytea-fanfics]

Forget me not

Rating:  Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Gen, M/M

Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender

Relationship: Keith Kogane x Lance McClain

Characters: Lance, Lance’s family,  Unnamed generic doctors, Original Therapist character, Keith, Shiro, Hunk, Pidge | Katie Holt

Additional Tags:  Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Memory Loss, Amnesia, Healing, Therapy, Crying, Recovered Memories, Hugs, group hug, Kissing, kissing while crying, Boys Kissing, Langst

Words: 955

Summary:

Lance returned home after he'd been missing for months, except he had no memories of where he had been, or anything before his disappearance for that matter. Though when he slept, his dreams were full of colorful lions, space, and people in colored armor that seemed oddly familiar...

Notes:

I wrote the rough draft for this about a year or two ago and finally edited it last night cuz no matter how many years pass I'll always love Voltron🥺 

It had been a few weeks since Lance had “returned”. At least, that's what everyone told him. His family, his therapist and everyone else he supposedly knew all said the same thing. He'd been attending some kind of space school when one night he just vanished into thin air. But it wasn't just him, two other kids that also attended the school were missing as well. There was no trace of any of them anywhere up until a few months ago when Lance had shown up out of nowhere in his bedroom. At least, everyone told him it was his bedroom. He doesn't remember ever seeing it before. The posters on his walls displayed movies he never watched. The photos beside his bed showed him with people he never met before. The clothes in his closet held outfits he never bought. Nothing in there meant anything to him. Someone could tell him it wasn't his room and he'd believe them without a second thought.

His family, or at least the people who said they were his family, were happy to see him when he appeared. They heard loud noises coming from “his room” and had rushed up to see what the commotion was. They had all stood frozen in shock when they found him stumbling about "his room", confused about where he was. They had all hugged him and cried, but he screamed and yelled. He didn't know who those people were. They thought it was a joke at first, tried laughing it off as some prank he was playing. But as the moments passed and he continued to stare at them in fear, the hard truth finally set in. They had been heartbroken when they learned that he truly didn't remember anything. So they explained. 

They told him about themselves and about his life before he “vanished”. He listened to every word, every story, but a few minutes later it disappeared from his mind like a puddle on a sunny day. Once again he was surrounded by complete strangers and so he started to panic all over again. His "family’s” hearts broke even more. They kept explaining everything to him as they took him to see “someone who would help”. They had doctors look at his brain and what they found baffled everyone. The X-rays showed hundreds of lines all over his brain, skull and neck. There had been a severe amount of blunt force trauma to his head. The Frankenstein monster like healed seams suggested his head was cracked open like an egg.

Yet they had no idea what exactly had caused it nor how he had been able to physically heal from it. The amount of force needed to injure his brain that terribly should've killed him. Or if he was lucky it would've put him on the verge of death. Even then no human technology could've helped in time, he would've died within minutes from the wounds. There’s no way Lance should be alive right now, yet here he was…

That left his “family” even more confused. Where exactly had he gone? What had he done to injure himself so badly? How did he manage to survive an injury that was guaranteed to end him? Their questions were all left unanswered, for the only person able to answer them didn't even know.

They then learned that there wasn't a surgery they could do to help with his memory. There was nothing physical they could fix and magically make better. If his mind was going to heal it would have to do it on its own. The doctor said there was a small chance that with time Lance would be able to retain memories again, and an even smaller chance that he'd remember his old memories. That made his “family” sad, but they were at least happy there was a possibility of getting “their Lance” back. But Lance didn't know what to think of everything going on around him when he woke up on a cold metal table. He was surrounded by people crying their hearts out, scary looking metal tools and people in white coats observing his every move. He didn't know what this place was, or who those people were.

Lance started to scream.

☆☆☆☆

As time went on, Lance started retaining memories. By some miracle he seemed to be recovering. It started with his name, Lance. Then he was able to remember where he was, his house. And then he was able to gradually remember his family, all their names and who they were to him. After that he was slowly able to remember the stories they told him about them, himself and his life before the accident. 

Lance was also regularly going to a therapist (the doctors had suggested it, saying it could help him). He was even able to eventually remember her. She was a woman somewhere in her late twenties with long brown hair styled into a messy bun. Her outfit changed everyday, but her bright red glasses were always the same. Her name was Lilly. Wait, that wasn't right. Lilu. Her name was Lilu. Lance paused, trying his best to remember. That wasn't her name, it was a nickname. The woman said it'd be easier to remember and it was less formal than calling her by her last name. Surprisingly though, the first thing that Lance remembered about her wasn't her name. It was her glasses, or more specifically her red glasses. That was the only thing he was able to remember about her for quite awhile. He'd just refer to her as Red. But that hadn't felt...right. For some reason he felt like the name belonged to someone, or something, else. When he first told his therapist about it she figured the color red must be in some way important to him. Possibly it was the color of someone close or important to him. But Lance didn't know who or what the color was connected to. And that made him upset, yet he didn't even know why 

★☆☆☆

As he got better, he started to have strange dreams. He never remembered them when he woke up, except for a few bits and pieces. Space, lions and people in some kind of colored armor. The one that stood out the most to him was the person in red. Lance didn't know who they were or what they looked like, but he'd wake up feeling like he was forgetting something important. This left him frustrated. He was tired of not being able to remember stuff, even if it was just a dream. 

His dreams continued and it was always the same story. Space, lions, those people, waking up and barely remembering the dream, the feeling that he forgot something important, that person in red… Lance was getting tired of it. He desperately wished that something would change. Eventually, he got his wish.

It had been exactly a year since Lance had returned. Nothing about the day felt different, just a normal Saturday. He woke up to his alarm, his therapist appointment was early today. But when he awoke he didn't scream in frustration like he usually did. Instead he sat there, eyes and mouth wide open in shock. His dream had been different that night. He remembered it, he remembered all of the details, including what the people looked like. Except he didn't know their names. He was upset about that fact, but that didn't stop a large grin from spreading across his face. He was finally able to remember the dream that had been eluding him for almost half a year. Lance jumped out of bed and quickly got dressed, excited to go tell his therapist about what had happened. Lance hoped that this meant he was getting better. He didn't realize it also meant other things...

