#Looking at his feet he remembered the trail of red that flowed on the concrete making its slow exit towards the edge.

[luxurysystems]

“You exist only in my memory…..”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

sweet as honey, hard as nails

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape; fingering, fisting, squirting, kidnapping, spanking/whipping, some allusions to breeding.

This is dark! nomad Steve Rogers x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: You’re trapped by more than four walls, trapped between the past and the present.

Note: Thanks to @lokislastlove​ for helping me brainstorm. I was just hungering for some good nomad.

Thanks to everyone for sticking around and putting up with me and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

The light pad of your feet on the wooden floor was punctuated by the metallic clink, softened as you stepped onto the rug between the couch and the fireplace. You barely noticed the subtle weight around your ankle anymore. You barely remembered anything but those walls, the quilt spread neatly over the bed, the portrait of a woman in a Victorian era farm dress watching a field of sheep, the wooden bowl you filled with fruit from the garden.

The dress flowed around your figure as you strode to the counter and filled the sink with hot water from the tap. You slid the stack of plates into the suds and dropped the utensils on top. You watched the basin fill and took a gulp of the pollen-laced air blowing in through the open window before you. 

From there, you could see the garden and the swing that faced the endless forest. You could hear the birds and the critters chirping and searching for food. You sometimes saw the tawny fur of a deer between the brush or the red tail of a fox. The serenity of the place was deceiving.

You focused on your work, the plates printed with pinecones around the trim. They were old but worthless antiques, each piece in the cupboard matched, uniform and perfect, just like the life built for you in that cabin. You drained the sink and dried the dishes one at a time as you hummed. You were tone deaf but there wasn’t much else you could do to fill the lull.

You closed the cupboard and hung the towel on the bar. You looked at your wrinkled hands as you strode blindly around the couch. The metal at your ankle stopped you as the long chain wrapped around the furniture in your carelessness. You stopped and stared at the door and the heavy iron bolt above the handle.

Your eyes clung to the dark wood but you saw beyond. In your mind, you descended those steep stairs and sat against the cold concrete again. You closed your eyes. Don’t think of it, don’t. It only made it all worse.

⛓️then⛓️

You shivered as you hugged yourself in the corner of the dark space. There was no light, only shadows around you. It was cold and only the fleece blanket left for you kept you from chattering uncontrollably. You blew into your hands and sank down further as you heard the footsteps again, just above you on the groaning wooden floor.

It was an hour, maybe two, since you’d woken in that place. Your head hurt and a fog obscured your mind. You remember the beach, your sister laughing as you hopped from one leg to the other and whined that you would end up peeing in the water. You slipped into your sandals and left her on her towel. 

You heard the choppy waves, the lake growing more and more uneven in the last days of summer. You went early before the afternoon made the water too cold to bear. The sand weighed down your steps and you didn’t know if you’d make it in time.

You flew into the stinky stall just between the parking lot and the trails down to the lake. You hovered over the hole and relieved yourself with a shaky moan. It hurt but felt so good. You rinsed your hands in the foot-pump sink and swung the door open. That’s as far as you remembered.

The footsteps stopped at the door that stood at the top of the stairs, as they had several times before. You couldn’t reach them as the chain around your ankle kept you on the other side of the musty basement. That time, the latch turned and the door opened slowly with a creak. A light broke the blackness and a figure appeared above you.

You counted his steps, eleven. It was a him, you could tell by his broad silhouette, the way he walked, almost like a soldier. When he got to the bottom, he set something down on the bottom step and marched through the dark to the corner opposite you. You trembled but not from the cold.

Click. The lantern glowed suddenly and cast his tall form in a yellow haze. He turned back, you could make out his nose, long and slightly bent in the middle, his square jaw and the thick fuzz of his beard, and the line of his brow above the shadowed eyes. He went back to the stairs and took the tupperware and the water bottle. He neared and set them down before you.

You leaned into the wall and covered your face. You were terrified, still in nothing more but your onepiece beneath the blanket. You smelled like the lake, the sand, and the sun. He knelt and pulled the lid off the container. You still didn’t move, hiding behind your hands as you tried not to cry.

“Eat,” he said tersely.

You didn’t move, didn’t look, just hoped you could dissolve into the wall. He said your name and you gulped loudly. You parted your fingers and looked between them at him. You still couldn’t make out his whole face, just the shape of it, just the impenetrable wall of his body.

“Go on, eat,” he ordered again, “and don’t forget your manners.”

You slowly dropped your hands and reached over the top of the blanket. You kept your eyes on him, afraid he might grab you, hit you, or worse. You took a piece of the cut up chicken breast with your fingers as he nodded and stood.

“Thank you,” you rasped.

“Good girl,” he said and retreated, “you keep it up and you won’t be down here too long.”

⛓️now⛓️

You flinched and your trance broke. Your eyes were wet and you quickly wiped the tears away before they could trickle down your cheeks. You turned away and retraced your steps so that the chain slackened at your ankle. You went back to the counter and gripped the edge. You gazed out the window but not for too long, it only hurt more.

You pulled out the thick flanks of venison from the fridge and seasoned them, rubbing the cold meat until it was fragrant. You chopped it into chunks and fried it in a pan, the natural fat and oil spitting out at you.

You mixed together the dough in a bowl and rolled out the pastry thin before you laid it in the pan. You added veggies to the mix on the stove and added some more spice. You used the dripping for a gravy and added it back in. You filled the shell and crimped the edges as you stretched the top of the pie over the savoury innards.

You turned on the small stove, a fixture straight out of the sixties, and shoved the pie onto the rack. You rinsed your hands one last time and your eyes were drawn back to the window. You heard the crunch of leaves and fervent breaths, whimpers as another set of steps hammer close behind. You close your eyes.

⛓️then⛓️

You had no shoes, your naked feet scratched and scraped in the twigs and dirty, errant branches catching at your dress and whipping your bare arms. You didn’t know where you were going, you didn’t know where you were, you just needed to run until you found someone who could save you. Until he couldn’t find you.

You heard him getting closer and closer. He was fast and you were unused to physical activity. It was months since you’d left the cabin. Two, maybe. It was cold and your feet throbbed from the bite of the air.  You veered between the trees and your foot caught. You cried out as you plummeted into the leaves and rolled over as the rope clung to your ankle. You’d stepped right into a trap.

You loosened it, the knot meant for nothing more than a rabbit, but as you stood, you were knocked onto your ass. He stood above you and kicked you onto your back. He planted his foot on your chest and scowled down at you, his blues eyes bore into you angrily.

“Bad girl,” he pushed on your chest until you wheezed, “you’re going back to the basement.”

“No, no, no,” you slapped at him as he removed his foot and bent to lift you up, “please--”

“Shut up,” he growled as he dragged you back to the path, “it’ll be harder this time, don’t make it worse than you already have.”

⛓️now⛓️

You gasped as your eyes flicked open. The rumble of the engine reverberated and faded into the trees as the faded green truck pulled up before the low fences. The motor shut off and the man hopped out on the other side. You watched as he went to the bed and opened it, he pulled out and crate that he held under one arm and an odd leather suitcase in the other.

He saw you through the window and smiled. You batted your lashes and forced yourself to smile back. You went to the door and opened it for him. He kicked off his tan boots and strode inside as you waited patiently. He stepped over the chain and plopped his goods on the table.

“You miss me, honey pie?” he asked, “mmm, it smells good in here.”

“I did… dear,” you used the epithet that made him happy, that kept him placid, “I made steak pie.”

“Yum,” he unclasped the briefcase and paused as he looked at you, “I have a surprise for you.”

“You went to the city?”

“Why I left so early. Don’t you remember? I kissed you goodbye but you were sleepy so,” his thumbs rubbed the tarnished clasps.

“I remember,” you said, “I figured since you took the truck.”

“This is for you,” he said, “a surprise.”

“A surprise?” you blinked and watched his hands.

He opened the lid of the briefcase and revealed the interior with a ‘ta da’. You looked over the record player, the knobs worn and the upholster of the lid frayed. “It’s used, but it works.”

He reached over and slid the crate closer, “I grabbed whatever they had that wasn’t gospel.”

You didn’t move to look at the records or to admire the Victrola. You were too stunned. Not that he brought you a surprise, he always brought you small things, new dresses or a little figurine. Stuff you didn’t like but pretended to for his sake, but more so your own.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

It was so long since you’d heard music. You knew that it was close to a year now. The days grew shorter, the air cooler, and the garden was at the end of its bloom. It was a lovely present from your keeper, the keeper you could never love.

“Thank you,” you whispered but still didn’t touch any of it. You cleared your throat, “thank you, Steve.”

“You okay?” he touched your shoulder. You learned not to flinch, that made him angry.

“You didn’t have to… do that,” you said.

“You’ve been good, you earned it,” he rubbed your arm, “there’s more in the truck. Why don’t you get it set up while I unload?”

“Yes, dear,” you nodded.

He bent and kissed your cheek, then caught your chin and laid a deeper kiss on your lips. You felt the shudder, the hunger, he wanted you that night, like most nights.

He went back outside and you hauled the record player to the table beside the fireplace. You plugged it in and went back to get the records. You sorted through until you found a familiar name. You took out the vinyl and checked for scratches before you laid it on the deck. You dropped the needle and it crackled before the melody began.

‘Oh my baby's comin home tomorrow

Ain't that good news

Man, ain't that news

Baby's coming home tomorrow

Ain't that news

Man, ain't that news’

⛓️then⛓️

The hammering stopped and Steve stood up. You watched him through the window as he replaced the tool in the metal box and closed it up. He tossed it back in the truck bed and came back through the open door of the cabin. It was spring, the long winter was over, a winter mostly spent below, and he wanted to clean up the garden.

He went to the hoop drilled into the floor and unlocked the chain from it. He tugged on it and led you outside like a dog on a leash and looped it through the one he’d just set into the concrete base. He yanked and tested its sturdiness then dropped the links. He dusted off his hands and looked around.

“Now you can come out and help,” he declared, “you should be able to reach everything you need. And I’m almost done the swing. We’ll be able to sit out here in the evenings.”

“Thank you, dear,” you recited the words, a habit you were almost compulsive about.

“Your welcome, honey pie,” he neared and kissed your forehead, “you understand right? Now that you’re back up here, you have to be good.”

“Yes, dear,” you swallowed your despair and smiled stiffly.

“We’re starting over,” he touched your cheek, “I forgive you.”

“Thank you…. dear,” you brushed your hand against his and he tilted his head. His other went to the sleeve of your dress and traced over your collarbone. He picked at the lace trim along the chest. His eyes darkened and he bit his lip.

⛓️now⛓️

You unclipped the cotton from the line and watched the leaves sway along the tree line. You shook the memory from your head. That night, the first night he’d… It happened so many times since, what did it matter?

You dropped the laundry into the wicker and lifted the basket. You went back to the door and stopped. He’d changed the record and the music kept the stifling silence from suffocating you. You stood in the doorway and watched his shoulders as he read.

“Dear,” you said carefully, “I’m ready to come inside.”

He put the book face down on the arm and stood. He crossed to you and you stepped just inside to let him past. He dragged his hand across your stomach as he sidled through the door. He disappeared for a moment and returned with the chain in hand. He secured it in its hook by the bed and you closed the door.

“Once I fold this, dinner should be ready,” you said.

“Alright,” he replied but sounded glum, “you work so hard, honey pie.”

“Yes, dear,” you set the basket on the bed and pulled out one of his shirts.

He was quiet as he sat. You felt him watching you. You stacked the shirts and went to grab hangers for your dresses. With the chain, all you could wear were dresses. Besides, there was no point in trying to be modest.

“You like the player?” he asked.

“Very much, dear,” you said, “it is a nice surprise.”

“Well, really, it’s an anniversary gift…” he remarked.

“Anniversary?” you trembled, only slightly as you pulled the dress over the hanger.

“It’s been one year. Can you believe that?”

“One year?” you repeated, “that’s… amazing.”

“Yeah, I mean, I can hardly remember what it was like before you. Feels like it’s been longer than that.”

“Happy anniversary, dear,” you said numbly and hung the last dress. You put away his clothes in the chest and put the basket back in the corner.

As you turned, you were startled to see him at the foot of the bed. He stared at the pattern of the quilt, his hands on his hips. He never had to say what he wanted, if you made him, it would be worse. You blanched and quickly scurried over. You shook as you climbed onto the mattress and pulled up your skirt.

“Dear?” you quivered as you lifted your dress up your chest. He leaned a knee on the bed and stopped you.

“No, later,” he said as he pushed the fabric back down, “and I want you to keep this on tonight.”

“Okay,” you sat back on your heels as his hands rested on your sides. His eyes lingered on your stomach. He looked sad.

“Dinner should be ready, right?” he drew away, “it smells ready.”

⛓️then⛓️

“I was out all day hunting and I come back to this!” Steve huffed, “you haven’t even started dinner.”

“I lost track of time, dear, I’m sorry--”

“You will be,” he snarled as he crossed his arms, “take off your dress and turn around.”

“Please--”

“Quiet,” he barked and his jaw ticked.

You sniffed and took the dress off. You dropped it over the edge of the couch and neared him. You turned around and he sighed darkly. He grabbed your shoulders and directed you over to the table. He pushed until you were bent over it.

“Stay,” he snarled, “I didn’t want it to come to this but you need to learn.”

You closed your eyes and braced the wood as you readied for another spanking. Your breath caught hover as you heard the subtle tinkle of metal. The leather rested against your ass and Steve tutted.

“I love you, honey pie,” he said, “that’s why I have to do this.”

The first strike was like fire, it burned your skin. The second was worse and you cried out. Your body wracked with sobs as he continued and by the dozenth or so, it hurt even when he wasn’t hitting you.

“I’ll do better,” you whimpered, “please, I’ll do better.”

⛓️now⛓️

You took Steve’s empty plate and your own and rinsed them off. You took the sponge and cleaned them completely and left them in the rack. You heard him behind you and you dried your hands before turning back to him. He stood with his back to you, he was looking at something.

You went to him and he looked at you as you came around the couch. He smiled, almost embarrassed, it was too late to hide what he was holding. He chuckled and held up the sleepers; one in pink and one in blue. “I got one of each… in case…”

You stood speechless. You knew it was a possibility, almost a certainty, but you tracked your periods almost religiously. So far, you’d been lucky. The idea of being out here with a child on top of everything else was more frightening than anything he’d done.

You spun away and covered your face. You began to cry. You couldn’t help it. It was a promise, a promise that you would never get away.

“What’s wrong, honey pie? I thought you’d like them--”

You shook your head but couldn’t stop. You walked away from him, the chain dragging loudly and you fell helplessly to your knees. Fuck him! Fuck him! You bent and beat on the wooden floor as you sobbed.

“Stop this,” his voice turned firm, “you’re being ridiculous.”

“No, no, no, no, no,” you muttered, “please, I can’t-- I can’t--”

“Don’t be a bad girl,” he warned as he came close, “now it’s our anniversary. Let’s celebrate.”

“I don’t want to,” you uttered, “I never wanted--”

He grabbed you around the waist and wrenched you up. He forced you over to the bed and pushed you onto it. He growled as you turned onto your back and gaped up at him.

“You know what happens to bad girls,” he sneered, “so you have one minute to suck it up and be good.”

You rubbed your eyes and wiped away the wetness from your cheeks. He took off his tee and flung it into the basket, then his jeans, socks, and underwear. His muscles bulged through his skin and his arousal bobbed before him as he came up to the foot off the bed. You got to your knees and gripped your skirts in your sweaty hands.

“How do you want me?” you said crisply as your throat squeezed. The lump stayed lodged firmly there as a nail was set deep in your skull.

“Mouth, first, honey pie, you know I like a warm up,” he stroked his dick and wiggled it.

You crawled to the end of the bed and replaced his hand with yours. Your breath glossed over his tip and you opened your mouth around him. He groaned and gripped his hips as he tilted his pelvis forward. You sank down until he was at your throat and you moved your hand in time with your mouth, easing the intrusion of his length.

“Mmm, that’s it, honey pie,” he purred as his hands went to your shoulders.

Your spit spread down his dick and slicked the motion of your hand. You gulped and gagged as he pushed on your shoulders and you sped up. You bobbed your head steadily. It was a habit, a pattern, you did it all so mechanically. It was easier if you looked at it like just another chore.

He grasped your shoulders and urged you away from him. Saliva dripped from your mouth and down your chin. You wiped your face with the back of your hand and reached to your dress. Finish him quickly and you might be done… maybe, or it would be another endless night.

“No, I said keep it on,” he spun his finger in the air, “let me see your ass.”

You turned around and gathered up the skirt of your dress. You bent over on your elbows as your legs stuck out off the edge of the bed. He kneaded the flesh and hummed as he pulled your cheeks apart. He pushed his dick between them and slid it up and down.

He reached under you and rubbed your clit. His other hand glided up your back and held your shoulder. You were wet, you couldn’t help that even if you hated it. He pushed two fingers inside without warning, then a third. Even after all this time, you were never used to the stretching, even just his fingers.

“Mmm, honey pie, you are so wet,” he stepped back and bent to push his face between your legs. You arched as his lip flicked along your folds and his fingers slipped out to follow it, “you taste so good.”

He stood straight again and licked his fingers clean noisily. He shoved them back into you roughly. He pulled in and out and added his pink. You whined as he got deeper and deeper. He’d never used more than three at a time.

“You think you can take all of it?” he asked.

“Wha--” you voice cracked as he folded his thumb against his palm and poked at your entrance, your juices spreading over his hand as he fucked you, “Ste--”

You gasped as he got his whole hand inside. He seemed surprised too and he bent over you as he forced himself in to his wrist. Your cunt sucked at him hungrily and the noises filled the desolate cabin.

“Good girl,” he slithered as you squeezed around him and his other hand searched for your clit, “look at that, huh?”

He sped up and your arms collapsed. Your head was on the bed as he kept your ass up and played with your bud as he kept his other hand moving inside of you. You whined and moan as the fullness sparked your core and your thighs began to quake. You puffed wildly and grasped the quilt as your orgasm hit and gushed down his arm.

“Oh, honey pie,” he slipped out of you slowly and pulled his other hand away, “what a start.”

He grabbed your skirt with his wet hand and bunched it as he stepped up behind you. He pressed his tip to your entrance and glided in easily. Your walls gripped him even tighter than before, still pulsing from your climax. He reached his limit and grunted.

“Such a good girl,” he purred as he moved his hips slowly, a smooth rock as his free hand stretched over your ass.

You murmured and mewled as he tilted into you. His motion built steadily until his skin clapped against yours. He twisted your dress until it was tight around your middle and he stopped to push you forward on the bed. You dragged yourself up as he climbed onto his knees behind you. 

He picked up his former pace and the bed shook beneath you. He lifted one leg over yours and then the other and pushed them together. He stayed inside of your and leaned on you until you were slat on your stomach. He straddled you as he pushed his shoulders up and gripped the straps of your dress. He rutted into you without restraint as the pressure around him was even more unbearable.

Your cunt quivered around him again and your head lolled back and forth. His hips snapped up against your ass as his thick breaths added to the heat all around you. He snaked a hand beneath you to grope your tit and his other gripped your head. He jerked into you sharply and you cried out, his next thrust sporadic but just as deep.

He spilled into you and your cunt milked him eagerly. You went limp as you spasmed and let the waves swell and crash around you. When he stilled, he stayed inside of you and ran his hands up and down your back.

Once you caught your breath, he began to move again. You were sore and battered. Even if he fucked you every night, it was always too much, and the ache never really left. You moaned and he spread his body over yours, cocooning you in his warmth as he kept his hips rocking.

“Good girl,” he gritted, “good girl,” he pet your head as he kissed your cheek and kept fucking you, “so good for me, honey pie.”

The same day over and over. The same words every night. Again and again and again and again.

[liamloveslarry]

The Boy Who Cried Wolf~

okay i’ve posted some snippets below and i’ve kept the general theme the story flows in so far, however it may not make sense as i’ve purposefully left some things out but i think u can get a general vibe from it hopefully, idk let me know what you think bc it’s been ages since i’ve picked this up and i would love to finish and post it soon!

tw for one use of derogatory language, violence, body horror/gore, swearing, experimentation, surgery & fictional medicines, mild nsfw, use of guns but at the beginning - these all sounds worse than they are, but it’s a werewolf fic so there had to be some element of ~horror.

The ground beneath Harry is hard and damp. 

He can feel the wetness soak through into his already sodden socks from where his shoes had come off in the brawl, and it reminds him of being young and spilling ice cubes on the floor, trying to hastily clean the water up with his foot and feeling the cold cling to his toes. 

He squeezes his fists together and bends his head between his knees, breathing deep. 

There’s a chill in the air and the frost nips at his nude body, causing goosebumps to flare in his skins wake so fast it stings as they burst through his flesh. 

His long hair acts as a barrier against the frigid air, but every time he rocks back, the metal bars stood tall behind him hiss against his skin and cause him to whimper and growl. 

He looks up and wraps his arms around his knees, shielding what little modesty he has left. 

He can see two guards standing either side of the cell, each holding firearms in their sturdy arms. Their fingers on the trigger ready to shoot if Harry so much as thought about doing something he shouldn’t. 

There’s another body to the right of him that looks in bad condition. He can smell it before he sees it. The person’s leg appears to be injured judging by the sluggish trail of blood that’s pumping into a puddle on the floor, and there are multiple cuts and grazes across their torso and face. 

Deep enough that Harry can see muscle and bone. Deep enough that Harry can’t tell if it’s a man or a woman.

If he focuses enough, he can hear them breathing. 

Or maybe that’s just himself.

Harry’s feet scuffle on the floor as he tries to get a closer look, but it causes one of the guard’s head to twist towards him and narrow his eyes, gripping his gun even tighter as he opens his big, fat mouth.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” He growls.

Harry whips his head up and looks him in the eye. He retracts his arm slowly from where he was reaching out to touch the person’s pulse point and places it on the floor.

The guards face is pinched and sweaty, as if he’d be afraid of Harry if there wasn’t a thick barrier of metal between them. He can hear the hitch in his breath when does so much as blink, confirming the theory further that he’s more afraid of Harry than Harry is of him.

“What am I doing here?” His voice his shot and gruff, a reminder of just two hours previous when he’d been snarling and shouting, trying to tear chunks of flesh from their bodies out of fear while they’d held him down and stunned him into submissive shock.

He doesn’t remember much after being shoved into the back of a truck and led to where he assumes, he is now, cooped up in a dingy cell with a half rotting body and two wankers as company.

The guard punches out a laugh, the tip of the gun clanging against the metal as his body jerks forward. It causes Harry to wince as the sharp sound penetrates his ear drums.

“For a dog I thought you’d be smarter. But it looks like you’re just another dumb bitch.”

Harry’s fingers catch against the grain of the floor as the tip of his claw protrudes and causes the concrete to shift and crumble beneath him. He can’t help the rumble in his chest while the thought to bare his teeth becomes more prominent each second the guard smirks and cocks his gun mockingly at Harry’s head. 

“Calm down puppy, it’s not even a full moon yet so I dunno why you’re gettin’ all hyped up.” 

Harry doesn’t feel himself move but he can see the guard’s eyes sweep across his form, right from the tips of his toes to his hairline as he clenches his gun tighter, which means he now must be standing. 

He knows better than to step forward, knowing he’ll probably get shot if he dares so much as inch his pinky out. 

He can feel his bones shift and his muscles twinge, and there’s a deep throbbing coming from his thigh which he only notices now. As he casts his eyes down, he can see it’s torn and open. There must be something slowing the healing as usually something like that would’ve closed up by now.

“Tell me why I’m here.”

The guard cocks his eyebrow.

“No.”

Harry’s hands clasp into fists and he takes a deep breath.

“Tell me why I’m here.”

He can see the guard smirking, albeit if he narrows his eyes slightly, he can still see his pulse jumping under his skin as if trying to scramble from his body. He shifts his hip slightly to take the weight off his injured leg, causing his cock to slap against his thigh.

The guard’s eyes drift down and this time it’s Harry’s turn to smirk.

“What’s the matter? Never seen one this big before?”

The guards face turns red and he splutters, his pig face scrunching up as if he’d sucked on a sour lemon and he scrambles to point his gun through the bars and at Harry.

“Shut the fuck up you fucking dog! I swear to god I’ll blow your fucking brains out you mutt, you utter cu- “

“That’s enough.”

They both whip their head towards the second guard as his hand inches out and places it on the other guard’s gun, pushing it down slowly.

“You!”, he says, eyes piercing into the other man and gritting his teeth, “need to shut your fucking gob and stop riling Lassie up; and you!”, he turns and sweeps his gaze over Harry’s form, boots coming to rest against the edge of the metal, “need to stop asking so many sodding questions and shut up.”

Harry blinks down at his wet socks and frowns.

“Can I at least have some clothes?”

The second guards gaze lingers on his abdomen.

“No,” he smirks, eyes trailing upwards and resting on Harry’s face, “I’m rather enjoying the view.”

Harry growls out “fucking pervert” and doesn’t think twice before moves his foot forward, which causes the first guard to panic and fire his gun. 

The bullet doesn’t pierce his skin, but it’s made of something hard and it smacks full force him in the chest, instantly knocking him backwards and winding him.

He can see both of the guards arguing and waving their arms at each other, but his hearing has gone woofy so he can’t understand what they’re saying. 

The room is starting to spin and the pain in his thigh and upper chest are getting worse, causing Harry to sway on the spot and collapse onto his knees.

The last thing he remembers is the sound of an alarm before his vision blurs and turns to black.

~

It was dark by the time he’d left the office, nodding and waving at the receptionist who was sat in the tiny booth on his way out. It had also been raining, which Harry realises now he probably should’ve driven in, but the morning had been so frosty and clear with dew drops settling on autumn leaves, that he couldn’t help but walk through the winding paths and bramble bushes to get to work. Even if it did take him thirty minutes.

He remembers pulling his hood up and walking down the road until he reached a narrow ginnel that acted as a bridge between the small town and his house.

It had been here he’d been attacked.

At first, he thought it was just somebody mugging him and he knew it wasn’t best placed to chomp his way out of it, it wouldn’t look too good if a local hooligan had been found with teeth marks imprinted onto his skin, so he’d done his best to ignore him, promptly shoving them off; only to realise there was two of them and one had what looked to be a gun.

Stunned, he’d tried to run but they’d pinned him down and cast a sickening blow to his stomach. It had caused Harry to go into sensory overload as he could smell the cheap cigarette smoke on their collars and their nasty breath wafting up his nostrils, causing him to heave and snarl. It was only a matter of time before his abilities kicked in and his claws and teeth had decided to make an appearance. He’d nicked of the men on his jaw and tried to bite his neck, but the other man held an electric rod against his ribs and shocked him.

~

She’s fair skinned and has light brown hair that’s held up in a ponytail. She doesn’t say much as she checks the stats on the monitor screen, but Harry does his best to smile whenever she looks over at him.

“Hey. What’s your name?”

She startles and nearly drops her clipboard, grasping it at the last second before it falls to the floor. She looks at him wide eyed and says nothing.

“I’m not going to do anything, I promise”. He grins and wiggles his fingers slightly in the straps. “Not like I can do anything, anyway.”

She stares at him for a beat longer and lowers her head.

“Mary.” She mumbles, fiddling with the pen and twisting it in her fingers.

Harry smiles again and tries to get her to look up.

“Mary. That’s a nice name. My name’s Harry, but I’m guessing you already know that.”

She blushes and looks away, busying herself with the buttons on the monitor and biting her bottom lip. 

She’s nervous, Harry can sense it. But if he wants to get out of here semi-unscathed, he needs to play nice with those who so far, haven’t been very nice to him. She seems kind enough anyway, judging by the fact that she wasn’t poking any fingers into his wounds or prodding at his teeth.

“I know you probably can’t say much, and I understand that; I really do, but.” He sighs and looks down. “Please can you tell me where I am?”

She continues to ignore him, taking out a needle and flicking the cap. She pumps it a few times and Harry watches as the liquid inside begins to bubble up.

She goes to inject the tip into his thigh but he catches her wrist just as she was about to press in, claws forming a shield around her delicate bone.

She looks up at him wide eyed, her breathing heavy and scared.

“Mary, please. Please tell me where I am. I won’t let go until you say something.” He can feel her small hand trembling but he isn’t going to give up without a fight.

Her fingers squeeze tighter around the needle and she tries to force the tip into his skin, but his hold is stronger and she lets out a gasp.

“Please stop, you’re hurting me.” 

“I’m sorry, I will, I promise. But not until after you tell me where I am.”

