#I’m sure this isn’t a reflection of my own pain and a way to process my own hurt

[niko-jpeg]

Incoherent sputtering noises. Silver the hedgehog wasaaaghdhsjsjksnsjshsbs

[knifedancer]

Love At First Sight - Bonus (Sorta)

While writing LAFS I had one question that kept popping up in my mind: “Is Felix going to be Argos in this? Does he have the Peacock miraculous?” Ultimately, I decided it would make the story too long and complicated to add that tidbit in. This bonus is what I think would happen if Argos was involved in this plotline. It can be read by itself or in tandem, it's sorta related and unrelated at the same time. Enjoy!

You can find the original on AO3 at the following link: here!

Main Story

Silly Thoughts

*******

It had been about an hour since the akuma attack was resolved and Felix had confessed. He had not expected a reply nor a change in their dynamic to come from this…it just felt like the right time to finally tell her. It felt good to clearly state his feelings. Marinette, in her typical fashion, had stuttered and made excuses before hurriedly leaving. He had wanted to walk her home – since school was canceled for the rest of the day – but he held back the offer. Having known her for a while, he knew and could sense that her reaction was not borne from a dislike of him but rather of her own anxieties. If the emotions he sensed while she blushed and babbled were any indication, he dared hope that his feelings might actually have a chance to be returned… She just needed time to process, he would gladly give it to her. However, he still felt a need to check on her to be sure that she was safe. Today had been a traumatic experience after all, and he would be damned if Gabriel would take advantage of her lingering emotional state to akumatize her!

“Are we going to go check on your hen, Felix?” The peacock kwami giggled, flying about in a figure eight with excitement.

“We shall, just to be sure she’s alright. Duusu, spread my feathers!”

With a flash of blue, he stood transformed before his bedroom mirror. An unusual wave of nervousness came over him as he regarded his reflection. She had seen him dressed like this before, but he now felt worried what she would think of his miraculous suit. ‘She’s a designer…’ he thought to himself as he tugged at his hood and gloves as if trying to make himself more presentable. He felt like a bird attempting to preen their feathers in a way to attract a mate. He definitely blamed Duusu for this. He felt ridiculous. Taking one last look in the mirror as he attempted to smooth down the front, he steeled himself. ‘I’m just going to check on her. This isn’t a social call.’

He exited his bedroom window and ran along the rooftops. He paused when he came to the road in which she had been knocked over. Remembering the powerful desire to protect as her emotions went haywire – panic, fear, and concern – for him. It rolled off her like gentle waves in a low tide lagoon, gently plucking every heartstring in his chest. And the emotions of her new ‘admirer’ – unadulterated lust – had driven away his usual restraint against gross physical harm. The relief and amazement he felt from her after had been reward enough. But then he had had to carry her…his palms on her bare skin…he had felt his own emotions as high as hers in that moment!

Argos dragged a gloved hand down his reddened face at the memory before taking off again. Trying to clear his mind, he worked through the rest of the morning. After being shook free from the emotional overload in the classroom by her cry of pain, he immediately ran interference to delay the other idiots attempting to grab Marinette again. It was not much but Felix was sure it gave the two girls enough time to find a suitable place to hide. Then he sensed it… The terrifying fear and panic as she had huddled under that desk – so palpable that he could identify it even from down the hallway, like a thick miasma that threatened to choke him. Felix had known immediately who it was from. Marinette’s emotions, regardless of what she felt, were always tinged with a sweet aura all their own; almost like a pheromone that could only be felt rather than experienced by the traditional five senses. A sweetness that had drawn him in since that night at the Diamond Dance and led to his flimsy excuses to be included in their class, regardless of the danger he was putting himself in. Being exposed to it every day, his own affections had naturally grown for the girl…

However, in that moment, all he had wanted was to comfort her. He had lied about seeing Césaire leave the classroom, knowing the thought of Monarch being able to sense her emotions would have put her into a more destructive spiral. When Marinette had explained about the akuma and how she thought his own reaction was caused by it, his heart had thudded painfully in his chest. He had mentally cursed Gabriel; knowing his feelings were genuine but she would never believe his sincerity while this akuma was in play. At least he had an excuse to treat her as he truly wanted. Illogical as it was, this akuma attacking his crush suddenly felt personal and it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Perhaps it was time to trade sides? Could he even be a hero? Ladybug seemed the understanding sort, but he had betrayed her before…would she trust him enough to let him work beside her again?

He would have to find a way, for Marinette.

“No wonder Duusu laughs at me… She’s not even mine and I’m already henpecked,” Argos mused quietly.

He landed on top of the scaffolding that wrapped around the scorched roof of Norte Dame and gazed down Rue Gotlib toward the bakery she called home. His heart flipped in his chest as he realized he could make out the barest hint of the fairy lights she had strung up on her balcony. He took a steadying breath, reminding himself that he was only there to pass by without being seen and prepared to leap to the next rooftop. Just then, a flash of familiar red appeared in his peripherals. He turned toward the north, seeing the hazy shape of Ladybug swinging in his direction.

Argos paused and decided this was likely the best time to make contact, to make his new objectives known to the hero – no akumas and without her timer running down. Perhaps without that mangey cat that always ruffled his feathers! Even when he held the Dog miraculous briefly, something about Chat Noir just did not sit right with Felix. Perhaps it was the blond hair? Was a side effect of the black cat miraculous the human equivalent of dander? He shook his head free of such thoughts. The purple suited villain shifted and leaped, taking a route further away from his original goal. Argos knew when he was spotted – the red figure stopped and took up a defensive stance – and slowed his approach to seem less threatening. He needed this to go well.

However, as he landed at the opposite end of the large rooftop, Argos paused and narrowed his eyes. This was not Ladybug!

“Who the hell are you? Where is Ladybug?” He pulled out his fan, holding it like a weapon at rest to not agitate the person in front of him but allowing him the easy access to fight should he need it. The red-spotted stand-in’s eyes flashed and narrowed – he wished the miraculous cloaking allowed him to clearly read her emotions. Instead, he could only glean what he could from her body language and the muted, muddled sensations that danced just out of reach.

“The name’s Scarabella. Let’s just say that the Lady was preoccupied,” she replied coolly.

“So it was your incompetence I should blame for all the time it took to defeat the akuma today,” he scoffed. Marinette had to suffer for hours while this… this…knock-off hero took the reins? What had Ladybug been thinking?!

Scarabella’s spine straightened with a snap, he didn’t need to see her eyes to know that the hazy emotion he was sensing was scorching anger. “Excuse me? This coming from a villain that betrayed us and all of Paris – scratch that, betrayed the world – and for what? So you could dress up like some reject popinjay to dance around on rooftops and make people disappear?”

Argos winced; this was not how he wanted this to go. He sighed and tucked his fan into his hood. “Look, when I saw someone else wearing the mantle…I reacted wrong. I assume you have some way to contact her? Or her kwami could? I need to speak with her.”

Suspicious eyes narrowed upon him, “What is the message?”

“I won’t say, I have no idea who you are or how close to all this you are. Just let her know that I mean no harm. She can even bring that damn cat, if she so pleases.” Argos’ lips pulled back into a snarl, not disguising his distaste for the other half of the Parisian hero team. “I just need to speak with her on a miraculous matter.”

Scarabella regarded him with narrowed eyes for a silent moment before her body shifted into a more relaxed posture, her arms crossing her chest as she leaned back on her heels. “Fine. I’ll let LB know. I can’t promise that she’ll meet you. She’s been far more cautious since your...incident.”

“Understood, I expected nothing less.” He placed a foot on the edge of the roof, turning his body back from whence he came while keeping his eyes on the temporary bug. A wicked grin split his face. “Oh, and don’t bother following me unless you want to chase after one of my creations tonight.”