★★☆☆

He burst into his therapist’s room, excitement bouncing off of him in waves. The door slammed into the wall with a loud BANG. Lilu didn't seem to mind though, she just looked up from the book she was reading (something about Person Jackie and the Olympics? Lance was too excited to really read the title) and smiles at him. 

“You sure seem excited this morning, Lance. What's up?”

Lance grinned. 

“I remembered my dream!”

Lilu set down her book as Lance walked over and got comfy in the chair in front of her desk. 

“Really? That's good, Lance!”

The woman reached into her desk and pulled out a notebook and a pencil. She opened the book and then glanced at Lance, smiling softly. 

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

Lance smiled and nodded.

“So it takes place in space. There's giant colorful lions and they fight a bad guy who's trying to take over the universe.”

His name is Zarkon

Lilu nodded, making notes about what Lance said. 

“Except they aren't actual lions, they're robots. And there's people that fly them. And when they combine together, they make one giant badass robot!”

It's called Voltron

Lilu glanced up at him. 

“Who were the pilots?”

Lance paused for a moment, thinking. 

“There's four of them.”

There's five

“There's three guys and a girl.”

You're forgetting someone

“The leader, he wears black armor and he's very muscular. And he has a robotic arm that's a weapon. How cool is that? His weapon is the ultimate bitch slap!”

This earned him a laugh from Lilu. She silenced herself and gestured for him to continue. 

“He's also the oldest and he acts like he's the dad of the others. He's really amazing! He makes the best leader. Oh! And he pilots the black lion!”

Lilu nodded, “Do you know his name?”

Lance’s face scrunched up. Trying to remember, but finding nothing. His head started to hurt. 

“No…”

Yes

“The only name I can think of is space dad.”

His name is Shiro

Lance stopped trying to remember the name and the pain slowly faded away.

“Then there's this big guy in yellow armor. But he's the good kind of big, like he would give amazing hugs! He's also hands down the best cook ever! He's a really nice dude! He has a big heart. He pilots the yellow lion!”

Lilu wrote some things down in the notebook. 

“Are you able to remember his name?”

Lance's head began to hurt again. 

“No, I can't…”

His name is Hunk

Lance stopped trying to remember.

“Then there's this small girl with short light brown hair, big round glass and green armor. She may be tiny, but she's mighty! You don't want to mess with her. I know from experi-” Lance stopped suddenly, gripping his head in pain.

You know from experience

Lilu put down her pencil, concerned about the boy in front of her. 

“Lance? Lance, are you okay?”

No he's not, he doesn't remember!

Lance stopped thinking and the pain slowly eased away. Lance let go of his head and smiled nervously. 

“Yeah… I'm fine… Anyway, she's super smart and good with technology! And she pilots the green lion!”

Lilu glanced over at him, still concerned about the man before her, but let him continue.

“Her name was K- wait no it's-”

Pidge

Once again his face scrunched up in pain, but he couldn't remember. Lance sighed and stopped.

“And then there's this guy who has red armor-”

Lance's chest hurt.

“-and a mullet. A mullet, can you believe it? But-”

Lance's eyes burned.

“-it looked good on him. He piloted the red Lion. He was my-”

Boyfriend

A choked scream burst from Lance as his face contorted in pain again, but this time it was different. His head wasn't the only thing that hurt, so did his heart. He gasped, struggling to make the pain go away.

Before he knew it there were arms wrapped around him, and without thinking Lance muttered a name he didn't know or understand.

“Keith…”

I'm here, Lance!

Lilu pulled away, her face full of concern. She held out some tissues to Lance. He just stared at her, confused. She put the tissues in his hand.

“Lance, you're crying…”

He reached up and touched his cheek. Sure enough, there were tears. He was crying, and he didn't know why...

“Lance-”

Lance!

Lance jumped, startled from his thoughts. He looked at her, eyes blank, mind racing.

“-who's Keith?”

His boyfriend!

Lance struggled against the avalanche of pain.

“I...don't know….”

You do know!

Lance cried harder, the pain getting too intense.

Lance…

Lance!

Please, you have to remember!

★★★☆

“Please, you have to remember!” He raised his fist, about to slam it into the side of the building.​ “You have to-”

The man’s cry was cut short. He stood there, unable to move, but his mind racing. His red armor shined brightly in the sun.

“Keith…”

He met the gaze of the man in Black armor and glared at him, but then he noticed his face. It was sad, and his eyes were wet. With a start, Keith realized so was his. Shiro cleared his throat.

“I'm sorry. I know you miss him and you're hurting. We all understand​ how you feel…”

Keith let his gaze wander to the other two standing with them. Hunk and Pidge had streams of tears running down both of their faces. Keith choked on a sob as he let his arm fall limp. Shiro released his grip on the Red Paladin's arm. Keith collapsed, sobs shaking his entire body. Shiro caught him before he hit the ground. The older man held him tight as he clung to him.

“Keith… I'm sorry, I really am… but we need to go. He doesn't remember us, we might make things worse for his mind…”

Keith’s sadness quickly turned to anger, an old defense habit of his. He knew it wasn't good for him, but right now he didn't care. He forcefully pulled himself out of Shiro’s embrace.

“How can you say that?!” Keith snarled, barely able to see anything through his tears. “How can you give up on him?! He's starting to remember! He's remembering who he is!! Who we all are!!! How could you just give up on him…”

The end of Keith's yelling turned into a whisper. He blinked the tears out of his eyes, finally able to see clearly again. Shiro was crying just as hard as he was. Keith glanced at Pidge and Hunk, both sobbing as they held onto each other. Keith screamed, his voice strained and pained as he kicked the side of the building. His foot throbbed in pain, but he didn't care at the moment. Keith took deep breaths and stared at the ground. He couldn't meet anyone's eyes.

“I'm… sorry. I shouldn't have gotten mad or yelled I just… it hurts so much I just… I just can't…” Keith trailed off, still refusing to meet their gazes. He saw Shiro approach but didn't move. The older boy put a hand on his shoulder.

“Keith… it's alright. You're upset, I understand what you're feeling… I want him back too, more than anything… but, we can't. We tried our best but he just… he doesn't remember… I'm sorry…” Shiro tried his best to reassure him as he pulled him into another hug. Keith gladly returned it, eyes closing as he tried his best to calm down.