Her fingers seem to seize and stop, dropping the instrument onto the bed and her quiet, shaking voice splits the silence open like a knife cutting through paper.

~

He can smell the winter air and the frost settles in his bones, calming him instantly. He’s also very aware that he’s still in a gown and participating in a full moon event of his own. 

He’s about to step over the threshold when a hand tugs him back.

Harry turns around, and he sees Mary for the kid she is. Barely an adult and shivering in the cold.

Her nose has turned red already.

~

He lets out a ragged sob and pounds his fist against the floor. He tries to move his leg and bend his arms to press against the solid ground so he can at least heave himself up when he notices a beaming light coming towards him. He turns his head and sees through tears, rain and the dirt prickling his eyelids, the headlights of a car that’s heading his way.

The car eventually slows down to a stop in front of him, but he can’t see much through the business of the windscreen wipers and the headlights shining in his eyes. He must look a right state right now, and he’s shocked the car even stopped for him. 

If it was him, he would’ve kept on driving. 

There’s a click and the engine turns off. The lights stay on, albeit they’re dimmed a touch. 

The car door opens from the driver’s side and a man dressed in a parka and joggers hesitantly makes his way around the front of the car.

There’s silence for a few moments until the man opens his mouth.

~

Harry doesn’t know how long they drive for. He’s content to just let the sound of the quiet radio wash over him while he huddles into the blanket more, directing his toes underneath the heater. He appreciates that Louis probably has a multitude of questions he’s dying to ask, but instead he keeps his mouth shut, humming along to the radio every now and then.

They drive through the tiny town of Barnstable and the car jostles as they drive over cobbled streets and the sporadic pothole. The occasional light flickers from the shore to the right of them, but other than that the streets are as dark and as quiet as the night sky.

They tumble upwards towards a hill and Louis leads them through winding roads and sharp bends. On a particularly keen one, the car lingers to one side and Harry’s thigh moves with the turn, bashing slightly against the inside of the car door.

He winces and Louis catches it, sending a look of sympathy his way.

“Sorry, mate. Won’t be long now – another couple of minutes.” He nods down at Harry’s leg which has started to seep blood through the material. “We’ll get that patched up straight away, just try and keep some pressure on it for now.”

Harry takes a deep breath and nods, wrapping a part of the blanket around his fist and pressing it harder against the wound.

~

He grabs some shampoo from the holder that’s stuck to the wall and squirts a generous amount into his palm, rubbing his hands together and lathering it through the strands. He does the same with the shower gel and starts to wash his body as he thinks.

What he remembers from the night feels fragmented and broken, tail ends of memories flashing before they disappear. He sighs and dips his head backwards underneath the water and washes the shampoo out. 

Whatever they shot him with must’ve delayed or hindered his healing abilities as usually anything superficial or worse, only takes around an hour to heal. Granted he’s never been shot before, it should’ve only taken a little longer before it had fully closed up, instead it had gotten worse the longer the bullet had been trapped inside his leg, rooted underneath muscle and skin.

He looks down and feels as well as sees, his skin starting to knit back together. Bits of flesh fusing as one around the stitches like solder to an iron. He doesn’t know what he’ll say to Louis in terms of there no longer being a wound or a scar left in its wake, but he figures he probably doesn’t need to be semi-nude around him again, so he decides not to say anything.

He scrubs the last remnants of dirt from his body and turns to switch the shower off, taking his time to grab the towel left for him on the radiator and wrapping it around his waist. 

He pads over to the mirror and looks at his reflection.

His eyes are slightly bloodshot and his cheekbones look hallow. His long hair is dripping lukewarm water down his chest and onto the floor, but he can’t find the energy in him to do something about it.

~

He spins towards Harry, blue eyes tired and sleepy, with a soft smile etched onto his face. He lifts his arm to ruffle the back of his hair and his arm muscle expands slightly, filling out the sleeve of his hoodie. It makes Harry swallow, a quiet click due to his dry throat echoing through the room.

“You’ll be okay in here, right?” Louis asks. “You know where the bathroom is and there’s some spare toothbrushes in the drawer, feel free to get up when you want and have another shower and stu- oh!” Louis pauses and places his hand into his hoodie pocket, pulling a small box out. “There’s some paracetamol here in case you need them in the middle of the night for your leg – pretty sure there’s a spare glass in the bathroom too, just in case you didn’t wanna stick your head under the tap.” He places the box down onto the bedside table and throws a smile Harry’s way.

Harry won’t need them but he nods and smiles anyway, yawning out a thank you. He forgets momentarily that Louis is still in the room when he starts taking the hoodie off, and only remembers when a cough sounds out against the silence and he whips his head up.

~

Harry unclicks his seatbelt and goes to open the car door when Louis’ hand stops him. He turns back. 

Tired, green eyes meet concerned, blue ones.

“Just.” Louis pauses. “Just be careful out there, okay?” Harry stays silent while Louis’ fingers tighten around his arm. 

It doesn’t feel unsafe.

“When I found you, I thought you were dead. I haven’t asked you what happened because I assumed you’d tell me when you were ready. And you still don’t have to if you don’t want to.” He rushes to say, then pauses to stroke his thumb lightly over Harry’s arm, hair standing to attention and swaying under soft material and fingertips. “So just, be careful. Please.”

His eyes feel like they’re boring into Harry’s soul, each pupil filled with worry and pleading as if for Harry to promise him. Harry doesn’t know what to do, so he gently places his hand on top of Louis’ and smiles kindly.

“I promise. It was just a,” how does he word this “– a bad night. And hopefully it won’t happen again.” He figures he might have to verbalize what happened one day, but today is not that day. Where would he even start? ‘Thanks for saving my life and oh, by the way, I’m a werewolf?’

One headache is enough for now.

Louis looks at him for a second longer and breathes out, squeezing his arm one last time and dropping his hand back down, resting it on his thigh.

“I’ll call you.”

Harry nods and opens the car door, turning back one last time.

“Thank you, for everything.”

~

Making his way through to the living room, he flicks the light on and watches as dust bunnies flit about the air, as if to say welcome home. The machine to the right of him is flashing relentlessly, signifying there are messages waiting for him. He presses the voicemail button and listens as a robotic voice, followed by a woman’s, floats through the speaker.

Beep. Three new messages.

Beep. First Message.

“Hi, love. It’s only me. Just checking to make sure you’re alright? I know you said you had a busy week so wanted to catch up before the weekend.”

Beep. End of first message. 

Beep. Second message.

“Hi, Harry. Me again. Not sure if you got my first message and I know you’re probably having a minute to yourself after work, but just give me a call back when you get this.”

Beep. End of second message.

Beep. Third message.

“Harry, it’s me. It’s nearly 8 o’clock and I haven’t heard anything. I’m starting to worry, will you ring me back, please? I swear to god if something’s happe-yes! I’m ringing him again, he’s not answering, Har-”

Beep. End of third message.

No more messages.

~

If he listens carefully enough, he can hear the hedgehog’s tiny teeth tear through the slop, gurgling as he swallows. Small wheezes puff through his narrow nostrils when he pauses, the spikes on his back sparkling under the stars. Harry’s eyes adjust better than any humans could while his ears hone in on the sounds around him. Voles and mice race through the grass, snatching worms and bugs alike. Owls hoot in the distance while foxes rummage through bins, rubbish galore. He can even hear the moths fluttering their tiny wings as they quiver and vibrate through the dark.

The plate is nearly empty when he hears something snap. Even Bob pauses licking the ceramic to sniff the air; black, beady eyes darting right to left. He must think they’re in the clear when he starts moving again, nifty nose nudging through wet food. Harry continues to watch the garden when he hears another snap. 

This time it’s louder.

Claws replace fingernails and grip the step below him, twists of PVC twirling underneath sharp talons as they’re sliced from the ledge. 

Forgive him for he usually wouldn’t be this on edge, however getting oneself kidnapped and tortured has made even the scariest of monsters slightly fearful.

Though his eyesight is much like that of a hawk, he can’t see anything out of the ordinary. The bushes and leaves sway slowly in the breeze, every now and then a hoot echoes in the distance.

He stops breathing when he feels something brush against his ankle and his claws pierce the delicate skin of his palm; but he realises when he looks down that it’s just Bob nuzzling between his sock clad feet, trying to reach a meaty grub that’s getting away. He lets out a sigh and closes his eyes, counting to ten in his head. He shifts his feet so his three-legged friend can reach his dessert. He decides it’s enough for one night and reaches down to pick the plate up. He stands and casts his eyes around the garden one more time, settling on a tree branch that rests over the fence. He doesn’t know how long he stares at it until he feels the chill of the air whip against his face. Blinking out of his stupor, he shakes his head and lets out a small huff, breath casting white shapes into the cold air. 

“Bed,” he whispers, “just go to bed, Harry.”

~

It’s the middle of the night when he needs the toilet, bladder unrelenting as he shuffles sleepily out of the tent, torch in one hand as he makes his way over to a nearby tree. He’s resting his palm against the trunk when he hears a snap and a low moan coming from somewhere next to him. He tries to hurry his peeing as fast as he can, shaking himself off and guiding himself back into his shorts when something barges into him, slamming him down onto the forest floor.

His head knocks against the ground and he groans, mind going fuzzy. He can’t see for shit what’s on top of him but it’s dark and big and it’s groaning. Rumbling screams clutching at his bones. He tries to shake it off but it’s larger than Harry, at least seven foot and it drags him about like prey. He goes limp and cold, as if his mind is disconnected from his body. All he can remember is a white-hot flash of pain from where the thing had sunken its jaws into Harry’s side, teeth seizing around his rib cage and pulling, twisting, sinking. He remembers trying to scream but no sound escaped his lips. It was like he was watching from above. Watching as his body was tugged and heaved from left to right. Sharp claws scratched and hooked at his hip bones, making sure he couldn’t get away.

He could feel blood oozing out from where he’d been bitten and torn at, and the pain he felt was almost blinding. His fingers twitched at his side until they felt something smooth and hard. In a moment of sheer adrenaline, Harry had lifted what he assumed was a rock and slammed it down onto the thing’s head, once, twice, three times. Until its jaws had become loose and its teeth unclenched from around his bones. Blood spurted onto his face, lining his lips and staining his eyelashes. The thing went limp and sagged against Harry’s body, white eyes rolling back into its split skull as it shivered, seized and stopped.

He remembers pushing it off his body as best he could and trying to scramble away from it, bare feet and toes digging into the soft earth as he pushed himself backwards. He gulped when he hit the back of a tree and lay panting, hands shaking as they touched his side, feeling nothing but hollow bone and air. Looking down there was only red. Torn flesh and muscle protruding and dangling down as if no longer part of his body.

He remembers sobbing as he blinked through the tears and tried to get a good look at the figure lying dead in front of him. Holding both hands against where he’d been bitten and pulled apart like leftovers.

He remembers looking up at the sky above him, the moon big and bold as she stared back at him.

He remembers feeling like he was going to die.

~

A book is placed into Harry’s hands and he looks confused at the two men before Zayn just nods his head at the item, encouraging Harry to open it. 

“What is this?” He asks.

“Just read it.” Niall says, blinking at Harry.

It’s black and the corners are worn. It isn’t a big book either by any means, but it’s chunky and smells of old leather. Indented in gold on the front page are what look to be like nymphs and needles, wound tight around flesh as if both are becoming one. He turns to the first page and registers the thin, waxy paper.

~

Harry nods, doesn’t feel as though he can speak properly before stepping onto the train. His foot barely reaches the entry when his name is called behind him. He turns his head and sees Zayn walking up to him.

“I,” he coughs, looking around him a touch awkwardly, Niall turns away and bends down, pretending to busy himself with his shoelace. “Stay safe, yeah?” 

He pulls something out of his pocket and presses it into Harry’s hand. “Call us if you need us, anytime. I mean it.”

And with that he’s spinning around and walking up to Niall, clapping him on the back and nodding towards the exit. Harry tightens his fist around whatever Zayn had given him and ducks into the carriage, finding a seat near the far back and sitting down.

He rests his head against the cool glass and shuts his eyes.

Tries to keep his racing thoughts from becoming nightmares.

~

Page 37.

Sally.

ne.re.id. sea.nymph. mer.ma.id.

August 13th 1989. 15:07pm.

Found near the North coast of Portknockie in Scotland. Terrain is rocky and waves were at high speed. Out of plain sight to any passersby, however not so hidden she wouldn’t have been spotted by cliff dwellers. Water is salty meaning she has not swum from any freshwater rivers or lakes. Around 250cm in length, including the tail which has been jaggedly severed from fin upwards. The creature is unconscious but has a strong heartbeat. A mixture of morphine and hematide has been administered into the left arm of the creature and she remains stable. 

Despite her long frame, she has a petite torso and fine hair decorating her entire upper half. Subject has dark hair and green eyes. They seem to change to lilac under fluorescent lighting while her pupils dilate. She speaks in broken sentences, mostly garbled hums and high-pitched warbles.

Subject has webbed fingers and sharp nails. Subject also does not have a belly button nor any eyebrows.

Harry’s fingers freeze around the handle of his mug and he places it down onto the table shakily, taking another steady breath inwards. Outside the bin men are talking joyously as the disposal unit crunches in the distance while the neighbours next door are having yet another argument about who’s turn it is on the computer. But nothing registers, and Harry can only focus on the words standing stark against yellow stained paper below him.

~

September 7th 1989. 14:24pm.

Subject ‘Sally’ has been prepped for surgery. Subomunex was dispensed into the subject’s neck gills. We have found this to be most effective when operating on water-based creatures as it releases certain toxins and nutrients to ensure the subject can breathe without the need for H20.

Research into the common cold occurred almost one year ago, and we have found certain elements that make up a nereid’s larynx fight most, if not all symptoms of a ‘sore throat’. Today we shall create a medium incision into the subject’s neck muscle and remove the larynx, most commonly known as the voice box, from the subject’s throat. Delicate strands of tissue and muscle will be removed and sent to the Section B lab where it will be tested and if successful, dispensed into edible capsules and distributed among Pharmacies across the UK. 

A tiny proportion of the larynx’s genetic makeup will be extracted and re-created to ensure there is enough material for us to provide in the long term.

There’s a picture underneath the paragraph of what looks to be a theatre and Sally stretched out along a bed, four doctors are also in the photo, two standing either side of the creature and if Harry squints, he can see their smiles through their surgical masks.

~

“H-hello?”

There’s silence before the other person speaks.

“Uh…is this Harry?”

He doesn’t register the voice and his brows furrow in confusion, nose sniffling.

“Uh, yeah? Who’s this?”

“It’s um, Louis?” the voice replies, “I picked you up from the middle of the road, uh. About a week ago?”

God, has it really only been a week?

All of a sudden, his eyes widen in stark realisation and he clutches the phone tighter in the palm of his hand.

“Oh! God, I’m so sorry, hi. How are you?”

There’s a little huff of laughter and Harry imagines Louis’ eyes crinkling.

“Yeah, I’m alright, mate. Are you? You sound a little…off.”

Harry leans against the living room wall and rolls his head sideways, “uh,” he glances at the book, “just a sad film, proper got to me, had a little cry as you do.”

~

“I should probably leave.” Harry says, and carefully dislodges Cliff’s head from his leg, placing it down gently onto the couch cushion beneath him. He doesn’t even move, just wiggles his back slightly and twitches his paw from where it’s resting in mid-air.

“If this is about you dribbling on me, I really don’t care. I’ve had worse things on me.”

Harry’s blush darkens, and he mumbles out, “it’s not about the dribble thing, I just think I should go.”

He stands up and makes his way into the hallway, vaguely aware Louis is talking to him, but the words are muffled against the heavy sound of Harry’s beating heart. He grabs one of his shoes and slips it on his foot, patting down his chest and pockets, trying to search for his keys while shielding his face so Louis doesn’t see how red his cheeks have become.

“-think you should just stay the night.”

Harry’s in the middle of slipping on his other shoe, when he braces his arm against the wall to stop him from tripping up, and turns to face Louis who’s piercing Harry with his gaze, despite the warm flush that’s expanding across his face.

“What?”

“I said, I think you should just stay the night.”

“I-,”

“I don’t mean, um,” Louis huffs a laugh, a telltale pink blooming on his cheeks, “in my room, or anything. I meant the spare room again, if you want?” He places his hands into his jean pockets and rocks back a little on his feet, “it’s just really frosty outside, and dark, so I’d feel pretty shitty if I let you drive back now.”

“Lou-“

“Sorry if it sounds like I’m being pushy, I don’t mind, really! It’s just,” he sighs, lips pursing and fingers reaching out to scratch at the chipped paint on the wall, “I’d just hate for something to happen, y’know, like last time,” he murmurs quietly, a sad sort of smile sweeps across his lips and he looks down, shrugging his shoulders.

You’d think what happened that night fucked him up a little too.

Maybe it did.

After all, he was the one who made sure Harry was alright and pulled a bullet from his leg, right over where Harry casts his eyes into the kitchen.

~

He groans and lifts his body to sit upright, leaning down and massaging his leg with his hand. 

He drops his head forward and sighs, insides feeling like they were going to jump out of his skin any second and run off the excess energy without him. He stands up and stretches, fingers pointing upwards towards the ceiling while his back cracked along his spine. 

It felt like a shift, bones and muscles repositioning under flesh, like tectonic plates moving and slotting into the different crevices of his body. But it wasn’t time, and Harry had learned to control the urge quite early on after he’d found himself naked in the local park after a midnight stint, bleary eyes opening to find ducks quacking nervously in the pond and a jogger staring at him with his mouth hanging open; probably wondering what he was doing lying there nude at four in the morning. He wasn’t too far from home that he couldn’t sprint back in time that nobody else noticed him, covering his delicate parts with his hands as he ran through the streets in the milky morning light. 

His clothes had been torn to shreds and he doesn’t remember much, not a great deal of evidence either from the night before other than the dirt that had gathered underneath his fingernails and twigs in his hair. He also felt different somehow, as if his body finally relaxed into itself and took one huge breath out.

~

Louis slides the door fully open then and steps into the room, toes sinking into the plush carpet beneath him. He isn’t wearing anything other than his boxers and Harry’s very aware he’s in just the same. 

“Can’t sleep?”

Harry shakes his head, fingers spreading out along the bed and clutching at the tight bottom sheet, trying hard not to think about how Louis’ shut the door behind him, not fully, but just enough to bathe the majority of the room in moonlight and heavy whispers.

“Me neither.” Louis huffs, lips morphing into a small smile and feet shuffling forward. “Feel like my body’s just pent up, y’know? Usually I’m out like a light.”

“Same.” Harry replies. “My brain won’t switch off so I’ve just been,” don’t tell him you’ve been snooping, “counting sheep.”

“And the bang?” Louis laughs.

“Oh! Uh, I just got up for some water and tripped into the bedside table.”

Harry doesn’t think about how it’s becoming easier and easier to lie.

“Do you need anything for it?” Louis asks, coming closer as if trying to inspect Harry’s foot. His toes scrunch inward under the careful scrutiny, as if they don’t want Louis to see how unblemished they really are.

There’re only a few feet between them now and Harry can feel the sleepy heat radiating from Louis’s body, can count the chest hairs that sit between his pecs and can smell the fabric conditioner of his bed sheets caught up in the hairs on his arms.

“No, I think I’m good.” He swallows, throat clicking and fingertips twitching beside him as if they’re aching to reach out and feel just how soft Louis’ skin is underneath quivering patterns of swirly flesh.

“Okay.” Louis whispers, eyelids blinking slowly, heavy with heady want, tongue inching out to lick his dry lips.

[celestialvoid-fanfiction]

Little Letters

Stiles likes to leave little love notes in Derek’s pockets. He never writes his name on them, but he doesn’t have to; Derek knows who writes them.

For @kirjastorotta​

(You can also read it on AO3, here)

The first time it happened, Derek was a little confused.

He reached into the pocket of his leather jacket for his phone, but as he pulled it out, a folded piece of paper fell out of his pocket and onto the ground.

Derek bent over and picked it up.

He unfolded the note and read it.

Every day that you’re here you make the world a better place.

He felt a warmth blossom in his chest, his cheeks flushed with a rosy pink blush. He bit into his lower lip, trying to his the soft smile that crept onto his lips.

There wasn’t a name at the bottom, or anywhere on the note, but there didn’t need to be; he knew who had written the note. He knew the messy, chicken-scratch handwriting. He knew the scent that clung to the paper. But what stuck him as odd was that he never questioned it.

He folded the note up again and carefully slid it back into his pocket.

- - -

Derek hunched his shoulders as the icy breeze rolled by. He shoved his hands into his pockets. His heart skipped a beat as his fingers brushed against something cold and smooth.

He pulled it out of his pocket, letting out a sigh of relief as he looked down at the folded piece of paper. He carefully unfolded it, reading the chicken-scratch handwriting.

Are you made of Copper and Tellurium?

Because you’re

Cu Te

Derek couldn’t help but let out a quiet chuckle, bowing his head as he tried to hide the smile that played across his lips.

At the bottom of the paper—hastily written to fit in the space at the bottom of the note—was a second message:

Seriously though, you look good today.

Derek smiled, carefully folding up the note and sliding it back into his pocket.

- - -

Derek let out a deep sigh as he stepped into the loft, dragging his feet across the polished concrete floors. He shrugged off his jacket and tossed it over the end of the bed, halting when he heard a quiet crinkle, the sound muffled by the fabric of his jacket.

He stepped back over to his bed, digging into the pocket of his jacket and pulling out the folded piece of scrap paper.

He carefully unfurled it, looking down at the scrawls of ink across the page.

Smile for six seconds and then turn this note over.

Derek’s brow furrowed slightly as he looked down at the note in confusion.

He half-shrugged and followed the instructions, letting a smile turn up the corners of his mouth. He held the smile, counting away the seconds.

He turned the note over.

Your smile is beautiful.

Derek let out a quiet laugh, his smile softening into something more genuine.

He let out a quiet chuckle as he walked back over to his desk and opened the drawer. He pulled out an old leather-bound copy of Watership Down that was wrapped in black leather that had been embossed with gold lettering and a picture of a rabbit down the spine and another illustration of a rabbit embossed on the cover.

Derek opened the cover, stowing the note away inside with all the other letters that had been left for him.

Beneath all the notes, a message was written on the faded paper in his mother’s elegant handwriting.

Happy birthday, my darling.

Love always,

Mum.

xx

Derek looked down at the message for a little while. He let out a soft sigh before carefully rearranging the notes and scraps of paper that he had hidden inside of the book.

He looked down at the notes with a fond smile before carefully closing the cover and setting the old book back down in his desk drawer.

- - -

Derek let out a weak groan as he rolled over, blinking his eyes open. The golden light of morning streamed through the wall of windows that lined the loft.

He pushed himself up, pulling back the blankets and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He rose to his feet, hastily making his bed before making his way towards the bathroom.

His feet slowed to a halt as he crossed the loft, something in his peripheral vision catching his attention.

He turned, looking at the note that was taped to the window.

“If this is a threat, it’s too damn early for this shit,” Derek muttered to himself as he dragged his feet across the floor and over to the window.

He snatched the letter from the window, blinking heavily to clear the sleep from his eyes. He looked down at the paper.

When you smile, the sun hides in shame because it knows it cannot shine as bright as you.

He let out a quiet laugh, feeling his mood brighten as he stood in the warmth of the sunlight that streamed through the window.

His smile turned up the corners of his lips as he read the letter over again before lifting his gaze and watching as the sky lit up with brilliant colours as dawn broke over Beacon Hills.

He stayed like that for a while before a thought struck him.

The smile fell from his face as he looked from the note to the window.

“How did you…?” He let the question die off, shaking his head. “You know what, I don’t want to know.”

- - -

“Where’s my phone?” Derek muttered to himself as he patted down the pockets of his jeans.

He heard something crackle as he patted his back pocket.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

He reached into the pocket and pulled out the piece of folded paper.

“How?” Derek asked, knowing he wasn’t going to get an answer—regardless, he had to admit, he was impressed.

He unfolded the note and read the message,

If life were a garden of flowers, I’d pick you.

Derek snorted as he struggled to smother his laugh.

He let chuckled as he looked down at the hastily drawn illustrations of blossoming daisies and delicate dandelions at the bottom of the note.

Derek couldn’t help himself. He lifted the note to his face and inhaled the scent that clung to the paper.

Every nerve in his body was ignited, a rush of warmth flowing through his veins before a wave of calm washed over him.

A faint smile turned up the corners of his lips.

- - -

There are some days when everything gets to be too much for him to handle, when it feels like the weight of the world is on his shoulders and he doesn’t have the strength to carry it.

He paced back and forth across the loft, drawing in measured breaths as he tried to ignore the deafening voices in his head; thoughts and emotions crashing over him like waves breaking on a rocky shore.

His heart hammered against his ribs, his chest tightening as he fought to hold back his tears.

Something in his peripheral vision caught his attention, a small piece of white paper sitting on the small table by the door.

Derek’s brows knitted together as he frowned in confusion. He didn’t remember leaving anything there; the shopping list was pinned on the fridge and the reminder to call Cora was on his bedside table.

He crossed over to the small table and picked up the note, feeling a sense of calmness still his racing thoughts and turbulent emotions as he looked down at the familiar handwriting.

In a hundred lifetimes, in a thousand worlds, in a million versions of reality—I’d find you and I’d choose you.

Derek held the note tight. His vision began to blur into streaks of colour and light as tears welled in his eyes. Tears trailed down his cheeks, glistening as they caught the light.

His legs weakened beneath him as he slumped down on the couch, his hands trembling as he held onto the note.

He knew he was important. He knew he was loved. But looking down at that note, for the first time in a long time, he felt it.

- - -

The pack often spent time together at the loft. If they weren’t coming together for pack meetings or fighting off the latest supernatural threat, they were gathered in the lounge room, surrounded by text books and notes books, studying or helping each other with their homework.

Erica and Lydia sat up on the sofa, sitting cross-legged and facing each other, their books spread across the cushions in front of them. Boyd sat on the floor beside Erica, leaning back against the couch. Isaac sat beside him, hunched over a text book and scowling in confusion. Jackson sat on one of the arm chairs, his legs hanging over the side as he sat his notebook against his thighs and worked through his homework.

Scott and Allison sat on the far side of the coffee table, sitting atop throw cushions they’d scavenged from the couch and talking through their Chemistry homework.

Stiles sat at the other end of the coffee table, sitting in the space between Lydia’s end of the couch and the arm chair that Derek sat in – reading. He was juggling different highlighters—green, yellow and red—blocks of text in his books coloured as he worked through his method.

He switched between his text books and his notebooks, flipping through pages upon pages of scrawled notes, brightly coloured highlighting, and messy writing.

Derek glanced up from his book, looking down at the notebook Stiles held.

His mind darted back to the last note he’d been left.

Derek reached over to the end table, picking up the notepad and pen that sat beside the phone. He quickly wrote something down, tearing the paper from the pad before setting the pen and notepad aside.

He set his book aside and leant forward, dropping the note into Stiles’ lap.

“I’m going to get dinner,” Derek said, rising to his feet.

Stiles picked up the note and read the elegant cursive handwriting.

His face lit up with a bright smile as he read the note, his dark eyes turning to pools of gold as they caught the light.

He looked up at Derek, his face one of surprise and bashfulness as a smile played across his lips.

A small smile turned up the corners of Derek’s lips as he met Stiles’ gaze, his sweet smile turning to a smug smirk as he turned to leave.

Stiles looked back down at the note, reading it over again.

I’d choose you too.

[zigtheeortega]

calm before the storm

✿ pairing: bryce x mc

✿ word count: 2.5k

✿ warnings: loss, death, funeral – angst.

✿ author’s note: i didn’t necessarily think that bryce was written ooc, but the whole post-funeral sequence was pretty weird to me. i’m someone who copes very similarly to bryce, so i could see myself reflected in him a lot. and i thought the s*x scene was very oddly placed so, here’s me warping canon again bc i’m dissatisfied! lmao hope u enjoy <3 also this fic is very close to me emotionally – i experienced two close deaths in april and june. 

•─────────✦✿✦────────•

Since the moment his hands trembled amidst one of the most important surgeries of his life, Bryce was holding on by a thread.

With each half-assed joke he cracked, each wavering smile, each time he tried convincing others – including himself – that he was coping, he fell apart more and more.

The first night he went home after Spencer was quarantined, he trudged through the halls of Edenbrook, like he was dragging his legs through wet concrete. He was nearly magnetized to her bedside, not wanting to leave, but he needed to rest – he’d been awake for nearly a day and a half by the time he clocked out.