He heard a scandalized noise as he launched himself from the roof. He had a fair maiden to check on.

~~~

It didn’t take Argos long to make it back to Rue Gotlib and settle in on a rooftop adjacent to the bakery, hiding himself in the long shadows cast by the dying light. Being especially cautious, he pulled his hood forward to hide his magenta eyes as he gazed into her bedroom window hoping for a glimpse of the young designer. She wandered into his field of view, he felt his heart dance around in his chest – Marinette’s hair was down, her face washed clean of the little makeup she normally wore, and she took up lounging on her chaise as she sketched in her pajamas. She was stunning! He reached out with his senses and immediately met her emotions – the sweet aura wrapping around his consciousness like a blanket and the peacock holder involuntarily smiled. “I’m really a goner, aren’t I, Duusu?” He whispered to himself, knowing the kwami would find this hilarious later.

He watched as she flexed her toes, bobbing her head to a tune he couldn’t hear from his vantage point, her lips mouthing words he wished he could hear. Argos probed a bit further with his powers to gauge her emotional state: peace, joy, calm, with a hint of nervousness. His smile turned fond. ‘That’s my girl, never letting a thing weigh her down for long…’

Argos heard the familiar sound of a yo-yo and he pressed himself further into his shadow as he looked around for the source. Suddenly Scarabella appeared flipping over the back of the roof and landed onto Marinette’s balcony. He felt the bluenette’s curiosity followed by her happiness as she bounced up and shut her curtains. He narrowed his eyes, watching the spotted stand-in duck through a trapdoor and into the confines of Marinette’s bedroom, then observed a pink flash filter through the opaque material of the curtains.

‘Do Scarabella and Marinette know each other?’ he wondered, filtering through the emotions flowing from the building for any threat. He watched with confusion as the side door of the bakery apartment opened silently and Césaire exited, looking both ways before running down a neighboring alleyway. ‘Was she…Scarabella? What does Marinette have to do with this?’ A sinking sensation formed in his stomach.

He ran down a few rooftops before crossing the street and circling back to the balcony from behind, keeping himself hidden. Argos listened and watched as the bluenette came up to the balcony to watch the waning sunset turn to dusk, murmuring quietly to herself or perhaps on the phone? The blond felt as if there was a riddle here that he needed an answer to… Bracing himself, he leaped one last time and landed on the balcony behind Marinette – who jumped and spun around to face him. “Argos?!” He felt a wave of worry and nervousness overcome the girl; her body shook from the sheer force of the panic that was rising.

Mentally cursing himself for ruining the calm she had finally achieved and unsure of how to proceed, he made a flamboyant bow. “Evening, Marinette! I thought I heard a bug buzzing about and found you instead… mind if I rest my feathers upon your lovely roost?”

Confusion.

Worry.

Nervousness.

Paranoia.

…and, beneath all that, a hint of something warmer.

Argos straightened with a smile he hoped was disarming – Adrien was always much better at putting people at ease than Felix – and observed her. ‘No phone. Then who was she talking to?’ His magenta eyes flickered over the rooftop with interest, pretending to assess the decorations in the space while he looked for any pets or god-like beings…he found none. “Beautiful space you have here. Very cozy.” Keeping his posture relaxed, he stepped closer to the bluenette by the balcony rail.

“Oh, heh, thank you. I like to come up here to design and relax, you know?” He watched as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, exposing her earlobes. Earlobes that sported familiar dark colored earrings.

His mind flashed back to this morning with a more discerning eye. He remembered pulling the silky threads of her hair back into a braid, exposing the nape of her neck and ears…. which were conspicuously free of earrings, and he froze for a moment as his eyes widened slightly. Puzzle pieces started to click into place in his mind. ‘No…it couldn’t be…’

Clearing his throat, he smiled and motioned towards her ears. “Pretty earrings, are they a family heirloom?” A fresh spike of panic lanced into him so quickly that he physically winced. That was confirmation enough. His heart sank as he recalled what he had done to the heroine…who he now knew was his beloved. He, Felix Fathom, was the cause of her grief and suffering. He had betrayed the one person he treasured most. ‘Duusu, what have I done?’ The guilt, which rose like bile in his throat, solidified his decision.

“Ye-yes, how’d you know?” Marinette’s voice was jittery and nervous. He’d play along for now as he processed this information.

“Just a guess. You never take them off.” He replied, leaving the except for earlier today to himself. Argos felt her panic ebb with a thin thread of relief. “Honestly, I came here to check on you after the akuma today…” he spoke softly as he looked towards the horizon. Curiosity. Relief. The hint of warmth was back too.

“O-oh… Fel—ah, Argos, you didn’t need to do that. I appreciate your concern though…” He didn’t need to read her emotions to know that she was embarrassed and blushing. His cheeks felt a bit warm too.

“As you know, you mean a lot to me.” Argos turned towards her again, their eyes meeting silently. His voice dropped to a whisper and he reached up to cup her cheek, basking in the warmth of her skin through the magical material. “I wanted – no, needed – to talk to you. After what happened today, I realized I could no longer stand on the sidelines… My priorities and goals have changed. I can no longer play the villain while those I care the most about are caught in the crossfire...”

“What…what are you saying?” Surprise, shock, and hope edged out the lingering nervousness.

Argos’ magenta eyes glowed as he smirked, “I’m saying that I’m on your side, my Lady.”

Marinette’s eyes grew wide, her conflicting emotions ran the gambit so quickly that he struggled to pick up even one in the tidal wave of input as it crashed over him. However, what he did pick up gave him hope: relief and, trailing behind the wave, a hint of pure joy. From the edges of his vision a little red kwami peeked out of a nearby flower planter, impossibly big eyes filled with hope. Felix dropped his transformation and leaned in close, never letting his eyes leave her bluebells as the smirk grew into a teasing smile.

“Does this mean I can have that kiss now?”

[lucysweatslove]

11.18.2023 // on death, dying, and a tear-jerking Netflix mobile game

I play some silly iPhone games because they’re easy/low-energy/quick ways to have a little fun. I ended up joining Discord for one of these games, and somebody told me about this game I could play via Netflix mobile called Spiritfarer. I spent >30 hours playing it this week and finished it earlier today. It's a low-challenge, story-dominant resource management game, where you play as the person who takes over for Charon, helping to shuttle those who have died from a limbo world to the final afterlife.

I don’t want to give spoilers in case somebody wants to play it, but it was… really moving, and I spent countless hours sobbing. I played until 4AM a couple nights. Some of it is fun and the completionism in me obviously created spreadsheets to track collections and such. But mostly, it felt like a really cathartic way to reflect on death in general- what happens after, sure, but also dying process, our mortality, how we are living now… death isn’t portrayed as a bad thing in the game. It’s an inevitability. All emotions are normalized, accepted, welcomed… and eventually released as the game character passes to the final afterlife.

This week in class, we talked about hematologic malignancies (going from blood to cancer). I’ve been thinking a lot about patients I’ve seen who had a malignancy- especially those who were still managing when I no longer was involved. My mind was on death/dying prior to playing the game. But I’ve been contemplating my death more lately, maybe because of the game, but also because of my general health lately. The chances of malignancy or something with high mortality is low, but I’ve still been reflecting on what death would mean to me.

Something I’ve realized, though I know how much I’d be missed by my family and loved ones, I don’t think I’d be missed by acquaintances. I don’t think my absence would be felt at all- and if it did, I don’t think there would be that tinge of sadness I feel thinking about acquaintances that have passed on. Like thinking about how my classmates might feel if I were to develop an aggressive cancer and die in preclinical phase… I think it might spur them to consider their own mortality and some may have a hard type accepting that, but it wouldn’t be a sadness or pain rooted in empathy for me, I don’t think. It would be a sadness they’d experience finding out that somebody they never met died- a small feeling that hey death is complex and sad, but no real loss felt.

This is based on their general reaction to me in reality- everybody is very cordial and kind, but I’m nobody’s first choice to interact with, the interaction we do have is never more than pleasantries people would exchange to the person next to you in a line or on a bus or whatever… but it never goes beyond that and often if I’m not invisible, I’m mostly avoided. Seriously, I find people will leave a seat open next to me and go stand or be in a not-seat. Some people won’t, but if they have the option, they usually do avoid me. I’m not sure how much is them wanting to be next to other people/their actual friends (normal and totally okay) and how much is active avoidance (probably less but is also okay)… and part of it could be that I’m just not an engaging person… but I do notice the general trend, and so I think that, regardless of why it happens, it shows that I’m really not part of the “group,” and as such, if I were to get really sick and/or die, likely nobody would really care in my behalf.

This isn’t a negative thing- nobody is required to feel any particular way to me, and there are so many emotions that are all perfectly normal to feel in relation to death. Personally, I feel a sense of loss and grief and sorrow and like the world is missing something whenever somebody I have talked to or personally knew passed on. I think this because I genuinely feel love and compassion and warmth towards everybody I’ve known, just on the basis of them being humans. Even people I dislike. But… I also know that people only have so much energy to give, and most people save that energy for the people they are friends with. I’m not nearly close enough with any of my classmates for my (potential) death to be differently impactful than the death of somebody you rode in an elevator with on your way into work.

It’s been kind of hard for me to fully accept/embrace. No matter how somebody would react to my death, I wouldn’t judge them at all for it- but it’s still difficult to come to terms with the fact that not only am I not part of the social milieu, but that I probably am just… a body in a room to people, one that they’re generally indifferent towards. I’m not the fiercely loyal, feeling loving Lucy to any of my classmates. I’m just the peer that sits in that one seat and awkwardly says words they don’t care about, or sends links to studies that nobody reads. At best, I provide free baked goods- but that’s not special.

I’ve always said that I don’t really care for “legacy.” Which is true- I don’t. I don’t need my name attached to anything. I don’t need people I’ve never met to know of me. If I discover something cool, I dont want it named after me (name is something logically descriptive), and I don’t care at all to have my names in books. Once everybody I personally know dies, and my memory goes with them, that is totally fine with me. But I do want a “legacy” in so much as I hope that the people I know and leave behind will think positively of me feel that there is a real loss when I go. Because to me, that says that I lived in such a way that I brought value to others. That’s all I really want when I am eventually confronted with death- to know I made other people’s lives a little better somehow.

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

Hi Rachel,

In some of my writing I’m beginning to notice more and more that certain characters (not all) remind me of myself lol. And I hate it, I go back and rewrite them. But I’m interested if you relate to any of your characters as well so—Out of the characters you’ve written (Lonan, Reeve, Harrison, etc..) who do you think is the most like you? And what’s your take on writers seeing themselves in some of their characters?

feel about seeing reflections

Hahaha I used to HATE writing characters that were like me, and it took a while to realize that actually, they ALL are me in some iteration. To answer your question about writers seeing themselves in their characters—if writing characters that are “self-inserts” makes you joyful, DO IT!!! If writing characters who aren’t self-inserts but have attributes to you makes you joyful, DO IT! Or if you’re not into it—that’s fine too! Life is too short! Have fun with what works for you!

My experience below, this gets kind of intense as a warning! CW: suicidal ideation, disocciation

Aligning myself with my characters has been an intensely life-saving experience. I’m not sure I’d be here if it were not for Lonan… 16-year-old Rachel WAS him, and also needed him because literally nobody else “understood” where I was at except for him (undiagnosed autism for BOTH OF US??).

There was a time of my life where I couldn’t emotionally regulate at all, and in moments of stress, would often dissociate and quite literally converse with this man (looking back now, this was just a coping mechanism—confirmed by my doctor btw!—but for a couple years he was a genuine part of my psyche, like moved out of just character territory). I think I talked about this years ago, but I have a really distinct memory of disconnecting so much I quite literally thought he was THERE next to me, which I needed—he really became an externalization of the things I couldn’t deal with (or didn’t understand how to deal with). I needed to see myself reflected in the eye of someone else and for a really long time that was Lonan for me. Actually screaming crying that’s so cute.

And Lonan is similar to me in a lot of ways! This is a side tangent but when I was first diagnosed as autistic it made me wonder if I’d inadvertently written any autistic characters & it struck me way back then that the person most similar to me (Lonan lol) is probably also autistic. I was like—sensory issues?? No emotional regulation?? Speaks a bit oddly?? We are THE SAME. Haven’t really confirmed this in canon lol but I’ve been thinking about it since 2021.

Funnily, now that I have that diagnosis, my life is a lot more stable so like… I’m not currently the most like Lonan lol. But me at 16-19??? Absolutely him.

Unfortunately, I am currently HARRISON, which isn’t ideal but just like he’s a 21-year-old experiencing horrors I’m a 21-year-old experiencing horrors (which is why BB is sometimes painful to write cuz I’m like oooooh I’m feeling this… too much). To be fair, I’ve always said I’m the introverted version of Harrison (because I am lol our personality types are the same, not that I believe in those but since I was like 13 I’ve said this). But just like Lonan, Harrison has helped me now process some tough things this year that I’m not sure how else I would’ve survived. It’s important to me that I have fictional vessels to explore my own life with because it can help me identify problems & then learn to empathize with myself by empathizing with a character first.

Of course they’re also separate from me—they absolutely didn’t start as ME but as time goes on I start seeing myself in them particularly (Reeve sometimes too—our kindred spirits with processing toxic relationships <3). Maybe it’s because I am autistic, but I find it useful to understand my experiences via someone else. I love seeing the ways we can inform each other.

My TL;DR is I’m Harrison if he was Lonan so I guess I’m BB Harrison. Love this for me so much. But also add autism. Which is probably already there because: Lonan. LMAO and a dash of Reeve’s compartmentalization skills. And we have me!

[ellpimento]

Dec23

What I wanted to kvetch about was how pointless it is to get sick, and how freaking inconvenient it is to be laid out, incapacitated, there’s no reason to be forced to take a time out like this especially at this time of year when you can least afford it. This will be the second time I’ve gotten the vid and I had better not lose my sense of taste, or I’m going to be really really mad. There is nothing more frustrating and saddening than looking at food and not being able to smell or taste it. I'll deal with an extra day, heck, I'll be in pain all week long as long as it means I won't lose my taste buds for the next two months.

Yes, I love eating. My stomach's certainly shrunk during this time, which was probably needed. But this malaise and need to nap around and head inside a fish tank feeling need to go stat.

Yes, there are times where it is convenient to be sick (preferably for a day, two days at the most) when there are people to be shunned, events to be avoided, and there just isn’t really a nicer way to go about it than to (honestly, of course) pronounce yourself stuck under the blankets due to the flu or what have you. But apart from that, being ill for any length of time past two days is just a serious inconvenience and a loss of money. If I could get sick on my vacation over a regular work week, I would always pick on vacation.

Did I mention I hate being sick? It’s been a week now and I was ready for it to be over with 5 days ago.

Other Reflections

We are officially closing upon the end of the year, and what have I really accomplished? A lot, actually, even a tiny bit with the writing. I used to do year-end reviews of accomplishments and whatnot, but I can’t be bothered to think that hard anymore if I don’t have to. Someone asked recently ‘what’s the best thing about getting older’ and I responded with: it gets easier to let things be and carry on with your own life. What sort of Freudian slip that is, I’m not really sure, other than it’s just a nicer way of saying ‘I don’t really give a crap about other people or their perceptions anymore and I’m perfectly happy doing my own thing instead of trying to keep up with the crowd.’ Which is the long and short of everything I’ve been doing these past few years. Giving less a crap and focusing more on restructuring my priorities, letting go of bad habits, and improving upon life in general. Especially this year, I’ll say. There’s been a lot of change this year, there’ll be heck more in the next year, so I’m really trying my best right now to enjoy everything and not fight too hard against the grain.

The hardest part of this whole process of changing for the better and making time for the things that do matter is not beating myself up for not working 24/7, or being unable to work due to being sick. Yes, I was back at work feverishly laboring after 2 days of being ill because if I can get out of bed, I can go to work. Which is a sad reflection of how much of a horrible taskmaster I would be, probably am (that’s just a sniffle, now blow your nose and get back to work), just ask my kids, and that I really need to take a step back and reflect on taking care of myself and others. ‘Take care of yourself first’ comes out of my mouth often, but yet my brain expects them to poo-poo that phrase like I do, ignore the pains and just keep slogging away. And this is all because I really really need to make a dollar and screw everything else including myself, well, I tell people they’re not 20 years old anymore, but at this point, I’d better adjust that to ‘you’re not 30 anymore, take it easy.’

Tl;dr: Will this vid go away already, I don’t have time for it and I can’t afford being sick. I’ve made some improvements this year, but learning to be nice to myself is still a seemingly unachievable feat. I’ve a feeling next year is going to be another hard lesson.

[causmonaut]

cw: no mentions of anything i’d say deserve a tw, but i do mention a term that can be a trigger, i think?

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also probably worth noting that i won’t consistently be adding trigger warnings or content warnings to my posts. not out of a lack of consideration for others, but because i’ll likely forget, and rarely talk about anything that is serious enough to tag. i might bring up terms or things here and there but in general, proceed with caution if you’re going to read anything in my #junkrant not junkrat tag.

the general assumption you should make about my posts tagged with #junkrant not junkrat are that:

u are reading a 21-year-old teenage girl’s (extremely icked out by myself for referring to myself this way but it is probably the most accurate description of how i sound in some of these) ANGSTY rants, and i might use language you’re not comfortable with. (duly note that this language does not include anything that is racist, homophobic, transphobic, ableist, or discriminatory in any way— unless i am referring to myself or people who are in my own sect of whatever intersectionality i’m a part of, and even then it is not malicious, serious, or a reflection of my genuine opinions or values). if you have a problem with anything i say, i’m willing to have a conversation about it, but please do not make assumptions based on what you think you know about me or my background based on surface level interactions you may have with me.

kind of adding on to the point above but, please also note that i am in therapy so i might talk about things i went over and sometimes this includes stuff that some people might not like to hear about! again, nothing explicit or graphic! i’m just a human with a long, wonky history of bad habits so if you don’t wanna read about any of it, look away!

a lot of this stuff is just me venting, and once i get it out i’m usually fine! but i’m putting it in a public space for a reason (being perceived helps a bit with accountability and also feeling heard). if you have anything to say, or guidance to give, i’d be more than happy to receive some nice words! it might take me a while to digest and reply to you but i promise i’ll say something if ever i feel that i don’t want feedback on a particular post, sum: if u send me a msg and i don’t respond, it’s likely because i’m busy, taking my time processing the message, or briefly forgot about tumblr, but i will get back to you!

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aaaand back with another post.

friend said (almost verbatim): “any pain you feel by paying attention to the things shes doing, that isn’t caused by a direct action of hers that is actually directed towards you, like contacting you, or indirecting you in an obvious way is self-inflicted, and you’re stupid for doing that to yourself. you can assume all you want, but don’t go searching for confirmation because there’s always a chance you’ll find some and you’ll be worse for wear. you know that, too.”

harsh! but also kind of !!!! reaffirmed something my other friend said to me too. the emotional self-h4ｒm is real? but it’s not even like that, i don’t think?

yes, i can admit that when i check on things, sometimes i’m not entirely sure why i do. sometimes it’s to calm the anxiety i feel, because i guess checking and potentially being wounded by something counts as a form of interaction with her. sometimes it’s because i get this inkling that she might have posted something that might confirm some worry i have— like her moving on, or being glad she let me go, etc. (<- spoiler alert by the way, a guy(?) is in the picture now which is so ouch!) sometimes i do check because i know i’ll likely see something that upsets me or bugs me in some way and even though i want to avoid all that hurt at all costs normally, in those moments i guess i convince myself that if i’m already feeling bad, i might as well make myself feel worse so that once i feel better.. i’ll feel a lot better (?) doesn’t make sense, does it?

yeah, now that i’ve typed it all out it definitely sounds… well!!! it sounds like emotional immaturity, and also emotional self-ouch. i’m sure there’s more to it but wow!!

i think i’ve been over this entire topic before but it’s just fresh on my mind because i did it again!

trying to remind myself that she’s shown me my worth to her twice now. the two times she’s turned away. and i’m showing myself my worth by chasing after someone who DGAF about anyone else but herself, really. <- sounds so bitter but there’s truth to it, i promise. we are talking girl who got annoyed about me being upset about her not giving me an anniversary gift because she still held the first breakup against me.. (more details i’m leaving out for the sake of my thumbs)

among other things^ because that wasn’t the only thing she did that kind of had me scratching my head every time because what is up with your mentality about these things ? do all incidents have to be black and white ? how come only one of us get to be hurt ?

anyway! i’m really trying to work on just?? focusing on other things.

term started so now i have to study my ass off but it’s tough to beat academic burnout, plus fatigue, plus floating thoughts that’ll have me bothered while i’m trying to concentrate.

considered taking the term off to relax and allow myself some time out of school but fafsa is oh-so-helpful. when else will i get paid this much to torture myself with assignments? also, i have plans to run away to europe for a month or two next year and i know i won’t be able to without the extra $$ in my pocket.

wishing i could travel and focus on me for the rest of forever but life!! is unfair!! and i wasn’t born to a family with money!! or pull!!! i think i’d be such a cool nepo baby.

sitting trying to gather any thoughts i have about ex, but everything is kinda gone right now. whatever i have to complain about is a given during breakups, i obviously just wish things ended up differently. and i’m disappointed in her for selling me a dream then taking it back within a few weeks, and disappointed in myself for letting her do that and continuing the relationship.

learned! a whole lot! just fear that if in the future i enter another relationship, i won’t have the best communication tools or might still carry some of the relationship insecurity i’ve gained over the little—but still impactful�� experiences i’ve had in relationships.

over-summarized tldr: writer wants to know how to gain emotional maturity. writer wants to fast forward a month or two and zip to a place where she doesn’t feel so irritated or sad about the reality of things!

[dailyaudiobiblechronological]

6/1/2023 DAB Chronological Transcription

Psalm 119:89-176

Welcome to the Daily Audio Bible Chronological, I'm China. Today is the first day of June, welcome. So great to be here with you today as we get to begin a new month together. I'm looking forward to all that is in store for us this month and to get to the end of these 30 days and reflect back and see how much we have grown or I'm a fan of growth, for sure, but I also think that sometimes life isn't about how fast we can level up. I think about it in a video game, retrospect, where it's like the whole point to play most of the time is to level up. To level up and win, beat the boss, whatever, but rarely are we just playing the game because we enjoy it. And I had to realize that in my life, maybe five or six years ago, I was just like, man, I want to be healed from everything. I just want to have all that God has for me. And I don't think there's anything wrong with it. But I burnt myself out trying to expedite the process of healing and had a friend who was just like, hey, when you try to rip the scales off before it's time, it isn't going to be way more painful. And I just remember being like, that's a gross analogy. I'm okay, thanks. So and then I realized, like, no, actually, don't try to do things outside of the Lord's timing, especially healing, because it may not be healing. It could be just as disruptive. And anyway, so I say that I'll just say it's okay to have those months where things may have felt maybe for a lack of a better word, stagnant. It's okay. If you didn't jump to the next leap pad and you're just kind of sitting on one right now, that's okay. Give yourself permission, give yourself grace. The Lord's in it, great. If he's not and you have no idea and you feel chaos, then that's what I would say is not okay. Invite the lord. Do it. Ask him where he is. Ask for a reset. Resettling and gain some clear guidance and direction and wisdom as we are reading about Solomon in his life and how he desired wisdom above all else and how the Lord met him in that. And I just think that, that is a great place to be. So with that being said, today we are in the book of Psalm. We're in chapters 119, starting in verse 89, and we're going through 176. We are in the New Living Translation for this week. Commentary

We can clearly see here that Solomon is well, David's son for sure. We can see that the poetry feels so similar. The heart cries feel so similar. Even the wording it is very similar. Like, if you were to tell me just to read these and not tell me where it's found or who's writing this, I'm not sure I would be able to tell you the difference between Solomon and David maybe a little bit, because David's is like, I'm running for my life, I'm desperate. Lord help me. And Solomon's is I love your laws. There's definitely difference there. But you can tell this is David's son for sure. But with that, David was a man after God's own heart. And so if you are raising your children in that way, which right before David passed, we read the story of Adenijah and Solomon, and it says that Adenijah wasn't parented by David. He wasn't discipled, he wasn't disciplined. And so while that feels very confusing for me because I don't know the context of how families or children were being raised in those times, especially when you were the king, that's a lot. And David had multiple wives and many, many children, I'm curious, like, okay, what was Solomon's relationship with David? And it must have been influential enough to where my guess is it must have been influential enough for Solomon to understand who the Lord is, to get a love of the father from his father. And so we read all of these beautiful Psalms today and we see that Solomon is a man after God's own heart. He desires his wisdom. He desires his instruction, his justice, his law. And I'm trying to think of if we see anybody else with quite this heart, in the Bible, we see people who may have it for a good minute, they have good intentions, and then something downfall happens and we can all relate to that. But also to read Solomon's words and his heart, it's definitely encouraging. I'm not someone who is like, again, this is different times, different cultures. We don't live under the Mosaic Law anymore, but I'm someone who really enjoys knowing the rules, knowing the regulations, because then I can know where I can operate in. Whereas if you're like, yeah, my brain always works in metaphors or analogies. You were to go to a park and there's just like no signage of anything, I would be like, okay, great. So everything I'm assuming that everything's a free for all. I can walk up this trail. I can go up this mountain. I could ride my bike here. I can ride my bike backwards. I could go canoeing in this stream. But then there may be signs that's like, hey, this water has been contaminated with radioactive chemicals or this mountain is actually a volcano. There's things that help keep us safe. That when I started looking at I had that explained to me a couple of years ago just the difference in explaining of rules, where it was like, instead of can't do this, you can't do that, you can't do this, can't do that, don't even think about that. And then to hear it be explained of, you get to do this, you get to do that, this is how this is going to go down. It changes something in your brain if you've been told your whole life, can't do this, can't do that, like that type of mentality to, hey, this is where you get to operate in, it can feel very freeing. And you don't see those boundaries as restrictions. You actually see them as your boundaries. And just in like again, here's another analogy. Just in sports, there's lines that tell you where you can play and where if you play outside of these, you're going to get there's going to be a consequence, right? And so that's how boundaries work. Boundaries got really popular. I'm glad that they did, but it was more so of like, I got to keep all these people out, keep them out, keep them out, keep them out, build all these walls. It's actually like, we put up boundaries so that that's where people can operate within. And so I love that. Solomon's. Like, this is where I get to operate and the wisdom of the Lord. These are where I get to where I get to live and where I get to operate out of. Prayer

And so, Father, I thank you for your word. I thank you that it has the ability to stir something in us, to encourage us to keep going, to call us to a higher standard, to bring us to a new place of revelation. And I just thank you that you invite us, that you meet us. And I thank you that it's safe to trust you and safe to follow you. And it's in your name we pray, amen. Announcements

Dailyaudiobible.com is our website. That's the place of connections where you can see what's happening here in the community, how to see what is going on, how to get connected, stay connected. So I encourage you to check that out if you have things that we as a community can call in, encourage you, pray over you, pray with you, we can call in 800-583-2164. That is all for today. I'm China. I love you and I'll be waiting for you here tomorrow. Community Prayer Line