It was a nice moment, until he felt a new pair of eyes on him. Instantly his eyes flew open, worried someone had spotted them. When he found the source his eyes widened, hope daring to raise inside of him again. A few feet away, a pair of bright blue eyes met his.

★★★★

Lance didn't know what came over him. One minute he was doubled over in pain in his therapist's room, and the next thing he knows the pain is gone and he's staring at the people from his dream. He didn't remember hearing screaming from outside, he didn't remember Lilu asking him where he was going, he didn't remember anything about following the strangely familiar voices, but he did remember the people that stood before him. Silent tears flooded his face as he finally remembered everything.

He remembered running away from the Garrison and ending up in space. He remembered Blue, his lion. He remembered becoming the Blue Paladin of Voltron. Along with his friends, the other Paladins. He remembered every fight, every mission, every injury. He remembered how he forgot.

A mission they thought was over, ruined by a surprise blast from a barely conscious galra guard. Keith had been distracted, too busy kissing Lance in celebration to notice. As they pulled back, Lance had seen the blast a second too late. He couldn't push Keith out of the line of fire in time so he switched places with him. The blast destroyed his jetpack and sent him flying over the edge of a steep fall. He had landed head first, skull cracking on impact. The other paladins had managed to get Lance into a healing pod just in time to save his life, but they couldn't save his memories. He had awoken and panicked, not knowing anything at all. But no matter how many times they explained things to him, it would simply vanish from his mind a few minutes later. It had been a hard decision, but they were left with no choice. He was in no state to fight and they weren't able to look after him until he got better. If he got better… So with teary eyes they took him back to his family on Earth. Lance sobbed, how could he forget his family, his friends, his boyfriend?

A hand gently wiped his tears away. Startled, Lance's bright blue eyes meet violet ones.

"Keith!" Lance grabbed the black haired man's face and pulled it to his, smashing their lips together in a messy kiss. Keith jolted in surprise before trying to return it, his broken sobs making it difficult. The brunette pulled away first. "I-"

"Please tell me you remember…" Keith whispered. Words quiet, as if he spoke louder it would cause the man before him to disappear once again. Lance gave a small peck to his cheek.

"I remember everything. I missed you guys, even if I couldn't remember you till now." He said with a smile. Next thing he knew, Lance was being crushed by four pairs of arms covered in suits of armor. No one could tell who's limbs or tears were who's as the five just held each other and cried, so happy to finally be reunited.

"We missed you too, Lance."

Notes:

Fun fact! This was based on a short story I wrote in middle school about a Homestuck fan session involving my friends lol

[irwintry]

Only Angel, Only Human

Warnings: swearing, fluff, and a lot of angst

Summary: Michael is Y/N’s guardian angel

Word Count: 4.3k

Michael had seen you die right before his eyes.

He had seen the physical life fade as the soul descended. The soul he had witnessed enter and exit from day one to the last breaths. He had seen the final tears, the ones he had longed to always dry, but he couldn’t. To you, he wasn’t real. He didn’t exist. And in those few minutes, neither did you.

Michael believed he had failed. He had failed his duties, and he had failed you.

He wanted to chase down your soul and beg you to return, but he didn’t have to. The silent room was filled with the slow beeping of the heart monitor, and Michael fell to his knees. He desired to touch you, to hold your hand and promise you he’d never let it happen again. But even he knew it didn’t work like that. All he could do was sit back and pretend he had never gotten attached to you in the first place.

-

Michael didn’t see you again until after you recovered. He kept his distance as long as you kept safe, and he had promised himself to never behave the way he had in the past. His world revolved around you, but in yours, he was a myth. A fictious, albeit sometimes religious, myth. His job had never been to fall for the way your face scrunched when you laughed or the way you got excited over the little things.

So, he promised to never appear unless you needed him. And knowing you, it would happen more often than desired.

You hummed as you cooked, mind elsewhere while the stove sizzled from hot oils spilling onto the cooktop. A familiar playlist played on your phone; it was filled with older music you had learned from your mother–– the kind of stuff she grew up with, the kind of stuff you forced yourself to know in honor of her. The hot oil popped on the stove, but you carried on dancing as you made yourself a drink.

And then you placed the rice into the pan and turned up the heat, and Michael couldn’t stop himself from sighing out a quiet, “no, don’t fucking do that.”

You jumped, a small shriek leaving your lips as your spatula clattered to the tile floor. When you turned, your eyes and mouth fell wide.

Michael stood from the dining chair on instinct, rushing to turn off the stove while you remained frozen in place. To him, your heartbeat echoed around the room, but he didn’t mind the sound. He swore he never would–– not after fearing that he would never hear it again.

Suddenly, you reached behind your body, tugging a knife out from one of the drawers and holding it up to threaten him. It was a small steak knife, but Michael knew that––if he had been human––it would do significant damage to one.

He laughed, and you shoved the knife his way. “Hey, hey, hey,” he said, holding up his hands in surrender. That was what the perpetrators did in the movies you watched. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

You stayed silent, fear clearly evident in your expression. He had seen it countless times over, and he never imagined he would see it because of his presence alone. Michael blinked, and his mouth went dry. You saw him.

“Holy shit,” he mumbled. “Can you actually hear me right now?”

You raised a brow, but you nodded slowly, nevertheless. “Wh-what are you–– why are you in my apartment?” you asked, raising the knife toward his chin. It seemed like a threatening gesture, but Michael was unfazed. The only thing about you that scared him was the look on your face every time you cried. (He tried not to think about the time you had died and came back to life.) “Who are you?”

“Uh, hi.” He glanced down at the sharp object. “Technically––“ he said, moving the knife away from his face, but you only pushed it back under his chin again. “––I’m not supposed to be physically here. I’m Michael. I’m your guardian angel, and you were about to burn your face off.”

“Yeah, okay,” you chuckled. “Hi, Michael, I’m gonna stab you now.”

“You actually can’t do that,” he said, rolling back and forth on the balls of his feet. His arms ached from being raised for so long. “I’m not alive. But you can try if ya want. I don’t have any blood but like, go right ahead.”