He blinked and he was back home. Couldn't remember how he got there. He was on autopilot and didn’t have a clue until he’d already wasted so much time. When night came, he couldn’t recall what he’d done that day.

The days between the diagnostics team finding a cure were torturous, the mere thought of not knowing what the future held – for the first time in his life – shaking him to his core.

He found himself paying close attention to Keiki. Each sarcastic quip, rude comment, or joke at his expense, he listened, soaking it up, no thoughts about the problem back in Hawaii. He whole-heartedly enjoyed her. Through one of the hardest times in his life, he was rekindling a relationship that never should’ve fallen apart.

The night he spent with Spencer, cuddled up next to her in his starchy hazmat suit, was the most daunting of them all. He was smiling and flirting with her, a little bit of his normal self shining through, but the crushing weight of his reality was distracting him.

This could be the last time that you see her smile.

God, he knew he had a killer smile of his own, but hers put the whole damn sun to shame. Her grin lit up her whole body, like every atom in her body was in it. And despite her sunken in eyes, her pale, sickly appearance, she still emitted those same infectious rays that he was eager to soak up.

This could be the last time that you hold her.

He curled himself around her, spooning her like he’d done a handful of times before. What he wouldn’t give to have a faceful of her hair again, the tropical scent so familiar to him that he couldn’t help but associate the scent of coconut with her.

This could be the last time that you feel her.

He stroked her face with a gloved hand, wishing for nothing more than to feel her smooth skin beneath his fingertips again. He pressed into her, hoping she could feel his warmth through the thin layer of fabric.

When her eyelids finally fluttered shut, overcome with exhaustion, his mind wandered to the possibility of it all being over.

And he couldn’t cope with that.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to.

When the treatment worked, and both she and Rafael were cured, it was the first time in months he’d experienced genuine joy. He didn’t know what higher power out there was looking out for him, but he silently thanked the universe for looking out for her. And for putting her in his life, and decidedly keeping her there.

The funeral was too much for him.

Seeing the two caskets, sealed tight, the endless arrangements of flowers, the sea of black clothing… it was overwhelming. Foreign. Like he was intruding on something so intimate that wasn’t meant for him to see.

And the sounds. He’d never forget it. Choked sobs from every angle, constant sniffling, a sporadic wail. The atmosphere made him antsy. His suit was itchy, his shoes were uncomfortable, and he was surrounded by grief.

Both Danny and Bobby meant a lot to Edenbrook, but it was nothing compared to what Spencer meant to him.

He must’ve slipped into auto-pilot (again), because before he knew it, the funeral was over, and he was outside of her apartment.

Wordlessly, he wrapped her in his arms, burying his face in her shoulder, the smell of her shampoo enough to bring him to tears. He was so fucking close to losing that forever. His free will to kiss her, to touch her, to hold her.

She invited him in, and every step to her room felt like each string that held him together was snapping, his sutures buckling under the weight he carried.

He was digging deep, trying to pull any kind of genuine quip from within him, to maybe – just maybe – convince Spencer he was okay.

But did he want to keep her in the dark?

Opening up was so fucking hard for him. Either he was a burden or he was let down by the people he confided in.

Trustworthiness was hard to come by, and Bryce knew that. That’s why Spencer was the first to know about Keiki, about his parents, about him. Not entirely, since he wasn’t ready for that just yet, but he was getting there.

It was a slow process, and he revered Spencer’s patience. Not once did she get upset with him for not sharing every detail.

And he almost fucking lost that.

His torturous inner monologue that he worked so hard to bury showed up when Keiki did. Guilt ate him alive, anxiety gnawed his insides, and regret feasted on whatever was left.

His mind was a hurricane, angry waves crashing painfully against his subconscious, the storm surge from his repeated trauma more than he could handle alone.

The one person he should’ve let in was almost taken from him, ripped from him like a surfboard after a wipeout.

He was drowning, and he flicked away the only hand that was outstretched for him.

And he almost fucking lost her.

The moment Spencer’s brows furrowed at whatever unconvincing mask he had plastered on his features, he broke.

His throat ached and flexed as he tried to choke back the tears, but he just… couldn’t.

Fuck, you’re so weak. He cursed at himself as the tears started flowing, warm streaks trailing down his bronzed skin, vision blurred like his head was under water. This isn’t about you.

The one time deflection was warranted, he broke down into a blubbering heap at her feet.

Like the angel she was, Spencer coaxed his body towards the bed, settling him against the down comforter before his legs buckled beneath him.

She gathered him in her arms, holding him exactly like he needed (like he wanted, but he didn’t want to admit it out loud).

She held him like he held her – like it was the last time.

The revelation tore him up inside, knowing she’d never take a second of their time together for granted again.

He pulled back, running a shaky hand through his hair, loose strands clinging to his damp forehead.

“I normally can hold it together better.” “You don’t have to do that around me, Bryce. You know that,” she encouraged, eyes still red-rimmed from the funeral.

“You’re the one that almost died, and I’m sitting here crying letting you comfort me,” he laughed through a sob, bouncing his leg on the ground nervously.

“You watched me almost die,” she whispered, squeezing his hand. “You’re allowed to be upset.”

His chin wobbled, and he rolled his lips to mask it. He took a shuddering breath, squeezing his eyes shut. “Spencer, I – have you ever…�� He trailed off. Why was this so fucking hard?

“Have I been through this before?”

“Yeah,” was all he could manage.

She nodded. “Have you?”

“No.”

She nodded again.

“It’s making me think about my life… and the people in it. And things I could’ve done differently… better.”

“What do you mean?”

“When I saw you in that room, after the gas started affecting you, and your face… it –” he bit his lip to hold back a soft sob. “It got me thinking about everything that we didn’t do.”

“Bryce…” she laced her fingers in his, rubbing her thumb methodically over his skin.

“We’ve barely seen each other this year, Spencer. I got caught up with Keiki, and trying to figure shit out, and –” he searched her eyes, tears welling up again. “When I saw you in that room, nothing else mattered.”

“More than one thing can be important to you –”

“You’re important to me, Spence. You deserve better than what I’ve given you this year,” he shook his head, tears spilling over. “I can’t lose you.”

“You aren’t losing me, Bryce. I’m right here,” she practically cooed, trying her best to soothe him.

“I shouldn’t be the one being comforted right now. Please,” he whispered.

She pulled back, scooting backward onto the bed to cross her legs, as he stood up, pacing.

“It’s like I’m fucking up left and right with the people who matter to me,” he fisted his pockets, avoiding her eyes as he strode across the room.

“You of all people should know that you can’t take the blame for things that are out of your control,” she murmured softly, tugging at a loose string at the hem of her dress.

“I know I can’t control it and that’s why it makes me want to tear my fucking hair out,” he said through gritted teeth, biting back tears. He didn’t want to cry anymore, but his body had other ideas.

“Bryce, you couldn’t have stopped a bursting gas canister. Nobody could’ve stopped it.”

“That’s not what I’m frustrated over. I’m… I don’t know how to say it without sounding like a dick and making this about me. There’s a lot going through my head right now,” he laughed humorlessly, stopping in the middle of the room directly across from the bed.

“Talk it out with me. I’ve got time,” she smiled encouragingly, folding her hands in her laps politely, like the angel she was.

God, sometimes he was thankful for his parent’s demonic behavior, because if not for the bad karma the Lahela’s accumulated, there’s no way in hell the universe would’ve balanced itself out by placing an angel like her in his path.

“On the one hand I’m angry at myself for not spending time with you like I should’ve,” he chewed his lip for a second, trying to gather his thoughts, before speaking again slowly. “I could’ve lost you and I was more worried about keeping secrets from everyone and dealing with shit on my own, you know? Which I never should’ve done.”

“But you didn’t and still don’t have to tell me anything. You’re allowed to have boundaries,” she interjected calmly.

“But maybe… maybe I don’t want that anymore,” he shrugged out of his tux jacket, draping it over the back of her desk chair as he spoke. “You still barely know Keiki. I barely know Keiki. And I holed myself up when you were waiting there with open arms. I don’t know. Maybe I just didn’t want to burden anybody? I don’t know.” He repeated, downplaying his own self–realization.

“And I’m frustrated because I don’t… know how to deal with this,” he gestured around the room, then to himself. “How to wrap my brain around all of it. This was the first time I lost anybody like this.”

“I wasn’t even super close to Danny and Bobby,” he continued, shoving his hands in his pockets to calm his shaking hands.

“Losing people is always hard. Doesn’t matter how close or distant you are to somebody,” she said, trying to hold his eyes, but he could barely look at her.

He’d never opened up like this before. He was so vulnerable… so exposed, and he was afraid. Afraid she’d run away. That she’d bolt the second he plopped his thick suitcases filled to the brim, nearly bursting with emotional baggage from the past two decades.

“I’m sad about losing them, definitely, and going to a funeral for the first time in my life really fucked with my head but… fuck, I’m gonna sound like such an asshole,” he willed himself to look up from his shoes, staring intently at her. “None of that even comes close to what I felt when I thought I’d lost you.”

“Kyra was hanging on by a thread while I thought you were –” he choked, pressing his lips in a firm line to stop his sobs, which escaped through his nose in short breaths instead.

“I’ve never felt pressure like that. And my life has been nothing but pressure.” The words were freely flowing from him, like a dam held together by a few twigs, snapping to release a flood that neither of them anticipated.

“You had to run towards your problems, not away from them,” she whispered, like she wasn’t sure if he’d agree. But the moment the words left her lips, it was like the puzzle pieces fell into place for him.

Maui should’ve been his safe haven, but from the moment his parents were exposed in every form of news throughout Hawaii, he was itching to leave. The island fever settled into his bones and never left. It was an ever present anxiety he struggled with despite finding a home in Boston, Edenbrook, and Spencer.

When shit went down back home, he ran. When people found out who he was states away from the fallout, he ran. It was predictable, methodical, like an appendectomy. The same muscle memory that sliced skin and fastened sutures with delicate precision pumped his legs until he was as far away from his problems as he could get.

“Everytime I lost somebody, it was because I chose to. This time it was like something was being ripped away from me, and I couldn’t handle it,” Bryce said, a profound statement that caused a pained whimper to escape his lips.

“Bry…” She breathed, scooting to the edge of the bed, gently tugging at his shirt sleeve to pull him down to sit on the comforter.

“You don’t have to have all the answers right now, alright? And you don’t have to carry all of this alone. I’m here. You’ve got all of us,” she said, motioning towards the walls of the apartment. “Sometimes just letting it out can take the weight off your shoulders. And you’ve got a heavy load, Bryce.”

She rubbed soothing circles on his back, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “I’m not leaving you.”

He held her eye, doe-eyed gaze piercing – Spencer could see right through him, and god did he love feeling seen.

There was nothing he could say to thank her properly for putting aside her feelings to listen to him for a few minutes. Those few minutes where he unleashed a small portion of the shit he’d been building up for years.

So instead he did what he’d been craving since the moment he saw her behind the glass.

He pulled her into a frenzied kiss, pouring every part of himself into the embrace, wrapping him in her arms like she belonged there, as if he was saying “I’m not leaving you, either. You’re safe now.”

––––

taglist: @pixeljazzy ; @raleiighcarrera ; @senatorraines ; @felix-hauville ; @violinet ; @empressazura ; @serafinedupont ; @messofakind ; @altairadtaz ; @hudush ; @solarbridge ; @adriansbiss ; @bellarxse ; @havennly ; @writinghereandthere ; @levineseth ; @lahellacute ; @michellesnguyen ; @kelseaaa ; @natesewels ; @lucas-koh ; @rainesenator ; @montjoy ; @bryceslahela ; @crestfallenpixie ; @dudebro-lahela ; @ezekielbhandarivalleros ; @lgbtiangley ; @part-of-the-circus ; @nazariolahela ; @hazel-nguyen ; @la-huerta ; @adamdusmortain ; @thepotatobleh ; @distinguishedsaladoperawinner ; @bobbymckenzie ; @catsomi ; @neptunesascendant ; @pixelsandkink

[if i missed you, i wasn’t able to tag your url! i tagged anybody who interacted w the post so if you want to be removed please let me know]

[falcor-thee-luck-dragon]

Diego Hargreeves x reader - A Small Inconvenience

Masterlist

Walking down the sidewalk with a warm bag of Chinese takeout securely in your arm, the scent of it wafting into your nostrils putting a smile upon your face as you trail your eyes down the street. You’d been tasked with hunting down the best food in town for yourself and Diego this evening, who’s patiently awaiting your arrival in your apartment. Well in all honesty, you’d actually lost to Rock Paper Scissors and were promptly sent out into the cool autumn air as your man cheered for his victory before he quickly made up for it with a kiss.

Just enough for you to brave the city streets, and the grumbling in your stomach.

So with a pinch to his cute firm bum did you say your goodbyes and walk out the door in search of something delicious for the evening. You’re hunt had taken you down a couple blocks and past some drug deal near an alleyway entrance before your eyes found the best Chinese restaurant in town.

It practically glows golden and red, a big beautiful dragon smiling at its front door welcoming everyone who enters. Wasting no more time, you make your way through the doors and up to the counter. You know the usual order by heart and the workers there are quick and efficient as they quickly bring your meal to the front counter.

You pay and happily walk out the glass doors with a delicious bag of yours and Diego’s favorite. You’re able to make it halfway to your apartment before you spot Klaus chatting up the hotdog guy from across the street. The man looks rather bored of Klaus as he attempts to make a hotdog for a customer. Shaking your head you quickly duck under a blue mailbox to avoid catching his eye.

No sooner do you hide does the tell tale sounds of Klaus’ shuffling reach your ears as he jogs across the street to find you. You let out a sigh as you stand up from your once crouched position, coming face to face with a beaming Klaus.

“So what brings you round these parts Y/N?” Wonders your childhood friend as he leans casually against the mailbox.

Handing him a half smile you clutch your takeout closer, “Oh you know, food n’such.”

He raises a brow, his green irises glancing down to your precious takeout, “And uh...where are you going with that delicious bag of goodies?” You purse your lips together, knowing exactly what Klaus is after.

“Not tonight Klaus.” You deadpan, trying to assert that you’re not interested in having a movie night with two Hargreeves.

He taps his fingers against the hood of the mailbox, “Ah come on Y/N/N, my tum tums a grumbling and.” He shakes your shoulders, “we could have such a fun time! It’d be like a party, we could lock Diego out of the gym and drink to our hearts content as we make fun of shitty romcoms....come on Y/N it’d be so fun.” Whines Klaus as you gently remove his arms away from your shoulders with your free hand.

Taking a short step back you squint your eyes at him suspiciously, “You’re not getting my teriyaki chicken strips.” His face falls as you firmly state your business, “Don’t even try to take it out of my hands you know you can’t outrun me.”

Klaus pouts, “Yeah, well you’re being a real butt right now. And to think you were my favorite, despicable.” He says with a disapproving shake of his head.

You simply chuckle at his childishness, “Maybe next time Klaus.” 

You smile as a second later does he lunge at you, an unknown force slapping your bag of Chinese food right out of your grasp as Klaus quickly grabs it, another invisible force pushing the back of your knees forward. With a surprised yelp do you quickly fall to the concrete, an annoyed huff of air leaving your lips as you watch Klaus book it past you as he races down the street cackling like a maniac.

“Fuck you Ben.” You whisper with a roll of your eyes, a smile breaking out upon your face as your nerves prick in excitement for your new hunt.

 Klaus.

 And your Chinese takeout of course.

But before you’re able to even take a step does your phone buzz in your hand, fumbling to take it out of your coat pocket you look down to see it’s Diego calling. Pressing on accept you bring the device to your ear, “What’s up babe.”

“You’ve been gone a while, just making sure you’re okay.” Worries your sweet Diego, an adoring smile finds its way onto your lips.

“I’m fine. I’ve just run into a little problem is all.”

“What’s wrong Y/N.” He asks, his voice laced with concern.

You let out a small laugh, “Nothing terrible really, D. I was just robbed but I’ll be fine seriously don’t even worry oka...”

“What?! Where’d they go, I’ll stop them.”

“Diego take a breath.”

“Who was it? Anyone I know? What’d they look like?”

“It was Klaus.” You deadpan, the other line goes silent for a few long seconds as you wait for him to respond.

“Klaus. Is he far?”

Looking down the street you catch the last glimpse of Klaus’ pink scarf as it flows wildly in the wind, “Not really, okay uh....I’m gonna go get our food. I’ll see ya at home. Love you D.”

“Alright I’ll be here, love you.” Replies Diego, confusion clear in his voice as he leaves you to save the day.

Stuffing your phone back into your pocket you let out a quiet “fuck” as someone gives you an odd look, flashing them a nervous smile you nod before booking it down the sidewalk like a mad woman on the run. Wind pushing your hair back as your feet pound against the sidewalk with each rushed step. You can practically smell your delicious takeout as it wafts into your nostrils while you’re on the chase.

In no time do you finally turn a corner to catch a pink flash of cloth as it hides behind an alleyway corner, huffing in frustration do you race forward and grasp the bricks as your feet slide into the opposite wall. When you look down the opening do you find the back of Klaus as he desperately races over the cracked cement. Rolling your eyes do you look down to fortunately find a discarded shoe next to the trash.

Perfect.

With a smile upon your face do you pick up the old smelly thing before chucking it in the direction of his messy brown hair as he cackles in the wind. You watch in delight as the worn out leather smacks him right in the back of his head with a thwack. Instantly does he fall to the ground as you race to save your food in a hasty blur. Luckily catching it before a mess is had on the dirty concrete, you turn to look down at Klaus who’s laying on his back in defeat.

He sticks his tongue out at you, “You have no right being that fast Y\N!” Grumbles Klaus as you chuckle.

“And you have no right to let Ben trip me.” You add with a raise of your brow.

Klaus simply rolls his green eyes, “He dared me to take it! And I’m not a bitch so of course I accepted.”

Reaching your hand out for him to take, he takes your offer and just like that do you pull him from the ground, “I haven’t seen you run that fast since you robbed that convenience store a month ago.”

“You didn’t even try and help me escape.” Remarks Klaus as he stands next to you, a hand upon his slender hip.

“Oh right, but if I remember correctly you told me and I quote Y/N watch me rob this store and flip off the cops inside as I make off with the donuts. Then you told me not to help you cause you’re not a little bitch. So I didn’t.”

Pursing his lips together, he nods, “Yeah well. Can I have a twenty?”

You scoff, “Drugs or food?”

“Food. Obviously.” Answers Klaus more quickly then you’d believe.

Nodding you fumble around in your pocket, “Fine. But if you steal my delicious sweet teriyaki chicken I will break your arm next time.” He smiles as you hand him the twenty.

“Noted.” Winks Klaus as he pockets the single bill excitedly. You say your goodbyes before turning around and making your way to the gym where Diego patiently awaits you and your food.

The walk there takes about three minutes, giving you time to settle your once pounding heartbeat from Klaus’ little adventure through the streets of the city. At long last does your eyes find the glass doors of the closed boxing gym, when you wander closer does Diego finally spot you. A smile comes to his face as he quickly opens up the door, his face turning to amusement as he takes in your disheveled appearance.

Walking through the door do you mock glare at him as he chuckles, “I’d ask, but I’m not sure if I want to know.” He says as you walk quickly to your shared apartment.

“Your brother just gave me a run for my money, literally and figuratively.” You muse before opening up your apartment door, swinging it back with a whoosh. He laughs as he shuts the door behind him, jogging down the small row of stairs as you sit down with a huff.

Diego smirks as he sets himself across from you, “Well I hope our food is still warm. Jeesh Y/N I give you one job and then you get robbed, thought you were a superhero or something.” Teases your man as he takes out his box of the usual favorite, opening it up with ease.

“You’re fucking hilarious.” You quip, no venom in your words as you fight back a smile.

He slurps up a noodle, “It’s warm so you’re off the hook.”

Swallowing your chicken you raise an eyebrow at him, “Oh really now. And what would you have done to me if it wasn’t and Klaus took all the goods, huh?” You challenge with a smirk before biting into another crunchy piece of chicken.

He simply shrugs, “Guess you wouldn’t get any of these goods.” Muses Diego as he implies something very intriguing yet not what you’d like to think about while stuffing yourself of chicken and steamed vegetables.

Slowly blinking at him you point a chopstick in his direction, “Don’t make it weird.” He breaks out into a huge smile as a laugh escapes him.

“You started it.” Replies Diego with a wink.

Leaning in closer to him you smirk, “And I’ll end it if you don’t shut that pretty mouth of yours.” Your add with a dark glare, he instantly shuts up at your words, an excited thrill coursing through him as you seductively sit back and chew your food.

[and-there-were-words]

A Spider Life: Webbed Thoughts (Chapter 02)

Setting up some HCs for the future, as well as giving some insight to our favorite scientist spider.

---

Taking place during “Revenge of the Spider Queen”, pretty much at the end of it.

With the Arachnoid Base gone and the town mostly in shambles due to the massive explosion, the Spider Demons were scattered all around town. Syntax takes it upon himself to find the other two, while wandering foreign, yet familiar streets. (Wordcount: around 1800)

---

Having almost all of his Spiderbots deactivated, was a huge setback for certain. It’ll take days to reconfigure them, and who even knew if they had enough of the special venom to get back to the count they had previously. It was near impossible to draw any numbers if the extent of the destruction was still unknown to him.

At least, there were a few things that survived. For one, the Spiderbot on his back. The cool metal resting comfortable against his spine, while the robot was feeding him a constant flow of information from the remaining units. It was a soft background buzz, a reminder that he was indeed part of this clan. The other ‘survivor’ being the head of their Arachnoid Base, certainly the most complex part of the mech. Given some time and work, he was certain he could rebuild it.

Syntax’s mouth drew into a hard line, reminiscing the events of the last few hours. It looked like the Queen… no, his Queen, had everything under control. The so-called-heroes caught, powerless against her might. The scientist had redrawn himself to continue working. Just because the battle was already won, didn’t meant there were no projects to finish up and to maintain. There were victory celebrations to be had afterall, and nobody else took it up to plan those. Syntax only had noticed the earth rumble above him when everything went down, and a moment later he had to witness his Queen on the ground, defeated. He wisely decided not to become a potential target of her fury, and excused himself to immediately go back to work.

As much as he hated to admit it, he really had to find the other two. For the sole reason to move the Arachnoid Base head back underground into the lair, of course. The remaining Spiderbots were not enough to stem this feat and he did not even have a fraction of the required strength to do it by himself. He would not allow his Queen to do any of this work, even if she was more than capable of moving the apparatus. No, if he could do something against it, he will not let the lady steep any lower, she was supposed to rest.

Goliath and Huntsman.

The scientist inhaled in trough the nose and let out a mildly annoyed sigh. The very moment these two had awaken, he was able to feel their gazes constantly lingering on him. Moreso from the hunter than the strong spider. Actually, it was a little surprising that the big one was… rather gentle in a way. Goliath barely ever spoke, and seemed content to just be part of whatever was going on. Doing what he was told to do, he certainly was the more reasonable compared to the gnarly spider that was Huntsman.

The older spider had made it apparently his goal to infuriate Syntax in any way possible. Always trying to shove himself in the spotlight when the scientist wanted to inform his Queen, always throwing little nitpicks and snarky remarks here and there – and by far the most annoying thing; always wrinkling his nose when he came too close to Syntax. ‘Close’ of course being several feet away, there was no way he’d allow that pelt wearing asshole anywhere near himself. More an unconcious act while having this trail of thought, Syntax lifted his wrist to his own nose, trying to catch any scent. He couldn’t detect anything odd, just metal, cold earth and the faintly sweet fragrance of his lady’s venom. Huntsman certainly was only doing this to irritate him. And frustratingly enough, it was slowly getting to him.

The scientist scoffed, looking up to check his surroundings. He was in the middle of a street, in some part of the city that didn’t get completely leveled during the fight. Some signs and advertisement screens still flickered with life, hanging in there with all might. The occasional spark and the scuttling of a critter were all the noises he could hear otherwise. Remarkable how fast the local population was able to evacuate from their homes once the Spider Demons had attacked. Something in the back of his brain clawed to the surface, images of a giant bull stomping and blasting entire blocks away. Having to leave ‘someplace important’ to be safe. A taste of bitterness of potentially losing all ‘progress’.

Progress of what? Syntax halted in his steps for a moment, trying to make sense of this rabid influx of images and emotions that… were his? Weren’t his? He could, for the life of his, not consciously remember any of what his mind was spouting out. It didn’t take long for the buzzing of the Spiderbot and the soothing warmth of the venom to calm his nerves again. What was he thinking about again? The scientist unchlenched his teeth, uncurling his fists. There was no apparent reason to be tense. With a shake of his head, Syntax continued down the streets.

He didn’t even question it that he could navigate throughout the city without a second guess. Somewhere in the far back of his mind, there was a subtle note that any corner he passed, and any road sign he read was completely new information. Yet he could feel it in his fingertips that he had seen these places before.

...most certainly the marvel of the Spiderbots, always here to bring him up to date! At a crossroad, his gaze subconsciously wandered down to his right, the word ‘Work’ coming to his mind. But before he could delve anymore on this random fact, a red flash signaled the scientist that he was close to his target. Completely ignoring the jumbled webbing of his mind, that tried to lure him somewhere, he turned to his left and followed the call of the machines.

It didn’t take long to find the hulking figure of Goliath. The strong spider was not within the crater that was left when crashing into the concrete, but instead was sitting a little to the side. Remarkable, that the guy barely had a scratch, Syntax wasn’t sure if he could shake off such an impact as easily. Goliath was looking somewhat exhausted, and for the first time since he knew him, mildly annoyed. It was clear that the henchman was already aware what must have had happen after he got blasted into the sky, the destroyed mech could not be overlooked easily. Though when he noticed the scientist approaching, his features softened, brows slightly raised in a silent question. For someone who could easily be one of the most intimidating creatures Syntax knew about (he didn’t knew many, DBK was certainly on this list though), he surely often made an expression like a lost puppy. In a way, it was endearing, giving this giant an aura he could relax in, at least somewhat.

Syntax looked around, searching for a second crater. Without needing to raise the question, Goliath shook his head. “He ain’t here, think he fell somewhere further to the east.”, a silent groan escaped the big guy as he got up, stretching his arms a little and dusting off some dirt. “Shall we?”

The scientist just nodded, stuffing hands in pockets and following the other’s lead. Finding himself mulling over threads of thoughts again as he watched the large back of the spider demon. In a way, it was… fascinating, how different they all were. Goliath, clearly strong and powerful, didn’t seem to make much use out of venom and webs. He was capable of both, no question, but either his mastery in these skills weren’t the greatest, or he simply didn’t want to use either for whatever reason. Syntax put a pin into that, maybe a question for another day.

Now Huntsman was almost the opposite. Even if he didn’t like to admit it, Syntax had to give tribute where it was due. The older spider’s ability of web manipulation was astounding, and maybe there was more to the hunter than one would give him credit for. He obviously was a traditional kind of guy, annoyingly so, but he still had picked up on Syntax’s gadgets and tools surprisingly quick. It did not take him more than a hour to figure out the spider trackers and the communication earbuds, he even had taken an animated liking over the tech-heavy binoculars that fed him instant information about anything he looked at. Of course, he immediately claimed that he would not need any of these, that his natural skills were enough. To no one’s surprise, Syntax noticed that said gadgets had mysteriously disappeared an hour later. He was smart enough to not bring this topic up.

Now the Queen… Syntax hummed contently as the Spiderbot buzzed in approvement. She was the Queen of Spiders for obvious reasons. While Goliath and Huntsman seemed to have specialized in one thing, the lady was quite powerful in all aspects. Her webs were strong and could be enchanted with all kinds of abilities. They were able to trap the Demon Bull King, and even the supposedly all-mighty Monkey King! That alone was a feat in itself. Syntax had noted with great pleasure that his lady was quite well versed in technology too, and up-to-date with society, in opposite to the other two. The giant spider bot that was basically just an extension of her true might? Her own creation! And don’t even get him started on her powerful venom! It had endless potential as both a power source and as an ingredient for mixtures and magics yet to be discovered.

And he, Syntax himself? For a moment, the scientist stopped in his track. He had his smarts and knowledge for sure. Basically a library of all things technology within his noggin. And his Queen already made it clear that he was an important part in all of her plans. Venom, webbing, physical strength on the other hand… The claws on his back twitched slightly agitated, a sudden spike of an incoming migrain stopping all tracks of thoughts. When Syntax looked forwards again, he could see that Goliath was glancing at him with mild worry, patiently waiting to continue their way to find the gnarly spider. The scientist shook his head, reminding himself that he was part of this clan, there was no place in doubting his Queen.