Hello, Heather from Tennessee. Nashville, Tennessee. This is Manita from Lombard. I heard your voice, your request. I hear you. I also went through what you were going through. It was not easy throughout that journey and the hard road to walk on, but God has no exception of people. And just as he helped me, I also pray that he would help you, that he will provide a place like he has provided me, that he will open doors like he has opened doors for me. Girl, I've gone skydiving. I ran a marathon, a complete marathon with his help. I am moving forward like you are moving forward. My heart goes out to you and I love your voice, I love your expressions. I love your heart. It's just so beautiful and calm. That's the peace of God who is with you. So I just want to encourage you that I hurt you and that I am praying for you. May the Lord embrace you and hug you and just give you his peace always and guide you. Lift your arm up and he will hold it. He will guide you just like he holds me. He's Jehovah gyra your provider, your Heavenly Father who loves you. Everything is going to be okay. I love you. This is Minita from Lombard. Take care. God bless everyone. Greetings to you my Daily Audio Bible Chronological family. This is walking in the light in Tennessee. Haven't called in for some time. I love this group of believers, this community of faith. I'm listening, I'm praying. I've had a lot of changes in my life over the last year. But the thing that has not changed is that God is still good. And he's good all the time. I have had some heartache, some sorrows, lost a couple of very good friends, one of them in a very tragic manner. But I just wanted to offer hope to all of you who may feel hopeless right now. So many situations, so many circumstances. Let me tell you, the God of all hope is able to get you through whatever it is you're going through. And not only will he bring you through, he will comfort you and protect you and love you, but your battle, our battle, my battle is always to remain in faith. Faith and doubt cannot live side by side. And I know that circumstances often bring doubt and even hopelessness. But fight for your faith. That's where your victory is. One of my friends told me a long time ago, your victory is in your praise. And so I want you to know DAB family, DABC family, everyone, anyone who's listening, your victory is in your praise. Trust God. Give him your praise. Walk it out with the pain and the heartache, but continue in love and grace and most of all in faith. This is walking in the light in Tennessee. God bless you all. Love you. Hey, my amazing DABC FAM it's kingdom seeker Daniel. You guys are not just amazing, you are amazing. That's right, each and every one of you, you are simply amazing. Hey, family, I wanted to share a couple of quotes with you. I am a sucker for a good quote. I absolutely love quotes, good quotes. And I wanted to share a couple of them with you guys specifically for Carrie, aka. Jesus girl and Cynthia from Texas. The first quote is by Chip Ingram. And it says, sometimes God will allow things to go from bad to impossible so that we might believe. And then the second quote is from this incredibly anointed woman of God. Some of you might know her. She goes by the name of Jill Par. I call her Lady Jill Par, yeah, she said, we must rest in what we cannot know. Did you get that? Jesus, girl? Cynthia, the Lord sees you in what seems to be an impossible situation. You've got to rest in what you don't know. Trust Him. He's got you. Hey Daily Audio Bible Chronological, it's Melissa from North Carolina. I am calling with a prayer request for my brother in law. His name is Brian and life has just not been kind to him. Some of it he's helped with, some of it just came on by itself, but he's struggling right now, struggling to keep a job. House doesn't really have a relationship with his son and he could just really use prayers and so could my husband and I in finding the best way to help him because we've tried different things in the past that did not work and we're not really sure exactly what to do. I thank everybody for your prayers in advance. Hello, Daily Audio Bible Prayers c DABC, this is Elizabeth from Delaware calling in and I wanted to lift up Caleb, whose mother called in today, May 26, who is a young man on the spectrum who's been admitted to a mental facility. Lord, we just lift him up for his addiction of social media and his issues with autism, Lord, and everything that is impacting him and the enemy has been throwing at him. Lord, he once walked with You, Lord, and we ask You, Lord, to restore that relationship with you. We also lift up the many thousands of children and young adults who are also becoming addicted to social media. Lord, you know the dangers and the evil within that and we ask you as we lift up Caleb, you would include them in our lifting up to Your need. So Lord, we ask you to fill them with Your peace and Your faith and Your healing, remove their pain and fear and send Your angels to guard them and keep the evil one far from them. Give them eyes and ears and a clean heart to see Your hand and healing them and filling them with Your joy and hope that better days and years are coming. Lord, we ask you to give them faith to see all the ways you are carrying them through their journeys. As it says in Isaiah 58:8 may God's light and love break forth like the morning and enter their hearts and mind and soul that healing shall spring forth. Speedily and your righteousness go before them and the glory of the Lord shall be their rear guard. Yes, Lord, you are our guard before and us and behind us. Lord, we ask that you would give thanks to Jesus. We lift us all to Jesus Christ and ask that he would give us the wisdom to help parent our children and to pray for those in the world who need Your healing in a powerful way. We thank You, Jesus, for Your love for us and Your way of touching each of us individually that we can see.

[quia-nominor--leo]

I’ve been replaying the Witcher games and have some thoughts about Eskel, specifically the line he has when him, Lambert, Geralt, and Yennefer are discussing putting Uma through the Trial of Grasses:

Eskel: See, till now we had a great excuse not to take in apprentices. Seems we’ll need to talk it over.

This line stunned me when I first heard it because I was not expecting it to come from any witcher, least of all Eskel. The process of becoming a witcher is painful and abusive, so to hear him consider continuing the tradition was ... shocking. But I think that there’s a little more to it than just that.

Eskel has always seemed to me like the odd one out in CDPR’s verse, which is the Eskel I want to talk about here. Out of all the witchers we meet he seems to have the least unique characterization. Even though I love Eskel and would like as much content about him as possible, I’m not particularly mad about it - the majority of what we get seems to be reflective of the books and witchers in general, and ultimately he is one of dozens of individual characters that the games work with. It’s clear that CDPR made the decision to have Lambert be Geralt’s ‘second-in-command’ and another of Vesemir’s child-surprises, which is not entirely book-accurate, but is a lot more believable than whatever manic-pixie-dream-girl-wet-dream fantasy we have going on with Triss Merigold.  

This specific line is thrown into even sharper relief considering that a few seconds before, Lambert yells at Yennefer for suggesting that Uma undergoes the Trial of the Grasses, and states that the secrets of the Trials should remain forgotten:

Lambert: Wary? That’s not the problem. Those secrets have been forgotten. And that’s how they should stay.

Out of all the School of Wolf witchers that we meet, Eskel is the one who expresses least opinions about the process of becoming a witcher. In the first game, Berengar is extremely bitter about what happened to him and actively turns his back on Kaer Morhen for that reason. Lambert seems to take up his mantle in TW3. There’s an interesting point in the game where Lambert indicates that he isn’t angry about being a witcher but rather he is angry about the lack of choice he had in the matter:

Lambert: Guess I could've been someone worse... Just a shame I had no choice.

The cruelty of the trials:

Geralt: That still gnawing at you? 

Lambert: Gnawing? No. Straight old pisses me off. What the fuck was that Trial for? Most who returned from the Circle of Elements died within a year in some swamp, hunting drowners for a crown thirty a head. So exactly what was the point?

The futility of the trials:

Lambert: That's just it -- not everyone made it. Lots of boys died here. Boys taken against their will.

And the fact that he was put through all of that in return for his father’s life:

Lambert: My life... For the life of that prick?

Lambert also expresses concern about putting Uma through the Trial of the Grasses on the simple premise that it will make Uma suffer (which, as a side note, is the moment I realised how much I love Lambert):

Yennefer: Of course not. As I was about to say, I'll only apply the first half of the Trial, because - 

Lambert: Because you want to watch him suffer?

Lambert is also the one to call Vesemir out for keeping Sad Albert around and   refers to the instruments used during the Trials as “torture devices”:  

Lambert: Sure. Every grandpa out there's got an attic full of torture devices.

He also places himself physically away from the group during the Trial, he questions Vesemir’s seeming regret at the process by asking why he kept Sad Albert around, and ultimately walks out in the middle of the Trial:

Vesemir: I had hoped... I'd hoped I would never have to watch this again.

 Lambert: Why'd you keep the table, then?

In his own way, Vesemir too expresses reluctance over putting Uma through the Trial of the Grasses:

Yennefer: Have the boys told you what we plan to do? 

Vesemir. Yes. Don't like it one bit. But I suppose I have to trust you.

He goes through the trouble of trying his own way to lift the curse from Uma because he recognises that what Yennefer intends to do is not safe (at that point she has not revealed that she wants to subject him to the first part of the Trial of the Grasses). He also keeps calling back to the fact that he had to see the Trial being carried out many times with horrific results and he is not comfortable with putting Uma through it (although, as Lambert points out, he did keep Sad Albert around and justifies it through the sentimental nostalgia felt by old people which has to be considered when putting his statements into perspective).

Geralt’s reactions depend somewhat on the player’s choices, but at a minimum he is wary of putting Uma through the Trial. He questions the chances of Uma’s survival, is concerned about whether the hookweed that Vesemir administers has actually helped dull Uma’s pain, and the player is given the option to question whether the Trial of the Grasses should continue:

Geralt: Listen... We should stop this. 

Yennefer: Then Uma dies. Very painfully.

Eskel doesn’t really get an opinion. Later in the process, he does express doubt about putting Uma through the Trial but he does it within the context of Uma potentially being Ciri and what it might to do her, not in relation to what it is doing to Uma as a separate entity:

Eskel: If that's Ciri in there...she could come out of this crippled, wrong in the head, just emotionless. Thought about that?

And, above and beyond all this, is the simple fact that Eskel is the first witcher around that table to talk about how they may need to discuss taking on new boys if the Trial of the Grasses is viable again. But there is no way that I will accept that the reason why he does that is because CDPR Eskel is somehow callous or unfeeling.

So what’s my point exactly?

One of the most distinct perceptions I have of Eskel is that he shows a dislike of expressing opinion and a preference to avoiding confrontation. In TW3, we are told that Vesemir has asked Eskel to see to some beams that need fixing and has also asked Lambert to patch up Savolla’s breach. Eskel doesn’t see to the beams because he is too busy getting drunk with Lambert and Geralt in ‘No Place Like Home’, but he feels the need to explain himself to Vesemir the day after:

Vesemir: So I guess you didn't get a chance to see to the beams in the tower? 

Eskel: Uh... No... But we'll, uh, get to that, I promise. Right, Lambert?

Lambert on the other hand makes a conscious decision to not patch up Savolla’s breach, not because he wants to be argumentative with Vesemir but simply because he is of the opinion that it doesn’t need to be done:

Geralt: Savolla's breach. Still haven't patched it up? 

Lambert: Vesemir'd like to. Doesn't bother me, though. Not expecting anyone to lay siege and...this way I got a shortcut to the pond.

So Lambert has agency over some of what happens in Kaer Morhen, but Eskel just does what Vesemir tells him to do.

Eskel also makes it clear to Geralt several times that he does not trust Yennefer or approve of the way she treats people. For example:

Geralt: Yen tell you why she wants this? 

Eskel: Mean you don't know? And that, uh...doesn't bug you?

[...]

Geralt: No, it doesn't. I trust her. 

Eskel: And they say people learn from their mistakes...

[...]

Geralt: Something about Yen bothering you? C'mon, grow a pair, give it to me straight. 

Eskel: You grow a pair and admit she tricked you. More than a few times.

This is pretty much in line with how Lambert feels, but instead of directly confronting Yennefer, Eskel just buries it. He goes out of his way to be polite and to reign Lambert in when the latter tries to prod. He only confronts Yennefer once Lambert has started the ball rolling:

Lambert: Fine. Conversation turned serious? Let's talk. Yen, what do you plan to do with Uma? 

Yennefer: I said I'll tell you tomorrow. 

Eskel: So tell us now. It's after midnight.

I think its also telling that Eskel only reveals his true feelings about Kaer Morhen once Vesemir dies. We’re told that the previous winter, Lambert suggested that the witchers abandon Kaer Morhen and that Vesemir took it badly. Lambert retains his opinion, but Eskel doesn’t give his own:

Geralt: Vesemir's gotten a bit grumpy in his old age. 

Eskel: That was nothing. Shoulda been here last winter when Lambert tried to convince him we oughta abandon Kaer Morhen for good. 

Lambert: What good's this old ruin anyway? Moldy walls, leaky roof, and it's one big fucking ice cube in the winter. 

Eskel: Vesemir didn't say a word. Stood, grabbed his sword, and slammed the door on his way out. Didn't come back for a month.

However, during Vesemir’s funeral, we see that Eskel actually does have an opinion on Kaer Morhen, but he expresses it only once Vesemir has passed:

Eskel: No, Geralt. Place has been dying a while now. Last nail in the coffin today. Time we accepted that.

If Letho is present at Kaer Morhen, there’s a scene which makes me feel like Eskel becomes defensive with Geralt - the one and only time he does. This is opposed to Lambert who is quite quick to argue. The topic at hand? Eskel’s right to an opinion. Lambert in this scene directly confronts the situation, but Eskel’s reaction isn’t to directly argue his case - it makes me think more of him trying to convince himself that his opinion matters.

Letho: None of your business. 

Lambert: Wrong -- it is his and mine. Rather not have you behind our backs during the battle. 

Geralt: What is it now? 

Lambert: Why did you even bring him?

Geralt: I need Letho. 

Eskel: Our opinions count, too.

We see Eskel’s reluctance to confront in the first game too. In ‘The Price of Neutrality’ we learn that Eskel actively avoided claiming Deidre Ademeyn and then had a hard time making a decision about what to do with her once she arrives at Kaer Morhen:

Vesemir: He cited the Law of Surprise, and, as they say, destiny proved fortunate - unbeknownst to the prince, his wife was with child [...] As far as I know  Eskel never returned to claim the child promised him by the prince. For some reason, ever since then he’s always taken the long way around Caingorn.

Whatever decision is taken, Eskel’s face is ripped apart, but we know that he continues to claim the Law of Surprise when he explains how he got his horse Scorpion:

Eskel: Saved this lost knight once... You know, woods, dark, wolves. The standard. Told him "Give me what you find at home" and all that... No kid this time, but his mare had just foaled.

Overall, this progression makes me feel like Eskel is ignoring his own personal experience with the Law of Surprise, and continues to use it simply because that is what a witcher is ‘supposed’ to do.  

Now, back to why I originally started this.  

Eskel does what he’s supposed to do. He claims the Law of Surprise even though it hasn’t worked out well for him, he doesn’t instigate arguments with Vesemir or Geralt, he doesn’t really make his own decisions regarding Kaer Morhen. In ‘The Price of Neutrality’ he says that he invoked the Law of Surprise because that’s what Vesemir told them witchers do:

Eskel: I must’ve heard too many of Vesemir’s stories about the eternal Law of Surprise ...

This ‘supposed to’ language comes out in one of his lines to Ciri:

Eskel: Should've stayed in the keep, sat your ass down like you were supposed to.

In a way, Eskel is the most “standard” witcher that we meet in the games. Even in preparing for trying to lift the curse from Uma, Yennefer gives him the task that is most standard for a witcher, i.e. killing a forktail and obtaining ingredients from it. After the battle of Kaer Morhen, his next step is calculated as continuing his witcher work:

Eskel: Try my luck in Lormark. There's always work where there's war. After that, we'll see.

We never hear Eskel’s opinions about witchering, about how he personally feels about it. Even Gaetan, an optional character, gets to say his little piece down in Velen, but Eskel doesn’t.

Does this mean that Eskel is somehow boring or has less personality? I certainly don’t believe so. The simple fact that this man tracked and hunted a katakan then dragged its corpse all the way back to Kaer Morhen because he identified interesting characteristics and wanted to see if he could develop a new way to track these creatures should be enough proof against that (seriously, how did Eskel get that thing up the mountain?). From the little we gather of his life outside of Kaer Morhen, we can also see that Eskel has his own adventures, but he never offers up much details, preferring to sit and listen to what Geralt and Lambert have to say instead.

No, rather, I think that Eskel makes a conscious effort to avoid confrontation. Now, the fact that he immediately wants to discuss making new witchers may be interpreted as him wanting to directly confront the issue, but I disagree. Keep in mind that making more witchers is what witchers are supposed to do. I don’t believe that Eskel wants to make more witchers, but I believe that he feels that since that is what witchers are supposed to do, it is the opinion that he is supposed to express. Its less confrontational to continue a tradition set for hundreds of years than it is to actively argue and speak out against it, which is what Lambert does.

I want to make it clear that I don’t mean this as a negative attack on Eskel or his moral choices. In a way I very much feel that Eskel is the person who is sacrificing his own opinions and feelings because he feels that he has to be the responsible person and consider what may be appropriate for a situation, whether its easier for him or not. I think its telling that at one point Geralt tells Lambert:

Geralt: Whine about it to Eskel later.

Almost as if its completely normal for either of them to go to Eskel with their issues. If you’re not romancing Yennefer, Eskel is also the one who immediately expresses concern for Geralt and asks him if he wants to talk about it, whatever his feelings about Yennefer are:

Eskel: Lambert, drop it ... Sorry, Geralt, that was, uh, insensitive. We didn’t know. You wanna ... wanna talk about it?

The thing is that there is usually a reason why a person would not consider their opinion important. To dip into personal experience for a moment, I’ve generally always been a very opinionated and blunt person, however, the periods of my life where I considered my opinions to be worthless or useless coincided with my feelings of self-hate and/or lack of self-confidence. I don’t think that all people who struggle with those feelings will manifest them in the same way. In some cases you can have people who are dealing with those feelings and instead become loud and cultivate transgressive opinions simply because its the only way they feel they can get attention (I’m narrowing my eyes slightly at Lambert here).

So, in essence I think that Eskel is someone who doesn’t feel like he has the right to an opinion, a right to do things the way he thinks would be good for him, especially if they are not in line with what he is expected to do.

I think that there’s a lot to be said about how Lambert has to live with the fact that Geralt, the famous White Wolf, and Eskel, known for his prowess and Sign intensity, are the two Wolf witchers who remain and the two people who’s standards he has to meet and try to attain, even if he is an excellent witcher in his own right. However, more recently, I’ve been thinking about how at least Lambert can get some distance from that. Ultimately, he is from a different generation of witchers, and we see that he actively spends time away from the School of Wolf and interacts with at least one other witcher from a different school. Eskel, on the other hand, has to deal with a life spent being compared to Geralt. I don’t think he’s bitter about it - his famous line of being a simple witcher doesn’t come off as jealous or resentful:

Eskel: I’m a simple witcher, Wolf. Don’t fight dragons, don’t fraternize with kings and don’t sleep with sorceresses ... unlike some.

But then when he talks about how Vesemir couldn’t tell them apart, the way he says it makes it feel like now there’s something different, whether its the scars or something else:

Eskel: Right... Vesemir used to say he couldn't tell us apart. Like brothers, two drops of water... A long time ago, that. Thanks.

So, Eskel has had to deal with being compared to Geralt for his entire life, has had to slowly come to terms with the fact that Geralt is not the same person he grew up with, and has to come to terms with the fact that he has to continuously take a step back in Geralt’s life, as the latter becomes the White Wolf, becomes involved with Yennefer, and ultimately claims Ciri as a child of surprise which solidifies him into legend, one way or another. I think its very easy to point towards his scars and blame any lack of self-confidence in them, but I think that that also negates and downplays all the other trauma Eskel as a witcher has had to go through beyond the disfigurement. For one, you could consider whether Eskel sees Geralt’s protectiveness of Ciri in stark contrast to his perceived failure to protect Deidre. For another, there’s very little exploration of how the sacking of Kaer Morhen is on its own enough of a traumatic experience to leave intense guilt on the survivors.

Ultimately, all of this converges to what I feel is a person who just ... doesn’t think he is that important in the lives of his fellow witchers and in general. It’s sad because, in the books you can get a sense of how important Eskel is to the story, both as Geralt’s friend and one of the people Ciri considers her mentor. And perhaps its one reason why Eskel, even though he is not a main character, resonates so deeply with people. Its not something that I can personally say I have an exact understanding of, but I can certainly sympathise with the struggle of doing what you want versus being cursed with the conviction that what other people need or want is more important to you.

And in conclusion: thank you for all the fanfic writers and fans who have recognised this in Eskel and have actively aimed to confront this and tease out the trauma. Every little nugget I find of a well-written Eskel is hoarded and consumed because this character in particular deserves so much more than he has so far been given.

[mimzy-writing-online]

Writing Toph Beifong, Advice from a Blind Writer

I’m Mimzy, an actual visually impaired writer and blogger who talks a lot about writing blind characters accurately and sensitively. A while back someone sent me an anon asking how to write Toph more accurately and sensitively.

Anonymous asked: Hi there! Your blog has been super-helpful already - I thought I knew a bit about writing with blind characters, but it turns out there was a lot to learn - but this is more specific. I'm writing a The Last Airbender fanfiction, and one of the characters is Toph. I think the fandom has done a fairly good job of respecting her blindness, but what are some things you'd like to see when people write her? I want to represent the character as best as possible; thanks in advance!

It’s taken a while for me to answer because I have a lot of thoughts about it as both a blind writer and someone who has read a lot of atla fanfiction. So here we go:

Before we get started, I want to mention some things: 

One: I have an entire series for writing blind characters that continues to grow with time and the most up-to-date version can be found pinned as the top post on my blog. There will be a time-stamp for when the post was last edited and a long series of links to all relevant posts on the subject.

Here’s a quick link to that post, but again, all you have to do is click my blog url and you’ll find it immediately.

Two: I’ve noticed something amazing about the atla fandom and I would like to thank you for it. I’ve noticed a lot of bloggers have taken to writing image descriptions for both the fanart and memes you post in the fandom, whether it’s OP including the description or another blogger adding it themselves. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a fandom so consistently doing this and that’s incredible. Realizing how many different blogs were picking up this habit has warmed my heart.

I’d like to see writers use her other senses. There’s soooo so much more to her O&M (Orientation and Mobility) than earth sense. 

Beyond sight and earth bending, there’s hearing, touch, smell, taste, sense of direction, hot vs cold, sense of pain, sense of where your body parts are in relation to the rest of you, sense of internal well-being, etc. Before Toph had mastery of her earth bending, she had to have mastery of those too.

Toph also must have very strong opinions about certain smells, sounds, tastes, and textures. Toph is opinionated about everything, and when so much of your understanding of the world depends on senses that most people are ignoring in favor of some other sense you don’t have, it gets frustrating. I’m sure that tree looks pretty but the smell is terrible. Who cares if this fabric looks pretty, it’s scratchy, do. not. like. at. all.

But also in positive ways too. Oh, that flower arrangement looks bland and monochromatic? Who cares, it smells sweet and honey-like. Weird dark cavern with high ceiling and no light? The harmonics are awesome.

Every character probably has a certain sight or image they’re particularly fond of: Katara watching snow fall, or Aang enjoying how small the world looks from up on Appa, or Zuko enjoying the sunrise every morning during meditation. In that line, Toph must have some things personal to her that she enjoys.

I imagine she likes the taste of foods familiar to her childhood, the smell of whatever flowers grew around her home, and the texture of certain kinds of dirt Example: loose dirt probably isn’t the best for seeing, but I think she would enjoy how it feels to run her fingers through it or maybe enjoy the way it softens her perception of the world the same way sighted people like to see colorful, bright lights reflecting off puddles in the middle of rain.

If you struggle with this, that’s okay. I recommend taking some time to think about it for yourself, to find what tastes and smells and textures and sounds you enjoy the most, what makes you feel safe and at home, what brings you comfort, and relate that back to Toph.

In a Modern AU, I want to see Toph have a cane. Even in a Modern AU with bending included in the world building, I think Toph would benefit from having a cane.

The cane has a lot more function than bumping into things. A big part is that it signals to others that you are very obviously blind. Which is a big deal because sighted people are really, really bad at spotting the blind person.

(psst, please stop saying ‘the blank look in her eyes’ because I swear to god it’s been killing me inside for years.)

Also, even in an AU with bending, I think Toph would like the advantage of tapping her cane to create a stronger, more distinct vibration than a small shifting of her weight on her feet. It would have more control.

You could give Toph a guide animal, buuuuuuut, um, Toph is not a guide dog person. Like, there are some people who definitely prefer a guide dog, and some people who definitely prefer a cane, and some who definitely prefer no mobility device at all. Toph does not have the vibes of someone who wants to be both responsible and reliant on an animal when she’s so insistent that she can take care of herself on her own. Toph likes animals, but not that much.

Although, yeah, only 10% of the blind community use mobility devices, so cane and guide dog users are the minority of the blind community, but I stand by the vibe that Toph would love the independence of a cane. Also, it’s almost never ever done. Modern AUs never seem to touch much on Toph’s O&M skills with canes or guide dogs.

I wrote a whole post on everything you need to know about canes, what orientation and mobility is, how you learn O&M, what kind of canes exist, how to use them, how to describe the sensory input a cane gives you, and everything I know about guide dogs from past research.

Honestly, you could give Toph (or any blind character) a cane in any AU, because I fully stand by the theory that canes are a piece of technology that has been invented, lost, and reinvented again and again.

I wrote “I found a piece of lost blindness history” a few months ago after a visit to see my grandparents. My grandmother told me how her blind aunt found a way to write letters by hand to send to my grandmother when she was a child. I speculated on how the long cane has probably been invented and then lost and then reinvented over and over again in history, as well as giving a little history on the growing popularity of guide dogs in the 20th century following World War 1.

About the “blank look in her eyes,” I have a theory to the exact cause and nature of Toph’s blindness.

I know it’s common to think that the milky green color of her eyes is why she’s blind, though I’m not sure how many realize that milky green color is caused by severe cataracts. At least, cataracts is what I assume to be the reason for the color of her eyes. However, people with cataracts still have some remaining sense of light and shadow perception.

Only 9% of the blind community is completely blind, seeing absolutely nothing. The rest have some remaining vision, even if that’s only light and shadow perception or the perception of vague movement.

The percentage of people born completely blind is even smaller.

Toph says that she’s never been able to see, which would lead me to guess that the initial cause of her blindness was a defect with the visual processing part of her brain. I also theorize that the cataracts developed slowly over her very formative years and that she likely wasn’t born with them. For that reason, I think it would have taken a few weeks or months for her parents to realize there was something wrong with her eyes.

Here is a post about the developmental years of blind children and how their life would differ from both sighted children and from someone who went blind as an adult.

What is it like to see nothing?

It’s a concept that sighted people struggle with and I completely understand. I myself didn’t understand the concept of “nothing” until someone explained it as this:

“Imagine trying to see out the back of your head.”

Which, genuinely, imagine that. Try that. Because here’s what I found. There’s no part of my body that can help perceive that. I don’t have eyes there, nor do I have a part of my brain that can process that. Because of this, there is no sense of light or dark, no shape or shadow or movement or depth that I can perceive. There is nothing.

And honestly, it gives me a headache trying to think too much about it.

Toph doesn’t see black, doesn’t have a mental image of it. When people talk about light and dark, Toph has nothing to base the concept on. The closest relation she has to that is silence versus sound, or her earth sense when she’s in the air on Appa versus when she’s on solid ground. But it’s not the same.

I would like to examine the way the show tried to describe Toph’s earth sense, that black void with ripples of white stretching from her feet and outwards. Television is a visual medium so of course their explanation of Toph’s earth sense would be visual, but that’s not what it’s actually like in her head. More accurately, it’s like touching the back of your head to something and feeling what’s solid behind it and what has more give. A wall versus a pillow for example. Slamming your hand on a flimsy table and feeling it rattle under your palm. And for someone so adept at using that sense, she feels not just the table surface under her palm, but the individual rattles down the four legs, how uneven those rattles are because the legs are carved decoratively instead of solid planks, and how the foot of each leg bumps against the ground, and how the floor vibrates in response to the impact, which she feels in both her feet and hand. 

About Toph’s Relationship with Her Parents

It’s not something I see touched on much. There’s been a lot of focus on Zuko and Azula’s relationship with their parents and the abuse, as well as exploration of Sokka and Katara’s trauma with losing their mother, and Sokka looking up to his warrior father while Katara struggles with her abandonment issues.

Please don’t take this as a critique, because there are a few valid reasons for this and I would like to give you some insight on how to explore Toph’s relationship with her parents.

For starters, the show had a lot more reason to focus on Zuko and Azula’s parents, with Fire Lord Ozai being the primary villain and Zuko’s greatest abuser, and Azula’s dependent worship of her father in response to Ursa’s neglect and favoritism of Zuko, which was likely Ursa’s response to Ozai’s favoritism of Azula. Their parents are huge driving motivators for why Zuko and Azula make the decisions and mistakes they do, why they are at one point in the show the villains themselves. (And why I think Azula should get a redemption arc and some healing.)

Katara’s trauma of losing her mother and blaming herself is a huge factor in both her response to the war, her relationship with her bending, and her motherly nature with her friends. The show has to explore that. Just as it has to explore Sokka’s problems with toxic masculinity in response to being the man of his village, and his desire to be a great warrior and leader like the father he idolizes. 