The terror had yet to leave your face, and Michael didn’t like that. He didn’t like a single thing about the interaction, and it terrified him to know that something had gone wrong. Something about your death had left him on the physical plane. Or, perhaps, you could see into his alternate dimension. Michael didn’t know a thing about science, but he knew that humans and souls could interact on a specific level depending on the transmitted energy. But you were not supposed to interact with Michael no matter what.

The knife nestled beneath his chin proved that something had seriously gone wrong.

You slowly lowered the weapon, and your heart-rate slowed, too. “D-do you want cash? Money? I don’t have a lot.”

Michael sighed and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “There’s gotta be a way I can prove it to you,” he muttered under his breath.

“I have an unopened back of gum,” you said. “That’s–– sorry, that’s not appealing. I, uh––“

“Y/N, I don’t want anything from you,” said Michael as he leaned against your magnet-cover refrigerator. “I’m just as scared as you are, it’s cool.”

“No, no,” you muttered firmly. You raised the knife once more. “It’s not cool. You–– you broke into my home. You–– are you stalking me? What do you want?”

Michael frowned. “I’m so sorry,” he spoke. “I didn’t know this would happen. I didn’t wanna scare you. I wasn’t exactly told how to deal with the clientele after they died and were miraculously resurrected.”

Your hand fell to your side, eyes widening once more while you stared up at him. He had never felt your gaze before–– it haunted him in a way he couldn’t explain. He never knew eye contact in any shape or form, and now he felt like he needed it.

“Yeah, uh, I’m just gonna leave for a bit,” he continued, “t’let you digest whatever happened. Please, make a salad or something. And don’t choke because then I’ll have to come right back, and you probably don’t wanna see me ever again, so––“

“Michael.”

“Yeah?”

You stared up at him, bottom lip bitten in while you crossed your arms over your chest. “Are you a ghost, or something? How did you know I died?”

“I guess, technically, you didn’t die ‘cos your heart just stopped beatin’, but––“

“But how did you know?”

Michael sighed. “I’m your guardian angel, pet. Supposed t’keep you alive. You weren’t meant to die yet.”

Your scowl transformed into a deep frown, and sadness replaced the fear in your eyes. He could sense the shift in demeanor–– it left you vulnerable, and the reminder of your accident only stirred up forgotten emotions. If Michael knew anyone better than he knew himself, it was you. Because he had known you for your entire life, and you were never supposed to know him.

“Uh, yeah, so–– I’ll catch ya later,” said Michael. “Maybe in like a month or two when you accidentally set fire to the kitchen again.”

He waited for you to say something. He waited for you to stop him again, and it was the little sliver of hope that forced an unbearable silence. The issue was that Michael knew you like the back of his hand, but all you saw was an intruder. A pale man who fed you excuses.

So, when you glanced down at the knife in your hand, Michael took that as an opportunity to vanish. But the feeling of your eyes burning into his skull never left. As it turned out, two minutes of contact with you made him feel more human than he ever had before.

-

Michael hadn’t expected to see you again so soon. He hadn’t expected to appear on a sidewalk of an empty street in the dead of night. He heard your breaths, he heard your heartbeat, but he also heard much more than that. He heard the panic that shook through your bones, all because a car had clipped the curb, and you weren’t ready to face that sort of trauma again.

He didn’t know how to approach you. Now, after the fear you had felt when seeing him for the first time, he wasn’t sure how to react. For the first time in his years of guardianship, he had been late to the scene. He didn’t know how to approach you.

“Aren’t you supposed to help me?” you asked, eyes casting down to your bruised knees. There hadn’t been an impact, that Michael knew–– you had a natural clumsiness that he both admired and despised. It made his job a lot harder than it needed to be.

Michael had been standing down the block, silent as he could possibly be, yet his presence was overwhelming. He didn’t have wings or a shiny golden halo, but an aura surrounded him. He was light and airy, and he was meant to hold warmth. He was meant for comfort. It didn’t shock him that you spotted him easily in the pitch-black night.

“You’re supposed to be my guardian angel, yeah?” You glanced over at him from your spot on the ground. “You’re supposed to help me. Then–– then why didn’t you keep that fucking car from almost hitting me?” Your breaths were heavy as you swallowed back tears, but the panic had returned. “Why didn’t you keep that other car from c-crashing into mine? Why didn’t you keep me from fucking dying?”

Michael wished he could disappear. He had never been faced with his own problems–– he only witnessed you deal with yours. And now, he had to answer for his actions, and he had to be brave about it. But seeing you so broken, so traumatized because of an event he could have prevented made him sick to his stomach.

He made his way down the sidewalk, and though he ached to carry on, he stopped once his feet reached you. He didn’t say a word as he sat down beside you and stared straight ahead. For all he knew, words would only be used against him.

Your breaths evened out after a few quiet moments, but the tears continued to fall. It was all his fault.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, clasping his hands together to keep them from twitching. “I wish–– I wish it worked that way.”

“Then––“ You inhaled shakily. “––h-how does it work?”

“I can’t protect you from every harmful thing life throws your way,” said Michael as he stole a glance at you. You had been looking at him. He was sure you saw him a lot differently now. Like a ghost, almost. “I’m like a conscience. I guide you a bit, help with decisions and stuff. I make you feel comfortable.”

“I don’t feel very comfortable right now,” you mumbled, eyes glassy from old tears.

He nodded. It stung, but he understood. “You’re not meant to see me,” he said. “You never were.”

“Does ev’rybody have a thing like you?” The way you spoke chiseled specks out of his chest–– you sounded damaged and defeated, and he wanted to be better. “A guardian or whatever?”

“Angel,” he chuckled. “Yeah. Everyone’s got one. But you’re the lucky bunch who gets to see my stupid face.”

And, as if it were some miracle, you let out a laugh, too. “’s not stupid,” you mumbled. “I just–– God.” You groaned, stuffing your face into your hands. “I feel weird for wanting to believe, you know? But you literally disappeared. Like, in the middle of my frickin’ kitchen.”

“Yeah, it’s kinda fun,” said Michael, smiling. “Jus’ popping in and out of existence. It’s a little disorienting coming in though. Kinda like coming back from the dead. I don’t exist otherwise.”

“What?” You hadn’t gazed elsewhere since Michael sat beside you, and your stare only intensified with each passing moment. “You don’t exist?”