In comfortable silence, the two walked down the empty streets, neither feeling any need of smalltalk. As ironic and bitter as it was, Syntax found himself in a moment of peace, just a moment he could relax his shoulders and sort the rest of his thoughts calmly. Things certainly were going to get tense again once they picked up Huntsman, that fact was clear. The Spider Demons had a lot of tasks ahead of them as well, going off by the words of the little Miss Mystery. Not something he was particularly looking forward for, but serving his Queen was his sole purpose. And nothing will distract him from that.

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

The Rules

(Ok my Good Omens Lockdown fic is complete! And not at all what you were expecting! Check tags for brief TW for one of the final scenes.)

--

Dear Crowley.

The black ink flowed across the yellowed paper, trailing behind Aziraphale’s pen.

He frowned, and scratched it out.

My Dearest Friend.

He barely finished the final letter before crossing it out even more frantically than before.

Anthony.

Now that was just absurd. Another sharp line across the page.

Crowley.

Aziraphale all but threw the pen into the inkwell. He grabbed the paper in both hands and tore it in half – in half again – and again – and again, ink smudging and staining his fingers.

Stupid, stupid, stupid idea.

When he was finished, he dumped the confettied remains of the letter onto his desk and glared at them until they started to smolder, the first wisp of smoke twisting into the air.

Then, with a sigh, he waved his hand, returning them to a single sheet of clean parchment paper.

How long had he been in lockdown now? Six weeks? Seven? Eight?

Long enough to start coming up with foolish ideas. Long enough to begin questioning things that he knew were probably better left unquestioned and unsaid.

He took himself over to the shop’s kitchen and started the kettle boiling again. Cocoa? No, tea. And a nice slice of cake, that’s what he needed. The red velvet this time, he thought.

Crowley liked red velvet cake. Not that he admitted to it, but he never turned down an offered bite. And he would smile, just a bit, as he chewed it, eyes hovering across the top of his glasses...

When he’d gathered his treats, Aziraphale settled again at the desk, carefully restacking his books to make room for the cake and mug. He dimmed the lights around the shop, put on a soothing record, tried to find that calm center that allowed him to think clearly. He’d never actually found it before, but he’d read about it in books on meditation, and it sounded jolly useful.

Finally, with a deep breath, he carefully picked up the pen again, tapping it against the glass of the inkwell so that it didn’t drip, and tackled the paper again.

My dear Crowley,

I hope these strange new days see you well, and that you are not causing too much trouble on your side of London. Things have certainly been quiet over here, but you know that’s how I prefer it. Perhaps I should close the shop more often!

I finally had a chance to read that author you suggested, and while I couldn’t locate any of your recommended titles, I’ve found Chesterton’s “Orthodoxy” to be quite a fascinating read…

--

…and so I find myself with rather an overabundance of time! While the baking has been going exceedingly well, I feel that something is missing. I can’t quite put my finger on

The sound of breaking glass at the back of the shop. Aziraphale frowned. He didn’t keep anything breakable back there, just boxes of newly arrived books, supply storage, and of course the back door –

Ah. That probably explained it.

He stood up, pausing to wipe the crumbs from his face, and retrieve his favorite umbrella from the hat stand. A soft thump from somewhere in the back room put a little more speed into his step.

--

“Watch where you’re going,” Dru hissed, jerking his foot free of the box Tommy had knocked over. Books spilled out across the floor.

“Sorry,” muttered Tommy leaning over to restack them. They were those old books with weird hard-cloth covers, stamped with the names of dead poets he half-remembered from school. They smelt like dust. The whole shop smelt pretty gross, actually, like someone had hidden old cheese in a corner and let it sit there since Christmas.

“Don’t bother with that.” Dru kicked over the books. They slid across the floor, mixing with the broken glass. Tommy scrambled back. Dru was much bigger than him, over six feet tall, taller when he was angry. “I told you, look for the cash box. It’s gotta be back here somewhere.”

“Says who?” Jack was on his hands and knees nudging his way through more boxes towards the corner wall. “I’ve been looking forever and there’s – look, nothing again.”

“Shhh.” Tommy shrank back towards the broken window, glancing into the alley outside. He could still hear the scratchy old record playing at the front of the shop, and he didn’t think he could jump out the window quickly enough if they were caught. “This was a stupid idea, Dru. There’s someone here, and he’s going to hear us –”

“Just some old bloke,” Dru waved his hand angrily. “He’s run the shop forever, gotta be a hundred years old. You scared of him? Just find the safe.”

“What safe?” Jack crawled back out of the corner. “I told you there isn’t any bloody –”

“There’s always a safe in the back. It’s a rule.”

“I’m afraid it is not, in fact, a rule. Otherwise I would have one.” Tommy spun, and there, not ten feet away, stood the old bookseller. He was dressed in an ancient suit, hands resting on a tartan umbrella, a pair of glasses perched on his nose. “However, I’ve always though the logical place to keep money is in the till, so that’s where it is.”

Dru whipped out his knife, pointing it at the bookseller’s face. Jack followed a moment later, fumbling with the unfamiliar blade.

The bookseller just watched them, lips pursed. With a sinking feeling, Tommy realized he was nowhere near a hundred. The white-haired man looked barely older than Tommy’s dad, and at least as strong. Tommy had a good sense for when someone was not a person to cross, and this man set off every alarm bell.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, suddenly afraid the bookseller might recognize the dust from the brick Tommy threw into the window.

Dru waved his knife, trying to recover. “You just stay over there, right? We don’t want to hurt you.”

“No,” the bookseller said seriously. “You don’t.”

Jack lowered his knife and shuffled his feet.

“Shut it,” snapped Dru. “Right. We know where it is now. Tommy, go get the till.”

“Thomas do not get the till,” the bookseller snapped. His eyes flicked down, studying the mess all across the floor. When he looked up again, pulling his glasses off, his gaze pierced Tommy like a pair of blue icicles. “Did you knock over my books?”

“Yessir,” Tommy muttered, flinching away. He never liked arguing. Easier to go along with what people told him. Normally, at least, he would just agree and keep his mouth shut. But today, he felt the words bubbling inside him, fighting their way free. “And I broke the window. But Dru kicked the books over. I tried to clean, honest.”

“I see.” The blue eyes studied Dru, then drifted over to Jack. “And you?”

“I just moved the boxes, I didn’t break anything.”

“Well.” The bookseller took a step towards them. “I hope you all feel very ashamed of yourselves.” Tommy immediately did, though that wasn’t too unusual. He always felt ashamed of something. “Don’t you know there’s a lockdown going on just now? Pandemics are very serious business. You are breaking the rules – rules that are put in place to keep you safe. People could die from your carelessness, do you understand that?”

“Look,” Dru stepped forward, waving his knife a bit more urgently. “I don’t give a shit about that. You need to –”

The bookseller swung his umbrella like a sword, knocking Dru’s knife across the room. “I wasn’t finished talking. Now you go back over there and listen for once in your life. And mind your language in this shop.” Dru blinked, and shuffled back towards the wall. The bookseller’s eyes turned to Jack, who was already hastily putting his own knife back into his pocket. “Much better. Where was I?”

“People could die,” Tommy prompted.

“Right. Thank you, dear boy.” He smiled, just briefly, and for the first time in a long, long time Tommy felt that maybe there was more to the world than a steaming pile of garbage. He almost wanted to smile, too. “Now. You three being out right now is against all the rules, not to mention breaking and entering, and putting your hands – and feet – on my books. These are all very serious crimes.” He put aside the umbrella and folded his hands behind his back. “I want you to tell me what, exactly, brought you here tonight.”

“Money,” Tommy said quickly, but he could feel more words twisting their way up his throat, secrets threatening to spill across the floor.

Jack beat him to it. “Bored. Nothing to do. Just sitting at home, watching my folks grow old, and everyone gets angrier and angrier and I can’t think inside that room anymore, I don’t feel anything –”

“What are you talking about?” Dru demanded, stepping forward again. He didn’t look as confident as before, but much, much angrier. “Look, we’re here for your money, not to tell our life stories. I don’t know what the hell you’re trying to pull here, but just hand it over and I won’t have to get medieval on your ass.”

“Really? What a curious turn of phrase.”

“Dru always gets angry when he’s not in control,” Tommy said, not really knowing where the words came from. “I don’t know if he’s ever killed anyone but he always acts like he has.”

“Does he indeed? I’m afraid I know the type.” The look he gave Dru could have broken through a concrete wall. “And what do you have to say for yourself, young man?”

“That you’d better fucking watch yourself, old man.” He’d managed to get right up to the bookseller’s face, and now jabbed him in the chest with a finger. “Or you’re gonna regret what comes next.”

“Yes, I’m rather afraid I will.” The bookseller turned and picked up an ancient telephone, spinning a little dial on the front. “I want you to know that I tried very hard to keep it from coming to this.”

“Who you calling?” Dru sneered. “The cops?”

Frowning, the bookseller pressed the telephone to his ear. “No, Andrew Morgan, I am calling your grandmother.”

For a moment, there was no sound in the shop but a strange, strangled noise coming from Dru.

“Ah, yes, is this Delores Morgan? Yes, I’m afraid there’s a rather angry young man in my shop. Tall, rude, really using the most atrocious language – ah, yes, I’m afraid so. Yes. With a knife. Oh, of course.” He held out the telephone. “She’d like to speak to you now.”

With a shaking hand, Dru took it from him. “Nana?”

--

Half an hour later, Tommy was sitting at a little round table in the back of the shop, nibbling on a scone. Jack sat next to him, dipping his own in a mug of tea, trying to eat it quickly without dripping.

“I’m not saying I don’t understand,” the bookseller started, coming over with another plate. “Sourdough?”

“Yes, please,” said Tommy, taking a thick slice.

A thump echoed from the back room. “Just stack them up neatly like they were, there’s a good lad,” the bookseller called cheerfully. Dru grumbled, but not so that they could make out the words.

“As I was saying. This is a very difficult time for all of us. Financially, yes,” he nodded to Tommy, “but it can also put a strain on our mental health. I really do think you should talk to someone.”

“Where am I supposed to find a doctor at a time like this?” Jack complained.

“I have been led to believe the Googles can provide these things.” Tommy fought back a laugh. “What? What did I say?”

“It’s…uh, it’s not called the Googles.”

“It isn’t? Oh, dear. Regardless, I’m sure you can use your computer to find what you need. There are resources. But you must follow the rules. They are here to keep you safe.” He picked up a tray of muffins and carried them back towards the hidden kitchen. “In the meantime, perhaps you should try revisiting an old hobby. What is it you like to do?”

“Dunno,” muttered Jack. He started glancing around the room for inspiration.

Tommy had already studied their surroundings pretty thoroughly. Tons of trinkets, some of them cheap looking but almost all of them old. Pieces of art, some of them framed, others carefully laying across tables. Statues. One statue wore a bit fancy medal around it’s neck. The plates of cake and pastry on literally every surface. And the books. So many books.

Granted, he’d expected those, but the shop seemed bigger inside, crammed with more books than a person could even take in, never mind read. And the titles. The other table nearby was stacked with books called Forbidden Rites: Necromancy in the Fifteenth Century or Magic: An Occult Primer.

Tommy took everything in as quickly as he could. Jack, meanwhile, seemed to stop at the strange old drawing of a dark-haired man with his hand on a book, hanging from one of the shelves. A smile flickered across his face. “I guess…I liked to draw. When I was little.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful! Yes, drawing is a very useful talent.” A moment later the bookseller emerged, carrying two enormous plates filled with cakes, breads, and something covered with cream and fruit, all wrapped carefully in plastic. “Now, this one is for you, Thomas, and mind you share with your sister. And this is for you.” When Jack took his tray, the bookseller placed a pile of printer paper on top, and two pencils. “And these. To get you started on your drawing again. It takes time, but I suppose that’s one thing we all have in abundance now.”

The bookseller clapped his hands and beamed at them. Jack muttered a thank you, but Tommy couldn’t even bring himself to do that, just stared at the tray, blinking back tears.

“Oh, and I’ll expect you both to bring the plates back when the lockdown is over. Not before! Remember, the rules are there to keep you safe.”

“Yessir.”

“Erm, excuse me.” They all turned to face Dru, who stood with his head bowed, and an expression Tommy had never seen him wear before. “All the books and glass are cleaned up. May I have some cake?”

“Well,” said the bookseller, pursing his lips. “I suppose one cake, now that you’re finished.” He walked back to the kitchen to start another tray.

--

After the lads had left, Aziraphale settled into his armchair, rubbing his eyes with a sigh. It took a lot out of him, reading people like that. Nudging them to tell their secrets. Perhaps he was just out of practice.

It had felt good, really, helping people like that. He forgot that, sometimes, how much he enjoyed giving people that little push towards solving their problems. Perhaps he should get out there and try it a little more often. After the lockdown was over, of course.

He glanced at the table, where the letter to Crowley sat half-finished. He’d quite lost his train of thought now. Oh, dear. He was sure he’d been on the cusp of something important, but his mind was too heavy. Perhaps after another glass of brandy or two…

--

Three days later

--

…It occurs to me, my dear fellow, that we’ve never exchanged letters. Not properly. And no, I will not include those ridiculous coded missives you used to send, although I did appreciate the book ciphers. But throughout our long

The pen hovered in the air, bead of ink poised to drip. Aziraphale knew the word he’d been planning to use. He could see it, trace the letters with his mind. But…

No, once again, he lost his nerve.

centuries, we’ve never used this method to simply exchange pleasantries. Well, what is this time for, if not to finally accomplish that which we had long planned to do? Research. Baking. And finally writing a proper letter to my

Another moment of panic, as his mind twisted around the one word he desperately wished to write.

Someone knocked at the back door, quick and sharp.

With a sigh, half disappointment and half relief, Aziraphale placed his pen in the inkwell and went to investigate.

--

Tommy wrapped his arms around his stomach. “Come on, Emmy. This is a terrible idea.”

His little sister scowled. “You kidding? He’s an old man who bakes cakes. What are you afraid of?”

“It’s not…there’s something off about him.” He shivered as she rapped against the door again. “He’s going to figure it out, as soon as he looks at you.”

“I think you’re just chicken.” She tossed her head with a grin, short fringe of dark hair hanging in front of one eye.

“Shut up, Emmy, you don’t know –”

The door opened.

The bookseller looked a little smaller by daylight. Plump, pleasant, almost harmless, except that his frown still cut sharply across Tommy’s heart. “I’m certain I told you not to return until the lockdown ended.”

“Sorry. I just –”

“You!” Emmy stepped forward, waving her finger at his buttoned-up waistcoat. “What did you do to my brother?”

The bookseller blinked. But today his gaze seemed soft, almost normal. “I beg your pardon, I didn’t do anything.”

“Yes, you did. He was fine before he came here, now he sits around talking about responsibility.” She gave him a dirty glare. “Tries to make me do my homework.”

“Ah. Well, you really ought to do your homework, my dear.”

“You’re joking, right? The whole world’s gone to shit and I’m supposed to be doing math problems and reading Shakespeare?”

“Oh, I love Shakespeare!” The bookseller’s eyes lit up. Tommy felt a strange wave of delight that almost loosened the knot in his stomach, before the anxiety crashed back into place again. “Such a wonderful man. Not particularly charming, but oh, he had his moments. Are you reading Hamlet? It’s my favorite, you know.”

Emmy snorted. “It’s everyone’s favorite.”

“Yes, it…it is, isn’t it?” For a moment his entire demeanor changed, eyes drifting down, face turning rather pink. “Well, I did rather hope…er, never mind. What brought you two here today?”

“Emmy thinks you put a spell on me, or cursed me or something.”

“I know you’ve got magic devil books in there. Tommy saw them last time, he told me and Dad.”

The bookseller glanced between them, smiling. “Oh, good. You told your parents what you were up to.”

Tommy shrugged, hunching his shoulders, waiting for what came next. Obviously the bookseller would see right through him. “He was really pissed off.”

“Yes, my boy, I’m sure he was upset at the time, but you’ll find that honesty is…” he trailed off as Emmy and Tommy exchanged a look. She was smirking, smug, while he just felt confused. “What? What is it?”

“I thought you knew,” Tommy muttered, shuffling his feet. “Cuz you can, y’know, read minds or whatever.”

The bookseller looked at Tommy until he was ready to burrow into the ground and die. Finally, the old man said, “I can’t…always. I think you’d better come in and explain things.”

--

“Whoa,” Emmy said, grabbing a slice of thick, red cake covered in icing. “I thought you were kidding about the damn cake. Look at all this!”

“Emily,” Tommy hissed. “Behave yourself.”

“At least I’m not trying to rob the place,” she pointed out, stuffing her face. “Oh, you’re right! Look at these books!” She reached for one, but the bookseller got there first, snatching it away from her frosting-covered fingers.

“That is quite enough of that. Take a seat and mind your manners or I will send you straight home.”

Tommy sat quickly at the table, putting his hands on his lap, trying to force his fingers to stay still. Emmy, however, kept staring at the book, tilting her head to study the title.

“What’ve you got a book on necromancy for?”

“You don’t even know what that is,” Tommy pointed out.

“Do too! Its magic that brings people back to life. Like zombies and stuff.”

The bookseller sighed and tucked the book onto a shelf. “It’s a treatise on fifteenth century necromancy, if you must know, and it’s rather more complicated than that. The word at the time referred to many types of magic, including divining the future using the bodies of the deceased, and spells and incantations to control demons.”

“Oh,” Emmy nodded. She grabbed a cupcake off a tray and shoved it into her mouth whole as she sprawled across a chair. “How come they don’t teach us that at school? And why do you want to control demons?”

“I don’t,” he said simply, grimacing at the crumbs she sprayed as she spoke, as if trying to track each one through the air. “And I’d like to make sure no one else can, either.”

“You got more magic books?” She reached for another that was lying nearby, but again the bookseller got their first, gently pushing it further away.

“This is a book shop. I have many types of book. But we aren’t here to talk about that.” He pursed his lips and studied Tommy, settling into a chair across the pastry-laden table. “I believe we’re lucky your sister wasn’t here the other night. She is almost worse than your loud friend.”

“Dru’s not my friend,” Tommy muttered. It still made him cringe inside to contradict an adult, even when the bookseller wasn’t angry, but he didn’t like being associated with Dru. “And Emmy was here.”

“Was she?”

“I was the look-out.” She reached for another cupcake, this time licking the frosting off so it smeared across her mouth. “You had them in here forever, then they all come out, carrying cake and things. Dru was acting like a baby. I thought he was gonna cry.”

“But you can’t be more than thirteen years old!”

“I’m not.” She jumped to her feet again. “Got any more of that angel’s food cake? Tommy ate all the stuff you sent home.”

The bookseller looked at her, and Emmy gave her winning smile, the one that never fooled Tommy for a second. With a sigh, the bookseller pointed her towards the kitchen. “Please be careful with the dishes. If you break one –”

“I’m not going to pay for it,” Emmy snorted, wandering off. “Do we look like we have money?”

The bookseller frowned, watching as she took a plate out of the cupboard and started piling it with food. “Well, I suppose that brings us back to the question at hand. You said you came here for money. Was there more to that story?”

Tommy nodded, forcing himself to stare at his hands. He didn’t have any appetite this time, even though the bookseller gently pushed a plate of bread towards him. “Yeah. Dad threatened to kick me out a few years ago. Makes me pay rent. Says I’m old enough to have a job.” He shrugged. “So I dropped out of school. Started working.”

“Ah.” The bookseller sat back, nodding slowly. “I take it you no longer have a job?”

“Closed. Cuz of the lockdown.” His knee was starting to bounce nervously. That strange calm that had come over him the first time...it was there, hovering around the edge of his mind, but he didn’t really feel it. “But Dad still wants the money.”

“How much?”

“Six hundred pounds.” Tommy stood up, leaning on the back of the chair, trying to meet the shopkeeper’s eyes. They were warm, trusting, and once again he felt that tug in his gut to say more than he wanted. “Look, I know, I could move out for that. Probably could have already if I was smart. But I’m not. And I can’t save because Dad takes everything and…” He watched as Emmy walked behind the bookseller, tearing into an enormous slice of cake with gleeful abandon. “You know. I gotta watch out for my sister.”

“And how does your father expect you to produce six hundred pounds in the middle of…ah.” The bookseller stood and walked around the table to stand next to Tommy. “He wants you to steal.”

Tommy shrugged, keeping his eyes on his feet. Trying not to meet the booksellers eyes, not to watch his sister wandering around the shelves, to ignore the awful knot inside. “We hit three other places this month. But I’m still short.”

“You needed the money, and I gave you pastries instead. I take it your father didn’t like the exchange.”

“He, uh,” Tommy tried to smile. “He wasn’t impressed.”

A soft, well-manicured hand landed on the back of the chair near Tommy’s. “Look at me, please, Thomas.”

Clenching his jaw, he looked the bookseller in the face. And gasped to see the hard, sharp glare back in those eyes.

“What brought you back here today?”

To his horror, Tommy found he couldn’t lie to the bookseller.

While he was still trying to choke out an excuse, the old man’s eyes narrowed, and he spun, grabbing Emmy by the arm. The plate clattered to the carpet.

“Oi!” She shrieked, jerking her arm, trying to pull free. “Let go of me, you pervert!”

“Put. Them. Back. Now.”

“What? I don’t know what you’re talking about, you loon!”

“Young lady.” And though his voice didn’t get any louder, suddenly the bookseller seemed ten feet tall. Tommy scrambled back against one of the pillars. He knew he should help, should defend his sister, some instinct in him screamed to do so. But he was completely frozen in place, barely able to breathe. “That book is over two hundred years old. For that alone I would throw you out in a heartbeat. But if that drawing has one rip – one wrinkle on it, you will regret the day you ever set eyes on this shop.”

Emmy reached under her shirt and pulled out a rolled-up paper, trying to dangle it out of the bookseller’s reach. “So it’s valuable, then?”

He held out a hand, waiting. “It is priceless. And you will never find someone to pay you even a fraction of its value. Now give it back.”

Snarling, Emmy slapped it against his palm. “What the hell, old man? We need the money more than you.”

“Leave my shop.” He let go of her arm and cradled the roll of paper like it was a baby.

“Fine. Whatever.” She stalked towards the back door. “And stop hiding Tommy, for God’s sake. You’re supposed to be the adult.”

“Emily.” The bookseller’s voice echoed through the shop. Shadows seemed to stretch out from every shelf and corner, reaching for Emmy. “Leave that book.”

She scowled back at him, but he wasn’t even looking in their direction. She out the ancient leather-bound book she’d tucked in the back of her trousers and started to throw it on the ground. At the last moment she seemed to lose her nerve, and tossed it onto a chair instead.

Once it was out of her hand, Tommy felt the strange grip on him vanish. The shadows snapped back to where they belonged. He sucked in a deep, shuddering breath of the strange shop air. Before, he’d thought it stank. Now he thought it was charged with electricity.

“I gave you a chance, Thomas,” the bookseller said coldly. The bright blue eye looking over his shoulder seemed almost to glow. “This is how you repay me. Go. Now.”

He didn’t have to be told again.

--

With shaking hands Aziraphale unrolled the scroll. The five-hundred-year-old parchment felt crisp under his fingers, and he gently massaged a miracle into it, softening it, freshening it just a bit. There were no rips or bends, but to be safe, he pressed it flat against a table, weighing each corner down with a stack of books.

From the center of the paper, Crowley’s face looked back at him, smiling just a little, serpent eyes almost visible behind those glasses. Da Vinci had really captured his look. Not the face, though it was a very good likeness, but something more. The beauty mortal eyes could not quite perceive, something almost ethereal yet at the same time, quite the opposite. It hovered over the page, captured in the simple linework.

Crowley had kept this portrait, in secret, for five hundred years. Aziraphale had never known his own was part of a matched set, until a few months ago, when Crowley presented it to him, saying, “They’re a pair, you know. Supposed to be together. Displayed together. So I thought you should have this.”

He’d been too flustered to say anything at the time. He wanted to, though. He so very desperately wanted to say something.

But Aziraphale was a fool. He’d always been a fool. Trusting the wrong people. Ignoring those he shouldn’t. He’d probably never change.

--

Three days later

--

…There are many things that have stood unsaid between us. Perhaps it is our way. Perhaps it will always be our way. But for all that, I truly hope there will never again be silence between us. Conversation with you might be the thing I most miss just now, and is surely what I most look forward to when this strange time has passed.

Until then I remain,

Yours

The pen hesitated one last time. Yours what?

Yours respectfully?

Yours sincerely?

Should he try to be funny? Profound? Was there some clever play on words he could put in?

Or.

Perhaps, for once, he could let the unsaid word speak for itself.

Until then I remain,

Yours

Aziraphale

--

A drop of deep green wax. Was that too forward? Too subtle?

He pressed new his signet stamp against it, sealing it shut with an emblem he’d designed with such good intentions. Would Crowley see what it meant?

Too late for doubts. Too late for second thoughts. The front of the letter was already written, perfectly neat: Anthony J. Crowley, Esq. Now all he had to do was get a stamp from his desk and –

He pulled open the left drawer. Empty.

The right drawer. Nothing but pens and scraps of paper.

He dug around the endless stacks of receipts and tax documents, destroying his neat piles in a desperate search.

No stamps.

Burying his face in his hands Aziraphale said, for only the second time in six thousand years, “Oh, fuck.”

He sat like that for a long moment, then slowly lifted his gaze to stare at the telephone.

--

“You know, I could…hunker down at your place. Slither over and watch you eat cake. I could bring a bottle of…a case of…something…drinkable.”

Something rose up in Aziraphale, a terrifying fear he couldn’t begin to name.

“Oh, I-I-I-I’m afraid that would be breaking all the rules. Out of the question. I’ll see you…when this is over…”

“Right. I’m setting the alarm clock for July. Goodnight, Angel.”

Aziraphale set the receiver back into the cradle, trying to stop his hand from shaking. His heart – which really, didn’t need to beat at all – was doing something altogether unexpected in his chest.

No, he told himself firmly. This is the right thing. Wait out the lockdown. Like you’re supposed to.

The rules were there for a reason. They told you what to do when the world stopped making sense, when your own mind was ready to betray you at any moment. When you couldn’t trust yourself, you trusted the rules.

He’d followed that philosophy his entire existence and look where it had gotten him. A lovely shop, a home, filled with books and art and cake. And no one else. No friends. No Crowley.

Just himself, alone, bent over a telephone.

And a heavy, frantic knocking at his back door.

--

Tommy pounded on the door, echoing the pounding of his heart.

“I told you, this is a stupid idea,” Emmy grumbled.

“Well, we tried your way last time and look what happened.” He slammed his fist against the door again. “So just…just shut up and follow my lead.”

“I think I liked you better when you were scared of everything,” she said, trying not to smile.

“I’m still scared of everything,” he snapped. “But what else am I gonna do?”

He started knocking again, just as the door jerked open, and he nearly fell into the bookseller. The old man looked paler than before, and somehow even less happy, but maybe that was the evening light playing tricks. 

His eyes weren’t gentle or sharp this time, but something new, something that made Tommy’s heart ache in his chest.

“You two. I told you to leave.”

“We did leave. And. Um. Now we’re back.” Tommy cringed but rushed ahead. “Look. I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry. I was an ass. I shouldn’t have tried to lie. And Emmy’s sorry for everything, too.”

“Well,” she grunted, not looking at the bookseller. “I’m sorry for some of it.” Tommy shoved her arm, and she rolled her eyes. “Most of it.”

“That is something, I suppose.” The bookseller pressed his lips into a line, and settled behind the door, looking completely immovable. “But I’m afraid I’m still not going to allow you in this shop.”

“Fine, right, I understand. I just need, um, a hundred and twelve pounds.” The booksellers jaw dropped, but Tommy rushed on. “I’m not just, it’s not charity, right? I brought stuff. Here.”

Emmy handed over the backpack and he dumped it out on the ground. “There’s some books, and a couple of these weird trinkets, I saw you had some around the shop, and this jewelry…”

“This is a bookshop, not a-a-a pawn shop!” The bookseller gave them an indignant look. “And I am most certainly not a-a fence for your stolen merchandise.”

“It’s not stolen. Look.” His fumbling hands grasped the thick computer programming textbook and flipped it open. Thomas Finch was scrawled on the inside of the cover in smudged, faded ink. “I bought this a few years ago. Trying to learn enough to get a better job. Only I’m real thick and I couldn’t follow it at all. So – so you can have that, right? It cost a lot, so it’s gotta be worth something now.”