The show needs to explore that to make the plot move forward, and it benefits from these being two sibling sets with different responses to their upbringing and different sibling dynamics, setting them up as foils for each other.

The show also wouldn’t benefit by giving Lao and Poppy Beifong more screen time. Their established character were two nobles who kept as far out of the war as possible and prospered monetarily for it. Poppy was polite and demure and Lao liked to lead the conversation. Unless the gAang decided to return to Toph’s home, those characters had no reason to pop up anywhere in the show. And if they did, they would be a hinder to Toph and her part in the plot as both Aang’s earth bending teacher and as the greatest earth bender in the world, tossing Fire Nation soldiers eight ways to Sunday. 

So truly, I understand that there’s not a whole lot of canon material (comparatively) to go off of when developing this, but I will offer some insight on what is there in canon.

Toph’s relationship with her parents is explored in that it maps out why Toph doesn’t want to be mothered by Katara, why she wants to prove how independent she is, but there’s very little on screen interaction between Toph and her parents.

Toph deeply loves her parents. I think that plays into why she doesn’t want Katara mothering her, because she has a wonderful mother at home who she loves and wants to better understand her, but she had no friends growing up and no older sister, which are the roles she needs and wants Katara to fill. If Toph wanted a mother figure, she would have latched onto Katara. Look at how Zuko never sought out another mother figure but did find a father figure in Iroh as he began to heal from his childhood trauma and separate his self image from his father’s acceptance.

Toph is in a complicated situation, she loves her parents but the way they’re raising her is hurting her in the long run. But Toph can see that their actions are because of their immense love for her. She can see how they would do anything for her. While she never had any examples of how other noble children were treated by their parents, who might have been distant or disinterested or always away for their social and work lives, she was remarkably loved by her parents. Her father put careful thought into her tutors and checked in on her progress. Her mother feared for Toph’s emotional state when she was kidnapped (even if she was incorrect about how Toph would respond), showing genuine empathy for her daughter.

I think their over protective nature became the love language Toph best understood them by, and part of her reasoning for not revealing how capable she was, was because she wanted to keep experiencing that love and care for as long as she could. But it’s not a love language she would put up with from anyone else.

I would like to point out Toph’s genuine excitement to see her mom again in the season finale of Book Two, how badly Toph wants her mom to understand and accept her for who she is.

My thoughts on what Toph can’t do: read, swim, see in the sand, fight things mid-air.

For how incredibly powerful the show makes Toph with her earth bending and the O&M she taught herself through it, they do touch on some of her weaknesses when they come up and find a useful way to showcase them.

The Serpent’s Pass was an excellent example of Toph’s vulnerability in water. From her fear of not being able to see on Katara’s ice bridge to not being able to swim and needing Suki to save her, Toph’s weaknesses putting her in danger added to the excitement and “sitting on the edge of your seat” feeling while watching the episode without turning her into someone who was helpless. She was just in a position where her normal defenses were useless.

Just like the earth benders in the metal prison in the ocean, or Katara having little water in the middle of a desert where her friends needed that water to survive more than she needed it to fight, making her vulnerable later in the show when the insect-wasp things attacked. Just like fire benders being weaker at night, or powerless during a solar eclipse, or a sighted person being lost in the dark. Those were just situations in which the tools you were accustomed to relying on could no longer help you or were taken away.

The show was clever in that it didn’t make her inability to read a direct threat to her safety, but rather as a clever plot device for her to be alone when the sand banders attacked and have to choose between fighting them to save Appa, or holding back an entire fricking building by the tiniest spire on its very top from falling into a void leading to the spirit world. It also showed her weakness to not being able to see or fight as well in sand. Which the show later made an effort to show how she’d improved on that problem in Book Three when she was surrounded by nothing but sand at Ember Island.

Like improving her ability to see in the sand, I would like to see a character teach Toph to swim, or at least float, so that she never feels helpless again. If she took the initiative to improve her sand bending so much, I’m sure she would have learn to swim eventually.

And on the note of reading, I’ve seen some speculation on how Toph could learn to read, whether it’s through using ink that has some percentage of earth mixed in, or developing the sensitivity to feel out the different weight, consistency, and texture of ink on paper. 

I would like to bring your attention to Louis Braille, the blind Frenchman who invented Braille while studying at  the Institut National des Jeunes Aveugles, the world’s very first school for the blind in Paris France (established 1785). Previously Louis was learning to read through a method in which each letter was pressed into the paper to leave an imprint that someone could feel out with just their fingers.

Louis Braille concluded that raised lettering was impractical because-

1.       It is difficult to read, the letters had to be printed in huge font to be fully felt out and printed on thick paper.

2.       Thick paper means higher quality, more expensive. Larger font means more paper is needed for a single text.

3.       This made it inaccessible due to expense and the sheer volume of a text.

4.       If today’s Braille books are hard to access and giant compared to traditional books, I can’t imagine how inaccessible those raised letter books really were.

The subject of Braille, the start and controversial near downfall to  Institut National des Jeunes Aveugles were discussed in a post about writing a blind character during the Victorian Era.

I’ve heard others complain in the past about fantasy universes in which a sighted person invents a solution to allow the blind to read, when the most effective and longest lived method was invented by a blindman over two hundred years ago and is the standard taught in schools today.

And while I couldn’t easily explain it or how it works because I can neither read Braille nor speak Chinese, I can tell you that Chinese Braille exists and works only slightly differently from the Braille western languages use. So, again, modern AUs especially would benefit from enabling Toph to read Braille and use a computer and phone with screen reader.

But just as easily you could choose not to have her learn to read but rather have sighted people read things aloud to her. Whether it’s in a professional setting as an adult having an assistant who reads and writes for her, or as a cute, fluffy little moment between Toph and another character. Both are just as genuine to the blindness experience.

Blind Jokes

If you ever get around to reading my post about blind jokes, I’d like you to remember that it’s primarily written for people writing original characters and that Toph canonically makes blind jokes, so to take away from that would not be true to her character.

Does Toph’s Earth Sense Negate her Blindness?

It’s a question I’ve seen raised before and discussed by both abled, disabled, and blind people. There are multiple perspectives on it, but my own take on it is that Toph’s earth bending does not negate her blindness, but rather functions very much like the process of learning to use a cane.

She had a tool, a teacher, and she learned to use that tool. Instead of a cane, it was seismic perception and her teacher were blind badger-moles. She spent years learning to earth bend as they do and then continued to take it to new heights as she explored fighting with it on her terms against sighted fighters.

Come to think about it, I would love to see Toph teach another visually impaired or blind earth bender who to see and bend as she does.

Is Toph Good Blindness Representation?

This question was posed to me in the comments of my master post, and my answer was something like this: “Toph is good representation, but she can't be the only type of representation we get. She's the best we had 15 years ago, but there are a million ways to nuance the blindness experiences. Toph's experience being born blind, having very over protective parents, being a small girl in a patriarical and wealth influenced society, having no friends growing up. Those are all great aspects of blindness to show, but there is so much more to explore. As for her blindness and whether or not that's negated, that's also nuanced. She has limits, she's not all-powerful, but she is the best earth bender hands down. More or less, I love Toph, she's a great character, give me like a million more blind characters who are completely different from her.”

I want to see accurate and well-written blind characters become much more common in modern media, and that’s why I started this blog. So if you decide you want to write your own blind character from scratch, feel free to come back and look at some of my other stuff.

End Notes:

I want to thank the anon who sent the original question because it never occurred to me how much the atla fandom would benefit from a post like this. 

You should follow my blog. Along with advice about writing blind characters, I write general writing advice and answer questions about writing, college, plot development, character analysis, and living with blindness. I curate writing advice from fellow writeblrs, write my own image descriptions for writing memes, post about mental health and working/living with ADHD, disabilities outside of blindness, and LGBTQA+ topics. 

[everafterfics]

Unsaid Emily [Viktor x Reader]

I’ve been sitting on this one for a little bit now. It is inspired by the song Unsaid Emily from Julie and the Phantoms. I wanted to try something a bit different and write something thats got a bit of angst to it. The entire fic is written from Viktors point of view. It is a female reader, but there is no use of Y/N

Summary: Viktor reflects on his departure from Piltover after he transforms himself using the Hexcore

Warnings: a little bit angsty, not an overly happy ending, but its not an angsty ending

First things first

We start the scene in reverse

She was the light of my life. The shining sun that brightened my darkest days. And she was the only thing on my mind as the council room ignited. I had felt pain before, but it was nothing compared to that day. The searing flames that enveloped me left me wishing for death, but I had spent so long fighting my own demise that I couldn’t let it end like this. Not for myself, and certainly not for her.

I was rushed to the hospital along with the other members of the council. Somehow Jayce and councilor Medarda made it out unscathed, if only I was as lucky. I could hear voices, of Jayce and the doctors, and hers most of all. She pleaded for the doctors to help me, but I heard them doubt that I was even worth it. My body was already dying of disease. Those burns and broken bones only helped to speed up the process. They were unsure if I would even survive.

That was not the first time I had heard doctors predict my end. The hardest part perhaps was hearing her reaction to the news. Wailing sobs that echoed through my heart. Unfortunately I could do nothing. My mind swung between sleeping and waking but my body refused to move nonetheless.

She spent countless nights at my bedside after that. Her soft hands grasped my own scarred ones, never letting go. I could hear her crying for hours. The final catalyst to will my body to finally wake was hearing her words, desperate and sorrowful. 

“Please Viktor. You have to wake up. I’m not sure my heart could survive if you die. You were so close to curing yourself, it just isn’t fair!”

My eyes had finally opened to see her. I caressed her cheek with my hand, cold and metal from the Hexcore, but unscathed from the explosion. A thought passed through my head at that moment. She couldn’t bare to see me die, but I couldn’t bare to see her suffer at my tragedy. There was a solution, but one that would drastically change me forever…

No time for goodbyes

Didn't get to apologize

Pieces of a clock that lies broken

After weeks of me being in the hospital she finally left my side to sleep in her own bed, content that I was on a path to healing. This was a lie, I could feel my body getting weaker.

That night without her was dark and quiet. Somehow I was able to bring myself to my feet. My body could move just enough to walk, ehh limp, back to the lab. I had made a decision, a selfish one, but it was my only option. 

I practically collapsed when I entered through the doors, but relief had struck me to see that Jayce had yet to destroy the Hexcore. I crawled my way towards it. Once I had reached the desk I weakly extended my hand to the Hexcore. Either it would heal or destroy me, but a deadman has nothing to lose. The Hexcore whirred to life with my touch, the scarred runes etched into my skin glowed, and I could feel it changing me. Magic coursed through my veins allowing me to stand. Strength returned to my whole being. I took the Hexcore in both hands, invigorated by my newfound health. It was working! Until it began to happen…

My muscles changed, encouraging my skin to as well, to become metal. The more I tried the harder it became to remove my hands from that cursed invention! The more the changes progressed the more my body was wracked with pain.

Was it luck? Or perhaps it was misfortune that there was nobody near the lab to hear my cries? Nobody to help tear me away from the Hexcore. Yes, it must have been luck. For anybody that tried would have ended up like Sky. With a final flash of light I found myself on the floor. 

As I came to I noticed just how much I had changed. Like my leg and altered hand from my first uses of the Hexcore, it was as though my muscular structure and skin had merged. My body had become a sort of living metal, some sort of cyborg abomination. I quickly made my way to a mirror in the lab to see what changes had become of my face. Most of it seemed unchanged, aside from my sclera becoming black, my golden eyes now glowed in the dark room, and up to my cheeks retained the same purple metal as the remainder of my body.

It was an interesting development. And while I had felt stronger than I ever had in my entire life, I knew that here in Piltover I’d be seen as some sort of monster. And I feared that she might see me the same. So I took to Hexcore and ran.

I ran from Piltover to somewhere I presumed I would be alone, my old childhood home on Emberflit Alley… in Zaun. I was honestly surprised to see it still empty after all of these years. The structure was not the most sound, and cobwebs filled every nook and cranny. But I thought I could stay for some time. Until I decided if I wanted her to see me as I am now. Just some time…

If I could take us back, if I could just do that

And write in every empty space the words "I love you" in replace

Then maybe time would not erase me

How long had it been? A month, maybe two? Perhaps longer? Time was irrelevant when all that matters was progress. And I had made much progress since returning to Zaun. I adapted to my new metal body, creating augmentations to myself to improve my body and my mind. I augmented others as well, when they desired. Although only the truly desperate ever sought me out. Unfortunately my new position in Zaun earned me a strange nickname amongst the people, the Machine Herald. I didn’t mind the name so much as I thought it unnecessary to use such a thing. Not matter, all of this was simply a distraction.

While my goals to help the people of the Undercity had never changed, my reasoning had become warped. I simply longed for a way to distract myself from the thought of her. From my guilt of leaving. 

I have hated myself for not leaving a note, for not telling her what happened. For not even going back to let her know I’m alive. I cant bear to think about the grief she must have suffered on my behalf. Perhaps she worried herself sick looking for me before Jayce finally convinced her to let me go. A part of me selfishly hopes that she still believes I’m alive. 

As I tinker with a new project at my desk those thoughts echo in the back of my mind. How come the past never ceases to haunt me?

A light knocking echos through my small house. I stop my work and listen. Usually the knocking continues if someone truly wants my help. Instead I hear a voice that makes my blood run cold.

“Hello?”

For a moment I remain at my lab desk. The voice that resonated from the other side of my door leaves me paralyzed. Then it comes again. The wrapping of knuckles lightly on the front door followed by the familiar cadence that has plagued my mind since leaving Piltover.

“Hello? Is this where I can find the Machine Herald?”

I place my mask over my face and rise to my feet. My hands remain planted firmly on the desk, unsure if I can answer the door. How can I face you like this? As a man changed beyond recognition. As a man that was supposed to be dead. Surely if you find out who I am you will be furious. Perhaps it would be better to just ignore you. Again those knuckles found themselves knocking my the door, drawing me from my thoughts. 

“Hello? Is anybody-“ 

I whip the door open a lot harder than I mean to. Immediately, I regret my decision to face you. You were like a small rabbit cornered by a wolf. I had forgotten that my augmentations came with an enhancement to my height. My looming figure must have caught you off guard. I try to soften my stance, but it is rather difficult to soften a figure made of steel.

“Are you the Machine Herald?” Your voice squeaks with terror the likes of which I have never heard from you before.

I have to take a moment to compose myself before I answer. “Yes.”

You hold yourself steady but there is no denying the trembling of your legs. How my heart aches to know that I frighten you so.

“Please… I need your help.” You sound so desperate. It takes everything in my power to not show how worried I am for you. Perhaps I should let you know who I really am? But would that help? Or perhaps make whatever you are coming to the Machine Herald for worse? I gesture for you to come inside. You spared a small glance as you pass into my home, one of fear and distrust.

I lead you into my lab, keeping a careful distance from you. I pull up a chair for you and take a seat myself beside my desk. “Please, what’s wrong? Why have you come here?” I ask, perhaps with more concern in my voice then I meant to add. And for a moment I see something in your eyes. A glimmer of recognition behind them. Perhaps my voice, though modulated by my mask, was enough to tip you off to my identity. But as quickly as I saw it, it faded into a look of hopelessness.

You open and close your mouth, take a deep breath, and answer. “I’ve heard that you can remove a persons emotions. I’ve been plagued by mine for too many months now. I can’t bear it anymore. Please mister Machine Herald, can you take them from me?!” 

If you could only know I'd never let you go

And the words I most regret are the ones I never meant to leave

Unsaid Emily

I have to grasp my desk to stop myself from jumping to my feet and consoling you. “No. I can’t do that.” I can hear my voice waver, much to my own dismay.

“But I-“

“What you heard was merely a rumor. Nasty things… rumors” I avert my eyes so that I don’t see the disappointment that I’ve caused, though I can hear you start to sob. 

“What can I do? I can’t live without him! I tried, truly I did. But I just can’t!”

My heart can’t bear to hear you sobbing, especially knowing that I am the cause of such heartache. Damn the consequences! Even if you hate me for what I’ve done, that hate would be better than seeing you in such despair.

“I did try to get rid of them.” At the sound of my voice you look up. “Not too long ago I decided to do something that I’m not proud of. Using a dangerous invention of mine I was able to save my own life from fatal injuries and disease. I didn’t intend to leave my home, but looking upon my changed form I knew that I no longer had a place in Piltover.” I stop to breathe out a sigh at the memory. “Unfortunately, in the process of saving myself, I lost the woman I love. How could I have left her behind?” I spared a glance towards you. The wheels in your head were clearly turning. I continued on, pain evident in my voice. “What I’d done caused me so much guilt that I wanted to get rid of my emotions. I had begun research on how I might achieve that, but in the end it was my emotions that convinced me to stop. I’d already hurt you so much, it is only right that I live with my guilt. It is what I deserve.” Your eyes widen and a stuttered gasp leaves your lips.

“Viktor…” you whisper, the recognition settling in your sad eyes.

I remove my mask and set it to the side. “Yes, my love.” I say as I look at you through my own teary eyes.

“How?” I expected anger from you, but instead it was like I had broken your heart all over again. Your words came out in sobs. “How could you leave me behind? Why did you let me think you were dead? Why did you hide who you were when I came here?”

I reach a hand out to you but rescind it. I don’t have the right to touch you after what I’ve done. “I’m sorry. I was afraid and I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“Hurt me?” You say with surprise. But now comes the fury I’d expected from you before. “Look at me and tell me that what you did didn’t hurt me! You left me alone! You didn’t say where you went! You just disappeared from the hospital! Ive cried over you every night since you disappeared! Jayce and I assumed the worst. We looked for you for over a month.” It doesn’t seem like you can keep your rage flowing. The melancholy starts to seep into your voice. “I held out hope for so long that we’d find you alive. I think Jayce was at least hoping to find your body so we could put you to rest. To actually grieve you.” You stop and there is a deafening silence that I’m not sure I want to break. Finally you speak again, voice hoarse from shouting. “Why didn’t you come back for me? I would have left Piltover to be with you Viktor. You knew that I would’ve gone to the ends of the world for you.”

I let out a deep sigh. “I was ashamed of my new body. I feared that you might have seen me as a monster had I returned to your side.” 

“I would never have-“

“I know. But it took me too long to realize that. I suppose I was projecting the feelings i had of  myself onto you. It was my own way of punishing myself.” I looked to see some sort of reaction from you, but for the first time since entering my home I couldn’t tell what you were feeling. “As the days past I knew I should’ve gone back to you. But I also realized that if I did go back, you’d hate me as you do now. And as selfish as it was, I didn’t think I could bear you hating me”

“I don’t hate you, Viktor.” You look at me now with softer eyes. “I am upset, but I have every right to be. And you’re right. It was a selfish thought.”

“If I could go back and change the past I would never have left you.” I let a single tear roll from my eye.

“And I truly believe that Viktor.” You give me a quick smile before sighing. “But we can’t change the past.”

There is a moment of silence between us before I speak up once more. “What can we do? How can we fix us?”

“We could start over I suppose.” You shrug. Then you look at me with those doe eyes of yours, a soft smile gracing your lips. “Although, I never stopped loving you.”

With those words I felt a warmth in my heart that I haven’t felt since I left Piltover. I smiled at you, “And I never stopped loving you.”

You scoot a bit closer to me and place a hand over my own. I look down at you, again you’re on the verge of tears. “I missed you so much Viktor. I need some time to process all of this, but I want us to get back to where we were”

Placing my free hand onto your cheek I wipe away your fallen tears. “I want that too. Please take all the time you need.”

You smile at me before standing. “Id like you to visit me topside. Maybe dinner tomorrow? We can work on us.”

[lovelybarnes]

stood up- b. barnes

pairings: bucky barnes x reader, anderson x reader (?) warnings: angst, getting stood up, language, unrequited feelings about: prompts (DA29) “i got stood up.” + (DF30) “i think you’re my soulmate.” +(DF41) “are you going to cry? please don’t cry. a/n: i love to hurt but dw it’s a happy ending, i actually like this fjsk, a the time i finished this, i just posted another imagine, so i can’t wait for you guys to read this one in a couple days

every passing second makes you hyperaware of all the sympathetic stares that are currently directed at you. the feeling of pity is enveloping you whole, wrapping you in a thin layer of shame that you think must be related to the careful makeup you caked on your face for this date. your recently manicured nails scratch at the tablecloth, trying to avoid your new expensive dress, deep midnight color clinging to your nervous self. teeth stress your dark wine bottom lip, anxious eyes darting across the restaurant.

with each face that enters the place, none of them being his, the presumption that he isn’t coming solidifies. with it, comes the embarrassment. you can feel the warnings of tears, already threatening to ruin the mascara you had applied so carefully, not bothering to choose the waterproof one because why would you be crying on your date?

you suppose it’s your own fault- how dare you attempt to get over bucky? how dare you trust the words of a shield agent? you pick at your nails, gathering up the courage to stand up and leave. your waitress, however, beats you to it, a faux apologetic look on her face. “oh, so you’ve been here for, like, half an hour and it seems no one is coming, and we kind of need the table, so…”

you hold back an uncomfortable cringe, nodding stiffly as you stand. “right. i’m sorry. i don’t need to… pay for the water, right?” you ask dumbly, ducking your head when she shakes her head condescendingly.

pushing the door open, you step into the brisk air of the night, clouded over with an uneasy disappointment that you’re sure is because of you. you stand for a second to look at the stars, realizing how pretty of a night this would be if you weren’t so damn frustrated. the upset hasn’t passed yet, although the beginnings of anger are peeking up in your stomach.

while you stare up at the moon, the universe decides your getting stood up wasn’t enough, choosing to gift you with cold droplets of water that make your mascara run. it’s unbelievable, you nearly scoff tearily.

you walk to your car then, the moonlight that should have been romantic when you walked out of the restaurant now only making you feel lonely. you don’t let the tears come yet, having enough pride to not let the smitten couples appreciating the romance of the rain see you cry, deciding to put that off until you’re in the quietness of your room.

you drive in the sound of the pattering rain, concentrated on keeping your breathing even so as to push back the tears, not wanting to have an accident on the way back home because your vision was clouded over with sadness.

-

the relief you feel when you arrive at the compound is immeasurable; the knowledge that all you have to do is walk quietly to your room, and you can release the pent up emotions that eat you whole is unbelievably satisfying. the horrible itching feeling that comes with the tears arrives again when you notice your reflection in the impressively clean windows of the stark compound. through the stains of your ruined makeup, you can see the remnants of how dolled up you were, how much time was spent with the intricate details that made you smile when you looked at yourself in the mirror.

you swallow back the painful lump in your throat, opening the doors and sniffling at the dimly-lit room. your heels click tiredly on the floor, precious bracelet lightly jangling when you move. you can’t find it in yourself to care when you realize you’re dragging water inside, resigning to letting stark lecture you in the morning.

as you stand in the elevator, waiting for it to reach your floor, the emotions you’ve pushed so far down decide to spring back up in the form of an overwhelming dejected exhaustion that makes you physically slump. you lean against the cool of the metal railing, shutting your eyes hard to avoid looking at yourself. you only pry your eyes open when you hear the soft ding of the elevator, surprised and once again embarrassed to see bucky standing between the open doors.

“y/n?” he asks quietly. his demeanor immediately changes when he takes you in, body softer in the way it always is when you’re with him. his reaction makes you fall deeper, which reminds you exactly why you were going on your failed date. you straighten, clearing your throat, “um- i have to get to my room.”

your voice is thin, heightening his worries and stopping you with a gentle hand to your arm before you step off the elevator, “what’s wrong? what happened? are you okay?” he asks, and you nod blindly at all of his questions, realizing that the longer you stay with him- with his warm hand that you can’t help but lean into pressed against your cold arm- the more you really want to cry and scream because it’s not fair that he’s been given to you, yet you can’t have him, even if he has you.

“i’m fine,” you lie obviously, forcing your eyes again from his. “y/n, what happened? you’re clearly not fine,” bucky pushes, the hand on your arm beginning to rub stressed circles into your skin. you give up then, looking back at him. “i got stood up,” you say finally, words cracked. you shake your head, “and i just spent so much time on everything and-”

“that’s stupid. who would stand you up?” bucky interrupts, eyes genuinely confused while you scoff. “apparently anderson from security,” you respond bitterly, looking away. “he’s stupid, y/n. he has to be to not go to a date with you.”

you exhale frustratedly, “maybe not. maybe there’s something wrong with me and i’m the stupid one for even thinking someone would want to go out with me,” you countered. “hey, no, you are- you are amazing, y/n. amazing and stunning and intelligent and he missed his chance to be the luckiest guy in the world,” he insisted, gently pulling your attention back to him with a gentle hand on your cheek. you give him a watery laugh through the loud, unfair questions in your head: why don’t you love me like i love you, then?

you don’t realize the tears that run down the streaks of already ruined mascara until bucky points them out, wiping them away with his fingers, “no, no, don’t cry, please don’t cry,” he begs. you can’t help it, though, biting your lip to hold back your unrequited confessions of love.

“nobody wants me. i don’t even think i want me anymore,” you weep, oblivious to the breaking of bucky’s heart when he hears your words, pulling you flush against his chest. “don’t say that, doll. that’s not true-”

“it is. what other reasons can you think of that explain why i’m the only one that’s shown up to the rare dates i’ve been on? why have i had to go on those stupid dates just to forget how pathetic i am that i can’t get over you?”

you’re too deep in the ocean of your thoughts to realize what you’ve said, too little light available in the dark to let you realize the hints you have and will undoubtedly let out if you continue blubbering into bucky’s shoulder like the mess you are. your feelings are scattered, words so disorganized that any way you piece them together will be a mistake. “why else does the one person who i actually want to love me back not want me?”

bucky can make sense of the words you’re saying, the heavy weight they carry when he realizes exactly what they mean, and what you imply. he’s frozen, heart simultaneously fluttering at the mere thought of his feelings being returned and breaking at the cries you’re letting out because of him.

he’s refused to ever be the source of your pain, restricting his own poems of confessions because he didn’t want to hurt you, never wanting to be the reason you cried. he supposes now it was the wrong choice, one he needs to fix.

the bead of insecurity buried stubbornly in his mind shrieks, however, because he’s as clueless as you are and can’t possibly imagine someone like you- so kind and pure and good- loving him back. so he needs to make sure, needs to hear you say it in your voice.

“what?” you let out a watery scoff, full of embarrassment rather than annoyance at him, “don’t make me say it, bucky, please-”

“please say it- i- i need you to say it.”

a beat of silence passes before you sniffle, pulling away from the man you’ve called your best friend and wanted nothing but to be able to call him more. “i love you, bucky. in a way that makes me pretty sure you’re my soulmate because i don’t even believe in that but you make me feel like i should.”

bucky’s storm clouds lighten, doubts dissolving when he listens to what you said, tasting your words and examining each one just to remember it. he pulls your lips to his when they’ve barely processed. “you should,” he says when he pulls away for a second, only to make you lose your breath again when he aches for you immediately, kissing you again, “believe in soulmates.”

“why is that?” you ask breathlessly, letting him pull you back in because you both have been waiting- dreaming about this for so damn long, and he isn’t sure he’ll ever be able to keep away from you now that he has you. he presses a sloppy kiss to your lips, so perfectly imperfect when your teeth clash and you both laugh gently, noses nudging each other when he leans his forehead on yours, “because we’re meant to be, y/n. in that way that soulmates are.”

[ev-pierce-writes]

Doll

Pairing: Bucky Barnes (Winter Soldier) x F!Reader

Words: 7.7K

Rating: Very much 18+

Warnings: P in V, oral (fem receiving), light (consensual) choking, praise, James Buchanan Barnes is a sad boy and only you can make him happy, mutual therapy over past trauma, a couple light spanks, and some sexy sparring

Note: Reader had a run-in with Hydra that gave you invisibility powers. Bucky is tasked with training you. Totally not canon, I just kept the parts I liked. Got the idea from a tiktok but I can't find it anymore oops. I'm thinking of turning it into a series of all the places you can fuck Bucky Barnes at Avengers HQ. Enjoyyyyyy....