Michael hummed. “Y’know how there are dimensions?”

You nodded.

“I’m beyond the third,” he said and set his hand flat against his knee to demonstrate. “My hand is the first and my other is the second. See it’s above it. The third is above that–– that’s where you are. The fourth dimension is gray area. You can interact with it but only when the planes intersect. Higher dimensions can always interact with those lower no matter what.”

“I’m lost.”

“It’s okay.” Michael chuckled. “If you fall on the third dimension, and I’m not on the fourth, then I’m some crazy number after that. So, I have always been able to see you, but you cannot see me. Or, like, you weren’t able to see me.”

You blinked a few times, and he could hear the cogs turning in your head. “Science is fucking nuts,” you breathed out, and he laughed. “How does that explain why you don’t exist?”

Michael shrugged. “I’m not alive. I only exist when you need me to.”

“You exist because of me?” you asked, your voice so soft it sent a shiver up his spine.

He nodded.

“Are you–– am I able to–– to touch you?”

“Touch?” asked Michael. “Darling, you nearly cut me with your knife.”

“Oh.”

He let out another laugh. The dynamic had changed in a positive way, and he swore to himself that he would never fuck it up again. “Give it a try,” he said, holding out his hand.

You looked up at him and back down at his hand, and you soon raised yours just above his. He could sense your reluctance, and he hoped you couldn’t sense his. Once your fingers brushed his knuckles, it hardly mattered. It was a sensation Michael had never felt before. A sensation that made him feel a little more human.

-

“What’s the danger tonight?”

Michael hadn’t seen you before your words hit him. He had appeared in the candy aisle of a convenient store, one hand gripping hard against the plastic shelving to keep himself steady. And, for the first time, he suspected nothing. For the first time, he didn’t feel your presence or understand why he stood where he stood.

“I, um––“ Michael turned around, and his stomach lurched at the sight of you. You were there in a simple pair of mesh shorts and your mother’s college sweatshirt. You were there, Red Bull in hands and eyes red and watery, and he immediately knew it was from tears. “I dunno,” he said with a shrug.

You let out a laugh. A dry laugh that took all of your energy to conjure up. “Okay,” you replied and stepped toward him.

“Did ya miss me?” he asked–– an honest attempt at trying to lighten the mood.

The close proximity made it easier to see the exhaustion in your features. You weren’t close to dying or in imminent, heart-wrenching danger. You just needed a friend.

You shrugged, eyes flickering down to glance at your shoes. “Don’t know you,” you mumbled.

Michael nodded. You were right. You had no reason to miss him–– you had no reason to want to. All he was to you was a product of imagination. You saw him as a figment, something that came from a tragic memory, and you had no reason to believe in his existence.

“Do you only have those clothes?” you asked and motioned to the faded plaid shirt he wore.

“I’m supposed t’blend in,” he said.

You chuckled, and he noticed that it had been more genuine than the last. “So, you don’t like, sweat or anything?”

“Sweat?”

“Yeah, sweat,” you said, yet he stared at you in confusion. “If you get too hot?”

“Oh.” Michael nodded at you and smiled. “Yeah, I can’t feel temperature. Well, I mean I couldn’t before. I dunno if that’s changed now that I’m kinda a physical being.” It was still weird to him. He had been a personified “being” from the start, but never existed on the physical plane you were on. And now that he did, he didn’t know what sort of laws he fit into.

He felt a little more human and a little less angel.

You looked behind you, eyes locking on the drink coolers until you turned back to face him. “Well, Michael, it doesn’t hurt to find out,” you said.

A pang of anxiety rushed through him; it wasn’t a new feeling, but he had only experienced it in relation to your actions. He never experienced nerves pertaining to his own self, and he wasn’t sure why he was nervous in the first place. “Yeah, guess you’re right.”

You opened the cooler door for him without warning, and Michael was suddenly hit with a new feeling that he couldn’t describe. A sensation that he swore he only imagined.

“Do you feel it?” you asked.

He swallowed. “Uh, I think.”

You reached your arm out and pushed him forward gently, and this time, the cold slithered up his arms and under his clothes. And he hated it. He hated every goddamn thing about it.

You shut the door.

Michael stayed silent for a moment or two, and then he looked at you. “I’m not–– uh, I’m not supposed to––“

You smiled warmly. It was the kind of smile that reassured him he was okay.

Because truth be told, Michael wasn’t sure he was okay. He had worried about you for your entire life, and now all he could think about was your gentle touch and the way you said his name. He could only think about the cold air on his skin and your warm gaze. It was more than he had ever known, for all he had known was you.

“I’m just gonna pay for this––” you said, holding up the small can of Red Bull.

Michael forced a laugh. He could remember the countless commercials he saw for the brand, and he could remember your offbeat commentary while you waited for reruns of your favorite show.

“––and then we can head out, if you want,” you continued. “Get you a new shirt or something.” You smiled at him again before making your way over to the cashier, and Michael had to restrain himself from disappearing right then. He didn’t even know if he had the capability to do that anymore. He didn’t even know what he was.

And then you were walking over again, eyes bright and smile so warm, it could melt him if you tried. Michael decided that, for the time being, he had no reason to worry. Not when he was with you.

-

You had fallen asleep on his shoulder.

On the walk back to your place, you talked about the accident. You talked about the cost, the recovery, the flashbacks, and more. You talked about the anxiety that crawled up your chest when you crossed the street, and you mentioned the ache that persisted where your ribs had once cracked. Your voice wavered as you spoke, and all Michael could do was listen. He knew it all––every single bit, but he still listened.

And then you were asking him if he had ever tried Thai food before, and Michael’s mind went elsewhere. He thought about the feeling of his shoes beneath the soles of his feet, and he thought about the weight of your gaze every time you talked to him. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. So, no, he had never had Thai food before. He had never needed food before.

“Well, then,” you had said, pulling out your phone while you opened the door to your apartment, “tonight it’s on me.”

You had ordered him fried rice, and you talked about your favorite restaurants in your hometown until the food arrived. Michael remembered the places you talked about as if he had been there yesterday. But he hardly thought more about your past when he was here living in your present. You placed the food directly in front of him and waited.