The bookseller tilted his head, a look of vague disgust on his face. “Well, I don’t really have much use for a computer book…”

“Fine.” He tossed it aside and rummaged through the pile again “Or, look. This necklace. I don’t think it’s gold-gold but it’s really nice. It doesn’t rub off or turn your skin green or anything.”

With obvious reluctance, the bookseller took the chain and studied it up close. “I suppose it does look…Is this yours, young lady?”

Emmy turned her face even further away, arms crossed over her stomach. In the evening shadows, she seemed almost to disappear. “It was our mom’s. Before she died.”

“Ah.” He held out his hand, but Tommy didn’t accept the necklace back. “I wouldn’t take such an heirloom from you,” he tried again, and his voice was surprisingly gentle.

“We don’t want an heirloom, alright?” Tommy could feel the panic rising in him, but he had to force it down, force past the tightness in his throat and the wetness in his eyes. Had to get through this. “We want a hundred and twelve pounds, by tomorrow, or my dad’s going to throw me out. In the middle of the lockdown, I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“I’m sorry, truly I am, but you’ve already tried to rob me twice.” The bookseller let the necklace fall to the ground, joining everything of value Tommy and Emmy could find. “And once again you are here, outside, breaking the rules –”

“Shut up about the fucking rules!” Emmy spun back, glaring at him from behind the fringe of her hair, swept across her eyes. “How are the rules supposed to help Tommy now? He can’t get a job, or a loan, or anything. It’s all shut down. So what’s he supposed to do?”

“Emily.” Tommy knelt down and started putting everything into the backpack again. He kept dropping things, his hands shook so bad. He was out of ideas. “Fine. You won’t help me. But, look, Emmy’s just a kid. She’s made some mistakes, but…when my dad throws me out, can she stay here?”

“What –”

“What?” Emmy shoved him so hard he nearly fell over. “That’s not the plan, shit head! You can’t just dump me on some…some random –”

“Yes, I can.” His chest ached as he tried to meet her eyes. “I’m not leaving you with Dad, and I can’t take you with me if I don’t even know where I’m going. I don’t see another option.”

“I can take care of myself!”

“You’re twelve, Emily.” Tommy stood up and put his hands on his sister’s shoulders. She wore her usual tough expression, but she trembled, fighting back tears. “You shouldn’t have to.”

“I’m so sorry to interrupt,” said the bookseller in an overly bright voice. Tommy started, guiltily realizing he’d forgotten the man was there. “I seem to be missing some information here.”

Tommy looked at his sister, saw all the fear that he’d been carrying for years echoed in her eyes. He took her hand, squeezed it tight.

Emmy took a deep breath, and brushed the hair out of her eyes. Showing the large, half-healed bruise on her face.

The bookseller was quiet for a long moment. “Your father did that?” His voice seemed to be very carefully balanced.

“Yeah. Um.” She cleared her throat. “I’m. I’m trans. So my dad. I guess he thinks if he hits me. Um.” Her gaze fell to the ground. “Fuck that guy, though, right?”

“Ah.” Another long silence. Tommy clutched at her hand, neither of them breathing. Emmy hated coming out to strangers, to anyone really. Lots of bad experiences. He could see her remembering them now, in the way her shoulders hitched, her jaw clenched. “And does your father hit you, too, Thomas?”

“Um. Yeah. Different reasons. But yeah.” He shrugged. “Since I was younger than her.”

“I see. Wait here.”

The bookseller stepped away from the door, disappearing back into his shop.

“I say we run,” Emmy said, reaching for the bag. “He’s probably going to call the cops on you, right?”

“I don’t know. Are you ok?”

She wiped at her eyes. He could see her jaw was still tight with tension. “I’m fine. Just. I hate telling people my shit.” She sniffed and glared at her feet. She still pretended most of the time, at school, even around their dad if she thought it would make him less angry that day.

She hated it. She pretended it was fine but watched that hate and pain eat away at her for years, just another thing he couldn’t protect her from.

“Look, Emmy, I’ll figure something out, I promise. We’ve got time. Another day, yeah? I’ll...I’ll think of something.”

“Shut up,” she shook her hair back in front of her eyes before turning her glare on him. “Just go if you have to. I’ll be fine. I’m used to being alone. I can take care of myself, and –”

“Oh, good, you waited. It’s nice to see you finally listening to me.” The bookseller stepped through the door to stand next to them, and the smile Tommy had glimpsed that first night was back on his face, warm and open. It made the evening seem just a little less miserable. “Here.”

He pressed an enormous wad of banknotes into Tommy’s hand. More than a hundred and twelve pounds. A lot more.

“That should be enough to get you started in a flat of your own. It won’t be easy during the lockdown, of course, but by some miracle there are a few places available in the north of London that should suit. Please be careful with that, it will likely need to last you some months.”

“I…” Tommy stared at the pile of money. It was more than he could have imagined such a crummy shop would hold. “Why…how…”

“I believe this is when you usually say thank you, although I’m not very good at that part myself.” Before Tommy could even find his words, the bookseller had turned to Emmy. “As for you, young lady.” He reached to put a hand on her shoulder, then quickly pulled back when she flinched, instead tilting his head down to try and meet her eyes. “I wish I had some advice for you, I really do. I don’t think I even know where to begin.”

“It’s --” Emmy started.

“Do not say it’s ‘fine,’ my dear, because it’s not.” There was a sharp edge to his tone, but it quickly softened. “It’s never ‘fine’ to feel alone. And if you’re suffering, that’s all the more reason to reach out.” There was a moment of uncertainty - Tommy saw the bookseller bite his lip, and his eyes grew distant, lost in his own thoughts. Then he turned back to Emmy and smiled, holding out a small stack of business cards. “And there are organizations you can reach out to. I’ve put the ones that specialize in teenagers on top. Support groups. Hotlines. Legal aid. Which reminds me,” his eyes shot over to Tommy again, “you should probably call the police on your father, but I’ll understand if you want a stable living situation first.”

He pressed the cards into Emmy’s hand. “I know you might not be ready to talk, but when you are...there are people ready to listen.” She stared at the cards in her hand. “You aren’t alone, my dear, and you don’t need to take care of yourself. Let the people who love you take care of you. Especially your brother.”

“I don’t…” Emmy’s fist closed around the cards. “I’m not…”

“Not quite what you need? I have a few books on gender identity. I always find that a bit of reading helps me think about what I’m going through. You’re welcome to look through them any time, under strict supervision, of course. I’ve seen the way you eat.”

“So…we’re allowed back in?” Emmy wondered.

“Yes. Any time.” He patted her hand, then stepped back. “Especially now, if you need a place to go for a few hours. Just please come to the front door next time, this alley is horrendous.”

“I thought we weren’t supposed to be on the streets,” Tommy mumbled, still feeling dazed. But he felt his lips twisting into a smile. “You know. Against the rules and all that.”

“Well. I suppose…sometimes the rules do sort of get in the way, don’t they? I can…make an exception.” He beamed at both of them, the sort of smile that made it impossible to think of anything except smiling back. “Well. Jolly good. Now I think you two will need a bit of time to come up with a plan. What do you say we discuss this over cake?”

--

Two hours later

--

Aziraphale pressed the phone against his ear, listening to it ring. He had only rehearsed his conversation twice this time. He hoped it would be enough.

“Now what? Don’t you know I’m trying to sleep?”

“Hello. It’s me. Aziraphale.”

“For the last…I know.”

“Er, right. Ah. I just wanted you to know. Um. That is.” Drat. He really should have rehearsed more.

“Aziraphale.” Crowley’s voice turned very serious. “Is something wrong?”

“No, w-w-well, yes, that is…” His eyes drifted over to the table, the stacks of books, the cakes, the bottle of cognac. “Yes. Dreadful emergency. I’m nearly out of brandy.”

“You’re. Are you serious?”

“I am extremely serious, Crowley.” He took a deep breath. “And what with the lockdown on. Well. I would need someone to…to break all the rules in order to get me more.” He bit his lip. “And-and possibly some Merlot, or a nice Riesling. I have ah…rather more red velvet cake than I can eat.”

A long pause, Aziraphale tugging at the cord of the phone nervously.

“I thought you wanted to wait out the lockdown.”

“I did. I just…” He started to sit down, then sprang back up again, too anxious to hold still. “I realized, well, I can take care of myself, but that…that doesn’t mean I have to. And the rules…um…they…”

“Angel,” Crowley interrupted softly. “I can be there in twenty minutes.”

The smile trembled across Aziraphale’s face. “Ah. Yes. Good. I have some new neighbors to tell you about, I think you’re going to like them. And. Uh.” His fingers fell on the folded-up parchment, sealed with a drop of wax, green for hope. “And I have something for you, Crowley.”

--

(Thanks for reading! I apologize the OCs got so much of this fic. I’m trying to work on better OC-husbands balance, though in this case I hope you can see the parallel I was going for. I’ll probably write another Lockdown fic more focused on just Aziraphale and Crowley, but I really wanted to answer the question: who were the lads who tried robbing AZ Fell’s???)

[thecoldremembers]

Bucky/Melody: The Past is Another Country

"Your name is James Buchanan Barnes."

The words, searing, digging, like so much broken glass burrowing into his mind.

Or maybe the broken thing was his mind.

"Shut up!"

"I'm not gonna fight you. You're my friend."

Somewhere in the Appalachian Mountains Early Autumn, 2014

The Weapon that had been known as the Winter Soldier for the past seventy years (but what was he now?) pushed through the overgrown mass of vegetation, slowing to a stop when he saw the rock face ahead. He approached the cliff, pressing his gloved right hand against it for a moment before taking several paces southeastward, following the rough stone wall until he found its gaping maw.

He had been here before. His memories, tattered scraps strung together in a confusing, chaotic weave that coiled around him like a hangman's noose in his dreams, had led him here.

This place had been highest-echelon security clearance only. The SHIELD and HYDRA files that the Avenger woman had recently released to the public hadn't even contained references to it. But his memories told him that he had been here, for an extended period of time, wiped and frozen and re-activated over and over and over again before the program had been shut down and the bunker abandoned.

The Pandora Project, his memory told him. Pandora, open the box.

The Weapon entered the cave, walking a labyrinth of passageways in a path that seemed as much a part of his muscle memory as any fighting method he had ever employed, until he came upon a massive metal door, dented and bent but still sealed. A keypad, its clunky number keys worn and covered in dust and grime, was set into the rock beside the door.

His fingers ghosted over the keys, not quite touching, and he closed his eyes, waiting.

4-6-3-6-8-7-1, said the Weapon's memory.

He punched in the number, and the metal door groaned and shuddered, then swung open. Heavy darkness greeted him, and he paused to swing his backpack from his shoulders and retrieve a flashlight. The beam cut through the shadows of the vast chamber, swimming with dust, as it glanced off the broken equipment, the twisted and buckled metal scaffolding, the scattering of fallen rocks.

What happened here? He closed his eyes, shaking his head. The need to know, to remember, pressed around him, propelling him forward.

Why the hell was he so keen to dig up his past? Why, when he knew he would only uncover more death and destruction by his own hand? Why, when he would only prove to himself that he was nothing more than a Weapon?

("You're my mission!" the Winter Soldier had screamed, raining bone-splintering blows down on the face that was so horrifyingly, breathtakingly familiar. He had felt his heart shattering even as the rage had torn through him like a cyclone. "You're! My! Mission!"

"Then finish it. Because I'm with you to the end of the line.")

He stepped carefully through the rubble, moving deeper into the bunker. Room after room after room-- a training gym, a surveillance room, a barracks, a cell block-- all languished in various states of disarray. Other doors led to what appeared to be a vast array of storage units, shelves and crates, obsolete weaponry, and objects both identifiable and mysterious scattered across their floors.

Another room... well, he didn't know what the hell he was looking at in that one. Some of those things couldn't possibly have been from Earth. Something caught his eye, captured his mind, drew his attention down, down, down into a pinpoint of focus. In a dreamlike haze, he dropped into a crouch and reached out with his right hand. The object was small, seemingly delicate, a small crystalline sphere about the size of an orange, set about with a crisscrossing web of metallic bands, a series of whorls and spirals and etchings in an unfamiliar language molded into the metal. He picked it up and peered at it with narrowed eyes.

It was alive.

It had woken up.

It sang in his mind, and he saw galaxies. Solar systems. Worlds. Space folded and folded and folded upon itself.

The designs on the banded web clicked and sprang to liquid life, flowing along their metal paths, and, suddenly aware again, he tried to drop the sphere, but it clung to his hand.

A bloom of fire and starlight ignited within the sphere.

Stumbling backwards in an explosion of panic, he tried unsuccessfully to pry it from his hand.

The earth spun beneath his feet. Faster. Faster. Fasterfasterfaster, the ground seeming to fade to something immaterial beneath his feet...

Pressure building, building, building, until he thought it would crush him. He heard someone screaming, and realized it was his own voice.

And then it stopped.

And he was falling...

(The world whipped past as he clung to the rail on the side of the train, and the familiar man, the same blonde-haired, blue-eyed man he had fought on the helicarrier and then saved, reached for him, his features twisted in desperation. "Bucky! Hang on! Grab my hand!"

The rail broke.)

Metal and glass and concrete flashed before his vision, present and real, not a memory. A skyscraper. Another feral scream tore from his lips as he angled his descent, threw his mechanical arm out, and slammed his fingers into the concrete frame of the building. The weight of his body dragged him down, leaving a trail of claw marks in the wake of his metal fingers, until he was able to get a grip on a crossbeam. He dangled there, gasping for breath as traffic surged far below him, and realized it was raining. He still held the sphere in his right hand, but it rolled lightly in his grasp, and he realized it was no longer stuck to him. Unsure of what else to do with it, he put it in his jacket pocket.

He scaled his way down to a ledge, where the roof of a smaller building was within easy jumping distance. From there, he took a moment to get his bearings.

Saint Paul, Minnesota. He knew this city. He had been deployed here in... he was never sure of the dates, really. They had always pulled him from cryo, sent him on his mission, wiped him, and put him back under. It had to have been some time ago.

But how in the fresh hell had he gotten here now?

He leaned on the rooftop barrier, frowning as he let his eyes sweep over the city below.

Deja vu. His eyes tracked to a location that they had tracked to before, years ago. A girl on the sidewalk, slight, pale, a shock of blue hair bright against the grey atmosphere.

Deja vu. His eyes darted to a low building, and saw the long-haired, black-clad figure, face obscured by a contraption that looked half mask, half muzzle. The metal arm with the blood-red star was unmistakable, even at this distance.

The figure in black was also watching the girl.

I remember this... I remember--

Assassination. Abduction. Torture. A world comprised of nothing but violence and blood and death and pain. Faces flashed through his mind, faces twisted with terror, tear-streaked, begging.

He had turned and walked away from one such face recently. One of his handlers in the Vault. Because he had, for the first time in his memory, been able to choose-- and he was sick of all the killing.

He remembered that the Winter Soldier had not been here to kill the girl, but to recover an escaped asset. 

An escaped asset-- much like he was.

No. I can't let this happen--

The Weapon was already moving as the Winter Soldier vaulted himself from the rooftop and made a grab for the girl. He leapt onto the barrier and nosedived, flipping in midair to gain distance and aim his approach.

The Winter Soldier spun towards him, Beretta suddenly in hand, and fired off several rounds. The Weapon whipped his left arm in a block, still twisting in midair, and two bullets glanced off the metal, ricocheting. A third grazed his side, but his adrenaline-fueled, enhanced body barely registered the injury. Two more lodged into the building behind him before his fingers closed around the Soldier’s arm and jerked it aside. Another midair twist and the Weapon's legs whipped around the Soldier’s shoulders. 

The Weapon felt his lips pull back into a snarl, and his metal hand plunged at the Soldier’s head, fingers curled into claws-- and what are you doing? Are you trying to kill yourself? That’s one way to go about that, Buck--

The Soldier seized him and threw him, and he hit the ground hard, rolled, and came to his feet, his battered old Army knife now in hand. He didn't give the Winter Soldier time to regroup; he couldn't afford it. The Winter Soldier was armed to the teeth and in his prime, and all the Weapon had was one blade and a hell of a lot of self-loathing rage.

"Run!" he shouted to the girl as he charged, his gaze focused on what he now understood to be, impossibly, his past self. "NOW!"  

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Sunlight

For @noire-griot​ as requested for a Raffle prize! (she also made the moodboard)

Warnings: non/dubcon elements (oral, intercourse, blood, violence, death, existentialism, general misery)

This is dark! (vampire) Steve Rogers x black!Reader and explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: Steve is bound to eternity, but he’d rather be bound to you.

oh the tale's the same, told before and told again,soul is born in cold and rain, oh sunlight, sunlight, sunlight.

***

Reader

You were awoken by a terrible thirst. Your dry lips crinkled like paper as they parted. You opened your eyes but darkness remained. No breath rose from your chest, no heartbeat nestled behind your ears, but you were afraid. 

The blackness settled over you like a shroud. Your tongue flicked over something sharp. A fang. And another. Was this some nightmare? Was it your awakening in the underworld? A sinister reincarnation?

Stiff, you sat up but no ache, no pang, bothered you. Nothing but that void in the back of your mind. The stitches torn and left gaping. Memories distant and unclear. What was before. What had come to be. You blinked and light sparked in your vision. A face above the single flame. The glow made you recoil.

You recognized him. A tug at the thread. His face was pale in the orange glow as he stood and neared. You looked down the bed beneath you, draped in ebony. He set the candle on the stand beside it and sat on the edge. His hand was on yours, skin alabaster and eerie against the deep tones of your flesh.

“Steve?” You whispered. The thirst scratched at your throat. “Where am I? What…”

Your voice trailed off as you pulled your hand from beneath his and touched your temples. You leaned back weakly against the headboard and hissed. The daylight broke through the murk. The memories flowed in like a dark tide.

It was bright and then it wasn’t. Just outside your window, the city filled with dust and smoke. A cacophony of destruction filled the air as the building shook, a ceiling tile fell on your desk. Another. You backed away as the ceiling tore and the beast fell through.

Your co-workers scattered like bugs unearthed from beneath an ancient stone. You stumbled back as the broken figure slumped across your desk. Your chair nearly tripped you as you angled around it. The sound of another above. Heavy footsteps before another dropped through the hole.

Red boots landed on either side of the wretched creature as it twitched. Steve Rogers ignored its death throes as he leapt down from the desk. You knew him; on occasion, you’d interviewed him. Other times, you’d run into him by chance while covering another story. America’s first Avenger was never far when trouble loomed.

“You okay?” He asked, he touched your arm as he looked you over.

“I...think?” You glanced out the window, cracked from the force of the creatures dissent. “What’s happening?”

“Just some other wordly friends come to visit the city,” He kept hold of your arm and turned you away from the rubble. “Come on, you gotta get out of here.”

“But...how many are there?”

“Not too many I can’t handle,” He assured you as he led you around desks and chairs, “But you need to get somewhere safe. They’re sending people to the subway. Likely where your friends went.” He said shortly as he stopped before the door to the stairs. Another crash sounded through the ceiling and he tore open the door. “Go on. Get going.” He let go of you and looked back as he held the door open. “I got this.”

He waited for you to step through before he turned back to the strange clicking coming from the office. The door closed and you watched him disappear through the thin window. Another bang, another rattle, followed by the sounds of a struggle. You turned and raced down the stairs as your heart beat furiously.

"I brought you here after the attack." Steve said gently as you were dragged back to the present. The endlessly umbrous present. "To help you."

You covered your eyes and bent your head forward as you tried to remember. "I don't…"

You ran through the lobby. Dust fell down from the ceiling as it threatened to topple on top of you. In the street, the sun was blotted out with smoke and the circling creatures as they wove and dove through the air.

You crept through the shrapnel and cratered pavement. You ducked behind a vacant taxi, it's front end crumpled into the side of another car. 

The shrill cry of an invader preceded them. You barely had time to move out of its path as it swooped down. It tumbled from its small flying craft but quickly regained its feet. You looked around desperately for something; anything.

You grabbed a hunk of concrete and threw it back at the creature. Its sinister spear batted away the block. You threw another and another as you backed away fearfully.

You skirted around the taxi, the trunk busted from the force of its impact. You lifted the lid and felt around. You drew away just as the spear swung towards you.

You parried the next blow with the tire iron. The metal cross lacked the reach and power of the alien's weapon. You dodged again and smacked away another strike.

You weren't fast enough for the next. Or the one after. The first slashed your thigh and was followed by a swift jab into your chest. The tire iron fell with a clang before you did. The spear squelched as it was pulled from your flesh, the blood molten as it gushed forth.

You were in shock as you sprawled amidst the rubble. Your hands folded over your wound but the blood didn't stop. You felt it in your throat, tasted it on your tongue. Your vision turned hazy and a shadow darkened your world. A figure knelt beside you as the shock swept you into unconsciousness.

You dropped your hands and looked up at Steve. You should've been dead. You touched your chest. There was nothing there. No horrible wound, no bandages, just a loose medical gown.

"How?" You quavered.

"Are you hungry?" He asked.

"No, thirsty," You replied.

He nodded and stood. He crossed the room into the shadows and returned to sit beside you. He uncapped the flask in his hand and handed it to you.

You drank and flinched as the thick, irony liquid coated your tongue. You pulled it away and stared at it. You should've been repulsed but as you swallowed, you longed for more. You drank again, this time deeply, until it was all gone.

"I will tell you how but you must listen." He said as he took the flask and screwed the cap back in place. “Listen first then you may ask whatever is left unanswered.”

You stared at him and gulped. You wanted more of the metallic nectar. Your body ached for it. You nodded for him to go on and crossed your arms.

"That story you wrote on me. The one I told you was...not the whole story." His blue eyes caught the candle flame as he looked around. "They didn't find me in the ice. I found them and they didn't know how to explain to the world how a man who'd last been seen in 1945 hadn't aged a day."

He rubbed his hands together and sighed.

"You know better than anyone, the public can only handle simplicity. They don't want the tedious details." He stood slowly and the mattress shifted. He began to pace as if to settle himself.

"You know my history, at least the one they wanted me to tell. Johann Schmidt, the Nazi I fought all those years ago, wasn't so easy to defeat. It was only by his own vanity that I won.

"He captured me and like the Americans, he experimented on me. A serum of his own. He wanted a super soldier too but not one with a shelf life. He wanted that vaunted philosopher's stone. And he found it, in a way, but everything has a price. A life for a life. Life for death."

He stopped at the bottom of the bed, his pale knuckles gripped the foot board.

"He found a way but I wasn't the same, neither was I the tool he wanted me to be. I was horrified as I drained the life from him, as his blood slid down my throat so easily. How I enjoyed it and longed for more."

"I don't understand," You said.

"You've heard of vampires. Hell, in my day, Bela Lugosi made them infamous." He pushed himself away from the foot of the bed and rounded to you. "The serum changed me entirely, made me a monster but I refused to be that."

He sat again on the edge of the mattress.

"I went to Howard Stark. He made my shield, you know? I trusted him. We had to keep this all in the dark, in more ways than one. He formulated a substitute for real blood, something to keep me alive, to keep me from killing.

"I get thirsty still, like you are right now, but it helps.

"But I was still stuck in the shadows. First Howard, then Tony, they worked and worked and finally figured it out. The suit helps. Protects me in the daylight. Without it, I feel myself sloughing away. I get weak. It's not like the movies where you just turn to dust, it's slow and torturous."

"No, no," Your eyelashes fluttered. You felt your chest again, no heartbeat, no rise and fall of breath. Still and startlingly silent. "You can't be... I can't…"

"I had no choice. You would've died." He brushed his hand over his hair and frowned.

"And? You should've let me." You looked down at your hands as they shook. "What have you done to me?"

"I saved you. I never... never turned anyone before but I couldn't let you die. When I found you there on the street, I just couldn't leave you there."

"Why?" Your anger flared and your stomach grew deeper. "Why didn't you leave me?"

"Because, as always, I waited too long," His long nose was limned in candlelight as he looked down, "Waited too long to tell you how I feel."

"How you feel?" You rasped. "What about me? How I feel?"

He looked up at you and for once he was less than pristine. The lines along his forehead were deeper and his eyes were duller. "You don't…?"

"I don't know," You retorted. "I don't know. I should be dead and I don't know."

You drew away from him and sidled over to the other side of the bed. You turned your back to him and stared into the shadows. The dark wasn't so deep now.

"I listened, okay?" You growled and your lip curled. A sudden heat burned along your spine. A bottomless desire. "I'm thirsty."

The bed moved as he stood and you listened to him move around. He came to you with a bottle in hand. He held it out as you avoided his gaze.

"Don't drink too much," He said. "You'll make yourself sick. Make it worse." He backed away and crept back along the foot of the bed. "The first week is the hardest."

-

Steve

Steve hadn't planned on it so soon. In fact, he hadn't yet had time to plan it. All he knew was that he wanted her. That first day they'd met, he'd felt it. Felt something. It had been a very long time since he'd know anything but apathy. Nearly a century on this planet had dulled him.

But now the city was under siege and Loki had called in the Chitauri to wreak havoc. This was his chance. He headed down the streets between cars and pedestrians as they tried to flee the attack.

"To the subways. Get underground." He called as he raced past, his shield soared through the air and cut through metal and alien tissue. "Go. Go!"

A Chitauri warrior crashed down in front of him as he caught his shield and replaced it on his back. The rotors of the flying craft it rode still whirred and it beat against the pavement still cling to the feet of its rider.

Steve untangled the board and was nearly knocked off his feet by its sudden flight. He latched on as it ascended away from the street and he shifted his weight to steer it through the air. He kept clear of other Chitauri as he soared across the city.

As he flew between buildings he thought back to that first day with her. She interviewed him at Stark Tower. She smiled as he spoke and listened intently. She ate up his lies so easily but he hadn't wanted to lie to her. He wanted her to know his truth.

He saw the Chitauri crash through the roof. Heard it plummet through beam and board. He tilted the board and let himself fall through the gaping hole left by the creature. That he landed right in front of her was chance. Maybe even fate.

She was frightened but he saw the relief as she recognized him. He jumped down in front of her and she flinched.

“You okay?” He asked, he touched her arm as he searched for injury.

“I...think?” She looked past him to the window. “What’s happening?”

“Just some other wordly friends come to visit the city,” He held onto her and guided her away from the wreckage of her desk. “Come on, you gotta get out of here.”

“But...how many are there?” She asked.

“Not too many I can’t handle,” He wove around desks and chairs as he tried to distance her from the incoming fight. “But you need to get somewhere safe. They’re sending people to the subway. Likely where your friends went.” He said as they reached the stairs. Another crash sounded through the ceiling and he opened the door. “Go on. Get going.” He let go and looked back as he held the door open. “I got this.”

She finally stepped through and he dropped the door. He turned and headed back towards his foe. From there, he could watch her.

The enemy went down easier with each body. He could smell their blood. An acrid scent, not so sweet as humans. He went to the window and broke it entirely. The glass shattered and rained down onto the streets below.

Steve got up on the ledge and dropped to the next. He scaled the building carefully as he glanced down to keep an eye on her. She was between a taxi and several other cars. A Chitauri circled her on its board.

Steve caught himself before his instincts sent him hurtling down the rest of the way. She scrambled as the creature landed close to her. She edged back around the taxi as she stared at her enemy. She pulled out a tire iron and dodged the first blow. 

He could save her. He could get to her and keep her safe.

Steve dropped down as she began to swing. He didn’t hurry. She was clumsy, afraid. She was no match for the trained extraterrestrial soldier.

He smelled the blood as the spear tore her thigh and then sank into her chest. He dropped to the ground and started running. He had only a few minutes to save her now. Truly save her.

The Chitauri never even sensed him coming. He turned its spear back on it and impaled it without a second thought. He smelled blood. Her blood. He could taste it already.

Her eyes were fading as he knelt beside her. How long had it been since he'd tasted real blood and mot that artificial shit Stark produced? His teeth felt sharper as he drew her into his lap.

He touched her hands as the blood leaked between her fingers and he reached up to taste it. He felt another stir, more than the thirst. He sucked clean his gloved fingers and pulled her close.

"Shh," He cooed as he felt her strength dwindling and he bent over her. "I can save you."

She gasped as his teeth pierced her tender throat. Her body spasmed and her bloodied hand weakly batted against the back of his head. He gulped down her delicious blood, he could barely stop himself from draining her entirely.

He parted and felt the mess as it dripped down his chin. He brought her hand up and licked it clean of her blood. He dropped it and it fell limply to the ground.