---

"Alright, so I'm thinking absolutely the first thing you need is a suit. Because we can't have you sneaking around in clothes that give you away."

Tony Stark and Peter Parker stand before you at Avengers HQ, furiously tossing ideas back and forth, trying to come up with ways to build you the best possible suit. Last night had been...interesting, to say the least.

"Who's that?" Stark had said when you appeared all of a sudden from your room. "Come on Agent Hill, don't tell me you're taking in lost kids nowadays."

Your mother had only laughed, slightly inebriated and feeling loose because of all the drinking that was going on in your penthouse apartment. She was hosting one of those parties where too many superpowers drank too much alcohol and got a little too rowdy. "That's my daughter."

Usually, you stay away from such events, go out with friends, and avoid the house until it's all over. For the past four years, you hadn't even been in the house to need to avoid it. But now you're 22 and a recent college graduate and something about the party was drawing you in so you had emerged from your hideaway to join in the fun.

"Alright, Maria, how'd you manage to keep that one a secret?" Romanov spoke up.

Until this point, you'd remained silent, in shock at the sudden attention a group of superheroes had focused onto you. But you couldn't help yourself from responding now. You'd managed to hide away long enough. It was time to come into the open.

"I'm a ghost," you said jokingly, approaching the couch and stealing the drink your mother had been drinking to take a sip. It was strong and burned on the way down. The group laughed at your words, unaware of how true they really were.

It was then that you'd performed your little trick, the one that only a few of your closest friends had ever seen. You became invisible.

The laughter had immediately stopped. The girl who suddenly appeared out of thin air had disappeared right back into it. They could still tell where you were of course. The glass in your hand remained visible, floating in mid-air, giving away your position. And your clothes were still perceptible, not being able to change with you. But your features were otherwise undetectable, not even a shimmer revealing your face. You took another sip of the drink, liquid disappearing into an invisible mouth.

"I want her. On the team," Stark had said.

And that was it. The start of your superhero career.

"Explain again exactly how this works?" Parker asks.

You sigh and start from the beginning, again. "I can distort the absorption wavelengths of my cells so that the reflected light is in the invisible range, usually infrared."

"And how long can you hold it for?"

"About seven minutes now," you explain. "It's sort of like holding your breath. You can go underwater for a while, and you can practice holding your breath longer and longer, but eventually, you need to come up for air. Eventually, I have to 'recharge.' But I've been working on extending it."

Stark turns to one of the many holograms of his supercomputer, working with Friday to design a brand new suit to accommodate your skills. You're so engrossed in watching his process you don't even notice the shadowy figure appear in the doorway that leads to the training facilities.

"How'd you get these powers? Agent Hill isn't lacking in skill but it certainly isn't supernatural."

You knew Stark's question would come up eventually. It always did. Over time, it became easier to tell the story, but now you really don't feel like explaining fully, so you tell the short version.

"Hydra. When I was seventeen. They used me as a bargaining chip against my mom in a mission gone wrong and decided to experiment on me in the process. Left me with a lot of scars and a lot of therapy. Almost dropped out of school."

You don't remember much from the experience. But enough for it to leave lasting damage.

"Hydra?" a familiar voice asks behind you. Only now do you notice that Barnes is behind you. How long has he been watching?

You remain silent, just like you did the night before when he'd arrived late to the party, unable to speak under his gaze.

You had planned to leave not long after you joined the festivities. But when the elevator doors opened, a pair of blue eyes halted you in your path. James Buchanan Barnes, the Winter Soldier. You'd recognize those eyes anywhere. Crystal clear and icy, freezing you under their gaze. He wore a leather jacket and leather gloves, concealing his metal arm, but you knew it was there, hiding behind the layers.

Barnes had always been the one that caught your eye during your mother's briefings. His transition from the greatest warrior Hydra had to offer, and thus S.H.I.E.L.D.'s greatest enemy, to the trusted companion of Captain America and official Avengers member intrigued you. At first, he had been more of a schoolgirl crush, the little girl grappling with her new powers seeking guidance in someone who didn't even know she existed. But age had not reduced your admiration of him. Barnes' face was hard set in serious determination and his glance barely grazed over you before turning to the rest of the group. He paid you not a single ounce of attention, yet you felt dumbstruck in his presence.

But Bucky had noticed you that night. Noticed you in a way he wanted desperately to hide, so he disallowed his eyes from lingering on you. Who were you and why were you wearing pajamas at a party and how did you make them actually look good?

And not only did he notice you, but he recognized you. He wasn't sure how, but something at the back of his head buried beneath decades of blurred half-memories told him he knew you. It was a stupid thought, though. How could he know you?

From the doorway, his eyes narrow in concern, making you feel smaller than ever beneath him. How is that 5 o'clock shadow so enticing? You just want to run your fingers across--

Stark gestures at Barnes, completely ignoring his comment. "Good, you're here. Our young Agent Hill needs to get started with her training immediately. I want her in the field but she can't be going in inexperienced. Teach her the works."

It's rather bold of Stark to assume you have no combat skills. And to assume you even want to go into the field. But you follow behind Barnes in silence anyway toward the training facilities. It doesn't matter what you know and don't know. He's going to kick your ass anyway.

"Feet wider," he says, coaching you on your swing. His blue eyes have somehow darkened, and along with the faint beard, he looks positively dangerous. "Not too wide."

"I know how to punch, Barnes," you whisper under your breath. He's not meant to hear your words, but he does anyway.

"Oh yeah? Punch me then. Go for it." His voice is challenging in the way that reveals he knows he could block any swing that comes at him. But he wants to see what will happen. Your mention of Hydra loosened a memory in his brain somewhere, and though he can't quite place his finger on it, the memory told him you're anything but the kid he's treating you like. He wants to know what you really have inside you.

Your annoyance gets the best of you. You aim for his face, the way your mother taught you. And she taught you well, teaching you all the self-defense skills you might need moving through the world as a woman. But she did not teach you how to fight super soldiers. That's an entirely different world.

Unsurprisingly, Barnes predicts your move and his metal arm comes up to meet your human one, halting your punch mid-swing. His palm fully engulfs your fist, your knuckles slamming into the metal with a ringing sound.

"Fuck, that hurt," you seethe through your teeth, gripping your hand in pain. And yet, you still smile. You mean for your words to sound irritated, but they betray how much you enjoy getting a swing in. "Didn't have to do me like that, Barnes."

He ignores your pain, though secretly it pleases him to find how much force is truly behind your punch. Nothing, of course, his metal arm can't take, but strong enough. "Language, kid. Go again. And this time, try not to be so obvious."

Despite his advice, it's impossible. He predicts every one of your strikes and counters them with four times as much strength as you possess. You give him everything you have, and nothing lands.

"This would be a lot easier if you let me use my powers."

So far, Barnes has refused to let you fight invisible, not that it would have done you much good without a proper suit. But you're tired and sweaty, your hair falling from its ponytail and sticking to your face, your muscles aching and your heart beating fast. Barnes hasn't even broken a sweat.

"Unless you learn to fight without your powers, they'll do nothing more than level the playing field. You need to be at an advantage if you're going to survive."

Survive. You've done plenty of that already. You want better than survival. Barnes recognizes the look on your face, the one that expresses the desire plainly. He knows the feeling, drifting from one day to the next and wanting more than that.

His voice softens a bit. "We can call it quits for the day. Get some rest. We'll go again tomorrow."

He didn't intend to be so kind. It just sort of happened, drawn out of him by the not-so-innocent girl who still has a lot to learn but can hold her own better than most.

---

Tomorrow. Tomorrow's8 like the day before, 9 am at HQ, wait for Parker to get his ass up the elevator so Stark can begin, get sidetracked by coffee, and then finally return to the task at hand.

"Give this a shot," Stark says, handing you what looks like nothing more than a vaguely human-shaped paper suit. "Not exactly protective, but it's a new technology. Should conform to your abilities."

"You did this overnight?"

"Of course. Get changed."

The suit has little support and definitely no protection. You feel like a fingernail could rip a hole through it if you pull on it wrong, let alone a knife coming at you from an angry enemy. But it's a start. An impressive start. You stare at yourself in the mirror of the bathroom as you shift, the suit shifting along with you.

Back in the training facilities, where you know Stark and Parker will be waiting, you remain in your shifted form. They don't look up as you enter, somehow having not heard you, and instead are engaged in a heated discussion with Barnes about something you don't understand. So you creep up behind Parker, lean in, and whisper into his ear.

"I think it works."

You feel a little bad, but only for a moment. Parker jumps straight out of his skin, screaming a scream you didn't know was possible from the kid. Stark lets out a laugh as you rematerialize, and Barnes even cracks a smile at your prank.

"Yeah, yeah, I'd say so." Parker's voice quivers.

"Well, what do you think?" Stark asks.

"Very thin," you say, aware that much more is visible than you really want. "I feel like it's going to rip at any moment. And there's not a whole lot of support in this area."

You gesture vaguely at your chest, not knowing how best to explain to a group of men that a sports bra is a necessity for fighting, but knowing you have to make them aware all the same. You can feel Barnes' eyes on you, a little less polite than the others, and you find you like the way he eyes you up, a bit like a puzzle to be solved or a strategy to be devised.

"Right, right, I'll get on that. Only a prototype anyway," Stark responds nervously. "Back to work, Parker. Hill, Barnes, back to training."

Bucky tries his best not to picture what you might look like without that suit, but it leaves little to the imagination as you saunter away to change again.

And so the days move forward. You've never before been so busy or exhausted in your life. You just graduated college, which is a feat in itself, but all the training, all the work, keeps you on your toes so that by the end of the day, both your brain and your body are tired.

Still, you improve and get better at sparring Barnes, even taking him down a couple of times on your own, though you suspect he's going easy on you.

"Again." Barnes is already on his feet and helping you to yours. Today the sparring room is particularly warm, and you've long forgone your sweats for shorts and a sports bra. Barnes has lost the shirt as well, and his chest glistens with sweat beneath the fluorescent lights. Maybe it's the heat or maybe it's him, but the whole thing feels a bit dreamlike. Here you are, sparring with a man who could take you to the ground with one arm alone, and he's letting you kick his ass every once in a while.

But there's no way you can do it again. You feel destroyed by all the slamming onto the mat.

Barnes is doing his best not to be distracted as well, but those tight shorts and the top that reveals your midriff have to be on purpose. It's easy to admit to himself that he likes you, might even be attracted to you. You fight hard and relentlessly, rising to every one of his challenges and not backing down even when you're tired. You've already come a long way since that first encounter, and Barnes has come to look forward to the two hours a day you spend together in the gym. He had tried to tell himself it was the fun of having a new sparring partner, but in truth, he knows it's the determined glint in your eyes, the way you bounce on your feet in excited anticipation of the fight, the way you collapse on the mat after a hard session, chest heaving deep breaths in and out. But what he likes most is your heated gaze when he pins you to the ground, or even better, you pin him.

"Knock me down one more time and you can be done," he challenges. The familiar determination returns, though a flicker of doubt remains behind your eyes. He can tell you need encouragement. "Remember to use your size to your advantage. Don't let me get ahead of you. Keep me guessing."

You do your best. You really do. You hold your own for almost two minutes, but it's obvious you're only barely staying ahead of him. As soon as you falter, Barnes has you flat on your back on the mat without much resistance, immobilized by a knee on your thighs and his metal arm trapping your hands over your head. His free hand plants by your head and holds him up to prevent him from actually hurting you.

You gasp underneath him, trying to disguise the weird flicker of desire with breathlessness. He looks good from down here, all sweaty and dark and serious. But you're also a bit too tired to care. "I'm out, Barnes. Let me go."

Let me go. Please.

And that's when the memory returns. The full, real memory, the one that has been tickling the edges of his brain since he first saw you. You, a kid, his mission. Kidnap, don't kill. A small voice, your voice, begging. Please, let me go. What has he done?

"Fuck," he curses under his breath, standing up quickly.

"Language, Barnes," you say teasingly. But he doesn't laugh, simply exits the sparring room, abruptly leaving you, speechless and alone on the floor. What just happened?

After a moment of confused silence on the mat, you brush it off and stand, heading to your room for a shower. Stark offered you a place to stay at HQ, and you happily agreed. Though you loved being back with your mother after four years away at college, you cherish your independence. A room at HQ offered you just that.

A nice shower would certainly make you feel better after that confusing interaction. You pull on your robe and shower shoes, leaving your clothes behind so as to carry one less thing. But as you pass down the hall toward the showers, you can hear Barnes' voice drift through the slightly open door to his room.

"I remembered," he says. "It was her. I'm the reason she's--" He cuts off, appearing to be interrupted by whoever he's talking to on the phone. You pause by the open door.

"I know that's not me anymore but I'm still responsible," he continues. "I have to tell her."

Again a pause. By now it's apparent he's talking about you.

"No, Steve, we aren't a team. We aren't partners. I'm helping Tony out. I don't care if she doesn't want to work with me anymore, this is part of my redemption. I have to tell her."

The conversation seems over. You rush to the showers, not wanting Barnes to realize you were listening the whole time. Apologize, he said. Apologize for what? You've known him for a whole of four days and he's been nothing but polite to you. Cold, at first, but he warms upon acquaintance. And then he's downright sweet.

So sweet, you realize, for someone so damaged. He has every right to hate the world, and though he walks through it with a healthy dose of cynicism, he never lets that cynicism touch you. If anything, he's outright positive around you, an undeserving brat. A kid, really, though you don't like when he calls you that. You know you can be naive, positive on the verge of artificiality, and yet he never tries to burst your bubble. In fact, he seems to relish it.

The shower feels nice, but it does nothing to assuage your fears. Maybe it's you who has done something wrong? Now you're spiraling. You have to find out what's going on or it's going to drive you crazy.

You know what you have to do. You have just about seven minutes of invisibility before your shifting gives out. In those seven minutes, you can duck from the showers, sneak into Barnes' room, snoop around, and make it back to the showers unseen. Plenty of time. But you have to go nude. Now would be a great time for the suit, but no such luck. Naked it is.

Out in the hallway, all is quiet. Barnes' door is still ajar, but when you peek your head in, the room is empty.

Easy.

Where to start? His phone is a dead end, being one of those ancient flipping kinds rather than a new, high-tech smartphone. He has few personal belongings, the bed is made perfectly, and his closet contains only clothes.

The drawers of the nightstand are empty. Or nearly empty. At the back of the top drawer is unceremoniously shoved a small booklet with a pen stuck between the pages. It's worn and supple, as though held a thousand times and read a thousand more. You flip through, finding a list of names, some crossed out, others not. Your name does not appear, but something about the list tells you these are not ordinary names. These are the names of his victims, people Barnes hurt as the Winter Soldier. Your heart aches and your stomach clenches, the reminder of his past jarring against the kind demeanor you've come to know. But deep down, you know this isn't him, know he's a good man, despite it all.

You know better than most the first-hand horrors of Hydra's super-soldier experiments. Of anyone, you can relate best to the experience Barnes has been through. Your memories of that long week are blurry, but the pain remains, forever seared into your mind. You can only imagine a lifetime of that pain.

The sound of the door opening jolts you from your reverie and you close the drawer quickly. But you soon realize your mistake. Barnes would know he left the door open, would know exactly how he placed his book in the drawer, would recognize something was off. Unfortunately, you're right.

"Hello?" he calls into the darkening room. The evening is coming on fast and the sun dims to barely glimmer, casting the space in shadow despite the large windows on the south wall.

Bucky knows something is off the moment he finds your room unoccupied, having gone there with the express purpose of confronting you about his actions earlier in the afternoon. And though he has no way of truly knowing, he suspects you are now here, in this room with him, invisible to his gaze. Bucky shuts the door behind him and waits.

You're trapped. You don't have long before your powers give out; already the suffocating feeling that begs you to take a breath is coming on. And Barnes has closed the door, effectively sealing you in, as you can't open it without him knowing for sure that you're here. On top of that, you're clothingless. You've run out of options and Barnes seems to sense this. So, he waits, drawing out the moment of tension, building the suspense.

"I know you're here," he says finally, his voice soft and barely audible. "You can't hide that well. Next time, dry your feet off before you go leaving wet footprints all over the place."

Oops.

"I--" you begin, and immediately Barnes' eyes snap to where your voice originates from. "I'm sorry. I overheard your conversation with Rogers. I shouldn't have but I know it was about me."

Barnes sighs, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Yeah, you're right. I have some things to explain. Though I'd much prefer talking to you if I could see you."

You hesitate. "Only a slight problem there. I'm not wearing any clothes."

If it had been any lighter in the room you would have seen Barnes blush. Instead, you watch him pull his shirt over his head. He hands it to you blindly, the shirt off his own back, soft with wear and long enough to cover the tops of your thighs. It smells of him, salty with sweat and sweet with the scent you've come to recognize only as him. You shrug it on and shift back.

"I'm sorry," you say again, having trouble concentrating with Barnes' bare chest at your eye level. Is that an old bullet wound on his shoulder? The reminder of a knife across his stomach? You can't look away, even at the seam where man meets metal.

Barnes shakes his head. "No, I should be the one apologizing."

He pauses for a moment and tries to begin several times before finally forming a complete sentence.

"It's my fault you're like this, that Hydra tested on you. It was me who kidnapped you, it was me who followed orders, it was me who completed the mission and got you hurt. And I'm so sorry."

You're so frozen in shock that the absurdity of the situation doesn't even register. There's nothing under this shirt, no underwear, no pants, no bra. And here you are standing in the bedroom of your greatest inspiration, listening to him apologize for being the one that facilitated your kidnapping, for being responsible for all the injury, the pain, the nightmares, the isolation, the...

It all comes flooding back, the things you had forgotten, or simply chose to not remember, and one of those things is his face.

You thought you'd dealt with impact. So many hours with a therapist, and you realize all you did was suppress the feelings, not confront them. And then you break, all the anger and sadness and frustration flowing from you at once.

"You piece of shit." Your voice begins as a whisper but soon amplifies nearly to a shout. "You monster, you bastard, how could you? How could you?"

All this time you forgave him for the damage he'd done, excused it as brainwashing and manipulation from Hydra. But now that it's you he's involved, you have somewhere to direct your anger, and you take it out as a shove straight to his chest.

He didn't expect that one. The words he understood. He accepted those, accepted that you would hate him forever. But then you're pushing and hitting him with all your force. Barnes could fight back, could hold his ground. But you need this, so he lets you shove him into the wall with a newfound strength. Finally against the wall, with nowhere left to go, you turn to pummelling his chest with your fists, repeating the words over and over, how could you, how could you, how could you.

For a moment, he lets it happen. But eventually, Barnes reacts, grabbing your wrists and holding them to his chest in an attempt to calm the fury that rages inside you. Surprisingly, at his touch, you still, slumping against him once the anger is replaced with nothing but sadness. That anger, one you never truly realized you'd harbored since your capture, bled from you all at once, leaving you exhausted.

You don't notice you're crying until a soft thumb wipes a tear from your cheek. Barnes releases your hands and wraps his arms around your sobbing body, pulling you close. "I'm so sorry," he repeats in your ear, his words a whisper against the rage inside your head.

Is it hours, or only minutes, standing like that, wrapped up in him, his skin so soft against your cheek? Time has ceased to exist, melting into the nighttime that encompasses the room in near pitch-black darkness. Your breath calms, your heart rate slows, the tears dry. He's only a man, a broken, misplaced, lost man. But he's also impossibly kind to you, caring enough to train you day after day, to pick you up when you fall down, to ensure you're happy here at all times. That's the man you know and rest your cheek against and seek out for comfort in this moment, despite him being the reason for your anger. But he's not truly the reason for your anger, only an easy outlet standing right before you.

This is not how Bucky had expected this to go. Perhaps to never see you again, yes. But to hold you in his arms, certainly not. And not just hold you, but comfort you. It surprises him how much he finds he likes it. And he can't ignore the fact that you're here in his room, wearing his shirt and only his shirt. He doesn't try anything improprietous, just wraps his arms around your waist, but it's not lost on him that your supple chest is pressed against him and the delicious scent from your still wet hair is filling his brain with a flowery cloud. His stomach clenches at the thought of burying his face in that smell for the rest of the night but he pushes it aside. That's not why you're here. That's not what you want.

But your next words surprise him. You pull slightly away, tilting your splotchy face upward towards his to look him in the eye. You take a ragged breath and speak.

"I forgive you."

Bucky is taken aback. That's not why he made this confession, not to seek your forgiveness. "You don't have to do that."

"I know. But I do. And I know you think I'm just a kid--"

Barnes lets out a short laugh, cutting you off immediately. "Jesus Christ, that's not true. You're not a kid. You're smart and strong and capable. And you've seen the ugly world for its true self and choose to remain good and happy all the same. I'm not like that and that makes you wiser than I'll ever be."

He takes a deep breath, unsure if he should admit to the feelings he desperately wants to express to you. The way you're looking at him, with a mixture of hesitation and admiration, makes the words tumble from his mouth without a second thought.

"But somehow being around you makes me want to be good again. Not for my sake, but for yours."

"James, I--" You've never used his first name before, but it falls deliciously from your lips, the sound of it nearly distracting him from the finger you run across the stubble on the cleft of his chin. Nearly. He captures that hand in his own, holding it there against his face.

"You don't have to forgive me. I don't deserve it," he repeats, eyes falling shut to the feeling of your thumb pressed to the corner of his lips. He still holds you close, the other arm wrapping tight around you, and though verbally he rejected the comfort your warmth offered, his body says otherwise, desperate for the acceptance his brain refuses to give into.

"Stop punishing yourself," you whisper. For a moment, he almost feels that he could.

And when your lips find his, soft and delicate, he forgets why you're even here in the first place, forgets his guilt and your anger, forgets even to react.

His lack of response has you pulling away, worried you've done something wrong, but then he's chasing your lips with his own, leaning forward to meet you halfway, gathering you impossibly tighter to his chest. He pauses, mouth mere centimeters from yours, eyes still shut, a deep breath heaving from his chest. He wants more, wants to kiss you again in all the places that count, but he can't quite yet.

"What was that for?" The question's not an accusatory one but simply curious. Have you always looked at him in this light since day one? Has he just not noticed?

"Are you blind, Barnes?"

He laughs and shakes his head. "None of that last name shit, doll, we've moved on to a first-name basis."

But your words are enough to surge him forward, this time capturing your lips in a dominating kiss that leaves you gasping for air. He takes advantage of your open mouth and presses his tongue to yours, seeking to fill his soul with your all-consuming warmth, to wrap it around him like a cocoon of your scent. His fingers slide down your back and slip under the shirt you wear, his shirt, grasping at the bare skin of your ass, filling his hands with your supple flesh.

You moan softly under his touch, relishing in the feeling of being encompassed by someone so large and so strong. The vibranium arm, which you expected to be harshly indelicate against your relative fragility, caresses you with the same gentility of the other. The intense contact sends your heart racing like it did all the times you were pinned below him on the sparring mat. Will he pin you like that in bed? Hold you down while he fucks you within an inch of your life?

The thought rouses a heat between your legs and stirs butterflies in your tummy. You don't even know if that's where this is going, but it invades your brain anyways. You're sure Barnes can feel your racing pulse beneath his lips when he kisses your neck, sending your nerves haywire as he creeps toward the neckline of your shirt. He inhales your scent, the hot air of his breath fanning your cool skin.

Everything about this is sloppy, the wet kisses dragged across your skin, his tongue tangled with yours, your fingers tugging at the hair that brushes the nape of his neck. Even his hips against yours are messy and rough, the heat of him leaving your core feeling slick, the wetness of it rubbing between your naked thighs. And then Barnes is sliding his hands back up your body, this time under your shirt, and tugging it over your head, his lips leaving your skin just long enough to toss the item to the ground.

You expect him to keep surging forward, to lift you in his arms and take you to bed like you want him to. But he pauses instead, hands cradling the back of your head, his eyes staring intensely into yours. Or you think he's staring into your eyes.

"Are you okay? Is this okay?" His voice is full of concern but raspy with arousal all the same.

"Yes, James, yes, I need more."

"Well, I would, it's just that you've disappeared on me again." One look at your hands and you know he was looking right through you, not at you. The swirl of emotions--pleasure, arousal, timidity even--sent you shifting without your knowledge. You can't help but laugh.

"Let me see you, doll," he groans, sounding exasperated that he can't rake his gaze across your naked flesh or find all the places he wants to touch you because they're invisible.

"You first."

A heated understanding lights up his eyes, still vibrant in the darkness of the room. Slowly, he releases his grip on you, relenting to not knowing where you are in space. You take an invisible step back to get a better view of the specimen before you. With one hand, he unbuckles his belt, sliding the leather from his pants and dropping it to the floor with a thunk. And then his pants are gone and he's left in his boxers, tight against the bulging muscles of his thighs.

And other bulging things. He doesn't hide his attraction to you. But still, you do not reappear.

Bucky begins to worry you're never going to, that maybe he's taken things too for. But then, a soft finger trails across his neck and he jerks in surprise. You're tracing the plain of his chest with a feather-light touch, dipping into the indent between his collarbones, feeling along the puckered scar of a bullet wound and the long slice of a knife. He feels healed beneath your touch, but it's not enough to satisfy the insatiable hunger building in the tightness of his groin. This entire evening has been a long, drawn-out, build-up of tension, and if he doesn't release it soon, it will snap like an overstretched rubber band.

He makes his move.

Apparently, Bucky's senses are just as perceptive here as they are on the sparring mat. His metal hand shoots up and wraps around the wrist of the hand on his chest, despite being unable to see it. The other reaches out and grapples at your invisible body in the dark, somehow finding your waist. He doesn't need to see you to manage to flip you around and press your back against his chest. In your surprise, your invisibility falters, and you flicker out of your shifted form with a flustered squeak, one hand suddenly pinned between your back and Bucky's rock-hard chest.

He holds on with an iron grip and walks you toward the bed, holding you up to prevent you from tripping in your ruffled state.

"You're taking too long, doll," he mumbles into your ear, and you feel his chest rumble with the vibrations. Your free hand flies to the one around your waist, which is slowly creeping upward toward your breast to twist at the sensitive nipple. "I know you like it when I pin you on the sparring floor. I can see it in your eyes. I'll take you like that right now if you give me the word."

Fuck, you want nothing more but you can't breathe enough to get the words out, opting for nodding vigorously instead. But Bucky wants words, gently prodding you forward to get a verbal commitment out of you. He will never take you against your will again. So you manage a long, drawn-out please and suddenly you're face-first in the sheets, bent halfway at the waist, your ass grinding against the delicious bulge pressed against your aching cunt. It pleases you that he has been thinking the same wicked thoughts as you when he slams you to the mat over and over again in training.

Bucky pulls your arm out from underneath you, joining it with the other and holding them together with his metal fist at your lower back, forcing your chest further into the mattress and your ass higher in the air. There's no way for you to move, no matter how hard you try. But you don't try, won't try. Bucky has you right where you want to be.

"Tell me if it's too much," he murmurs in your ear and you breathe an affirmation. His teeth nibble suddenly at your ear lobe and you squirm, the sensation of his breath fanning your skin sending goosebumps along the trail of kisses he leaves down your spine. Somehow, you know this is only the calm before the storm, the gentle caresses of a man who's about to rearrange every organ in your body, all the way up to your heart if you aren't careful.

It doesn't matter to you that it's pitch black in the room; you wouldn't have been able to see anything with your face shoved into the comforter, even if the lights were on. But Bucky's starting to regret having left the lights off, wishing he could better see the curve of your hips, the swell of your thighs, or the bloom of his handprint on your ass when his hand comes down with a smack. He resigns to being satisfied by the mewling gasp that escapes your lips and your soft pleas to Do it again, harder.

So he does. Smack.