“Go on then,” you urged. “Baby’s first bite.”

Baby. Michael smiled and grabbed the fork. “Is that supposed to be an endearing term?” he asked you, and meanwhile, you sat on the couch beside him. Your knee brushed his.

“In the technical sense,” you began, “no. But it can be.”

He gave you a nod and took a big bite, allowing the flavors to settle on his tongue before chewing and swallowing. And Michael, well, he felt like crying. It was new, and it was too much. But he didn’t say a word about it. Instead, he gave you a smile and a thumbs up and carried on with his meal. He tried not to think about his life shifting before his eyes. If he even considered himself to have a life to begin with.

The night continued with mixed drinks and conversations about music and movies you thought he would like–– despite the fact that he knew he did like said music and movies. You sat close to him and chatted for hours, never mind the fact that you had purchased the Red Bull so you could work on a thesis for school. Michael didn’t want to stop you.

You handed him your phone at some point during the night, fingers grazing over his and sending sparks down into his skin. The feeling alone had made his heart stutter, and then Michael had to calm his breathing. He wasn’t alive. He wasn’t supposed to have a heartbeat.

You showed him videos and stupid pictures from your past meanwhile. You loomed over, shoulder against his while you pointed out your haircut from the year 2012. Michael was all too aware of you. He was all too aware of the tension in his shoulders and the stiffness in his posture. Because now, he could smell, and something about your perfume was absolutely intoxicating.

And then, you fell asleep on his shoulder in the middle of your favorite show, and he could no longer breathe.

The next time Michael felt fully conscious, he took in his surroundings. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed since he last saw you, but then he felt the weight on his shoulder. He felt an arm draped across his lap, and he heard your soft breaths in the room of white noise. Michael’s mouth went dry, and his eyes welled with tears. The clock on your phone read 3:23 in the morning. He hadn’t disappeared. He had fallen asleep.

You stirred beside him, eyes fluttering open while they adjusted to the soft light of a nearby lamp. Your eyes glistened, and your smile was tired––it filled his chest with an unfamiliar sensation.

But instead of moving away, you nestled closer, arm tightening across his torso while you settled your head against his chest. He knew you could hear his newfound heartbeat. He knew you could feel his warmth; he could feel it, too. His palms were moist with the sweat you had mentioned only hours prior.

“Mike,” you whispered against him.

He smiled and hummed. “’s that a nickname?”

“Yeah,” you said, “unless you prefer baby.”

That feeling returned in his chest, but he didn’t speak. You slowly looked up, eyes squinty and smile still stretched on your lips. And Michael didn’t know what he was feeling, but he knew it was a good feeling. He knew he wanted to move the stray hair that had fallen over your cheek, so he brushed it back behind your ear. He just hadn’t known how soft your cheek would be. He hadn’t known how much he’d find himself staring at your lips, desiring to know how they felt against his.

But he took the chance.

Your nose nudged his, and you smiled into the kiss. It was warm, delicate, and everything the movies had made it out to be like. It was everything he needed it to be.

-

Michael found himself in the hallway of your apartment building, arms reaching for the walls to keep himself composed. He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream–– he wanted it to stop. For once, Michael wanted nothing but to live. He didn’t know how much time had passed since he last saw you, or you last saw him. All he knew were his knuckles knocking on your door. All he knew was the look on your face when you opened to see it was him.

And then you said his name, breathy and sad like you hadn’t said it in ages. And then your arms wrapped around his shoulders in a tight embrace like you hadn’t held him in years.

“I thought it was over,” he whispered, clutching your sweater between his trembling fingers. “I thought I was here for good.”

“Michael,” you said again, pulling back. You cupped his cheeks and pressed a kiss to his lips, and he was suddenly aware of the tears slipping from his eyes. “It’s okay.”

He sniffed. “How long was I gone?”

You just shook your head and grazed your thumbs beneath his eyes. “Just a month,” you replied with a smile. “That’s all. I missed you.”

A sigh of relief escaped his lips. “Just a month?”

You nodded. You rested your arms against his shoulders, fingers slipping into his hair while you stared up at him. “Don’t leave anymore,” you said. “I know you can’t–– you can’t control it, but––“

“I promise,” he told you, and then he smiled, too. “I promise, baby. I’m not leaving you ever again.”

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 71

Thank you to @satan-parisienne for being my #1 beta reader and literally writing half this chapter.  So many conversations between us are captured in their essence when Sophia and Tyche interact, but this was such a rare opportunity to transcribe such a conversation. 

There are so many other people I want to thank, but if I thank all of you, this post would be literally just tags. So, I want to include @baelpenrose and @anotherusrname for also being there for everything that doesn’t make it into this story, and @charlylimph-blog for being the light and joy in the world that I wish I could be. 

No worries, this isn’t the last chapter, I just had a really rough week from a mental health perspective.  The show will go on.

At some point during the night, Xiomara vanished with the gorgeous artist. This left my sister, Charly, and myself to annoy Sebastian until the guys could come and rescue… someone.  I wasn’t sure if they saved us or the poor pub-owner. All I could remember after Xiomara leaving was Charly deciding Conor was a good chair: intending to sit on her stool, she had unceremoniously climbed in his lap instead. After some wiggling to figure out the difference, she had pronounced the chair to be soft and warm.

With a snort of laughter that made my eyes water, I had to explain that it wasn’t the chair she was practically wallowing in, it was my boyfriend’s lap. With a very serious look at his face, she had only patted his beard and announced that she understood why I kept him since he was so comfortable and warm. That was the point when Coffey scooped her up, tossed her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, and took a still-waving Charly home, and everything else kind of blurred together.

As for myself, I woke up the next morning being tortured for my sins. Someone had decided to play a recording of a cement mixer over a looped track of a chainsaw, at full volume, targeted straight at my ears. Groaning in pain, I covered my ears and quickly realized I didn’t have enough hands to also cover my eyes. The chainsaw stopped abruptly and I felt the mattress dip to my left. I cracked my eye when an arm nudged mine. Maverick was handing me a cup full of something that was quickly snatched away when I tried to sniff it. He brought it back with a pointed look, so I placed my faith in him and chugged it.