He pulled off his glove tugged up his sleeve with his teeth. He bit into his wrist and the dark blood seeped from him slowly. He angled his arm over her mouth and a few drops fell between her lips.

Her cheek twitched and her breathing turned to treacherous rattles. He massaged her neck and she swallowed and coughed. She was dying. He waited with her. It was slow and agonizing, for him as much as her.

When she was still, he lifted her and looked around. He needed to be quick. Get her out of the sun and into darkness. It would be hours before she woke. Maybe more.

-

Reader

The first day you were weak. Steve left you after you drank. You laid down and tried to sleep but there was none to be had. The candle burned down as you watched the wax roll down.

Steve returned but you didn’t answer him. You hid beneath the black silk and waited for him to leave again. He did.

The second day you wept. Like the candle, your tears fell in tremulous orbs, slowly gathering along your throat. You got up to walk around and felt terribly thin. As if your bones were hollow and your veins were filled with ash. You drank when Steve brought you another bottle but remained ever silent.

The third day was like the second and on the fourth, Steve turned on the lights. They were brighter and seared like flames. After a while, you grew used to them and he sat in the chair and watched you rise. You still wore the medical gown he’d dressed you in. It smelled of tears but not sweat.

You sat on the edge of the bed and faced him. It was hard to look at him. He’d done this to you. Brought you here. Locked you up, not that you could leave if you wanted to. Not that you could bask in the sunlight or feel its warmth on your skin.

“Tony’s making you a suit,” He said. “When it’s finished, I can take you out. You’re life isn’t over.”

“Isn’t it?”

“It would’ve been if I left you out there,” He countered. “Don’t you see that? Don’t you see what I’ve given you?”

“What you’ve given me? You mean what you’ve taken from me.” You shook your head as you gripped your knees.

“As your maker, I can feel things. Everything you feel.” He said quietly. “This hopelessness will pass but it is not worth your life.”

“What is my life when it’s nothing? Don’t you get that? I feel nothing.” You hissed. “So how can death be worse than this?”

“You cannot lie to me.” He insisted. “You do feel. Anger, despair, fear”

“Is that what I feel?” You scoffed. “Tell me about myself, maker.”

He sighed and sat forward. “I can make you feel.” He said, his blue eyes darkened. “You just have to let me.”

“You can try,” You hung your head. “Because I have and there’s nothing there.”

You heard him move. Heard the rustle of his pants, the pad of every footstep. He got to his knees before you and put his hands over yours. You bit down as he dragged his fingers along the back of your hands.

“Then I will try,” He said quietly as he lifted your hands from your knees. He set them on his shoulders and looked up at you.

He reached up to frame your face with his hands. He drew you close and an unseen force urged you to follow his touch. Unlike the cold, unlike the heat, it felt like something. It startled you.

His lips met yours but you didn’t resist. You were stunned. You hadn’t even realized what he was doing until he kissed you. And you felt more. Felt an inhuman heat radiate from his icy flesh and into you.  His lips moved against yours until you kissed him back. He pulled away and looked into your eyes.

“Did you feel it?” He asked. You only nodded as you licked your lower lip.

He crushed his lips against yours, this time hungrier. You let him in and his tongue slipped past your lips. His hands were on your knees, slowly crawling up your thighs as he pushed the gown to your waist.

You pushed on his shoulders and parted. “Steve?” You were surprised by yourself. It was as if your body wasn’t yours. As if it worked of its own volition. How could this be you?

He pushed your legs apart and kissed your neck. He dragged his teeth along the flesh as he reached around to untie the thin strap at the back. It loosened and he undid the next. You leaned back on your hands as he untied the last one and slipped the gown down your arms.

As he bared your chest, his eyes flashed. No longer blue but a deep crimson, the pupils pinpoints at the centre. You watched as he bowed his head and his mouth continued its path along your velvet skin.

He played with your round breasts, doted on the soft flesh and toyed with the sensitive buds. You groaned as the fire burst from his touch and through your veins. It was like drinking the simulated blood but better. Perhaps what it would be like to taste real blood.

He let you fall back as he got lower. As he traveled the curves and hills of your body down to the most precious of all.

You lifted your head to gaze down at him. He paused for a moment as he held your stare.  What was it that you were so upset about? All you could see, feel, or think of was him; of the pluck deep in your core.

He bent and you watched him as he tasted you. His eyes didn’t leave yours as his tongue dipped between your folds and grazed along your clit. He flicked it down and back up. You shuddered and dropped your head back to the bed.

You closed your eyes as your fingers danced along your stomach and you tickled yourself. His tongue swirled and glided along your folds and you brought your legs up to hug his head between your thighs. He slung your legs over his shoulders and delved deeper as he hummed.

Your moans piqued and you clapped your hand over your lips as the noise of your own climax surprised you. It rose so fast, so suddenly, that you could not quell the storm. You writhed around him as he clung to you, bearing through until you were mewling and shaky.

You’d never felt this way. Moments ago you felt lifeless. The world was bleak and now you were entirely alive. The shadows crept away and bloomed into colour, the light was no longer a hideous yellow but a vibrant halo around you. You felt it all.

He pulled away for a moment. You listened to him. The flutter of fabric as it fell around him, littered on the floor forgotten.

His hand brushed along your body and all at once he was leaning over you, holding himself up with his hands on either side of you. He lowered himself down onto his elbows and kissed you. He tasted like you. Sweet like your orgasm.

You kissed him back, hungry for the pleasure he’d coaxed from you. The thrill he’d so easily inspired. Your body was his now. You felt his blood and yours, blended into one. His flesh melded to yours perfectly.

He reached between you and guided himself along your pussy. He dragged his tip along your folds and pressed against your entrance. His lips left yours and slipped down to your throat. His teeth threatened to pierce as he pushed inside. You bared your own with a glorious cry and arched your back to welcome him in.

He snaked his arm under you as he sank into you. His canines pressed to your throat and you grabbed the back of his head to urge him on. He bit down and you gasped, growled at the delight of the pain. What bliss it was to feel such an ache.

His other arm came up around you and he rolled over with you atop him. He pulled his teeth away and the dark blood stained his white teeth, smeared across his dainty pink lips. He sat up and you settled in his lap. He reached his limit and you rocked your hips, once, twice, again. Each time you did, he groaned. A lust so painful it was joyful.

His hands spread across your ass and he guided you. He beamed up at you like the Madonna. He worshiped you with every tilted, a prayer in every moan. The fire coursed through you, enshrined you in its embers. You wanted more, only more, never enough.

Your eyes rolled back and you saw the light. Sunlight so sparkling, so bright, so warm it held you in awe. The birds sang and the trees smelled of spring rains. The world turned to colours, to scent of grass, to the dew of early morning. The blessed fields of eternity stretched before you.

You heard your name in a symphony. Your eyes opened and you looked down at Steve as he called to you. His hand came up to cradle your face. He dragged his thumb through your blood and spread the slickness across your lip. You tasted the savory life that seeped from your veins. That still inside of you. Newborn and ancient at once.

You grabbed his jaw and forced his chin up. You bent and bit into him. You drank from the fountain of your new life as your hips moved without thought. The sounds of your lurid ritual added to the dirge.

You let the blood drip down as you pulled away and kissed Steve. You nibbled his lip as you carried your motion. He fell back and you went with him. His voice rose as you drew him higher and the light shone on him too. You sat up as you were baptized in it, never wavering as you raced towards the beacon.

The blood gleamed black in your vision, smeared along his neck and down his chest. Your spread it with your fingertips as he spasmed beneath you and the clouds broke completely. You threw your head back as the sunlight filled you and burst from you all at once. A heat so furious, so pure and sacred, that you could not contain it.

You cried out as you came in time with him. Reached to trace a line of your own blood down your chest, to mark yourself with the symbols of your consecration. You slowed and the light flickered. It petered out until once more the darkness returned.

You opened your eyes and stared down at the mess. The crimson fingerprints, ruffled golden hair, the desecrated shrine of your devotion. You lifted your hand, the lines of your palms thickened with blood.

Steve took your hand and pressed it to his chest. You looked down at him. Hypnotized in your horror.

“I’ve given you eternity,” He dragged your fingertips to the blood that welled along the crook of his neck, “All I ask in return is you.”

[fablesrose]

Of Kings and Shadows XXVII

Description: Y/n, a girl who seems to have found her calling. Being a SHIELD agent is like a dream come true. With a friendship starting to form with the Avengers, she’s the Queen of the world! What could go wrong?

Pairings: Avengers x reader, Loki x reader (eventually)

Series Masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Natasha was right, as always.

It was early afternoon when the tether unexpectedly snapped onto me. It was quick and stiff, and I didn't miss the twinge of pain as a result.

I could suddenly hear the quiet breathing of a group of people. I let out a groan and let myself shake a little as if it would brush off the rest of the fading pain, "A heads up would have been nice."

I heard Loki give a dismissive hum in response which made my temper flare. I tried my best to swallow it down, and it worked long enough for my attention to be diverted elsewhere.

"Agent L/n are you ready to continue your report?" Nick sounded formal. I wondered what he thought of me.

I noticed that while the initial pain of the attachment went away, the tether was still extremely taut and was a discomfort difficult to push to the side. "Sure Director Fury, just let me bang my head against the wall a few times. It would feel better then this string-pulling so hard it's giving me a headache!" I turned toward where I thought Loki was, "Could you loosen it a bit? Please?"

He huffed, "No, I can't."

"Bullshit!"

"You'll just have to deal with it," Loki hissed at me. The phrase, no matter how full of malice it was made with, felt incomplete. Something needed to be added to the end, my name, a nickname, anything really. But maybe that just showed how disgusted he was with me, he wouldn't even acknowledge me with a name.

I knew he wouldn't budge, so I turned back towards Nick and awaited his question in tense silence.

"We need to know what happened the day you were captured."

For a moment the ache from the arrangement was forgotten as confusion took it's place, "What-what do you mean? There's cameras everywhere documenting all the missions."

"All the footage was deleted, or the cameras were disabled on this one. Either way, we have no idea what happened."

I sighed, the throbbing coming back, "Well..." I took a moment to recollect my thoughts. This was a moment I hadn't tried to think of in a very long time, "To set the stage: I was on drone duty with all of you guys, if you can recall. It was a simple cleanout of a Hydra base, it was actually the easiest one we'd had in a long time." My wheels started to turn, maybe the ease should have been a warning. "I had started to get into the habit of having music playing in the background to drown out the noises right outside my working area so I could focus on my video feeds. If I remember right the song playing was Somebody's watching me by Rockwell." I chuckled at the irony. I started to visualize what happened in painfully accurate detail.

I was chewing some gum quietly as I listened to the song, my eyes trained on my screens. I was mostly just patrolling the perimeter at this point. The team had just entered the building and everything was going smoothly.

I'm just an average man with an average life

I work from 9 to 5, hey hell, I pay the price

All I want is to be left alone, in my average home

But why do I always feel

I always feel like somebody's watchin' me

Like I'm in the Twilight Zone?

And I have no privacy

I always feel like somebody's watchin' me

I could feel my stomach start to twist and the hair all over my body started to stand on end. I turned in my seat quickly to find no one was around me, like normal. I turned the music down and found that it was eerily quiet.

Is it just a dream?

"Hey, Y/n/n, I was listening to that, what's up?" I heard Tony talk to me through the com unit in my ear.

"Uh, not sure," I wanted to laugh, but I was nervous all of the sudden. "You guys are on your own for a minute, I think something's wrong. I'm going to go check it out." The feeling all over my body was stubbornly not going away which didn't do anything to ease my nerves.

"Be careful, kid."

"Always am."

I left my mic on just in case as I quietly rose from my seat. I couldn't see the agents left behind to guard the jet, which was odd. There were always at least two at the entrance with the rest spreading out around the surrounding area. I had my back against the wall as I shuffled slowly to the ramp. I wasn't quite to the entrance when Ike walked in.

He looked relaxed, as if we were just in the office, "Hey, L/n, do you mind helping me clear out some debris in the landing gear? It wasn't a very clean landing."

I let out a breath of relief. There was nothing to be worried about. "Yeah, sure thing."

He turned and walked away without waiting for me.

"Hey guys, false alarm, we're all good. I've gotta help fix something, so are you guys okay for another little bit?"

I got an affirmative from my teammates before I turned off my mic. I followed Ike to the outside of the jet. I still couldn't see the other agents which left me a little puzzled. Where did they go? I walked around the jet to where the landing gear was exposed only to find that they were perfectly clean.

"Ike?" I turned toward him slowly, studying the landing gear for a moment longer.

"Yeah, sorry, but not sorry."

I snapped my head to look at him, but I wasn't quick enough as he jabbed a syringe into my neck. I tried to shove his hand out of the way, but his hand had already retreated by the time I swatted at him.

I felt my arms grow heavy as the world began to tip. I looked past Ichabod for a moment and the pile of unconscious agents caught my eye. So that's where they went. I hit the ground and my vision began to go dark when multiple pairs of feet crossed my vision.

"Take it away, boys." I could hear Ichabod's voice, but it didn't register that he was talking about me. Before it could click I blacked out.

"So it was a targeted attack."

I shook myself out of the story, "Yes, it appears to be so."

Nick hummed as if he was thinking. He didn't share his thoughts, but asked me to continue, "Would you mind relaying the circumstances of Agent Laime's death?"

I answered a bit weakly, "Not at all, sir." I found it a bit odd that the rest of the group was able to stay quiet for so long, but maybe they were still a little afraid.

"I don't know how long I was in there for. All I remember was I was tired, sore, and probably not in my right mind with how many drugs they had pumped into me."

A pair of guards had dragged me to a meeting room and left me alone. I had probably fallen asleep waiting there, only realizing when I was startled with the door opening. I couldn't believe my eyes when the Ichabod Laime sat across from me.

He just stared at me. I couldn't tell if he was smug or blissfully nonchalant.

"Why?" My voice came out in a rasp.

His voice was painfully bland, "Why not? Why not be on the winning side? Why not be powerful? Why not be able to wipe smiles off people's faces? Why not destroy you?"

I stared at him blankly.

He started talking again, but to be honest his words just started to blend together. He just kept talking. All I remembered about it was with each word, I became angrier and angrier.

It got to the point where all I could see was red. Maybe it was from the emotions, or maybe it was from how high I probably was.

I was able to launch myself over the table tackle Laime to the floor. I straddled his chest, pinning his arms beneath my knees. My hands were wrapped around his throat as tightly as I could muster. He struggled against me, but I began to bash his head against the concrete beneath us.

By the time the guards slammed the door open Laime was limp in my hands. They ripped me off of him and dragged me back towards my cell as others rushed into the room to Ichabod's lifeless body.

As I was being dragged away I couldn't help but smile. Who's laughing now?

I completed my narrative with the exclusion of that last detail.

There was a beat of silence when suddenly the tether went slack. I felt light-headed and dizzy. I'm sure I went cross-eyed.

There were a few gasps around me.

"What?"

Clint answered me first, "Y/n, you just tipped over."

I was still disoriented, "Hmm, makes sense."

Tony spoke up, "Are you okay?"

"Mmm, yeah, just give me a minute..." I just stayed as still as possible, but it didn't pass as quickly as I would have liked.

I couldn't help the sarcasm from leaking into my voice, "Thanks, Loki."

He answered softly, "I apologize, my dear."

I hummed again, "Yeah, fuck you too."

Chuckles echoed around the room, some of them stiffer than others.

I heard myself sigh, "I can still answer questions from down here Ni- sir, if you don't mind."

Nick grunted, "The experiments, your powers, what did they do? How did you get them?"

"For the most part, they were composed of different injections. The first was administered when I first arrived at the facility, as far as I understand, it was to strengthen my body to be able to handle my powers." I imagined trails of black smoke flowing from my blackened fingertips, "I overheard the scientists mention that my limbs would 'whither' without the first shot." I chuckled, "One of them wanted to just replace everything that rotted away with a metal counterpart... How long do you think I would have lasted until there wasn't anything human left if it's as potent as they thought?"

I heard the quiet, uncomfortable shifting of feet.

"Anyway, it must have been weeks later when they shoved something that resembled tar into my veins. That was fun."

No one was answering me, no comments, not even the odd whisper of gossip. I hated filling the silence myself, but what was I gonna do?

"I can only specifically remember those two occasions, after that I think is when Nox- I mean, the Queen started making appearances, so I was blacked out for a while... But I think I remember when there were other black bruises from injections, so there were probably other times."

"Were there any other factors in you losing control, Agent L/n?"

I frowned, the disorientation was nearly gone by now, but I made no effort in standing my illusion up again. I'm not sure I wanted them to see my face clearly. I felt the strange sensation of my voice about to crack through the illusion that I willed to swallow down.

"Uh, yeah... There was this room." I heard myself breathe, "I'm pretty sure it was built specifically for me. It- it... I guess for the basic idea it was very similar to my current arrangements. It was a room covered in white. Through the walls, they could shine very bright lights at me." I remembered that they didn't know what that would do to me early in my transformation. "I guess I should backtrack a little. when I first got the formula, that's what they called the tar, it made my body extremely sensitive to light. So much so that it physically hurt. The purpose of the lightroom was to..." I struggled to find an appropriate word, "put me in my place, I guess. They would shove me in there and turn the lights on high until I was exhausted. I couldn't scream anymore, couldn't even cry. They had to drag me out every time they were finished."

"They tortured you."

"If you want to be blunt, yes." I didn't really pay attention to who was talking to me anymore, I just answered questions.

"Did they hit you? Cut you?"

I mockingly chuckled, "Oh no, of course not."

A collective breath was released around me.

But I wasn't finished, "Nothing so primitive. They preferred to get creative. After a while the light didn't hurt me anymore, just wore me out, drained me of energy, in case you were worried about my health in my current cell. They resulted in differing electrical shocks in addition to the blinding lights."

I could nearly hear the crickets in the still room. Nick was the one who broke the silence this time.

"That's enough for today. Everyone is dismissed."

I felt the tether softly dissolve, leaving me with the silence of the cell and my mind that I was trapped in. Loki didn't exit right away, though.

"I... I apologize for my behavior Lady Y/n."

I smiled, "You're really laying it on thick aren’t you?" I let myself trail off but picked up again, "But I get it."

He seemed reluctant to leave but didn't have anything more to say.

I laughed softly, "Now get out of here, I've gotta work on my trick shots."

I heard a huff of a laugh, but he did as he was told.

After a moment or two, I heard music flow through the speakers.

A/n: Hey, if you enjoyed this, please consider a like and a reblog? Thank you!

Song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7YvAYIJSSZY

Tag List: [OPEN] @snarky--starky @kitkatd7 @confetti-its-an-imagine-blog

[seeds-and-sins]

F**kin’ Diabolical (Chapter 5)

Master List

Pairing: Homelander / Original Female Character, Billy Butcher / Original Female Character

Rating: M (Strong language, sexual themes)

Decription: Carly Danvers is a reporter/radio show host/annoying little piece of- For reasons unknown to Vought, she decided to start a one man investigation on Vought’s operation. Her efforts had been quite successful so far, so much so that Stillwell would have done anything to see the young girl dead. Turns out Stillwell didn’t have to do anything at all, while one piece of evidence against Vought causes Danvers to fly too close to the sun. And Homelander flies after her.

Chapter Summary; Carly gets a visitor at the hospital. Meanwhile, Homelander throws her right into the fire without warning.

 Just his luck, after eight years he decides to ask a girl out and then this shit happens. As soon as he saw her name plastered on newspaper headlines and shot out all over the banners on CBS, Fox, CNN, MSNBC, and the like, he felt his heart plummet. He wasn't going to get all out of shape over some girl, they lived across from each other, had nice conversations, and that was that. But he also wasn't going to leave her sitting all alone on what would most likely be her death bed. When he entered that hospital, shitty flowers in one hand, he didn't know what to expect. The survivor of such a horrible fire, she most likely wouldn't be as beautiful as the last time he saw her. He was prepared for something of the worst, but not the worst that's for sure. In his mind he imagined some gruesome burns, some really heavy duty shit, the girl being on her last leg, literally. The thought repulsed him, but he cared about her enough to actively go out of his way to go visit her. If it would make her final moments more comfortable, if she was even conscious, at least he would know that he didn't have to regret not going to see her.

   He approached the front desk of the hospital, catching the sight of a few of Carly's fans as they sat in the waiting room, their signs reading phrases akin to, 'Fuck Vought', 'This is Fucking Diabolical', and 'Supes Must Die'. He cleared his throat towards the older nurse, typing away at the computer, a blank stare on her expression. She tilted her head up slightly with a sigh, shoulders hunched down. 

"How can I help you, sir?"

"Here to see Carly Danvers. Check your list." She crossed her arms over her lap and shook her head.

"You'll have to wait with the others, Sir." He glared over in the direction of the fans, he most definitely wasn't going to wait. He wasn't going to be deterred because of some old lady's attitude. 

"Actually, I am not a fan..." Her eyebrows furrowed and she cocked her head at him. He forced a smirk towards her, although it came across quite awkwardly. "I am her fiancé." 

"Oh, that so, Sir." She leaned into the screen typing out a few things. "What's the birthday then?" She deadpanned. Billy wanted to slap himself, he'd been living across the girl for five years and he couldn't remember her birthday?! Maybe he could look the birthday up on his phone, that might be too suspicious.

"August." He randomly stated, although he knew it was probably wrong. The woman rolled her eyes and then gestured over to the swarm of people.

"Please go sit, sir." He grunted his disapproval, slapping the flowers down on the desk and leaning forward, down to her, in some effort to keep things on the down low.

"Now listen you silly twat, I know Danvers better than half the blokes in this room pulled together. I practically know her better than you know the shine off your fat ass." The woman stuck a hand to her chest, appalled, eyes widened, on the verge of calling security it seem. He raised the flowers up, a snarl on his lips. "You see these flowers? I bought them for her. I figured she'd be needin' a nice gesture. What have you cunts been doing for her?" The woman huffed in shock, then sighed, shaking her head. 

"Sir, if you do not leave now, I will call security." She muttered out in sharp breathes, Butcher turned to side lean against the desk, shaking his head. 

"Can't you throw me a bone, or somethin'? How can I see her?" Billy was feeling desperate, mainly because he didn't want to walk away, only to find out she's dead and he never had the chance to tell her goodbye. As much as he tried to hide it, he did know Carly for so long, she was part of his life every day. He couldn't lose another woman in his life without saying goodbye. The woman noticed the drop in his tone, guilt riddled her features and she stood, hovering over the desk to get closer.

"Look, even if I did let you in..." She whispered, "She's unavailable at the moment."

"What? She in surgery? Dead? What the bloody hell is it?"

"I can't say..." She hissed out between clenched teeth, nervously glancing around. "Homelander was in here earlier, that's all I know." Butcher had flash backs, or what felt like them at least, like some fucked up PTSD showdown. All he could see was his beloved Becky talking to that piece of shit Supe. She got too close and now she's gone. His fist clenched around the flower stems and his jaw tightened.

"Tell me. Where is she?" He ground out, the woman reeled away, a fearful glimmer in her eyes. She sat down and continued typing away on her computer, then cocked her head up at him. She cupped a hand around her lips and urged for him to get closer with the other.

"Room 116. Second Floor." The words faded out into...

"Carly?! What the fuck are you doin'?! You are doing it all wrong!" 

"You told me to close my eyes, and-"

"Well, its annoying! You are just standing there! Fucking do something!" Homelander yelled, pacing around her, fingers slotted together behind his back, his crimson cape flowing out behind him as he stepped. His voice echoed out into the barren concrete warehouse that he brought her to immediately following their talk with Stillwell. He said he used it when he was a teenager, and then cracked an inside joke about using ‘moving targets’ at the time. The way he said it sent chills through her, she didn’t want to know what ‘moving targets’ he was talking about, so she didn’t respond. The only thing she was relieved to find was that there wasn’t anybody around. It was just Homelander and her, which made her significantly less anxious. If she did lose herself at any point in time, no one would get hurt.

"What is supposed to happen, even? What do you even do, huh? This is stupid! Can't we just take a break, or something?"

"Can't we just take a break, or something?" He mocked in a higher pitched voice, then shoved harshly at her shoulder and she stumbled over, catching her feet under her. "You are a hero, now! You don't have time to rest!" He came up behind her and helped her steady herself, hands now on her shoulders. "Now focus for-" She elbowed him, and boy, did it feel good to know that she could make the Homelander hurt. He grunted, holding his stomach and he took a few steps back. She spun on her heel and faced him, he recovered quickly, standing and they both glared at each other. 

"I just woke up three hours ago and was shoved into this shit storm without any time to adjust!" His fist shot out, hitting her chest and she flew back several feet from the force. She clutched at her sternum, as she propped herself up on her elbows to stare at him. She used her flight to carry herself back to her feet, jaw clicking as she ground her teeth together. He held a finger up at her, a warning, her fists clenched at their sides. 

"Now Carly, you are-" She let out a scream as she stepped one foot forward and red propelled from her eyes in Homelander's direction. He dodged quickly and swooped around in flight, she rolled forward skillfully as he flew past. Her eyes muted back from red to blue, and when she faced him he was arm's length from her. "You see? That's wasn't so hard-"

"Argh!" She threw a fist, which he blocked with a sturdy forearm, then a kick that he ducked under. Soon stepping back, dodging her, as her fists went flying at him, full speed. "Suck! My! Dick!" She wasn't able to land a single punch, he grabbed her fist in mid stroke and yanked her forward as he stepped back, she fell to her knees.

"Someone has quite the temper." He jested, and she swept her feet out under him. He fell backward, eyes wide in shock, where she hopped onto his waist and hit a fist down towards him. He tilted his head over, her fingers hitting the concrete brick, penetrating it and leaving a dent in the grey. His hands grabbed her waist and he flew up to stand, easily spinning and throwing her a great distance into a nearby concrete wall in the facility. Her body left a giant hole in its wake, a few chunks of concrete coming down on top of her, and like dust, she brushed them away as she stood. "Carly, you don't stand a chance. Why don't we just sit down and talk-" She picked up a medium sized bulk of concrete stone. "Carly!" She hurled it towards him with a grunt, he held his forearms up, the stone turning into rubble as it cascaded down over him. Concrete dust layered onto his dirty blonde hair, he grimaced and dusted himself off. "You're really pissing me off." Her chest was heaving in rage, she stared down at her palms, clutching her fingers tightly she gazed up at him. "You done with your little tantrum?" He said with a tight lipped sneer, crossing his arms.

"No." And she hopped up, in an attempt to try and fly towards him, she still hadn't mastered flight quite yet, only the simple forms of it. She hovered off the ground to him for a moment before sliding back into the concrete, cutting through it like butter, her body leaving a trail of rubble in its wake. She came to a stop at his feet, and he sighed as he watched her, unimpressed. He crouched down to her as she lifted her torso up, about to make some comment on how childish she was being, and then he saw the tears.

    He willed himself not to care, she was no different than everybody else, she always had been. The soft tears that trickled down her face, the edges of her eyes still red hot from the heat vision. She sniffled, raising a hand up to catch some of the wetness on her cheek with her wrist. He awkwardly glanced around, anywhere but her, what was he supposed to do?

"Alright, come on, that's enough." She then stared up at him, a wet, red, and broken stare that made him cock his head with some form of pity that didn't even know he could muster. He stood, his glove squeaked with a clench as he turned his back to her, hands now settling on his hips. "This is what you are now."

"The doctor knew..." She scratched out, and his eyes narrowed in confusion as he tilted back around to consider her. 

"What are you talking about?" He nearly spat out.

"He told me he perfected the compound. He chose me." Homelander snorted dismissively, blinking and dropping his stare down.

"He could have done that to anyone."

"But he did it to me!" She jumped up to her feet, and her eyes turned a bright red. She felt all of herself clench in rage, she could feel the power in her, surging through her. It only made her more angry, she didn't want any of it. "He fucking took everything from me! I AM NOT CARLY ANYMORE!" She screamed, eyes only getting brighter as the heat within them intensified. She then felt hands grip at her shoulders, gently caressing down, when she rose her neon red glare, it was Homelander. 

"You aren't alone, Carly. You aren't alone." Her expression creased into a sob and her eyes closed, forehead resting down onto Homelander's chest.

"You should just kill me." Her voice cracked out, it was almost a plea for help, like she'd rather die than live through this pain.

"Then what fun would you be?" He brushed his gloves fingers through her hair, palm swerving down to cup under her cheek and force her to meet his gaze. "I certainly can't have fun with a dead Carly, can I?" Her eyes dimmed down from a light red into a crystal blue, yet again. The tension in her subsiding and she placed her hands on Homelander's sides, tenderly grazing the detailed ridges and bumps on the suit. 