And then he's sinking to his knees and you can tell because he leaves a wet stripe of skin with his tongue over the globe of your ass and blows a shock of cool air across the rawness of your skin.  He replaces the sting of his hand with the bite of his teeth and then a kiss to soothe you again. The rollercoaster of sensations has you moaning against the mattress and rocking your hips toward his face and Barnes chuckles at your movement, your actions giving away the desperation you feel to have his tongue move to more sensitive places.

He is happy to oblige. You hadn't even noticed you'd been squeezing your thighs together until he slid a hand up between them, forcing them apart. It's a blessing your legs aren't doing any work to keep you up anymore because they feel like jelly under his touch. The hand between your thighs moves higher still until you feel his thumb pressed to your sensitive clit, warm and twitching with anticipation, desire coursing through your veins and dripping from your wet cunt. Your ears barely register that he's speaking, the blood is pumping so hard in your ears, but his words are exalting.

"Look at you, so wet for me." The hand around your wrists tightens just slightly. You are surprised by the extreme control he has over the cool metal fingers, and you almost wish he'd use those on you instead. And then he says, "you like it, don't you, doll, being at my mercy," and you forget all about the arm and decide it doesn't matter what hand presses down with a gentle strength on your clit as long as he doesn't stop. And he doesn't. Doesn't move, doesn't flinch or twitch or falter, just holds steady until your gasping mewls die down just enough for you to say, "yes, all for you, all for you, all..."

With those words, his thumb slips, between your slick folds into your pussy, finding the soft spongy flesh and pressing down again and you cry out with a careening moan that tapers off into a silent sob. He's taking his time, picking you apart, pulling at the laces that bind you together, and undoing them to release the tension he knows you harbor. But what about him? Is it not torture for him?

You breathe in a rough gasp, enough to squeak out a few more words. "I thought we were going too slow for you."

He laughs, he actually laughs, at your words, but relents.

"I hear you, doll."

I hear you. Oh wow. His tongue replaces his finger and you lose all coherence, able only to blubber some iteration of his name as the smooth muscle traces circles around your clit, finally allowing your orgasm to build with a steady contraction in your pelvis. Barnes moans between your legs like he's never tasted chocolate or buttercream or any of those other wondrous flavors and there's only you. And that moan sends you overboard, the vibrations diffusing down your legs and you tremble into your first orgasm. Your first orgasm.

He keeps going, riding out the waves of your high until you're crying that it's too much, James, too much and he pulls his tongue away from your oversensitized clit only to move down your legs. He's working you up again, teasing the smooth skin of your inner thigh with gentle nips and kisses until your body is craving release again, your cunt clenching around nothing but the memory of his mouth. He is deliberate in his ministrations, methodical in the way he must be with his missions. The flood of your first orgasm has dripped steadily down your thigh and he cleans you with his tongue, dragging upward along the sticky trail of your musky release until his tongue makes contact again and he pulls an orgasm from your desperate body once more.

He still hasn't released your arms.

"You know how long I've wanted to do this?" he groans, as you shudder again into the pleasure of his touch. He kisses back up the length of your spine while you twitch under him, his free hand dragging shock wave after shock wave from your cunt. It strikes you that this man is truly 106, not 26 like his body suggests, and you absentmindedly wonder if that's why he's so good at it, that he's had years to practice. And then his cock is pressing against your folds and you forget the notion halfway through thinking it. "You're so good to me doll, so good for opening up for me. Wanna feel your tight pussy around me."

You push backward, or do your best to without the employment of your arms, wanting desperately to feel him inside you. He is warm and all-encompassing and part of you thinks his cock spilling his seed inside of you would complete you like nothing else. But you know that's a bad idea and you can hear him already unwrapping a condom (where did he get that from?) and your body trembles with the anticipation. You haven't even seen him yet but you know he must be big, the way he grunts when the tip of his erection teases your entrance.

When he enters you it isn't gentle like the stroke of his tongue. It splits you open with a rough thrust, the laces of your heart fully undone and releasing you from their confinement. You choke on your own air.

And then he's releasing your arms, and before you can react, Barnes has you lifted, your back to his chest, your knees shoved roughly into the mattress so he can stand and fuck you from behind. The metal arm finds your neck and forces your head back, his lips dragging hot against your soft skin and muttering filthy praise into your ear, his hand gently on your throat to hold you there. Your hands fly to his, not to pull him away, but to convince him to squeeze, just a little bit harder. The pressure is grounding, and then the hand around your waist is trailing toward the bud of your clit and rubbing in urgent circles and you let out a silent gasp as he thrusts into you at a pace astounding for the position you're in.

You come hard, over his hand, around his cock, and for the first time Barnes falters, stunned by the intensity with which you clamp around him and if he hadn't made you come two times already he might have held out a bit longer to pull another one of those stunning orgasms from your slick cunt. But you're sagging, using him to hold you up against the exhaustion of repeated abuse so he releases, riding the wave of pleasure you started. Bucky groans out your name, surprising you with the gentleness of it on his tongue despite the rough hand around your neck.

When he releases you softly back onto the bed, you sink heavily into the mattress, feeling high on pleasure and drunk on his hands. He pulls away and shuffles around the room, and if you had had any energy left you might have complained at the loss of him but as it sits nothing will rouse you from the intense desire to simply fall asleep.

He continues to move about and then... the lights go on? You groan at the harsh treatment of your eyes as they adjust. But Barnes returns and pulls you against him and apologizes for the rude awakening.

"Sorry, doll," he mutters. "Wanted to get a better look at you." His fingers glide along your back and his face nuzzles into the top of your head, breathing into your hair as you press your forehead into his chest. Despite being exhausted himself he trails his hands all over your body, exploring the side of you that has been shoved into the sheets for the better part of the evening. You let him, although your nerves feel fried and oversensitive to touch.

"Watch what you do with those hands," you giggle as his fingertips brush over a nipple, "unless you're ready to go again."

"Already looking forward to next time?"

"You wish," you tease, but already you know for certain that there will be a next time.

[gallickingun]

I’m really soft for the idea of having to use your safe word with Bakugou and he immediately snaps into the most nurturing boyfriend. He’s gone from pounding into you and slapping you around, to holding you to his chest and stroking your hair. He’d run you a bath and while you soaked in there he’d make you some comfort food which he’d feed you later in bed.

a/n: this got p long so i’m putting it under a read more!  tw: degradation

It’s all too much.

“I want to hear you beg for my perfect cock, you little slut,” his lips are curling and all you can see is your own self-hatred reflected to you in his carmine irises. A slap resounds against your cheek but it’s hard to process, save for the way your face turns into the pillow. Bakugou’s hand drifts from your jaw to your throat, encasing the tender muscles within his grasp and squeezing.

You start to see stars when you hear him say, “I said beg, you pathetic bitch, or else I’ll have to punish you for not listening.”

Your heart is pounding, your eyes are pouring tears, and your thighs are starting to clench to the point of pain that no longer feels like pulsing pleasure. You can barely find it in you to form words because your tongue feels warped and heavy within your mouth, but the second you manage to force that very special phrase out of your teeth, the whole world stops spinning.

Bakugou’s hand loosens against your throat and his hips still, buried to the hilt within you, the domineering mask slipping from his expression, “S-Say it again.”

You’re embarrassed, but you repeat the phrase, a choking sob breaking it up in the middle. You turn your head into the pillow so you don’t have to look at him when his face twists in anger or frustration, your hands covering what visibly remains of your face so he can’t see your crumpled features.

“Hey,” Bakugou’s voice is uncharacteristically soft and the sound of it makes you whimper. He doesn’t pull out of you, not yet, because he’s afraid the sudden change might bring another round of emotions to the surface, “Come back to me, princess, I’m right here.”

The gentle way his fingers circle around your wrists could make you cry for another reason entirely, and the crooning of his deep voice in your ear makes your toes curl. You clench your jaw in favor of looking up at him, focusing on the pain that is now throbbing in your gums. Your cheek still stings from the smack you received not but moments prior to your outcry, and you wonder if the skin is as red as you think it might be.

“D-Do you want me to pull out?” His voice is timid, and timid is not something well-known to Bakugou Katsuki. You are shaking your head adamantly, begging with your hands twisting in his grip to hold him by the forearms, eyes wild as you finally glance up at him, “P-Please don’t leave me.”

Bakugou is hushing you, curling his body further into you so he is filling you to the base of him, his knees tucking tightly against your hips and his arms circling around your shoulders to hold you close.

“I’m right here,” he repeats the sentiment from earlier, kisses against your temple. You swear you feel the telltale sign of damp tears against your skin and hair, but you don’t have the wherewithal to take much notice. His cock twitches withing your core and it’s comforting somehow, in tandem with the way he is kissing over your face and running the tip of his nose against your skin, providing you with all the tactile relief he can muster, “I’m not going anywhere, princess, I’m right here.”

He repeats that phrase several times, until your breathing has gone from erratic to something much more calm. Bakugou kisses the space on your chest where your heart would be, “Just breathe, baby. It’s okay, you’re okay. Come back down, I’m right here.”

Your palms press against his chest and he’s taken aback at the sudden contact, irises widening to swallow his pupils. He brushes your hair from your eyes, noting how you flinch at the sight of his hand so close to your face, and his soul cracks in half. Bakugou’s voice is wavering as he whispers, “I-I’m sorry, sweetheart, I’m so sorry.”

You are shaking your head and trying to keep him from apologizing, but he tucks your head into his chest and rolls to the side so he can cradle you within the cage of his arms, “Don’t.”

Bakugou’s fingertips sift through your hair and down your neck, massaging at the base of your scalp and shoulders. You can hear something akin to humming in your ear, and after a few moments, you realize that Bakugou is singing. A new set of tears well up in your eyes, but you dig yourself further into the cavity of his shoulder, your nose tucked against his throat so you can breathe in his scent.

“I love you,” he grits out the words, kissing your temple, “I hope you know that.”

You tilt your head back so you can look him in the eyes, tears still settled in your lids and caked on your lashes, “I love you too, Katsuki.”

A smile graces his features, and you swear you’ve seen the sun. Pushing yourself up with the gentle movement of your legs, you rub your noses together, closing your eyes as he connects your foreheads, “I’m gonna run you a bath, okay? Help you wash up.”

Your hand reaches upward to cup his cheek, closing your eyes so you can drink in the closeness you have with him at this very moment in time. Your whole body is warm, and your mind is in a haze as you come down from your emotionally spiked high. You can’t help it as you angle your head just enough to meld your lips to his.

The action takes Bakugou by surprise at first, and he doesn’t react to your kissing. You start to pull back once you’ve realized that he isn’t reciprocating, but he’s caught you before you can retreat. He winds his arms around your shoulders and tilts his head forward to capture your lips once again. He is firm, but not so much so that you feel trapped, but rather you feel safe.

Bakugou gathers you up in his arms, gently unsheathing himself from you to cause less stinging at the sudden change of stretch, and walks you into the bathroom. You’re deposited on the counter while he runs the bath water, trying to get the tub to the perfect temperature before transferring you into the sudsy pool. He’s careful as he washes your hair, dipping your head back into the fragrant bubbles and massaging your scalp. 

He stands to his feet once your hair has been rinsed, the bubbles floating around your body popping once they come into contact with your skin. With one last pass through your hair, he retracts his fingers, “I”m going to go make dinner, okay? Let you soak in here a minute longer without me sitting up your ass.”

A giggle parts your lips, and there is a pressure lifted from his chest that he did not realize he was harboring. He clutches at his heart, wrapping his fingers around his pectoral so he can make sure the organ is still beating. The pounding thud against his palm gives him relief and then a smile takes over.

The next time he sees you is when you’re fumbling down the stairs, your body clad in one of his old merch designs, a shirt that falls down to your thighs, just enough to cover your ass. Bakugou smirks, knowing full well that you can make anything look this good.

“What do you want? Action, comedy, romance, or anime?” Bakugou carries two plates of spicy meat and rice to the coffee table where he’s already set up drinks and snacks to go along with dinner. You settle on a comedy movie and he pulls you into his lap, your back pressed against his chest so he can spoon feed you dinner, your headspace still recovering from earlier. The affectionate gesture seems to be over the top, but you are not one to tell Bakugou no when it comes to expressing his admiration to you through his actions. 

It is hours later when you are drifting off to sleep, your head on Katsuki’s chest, and you hear that same tune from earlier being sung into your ears, the vibrations in his chest only furthering your lull into sleep. Bakugou is brushing his fingers against the dated t-shirt in various patterns, the warmth radiating from his body dredging your mind into a sedated state.

“Hey,” he calls to you, bringing your attention to his face with a knuckle crooked underneath your chin. A kiss is pressed to your forehead, and when he pulls away, his voice is gentle, “Where’s my girl?”

You cannot help the dopey grin that tugs on your lips, wriggling your way closer to him so you can rub your nose against his, “I’m right here, ‘Suki.”

And you seal the promise of your presence with a kiss before falling back against his embrace, allowing him to hold together your broken pieces as if he were human glue. The final thing you notice just before you drift into the realm of unconsciousness is the song being sung in your ear.

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you keep me happy when skies are gray. Don’t you know dear, how much I love you? Please don’t take my sunshine away.”

-

a/n: wow that got sappy real quick. i hope this was what you were wanting!

[ashasmonsters]

The Thru-Hiker

Female reader x Male mothperson (Desmond)

Citrus rating: Lemon

Content: Full-on smut, references to unhappy breakups

Words: 5.1k

Note: Here's the story that earns me the "18+" in my description. This is my first time making anything this smutty public, so any feedback or criticism would be appreciated. Enjoy!

You raised the viewfinder to your eye. The rolling hills fit within the frame-lines neatly, the trail before you leading straight down the middle and towards the horizon. With a satisfying click the shutter fired. You lowered the camera and cranked the film advance lever, confident that shot would turn out well. You let the camera dangle from your shoulder once again as you looked around: this spot was close enough to the main trail that you wouldn't need any "breadcrumbs" to lead you back to it in the morning. The sun would finish setting in an hour or so, and bird chirps had given way to trilling crickets and cicadas. It was warm enough that you didn't need to build a fire. Your stove would do just fine.

"That's a nice camera."

You turned towards the voice. Standing behind you, closer to the main trail and obscured slightly by foliage, loomed a lanky mothman. He wore clothes appropriate for hiking the Appalachian trail, though you hadn't seen him around. This meant he was quick or hiking the opposite direction as you.

"Thanks." You answered. He pushed a few low-hanging twigs out of the way and took a step towards you.

"Is that a..." he paused, his brow furrowing above his red compound eyes as he searched for a word, "Yashica, right?"

"Mamiya, actually." You answered, hefting the brick-shaped camera from your hip where it dangled. "It's been a pain to hike with, but I love it all the same."

"I'm sure you've got some excellent shots in that thing. I'm Desmond." He closed the remaining distance and tenderly extended a chitinous claw. You shook it in turn and returned his greeting.

"I don't believe I've seen you on the trail, Desmond," you said, "are you using those wings or hiking southbound?"

"Oh, I'm hiking southbound. Flying would defeat the purpose, wouldn't it?"

"I guess that is a silly question." You lowered your eyes and made eye contact with his hiking boots. "I'm heading northbound."

"Hm. You must have started the trail pretty recently."

"That's right. I started maybe three weeks ago. You must be pretty close to finishing if you're going southbound."

"Been on the trail for five months." He answered.

"Wow." You breathed. Maybe mothmen wore it better, but he certainly looked neat for having lived in the wilderness for almost half a year. You caught yourself staring. "Um, got any tips for a relatively fresh hiker like me?"

"Take your time and enjoy yourself." He said, looking down at you. "The trail is going to take the better part of a year from you no matter what, so there's no point in rushing it."

"Thanks for the advice." A pause. You saw your reflection in his ruby eyes. "Anyway... I don't want to keep you from the trail, being nocturnal and all." You failed to suppress a tinge of longing in your voice. The sun started to kiss the horizon, making the canopy above you look like it was on fire.

"Well, actually..." Desmond rested a claw on the back of his neck fluff, "I was going to ask if you would share this spot with me. It's going to be a full moon and I planned to take a rest to enjoy it."

"Oh," you said, glad the sunset was masking your blush, "that should be fine, then."

"I don't want to impose, I could always find my own—"

"No, really, it's fine." You said, gesturing around the sizeable clearing. "We're sharing a view, not a cot. I don't mind."

"Ah, right." He played with his neck fluff again. "Well then, let's not waste the daylight." You nodded and slid your pack off.

Your sleeping arrangements for the trail had been spartan, but still comfortable. You carried a thin foam pad which rolled up nicely and fit under your sleeping bag, a tarp with hooks for hanging from above, a camp stove, and a sack to keep your food strung up a branch and away from animals.

All of this was set up fairly quickly since Desmond was helping you. He was quite tall, which made stringing up the extra food much easier than when you had done it alone. In no time, your foam pad was safely encircled by your hanging tarp and your stove was boiling a pot of water. Tonight's dinner was an Appalachian Trail classic: dehydrated cheesy rice. You took the initiative to invoke full-on luxury by adding a handful of equally dehydrated broccoli florets. You had a guest to entertain, after all.

"Thanks for making me breakfast. Dinner, in your case." Desmond said. The dim blue light from the camp stove caught only the very edges of his chitinous frame. His red eyes shone bright like a cat's through the steam from the culinary masterpiece cooking between you two.

"Consider it my treat." You smiled back. There was a pause, so you pulled a topic from the air. "Are you a photographer too? Not many people can tell apart the brands of these old things." You patted your Mamiya camera as if it were a tiny metal lapdog.

"Ah, no," He said, almost defensively, "if you have compound eyes like me, you can't really look through viewfinders. It just doesn't work."

"Right, sorry." You rubbed the back of your neck. "Where does your camera knowledge come from, then?"

"Well... you know the old mothpeople stereotype about how we like light?"

"Um." You spoke carefully. "I have heard of it."

"I kinda live up to that stereotype. Like, very much. It's why I wanted to stop here to watch the full moon."

"Okay, but how does that tie into cameras?"

"It's kind of embarrassing." He fidgeted with his long white neck fuzz. "It's the flash. When it goes off, it's like... like..."

"Like a drug?" You finished for him.

"No! Not like that. It's not addictive... I don't think. It's more like... what's that thing humans do with their nails and their skin?"

"Like scratching an itch?"

"Yes! Exactly." He said excitedly. "I don't itch, but if I did, I imagined it would feel like when a camera flash goes off."

You chuckled even though you knew he was a little embarrassed. This whole situation was just too absurd, too odd.

"So you're like a connoisseur of camera flashes." A pause. He lowered his gaze.

"Mamiyas have the best one." You chuckled again.

"Well, then." You pulled your camera from your bag and held it before you. "May I take your portrait?"

"If it's no trouble," his antennae perked up, "yes please."

Wrestling the camera into shooting position, you flipped the viewfinder open and aimed it squarely at him. The scene fit perfectly within the frame-lines; the glowing blue stove flames in the foreground and Desmond's red eyes neatly in the middle.

"Looks good to me." You said, pressing the flash release. The flash, a piece of metal the size of your thumb, sprung out of the camera and whined as the battery charged it.

"Oh, wow." He noted. You pressed the shutter—

"Goddamn!" Desmond cried, shuddering. Briefly, a low chirr seemed to emanate from him. "Pardon my French. That was good."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it. Most people hate when I ask to take their portrait." You cranked the film advance lever and smiled. You returned your camera to its place in your bag, then... remembered there was a meal on the stove. "Crap, I hope the bottom isn't burning." You said, quickly grabbing the stirring spoon and scraping the bottom of the pot. You continued until you were sure the food was in good shape.

"You know, when I thought about making this trek, I was worried about getting lonely. Like I wouldn't be able to put up with just myself for so long... but I've already met so many people and they've all been kind." You continued stirring the meal.

"Then what made you consider it in the first place?" Desmond asked, cocking an antenna.

"Oh... you know... adventure." You lied. The resulting pause made you painfully aware of how bad of a liar you are. The cheesy rice bubbled and spat steam at you as if heckling your poor performance.

"I'd believe that if you had a fedora and a whip. And knew where the holy grail was." He chuckled, his mandibles clicking.

"What?"

"Ah, just a stupid joke. There's these old movies..." He cut himself off and extended an empty claw, taking the spoon from you and making it his turn to stir. "I don't want to tell you your business, but everybody I've met in the past five months comes to the trail to run from something."

"Well... you're right that it's definitely my business." You tried not to scowl. The turn in conversation had resurrected an unpleasant feeling in your heart; something in the same neighborhood as shame or sadness.

"Not if what you're running from is the law and you're a serial killer or something. Then that's definitely my business." He clicked once more. His attempt to lighten the conversation didn't help that feeling much. The cheesy rice heckled him this time.

"I'm not a serial killer, I promise." You started, drawing in a sharp breath. Perhaps you just needed to vent. Maybe that would ease this malaise. "Why don't you start? Tell me what you're running from first, then I'll tell you about me." You took the stirring spoon back from him. He ran a claw down his face.

"I'm running from a breakup. We dated for three years." He sighed.

"I'm... sorry." You said, unsure of what else to say.

"Don't apologize; not unless you're the girl she ran off with." His mandibles clicked weakly. "I'm kidding. She didn't run off or anything. She didn't even cheat. She just realized that men weren't for her."

You raised an eyebrow. "Three whole years?"

"It didn't take her that long to realize it, just that long to work up the courage to tell me. Maybe I wasn't her true love, but she cared about me a lot. She was so scared of hurting me that she bottled it up for most of that time."

"You didn't want to remain friends?"

"I did— and I still do. I... I just said three things: 'I need some time to process this,' 'I'm in a lot of pain but it's not your fault,' and 'I'm going hiking for six months, call me back when I'm done.' That's all I could think of in the moment, and now I'm here."

"That's rough."

"You're telling me." His shoulders dropped. "I'm used to breakups with jerks. That I can make peace with, because then it's like a problem that solves itself. Jerk breaks up with you, therefore no more jerk to deal with. But... when it's someone that you love, that you want the best for, and that means they have to move on... that's something I'm still trying to work out." He sighed hard and lowered his crimson eyes. "I think the rice is done."

You were so caught up in his pained explanation that you lost track of time. You quickly turned off the camp stove and set the pot on the ground.

"Thanks for reminding me." You grabbed your enamel bowl as he readied his and started dishing out the rice and broccoli. You both sat there in silence, enjoying the feeling of hot food in hand. "Anyway, I guess it's my turn to share."

"Please. I wouldn't want to dump my problems on you without hearing out yours."

"I had a breakup too, though honestly I think mine wasn't as rough as yours." You said.

"We all go through different things. It's not a contest." Desmond said, idly poking his steaming meal. "Tell me about it, if you want."

So you did. Over the course of the meal, you told Desmond all about your past relationship: the fights you had with your ex, the nights spent in separate sleeping arrangements, the endless worry over how much of it was your fault. He nodded sympathetically with each painful memory you unraveled to him. Remembering it all made you feel worse, but having him listen made it feel much better. When you had no more to say, he stared at you. You saw yourself reflected in his eyes. Your spoon was trembling.

"It's okay to cry. I won't mind." Was all Desmond said before you had to set down your food and hold your face in your hands. It's like you had been saving up a surplus of tears throughout all these events and just barely they were escaping you. You could hear Desmond awkwardly scoot over in the dirt to your side before he offered a rigid shoulder to you.

"Chitin isn't exactly memory foam, but..." You rested your head on him without a second thought. One of his claws found its way to your shoulder and you felt better for it. This was the first time you had mentioned your breakup out loud and unquestionably the first time anyone had offered you a shoulder to cry on, literally or figuratively.  You quickly came to find even Desmond's exoskeleton quite comfortable.

"Thanks for listening." You said as your sobs started to slow. He plainly chirred in response, making his grip on your shoulder a little tighter. His embrace was the first one you had felt since the breakup. You felt warm and safe in a way you had previously only had with your ex long ago. His neck fluff tickled you as he leaned his head onto yours.

"It's okay." You could feel his mandibles nudge your cheek as he spoke. "I know how hard it is." Your composure returned, and you stilled yourself against him. You finally removed your hands from your face, your eyes bloodshot.

"I'm glad I'm not wearing makeup." You chuckled weakly. "Otherwise my cheeks would look like a barcode right now."

"That's the spirit. Enjoy the little things." He rubbed your shoulder. "That's what the trail is all about."

You found yourself naturally holding Desmond closer, burying yourself in his neck fluff and wrapping an arm around his side as he held you. He smelled like pine and smoke. You grabbed your bowl of food once more and resumed eating, not leaving Desmond's side.

"I'm sorry for smearing my tears all over you." You said, coming back to reality. The taste of rehydrated cheesy rice wasn't great, but it was warm and familiar. Combined with Desmond's arm wrapped around you, the pain and baggage from the breakup left you like grime after a shower.

"It's alright." He said. "If moths could cry, I'd be crying all over you too. We're in the same shitty breakup boat."

He and you sat there together, finishing the meal. The camp stove had been turned off for a while now, and the only warmth you felt was your own, reflected off his chitin. The pause was permeated by lesser insects chirping and wind gently rustling the branches above. As you finished your food, you became painfully aware that Desmond couldn't hold you forever. He'd have to get in his sleeping bag eventually, and in the morning, continue his hike to nowhere other than your distant memories. Or, maybe...

"Want to share my sleeping bag with me?" The words left your mouth before you could even react. A second later, you realized what you had said and your heart raced. Your face found itself hidden in your hands again.

Why the fuck would you say that? Are you crazy? How would you feel if he randomly propositioned you for sex, huh? To which your responded to yourself with, Screw it, I'd be down for that.

Oh well. The fact he'd leave forever in the morning was both a blessing and a curse... but for now, mostly a blessing. It didn't matter if you were "rebounding" or doing something impulsive. Whatever happened tonight would stay in tonight. You and him would go your separate ways and there wouldn't be any regrets to be had. You practically held your breath as he processed what you said; the pause felt infinitely long.

"I'd love to." He broke the silence, his mandibles clicking more than usual. "Unless you're having second thoughts."

You looked up at him and shook your head. Wordlessly, he took your hand stood up with you. You led him to your dangling tarp wherein your sleeping bag and foam pad rested. Luxurious it was not, but as you slapped aside the flap and pulled Desmond in behind you, little else other than him was on your mind. You sat down on your "bed" and turned round, looking at him. His saucer-sized red eyes glowed as they met your gaze. He stepped closer.

"You're sure?" He said, kneeling before you. "I don't want to—"

You leaned forward and grabbed his head, clumsily planting a kiss where his mouth would be if he was human. It seemed to do the trick; he gasped and relaxed, his mandibles caressing your cheeks. You pulled back to breathe.

"I'm not asking you to marry me." You planted another kiss on him, tugging on his neck fluff. "I'm asking you to keep me company tonight."

"If you insist." He clicked. Something in his tone changed. For the first time his voice had timbre and need. He had left his tone suited for polite conversation and jokes outside your tarp. Here on your twin-sized foam pad, all pretenses were gone. You both knew you were going to give yourselves to each other; yet he surprised you by tugging the neck of your shirt down and scattering little kisses from your chin to your collarbone with his proboscis. It was rough and leathery and frankly didn't feel like anything you had touched before. You shuddered when he took it with him, descending past your breasts and peeling your shirt off your belly.

"Desmond..." You sighed, the only thing keeping this encounter casual being the button on your jeans.

"Everything alright so far?" He looked up at you with his large eyes, his mandibles brushing against your thigh as he spoke.

"Excellent." You breathed, resting a hand on the back of his neck fluff. "Please..." You used the same hand to ever-so-gently nudge him closer to your midst, which was already roiling with burning need. With a single claw, he carefully undid the button and zipper. You shimmied out of your jeans until his neck fluff  tickled the inside of your exposed thighs; your underwear soon followed. He clicked some more as you fully exposed your entrance to him, his eyes studying you and his claws gently finding their way to each of your legs.

"Forgive me, it's been a while." He said as he lowered his face into you. You reclined further, only gazing upwards to the tarp and a tiny patch of starry sky.

"Don't talk, just— Ah!" He pulled a gasp from you as he began his ministrations. With your head resting on the foam pad, you just closed your eyes and let the sensations fill you. Something of his, you weren't quite sure what, playfully danced around the edges of your entrance until it found its mark. It gently flicked across that tender nub and your hips bucked in response. You held his neck plumage tighter, desperately tugging him closer to you.