If it smelled half as bad as it tasted, no wonder he wouldn’t let me take a whiff – only every shred of self-control I hadn’t exercised the night before kept the concoction my stomach. It tasted like analgesic, so I assumed if I kept it down, the hangover would go away eventually. That didn’t make the act of forcing it to stay in my stomach any easier.

When I no longer felt like my brain was trying to escape my skull through judicious use of a sledgehammer, I took a deep breath and braved opening my eyes. What little light there was in our bedroom was no longer cleverly crafted from sharp objects, and the cement mixer had been replaced by Conor snoring away to my right.

“He took the late shift to make sure you all got home safe,” Maverick whispered softly. “So I agreed to be the one to deal with your hangover.” When I glared at the empty cup he had taken from me, he shrugged and smirked at me. “Analgesic, electrolyte solution, and an anti-emetic.”

“No wonder it tasted like ass,” I grumbled.

Jokingly, he waved a hand in front of his nose before pinching it. “I think you’re just tasting your mouth, honestly.  You really need to brush your teeth.”

Scowling, I ran my tongue over the inside of my teeth – and immediately regretted it. Did I eat a dead rat or something? I whimpered to myself before staggering to scrub the taste of whatever it was out of my mouth.  After a rather prolonged date with my toothbrush as well as a shower, I managed to walk much more gracefully into the kitchen to get some coffee.  Conor had already beat me to it, however, handing me a steaming cup as I walked in. He carefully ruffled my hair – I was still struggling with flashbacks – and bent down so I could kiss his cheek.

I pulled back and arched an eyebrow. “You sure you don’t want that kiss from someone else?” I teased.

“You would never believe how awkward that was,” he deadpanned, rolling his eyes. “Charly’s a nice girl, but I got my hands full with you two. Sides, she’s a bit much for me, you catch my drift.” He gave me a pout and tapped his cheek again.

Giggling, I obliged before going to sit on the couch and putting my head on Maverick’s shoulder. “Do I smell better?” I yawned before sipping my coffee.

“Much,” he exhaled gratefully.

I snuggled in further, now that I was granted approval. “Tyche make it home okay? I’ll admit I don’t remember much.”

“Yeah, she’s fine.  Antoine took her home not long before Coffey came and got Charly.”

“They weren’t sneaky at all, you know?” As I said this, Conor walked in with a quizzical look on his face. “We knew you, Coffey, and Antoine were sitting in the opposite corner all night.  Zach showed up later, hung around for a bit, so did Simon but he headed out kind of early.”

“You weren’t supposed to know,” Conor scowled comically.

“You and Coffey are the two tallest humans on the ship.  Did you really think you were hiding? Especially with Xiomara at the table?”

“She’s got a point,” Maverick laughed. “What is it you always say? Xiomara has horse’s ears?”

Conor tipped his head back laughing. “I said I hadn’t seen her in a donkey’s ears, which just means a really long time. But yeah, I should have known she would see us.  We figured she’d be on our side, not ratting us out.”

I buried my face in Maverick’s shirt, laughing.  Sitting up, I wiped a tear from one eye. “Love.  Xiomara was in the military and trained in hand-to-hand combat, and you don’t want to see what Tyche can do in a fight.  She fights dirtier than mud.  We were safe, I promise.”

“Let us worry,” Maverick pressed a kiss to my temple. “You don’t get to hog all the overprotective instincts, you know. And besides, if any of you ladies thought that Coffey wasn’t going to be watching Charly like a hawk, you’ve lost your minds. I’ve seen what she can get up to when she’s sober. Drunk? No thank you.”

“Speaking of Charly,” I adjusted so I was sitting straighter. “Galactic education starts next week.  She told me she’s in one of the first classes.”

Maverick nodded. “Yeah, same section I’m in, I think. I didn’t recognize the teacher’s name, though.”

“At least that means we know it isn’t Simon,” Conor pointed out with a grin.

“Be nice,” I remonstrated. “Eino administered all his testing for certification, and he’s pretty impressed with Simon.  Even in the practical observation, he did a great job.”

“Wait,” Maverick ventured slowly. “If this is a new curriculum, how is there a practical observation?”

Conor shook his head before reaching forward to squeeze the other man’s knee. “The educators have to go through the course before they can teach it, just like anything else.  They’ve already been trained in how to teach, but need to know what they are teaching.”

I picked up from there with a nod. “Simon, on the other hand, is already familiar with the material but had to go through training to know how to teach. So, two birds, one stone.” Leaning forward, I flicked my wrist to bring up my datapad where everyone could see it. “Simon is one of three people who will be fully reassigned to teaching the Galactic education courses, while every other trained educator on the ship will be teaching one to three sections in addition to their existing coursework.”

“Nearly every other educator,” Conor corrected with a stern look.

“You sound like Tyche.”

“With good reason! You never told anyone you were a teacher!”

“Wait, what – “ Maverick sputtered, confused. “You were!?”

“One, I never actually taught on my own, I changed careers in my last year as a student-teacher. Two, I did tell other people! It just never really came up that often.” When Conor opened his mouth to object, I cut off the statement I knew was coming. “And I have mentioned it to the two of you, so I don’t want to hear it!”

Conor’s mouth shut with a click and realization dawned on Maverick’s face. “All those nights you were going through candidates to teach the courses… You kept saying you would make sure the program succeeded….”

“Even if I had to teach it my damned self,” I finished. “I wasn’t kidding.  All I need is about fifteen more hours practical observation, according to Eino.”

“You asked?” Conor looked skeptical.

“Well, Tyche did,” I admitted. “Just because we were having a hard time finding enough candidates to dedicate their time to just that course.”

“I thought Alistair was a teacher?”

“Librarian,” I corrected. “Totally different skill set, believe me.  I tried suggesting that he teach a section or two, and got an earful about the differences.  Ironically, he gave me a lecture about how he isn’t trained to lecture?” Shaking my head, I finished off my coffee. “Anyway, we managed to find enough teachers, so courses should start next week.”

“We should celebrate!” Maverick grinned. “A big family dinner, since we kept it small for Insert Winter Holiday. Invite everyone!”

I started counting in my head and groaned when I hit the double digits. “Mav… that’s…” Xiomara, Zach, Hannah, carry the three…. “That’s fifteen, sixteen people?  I don’t think we really even have room for everyone.  Especially if we don’t want people getting overwhelmed.”