"I'm sorry for what Vought did to you." If he expected her to say anything, it certainly wasn't that. He closed his eyes, grinding his teeth together, trying not to surface those horrid images in his head. He shook his head and then opened his eyes again. 

"Well, I am not." He smiled, it was a forced smile, and then he shrugged at her. "You shouldn't be either. We are better now, better than they will ever know." 

"Even so, its a harsh and cold feeling, the loss of one's mortality. No one should have control over that." He brushed aside a tear sliding down her cheek, she couldn't help but feel like he’d done that way too many times today.

"And they don't, don't you realize Carly?" He chuckled darkly, his smile turning upward further into a toothy grin. "We can do whatever the fuck we want." And not shortly after, it was as if nothing had happened, his warmth pulled from her as he stepped back. He held his hands up and gestured around the training room.

"Someone's going to have to clean all this shit up, Danvers, look what you've done?"

"Homelander?" He closed his eyes, hoping she wouldn't bring up what had just been discussed. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to control the unearthed frustration and rage that came with those thoughts. She held her arms around her and stepped over the mess she had made, to close the distance between them. 

"What is it now?"

"I would like to go home."

"Well, that's-"

"My home." He crossed his arms, and then shot his eyes around the destroyed warehouse in one last time out of annoyance before nodding his to her. 

"It'll be good practice for you. We'll fly there." And the grin that he had on his face made her wish she didn't say anything in the first place.

[thewritewolf]

In Due Time Chapter 30: Purrince

Chat Noir rushes to help Ladybug, who is fighting alone against an akuma and sentimonster team up.

@marichatmay

Enjoy!

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Read on Ao3

Adrien woke to many voices talking all around him, each of them vying to be heard over the others. Propping himself up onto his elbows, he happened to glance over at the other side of the bed and in his tired state of mind had to work to remember why he was disappointed to see that it was empty like usual.

Then it all came back - the movies, the snow, Marinette - and it was like he’d been dunked in cold water. An apt analogy, he thought as he shivered against the cold of the room.

Which is when he finally started paying attention to the voices fluttering around him, voices that he now recognized as belonging to the kwami.

“You’ve got-”

“-by herself-”

“-anything like this-”

Adrien held up his hands to quiet down the swarm of kwami. “Woah, woah. One at a time.” His eyes landed on Mullo first. “What’s happening?”

“We were talking with Tikki-”

“And Marinette rose from her slumber!” Longg cut in.

“Right, then she woke up and we ran off, but she saw something on her… her…” Mullo rubbed their forehead.

“Her phone,” Sass supplied, a concerned frown on his face. “Ssshe had ssseen a troubling omen upon the device.”

“Yes! That is what is the worst part!” Wayzz zoomed in front of Adrien’s face, panic in his voice. “Not long before that, I sensed the activation of Duusu’s miraculous, and I know Tikki felt it too!”

Another miraculous at play? It had been ages since the peacock had been used. Did Hawkmoth have a new accomplice? According to his Guardian training, it was the perfect compliment to the Butterfly miraculous, letting whoever Hawkmoth had brought into this fight attack them with impunity. Just like with the butterfly miraculous.

Clamping down on the fear and worry that threatened to sink into his heart, Adrien slipped into serious mode. His face was set in determination as he turned to the kwamis.

“Marinette went to go fight, didn’t she?”

Wordless nods answered him.

Adrien cursed under his breath and leaped out of bed. “Of course she did. Being willing to jump in front of danger to protect people is half the reason I chose her in the first place. Plagg, claws out!”

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

Ladybug remembered all the times she’d watched a closely matched akuma battle, whether it was in person or through videos on the Cat Chat. Even when she knew that he was going to win, she never liked seeing them. Imagining the pain he must be feeling whenever he gets a solid hit landed on him, or when his attacks just bounce off the villain of the day… it always drove a spike through her heart. Even more so when he was on his own.

But she no longer needed to imagine that sort of pain, because now she was living through it.

Although calling this a close akuma battle would be very generous. It was a two versus one beat down that Ladybug was only barely managing to keep fighting. What she needed to do was buy time for her to summon her Lucky Charm, but right now just staying on her feet and keeping ahead of her enemies was taking all her focus.

The pole she’d snagged with her yoyo was melted by a crackling beam of purple energy. Without an anchor to swing from, suddenly she was falling instead of flying. She hit the ground hard, sliding along the frozen roads for a few seconds before a parked car stopped her momentum. While she tried to recover, a shadow fell over her - the akumatized villain of the day with their cybernetic-looking body. Then the gigantic fabric wolf loomed over him, his maw of sewing needles wide open.

“The likelihood of you outrunning us approaches zero, Designate Ladybug,” the akuma, Shockwave, said in a mechanically even tone. “My partner approaches his maximum capacity for violence. Any further and I will be unable to contain his fury.” He held out a hand. “Submit your miraculous to me and survive.”

Ladybug focused on her earrings and glared at the akuma. “I will never give up.”

“So be it.”

Just as the cybernetic akuma tried to make a grab for her, Ladybug imagined a void inside her, envisioned the power flowing from her earrings and filling that massive space. Just as the akuma was about to make contact with her, she grabbed his wrist and let all the power flow out in one big pulse.

She wasn’t sure what she had expected, but strong roots bursting out from underneath the snow covered pavement of Paris hadn’t exactly been her vision. The roots snared the akuma, holding him in place at the same time that they pulled down the black velvet wolf into the ground, paws deep.

“ERROR THIS TACTIC WAS NOT ACCOUNTED FOR!” The akuma yelled in anger as Ladybug scrambled to get some distance. A fist that crackled with purple energy was pointed toward her, too close to dodge…

...Only for dodging to be made unnecessary as Chat Noir landed on his head and pushed him to the ground.

“And here I was, worried that you’d gotten in over your head, little witch.” His tone was teasing, but there was fear lurking in his eyes.

“Oh, don’t worry. You’ll always be my purrince charming, come to save the day.”

Chat snickered at her pun, but the sounds of snapping roots cut their conversation short. She looked past Chat to see the wolf snaring and gnawing at the plants. It wouldn’t be held for much longer.

“Quick - best guess as to where this guy’s akuma is hidden?” Chat backflipped off of the cyborg akuma to pin him down with his baton.

“I’m going to guess… this!” Ladybug took the red visor off from over his eyes and broke them in her hands.

Just as she hoped, the black butterfly pulled itself out from inside. No sooner had she cleansed it than the sounds of the last few vines snapping reached her ears.

“That,” Chat said, nodding toward the thrashing wolf, “isn’t a person, right?”

“Yes, I’m certain of it.”

“Good.” He pushed the newly de-akumatized man toward her and propelled himself backwards with his extending baton. “Cataclysm!”

His claws ripped the seam of the wolf, exposing the fluffy stuffing within. Green and black electricity danced across its body, and seemed to confuse it. It thrashed against buildings and ran in circles, narrowly missing stepping on Chat, before finally bounding away from them.

Chat huffed and nodded toward the trail of stuffing. “C’mon, I get the feeling we’ll need to follow it, even if all we do is keep people from getting squished.”

Once she’d caught up to him with her swings, she asked mid-run, “Is that another of your gut feelings?”

“Something like that,” he replied. “Where do you think it might be heading?”

Ladybug frowned as she looked around. It was a section of the city that held a few mansions for the particularly well-to-do.

“Maybe its going back to whoever made it?”

Chat raised an eyebrow. “With the exception of stumbling across you, I’ve never been that lucky.”

Ladybug smiled. “Thanks, chaton. I- Wait. Do you see that?”

There was a hole in the ground within the fence of a mansion that they couldn’t see very well by the streetlights alone. In contrast to the other mansions, it was almost completely dark outside.

Chat frowned. “Something about this seems… familiar.” He shook his head and began climbing down the hole. “Come on.”

After a few minutes, they reached the bottom. They arrived just in time to see the wolf, now almost completely out of stuffing, turn into a mess of purple goo before vanishing entirely. There were claw and teeth marks etched into a concrete wall.

Chat glanced at her. She nodded.

His claws were engulfed in the black energy of his cataclysm before being scrapped along the concrete wall. It crumbled to dust before blowing away. A mass of white pushed past the two of them and it took her a moment to realize that it was a whole host of faintly glowing butterflies.

She looked down into the room that had been exposed.

Looking back up at them, hate and rage and a hint of fear in his eyes, was none other than Hawkmoth.

[starlightinhumanform]

Power and Control

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Ships: Familial Dark Sides (Anxceitmus)

Summary: Virgil has gotten used to living with the light sides, in fact he quite likes it. But when one of Logan’s experiments goes very wrong, he remembers where home really is.

Warnings: Moderate Language Throughout, Description of Blood, Loss of Control, Memory Loss, Imprisonment, Mentioned Animal Death (Please, please tell me if there’s anything I need to add). 

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort 

A/N: Started off as a vent fic, turned out as... the dark sides being a tight knit family? Writing this really helped me work out some of my internal angst and I hope this can at least entertain you while we get through this uncertain time. Please be careful though— this fic is a lot darker than my usual writing and I would hate to trigger or upset someone. Stay safe and healthy. I love you all 🖤✨ (P.S. Deceit’s name is Ethan in this)

Ao3    Fic Masterpost    Fic Request Info

Virgil woke up to blood dripping out of his mouth. In fact, it was everywhere; gurgling at the back of his throat, coating his tongue, crusting at the corners of his mouth as it flowed over his lips and merrily ran over the curves of his jaw. The fountain finally ended at his hands, congealing in his palms. As his gaze followed the trail of blood, he noticed with a start that one of his hands gripped a raw and ripped hunk of meat. It must have been the source of the blood but why he would have it and, even worse, why he would put it anywhere near is mouth simply made no sense. It fell from his fingers but he didn’t even notice the sickening squelch it made as it hit the floor.

Virgil’s hands were shaking . He felt numb and cold and sick all at once. It felt like every cell in his body was trying to tear in a different direction. Except maybe his stomach. Those were working on condensing into diamond and then forcing their way up his throat, sharp corners scraping along the sides the whole way up.

He was on his knees and the cold gray concrete he sat on was eating through his jeans and gnawing on his skin. He bent forward, retching and coughing and suddenly very very aware of the thing around his neck. It was cold. Definitely metal. Definitely a collar. Leaning forward, it pressed against his throat and only increased the coughs that were shuddering violently from somewhere deep within Virgil’s body. He couldn’t help but scratch at it, slippery fingers useless against the smooth metal.

“Hello there, little beast. We were wondering when you were going to wake up.”

Virgil jerked his head up and was startled to find two other men in the room. Well, if you could call this a room; it was far more like a dungeon. It was a bleak box of concrete, entirely gray and without any source of light except for the open door at the opposite side from Virgil. On the wall behind him, a chain led from a ring and attached to the thing around his neck.

And in front of him... two men stood only feet away. Only feet away but still out of reach. The one who had spoken looked down with fascination at the huddled mess of Virgil. The other was berating him, growling at the taller one for calling Virgil a beast. If Virgil hadn’t already been coughing he might have choked out a laugh. An animal was exactly what he felt like.

“Hey there, Virgil. You had us worried for a second,” The smaller of the two knelt down in front of him. His voice was soft and his gaze dripped with pity as his eyes ran over Virgil’s body. Half of his face was patterned by scales, like something off a snake. It should have been repulsive but somehow it was so familiar.

He shuffled slightly closer to Virgil and slipped the gloves off of his hands. The man reached out with trembling fingers, shushing him quietly as if that would dissuade Virgil from bolting away. Luckily for the other, Virgil couldn’t have moved if he wanted to; between the chain and the convulsions shuddering through his body, he may as well have been sewn into the ground.

Shaky hands ran through his hair and Virgil’s mind was snapped back into that direction. They felt so familiar- he knew those blunt fingernails, the way they scratched gently against his scalp, he even recognized the smooth spots where skin melted into scale. The fingers fluttered away from his face and unlatched the collar.

Virgil raised himself up just enough to collapse into the man’s waiting arms. He nearly felt bad for spitting blood onto the other’s shoulder, “I know you?”

“Yeah, yeah, you know me. I’m Ethan. Sometimes I go by Deceit? We lived together for years,” His voice wasn’t upset or even worried, just tired. Exhausted as if this was far from the first time this exact conversation had played out.

Oh, right. Ethan. His best friend. They had grown up together. They had watched each other change and evolve as Thomas had done the same. Virgil knew every single angle of Ethan’s multi-facetted personality. So how the hell could he have forgotten him?

Virgil glanced up at the other who had strolled over to Ethan’s side and was now mindlessly fiddling with the cape over Ethan’s shoulders. He was muttering under his breath and staring at the wall as if he could look right through it. Very much like- “Remus?”

He jerked his head down and to the side to make eye contact with Virgil, “Hello!”

“H-hi,” Virgil tore his eyes away; Remus’ expression was just a bit too delighted at the moment for him to handle. Ethan was still in front of him, checking over him like a concerned mother and grimacing at the red marks around his neck. Virgil decided to focus on him instead, “Ethan, what the fuck is going on? Why am I like this? Who put me here?”

Ethan had moved on to studying Virgil’s hands but refused to look up at him, “We put you here.”

Virgil jerked his hand away and shuffled as far back as he could without standing up, “Why the hell would you do that?”

Ethan sighed and managed to look at Virgil this time. His eyes were far older than they should have been. Virgil got the feeling Ethan had explained this many, many times, “It’s for everyone’s safety- including yours.”

“Ethan how the hell is chaining me up in the fucking basement for my safety? This looks like a fucking horror movie,” Virgil tried to scoot away further but his back hit the wall. Against the cold concrete, he could feel the sweat racing down his spine.

Remus butted in, cackling, “Well you saw how you were acting- who knows what havoc you could wreck if we let you lose in Thomas’ mind!”

Ethan turned on his heel to glare at Remus, “Which is something we are not going to do.”

“So, what, you’re just going to leave me locked up in here?”

“No, of course not. Only, only when-“ Ethan pinched the bridge of his nose as he stood up and Virgil couldn’t help but flinch away from the movement, “Only when you’re different.”

“Different,” The word felt bitter and heavy as it rolled off of Virgil’s tongue. Or maybe that was just the coppery coat of blood that still lurked in every nook of his mouth. He feared he would never be able to forget that taste.

“Yeah, silly, different. When it’s night and you get just a bit-” Remus had swaggered across the room and squatted down next to Virgil with a bounce. He reached out, dragging one pointer finger along the lines of Virgil’s face and tapping him lightly on the nose as if to punctuate the word, “-crazy.”

Virgil studied the face in front of him. Remus had poison apple green eyes that flickered like he had managed to trap lightening in them and a grin to rival the Cheshire Cat. Right now his eyes looked like a thunderstorm captured in a snow globe; he was either really excited or scared beyond belief. Virgil wasn’t sure which option was worse, “What do you mean crazy?”

Ethan sat down next to Remus so they were all at the same level, “You lose control, turn kind of wild. It’s been happening every night of this week- don’t you remember?”

“I don’t remember this week at all. Ethan, why the hell is this happening to me?” Virgil’s voice was shaking nearly as hard as his hands, still covered in the red grime. He knew exactly what it was but his mind simply refused to accept it.

“I guess it started with Logan. He wanted to learn about what makes a ‘dark’ side different from a ‘light’ one— no bad intentions, I’m sure. You happily volunteered to participate in his research and I’m not sure what happened next. He gave you something and it fucked you up. It was supposed to bring out the traits that make you ‘dark.’ He was just curious about what made us different from them. Except, it didn’t just made you dark; it made you as bad as a side can be.”

“And then they dumped you with us because they couldn’t handle you!” Remus grinned as if he were quite proud of his conclusion to Ethan’s explanation.

Ethan winced, “Well I wouldn’t exactly put it so bluntly. They... tried to help you but they couldn’t manage it. They knew we would be more prepared for this sort of thing.”

Virgil ran his tongue across the front of his teeth. He half expected to find a row of fangs or at least some pointed canines; something to match the snarl he felt building up in his gut and clawing its way to the back of his throat. He wanted to yell, to scream until his voice was too raw to sound anything like a human. He wanted punch his fist right through the concrete wall and he couldn’t tell if he wanted to damage the wall or just wanted to feel the pain in his hand, just as a reminder of what was real. How dare they? They turned him into this and when he was too much, they tossed him aside like a broken toy they had gotten bored off. Them. Virgil wanted to tear his teeth into the neck of one of those pretty little light sides. Wait, no. No. He didn’t want to do any of that. That wasn’t him. That was- No no no no no no no no.

The word ricocheted through his head, one clear point through the murk of his thoughts. Except it burned, far too bright as it buzzed through his mind. His head pounded and the room was closing in and the faces in front of him were swimming. Virgil bunched his legs to his chest, hanging his head to his knees. He was trapped; trapped in this room, trapped in the situation, trapped in the dark slime that suffocated his mind.

“Hey, hey, hey,” A hand smoothed across his back and lightly gripped one of his shoulders, “Don’t go there. We’re right here.”

Virgil raised his head up, somewhat startled by the effort it took, almost as if there was a weight pressing down on his neck. Ethan rubbed his hand over Virgil’s back and reached out with the other. He wiped a tear off of Virgil’s cheekbone with the side of his thumb and smiled softly, “We’ll figure this out, Virge.”

“Yeah, we always fix things eventually,” Remus ruffled his hair maybe a little rougher than necessary, but Virgil was used to it.

He couldn’t help but grin a little bit and, as weak as it was, it felt good, “Yeah, we fix it after you fuck it up in the first place.”

Remus winked, “And where would we possibly be without me being the only one brave enough to fuck shit up?”

Ethan gave a small snort of a laugh, “Maybe you should hold off on causing chaos until we’ve got this sorted out.”

“Ah, well, no promises but I’ll do my best,” Remus suddenly jumped to his feet, “Now come on, are we just going to sit here all day?!”

“He’s right, you know, we shouldn’t stay here and you look like a mess,” Ethan gave Virgil’s shoulder one last squeeze, “Do you think you’re ready to get up?”

Virgil looked down at his hands; they were still tremoring and the red was quickly drying to burgundy, “I’m not sure if I can stand but there’s no way in hell I want to stay here.”

“Ah, no issue!” Remus leaned down just long enough to scoop Virgil into his arms princess-style and stood back up.

Virgil should have been worried; this was a compromised position after all. But somehow, it felt so so much safer than that floor. The floor was cold and rough and covered in a viscous mix of blood and Virgil’s sins. And Remus— well he was warm and safe and secure and smelled like a weird mixture of metal and saccharine flowers. Besides, Virgil’s head was already swimming, his body might as well joining it in floating away.

He let his head fall against Remus’ shoulder and closed his eyes; every part of his body felt like lead, even his eyelids. It wasn’t until they reached the top of the stairs and the warm glow of light washed over Virgil’s face did he realize they had been moving at all.

Remus swung Virgil’s legs down gently but kept one of his arms wrapped around Virgil’s waist, keeping him from keeling over on the spot.

Ethan seemed to be taking advantage of the brighter light to look over Virgil again. He lifted Virgil’s chin gently, grimacing at the marks around his neck and the blood surrounding his mouth, “You really are a mess this time; do you think you could take a shower?”

Virgil managed to huff out a laugh, “I think if it weren’t for Remus, I would be passed out on the floor right now. So, uh, no. Sorry.”

“No, no, that’s ok. Remus and I will help you get cleaned up and then we can all hang out on the couch together and you can get some sleep. How does that sound?”

“Yeah, yeah sure,” Virgil slouched against Remus’ shoulder and tried to keep his feet from sliding out beneath himself.

“Hey, buddy?” Remus jostled him lightly.

“Huh?”

“We’re walking now. One foot in front of the other, ok?” Remus held him a little closer and started half-dragging/half-supporting him down the hall while Ethan walked ahead.

By the time they made it the bathroom that the dark sides shared, Remus was basically carrying him, one arm looped around Virgil’s body so he just kind of hung at Remus’ hip.

Remus set him down on the counter and Virgil let himself slump back against the mirror. The glass was cold on his shoulders through his shirt but he hardly noticed, oddly fascinated by the spots on the ceiling above him. They looked like mold— probably a result of one of Remus’ experiments. Yeah ok... so his mind was definitely drifting away.

Ethan brought him back to the present once again, handing him a cup of water and ordering him to drink it. Virgil felt like he was out of his body and watching the scene from several feet in the air; at least the picture was starting to come in a little clearer.

“Hey, Virge?”

Virgil leaned his head on the mirror at an angle he could face Ethan from, “Yeah?”

“Can I take your hoodie off?” Ethan’s hands hesitated a few inches above his chest like he was afraid Virgil would bite him at any moment.

Oh that was reassuring. Oh yeah, Virgil, everything’s totally fine but I’m definitely worried you’re going to go absolutely fucking feral and eat me but don’t let it bother your pretty little head because it’s all sunshine and rainbows here.

Virgil was suddenly taken aback by the anger he was feeling. His fists were clenched and his lip was curling into a snarl and he could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears. Maybe Ethan had a reason to treat him like a ticking bomb.

“You,” Remus poked him, “Yeah, you. Snap out of it.”

Virgil shook his head as if he could jumble all the pieces back into place, as if he could make everything normal again, “Right. I’m, gosh, Ethan I’m just really sorry.”

“It’s ok,” Ethan’s voice was steady and soothing but his hands shook as he pulled the zipper of the Virgil’s sweatshirt down and helped him shrug it off his shoulders, “You just need to relax a bit; it’s fine.”

“Ethan, no! It’s not fine! How can you say that? You fucking chained me up in a basement I didn’t even know we had.”

Ethan hung his head. Virgil couldn’t see his eyes but he could tell he was exhausted. Virgil had hated the optimism Ethan had been faking but the honesty of this change was sickening, “Look, Virgil, I have to think everything will be fine. I can’t give up— not on you. I’ve always believed in you and I always will. I have seen you go through so much and I’m not going to lose hope just because we have another obstacle to overcome. And if I’m being honest? I have no idea how we’re going to get through this one. I have no idea how much worse everything is going to get. But I can promise that we’ll keep taking care of you. And Logan will keep looking for a solution.”

“And I‘ll help him!”

Remus’ interruption managed to pull a small smile over Ethan’s face, “Yeah, Remus has been working with Logan while he works on a cure of sorts.”

“I’m a lab rat!”

Ethan reached up to muss Remus’ messy hair, “That you certainly are.”

Virgil looked between the two men in front of him. This was his family. He loved the light sides but when things got terrifyingly real like this, these freaks were the only people he really trusted. This was his family and if there was anyone he wanted to lose his mind around, it was them.

“I love—“ Virgil’s voice broke, “I love you guys.”

Remus leaned down and wrapped his arms around Virgil, squeezing hard enough to make Virgil worry about breaking a rib.

“Ok, enough being sappy, we’ll have plenty of time for that later. Right now, Virgil is still covered in blood,” Ethan untied Remus from around Virgil and started scrubbing at his face with a cloth.

“Hey, yeah, what is that about? I’m not bleeding... so whose blood is that? What the hell was I eating?”

“Oh, that. It was venison— kind of,” Ethan explained casually as he continued attacking him with soap and water, “You were hungry but you didn’t eat any normal food and Remus found this dead deer in the Imagination and you seemed to like it so we just let you have it.”

“You let me eat roadkill?!”

Remus hopped up onto the counter next to him, “Well it wasn’t by a road so technically it’s not road-kill. But, yes!”

Ethan paused scrubbing a moment so he could fully take in the horrified expression Virgil was giving him, eventually just rolling his eyes, “What? I’m sure it won’t hurt you.”

Virgil stuck his tongue out at Ethan, “You say that now but just watch— I’m gonna develop some rare disease or something.”

“God you must be feeling better if you have enough energy to be this dramatic,” Ethan shook his head and started working on Virgil’s neck, definitely being a little rougher than necessary.

After a few minutes of the continued bickering, Ethan had managed to get every speck of blood and sweat off of Virgil— and probably a layer of skin along with it too. Ethan and Remus even managed to get him to change into clean clothes before Virgil got bored off arguing over whether or not he was going to die because they let him eat the deer.

“Bottom line, it’s just disgusting.”

“I’ve eaten worse, and I’m just fine!”

“That doesn’t matter! You’re, well, you’re you; you could eat steel shavings like cereal and it wouldn’t matter ‘cause your metabolism is built like a nuclear waste processing plant.”

“Yeah, I have tried that! It was good!”

“Alright you two,” Ethan interrupted Remus And Virgil’s squabbling and gently pushed them out the door, “I think Virgil could do with some rest.”

Remus broke away from their little group and started bouncing down the hall like Tiger from the Winnie the Pooh cartoons. He pumped his fists in the air, screeching, “MOVIE TIME, MOVIE TIME, MOVIE TIME!”

Virgil and Ethan watched him with a mixture of horror and admiration.

Ethan chuckled, “I have no clue where he gets all that energy.”

“Maybe it’s the hearty bowl of steel shavings he starts the day off with.”

“Heh, maybe,” Ethan laughed at Virgil’s joke but when he turned to face him directly, concern was written in every line on his face, “How are you feeling? Are you doing alright?”

Virgil ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back as if clearing his bangs from his eyes could clear up his thoughts. How did he feel? Well that was a damn good question. He felt like his brain was made of cotton candy and someone was pouring a cup of water over his head, drops slowly melting away the strings that held him together. He was tired. Above all else, he just wanted a fucking break. He didn’t want to think about how he was feeling or what the future might hold or the fact that he was going to turn into an animal that night, in a matter of mere hours. The idea made his skin crawl and contents of his stomach curdle.

But Ethan was standing next to him, rubbing his hand across his shoulders and looking at him with the big yellow-green eyes that Virgil had known all his life. Maybe he wasn’t ok now. Maybe that was ok too. Maybe being safe was close enough to bring alright.

Virgil tried for a smile, “It’s gonna be ok.”

Ethan grinned back, “You bet your ass it is.”

If you want to be added to my Sanders Sides fic taglist, please just send an ask or reply to this post :p

~ @phan-fander @abi-beehive @fandomfan315 @reggieleigh07 @cas-is-a-hunter @endless-rain-of-words @vicdehart @im-actually-ok @softnic ~

[the-omni-princess]

Blood Bound [Chapter Three]

Author: @the-omni-princess

Pairing: Vampire!Bucky x Witch!Reader

Summary: Vampires and witches have been known enemies since the dark ages. Backstabbing, secrets, and magic turned supernatural brethren again each other. As a natural-born witch, you grew up on these stories, your own monsters under your bed. What happens when one of those sworn enemies claims that you are his blood mate, the vampire equivalent of a true mate? Will you give in to this man out of time? Or destroy him for the sake of your Coven?

Word Count: 1.8K

Warnings: nightmares, witchy things, vampire things, minor death, attempted assault.

A/N:

Anyway! I’d like to thank two cuties. @annaloveloki for always trying to beta (and listen to my stories in the middle of anatomy lectures), and @peterfrxst for listening to all my wild Vamp and Witch ideas. <3

Updates will be slow since I have midterms this week, sorry

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[Series Masterlist] 

 [My Masterlist]

 [Playlist Inspired by the Series]

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----

“I know, I know, but it made me feel safe, and I don’t know. It felt like…” you ran your hand over your face, eyebrows scrunching up as you thought. “Like a warm bath on a cold day, or lighting a new candle, or snuggling in blankets while watching a movie, it felt like home. I just followed that little tug until it led me into the woods, and to James.”

“James?” Wanda looked up from the safe space of Natasha’s arms.

“Yep, James… How do I say this without being judged?”

“Y/n, you’re a natural-born witch that we’ve kept hidden from the Council for years, you can tell us anything.” Nat pointed out, placing an encouraging hand on your knee.

Taking a shaky breath, you nodded. “Well, for starters, he’s a vampire,” you saw Carol stiffen beside you. “And he claims, we are Bound.”

--

“Wait, wait, wait,” Natasha, who knew you felt a presence in the woods, spoke up first. “Is he the reason for that presence?”

You nodded, “It is…” You knew you could trust them, but you were unsure how supportive these witches, the literal enemies of vampires, would feel about your vampire boyfriend. Wait, no. Boy that’s a friend.

“I thought Bindings were rare,” Wanda spoke up, pushing away her tears, intrigued as to what was happening.

“Yeah, and how can you be Soul Bound to a vampire of all creatures?!” Carol was tense, she would of course take it the hardest. “They’re monsters!”