"Keep going, that's— oh, that's perfect..." He didn't resist your pull. If anything, as his fuzz tickled you and his mandibles started to prod at your folds he increased his fervor. Relentlessly he played across all parts of you at once. Hard chitinous mandibles spread you open while his proboscis felt like it was everywhere. It rubbed your bead with every advance it made into you, filling you with a tingling warmth that spread throughout your whole body. He didn't let up at all, your breath hitching and leaving you as moans. You rocked your hips and whined. Harder and harder, rhythmically to a rapidly increasing tempo. You gripped him tighter, burying his face into you. Ecstasy built within your core with each surge of his "tongue" until you could hold on no longer.

"Oh, oh!" You cried, your body seizing and legs locking around his shoulders. Pleasure crackled around your whole body and there, in the dark with Desmond wordlessly working you, you weren't sure how much time you spent at the peak. Slowly, the sparks behind your eyes stopped flying. Your breath resumed its normal rhythm. Lifting your head off your sleeping bag, you made eye contact with his glowing red orbs, the only source of light under your tarp.

"How did I do?" He chittered, his grin smug enough for you to sense even in the darkness.

"You were fantastic." You indulged him, running your hand through his fuzz as he crawled over top of you. He pressed his forehead to yours.

"I didn't tire you out, did I?" He asked before descending upon you and kissing you lightly. With the gap between you two closed, you felt something tumescent and twitching under his shorts brush against you.

"I suppose I can stay up some more." You giggled as his fuzz tickled your collarbone. "I'll just sleep in."

"Glad to hear it." Desmond rasped. His voice grew ragged as he nipped at your neck, cradling your chin in one claw and using the other to undo his shorts. In the darkness, you could only feel something slick, smooth, and long come to rest on your belly. You squeezed your thighs around it. Desmond immediately chirred louder than before, sounding like a baritone version of the insects outside. His deep timbre resonated inside you.

"Excited?" You teased, his length completely at your mercy as you held it between your legs.

"I've forgotten how warm humans feel." He rumbled.

"Can I jog your memory?"

"Please."

You released him from your thighs and reached down with a hand. You felt the entirety of his length in your grasp; it was delightfully slick and uniform with pleasant little ridges to encounter as your hand traveled towards his base. You grasped it gently, eliciting more bassy chitters from him as you angled it towards your entrance. You fumbled a bit in the darkness, but after a few tries his tip rested at your threshold. His eyes met yours.

"Ready?" He clicked.

"Go ahead." You gripped his shoulders and pulled him close, nestling your face in his fluff as he started entering you. His hips slowly began to close the distance, each ridge on his length pushing a squeak out of you. His pace was deliciously slow. You had just enough time to adjust but not to catch your breath. All you could do was hold him tight in the darkness, nothing but the sensation and his chirring to occupy your mind. It felt like an eternity of slowly being filled by him. Eventually, cool chitin met your wet bundle of nerves, sending electric pleasure up your spine and forcing a gasp out of you.

"That's all of it." He grunted, his body completely flush with yours. "Do you feel alright?"

"Give me a moment." you said, exhaling sharply. The sensation of fullness with him hilted completely within you took your breath away. Little moans escaped you as his shaft quivered inside your depths. Embracing him, you found a steady breathing rhythm once more. "Okay, you can move."

With only chitters in response, he buried his head in the nape of your neck, his mandibles poking and prodding as he peppered you with kisses. His hardness withdrew just as slowly as when he entered you, then returned with a steady tempo. Each time his hips rocked you moaned into his fuzz. You imagined if you and Desmond had met at a different time or a different place, you'd be voicing your pleasures into a pillow. Since he had started his rhythmic thrusts, Desmond held a low, purring chirr that surged each time his pelvis met yours.

He chittered something specific, completely forgoing English as he picked up speed. He released your shoulders from his grasp. Changing position, he now kneeled upright with his knees on either side of your rear and his claws firmly gripping your thighs. The new leverage and angle made you squeal. He pumped in earnest now, both the speed and impact making you moan with nothing to stifle your voice.

"Desmond!" You cried, one hand splayed above your head and the other reaching down to hold your sensitive bead, "Keep going!" His pace remained constant. The low chirr grew into a growl. He pounded over and over, his hips slamming into your ass. As if it took considerable effort, he wrestled his chitters back into grunting speech you could understand.

"Close," he said sharply, "getting close!" You decided against speaking, instead locking your ankles behind him and rubbing your nub feverishly to meet him at the brink. His pace quickened even more. His claws squeezed your thighs as he desperately held onto you— into you, his thrusts remaining deeper inside you as they mounted in strength. His chirring returned, ascending in volume and pitch into a strangled, desperate call. His gaze snapped skyward and his back arched and he desperately pulled at your entire body in an effort to seat himself as deep within you as he could. You cried out in time with him. Your voice reached its limits. You rubbed yourself with abandon as you felt his cock fire within you with great trembling pulses. The pleasure within you mounted, growing until it erupted with a crackling warmth that left you quivering and crying out. He held himself as deep as he could go, grinding his hips into yours. Hissing, he lowered himself upon you once more and kissed you hard. You wailed into his mandibles as you rode out your peak. His hard chitin ground into your nub and held you at your limit before his rolling hips finally relented. Still, but remaining deep within you, he broke away from the kiss. You caught your breath as your eyes locked.

"Goodness..." You panted. Your face burned. Streaks of cool wetness rolled from your eyes down your cheeks. Desmond's chirring slowed into nothingness. The only sounds left were your breathing and nature outside.

"Are you okay?" He asked, his usual tone returning slowly.

"I'm great, Desmond," You smiled, "but you managed to tire me out this time." He clicked, then slowly withdrew his softening length from your sensitive core. You felt something ooze out of you, but were too exhausted to do anything about it.

"Sleep, please." He said, stroking your hair with a claw. "I'll be right here. Don't worry about anything else."

When morning arrived, the hole in the roof of your tarp acted as a skylight. You had awoken fortuitously just before the golden beam would have shone burning rays straight into your eyes. You definitely slept in, but found yourself fully clothed. You expected to feel something regretfully sticky and wet in your underwear, but you were completely clean. For a moment, you considered that last night might have been a dream. That line of thought was cut short by the sound of boiling water and the smell of coffee creeping into your tarp.

You emerged to find Desmond sitting in front of a small fire, emptying granules of instant coffee into a pot.

"Coffee?" He offered. "It'll be done in a bit."

"Thank you, Desmond." You sat in the same spot as you did last night over dinner. The silence that followed was comfortable and warm, unlike last night's awkward pauses. You watched him shake the pot with a claw as the sun warmed you. "I guess I should also thank you for, um, cleaning me up. I kinda passed out on you there. Sorry."

"No, no. It's fine. I'm nocturnal, remember?" He looked up at you and grinned. "It felt good to take care of a sleeping human again. It reminded me of old times." His grin softened into a gentle smile. The instant coffee had fully dissolved and he pulled the pot from the fire. He filled, then offered you an enamel mug which you accepted. The aroma was cheap and comforting.

"I'm going to miss you." You held the mug tightly. You didn't meet his eyes as you spoke, instead staring into the coffee as if it would tell you what to do.

"Me too." Desmond responded.

"Could we... could you..." You searched for the best way to ask. "Would you want to be with me?" Desmond released a slow chitter. He shook his head, and his soft smile shifted further into a shallow frown.

"I'm sorry." He said softly. "I wouldn't feel comfortable whisking you away three weeks after your breakup. Hell, I'm five months out from my own and I'm still not sure about where I am emotionally." You nodded in response. The coffee in your hands cooled in the resulting silence.

"I guess this is where we part ways, then." You sighed.

"Maybe..." He finally met your gaze. "You're hiking northbound. That means you'll finish in what, five more months?"

"Four if I hurry."

"The trail ends in Maine. There's this tiny, tiny town up there." He mused. "When you finish the trail, look for me around town. I'll be there. If you still want to be with me... then we could pursue a relationship like normal people. Coffee dates and stuff. If not... well, I'll buy you lunch."

"Is that another one of your movie references?" You chuckled. His plan sounded like something straight out of a cheesy rom-com.

"I'm serious." He explained. "My mom lives up there, and I've got nowhere else to be in four to five months."

"How am I supposed to find you?"

"I'm pretty sure the town population is in the double digits, and I'm definitely sure that me and my mom are the only mothpeople there." You considered his offer. It was all you had to look forward to, really.

"Let's shake on it." You extended a hand to him over the dying embers. He reached out to meet you, but then suddenly paused. "What's wrong?" You asked, a pang of fear striking you.

"I have one condition: when you inevitably run into my mom, our story has to be something other than, 'we met up on the trail and had sex after an embarrassingly short conversation and a camera flash,' okay?" You burst into laughter, as did he. He took your hand in his claw and shook enthusiastically.

"We have a deal." You answered. "Don't worry, I'll come up with something good."

"You better. You've got four-to-five months to craft it." He clicked. You smiled.

When you both finished your coffee, you gave him a hug and enjoyed the feeling of his neck fuzz on your cheek one last time. The fire had gone out, you packed up your tarp and sleeping bag, and you took a few steps north on the trail. You stopped soon after and turned, watching him go. He disappeared into the foliage. Sighing, you resumed your hike. To pass the time you talked to yourself.

"Ah, so nice to meet you, Mrs. Moth-mom. Yes, of course, we met at a pottery class."

No! Stupid.

"We were flying kites in the park, and ours got tangled up together—"

Now you sound like you're referencing sappy rom-coms.

You sighed. At least you'd have a while to come up with something convincing.

[emeren]

bloodlust ☤ 1

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“The devil and I get along just fine...”

Pairing: Fem!reader x Vampire!Eren 

Word Count: 5.1 k 

Chapter Warnings: Blood, anxiety

Chapter Summary: Reader, a nurse, finds themselves facing a fanged beast, unsure what to make of the world. But this devil with dark hair may not have the intentions you think. 

☤ this work of fiction deals with vampires. in turn, there will be discussions of blood and minimal gore. it will also include nsfw content in the near future. all chapters will be marked appropriately☤

Moonlight soaked the path towards his freedom. It danced and reflected off of the dew coated blades of grass. Each one emulated a life he planned to save, with the destruction of his  people and the protection of the person he cared for most in the world. She had yet to materialize into something more than the soft breeze of a memory.

He was hungry; the tortuous cry of his instinct to ravage told him so. However, years of training and restraint had yielded him more than capable of swallowing his own desire. The one thing he sought most weighed heavier than impotent monstrous actions. For his goal, he could resist the craving to release his sharpened fangs.

He allowed his eyes one last glance over the house he’d called home for the past four years; dark and gloomy against the stormy night sky. Soon, those who’d chained him in shackles and dragged him to the cellar would be amiss in panic. Wrought iron bars that once caged his devilish soul would be found empty. A beast was on the run.

He felt brief sorrow for those he would hurt in the process of securing their freedom from a pained existence. But he’d made up his mind. All that was left to do was to head north.

His nimble hands pulled the dark hood of his coat above his head. He took one deep breath, the entrancing smell of rain and dirt wafting through the air.

North, to the person that occupied his past, present, and future. To freedom.

☤    ☤    ☤

You considered yourself well suited to the role you’d decided to serve for the rest of your life. Time spent meticulously memorizing health patterns and disease characteristics had broadened your sense of confidence. Doubt rarely ever plagued your mind past the childish decision of what to eat for breakfast in the morning.

Nursing had not always been your final destination in life; the unprecedented scared you enough to mark healthcare as a profession to avoid. Losing two parents unexpectedly in high school due to a mysterious illness had been enough to change your once convinced mind.

Your rain jacket was slick with the slight precipitation clouding the late night sky as you entered the hospital locker room -- a weak cup of coffee in hand, marred with a ring of chapstick residue against the lip. Night shifts were often greeted with unrelenting misery on your behalf.

“You look excited to be here,” The familiar tone of your coworker hummed from behind you. There seemed no force strong enough to concur surprise in your unrested eyes. Historia was someone who lacked a certain fear factor in most aspects of her being, anyways.

“I didn’t see you when I came in, Historia,” You answered, eyes glancing over your shoulder to take in the blonde-haired nurse. Despite having walked in the rain the same as you, her demeanor was much more spritely.

She gave you a smile, following you towards your adjacent lockers. “Ah, I came in the back entrance today.”

“You’re awfully chipper for someone who’s working the night shift,” Your half-assed attempt at being friendly mingled with the clammer of your locker. Historia chuckled softly from behind her door.

“I prefer the night shift, actually. Isn’t this your third night on?” She asked. You slipped your wet jacket from your shoulders, shaking it slightly before hanging it in the metal box.

“Yeah, it is. Can’t say I enjoy it as much as you do,” You lightly closed the door, Historia doing the same. Overt kindness wasn’t a trait you claimed when burnt out on work; she knew this and gave you no foul for it.

Her blue eyes crinkled in the ghost of a smile. “Not a creature of the night, hm?”

“I’m no vampire, that’s for sure,” You chuckled. Historia’s smile faltered slightly. It came as no surprise that she was afraid of monsters and ghouls. You decided to change the subject in her favor. “Speaking of, I hear it’s a full moon tonight.”

“Oh?” Her eyes widened, coy smirk wiggling its way back onto her blushed cheeks. Despite your adverse to the unknown, you enjoyed indulging in childish hospital rumors. The notion that weird cases spiked on nights when the moon was full in the sky was a tale as old as time; strange people flooded the hospitals, with even stranger injuries and illnesses. Or so that was what people said, not that you’d ever experienced it yourself. “I wonder if anything crazy will happen tonight.”

“Doubt it,” You stepped aside, allowing her to match your stride as the two of you headed towards the conference room for a briefing before the shift. She hummed in agreement, the rest of the walk done in a comfortable silence.

The room for debriefing was a mundane conference set up. The walls were a bleached white; anatomy posters and warnings about the harmful nature of cigarettes decorating the walls. An oval desk surrounded by blue, plastic chairs took up most of the room. It smelled like microwaved Kraft, courtesy of a nurse scarfing down a last helping before their shift started.

“That’s odd,” Historia frowned, blue eyes tracing the room. Staff sat around in quiet huddles, most silently waiting for the briefing to start. She glanced down at her watch before nudging you in the arm. “Where’s Doctor Smith? We start in two minutes.”

The tall, burly man was never late for a briefing; his stoic nature didn’t allow room for such a lack. He had never given you a reason to doubt his trust, but something about his demeanor made you uneasy. He commanded a room with such conviction that your coworkers fell to his feet with unadulterated respect; you, a mindless sheep following their lead. Rational thought would’ve placed your discomfort on his position of power and his role as your boss. Simply put, however, he gave you the creeps.

The plastic chair skidded against the polished floor as you took your seat at the table beside Historia. The older staff coughed and occasionally grumbled, filling the tired silence with a sense of annoyance. Your blonde coworker sensed your gripe, elbowing you in the ribs and leaving a crease in your lilac scrubs. You suppressed a smile.

“Pardon me,” Doctor Smith’s commanding voice echoed through the room before he stepped in the doorway. Your muscles tensed; back straightening as if to give the illusion that you hadn’t been hunched over, looking exhausted and miserable. His blond hair was perfectly sculpted; not a strand out of place and not a wrinkle in his blue dress shirt. His lab coat was almost a sickeningly bleached titanium. “Sorry for my tardiness; I was dealing with an emergency back home.”

Historia shifted beside you.

“Let’s get started, shall we?” He gave a terse smile before picking his clipboard off of the table and flipping through the papers. “Looks like we’ve got the regular scheduling for this evening. As usual, the night shift staffing is lighter than our other shifts, so remember to be vigilant and take action without being told to.”

You tended to tune out the mundane precautions and warnings that were part of a pre-shift briefing. Outside the window, rain pattered against the glass pane. The shower provided a sense of comfort; rain often preceded a night spent inside, wrapped in blankets with a mug of hot tea. Though your current schedule didn’t allow room for such indulgence, you took a small delight in the weather condition.

Historia bumped your knee with her own under the table. You glanced at your friend, slightly alarmed from your daze. She leaned over, attempting to discreetly whisper in your ear. “He looks distracted tonight, hm? Wonder what that’s about.”

Your eyes glanced at Doctor Smith, who was reading through the clipboard with a staccato like urgency. Not wanting to cause any disturbance, you nodded your head in agreement.

“We’ll follow through with our regular assignments. If you don’t know where you’re located this evening, I suggest checking the bulletin in the locker room. As for this meeting, you’re all free to go,” His blue irises scanned the faces of all the employees, searching for confusion or questions to be answered. You averted your gaze, following suit as the rest of the room erupted in moving chairs and shuffling scrubs.

You already knew where you were working for the night; the same place as the last two, over in the geriatrics wing. This night would be the same as the others, not that you were in any place to be upset about that.

“Y/N!” Historia’s voice called you to look over your shoulder, barely out of the conference room. She had a slimy smile on her face; the kind that reeked of favors and avoidance. You felt the need to control your eyebrow from rising in annoyance. “Can I ask you something?”

You exhaled from your nose. “Shoot.”

“I have a patient in room 702 that I was assigned to,” The slightest batting of her mascara slicked lashes, blue irises working their hardest to win you over. You raised your eyebrows, urging her to continue. The other staff shuffled by you, sparing nosy glances. “I was wondering if you could take it? I’ll work in the geriatrics wing tonight for you.”

You had to give it to the tiny woman; for all she was worth, she was great at getting people to do what she wanted. You valued her responsibility and reliability, and she’d proved to be a friendly presence in the workplace. However, that didn’t stop you from seeing the selfish underbelly of her prosperous actions.

“What’s the patient in for?” You humored her. Even if her request was self-fulfilling, you figured might as well use it to your own advantage. Almost anything beat another night in geriatrics changing diapers and administering pill dosages.

“A blood transfusion,” She responded, smiling softly at you. “I’m not very good with bloody things, you know. Easily squeamish.”

You pretended to ponder whether or not to take her up on her offer. It was an easy choice, really. “Yeah, sure. What blood type are they?”

☤   ☤   ☤

The stand rattled unpleasantly against the tiled ground as you stopped in front of room 702. The thick bag of blood shook slightly from the sudden stop. How Historia had ever become a nurse when grossed out with the concept of blood, you weren’t sure. It seemed that her sweet disposition often aided her in whatever situation she needed to change for the better. You were an adult woman though, so whatever her motivations might’ve been didn’t concern you.

You gave the cart a once over, making sure all the necessary tools and items were there: a needle, an IV, gauze, those sorts of things. Blood transfusions were a typically fussless procedure; tediously watching the red liquid pump itself into the body.

Your knuckles lightly knocked on the door. “Hello, I’m here to give you your blood transfusion!”

Silence, beating through the empty hallway of the hospital. The lights were dimmed and eerily abandoned. You waited for ten seconds before opening the door to the sleepy room.

The heavy door creaked open, revealing he who was to be given blood. Historia had mentioned he was a John Doe, lying unconscious on the bleached sheets. You turned back to grab your cart, not bothering to be quiet. He’d be awake soon enough, anyway.

As you wheeled it in, your back was to the patient. The cart squeaked and rattled, stopping at the foot of the bed. You turned around, ready to rouse him from his slumber.

Beautiful.

You’d had attractive patients before. Both men and women who floated by life with the easy wings of accurately placed facial features to boost them up. A pretty face often had heat rising to your cheeks, but professionalism stopped you from thinking any further. Natural biological responses couldn’t be helped, after all.

Never had a patient left your lips parting in awe, heart drumming up it’s own beat of excitement in your chest. His face was slim; sharp jawline and a large, broad nose peeking out into the air. Pale cheeks barely dusted by the pink of an almost intangible blush. His eyelashes were long and thick, jutting out against the purple hue of his impossibly dark circles. Hair the color of old driftwood swirled and bunched on his pillow. He had to have been one of the most attractive people you’d ever treated, let alone seen.

What color were his eyes? Were they a dark brown, one to match the nature of his hair color? Or were they green, contrasting his pale skin? You began to feel eager to find out, more excited to know and learn as your gloved hand gripped his broad shoulder. You frowned at the frigid temperature of his skin.

“Excuse me, sir,” You gently shook, trying not to give away the way your body was reacting. There was no place for hormonal displays in your line of work, and despite his undeniable beauty, you were determined to remain professional.

His eyelids snapped open with such a speed you had to compose yourself not to trip backwards. Contrary to what you thought, his irises were a pale, almost sickly greyish blue. They held no gleam; no life behind them. Disturbance washed over your brain, warning bells going off in your mind. He looks slightly… feral?

He jolted upwards, confusion knotted on his once peaceful face. You stumbled backwards slightly, hip clipping on the cart.

“Who are you?” His voice was gravelly, as if it hadn’t been used in quite some time. Blue eyes stared at you with such an uncertainty it made your head spin.

“I’m your nurse, I’m here to give you your blood transfusion,” You gestured towards the cart and stand, a red bag hanging from it like a token of peace. Despite his prickly reaction, you weren’t frightened.

“I feel like I’ve met you before,” He said, eyes squinted. Analyzing you, trying to pick apart your being, yet there you stood before him, a marvel to be held. He briefly glanced to the side; not more than a millisecond were his eyes off you before they were back, filled with unadulterated panic. “Where- where is Historia?”

You frowned, a little perturbed. “She asked to swap-”

“I need you to leave, now.” He growled, voice deep and authoritative. You widened your gaze, taken aback by his demanding request. The sheet fell from around his shoulders, bare chest exposed. Large hands raced to his face, hiding the features you’d once considered beautiful. “Get out of here!”

“Are you alright?” You panicked, stepping closer to the bed. His large form began shaking, knees drawing towards his chest from under the blanket. He appeared to be in pain; like a wounded animal.

“Fuck,” He yelled, breathing becoming labored. There wasn’t time to ponder. Was he having a panic attack? Was he going into shock? Questions didn’t need to be asked, you just knew that you needed to act. “I said leave!”

“No, I need to help you with whatever-” His hand shot off of his face, long, black claws sharpening from his fingers. You became fear stricken, his palm connecting with your chest. It sent you stumbling backwards, tripping over the wire to the heart monitor and slamming into the wall with your back. Tendrils of pain clamored up your spine.

“Close your eyes,” He rose from the bed, both hands dropping from his face. You couldn’t see his eyes, fist clutching your scrubs above your heart. Uncertainty. Terror, facing death like this. A monster stood before you, created by the devil himself. Tall, foreboding, chest heaving. His neck snapped upwards; wide, red eyes piercing into your thinly veiled soul. He spoke something like a garbled beast. “Promise me you’ll close your eyes.”

You didn’t respond. There were no words to be spoken. Between his pink lips glinted a pair of large, sharp incisors. “Promise!”

You reverberated with his words, wincing and shutting your eyes involuntarily. He didn’t want you to watch as he slaughtered you. “I-I promise!”

The loud clamor of metal colliding with the polished floor had you breaking your promise mere seconds after it’d been made.

He stood, illuminated by the fluorescent bulbs like an angel ascending to heaven. The bag, once an object you’d believed to be a healing beacon, clutched between clawed hands. His teeth, bare to the world, puncturing the thick plastic as though it were paper.

His adam’s apple bobbed rhythmically as he swallowed mouthfuls of thick, red blood. It was as if he’d been starved; knees buckling and desperate blood sucking so intense that his legs could no longer support his body weight. He knelt on the once clean floor.

The twine that connected your sense of reality and rationale had been pulled taut -- pieces of the frayed string snapping and threatening to drop you into depths unknown. Uncertainty had always been a foreign concept; you’d been given the option to study your circumstance and fully conceptualize it before going head first into a situation.

That’s what had intrigued you about being a nurse; though the job seemed like a bull in a china shop, you’d learned every reason why or how that bull ended up there and what exactly you needed to do to get it out.

You lacked the expertise or even the understanding to handle this particular situation. What studying could’ve been done? Reading horror stories or watching Twilight as a teenager with your friends? Even then, the probability of this happening to you felt like it should’ve been a zero percent chance.

You liked knowing what to do. Thrived on it, actually. This man, tall and dangerous, presented you with no opportunity to know. There was no textbook on how to handle a vampire, as childish as it felt to recognize that that’s what this was.

You’d been so sure. So convinced that there was no possibility of this heinous monster being an actual thing to walk the same crusted earth as you. Yet here he was, dawning the shape of a man and the face of an angel. How could someone so beautiful be so terrifying?

The hospital wall was cold against your back, the distant hammering of an organ that no longer felt placed in your chest rang true against your clenched fist. You felt the chilling call to move, to rise from your place and run. You didn’t know where, but the muscles in your thighs screamed a silent symphony.

He made quick work of the bag, like it was nothing and had never been anything in the first place. Who had donated that blood? They were probably asleep somewhere, lying in a bed and dreaming of a different world. A world where their charitable donation wasn’t being consumed by a devil before your terrified soul.

The red liquid oozed from his lips and dripped onto his barren chest. You hadn’t moved since you’d collided with the wall what felt like an eternity ago. Your ears rung rapidly with the obnoxious blood flow to your overstimulated brain.

Eyes the shade of a blue jay traced from a pair of blood soaked claws up towards your face, following the path of destruction. Though shock and fear reverberated through your every nerve, the softness in his gaze dulled a small part of your terror. He looked guilty, holding his dripping hands in front of his face like he’d just committed murder.

“You promised to close your eyes,” A voice so small, as if he’d known you your whole life and you had just witnessed a character altering situation. Something echoed in the back of his words, something that sounded like resentment. You couldn’t tell if it was directed at your prying eyes or himself.

“I- I didn’t, I mean, I tried not to but,” You were at a loss. A loss for a way to communicate how you were feeling, a loss for sanity in the world. The monster before you scowled, as if scolding a child who’d disobeyed their parent. “What are you?”

He brought his bloody hands to the floor; you noted that the claws were gone. “I figure it’s pretty obvious at this point. Can’t you tell?” He whispered.

“But vampires aren’t-” His steely gaze hardened at your choice of words. “They aren’t real, are they?”

“They are,” He responded, looking at you with such a strong emotion that you shifted uncomfortably against the wall. What was he thinking? Those eyes looked like they were fixed on someone he cared deeply for, not someone he’d met mere minutes ago. “But you weren’t supposed to know that, which is why I asked you not to open your eyes.”

“You started drinking a bag of blood right in front of me!” You whisper-yelled, brows knitting together to display your slight frustration. The wonder and fear still laid active in your chest, but something about him was familiar and comforting, despite his gruesome actions. You couldn’t explain exactly why you knew he would bring you no harm. “Of course I was going to open my eyes. If I’m not supposed to know, why would you do that right in front of me?”

His scowl deepened. “I tried to warn you. I haven’t had any blood in awhile and I lost control of myself.”

“What happens now?” Your question came out smaller than intended, unfamiliarity rising in your abdomen. The thick stench of blood was beginning to make your intestines twist in disgusting unease.

The question sought to strike a chord in the young man’s features; a grim and saddened look swept across his sharp attributes. His hand came up to pinch his temples, unperturbed by the bloody fingerprints left in its wake. “We have to get out of here, and fast. If we don’t, the people who are after me will kill you.”

“Kill me?” The word had a different sense of fear wafting over you; the kind that pricked your eyes with the sensation to shed tears. He looked pained. “I can tell them that I didn’t see anything, I can promise that I never saw you and-”

“It doesn’t work like that,” He snapped, glancing at you with irritation. His harsh tone forced your pleas to die unsaid in your throat. “The people following me aren’t rational. One of them will also be able to tell you’re lying.”

“So then, what am I supposed to do?” You cried, allowing the bottled up and suppressed emotions to spill over the thin wall of resolve that his comforting presence provided. He didn’t flinch but remained in serious tranquility. “I’m supposed to leave here and hit the road with some random man, who is a fucking vampire, and what? Hope for the best?”  

He looked away from you, blood-covered face staring at the hospital bed that he’d once occupied. “It’s my fault you’re stuck in this now. I owe you enough to protect your life as best as I can.”

You were in hysterics. What sort of ultimatum was this? Stay and die or leave and risk dying? Another predicament that couldn’t be solved with the aid of literary education. Resentment was beginning to build in your own chest. Diving into an unexplored depth of the ocean, brimming with creatures and lore that you had never predicted to be real.

“Hey,” You snapped back to reality. The man before you scooted forwards slightly. Though his face was that of a devil, soaked in another’s blood and deathly pale, his movement had your chest tightening in something other than fear. “I won’t let them hurt you. I promise, if you come with me, you’ll be safe until I can get them off our tail. Then I’ll take off and they’ll follow me, leaving you alone.”

Sticky tears trailed down your cheeks, eyes burning. When did you start crying? “How -- how can you be so sure? How can I trust you?”

He was on his hands and knees in front of you now, sharp nose half a foot away from your face. Any call to breathe was put on hold, teary eyes widening slightly at his stare. It was soft and open, trusting in the strangest way. His dark hair hung around his face.