“You and Tyche may want to talk about a family dinner rotation.” I thought Conor was joking, but a look at his face told me he was dead serious. “When there were just five of us, it was one thing, but now? The dinners the two of you make are turning into the hottest table in town.”

With a sigh, I shot a quick message to Tyche to see if she was in the land of the living.  Rather than respond, she showed up at my quarters, Antoine in tow and Mac staring balefully from her shoulders.  “Hangover remedies are revolting, but work,” she proclaimed while making a beeline for my kitchen.  Shortly, everyone was seated with a fresh cup of tea or coffee. “Now, why have I been summoned from my lair?”

I gestured to Maverick first. “Handsome number two had the idea to have a family dinner to celebrate the launch of the new education courses.” I paused for effect. “All of the family.”

Tyche sputtered and choked on her drink. “Where would we fit them all!? Neither of our quarters are anywhere approaching large enough.  We would need a small mess hall, which kind of ruins the effect.”

“I agree.  But I also agree we need to celebrate… what if we talked to Sebastian and took over the Undine for a night? It’s smaller, with dinner-style tables.”

She tipped her head side to side, thinking. “It might work.”

“Well, Handsome number one came up with another good point.” I gestured for Conor to explain.

“I just think you and Sophie should consider setting up a rotation for family dinners. Not just who is cooking,” he rushed to clarify, “but who you’re inviting. We love you girls ‘til the wheels fall off, but you adopt strays faster than most cat ladies I’ve met. Not that I’m complainin’, being part of that number!” He held up his hands in surrender. “But don’t you lasses think the ‘come one, come all’ approach is getting to be a bit much?”

To my surprise, Antoine nodded even more emphatically than Maverick did. “Sophia, Tyche, he is right. Only sheer luck and good manners have kept the two of you from being overwhelmed by your insistence on feeding anyone who arrives during your ‘family dinners’.  Inviting specific people on specific evenings may be the best idea, while also considering keeping some meals to just the five of us.”

Before the objection could even bubble up to my throat, Maverick squeezed me against him. “I can actually feel her heart breaking.” Briskly rubbing my arm, he dropped a kiss on top of my head. “Sweetheart, you and Tyche both said it yourselves: If everyone chooses to drop in on any given Wednesday, neither set of quarters have room to accommodate that.”

Tyche heaved a sigh of concession. “Okay, I definitely see the point about the ‘just us’ dinners… I’ve really missed those, honestly.  But, how do we decide rotations for everyone else? How are we supposed to make it fair?”

I sat bolt upright as her words hit me. “You. Are. A. Genius.  I actually have an answer to that!”

The expression on her face was matched by the one Mac was dishing out when my exclamation interrupted his nap. “Okay… How am I a genius right now?”

“How to make it fair.”

“So, for bringing up the question?”

I nodded my head emphatically before gulping down the rest of my coffee. “Themes.  We are going to set… five. Five themes. Culinary ones.  We are going to set… five. Five themes. And anyone who has a standing invitation to dinner will be asked to rank them, one through five, and we’ll use that to set the rotation.” I grinned triumphantly as Tyche’s face shone with realization, but then looked at the guys.

All three of them were completely lost.

“Everyone except the five of us will get the list of themes… something broad.  Not a specific dish, but a really broad type of food. They rank the five, with one being the absolute preference and five being ‘hey, not my favorite, but if Tyche or Sophia are cooking, I may give it a shot.’ The first, say, three people who ranked a certain theme their favorite get that, then the rest get their second choice, so on and so forth.”

“Ideally, no one will have to eat their fifth choice theme,” Tyche clarified. “Or even their third.”

Maverick hummed briefly. “So, say everyone picks the same thing for their number one. How do you decide who gets it?”

Tyche and I glanced at each other before I shrugged. “Honestly, the three who have the most restrictive dietary needs, are closest to us, and get along the best. If everyone picks the same thing for their first choice, it’s going to be something plain and probably vegetarian because that’s the majority of Derek’s diet and he has the most restrictive one. So it would be Derek, Grey, and probably Zach who got that one.  Everyone else would then get their second, and so on.”

“But,” Tyche emphasized, “letting everyone pick the meals they would prefer makes it the most fair and easiest on us, because then we know what to cook each week.  And there would still be meals for just the five of us, right?” She glanced at me, questioning.

“At least every sixth meal, but I would prefer after every three,” I admitted.  “That gives us once a Terran month.”

“What about big meals?” Maverick pressed. “For everyone?”

I tapped my chin for a moment while Tyche furrowed her brow. “Quarterly?” I asked, just as she suggested “Birthdays?”

Ugh. Both made sense. “Well, our birthdays are three months apart, give or take a few years, so we could still do quarterly. I just figured the Terran equinoxes and solstices, because they align with pretty big Terran holidays in most cultures and religions.”

“If you went with that, it would mean we could have the option of quiet birthdays,” she pointed out.

“That’s what I was kind of thinking,” I admitted. “I mean, what if we don’t feel like peopling on our own days?  We could still do that, in addition to the other four, but it wouldn’t feel mandatory.”

“I like it. That’s the solution.”

I grinned widely, happy with the compromise. Conor, however, waved his hand where everyone could see it. “For those of us who don’t have a mysterious psychic connection that even Noah says doesn’t exist, what exactly are your themes going to be?”

“Spicy, simple, protein, vegetarian, and soup,” Tyche and I answered in unison.  While it wasn’t intentional, we managed to stifle our surprise and laughter to make it look like we had done it on purpose.

Antoine looked thoughtful before nodding. “That does, actually, make the most sense.  Those are such severe distinctions, excluding the soup, that there should be no difficulty with anyone having a definitive preference.”

I thought about that briefly. “Yeah, I know ‘soup’ feels like a stuck on category.  But I genuinely know people who hate it, and also some who will eat any soup or stew you put in front of them.  It’s about the food touching, the flavors combining, and so on.”

Maverick was the one to back me up on that bit of information. “Derek will probably rank soup as either first or second, especially if you go by the strict culinary definition.  For someone who doesn’t like mushy food, he practically loses his mind if you give him a bisque.  It’s crazy.”

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