You winced, feeling her powers start to permeate the air, your own quickly followed. “He is not a monster,” you snarled, lightning crackled, ghastly shocks of blue and white flowing around you. You couldn’t explain the absolute need to defend him, you barley even knew him, yet you knew he wasn’t just an ordinary blood sucker.

“They all are!” Carol’s eyes began to glow a low golden color, most likely mirroring your own.

“I didn’t choose to be Bound to him, Carol! What am I supposed to do? Ignore all these feelings inside me? Just let the Council kill him, blame him for the North’s death, blame him for the crystals, blame him for everything? Or maybe you just want to blame me for it all! I didn’t choose this! I didn’t choose a vampire, I didn’t choose a Binding, I didn’t choose to be born with powers, I didn’t choose to have the Council hate me, I didn’t choose any of this!” The electricity pulsed around you, and even Nat’s usual tricks couldn’t calm you anymore.

Carol’s own power died down, sensing your panic replacing your anger. “Y/n…” she spoke softly, and something in you broke. “I know you didn’t choose him, but you know what he is…”

Sniffling, you reigned in your powers, defeat settling into your bones. You slumped on the couch, letting your eyes close. “He’s the first choice I actually have. Carol, I have to at least explore this,” you murmured, gulping down the rest of your tears.

“Be careful,” she quickly left, and you couldn’t really blame her. Both of her parents had been killed by vampires, that’s why she became a witch. So, it wouldn’t happen again. Guilt weighed heavy on your shoulders, and you groaned. “I’m going to bed. I’m tired of reading about Bindings and well… everything,” you didn’t wait for a response, heading up stairs.

Collapsing on your bed, you sighed softly. Life had become much more complicated within weeks, and you had the feeling it was about to get more twisted as you slipped into unconsciousness.

-

Darkness surrounded you, the faint push of a howling storm, the cliff below you lit up with your powers. Sharp, jagged rocks illuminated in your light show. Crashing waves, somehow too high to hear. Summoning lighting always felt easier in dreams, yet every flash of lightning slowed as the winds picked up around you, pulling you from the edge. A voice called from behind you, muddled, the words hidden by the wind. The air thickened into honey, too dense to move backwards, as the wind fought to keep you on the cliff. Trying to turn towards the voice seemed impossible. It seemed so familiar. Like home. Finally turning, you cried out, the scene changing around you, descending into darkness as the man in front of you blurred into nothing but blue eyes.

-

The alleyway was musty, dirty concrete, and a simple shortcut home. Shuddering, you pulled the jacket closer around your arms. Pepper promised she would pick you up, but she was currently nowhere to be found. Most likely being distracted taking care of her werewolf boyfriend.

Was this a dream?

The air seemed to chill, a shiver running up your spine. Something was following you. This was most definitely your worst idea. Still gaining control of your powers, trying to light up whatever human decided to trail you would be a bad idea. Humans were never kind to witches. Even worse, it could be another creature. Or even crueler. A bloodsucker.

Your feet moved a little quicker, trying to subtle out walk the thing chasing you. A hand grabbed at your arm, slamming you into the brick wall with a squeal. The scent hit you first. A human male. A drunk one at that. You were shaking, words spilling from your lips as you begged to be let go, but the man pushed you further into the wall. A devious smile lit his mouth up, and you held back tears, trying to calm yourself enough to use your powers, and yet that wouldn’t be necessary.

The man was ripped off of you and tossed into the opposing wall of the alley. “Hasn’t anyone told you to pick on someone your own size?” The gruff voice belonged to a man still hidden in the shadows. He wasn’t human.

The human groaned, clutching his head as he attempted to stand. “Don’t interfere,” he slurred, tripping over air as he lunged for you.

The creature caught him first, slamming him into the wall and lifting him off the ground. He scoffed, before chancing a glance towards your cowering frame. “Don’t watch, little one,” he warned. You bit back a cry, closing your eyes, curling in on yourself on the ground. A sick crunch followed by the human’s cries, and you felt your world tumbling down. Your savior was a vampire. Your literal nightmare.

Thump. The man’s corpse fell to the ground and the vampire turned his attention towards you. “What are you doing here this late?” he questioned, wondering who would let the teen out of their sight. He took a breath, almost choking on your scent as he drowned in it. “Little witch?”

Your eyes shot open, and you cried out again as he took a step towards you. Utter terror ran through your veins, and your powers were on the verge of emerging. He raised his hands in a sign of surrender, kneeling to your height on the ground. “I won’t hurt you, little one.” You didn’t seem convinced, and he sighed softly. “Run along, little witch, I’ll make sure there’s no other humans to bother you.” As he stepped into the moonlight, your heart skipped a beat. Red crimson eyes swirled away to bright blue. Electric and icy blue. Utterly enchanting. Hauntingly familiar.

-

You gasped awake, shuddering as you turned to see the clock. It was almost three am. Picking yourself off the bed, you wrapped the blanket around your shoulders. It was a terrible idea, but as you walked out the doors and straight into the woods, the yearning in your chest calling out, you couldn’t help but be pleased by your idea.

It took seconds before a figure jumped off a tree branch, and much to your enjoyment, he stumbled trying to stand up straight. Ignoring how he tripped for now, you looked up towards him. “You were the bloodsucker that saved me when I was younger, weren’t you?” Her curiosity needed to be sated, the knowledge from her dream eating away at her.

“I did tell you not all vampires are evil, little witch, though I do admit, I did not quite recognize you as that teenager until just the other day.” He admitted, tilting his head a bit to the side, amused.

“Why did you do it? Why did you save me?” You took a step closer, electricity started to flow through your veins, emboldening you to confront him.

“You needed help, I helped. It’s not too difficult to come to that conclusion, little witch,” he rolled his eyes, now starting to notice the small sparks of blue and white bouncing off your fingertips.

“You’re not telling me everything. You said you’d protect me, and you can’t do that if you are lying to me!” Shuddering, you pulled the blanket around your shoulders tighter against you as the winds picked up. Your argument was pretty weak, but he was most definitely hiding something.

“What do you want me to say?” He snarled, eyes turning crimson as the winds howled. “I only drink from humans? Or I felt this urgent need to protect whoever’s whimpers I heard in that alley? Or how for the first time in decades I’m starting to remember my human life? Or that I can’t control my feelings whenever I’m even near you despite knowing the fact the Council will want us both dead if they ever find out we are Bound?” He cried out, desperation and anguish laced into his voice.

You soon realized he was only a step away from you, and your own sparks died down the closer he got, his presence had more of a calming effect than Natasha’s powers. The winds thrashed the nearby branches, and yet you couldn’t feel the wind except for the small chill. “Probably the Binding making me feel like this, but… you just seem so familiar. It can’t just be from being Bound, none of the books mentioned it like this,” You murmured, and he only barley heard your words over the wind thanks to his enhanced hearing.

Confusion swirled in your mind, unsure how to connect everything that was going on. As James reached up slowly, cupping your cheek in his palm, you felt the strangest sense of déjà vu. Have you been here before? Why was he always so familiar?

“You feel it too, huh little witch?” he murmured, leaning towards you, trusting in you, leaving himself vulnerable to you.

Ignoring your mother’s voice in your head, you tilted towards his hand, closing your eyes. It felt like home. “I was always taught that vampires were evil, never to be trusted, and yet, you seem like the only thing I can trust in this world, Bucky Barnes,” you confided, relaxing to his touch, the blanket dropping away from your shoulders.

A few realizations hit Bucky one at a time, time seemed to slow around you. Firstly, the necklace that was now exposed and pressed against your collarbone, had a mint leaf charm. His free hand ran across the charm, dread and recognition creeping up his throat, burning him from the inside out. Mint.

Secondly, was the fact he never told you his last name. Sure, you could have researched it, but no one but his small family back at the motel knew his nickname. No one except maybe….

The final realization came when you opened your eyes, the wind and sparks surrounded the two of you, pressed together tenderly, satisfaction settling deep into his bones. He felt a chill run down his spine as he connected the final dot. What was I saying in my vision? You looked up at him with the utmost adoration, the haunting familiarity made him gasp softly. Your eyes had swirled into a different color with your powers surrounding him. You had kaleidoscope eyes.

---

Tags:

Permanent Tags:

@minetticatinwonderland  / @lumar014 / @maniacproffesor / @gollyderek / @nerdy-bookworm-1998 / @avengerstones

Bucky Tags:

@cassandras-musings  / @darkness-doughter / @novaddictx​ / @thedancingnerdmermaid / @mood-pancakes / @gracethegeek9902 / @annavega333 / @ravennightingaleandavatempus / @thelibraryoffanfiction / @sunkissedbarnes​

Blood Bound Tags:

@itz-kira / @rinthehufflepuff / @evilzinblr / @starkrobb​ / @paranoiadestroyah / @misplacedorphan

For a tag, just reply/comment, if I don’t see it, just message me. Tell me what you think! Literally, any comment makes me happy! Like, comment, reblog, interact <3

[ladyseaheart1668]

Endless Summer Book 4 : Daughter of Vaanu (Chapter 49)

Description: Tahira continues to fight her way out of her own head. 

Tagging: @endlesshero1122 @mysteli @feartheendlesssummer @whatmcsaid @xo-endlessmayhem-xo @tigerbryn11

Chapter 49 : A Breath of Water

Grayson

I hold Tahira's hand while the nurse slips the IV needle into her vein, even though she probably can't even feel the prick. She doesn't move at all. Not even a twitch.

The first scan they did of her brain revealed that the blood flow was normal. But there was no explanation as to why she hasn't woken up yet. I don't know whether that surprises me or not. If it really was something on the knife, some kind of poison, is that ever going to show up on a brain scan? Either way, they've decided to do another scan. One that's supposed to measure her brain activity. PET scan, I think. They say they can use it to accurately predict which coma patients are likely to wake up.

I squeeze Tahira's hand, kissing her fingers. She looks so perfect, lying in her hospital bed with her dark hair spread over the pillow, smooth and silky thanks to her mother's careful brushing thirty minutes ago. Except for the tubes and hoses, she looks like she's sleeping.

“My sleeping beauty,” I murmur, stroking her hair. “...I wish you would wake up...”

The nurse puts a hand on my shoulder. “Come on. We gotta leave her alone for awhile so the tracer can go through her system. It's better if she doesn't have any stimulation while that's happening.”

“...You think me being here actually stimulates anything?”

“In the best case scenario, it absolutely does. And since that's what we're hoping for, that's the assumption I'm acting on.”

Tahira

I'm not tired as I climb the path up the mountain, and that still startles me every time I realize it. ...Can I even be startled in this space? I reach what appears to be the top of the mountain, and I am standing on a small circle of rock barely large enough for both my feet that pokes up like an island through an ocean of soft, white clouds. The clouds look soft and fluffy, like piles of cotton balls. I want to dive into them and feel their softness against my skin—even though I know from personal experience that I'll probably just get wet. And possibly fall to my death, since I can't fly in this space. But...maybe I can't die in this space, either. And, I'm here now, standing on a tiny space on top of a mountain. What exactly am I supposed to do now?

Before I can really stop myself, I have taken the step off the edge. I plunge through fluffy, cottony sea foam into a warm ocean. I breathe saltwater and it feels as easy as breathing air. I hear a voice call my name. A sexless voice that comes through the waves and sounds like music. I swim toward it, gliding as easily as I fly through the air in the real world. Something that looks like the sun glimmers overhead, making the water around me shine. Ahead, something waits for me in the water. The rippling waves distort its shape, but the color of it is overwhelmingly red.

I think in the back of my mind, I know what's there even before I get close enough to actually see. Sure enough, as I approach, the thing takes on a human shape. Two legs, two arms, and a head—all concealed within a red spacesuit. ...I've never met the Endless before. But I know who she is.

“...Endless. Are you here to show me how I can wake up and help Alodia? Help...a version of you?”

“I am here to help. But I warn you that I cannot help the way you want me to. I am forever bound by the laws that govern the physical flow of time. If I break them, I will do more harm than good.”

“I'm in no position to turn down help.”

“Then follow me.”

Rochelle

“What exactly are you trying to tell me, doctor?”

They've called in a neurologist to assess Tahira. She's had at least two scans to determine why she isn't waking up. So far, though, the man seems to have taken a lot of words to say not very much at all.

“What I am trying to tell you, Ms. Rogers, is that there is no reason to despair. Your daughter's brain is active. Very active. In all the right ways. Coma patients with similar levels of brain activity recover consciousness within a year more than eighty percent of the time.”

I fold my arms. “...Are you saying that my daughter is in a coma?”

The doctor hesitates. “She does exhibit many symptoms consistent with a coma diagnosis. However, there are no obvious organic causes. And...” He leans over Tahira and lifts her eyelid slowly to shine his light pen at her pupil. “Her light reflexes are normal. When I lift her eyelid, she resists. And when I release it, her eye closes completely and quickly.”

“So...what does that mean?”

“My assessment is that it is most likely a psychogenic coma. That is, a temporary period of disassociation, possibly caused by psychological trauma related to the attack.”

“...'Temporary'...”

“Yes. Most of the time patients wake up fairly promptly after general anesthesia is stopped. Often when they fail to wake up, it's due to residual effects from the drugs. Sometimes, it's neurological or metabolic. And sometimes, it's psychological. Tahira is neurologically intact, and her bloodwork is all clear.”

“So...what do we do?”

“We wait. Keep assessing her regularly, wait for a change. Right now, there is little else we can do.”    

Jake

“Lundgren wasn't where we left him. The prevailing theory is that one of his goons found him and got it out, but there's not much of a trail if that's the case. It's...not looking like Alodia and Diego are on the island, either. They've got the coast guard circling, though, in case anything tries to land there. The Vaanti are still lying low for the most part, but Seraxa has a few warriors combing the jungle. I don't know if they can hide themselves like they used to when Vaanu's crystals were still part of the island, but Seraxa seems to think it's an acceptable risk.”

I can't look at Sean as he talks. I stare out the window of my hospital room. The view overlooks the hospital grounds, with the Santo Domingo skyline on the horizon. He seems to be waiting for an answer, but when I don't give him one after a moment or two, he goes on.

“Zahra and Iris have been analyzing the recording from that AI. Iris was able to confirm that the voice print was Alodia's. But most of it was spliced together from recorded voice samples. Like...the time lady that you used to be able to call.”

“'Most of it'...”

“...Huh?”

I keep my eyes on a not-particularly-interesting office building in the distance. “You said 'most of it' was spliced. ...I have a guess where it wasn't.”

Sean hesitates just long enough to confirm that I'm right even before he says, “...Yeah.”

“So where did that part come from?”

“Zahra says she doesn't know that yet. The parts where...Galatea...broke character...those were whole samples, not splices. Iris can figure out that much. But where and when they were recorded? That's gonna take longer to figure out.”

Now I turn to look at him. “What kinda time do you think we have, Sean? She could give birth any day. If Rourke gets his hands on our kid...”

“I know, buddy. I know.”

“...I wanna be there. I wanna be there when my daughter is born.”

He doesn't say anything. What the hell can he say to that? Everyone I know is gonna do everything in their power to get my wife back to me ASAP. Doesn't mean I can rest easy. Not until she's back in my arms.

“...Do you know when you're getting out of here?”

“A day or two. They want to keep me for observation awhile. ...Then I guess I oughta go back to California. ...Or stay here and look after Mike. Don't wanna leave him alone here. ...Don't suppose you two are continuing the honeymoon where you left off.”

“With Alodia and Diego still missing? Of course not. Michelle wants to go back to work early.”

I snort, a rueful, mirthless laugh. “Tell her it's outta the question. She just went through a kidnapping for fuck's sake.”

“You're suggesting I try to tell Michelle what to do?”

“Okay, yeah. I see how that's a bad idea.”

“...She needs to feel useful. And...truthfully right now, it may be that the best way she can help us get Alodia and Diego back is by being at work.”

I feel the frown settle onto my mouth and forehead as I stare at him. “...You don't just say a thing like that without having something to back it up.”

“Tahira was attacked. About the same time as all of us were abducted. She had emergency surgery, but she hasn't woken up yet. ...Before she went under, she managed to get across that the one who attacked her was a Vaanti.”

Caleb

It's probably stupid as hell for me to keep coming back to the compound where Tahira and I were once prisoners. The cops are probably still looking for me, and the compound being the site of a stabbing, they probably aren't far off. Though, truth be told, I'm not sure if they've actually managed to figure out where she was actually stabbed.

Thing is, I find myself wanting answers. I want to know who decided to stick a maybe-poisoned knife in Tahira. I got a nagging feeling whoever it was knows her identity. In the dark, with a flame dancing on my fingertips to light my way, I follow the spotty trail of dried blood from inside the compound to the alley where the initial splatter seems to be and stare at the stain on the filthy concrete.

Avanti...who the hell is Avanti? Sounds like some pop diva wannabe. I'd say a pop diva wasn't capable of leaving this kind of mess in an alley, but I'm old enough to remember Haley Rose.

“You're not going to be able to hide forever.” The taunting purr is unmistakably Gigi. I grit my teeth, but I don't turn to face her right away. “You have to realize that sooner or later, the cops are going to find you.”

Don't ask me why this is the straw that breaks the camel's back. But whatever the reason, I can't take it anymore. I whip around and lunge at Gigi, grabbing her by the throat and shoving her against the wall, a fireball in my free hand poised threateningly over her. The dancing orange light reflects genuine fear in her eyes as she grasps my wrist in both hands. At the moment, I'm too pissed to enjoy it.

“I've had e-fucking-nough of your bullshit, Gi,” I snarl. “You can threaten me with your child army or the cops all you fucking want, because right now, all your underworld power and influence, all your loyal followers all mean jackshit compared to my hand on your throat and this fireball over your head, so start fucking talking, bitch!”

Her eyes flick from my face to the flames licking my hand and back again. I feel her squirm, but I've got her pushed high enough that her toes barely touch the concrete.

“What—should I talk—about?” she finally gasps. I pull back just enough to give her a little more air.

“What do you know about what happened here?!”

She smirks, even as I feel her hands trembling on my wrist. “I know Dragonness can bleed.”

So she does know Tahira's identity. I tighten my grip again, bringing the flames a little closer to her skin. They lick upward enough that I am not worried about causing any damage I don't intend, but I see the sweat blooming on her forehead. I press my face in closer.

“...Who's Avanti?”

Her eyes widen. “...What?”

“Avanti. Is she one of yours? Someone new?”

“...Where...did you...hear that?”

“Tahira said it was Avanti who stabbed her! Who is that?!”

“...So. …The plot...thickens...”

I shake her, hard enough that she lets out a strangled yelp. “I told you to talk, bitch!”

“Avanti isn't a name!” she shrieks breathlessly, struggling against my grip. “It's...not...coincidence!”

“What's not?!”

“Any of it! Same day Dragonness is attacked, Alodia Chandler is abducted, and Silas Prescott escapes!”

“Yeah, that doesn't seem like coincidence. So what do you know about it?”

“Barely more than you, I would wager,” she croaks against another increase in pressure from my hand. “...But I know that Avanti is not a name. It's a thing. A creature. From La Huerta.”

“...What kind of creature?”

I feel a hand come down on my shoulder, gently but firmly. I spare a glance, and the hand on my shoulder shines golden brown in the light from my flame.

“That's enough, Caleb,” Talos murmurs. “Let her go.”

“Fuck that! Not until she tells me what she knows!”

“There's nothing she could tell you right now that I couldn't also tell you.”

I sneer, tightening my grip. “What about her plot to steal the Prism Crystal?”

“It clearly hasn't been set in motion yet, since the Prism Crystal is secure. And trying to get the plan out of her is likely going to prove an exercise in futility. There are more important things to worry about at the moment.”

I want to argue, how the fuck is the Prism Crystal not important? ...But it's not. Not when compared to finding Tahira's attacker. I slowly release Gigi and let the flame on my hand go out. Gigi staggers back from me, coughing and rubbing her throat. I can see I've left marks. She's not gonna forgive me for that. But right at this moment, she's looking at me with genuine fear and I can finally feel a twinge of satisfaction for it. Of course, she does her best to disguise it as quick as she can.

“Looks like I've got my own knight in shining armor,” she sneers, her voice hoarse. “Too bad he appears to be running with a traitor.”

“You should be the one running, Gi,” I snarl. “Before I change my mind about letting you go.” As I summon flames to my palms for emphasis, her eyes widen. She closes her mouth and slinks into the shadows without another word. I let the flames die and lower my hands, turning to glare at Talos. He sighs.

“Don't give me that look. Interrogating her would have cost us time we don't have.”

“You can't know that she isn't involved!” I growl.

“Of course she's involved. Even if it's indirectly. She was on La Huerta at the same time as Alodia. But look me in the eye and tell me that you think she would give up any information in a timely manner?”

“I could have burned it out of her,” I mutter.

“Torture is unreliable,” he replies simply. “...The Prism Crystal is secure. You can take my word on that.”

“Why should I?” I'm just being stubborn at this point. I don't know why the hell Talos would lie about that.

“...Because if it's lost, I lose my source of liquid prism. And liquid prism is what's going to save me if you ever decide to stick a flaming sword through my gut again.”

“...Fine. Fair point. ...So what now, huh? How do we find this Avanti thing?”

“First of all, it's not Avanti. It's a...Vaanti. Two words. ...Let's go somewhere private, Caleb. I think it's time to explain.”

Jake

Rebecca and my folks show up in the small hours of the morning. They have Varyyn with them, his hologram disguise in place. They try to sneak into my hospital room to avoid disturbing me, but it's not like I can sleep anyway. Varyyn hangs back while my parents tearfully embrace me, but I watch him through the space between their heads, and I can see his tepid expression.

“Hey, Varyyn,” I murmur after my parents and sister have given me a moment to breathe. “...How are you holding up?”

Varyyn twitches slightly, and I see a guilty flush creep into his cheeks. “...I am glad to see you are safe, Jake...” He trails off, looking away.

“...But I ain't your spouse, am I.” I offer him a sympathetic smile. “...I ain't mine, either.”

His mouth twists miserably, his eyes shimmering. “...They are together,” he whispers. “They must be together.”

“God, I fucking hope so...” I look desperately at my sister. “Tell me the cops got something, Bex. Anything...”

“There is something. ...One of Alodia's students came forward. Said she had been waiting to be picked up after class and Alodia was waiting with her to go to lunch with a friend. ...She gave a description of the woman Alodia left with. Said Alodia called her 'Jeanine,' and that she didn't seem happy to see her.”

I try not to show disappointment. Three people in this room were already aware of this information, but as far as my folks know, this should be a new development. I hope I can blame my lukewarm reaction on the concussion. The odds are probably better if I can manage to say something to convince them I didn't know the kidnapper's identity already.

“...The only Jeanine I can think of that we know is someone I used to serve with. She was there on La Huerta, and she was definitely hostile to Alodia, but...” What did we all agree happened to her? What did Mike and I say at Lundgren's trial all those years ago. “...We thought she was dead.”

“Varyyn told them that the name was familiar,” Rebecca says, giving me a meaningful look behind our parents' backs. “That you had mentioned her as someone from your Navy days you had fallen out with. But since he wasn't there on La Huerta, he doesn't know the whole story.”

Oh, is that the story we're going with? Seems fucking weird to think of Varyyn being from anywhere but La Huerta, but I guess now that he has a fake ID and he can mingle in the real world, he's got to have another backstory.  

“...There is one other thing,” Rebecca continues. “Whoever took Diego and Alodia, they were prepared. For the most part, they managed to stay off the security cameras both at the college and the dance school. ...But not entirely.”

That does make me snap to attention. Well, as much as I can in a hospital bed. “So there's footage?”

“There's footage of what the police believe is the ambulance they drove. Enough frames between the two sets of security footage to get a license plate. The vehicle hasn't been found yet, but...”

“...But it's something.”

It's enough to keep hope alive, even if it feels like fear is suffocating it. Fear can't really smother hope, though. As long as I am afraid, I still have hope. It's when fear starts to turn to despair that I'll have really lost hope. When I start grieving Alodia and Diego instead of being afraid that I will have to grieve them in the future.

“...When you're discharged,” my mother speaks up, covering my hand with hers, “would you like us to take you back to California? Or would you rather come stay with us until there's more information?”

I shake my head. “...The moment there's a real credible lead, I'll be wherever my wife most needs me to be. ...But for now, I can't leave Mike. Not until I know he's okay.”

“It's up to you, of course. We can get a hotel room for awhile. But they did tell us that his family has been informed.”

I hum noncommittally. Of course I trust Mike's family to look after him when they get here. But I still don't want to leave without word of Alodia. ...How can I think about going anywhere until I know where she is? Without her, I'm adrift. I'm spinning my wheels in a blizzard, and I can't even see the road ahead, even if I could get myself unstuck.

Tahira

“So...are you actually the Endless? Or are you just a manifestation of...some aspect of me that's taken on the form of the Endless?”

The red-clad old woman does not look back at me as we slog together through what has become a mucky swamp, thick with vines, water plants, and algae.

“A little bit of both. Vaanu is communicating with you mentally. I am an alternate version of Alodia, who is essentially a manifestation of some aspect of Vaanu. Unlike the Alodia you know, however, I never lived as a human in this world. I am the Alodia who was born of Vaanu's energy and my Catalysts' needs. But I never gave myself back to Vaanu, so I never merged the timelines, and thus I was never reborn on earth as the child of human parents. I am the Alodia who never lived in California. Who never attended Hartfeld. ...I am the Alodia who rejected Vaanu, and yet I am now the Alodia who is joined with him.”

“...That was...a long-winded answer. But surprisingly straightforward. That's not to say that I totally understand, but I was expecting you to be more...cryptic.”

“Unfortunately, this straightforwardness cannot last. ...I do not know where Alodia is, and neither does Vaanu. All we have is scattered knowledge to impart to you that may or may not help you find her. In fact, my main purpose here is to help you purge the poison from your body.”

“What kind of poison is it?”

“An ancient kind. Something toxic to those from the Crystal Dimension.” She pauses, turning toward me. “Have you ever been baptized, Tahira?”

“Baptized? No. My mom was never religious, and I never got into it either. ...I did see a friend of mine get baptized once...”

We were teenagers, I remember, and she invited most of the girls in our class, and I went mostly because it meant something to someone I considered a friend. Her church had a baptismal pool, and she and the other baptismal candidates waded in one by one to speak their vows, dressed in loose white robes. Then their pastor covered their face with a towel, took them in his arms, and rocked them back into the water while speaking the ritual words before drawing them up again. The ceremony meant nothing to me, but it was interesting to watch. Before I can ask the Endless why she wanted to know, I get my answer when she takes me in her arms and gets my legs out from under me to immerse me in the water around us. But I don't have the benefit of a cloth over my face, and the Endless doesn't seem to be drawing me up again. I try to find my footing, to get my head above the water, but she isn't letting me. Or something else isn't letting me. Either way, I start to panic. But then I remember my experience earlier, and I slowly still. Cautiously, I take a breath. Water flows smoothly into my lungs, and out again, easy as air.

“Good,” the Endless says soothingly. “Just breathe. Relax. Listen. Watch.”

I try to do as I'm told. In one of my middle school art classes, we made an optical illusion toy out of a circle of cardboard and two pieces of string. On one side of the cardboard was a picture of a bird, and on the other was a birdcage. The strings attached to opposite edges of the cardboard circle, and when you wound up the string and spun the toy, the images flipped so quickly that the bird seemed to appear inside the cage. Watching the images flashing in front of me on the surface of the water feels like watching that little bird hop into the cage. Or maybe like thumbing clumsily through a flip book where some of the pages are out of order.

I see the Endless with her helmet down, flames dancing above the skeletal claw that is her bionic right hand. I see Caleb superimposed over her, and they both close their right fists to extinguish the flames. I see Minuet holding out her hand to extend a slow-motion field over an unseen opponent. Then she morphs into Alodia, wearing a haunted expression as she holds out her hand and the wind that was stirring her yellow hair stills. I see a massive tree that I think must be Elyys'tel pulsing with light. And then the light fades and the tree withers as the sky turns gray, but lights are flashing in wild neon colors behind it. The images start coming faster. I can't keep track of them. But some do get through. Vaanti. Blue-skinned males and verdant females, dressed in masks and leafy garments, with tattoos decorating their powerful, glistening bodies. Then they're gone. Replaced by a steampunk-looking tribe who hunker around a fire in a post-apocalyptic desert, their pointed teeth tearing into the raw flesh of some unfortunate animal, blood sluicing down their chins.

...Anachronists...those are Anachronists! I mean, Alodia never told me they had fangs and ate raw animals, but...the steampunk outfits give them away. I open my mouth to say as much to the Endless. But now there's a problem.

...Suddenly, I can't breathe.