“My goal is to rid the world of demons such as myself. That’s why they’re after me, and why they would take your life to guarantee silence. When I’m finished with what I want to accomplish, I will be dead and so will they. I have nothing to gain by hurting you. I promise to keep you alive long enough to see the end of this.”

Your lips parted in awe. The conviction in his tone was that to lead an entire army into battle; to create religions and cult followings. Blessed be the demon who wished to take down his own kind.

You had spent years convincing yourself to trust in what others told you to follow. Self-intuition wasn’t enough to breed a successful nurse; you needed the expertise of studies and procedures done before you. You required the necessary tools that others had used and approved of. Your heart’s certainty had no place in medicine. It had no place in the tried and true.

The man slowly rose one freezing hand towards your face, apprehensively watching for your reaction. You sat unmoving, owl-eyed. His palm caressed your chin, cold thumb swiping the tear from your cheek, smearing blood in its wake. “Find it in your heart to trust me.”

The conviction of his words rang lightning through your veins, mouth speaking without precedented thought. “Okay.”

He rose from his crouched position, offering a red hand to help you up from against the wall. You shook your head. There had been enough blood sharing for the evening, sanitation crossing your mind as you shakily slid along the rough plaster, bracing yourself to display a toughness that you weren’t sure you contained.

The rule of thumb not to trust those whom you don’t know played a soft melody in your heart. Mothers’ warnings and fathers’ lectures. Apparently all you had been told fell upon deaf ears, clouded with the hazy judgement of a life threatening situation. But in circumstances such as these, did the general rule apply? You were left to ponder.

“Hey, wait,” You frowned, a dumbfounded feeling crossing your mind as the man stepped towards the opposite side of the room. He stopped and turned, sharp jaw jutting against his mane. “What even is your name?”

“Oh,” He turned back towards the other side of the room. You didn’t follow. The door was the opposite direction, so whatever business he had over there did not concern you. “It’s Eren. And you?”

You felt a slight heat rise to your cheeks at the confession of his name. It was beautiful, feeling somehow appropriate for his physical appearance. “It’s Y/N.”

“Ah,” He responded, as if he already knew. You scoffed inwardly at his tone, still anxiously pressed against the wall. His blood stained hand rose to the latch on the window, attempting to open it.

“Why are you opening the window?” You questioned, noticing a beep from out in the hallway. The door stood open, allowing passersby to witness the blood on the floor and your cheek, as well as this man called Eren, who appeared straight out of a horror movie.

Closing the wooden door meant deciding with certainty to trust him; to follow him and hope that whatever tales of murderous vampires he’d shared had been truthful. To step away from the knowledge and the comfort of your current life. It implied that no one would see you in there with him and come to your rescue.

They will kill you.

Your hand gently clicked the heavy door into its place.

Turning back to Eren, you noticed his hand wrapped around the latch to the window. He was frozen in place, watching you make your final choice.

“You didn’t answer my question,” You reiterated. Eren turned back towards the glass. His reflection wavered slightly in the shine.

“This is how we’re getting out of here,” Eren responded, pulling the latch and shoving the window open as far as it would go. It stopped at about two inches, for safety reasons.

Disbelief once again danced across your mind, pulling you into what was beginning to feel like a new equilibrium. “If you’re planning to leap out of that window, it only opens that far.”

He ignored you, bringing his bloodied palms up against the glass. It appeared as though he merely shoved it; so light that it shouldn’t have budged. It shouldn’t have moved at all. The heavy window snapped at its industrialized hinges, pummeling down towards the ground below.

He glanced at you from over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised semi-smugly. You gawked back; simultaneously impressed by his strength as well as put off. “Let’s go.”

“I’ll die if I jump from here,” You scoffed, still not moving from your place. Eren stared back emotionlessly. He stepped towards the bed, reaching beneath it and pulling out what appeared to be a black hooded jacket.

He swung it over his shoulders, pulling the hood above his head. “I know. If you ride on my back, you won’t die.”

“Are you always this mundanely serious about fucking supernatural shit like this?” You spat. There was a warmth beginning to settle in your face as well as your core; heated by the idea of being so close to him.

“Yes,” He retorted, walking towards you so quickly you thought your head would start spinning. “No time to waste with your endless questions.”

He reached down, abruptly swooping you up from behind your thighs, effectively gripping you bridal style.

“Eren, put me down. Put me down!” You started squirming as he thundered towards the open window. You hated heights as much as the next person; they were fine in retrospect, but made you dizzy when in close proximity. Eren seemed unbothered by your quiet cries of protest.

“Eren, I swear to god,” You brought your fist to his broad chest. He ignored you, stepping onto the ledge of the window. Against any better judgement you still retained, your eyes glanced towards the drop. Your stomach sank, becoming a heavy boulder in the bottom of your abdomen. “Fuck, put me down!”

He stared down at you. A gaze so tranquil that the rest of the scene seemed to fade away. You became hyper-aware of his bare chest which you were pressed against; that unfamiliar churning in your core spreading towards your limbs.

“Hold still, or I’ll drop you.”

☤   ☤   ☤

next chapter >>

tagging: @sunshinedragonofthewest​ @ryukatters​

[rocksandrobots]

Phantoms of the Past: Chapter 40 - The Addendum

Hiro adjusted his seat as the airplane prepared to take off. He turned to Krei who sat next to him.  

"So... um.... you're not going to tell Aunt Cass about our little misadventure on the ol' homestead, are-are you?"

Krei sighed. "I'm sorry Hiro, but I have to. Oh don't worry, I'll leave out the superheroing stuff, but she has the right to know."

"But everyone's okay. You're just going to upset her over nothing."

"Hiro, it's not 'nothing'. Your brother almost died. I almost died and had a very expensive suit ruined in the process."

Hiro frowned at that; not that he cared anything about Krei's clothing, but he didn't like being reminded how close to losing someone he cared about they had gotten. He was seated towards the front and he tilted his head back to look at his friends. Tadashi and Gogo were curled up next to each other with headphones in, ready to watch the in-flight movie. Across from them were Fred and Wasabi, playing some sort of video game on Fred's hand-held system. Baymax was stored in his case above them, and behind everyone sat Varian and Honey Lemon.

They were holding hands while whispering and giggling with one another. Normally Hiro would be thinking of ways to tease his brother for such open displays of affection, but for now, all he could do was wonder how close to death he really had been. Honey Lemon for sure was being more receptive to Varian's advances, as he kissed her hand and she nuzzled her head on his shoulder. Neither of them noticed Hiro watching them, they seemed to be lost in their own little world.

"What...what exactly happened out there?" Hiro asked Krei as he turned back around.

"Just what we've told you already. He apparently didn't get hurt, but for a while, it really looked like Varian had been shot."

Hiro gave the billionaire a pained expression before staring off in the distance while he reflected on the seriousness of the matter.

"This... this wasn't just one of our regular missions, was it?"

Krei mulled over this statement. "Well, I don't know what you would call normal, being a superhero and all.... but given all the times I've been robbed or kidnapped this was certainly one of the more dangerous instances."

"Yeeaah, getting kidnapped and robbed constantly isn't normal Krei."

"Well, it is if you're rich." Krei huffed as he squirmed in his seat.

Hiro gave him an incredulous look. "No, I'm... I'm pretty sure it's just you... and all the dirty deals you keep making."

Krei rolled his eyes. "Look, I've done a lot of things in my past that I'm not proud of and, you're right some of it... alright, a lot of it, has come back around to bite me in the rear end, b-but I'm trying to be a better person, and telling your aunt what happened is just the responsible thing to do."

Hiro raised his eyebrow at that.

"You'll see," Krei insisted. "Cass will thank me."

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

"You WHAT!!?" Aunt Cass snapped.

"I... um... well you see Cass...it's like this..." Krei gulped as he backed away from the furious woman.

She was inches from his face, covered in baking flour, and threatening him with a rolling pin. They were finally back home and night had already fallen outside. Krei had dropped the boys off at the Lucky Cat last, but his plan to inform their aunt of what happened during the trip wasn't going as well as he had hoped.

"I can't believe you!" Cass shouted, not giving him time to explain. "I trusted you. You said this was just going to be a safe, weekend trip to some camp! 'It'll be fun' you said; 'It'll build character' you said, and I fell for it!"

"B-but Cass..."

"Don't 'but' me." She ordered as she shoved the tip of the roller against his large nose. "You're not taking my kids out anywhere else. Do you understand?"

"But it's not his fault Aunt Cass." Varian protested on his behalf.

"Oh, don't you start. What were you thinking!? Trying to take on armed goons by yourself. You could have gotten hurt or worse! Where would we be then?"

Varian sighed but didn't argue back.

"That still doesn't make any of this Krei's fault though," Tadashi stated simply.

Aunt Cass placed her hands on her hips and gave her oldest nephew a disapproving glare.

"What?" Tadashi protested. "It's true."

"Yeah," Hiro agreed. "Krei's can't help it if Varian is an idiot."

"Hey!" Varian snapped and loomed over his smaller brother.

"Yeah, what Hiro said." Krei pointed over her shoulder.

Aunt Cass rolled her eyes. "This isn't up for debate, and Varian you and I are going to have a serious discussion about reckless behavior later."

Varian groaned. "But Aunt Cass..."

"No but's." She stamped her foot. "And you're all grounded... all four of you!"

"Why are we grounded?" Hiro whined.

"Also I'm like 20 now," Tadashi argued. "I don't think you legally can ground me."

"How do you even ground a billionaire?" Varian mused.

Aunt Cass grew even more frustrated as her boys kept poking holes in her logic. "I... I have my ways, now to your rooms. Everyone. Shoo!"

Her kids reluctantly started to make their way up the stairs and she turned to see Krei trying to sneak away.

"Oh no, you don't." She ordered as she grabbed him by the ear.

"But I thought you told us to go to our rooms?" Krei said as he tried to weasel out of her grasp. "An-and my room is over on the other side of town-oww!"

"Don't hurt him too much Aunt Cass," Varian called down from upstairs. "He might still be sore from fighting that bandit with a gun that attacked us."

Aunt Cass immediately let go of the billionaire's ear in surprise.

"It's true," Tadashi confirmed as he leaned his head around the corner of the stairs. "Gogo says he tackled the dude like a quarterback."

"Is...is that true Alistair?"

Krei ruefully rubbed his ear, "Yeah, well I was the closest one to him and he wasn't paying any attention to me so... it just made sense at... the time..."

He trailed off when he saw Cass pouting at him.

"Sounds like a pretty brave and responsible thing to do, doesn't it Aunt Cass?" Hiro added, joining his brothers at the bottom of the stairs.

Aunt Cass blinked as if coming out of a trance. She turned to see her three kids leaning over the banister, smiling smugly at her.

"I thought I told you to go to your rooms." She pressed and they all shrugged and hurried up the stairs. They had had a long weekend anyways, so no one really complained.

An awkward silence filled the room after they were gone.

Aunt Cass rubbed the back of her neck. "So... um..."

"Uh... yeah..." Krei replied, hugging his arm.

"I'm sorry." They then blurted out together.

"I should have listened to the whole story before flipping out like that." Aunt Cass said.

"No, I should have called you as soon as we made it to the sheriff's office. I just didn't want you to think that I couldn't handle things. Though come to think of it, tackling a man while he was firing a gun wasn't the smartest nor safest thing to do." He awkwardly laughed.

"No it wasn't... b-but it was very brave." She stood on her toes and gave him an unsuspecting kiss. "Thank you."

"You-you're welcome," Krei replied, a smile slowly forming across his lips.

"You... um... do you... want to stay for some coffee?"

"S-sure?"

Aunt Cass gave a sly smile, grabbed the bottom of his tie, and started to pull him along upstairs. Krei grinned like a man who'd just won the lottery.

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

Varian had just laid down on his bed and gotten comfortable when his phone rang. He reached over Ruddigger, who was curled up beside him, to answer it.

"Hello?"

"I can't sleep." Honey Lemon said. He could just hear the pout in her voice.

He turned his head to look at the clock on his nightstand. It was nearly midnight.

"Well, what do you want me to do about it?" He asked, not unkindly.

"I don't know." Honey Lemon whined. "Are you in bed already?"

"Well I was about to go to sleep, but I can stay up if you want."

"Gogo's already asleep. She crashed as soon as we got back to the apartment."

"Can't say that I blame her. It's been a long day."

"How do you do it?" She sighed.

"Do what?"

"How do you go back to sleep when... when bad stuff keeps just playing over and over in your head?"

Varian also sighed as he leaned back in his bed. "Ahh... it's not easy... Dr. Mcguire had me keep a dream journal for when I wake up with nightmares. I don't know how well it works though."

"What kind of nightmares?" Honey Lemon asked, her voice suddenly full of concern.

"Just... nightmares. All kinds."

"Nightmares about... about Corona?

"S-sometimes."

There was a long pause where neither wanted to press the matter forward.

Honey Lemon broke the silence first. "What do you do when you have these nightmares?"

"Well, first I try to go back to sleep. I'll focus on something around me that's.. well real... like Ruddiger curled up next to me, or I'll try to listen for a comforting noise, like the overhead fan blowing or something. If that doesn't help then I'll get up and try to do something else till I get sleepy again. Take a shower, work on a project, maybe cook, something like that."

"Then how does the journal come into play?"

"Oh, that? Oh, I'll write stuff down in the morning. If I notice that the nightmares are happening a lot lately I'll bring it up with Dr. Brown."

"Do… do you think I should see a doctor... given.. given what just happened?"

"I think that's up to you. I don't think it would hurt just to try it though.... You can ask Aunt Cass for Dr. McGuire's number."

"Maybe...." She trailed off and for a few moments, Varian feared that she hung up.

"Honey? Are you still there?

"Yeah" She sighed.

"Do you want me to get dressed and come over?"

"No, you don't have to. It's too late."

"It's only midnight."

"And what are you going to tell your aunt?"

"Um.. 'I'm going to Honey Lemon's, bye.'" came his confused response.

"And you think your aunt is just gonna let you walk out the door past midnight, on a school night, to go hang at your friend's apartment?"

"Sure. Why not? She knows you and she knows where you live... It's not like I'm sneaking out to get drunk at the club again."

He could practically see Honey Lemon rolling her eyes as she snorted at his lame joke.

"My mother would never let me go out in the middle of the night to see some boy. Even if he's a friend."

"Well it's not like you live with your mom anymore. So do you want me to come over or not? We could break open the chemistry set and tackle that issue you were having with the mini-chimballs deteriorating, or maybe watch a movie?"

"We can't do that. We'd wake up Gogo."

"Then what if you came over here? I'll come and pick you up. We can watch the latest wrestling match on pay per view."

"Oh, no." She laughed.

"Okay, okay you win. We'll watch one of those romantic comedies you like. We can pop some popcorn and cuddle on the couch."

"That actually sounds nice."

"So you wanna come over then?"

"No." She sighed. "We have school in the morning and I can't fall asleep in Mr. Pickrell class again. I just can't. We only got one more month till finals, and I can't flunk thermal dynamics class just cause I couldn't stay awake. Mama would kill me."

"So what do you wanna do then? What will help you sleep?"

"Can... can you just stay on the phone with me, till I fall asleep?"

"Your wish is my command, my lady."

He snuggled back under the covers and Honey Lemon sent him a facetime request. She cooed over Ruddiger as soon as the screen came up. The raccoon nuzzled the glowing screen with interest before getting bored and deciding he'd rather have food than compliments.

"Oh how I wish we were allowed pets in the apartment." Honey Lemon bemoaned as she watched the creature waddle away. "That's the one thing I don't like about this place.... well that and my bed being in the middle of the living room."

"What kind of pet would you want?"

"A bunny rabbit, or maybe a kitty cat... no, definitely a puppy dog."

Varian couldn't help but laugh at her enthusiasm, though he tried his best to hide it.

"What kind of dog?"

"Any kind... All dogs are good dogs." She said.

"Well when we get the castle built you can have all the pets you want."

"So I could get all three?"

"Sure."

"B-but we're not eating the rabbits." She quickly ordered.

"No, of course not. After all, you can get rabbit meat for sale at the grocery store on 10th street."

Honey Lemon gasped and threw a pillow at the phone.

Varian could no longer hold back his giggles and burst out laughing.

"Stop it!'

"I... I'm sorry... haha... I can't help it." He sputtered through his joyous tears.

"Your awful." She complained half heartedly.

"But you still love me." He mocked.

In answer she stuck her tongue out at him. He wheezed as he launched into a new fit of laughter.

"Shhh... You'll wake up Gogo." Honey Lemon hushed him. "Granted, she sleeps with ear plugs, b-but still."

"She sleeps with ear plugs?"

Honey Lemon rolled her eyes. "She complains that I snore too loud."

"Nah... you snore at just the right volume." he teased, which prompted her to roll her eyes even harder.

"Remind me why I called you again."

"Cause you love me, we've been through this... Also cause I'm probably the only one awake."

She turned her nose up in the air.

"And who says that I love you?" She replied with mock coldness, but Varian caught her trying to peek at him out of the side of her eye.

"You don't love me?" He echoed with an exaggerated whine.

"Noooo" She shook her head but couldn't hide her smile.

"Then who do you love?" he whispered, trying hard not to smile, himself.

"No one." She insisted, tilting her nose up even higher and refusing to look at him. "I'm much too busy for romance."

"Awe, more's the pity." He softly sighed. He noticed her cheeks flush as she bit her lip.

"Do... do you like anyone?" She asked more seriously, still not looking at him.

"Oh, I can think of at least one person.... they're pretty cute." A smile played on his lips as he waited for her to catch on.

Honey Lemon however didn't take the bait.

"Do I know them?"

"Yeah, I'm sure you do."

"Umm.... is it Karmi?"

"No." He shook his head. "She's into Hiro, remember?"

"That's right.... Is it Trina?"

"Uh, she's more like a little sister to me... b-but don't tell her I said that cause she will kick my butt."

Honey Lemon leaned forward as she laid out on her bed, propping her head up with her free hand.

"Let's see... It can't be Megan, cause she's not into guys. Wasabi is already dating someone else. Mole's too young. Do you still like Carol?"

"Carol is nice, but I pretty much blew it with her."

"Oh, well maybe she's forgiven you since then?"

"She has, but not enough to go on another date with me."

"What about Fred then?" She giggled. She couldn't even pretend to keep a straight face as she asked. "Did you discover any long deep hidden feelings when you two went out?"

Varian snorted so hard he about fell out of the bed as he doubled over with laughter. "Yeah that's hard no."

Honey Lemon joined him in his laughter. "Then I don't know... Th-that hot guy that teaches fencing at the gym?"

"He is hot, but no. Also can I just say; I noticed that you completely skipped over Gogo."

"Oh I know you two aren't into one another." Honey Lemon dismissed. "Dating Gogo would be like dating your big sister."

"This is true... Any other guesses?"

She suddenly grew quiet and Varian feared that he had done something wrong.

"It's... it's not Austin is it?" She whispered.

Varian screwed up his face in confusion. "Allen's daughter?... Well she's alright I guess, but no it's not her."

Honey Lemon's eyes went wide, but she quickly brushed off her excitement. "Were you into any of her friends? I know that Zeb guy liked you."

"He did?" Varian gave a cocky smile. "Well now that is interesting... You know, he wasn't too bad looking himself."

He noticed Honey Lemon desperately trying not to make a face and failing.

"He's not your type huh?"

"He's.. fine." She lied, which only caused Varian to laugh harder.

"Well no, he's not the person I'm talking about. I barely know him."

Honey Lemon furrowed her brow in thought, before rolling on her back and holding the phone aloft.

"So you've known them for a while, and I've met them.... but they're not any of our friends..."

She looked confused for a moment and Varian genuinely wondered if she was teasing him or if she really hadn't noticed his feelings for her still. Maybe he'd have to be more forthcoming?

Unfortunately all thoughts of confessing then and there were banished from his mind when Honey Lemon asked her next question.

"Is it that girl with the long hair that you were singing with on Halloween?" She hesitantly asked.

The smile was wiped from his face in an instant. He looked like she had kicked him in the teeth.

"No." He said sharply, coldly.

Honey Lemon flinched. "S-sorry. I just couldn't think of anyone else."

"Really? Is it not obvious?"

"Well, I haven't met anyone else from Corona. She wasn't your ex, was she?"

Varian made a disgusted face. "Absolutely not."

"Then she wa-wasn't Cassie? Who was she then?" ......................................... "Varian?"

"Okay, first off, Cassie and I never dated. We weren't even friends... n-not really. And second off..." He sighed deeply as he thought of a way to explain. "Th-that woman you saw on Halloween... she and I have, uh, a complicated history together."

"She's the princess you told me about. Isn't she?"

"Yes."

"What happened between you?"

"I don't wanna talk about it."

"You never want to talk about it."

"That's because you freak out anytime I mention it."

"Can you blame me? It sounds terrifying, and you're still talking about going back there."

Varian slowly let out a sigh and closed his eyes. "I'm not going anywhere near Rapunzel or the palace when I go back. I'm just going to rescue my father and come straight back here."

"But it's been months. How do you even know where he is?"

"I know. I know exactly where he is, and I know exactly how to free him, and the portals are the key."

"Free him?"

There was another long pause.

"Varian?... What aren't you telling us?" Still no answer. Honey Lemon let out a deep sigh. "How can we help you if you won't tell us what's going on?"

Varian once again declined to answer.

"Fine... then what happened to you and this Cassie person? Would you at least tell me that?"

Varian seemed genuinely surprised by that question. He thought it over carefully, before replying.

"She's the captain's daughter."

Honey Lemon waited for more of an explanation, but none came. She at first couldn't understand the cryptic answer. What did her father's job have to do with anything? Then she realized he meant the captain of the guards, the same guards that had chased him down and attacked him.

"She took her dad's side over yours."

"More than that. She actually joined the royal guards. Despite knowing that my dad was injured. Despite knowing what happened to my village. Despite knowing that the king falsely scapegoated me to save his own skin. Okay? She knew all of that, and she simply decided that her career was more important than our relationship."

"That's horrible." Honey Lemon whispered.

Varian shrugged off her pity. "It doesn't matter. We weren't close to begin with, and I'm no longer in Corona so it's not like I'm ever going to see her again anyways."

"Tad-tadshi said that she stole something, and that's why that Rapunzel woman showed up. They wanted your help getting it back."

Varian rolled his eyes. "Freakin' Tadashi... so that's why you're bringing this all up. How much did he blab about?"

"Everything, and don't get mad at us. We're just trying to help you."

"I'm not mad- fine. Like I said, it doesn't matter. I'm not helping them. I don't care what Cassandra is up to right now or why she stole the moonstone. The only thing I care about is getting my Dad back and that shouldn't involve any of them in any way."

"But what if they come back here again?"

Varian shook his head. "They can't... and if they did it's not like they can do anything to get me to cooperate."

"Are you sure?"

Varian sighed. "What are you afraid of? That they'll try and drag me back to Corona?"

"Well, yeah.. or worse. Why is it so hard to understand that I... that we care about you?"

A sly smile reappeared on Varian's face. "So you do love me?"

Honey Lemon cheeks turned crimson. "I'm trying to be serious here! Stop changing the subject, you... you jerk."

Varian burst out laughing again, annoying Honey Lemon even further. He never took her annoyance with him seriously.

"Ugh... and you wonder why you're single."

"What's that supposed to mean?" He gasped as he fought his giggles.

"Well maybe if you were honest with the person you have a crush on, and just admitted your feelings for them instead of teasing people, like you do," She huffed and folded her arms, "then maybe you'd be together by now?"

"Oh is that so... well then Miss Expert, what would you recommend that I do?"

Honey Lemon flopped back on the bed again and gave the question serious consideration. For all her protesting otherwise, she was actually grateful to move away from the subject of Corona.

"Hmmm... You should do something nice. Something to catch their attention and let them know how you feel; like a bouquet of flowers, or a poem. Something thoughtful, that you'll know they'll enjoy, but it should also come from the heart, you know. It should be unique to you, an expression of who you are as well."

Varian gave her a skeptical look. "You know that just sounds like a word salad right?"

"Well it's hard to think of anything more specific when you won't tell me who it is."

Varian fought against the urge to roll his eyes and instead rubbed his brow with his hand. "Okay let's try this. Why don't you tell me what you would like... hypothetically speaking of course."

Honey Lemon gave a thoughtful pout. "I don't know... Something sweet and sincere... not to mention romantic."

"What do you consider romantic?"

"Well.. umm... something big... like... oooh did you ever see that movie "Lost in Chicago"?

"No."

"So in it, there's this guy who's like all street wise and he's like an edgy bad boy, and he helps this preppy girl who's on vacation but she gets off on the wrong bus stop on the the wrong side of town by accident and he tries to get her home, and anyways... They have a series of misadventures and he finally gets her home, but like they have to say goodbye because her mother would never approve of them dating. Anyways a couple days pass and he crashes her engagement party to this other preppy guy, who's good looking but not at all nice, and he gives this big speech about how he traveled miles to find her and while playing their song and then they run away together."

"Honey, you just described the plot of a movie." Varian sighed. "This is real life."

"Well... yeah, but don't you see? It's romantic because he worked so hard and defied all the odds to prove how much he appreciates her."

"Is love supposed to be hard work?"

"Well to some extent... I mean, if you never put forth the effort, how is the other person supposed to know what they mean to you?.... Why are you laughing!?"

"I'm not laughing." Varian snickered.

"You are too."

"Honey... you have no idea how much effort I've already put into impressing yo- … them. Impressing them. They apparently haven't noticed anything I've done."

Honey Lemon yawned, sleep finally catching up to her. "Well what have you done then?"

She propped up her phone against the pillow opposite herself, and curled up on her side, snuggling the other pillow in her arms, as she listened to Varian ramble on. His voice was soothing to listen to, even if he was nervously stuttering."

"Well.. um... I took them out to this really nice restaurant once... th-they seemed to like it , but I guess it wasn't a real date... Then I tried making them jewelry, and I took them dancing, and I-"

"That sounds nice." Honey Lemon absently yawned.

"And I kissed their hand." Varian said, louder than usual.

"Hmm-hmm... that's cute." She mumbled.

"...and I rescued them from deadly outlaws." He silently grumbled.

"Did you say something?" She sighed.

"No, nothing." Varian answered and he too laid back down, resting his arm over his eyes.

"Maybe you should try something else?" Honey Lemon suddenly said. Her eyes still closed. "Something big and romantic," She yawned, "something that they can't ignore."

"You mean something obvious... like telling them 'Hey, I like you, you wanna go out?' Something like that?"

"Yeah.. but like in a romantic way." she muttered, and soon started snoring.

Varian turned his head to look at the phone, annoyed that she had given him nothing but vague answers, only for his heart to melt when saw her sleeping face through the screen. She was so beautiful. He wished he was lying beside her for real. Another snore sounded loudly against his ear. He snorted with laughter. He guessed this was the next best thing.

"Something big and romantic, huh?" He said to himself as he readjusted his pillow. "Yeah... I think I can pull that off."

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

Unbeknown to the sleeping denizens of the Lucky Cat, they were being monitored by a slender figure on the opposite side of the street.

The person that had once been Abigail Callaghan removed her sunglasses revealing two brightly glowing green eyes. She pulled a cell phone out of her trench coat pocket.

She pressed a button, a green spark ignited from her fingers and the screen began to glow the same as her eyes. She placed the phone to ear as a staticky garbled noise sounded out from it.

"Good news." She said into the phone. "He's back."

More inhuman noise came from the phone.

"Of course. I'll make sure everything goes according to plan. He'll make the perfect host."

She wickedly smiled as turned off the phone, placed the sunglasses back on, and walked back into the shadows and seemingly disappeared.

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

Hiro groggily made it down the stairs in a sleepy haze, with Baymax waddling after him.

He rubbed his eyes and stumbled into the kitchen.

"Morning Hiro!" A familiar cheerful voice called out to him just a little too loudly. "Coffee?""

Hiro rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and gapped at the man standing in his home. "K-Krei? Wh-what are you doing here this early?"

"Ummm.... having breakfast?"

Hiro narrowed his eyes at the billionaire. "The Lucky Cat doesn't open till eight."

That's when Aunt Cass entered the kitchen. She was dressed in her bathrobe and her hair was still disheveled from sleep.

"Goood Moornning!" She yawned and stretched.

"Morning. You look lovely." Krei greeted, a dopey smile on his face. "I made you some coffee."

Aunt Cass gasped in surprise and took the coffee mug from him. "Oh how sweet. Thank you."

Then, to Hiro's horror, she gave him a kiss on the cheek.

"What th-... no... no.no.no.no.no. This is isn't happening." He muttered.

"What's isn't happening?" Tadashi echoed as he walked into the room. "Oh, hey Krei... I didn't know you were still here?"

"Well I actually won't be for long." Krei said as he looked at his watch. "I have a business meeting at eight."

He gathered up his suitcase and turned to Aunt Cass. "I'll call you tomorrow, then?"

"Sure... I'm off after nine."

"Great... maybe we can have dinner sometime... say Thursday?"

"Yeah I'd like that." Aunt Cass nodded enthusiastically, giving him a sheepish smile.

Krei's own smile grew wider. "Then it's a date."

He leaned in for another kiss, this one on the lips, then he turned to leave, grabbing a bagel on the way out.

"Hey Varian, bye Varian." He called out as he sailed past the alchymist and hurried down the stairs.

"Was that Krei?" He asked, confused.

"Apparently he spent the night last night" Tadashi answered in a teasing manner.

"No!" Hiro blurted out. "Aunt Cass how could you!?"

Aunt Cass gave him an offended look. "I'll have you know I can have anyone over that I want to cause it's my house, young man!"

"So why did Krei spend the night?" Varian innocently asked, everyone turned to look at him awkwardly. "What?"

"Aunt Cass, you are showing an increase in endorphins, dopamine, oxytocin, and serotonin. The combination of these nero-chemicals are often released during high adrenaline activities such as exercise or during human intimacy," Baymax said.

Aunt Cass blushed.

"Hooking up with a billionaire? Way to go Aunt Cass!" Tadashi cheered.

Aunt Cass blushed even deeper.

"Ugh... I'm going to need brain bleach." Hiro moaned.

"I don't think sodium hypochlorite is going to help your brain any." Varian matter of factly stated.

"Alright, alright, that's enough." Aunt Cass said, as she waved her hand in the air to shush them. "My love life is not up for speculation. Though, yes, you may start seeing Alistair around more often."

"I knew it." Tadashi smugly said.

"Ewww" Hiro whined.